[CHAR] A Song Of Ice And Fire : The Swords And Stars (Page 2) — Roleplayer Guild

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[CHAR] A Song Of Ice And Fire : The Swords And Stars Page 2

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Hidden 1 yr ago → 1 yr ago Post by Arnorian

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Arnorian

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William Martson:

Name William Marston
Age: 23, born in summer, 18 AC.

Appearance:

Description & biography:

A tall man, William possesses a heavily muscled build, though he moves with ease in his layers of mail and plate.  His shoulder-length hair is well kept and perfectly coifed, as befits a man of his status.  Though his features could be pleasant, his arrogant demeanor is evident in his bearing and the cast of his face and dark eyes.   

William was born to a household of minor nobility in the year 18 AC.  Like any other young nobleman of the seven kingdoms, he learned to ride, fight in the saddle and how a knight should conduct himself.  In his youth, he was sent to his uncle's hold, a small castle in the east of the Vale.  More than one great knight and traveling swordmaster, looking for a patron, found their way to that citadel.  The influx of talent and experience to an otherwise isolated place, would stand the young squire in good stead.  William grew in strength and in stature, as time passed he found he truly enjoyed what he did.  Life in the saddle, hunting, hawking, riding for days at a time and the promise of a fight with lance and blade were his passion.

As his skill at arms grew so did his pride.  Though his extended family was a minor one in the Vale, that only reinforced his ideas of social standing and hierarchy.  Men were little better than beasts if they were not governed, he reasoned.  For men to get ideas above their station was to court anarchy.  He had been blessed to be a knight and so he would serve and be of service.

For such an aloof and arrogant man, it did come as a surprise to many that William also took a keen interest in the art of metal-smithing and the craft of the farrier.  But to William's mind these things were crucial to a knight's success in the field of battle.  He might disdain the peasants who worked in the fields, but he knew full well their utility.  An army could only succeed if fed and equipped.  A soldier with a full belly would fight on, long after others might have given up.

So it came as surprise to none that William was able to best a bandit chieftain of the hillmen, shortly after he reached his full size.  From there he soon began to lead detachments of squires and mounted archers.  Young William bloodied his blade many a time in the valleys and woods of the Vale.  He soon gained a reputation as brilliant and ruthless cavalry commander.  But slaying brigands was not his only claim to fame.  Even as a squire, his size, skill and dogged drive meant he was an absolutely merciless foe in the tourney.  By aged twenty, he was a blooded veteran of several skirmishes and as many tourneys.

He consulted with the maesters upon his return home.  Using his knowledge he forged his own blades and two suits of fine armor, as well as a separate harness for the tourney.  After slaying a hedge knight turned bandit chief on a bridge, in single combat, he was knighted by his father, Godryn.  In recognition of his service and his family, he was granted a small fief in the southeast of the Dornish marches.  Though it was certainly nothing compared to the great citadels of the mighty houses, Castle Larkwood, as it was known, was a strong keep with a high curtain wall and a deep moat.  Nestled at the end of a mountain valley full of turgid rivers and deep dark woods, it served its new lord's needs perfectly.

He obtained his lord's permission to create his own arms, a two-headed falcon on a field of red.  Once his manner was raised over the mossy walls and his lands inspected, he returned to his keep and began dispensing orders.  His craftsmen and farmers soon began work on improved irrigation methods.  He also ordered new farming equipment and hired other artisans to serve him and dwell within his hold.  In a curious gesture, he also found a septa and a maester.  Though he had no use for them personally.  Instead, they served to teach the smallfolk and their children to read and write, for William allowed his subjects to visit his personal library.

It should be noted though, that this measure was out of his own kindness.  But rather, he deemed his servants could be more productive if they were better trained.  He might have been said to care for the smallfolk, but only in the way a horse trainer cares about a prized stud or a merchant a well-built ship. 

Though William studiously observed all courtesies and was a fair, even generous lord to his smallfolk, he was rightfully known as a cold and aloof sort of man.  "As much cheer as a drawn blade in that one, though I think a blade ain't so rigid," an archer of William's once said.  Though, not anywhere where his lord might have heard.

In truth, William was only ever really friendly to his family and those he saw as his immediate peers.  All others were either above him and deserving of obeisance or they were beneath and should render obeisance.  To this knight of the Vale, there was no middle ground in his world.  Though for all his coldness and arrogance, he was always kind to his hounds and to his falcons.  In the saddle or the clash of arms were the only places where this young lord truly came alive.  There, among the other lords of the march, he became known as a deadly blade and peerless rider.

Something his retainers can bear testimony to.  For all the fighting aged men in his lands were required to assemble and drill not once, but three times in a year.  And those who bore arms for their lord had to muster once every thirty days, or risk a hefty fine.  Though not all his men were pleased at their lord's demands, their training did serve them well.  The next few harvests went largely undisturbed and the hillmen had learned a painful lesson about attempting any raid on Lord Marston's holdings.  And the hillmen and bandits were not the only foes.  The men of Dorne regularly raided up the prince's pass, seeking fame and plunder.

But all this, the cold devotion to duty and the workmanlike stewardship of the land, may be why the young lord has yet to marry.  He has courted suit among women of what he deems an appropriate station.  But it would take a woman of great resolve to bear sharing a life with such a calculating and haughty sort of man.

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Hidden 8 mos ago → 4 mos ago Post by Thayr

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Thayr

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House Smokestone of White Rock
Earned In Blood

House Description:
Said to be old as sin, in reality House Smokestone was once upon a time not a noble house at all, nor even a cadet house in the later fashions, but instead as all things were a band of bloodthirsty Ironborn. When the hundred sons of the Grey King butchered one-another following his death, among those who emerged were pretenders, and among those numbered was House Smokestone. Taking its name from the almost mythical smoke which rose from deep vents in the island, so mythical that no one is said to have seen the smoke in at least a century, the house would grow a reputation for having very little reputation at all. 

