[Hider=Mortimer Boggs][CENTER][h1][color=#000000]Ser Mortimer Boggs[/color][/h1]
[img]http://68.media.tumblr.com/75c565997bb13a7ae0d9feb8206d2c93/tumblr_nz3oi11SeU1uw7bbjo1_1280.jpg[/img][/center]

[color=000000][sub][ ⚔ ]House[/sub][/color][hr][indent][color=7e6e75]House Boggs of Eel's Cove[/color][/indent]

[color=000000][sub][ ⚔ ]Reputation[/sub][/color][hr][indent][color=7e6e75]Ser Mortimer is everything one would expect of a knighted bog-devil; He is crude, cold, and thoroughly dishonorable. Not particularly well-liked for a hedge knight, Ser Mortimer has spent the last two decades splitting the skulls that low lords deem fit to be split open. Having been knighted for his assistance in quelling a rebellion of Northern peasantry, Mortimer has always known only the first, most basic tenet of knighthood -- to kill your opponent before they can kill you.

Ser Mortimer is a famously poor bet for seemingly every type of tournament, having proved his inability to hit a target with an arrow, hold a note, complete a game of chess, or hold up a lance on the back of a horse for long enough to joust. As Mortimer was never a squire or page, skills such as horsemanship and literacy have escaped Mortimer's bony-fingered grasp. That being said, his skill in the fields his people are known for, such as poisons and ambush tactics, keep his employment as a hired killer frequent enough that his coffers are so well-lined that he does not feel a need to compete for prizes in tournaments with frilly-wristed southern knights. As Mortimer is fond of all vices, be it ale, whores, wine, sourleaf, or even shade of the evening where it can be found, his need for employment means that for the past twenty years, he has killed approximately one man each week.

He is known to knights and smallfolk of the North as "Ser Mortimer of The Black Ass", a monicker that to some, references his steed [i]Ojo[/i], a black long-eared donkey, and to others, his controversial killing of Ser Edgard Payne, a well-liked knight, during a trial by combat where Mortimer had championed for a noblewoman accused of laying with one of her stableboys. After Edgard had embedded his greatsword -- which had been affixed to his gauntlets in preparation for the duel -- into the trunk of a thick tree, Mortimer simply placed a lit torch into the back of his ill-fitting tasset, burning Edgard to death.[/color][/indent]

[color=000000][sub][ ⚔ ]Appearance[/sub][/color][hr][indent][color=7e6e75]Mortimer is lithe and sharp-featured, with an appearance not unlike a weasel or particularly hungry rat. The women who have known him as 'Morty' can attest to his skin being splotchy and speckled where has has accidentally burned himself while mixing poisons, and oddly pale and hairless. He wears a drab moss-green tunic and brown trousers to cover this pale hairlessness, with a pair of dark brown boots and black cloak. In lieu of plate armor, Mortimer frequently wears a boiled leather cuirass and arm guards beneath his tunic to give an appearance of being unguarded. The arms of his house, which are barely distinguishable amidst the dents, scratches, and embedded arrowheads of his shield, are a triquetra of three black eels atop an olive field, encircling a red eye. [/color][/indent]

[color=000000][sub][ ⚔ ]History[/sub][hr][/color][indent][color=7e6e75]Ser Mortimer's life, for a man born in a cold, desolate swamp, who has spent years of his life butchering men, has been surprisingly free of many woes. The eldest of seven children from a banner house in the neck, Mortimer was knighted at twenty-one after unintentionally saving the life of George Manderly at The Battle of Pitcairn Peak, where a group of peasants had began to revolt. Not knowing the first thing about knighthood, Mortimer has simply continued killing throughout the North, travelling by way of mule from keep to keep, asking the local lords if they have men who need to be slain, tavern-goers talking of contention and rebellion that need laying in line, or escaped fugitives they need apprehended. Rarely has he been turned away for his work.[/color][/indent]