Such was the degree of that reputation that the rock king and the salt king were, more often than not, simply a master and subordinate though superiority seemed to change every moon. The House remained often undisturbed by the goings-on of more exceptional Houses, tending to its own matters with its own meager number of ships. They would become consummate sailors, and even those who reaved in the lands beyond would often return home to fish with their families and those who had been left behind. Idleness and wastefulness was not something afforded on White Rock, and the sloth of action which marked other Ironborn once they returned home was purged from every generation of the small house. Despite that size, the raiders of House Smokestone would become well-drilled over the generations of marching in the green lands, striking quickly when it was best and withdrawing when it wasn’t. These were the lessons taught to the house when the Greyirons fell, an event which some claim the Smokestones supported and others claim the Smokestones sat out.

The rise of House Hoare, and the outlaw of reaving, salt wives, and the Seven would be a time unnoticed by the Smokestones. So small and removed were they from the center that priests of the Seven seldom came at all to the island and, whenever they did, would often receive merely blank stares before their inevitable accident came to take them in whichever form seemed most apt. The removal of King Harmund would likewise be seldom acknowledged by White Rock, though the war with the westlanders and the following Famine Winter would only serve to cement the growing divide felt by House Smokestone with the rest of the Ironborn. The actions of others only seemed to burn them again and again while, in the end, the only ones they could count on to pull through were others of White Rock. However, due to the size of the house, they lost little in that war and were hurt even less in the following, their ships still setting sail to fish. Nevertheless, the famine still touched the island and the lessons were still taught.

House Smokestone would join the others, however, in the following centuries of hunger. They never were known for far-reaching voyages, nor for even touching down in raids to the Stepstones and Disputed Lands, but instead became traders of a common sort. They moved goods that were never their own from port to port, sails unadorned, and for that received profit enough. The Old Way, to the house, grew to be an old limb marred by illness, cut away to save the rest of the body, though captains of White Rock were ill to speak on such matters.

Despite this period of rust and wait, the house was nothing if not opportunistic. When Harwyn Hardhand took the Trident, among those who fought under his banner were the Smokestones. Longships from White Rock, small in size, would become known there for their tendency to appear without warning on the many rivers, attacking settlements nearby before sailing away within the hour. They often served to quell the smaller rebellions, prisoners given to Harwyn for his own executions. Some years into the construction of Harrenhal, and the decrees of Harren the Black, would be the event which gave the Smokestones reason to return to the Iron Isles. Such was their contributions, small and modest as they were, that it was said after that Harren dismissed them as not worth the time, that White Rock was a little stone which the waves swallow. In the forty years which followed, in which the hall was built, Smokestone paid as little as possible for the taxes levied against them by the Hoares, and so draining was even this. 

Despite all which was poured into it, in 2 BC Harrenhal burned in dragonfire, the riverlands were lost, and the Iron Isles was bursting with claimants. As before, House Smokestone avoided all this and more. Reavers at White Rock bayed for blood nevertheless, claiming that the Smokestone was cut to be a woman, that he no longer had the will to fight, which resulted in the same man killing the twelve who made the claim, throwing them into the ocean, and announcing that he had no will to fight for another’s love of a rock stone, but had quite the will to fight another’s love of his throne. This silenced most further disagreement, though would largely sour his relations with many. White Rock itself would play host to the fighting some months later when the Wyk King arrived to receive the fealty of the Smokestone or kill him and replace him with another who would. The force which the Wyks had brought was, despite its greater number, largely comprised of damaged vessels and half-headed youngsters after clashes with the Greyjoys, while the Smokestones put to sea with well-disciplined reavers in the same longboats which had once plied the riverlands. The battle would prove to be fairly evenly matched and costly for both sides, though the Wyk King withdrew the next day from White Rock after receiving ravens that his own seat had come under attack.

The arrival of Aegon in 2 AC to the Iron Islands would be received by House Smokestone with some amount of relief. Tired of the chaos which had perverted the Iron Islands, and knowing that their lot would likely neither improve nor be damaged by the coming of a Targaryen King, they were fairly eager to remove the thundering wars in their midst. When the civil wars finally ended, Qhorin killed by the Targaryen and Lodos drowned in the seas, the Smokestone would support the rise of the Greyjoys of Pyke.
Located as the northernmost island in the thirteen surrounding Lonely Light, White Rock stands out as somewhat unique among many of the Iron Islands. The cliff-faces of the island, which comprise most the south, east, and northern portions, are a dirty shade of white stone, streaked with grays and blacks. This same rock is present throughout much of the islands surface, leading to some to build their homes and storehouses directly into the rock. A number of buildings still jut from the largely barren surface, primarily made of wood received from the rivers, to include a squat lighthouse. A low palisade stretches around the settlement, built from the rock. The western side of the island gradually lowers to the water’s edge, with a man made harbor built from large stones and several small log homes and storehouses present nearby. The harbor itself can accommodate several smaller longships, with a slipway present, though would struggle to accommodate larger longships.

The seat of House Smokestone is a low-built longhouse placed in the center of the settlement. With walls of stone, a floor sunk five feet into the ground level, high-placed circle windows, and rafters built from dark-wooded riverlands timber, it would be a cozy arrangement were it not for the size. Capable of seating just fifty, with but six hearths, it is ostensibly a modest arrangement built from intentions to spend on necessities, not a ruler’s ambitions. In reality, it is entirely likely that the longhouse is built so small merely to save time in its construction. Banners, many of them from riverlands houses captured during the time of Harwyn, hang from the walls while the floor is covered by fur rugs.
Recent History:
Since the rise of the Greyjoys and the submission of the Iron Islands to the Iron Throne, House Smokestone has grown apart from the usual methods of the Isles. Aligned with the Farwynds since Aeron the Elder, Smokestone during the War of Conquests and the invasion of the Iron Islands, gave his title to his son, the house is far apart from the Old Way. Fishermen with little opportunity for raiding since the decrees of Aegon, it grows to be a rare time that the house reaves afar. Notably, the new Smokestone has taken it upon himself to source a Maester for his own purposes, to which he found a fledgling Maester who had only just earned the title. Through Maester Fergon, Aeron is rumored by the more superstitious to have become literate as well as knowledgeable on other matters.

The more recent events of the age, the death of Lodos the Twice-Drowned at the hands of Goren and the resulting purge of the Iron Islands by that same hand of any who dare hold the Faith of the Seven, has resulted in some degree of concern at White Rock. While they hold little in the way of septons whatsoever, so removed are they from the majority, Maester Fergon has reportedly renounced his faith and, even more surprisingly, been inducted in the faith of the Drowned God. How true such reports are remains to be seen, though a number of Ironborn on the island swear by the event.Family Members:Aeron the Elder (84)
Alannys Smokestone née FarwyndAeron, The Smokestone, Lord of White Rock, Captain of the Smokesong (26)
Harlan Smokestone, Captain of the Jester (22)
Lysse Botley née Smokestone (17)
Mariane, Salt WifeHaggen Smokestone
Erich Smokestone
Alvyn Smokestone
3 Stillborn
Brenne, Salt WifeEmmond Smokestone
Theron Smokestone
Gulfe Smokestone
Name
Aeron, The Smokestone, Lord of White Rock, Captain of the Smokesong
Age: 26 (15 AC)
Appearance:Standing at nearly 7’, Aeron’s form can be likened more to a whip than a willow tree. With pale skin and long, uncut black hair, he fails at the task of growing facial hair at any degree whatsoever. He is more successful in having a strong body and constitution, his muscles like coiled springs. Aeron carries himself well, moving fluidly with a long stride.

Aeron wears either simple tunics, with white shirts and loose trousers, or simple black robes. Cloaks are often worn, though he does have strong preferences to the brisk wind and is at times seemingly immune to its chill. Likewise, the Smokestone seldom wears jewelry or gold, preferring a simple image especially when contrasted with the fact that both he and his island can ill-afford gold or frivolity.Description & Biography:Born on White Rock, Aeron was as weedy as any young man might be though, despite the seeming frailty of his figure, would prove quite resilient to his induction in the faith of the Drowned God. From that young age, he would prove to be far less a reaver, far more a ruler. It was by his request to his father that a Maester was acquired for the purposes of his education, something which would have spurned other tutors on White Rock were it not for his attentiveness there also. Before that Maester arrived, he would hound sailors and captains, sailing along to the mainland whenever possible, learning his way about the ship as well as he might. Aeron grew to be a tolerable sailor on his own accord, though by the accounts of many he was far less suited towards fighting despite all his efforts to being a good, honest Ironborn. 

Nevertheless, the boy would eventually return home, settling in when Maester Fergon arrived. Aeron took to studies readily, to a great many almost suspiciously so for an Ironborn, consuming information at a ravenous pace. He would soon come to grips with his reading and, with that, the floodgates truly opened as he discovered so many new, strange, and fascinating worlds. Aeron would learn of the stars, navigation by them, of shipbuilding in the Westerosi way, and of architecture. Maester Fergon did have several links of iron as well, and seeing it useful he too learned of siegecraft, engine works and how to aim them properly, of warfare in the field. As a student, he found all these things and more to be of the greatest use to a lord when any other Ironborn found themselves unable to read the letters sent to them.

In time, however, his father would grow desperately old and had no indication of dying soon via natural causes. As a result, the title of the Smokestone would transfer on Aeron’s twentieth nameday, a celebration which was as raucous as one could expect. Such was the celebration, in fact, that not a single filled wineskin could be found on the island in the days after and, for Aeron the Elder’s degree of revelement, all expected him to have died during the event to which there was great surprise after that he had in fact not passed. Instead he was found in his newly lost vessel, Smokesong, which had been gifted to his son, drunk off his sense with four women and no more wine. In the years since, Aeron has ruled the island with a steady, cautious hand as his forefathers had before him. He has largely eschewed the Old Way, seeing an era of trade with others as beneficial to the Iron Islands, though remains largely wary of placing too much emphasis on such for fear that retribution may come from the other Ironborn houses or, failing that, the hand may be lost should war erupt in Westeros.

Name
Aeron the Elder
Age: 84 (43 BC)
Appearance:Standing at 6’3”, still exceptionally tall for an Ironborn though shadowed by his eldest, Aeron the Elder is by and large a rather hearty man despite his advanced age. With little bowing of his back and no need for an aid while walking, his age shows far more in his stride, which has grown slow, his eyes, which have grown dim, and his hands, which are somewhat shaky whenever he eats. Such tremors have, so far, only meant that he cannot fill his cup as much as he wishes which has somewhat irritated the old Smokestone. Aeron has grown thin in his advanced years, thin and bony, while his beard and hair have grown long, wispy, and as white as the rock.Description & Biography:Born before the Wars of Conquest, Aeron the Elder’s early life would prove typical for an Ironborn living on White Rock. Fairly removed from the taxes of Harren the Black, he learned to sail as soon as he learned to walk and would prove to be a capable shiphand at worst, an exceptional sailor at best. At a young age, he would be warded to House Blacktyde of the same name at the behest of his father, who had made agreements with the Blacktyde in exchange for other favors. On that island, Aeron developed a tuned sense for the nonpolitical politics of mainlander Ironborn, the games they played, and the methods they held to be true. He grew to be a cautious young man during his time as a ward, cautious in speaking his mind and acting as he desired, though despite such caution Aeron grew to be a powerful, able reaver in the riverlands. Though this native house eschewed such, for belief that the fighting and reaving would only serve to drain them of their strength, such was the time of Harren the Black when reaving was all that could be had against the rebellious lordlings, and along the many forks the young Smokestone would raid and plunder and burn. Such wanton activities would gain him his first salt wife, with whom Aeron did not marry as she was a riverlands woman and refused anything else. She would give him several children, young boys who grew quickly despite all of it. 