[color=000000][sub][ ⚔ ]Family Tree[/sub][/color][hr][indent][color=7e6e75]
Father - Lord Boris Boggs, 67
Mother - Lady Amelie Boggs, 60
Sister - Sylvain Boggs, 35
Brother - Terrance Boggs, 34
Brother - Philip Boggs, 31
Sister - Agatha Boggs, 24
Sister - Sophitia Boggs, 19
Brother - Malcolm Boggs, 13[/color][/indent][/hider]
[Hider=Rupert Ryswell][CENTER][h1][color=#000000]Rupert Ryswell[/color][/h1] [img]http://cdn.images.express.co.uk/img/dynamic/41/590x/02f40tommy2-457512.jpg[/img][/center] [color=000000][sub][ ⚔ ]House[/sub][/color][hr][indent][color=7e6e75]House Ryswell of The Rills[/color][/indent] [color=000000][sub][ ⚔ ]Reputation[/sub][/color][hr][indent][color=7e6e75]Rupert's reputation is meager, unsurprising considering he is the lackwit seventh son of a vassal lord. He has always been quick to bond with dogs and horses, a trait that his many nursemaids and guardians have encouraged in him. Aside from that, only a few northern low lords and the servants of House Ryswell would ever recognize him as someone of importance, and even then, his importance would be "Lord Ryswell's halfwit son".[/color][/indent] [color=000000][sub][ ⚔ ]Appearance[/sub][/color][hr][indent][color=7e6e75]Rupert is somewhat tall, with an impressive width to his shoulders for a boy his age, which would make him seem considerably older if it were not for his impediment. He is flat-faced and slope-eyed, with a roundness to his words marching his soft, boyish features. He wears a black gambesson embossed with a stitching of the Ryswell sigil over the breastpocket, and a pair of gray trousers. He rides a brown horse named Mossmane.[/color][/indent] [color=000000][sub][ ⚔ ]History[/sub][hr][/color][indent][color=7e6e75]Rupert's birth was a celebrated moment until it happened, at which point it became little more than the Old Gods letting Lord Rickard know his fathering days should come to an end, that his seed had grown old and bespoilt, and that he should be thankful for having already fathered seven other heirs. Instead of placing him in a blanket and taking him to the woods,
 Rickard went on to treat his youngest son with a mixture of pity and love, which was the most the hardened Lord Ryswell had been capable of after losing so many to the plague. Rupert was parented mostly by his chambermaids, nursemaids, servants, and other caretakers hired by Lord Ryswell to ensure his son would remain safe and far from official affairs or the eyes of the visiting prospective wives for his marriageable sons. When visited by a hedge knight from The [i]Neck[/i] of all places, who had mentioned a need for a squire, Lord Rickard devised a way to indebt the knight to Ryswell for at least a small sum, and rid himself of an awkward, clumsy son.

The following night, Lord Rickard slept soundly, having found a future for his youngest and most problematic son, sent out a raven to the Neck for the knight's promised barrel of salted eels, and knowing he would be written in history books as the father to the only Ser Ryswell. He would think of those thoughts that night in his sleep as he died, at the ripe age of Eight-and-Eighty. Two months have passed since then, with Rupert's training continuing at a slower pace than Mortimer had expected when told that the young boy was "Only a bit shy".[/color][/indent] [color=000000][sub][ ⚔ ]Family Tree[/sub][/color][hr][indent][color=7e6e75]Lady Henrietta Rywell, 80 - Mother
Lord Reynolds Ryswell, 54 - Brother
Sophia Rywell, 50 - Sister
Rian Ryswell, 46 - Brother
Veronica Ryswell, 43 - Sister
Redmond Ryswell, 42 - Brother
Susan Ryswell, 37 - Sister
Carmine Ryswell, 33 - Sister
Reiley Ryswell, 29 - Brother
Ranalt Rywell, 25 - Brother
Raegar Ryswell, 21 - Brother
[/color][/indent][/hider]