Though his warding had been ended by the twenty-third nameday, Aeron still raided with the Blacktydes for the view that he could gain much and risk little, in terms of the people of White Rock and their lives. He sent back gold and treasure, as well as any Westerosi vessels he captured, and for that received both his people’s admiration of the far-off warrior and his father’s ire for raising questions why he, too, did not sail abroad and raid for the house. Some decade before the final stones of Harrenhal were laid to rest, however, Aeron’s father would pass suddenly, some to call it unnatural causes, and he would be called back to become the Smokestone. He did so with all capable haste as soon as the message was received and, quickly enough, found himself to be lord at White Rock. The following decade was hard, for the sons he had borne by his first salt wife died young months after the burning of Harrenhal, his new-found second bearing stillborn after stillborn, and the Iron Islands seemed to turn to chaos. He kept his island to his own, pledging allegiance to none for there was nothing to benefit there, and the grumblings of the many who had once been inspired by his intrepid raids grew louder and louder. Rumors were born that he was no longer a man, but a woman, and soon enough twelve of the bravest on the island confronted him in his own hall, calling their challenges, declaring their desire to go abroad again and, if not pledge themselves to another to have a share in the glory, raid the other islands about Lonely Light to have a share in the plunder.

Such infuriated Aeron, such blatant betrayal of the Ironborn, such blatant betrayal to himself. He called them to go outside, that they may speak more plainly there, and followed them out before the hall with a long blade. There he slew one after another after another, some fighting in pairs against him, others singley, and in the end twelve bodies strew the ground before the hall at White Rock. The bravest betrayers had died in their foolishness, though the lesser kept to the sides to whisper to each other in their discontent. Aeron did not know how to solve it, save for giving challenge to any who drew-up the bravery to face him, either to give their reasons for going abroad or to take his seat. Such a challenge would go unanswered. Some months later, White Rock received its share of the violence when the Wyk King arrived to demand the fealty of House Smokestone, either given freely or broken from it. Aeron led his house in the combat, which aside from a brief attempt by the Wyks to land at the harbor would largely be fought on longship. There, he cemented his reputation as a fierce reaver, cutting deep amid the larger Wyk fleet and burning a great many of their ships. The two sides would retire some hours after, both largely having been mauled and lost their cohesion, as well as bleeding the strength of the oarsmen, in the melee. The morning after, the Wyk fleet would sail back to their island, having received word that their seat had come under attack. Of course, such would not be known to the Smokestone and most would declare that the victory and Wyk retreat was attributed to the ferocity of White Rock’s defenders, the strength of their ruler. It was altogether a great boon to Aeron, though the dead and the damage received would worry him in private.

All would be solved with the arrival of the Targaryens at the Iron Islands. Aeron would pledge his support to that throne, seeing that they would be most capable of developing stability in the islands despite their foreign natures, as well as support the methods with which they chose their steward for the Iron Islands. In the years following the rise of the Greyjoys, the Smokestone would be by no means idly, finally taking a formal wife as his second salt wife, some months after the first, expired. Such would largely be an arranged affair with the Farwynds of Lonely Light, though despite both their ages Alannys would soon enough give Aeron three strong children. 

As an older man, he led his house through the turmoil of years following the subjugation of the Iron Islands. Aeron would, in a rather consistent manner, lose the majority of his children as those given by his salt wives would die young or die in lands far away. He would keep the Westerosi largely happy, if not unaware of White Rock’s existence in the wider world, keeping away from the traditional reaving in the Narrow Sea or elsewhere as well as bringing from the Citadel a Maester for the purposes of his eldest son. When his wife finally passed due to complications of health, the Smokestone’s own would quickly fail him. At the age of 78, his eyesight allegedly failing him and his legs allegedly unsteady, Aeron would give up his responsibilities to his son and, in the aftermath, largely throw caution to the wind for several nights following that ceremony. Despite his age, it would be rumored that Aeron the Elder, as he quickly became known, fathered no less than seven bastards with various women of the island. Of course, he would never be able to confirm or deny this as he was dead drunk throughout the event. In the time following, despite the signs of failing health earlier, Aeron still is going strong with no cane in hand, acting somewhere between critic and advisor for his eldest son.

Name
Harlan Smokestone, Captain of the Jester
Age: 22 (19 AC)
Appearance:Standing at 6’5” with broad shoulders and tanned skin, Harlan has the makings of a true sailor. His hands are well-worn by word at the line and tiller, his muscles well-trained by the sword and bow, and his emerald eyes seem calm amid any storm he might find himself in. The youngest Smokestone’s most striking feature to any who know the house would be his blond hair, longer than most might keep it, and though such produced rumors of bastardry these have long been put to rest by his expeditions on the Narrow Sea.Description & Biography:Born in the periods of peace following the War of Conquest, Harlan would follow in his older brother’s footsteps to a far lesser degree. While he would be taught by Maester Fergon, learning of reading, celestial navigation, and the geography of Westeros itself, the young lad would be far more at home on a rocking ship. He took to the sea almost as soon as he was given leave to, sailing along the Ironman’s Bay at a younger age than most. He built a reputation for having steady hands and a quick mind, seeming to foretell a squall before it reaching the ship, and in many ways would become a model for any self-respecting Ironborn. To Harlan, it grew natural to be as at ease in a brothel as he were on the seas, or in his own house’s halls.

Yet, the youngest son of White Rock quickly found himself wanting to see more. He wanted to see the far-away oceans on the other side of Westeros, to see other cities than the meager settlements of the Iron Islands, and to make gold from work. He wanted to travel abroad and, soon enough, found himself in command of one of the smallest vessels of House Smokestone, the Jester, at the tender age of eighteen. As clean a voyage as any would follow him, trading up and down the western coast of Westeros from the misers of Bear Island to the Arbor itself for but a year, and for a time even sailing the southern coasts of Dorne to move spices and silver. In time, he would make the voyage through Hags Mire, across and along the Green Fork to enter the Bay of Crabs. His was a free heart, an eager heart, and Harlan found it easy to move other people’s goods for them from Gulltown to Greenstone and all the ports between. The Jester became known as a strange, honest Ironborn ship, her captain just as so.

He would join along with other Ironborn houses in the Narrow Sea, down to the Disputed Lands on some few occasions, defying the longstanding conventions set down by his father. To the Westerosi the Jester was perhaps known as an honest trader, but to many a Pentoshi slaver the Jester was among the last to hunt them down. Harlan would establish a running agreement with civil servants in Braavos, delivering slaves to the city to be freed for a certain amount of gold, though a lesser known truth would be that many of the crew of the Jester would be former slaves themselves, having volunteered after being promised good food, treatment, arms and armor, and the possible chance to cut down even more slavers. Such would become inducted in half-official ceremonies into the faith of the Drowned God, though the more pious among the Jester’s crew might complain that the men rarely needed to be brought back to life, such was the speed of the ceremonies, and that Harlan’s conduct with the women inductees, which he at times personally conducted, often led to beddings rather than honest faith once the Jester found a free port to put into. His reputation by these raids would lead to some Pentoshi placing bounties on his head, something which Harlan flouted often by saying the Magisters were cheap and blind to put such a small amount on his head. To date, he has killed no less than fifteen bravosi from the Free Cities who try to claim that bounty. To call the young man famous along those lands would be foolish, but so would it be to call him unknown. To those who listen, Harlan has grown his reputation well.

Hidden 5 mos ago → 3 mos ago Post by Apollosarcher

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Apollosarcher Knight with the Rowan Shield

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Knight with the Rowan Shield

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House Stark of Winterfell

Winter is Coming

House Description:
The Starks are a House overflowing with good fortune an abundance of heirs, a long lived lord, and wisdom to know when to put pride aside for the good of the common folk and nobility alike. While many of his children play at the life of a mercenary or wander the world, he knows one will take up his throne and be the good ruler the lands will need. His oldest leads the mercenary company known as the Company of the Rose filled with those who could not fathom why a king might give his crown up. Though he argues and disputes with his son he loves him dearly as such the Company of the Rose may not be the Starks own men but their in reality mostly controlled by the Stark children and some of their men.

Recent History:
 Since giving up his crown the North has entered a period of true growth, though many grumble about the changes such as the suspension of first night privileges or the new gift. While the hot blooded and young of the household have grumblings about service to the Targaryen household dragons are not something that they can simply overcome with blood and sweat. It would take cunning, skill, and luck beyond on any mortal man or woman to overcome them... Perhaps someone might find the way to achieve this.

Family Members:

Torrhen Stark, The King who Knelt, 71
First wife, Lywyn Bolton, killed with her children after the Boltons attempted a coup to unseat the Starks in the name of rallying against the King.
Second wife, Marion Mormont, died while sailing to visit her former home of Bear island.
Third wife, Rayiah Karstark, current wife of Torrhen. 50
Alwyn Stark, deceased
Aregerick Stark, deceased
Elanna Stark, deceased
Jociane Stark, deceased
Karlor Stark, deceased
Branwyn Stark, The Last Prince of Winterfell, 35
Alyswyn Stark, She-Wolf, 33
Barthor Stark and Artyn Stark, The Dancing Wolves, 29
Gillyn Stark, The White Wolf, 27
Lyrra Stark, The Lady of Winterfell, 25
Marwyle Stark, The Great Wolf, 22
Magna Stark, The Pup, 21
Brandon Snow The Exile, 61
Bennaric Snow, Frostblade, 30
Karlen Snow, The Mystic, 24
Elion Snow, The Apprentice, 19

Torrhen Stark, The King who Knelt

Age: 71

Appearance:Stark's do not wither into bone and crumple, to live among a frozen land such as the North is to harden ones body as much as ones resolve. Though the old Warden of the North has lost most of his ferocity he has done much to at least keep his body and mind sound. His once raven black hair now white as Snow and his great stature reduced, he cannot walk around for long in his armor or hold a great sword without leaning upon it when not in use. 

Description & biography: One the mighty King of North now withered old man. His life one of great loss and great joys. For in his once foe he has found a way to make the North more powerful earning if nothing else respect and autonomy. The Northmen may not like having to pay the King's tax and nobles may grumble however they are loyal to the Starks and the Warden of the North is oathbound to the Targaryen's. He has already shown considerable judgement and care, first exiling his own brother to prevent a rebellion, then facing off against his own wife and children when they attempted to take his life and claim the throne for the Bolton's.

Having argued heavily with children over trying to convince the Targaryen's to at least allow the King in North to maintain his crown even if subservient to the Targaryen family.

Branwyn Stark, the Last Prince of Winterfell

Age: 35

Description & biography: Branwyn is the rebellious and troublesome oldest living son of Torrhen and current holder of Ice. In his youth attempted several times to prevent construction of the Highway and regularly argued for striking at the dragons. Torrhen sent his son away only for him and his sister Alswyn to steal Ice and head off to join the Company of the Rose... Which within a few year they had become leaders of. Under Branwyn the company of the Rose secured contracts and recruits from all walks of life from across Westeros his brilliant command and personal skill have carried the day for them more than Branwyn would like to admit. Now he seeks new employment after their relaxation in Dornish lands. Commanding the ten thousand men and women from across Westeros, earning scorn from more conventional commanders and praise from more progress leaders.

Alyswyn Stark "The She-Wolf"

Age: 33

Description & biography: "I've never met a man I couldn't best... But a woman? My She-Wolf sister is my match and then some." A quote from Branwyn on his dear little sister, while while Branwyn may be a charismatic leader, battle proven warrior, and inspirational Alyswyn is the quiet fierce wolf at his side. Often found side by side with her brother she rights in the vanguard, known as wolfpack these adaptable horseback heavy calvary come from across Westeros made up of the most talented men and women from across the Kingdoms. While Branwyn works to run the company Alyswyn heads up teaching, training, and weeding who is not sorted for service. She is shorter than her brother and while not as large her presence makes many feel like a they are being hunted.

Barthor Stark and Artyn Stark "The Dancing Wolves"

Age: 29

Description & biography: These brothers are the currently spies and scouts for the Company of the Rose serving as heads of intelligence and information gathering specialists. This pair of rogues left to follow their dreams and cause trouble, clearly unfit for the throne though they were beloved sons, the pair were often caught climbing, gambling, and otherwise being unruly troublemakers. Though they were popular among the soldiers and people they were disliked by the nobility for their last than stellar reputation among their fellows. They slipped away off to join their kin in the Company of The Rose drinking and whoring their way across the world, they are well liked by soldiers though their trickery and brash ways have earned them scorn as nobles of little regard for the ways of their southern countrymen.

Gillyn Stark "The White Wolf"
Age: 27
Appearance:

Description & biography: The most renowned swordsman of the north, hoped to bring honor to House Stark and show they glory of the First men and their ancestors to the southerners. Gillyn is an aspiring member of the Kingsguard known as the White Wolf and hopes to face off against his wayward brother to reclaim Ice in the name of his father.

Lyrra Stark, The Lady of Winterfell

Age: 25

Appearance: With delicate pale skin and faded well groomed grey-white hair lithe and tall Lyrra is the lady of the house. She carries herself with grace and elegance of any great house lady, yet behind her storm blue eyes is a cunning and understanding that while she cannot fight like her brother her battles are just as vital to the house.

Description & biography: The Lady of Winterfell, normally the wife of the Lord Paramount would carry this title yet while he mother prefers to spend her days with her husband, Lyrra sits in court. Alongside her brother Marwyle they have become the day to day caretakers of North as their father at his age cannot handle everything himself anymore. While Marwyle has learned logistics, battle, and dealing with the lords of the land. Lyrra uses her own position to host and defuse tensions before they mount, as well as learn about trouble in enough advance Marwyle can bring it to heel.

Marwyle, The Great Wolf

Age: 25

Appearance: While not as tall or as well muscled as his brothers, Marwyle has taken a serious and dour attitude seen in Starks. His face rarely finds a reason to smile yet it not out of malevolence but sheer determination, with gray-white hair and steel ice blue eyes. His determined set face as if he might take a fist and bury it through a wall. His determination and just mindset contribute to his demeanor, yet among his family he take a soft almost kindly posture careful and cautious in how they might think of him in his own way very loving. 

Description & biography: The Great Wolf, a title Marwyle would not have give himself yet bestowed upon him by his father and the bannerlords. From dealing with Wildling raids, to broking peace between his bannermen, and even helping plan harvests and new storage methods when needed. Marwyle is not great for anything other than being willing to sit and learn when he does not know enough and to apply that information quickly and swiftly to the task at hand. Like his sister he has been helping to manage Winterfell and later the North as a whole since his teenage years. His father believes he has only two sons fit for the seat of Winterfell... One he doubts will ever inherit it another who has not spoken to in over a decade. Marwyle keeps a small pack of tame dire wolves as pets and companions, the beasts are often seen moving with him during his travels.

Magna, The Pup

Age: 21

Appearance: Dressing boyishly with with long wild grey-white hair Magna is a cheerful and care free girl. Whether practicing archery or sword play under her brother's tutelage. She is short though well proportioned girl with more strength in her than her sister. Blue ice crystal eyes and strong arms she is regarded as a tomboy and bit out of sorts with the Starks at the castle, yet she is still beloved by them all.

Description & biography: Magna is carefree spirit with an upbeat attitude contributing to her lack of responsibilities in comparison to her siblings. Riding horses, hunting in the Wolfswood, exploring Winterfell, and reading of old legends occupy most of her time unlike her two older siblings Magna did not have to grow up or face harsh truth of their siblings choices. As such she became darling of the family spoiled and loved by all with personality that shows it.

Brandon Snow

Age: 61

Appearance: Once a toned and sculpted body has faded with age and lack of heavy meals so often found in Winterfell's halls. His stands like a warrior alert and sharp but he carries no sword merely a long hefty wooden staff. His beard washed and clean though wild and long, the green of his cloak and the book at his waist mark him as learned man. 

Description & biography:Long ago, the house Stark decided that the Stark family needed new branch. One intertwined with the magic of the old gods and their gifts, so after years of searching and careful planning. Brandon Snow came into the world, born from a line of those blessed by the Old Gods he was educated by in the old ways. His skill as a warrior senses made him uncanny in the field of battle, yet of all things he and his older brother Torrhen were close as they could be.

When bitter survivors of a dead religion with great mutant lizards came upon the North, he devised a plan... One that might see them through the danger. However, his brother whom he cherished and was cherished by could not risk his life without a guarantee he would survive. Instead he gave up his crown, a lesson his brother would take years to fully understand... And be more proud of than anyone.

He was exiled when talk from lords came to kill Torrhen and force the inexperienced and unprepared Brandon to lead them. He left with no ill will between himself and his brother still sending letters and on occasion receiving them. He has fathered three sons, wandering the world and now seeks only a quiet place to sit and wait for his end. One might call him a Greenseer it is a title he does answer to nor acknowledge when asked. Long ago it was thought if any man could slay the great dragons of the conquerors it was Brandon Stark, now as a quiet and thoughtful man he spends his twilight years educating his youngest boy. Few believe the tales told in the North about what he once was or what he could be seeing an old man believing in a dying religion in an ever changing world.

Bennaric Snow

Age: 30

Appearance: A tired and worn looking man with long unkempt raven hair and short scraggly black beard. A worn heavy cloak drapes over his form, he is tall and fit though a bit narrow shouldered compared to his fellow Northmen. He is quiet and more fond of grunts and mumbles than actual speech, only willing to have real conversations on occasion or when pushed. Usually taking one of his siblings to get him out of his shell and put a smile on his usually dour expression.

Description & biography: Usually found not far from a tavern nursing a drink and a warm meal, Bennaric ply's himself as a mercenary and monster hunter... Of a sort from unruly nobles to bastard hedge knights Bennaric has cut them all down. With a sword, horse, and armor he works whatever can be given with little care to lining his pockets more so doing right by people. He understands the ways of small folk growing up around them and often will be the first to take their defense. He has little time for nobles or titles they do not stop a blade after all.

Karlen Snow, The Mystic

Age: 24

Appearance: Dark brown with a mop of black hair and darker skin than many of the north due to excessive travels and regularly sun burns on his more fair skin having darkened it over the years. Tall with broad shoulders, normally with plate covered over his chest and shoulders atop that furs and more. Underneath it mail, his years of travel have made him not only well read but experienced in the ways of combat. Strong muscles and sharp features combined with his wild eyes make look like a predator and move like one too.

Description & biography: Karlen has spent his life studying under a father who supposedly could perform magic, traveling the world over to find books and information his father was interested in. Yet with no talent of his own and his father's refusal to teach him or explain the purpose of it, he eventually abandoned his father and brother's to find a life his own. To pursue magic of his own according studying under tutelage of maesters at The Wall for awhile before coming to believe it was not his fate. With recommendation from his cousins he has been staying out at Bear Island while weighing his options on what to do with himself.

Elion Snow, the Apprentice

Age: 19

Appearance: With soft dirt brown hair and deep hazel eyes to match Elion's constant smiles and cheerful demeanor stands in contrast to his brother's. His jovial nature and kind personality make him far removed from how many see the Stark's. Never found far from his journal or sketch book he has near unlimited appetite for knowledge.

Description & biography: A kind and seemingly innocent young man who appetite for knowledge has made him a a great learner. Through his father's teachings and borrowed books he has found himself eagerly questioning and meeting anyone he can. His training with a blade is well short of his brothers though he is still young, he has found a talent with a bow. Feeding and caring for his father by himself his skill in camping and hunting is well known. Though his modesty makes him almost impossible to take the compliment, many feel something strange about the boy.

Hidden 4 mos ago → 4 mos ago Post by Vanq

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Vanq The Chaos Ladder

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House Tully

Family. Duty. Honor.

House Description:

Coat of arms: A leaping silver trout on a field of blue and red
(Paly wavy azure and gules, a trout embowed argent)
Seat: Riverrun
Head: Lord Tully
Region: Riverlands
Titles: Lord of Riverrun; Lord Paramount of the Trident

Recent History:

Pre-Conquest Era

House Tully is an old noble house of First Men origin, dating back to the Age of Heroes. Ser Edmure Tully and his sons were allies of Tristifer IV Mudd, the King of the Rivers and the Hills, but the Tullys knelt to the Andal conqueror Armistead Vance after Tristifer's death. Edmure's son, Axel Tully, received land at the confluence of the Red Fork and the Tumblestone, where he constructed Riverrun.

Unlike many Great Houses, the Tullys never ruled as kings, but held Riverrun for at least a thousand years as powerful vassals of those who did. They often defended the Trident from the Kings of the Rock. Lord Elston Tully died supporting Lord Roderick Blackwood against King Humfrey I Teague. Lord Tommen Tully futilely supported Lady Agnes Blackwood against Harwyn Hoare, King of the Iron Islands, and Tommen's natural son Samwell Rivers was slain at the Tumblestone.

Post-Conquest

House Tully rose to prominence during Aegon's Conquest, when Lord Edmyn Tully led the rebel riverlords who deserted Harren Hoare, King of the Isles and the Rivers, and instead supported House Targaryen. Following the burning of Harrenhal, Edmyn was rewarded with dominion over the riverlands by Aegon I Targaryen as the first Lord Paramount of the Trident. Despite being their new liege lords, the Tullys fielded smaller armies than the Blackwoods, Brackens, Freys, and Vances. House Tully was also not as wealthy as the Mootons, nor considered as prestigious as the Mallisters.

One of Edmyn's daughters married Lord Quenton Qoherys of Harrenhal, while Edmyn himself served two years as Hand of the King to Aegon the Conqueror, the first King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. King Aenys I Targaryen relied on the Tullys during the rebellion of Harren the Red most recently.
(taken from House Tully

Family Members: A TreeLord Rhobyn Tully - Father
Lady Gewlia Tully - Mother
Prentys Tully - Heir
Raulf Tully - Second Son
Abigael Tully - First Daughter
Janys Tully - Second Daughter
Twin 1 - Third son
Twin 2 - Fourth son
Bensen Tully - Cousin

Prentys Tully

Age: 30 (born 12 AC)

Description and Biography
The son and heir that is expected of him. Prentys was raised from birth to be the sort of man who could control and rule over the fractious Riverlands. Born shortly after the conquest, his father knew the sort of challenges that Prentys would face. Lords who would think themselves better suited to control the Riverlands and old rivalries that would not be solved in the span of Aegon's Conquest for all that the lords of the Trident had come together to cast down Harren the Black. A large lad, brawny and tall. The young Prentys was sent to foster under the Lord of House Broome. It was a two-fold arrangement. As he learned the skills of a Lord and a knight the young man also found courtship with Lucinda Broome as she grew into a young woman, the daughter of the Lord. A match that was carefully arranged by their parents.

Yet for the softness between the betrothed pair, Prentys found that the Broome were too pious for his character. Yes, there was a place for the Seven and it was proper that their ways be followed. Yet, the young man kept to his own council for all his devotion to the gods of Westeros. For there was also might to follow. A man can speak loudly of religion and be proper and true, yet it would not stop the blow of a sword or axe. Miracles were rare things, and the gods' anger was fickle in most cases. So when the realm hummed with hushed whispers about the marriage of Aeny's two children. Prentys held his peace. The Targaryen, despite this flaw, had brought peace to the realm and they had a weapon no army could match, for they rode dragons.

The man busied himself with the words of House Tully- Family, Duty, and Honor. By the vows his forefather swore, he was to serve the Targaryens as Lord Paramount in his time. His duty was to uphold the rights and expectations of both the law of the land and of the Seven for his own lords and smallfolk. If his own lords overlooked their due? He was not going to tempt the fate of Harren the Black or act on impulse while a vast flame coild about the Iron Throne. A skilled swordsman and his father’s right hand? He had read his history and though his family’s station was fairly new? Risking upsetting the balance was a walk across the God’s Eye without getting one’s feet wet. Impossible. Sides would have to be taken, yet he wished to see the full picture before making up his mind.  

As for family? He was quickly realizing to his dismay that Lucinda was not as quick to bear a child as he would hope. The woman was only five years younger than him, and for the fact they had been wed young and were oft together in Riverrun, no child had blessed their union though the Maester had confirmed that Lucinda had conceived several times. It drew a hardship upon the pair and Lucinda questioned if perhaps the Seven had their reasons, asking why did Prentys as the heir to the Lord Paramount did not speak against the act of wedding brother to sister. She did not care for his answer and found it impossible that he would go against the teachings of the Seven to support demons where they sat above men and, according to her as she saw the minds of the Targaryens, above gods.

Prentys found the notion foolish and more to the point dangerous. Lucinda was pregnant once more and for all her words were spoken to her husband and in private? They were not wise ones to speak in a shout. The couple though still caring and dutiful to each other found a fracture. Another of the rivers that divided their realm this time wedging between them.

Raulf Arryn

Age: 26 Born 15 AC

Description and Biography
Raulf is of average height and slimmer but solid build. He keeps his hair cut shorter as it tends to unmanageable curls when allowed to grow out, much like his sister. He keeps his beard neat, if only to hide the childish baby-face when he is clean-shaven. Raulf has an easy and disarming smile, with a loose and relaxed demeanor that makes him approachable to most. 

Family, duty, and honor - his house’s words - are nearly a prison to the young lordling. In combination they keep him trapped to his family’s lands, unable to pursue his idealistic dreams, forever restless in a land full of strife and pain. 

His youth was normal enough, no matter that his family’s fortunes and station were unexpected. He spent his time in service to House Mallister as page and squire, though he had little natural aptitude for any martial training. He worked hard at it, but never seemingly for the right reasons. It was other squires or young knights who caught his eye and for whom he put on displays of prowess, such as they were. He saw Prince Aenys on one his first royal progress tours, a stirring moment for the young man who swore himself to his training so that one day he could serve the ephemeral prince as a kingsguard. It was not to be, and Raulf was never knighted, nor caught the attention of the prince beyond shallow pleasantries. 

He was, however, well-read and well-spoken. While some would call him cunning or even devious, he proved an excellent mediator. Charming and warm, he was able to get himself out of trouble even when he was the cause of it. His father saw promise in those traits and sought to make a good match to secure the Tully hold of the Riverlands. First to a Frey, though the girl died of an illness before any agreements could be finalized. Second to a Vance, though it publicly fell apart due to scandal. Few in his family or highest advisors had glimpses of the truth. The match was offered only has a way to break an unfavorable (to House Tully) match between houses Vance and Mooton. Raulf, conniving indeed, laid the groundwork for a scandal that ended the hopeful match between any of their parties. Lady Vance was discredited and the agreements between Vance and Mooton little more than hushed whispers of what could have been. None were the wiser to Raulf's role in any of it. 

Lord Rhobyn however, has raised the issue yet again. The kingdom was not stable, cracks that had never filled in completely threatened to widen, and House Tully needed stability and security to survive whatever came next. Raulf cannot disagree with the state of the world and his family words compel him to comply, but he wishes for anything but that.

Name: Abigael Tully

Age: 18 Born 23 AC

Appearance: Abigael is very feminine and refined. Her lack of height evokes protective feelings from others. Her figure is lush but not overly so. Her complexion is flawless and as pale as snow. Her eyes are a clear blue gray like the rivers that run in the Riverlands with sooty, thick dark lashes. Her bone structure borders on sharp but is softened to refined and classical. She has a full luscious mouth and white straight teeth. Her face is very expressive and she uses this to her advantage. Her hair seems to have a mind of its own and curls in a mass of ringlets that spill around her and down her back to her waist. They constantly escape confinement and give her a softer yet wilder edge. She constantly weaves in flowers to her hair and it is rare to see her without a flower in her hair. Most of her clothes are fashioned in her house colors of red, blue and silver. She prefers to wear well made clothing over flashy jewel encrusted clothes. She does love to embroider her own clothing and is excellent at it.

Description & biography: Abigael is the oldest daughter and middle child of House Tully and at eighteen is ready for more. She was born easily to her mother on a bright fine spring day. She has the red hair and blue eyes of the Tullys and has grown up knowing that the Tully women are the secret weapon of the house. 

The Tullys are a Riverlands house that has seen battle over and over and over again and again. This house has learned to be adaptable and like the trout on its standard goes with the flow. They are skilled negotiators and have used their words and wits to get them out of a bind more than once. While the house is known for their strong emotions and are in touch with their emotions they can easily tap into their versatile nature and incite a riot or raise the morale of an army. Tullys have used their women to secure various alliances and in their own way have made their house what it is off those Tully women.

Abigael is no different. She is a charming girl who loves to embroider, ride her horse, dance and play the harp. She is fond of reading and tending a lady’s garden. She is a consummate actress; meek and humble when she needs to be or opinionated and witty. She can be sweet and innocent or seductive and tempting. She took the Tully way of being adaptable and made it all her own. Unfortunately for her this also means that she still has yet to really find out who she is; which she has started to struggle with. 

She is very young still and while she has been exposed to court life her parents have kept the attention light. They want her to find her own feet and swim but want to support her the best they can while she does it. She has grown up knowing that her marriage will need to be a solid foundation for an alliance within the Riverlands. She has expected that she will likely marry within the Riverland houses but she could marry outside the Riverlands.

Name
Bensen Tully
Age: 17 (24 AC)
Appearance:At but 5’ tall, perhaps even a bit less, Bensen seems to lack the strong frame of a Tully in most regards. Curling, black hair parts down to his shoulders, a halo for his long nose and softer jaw, though his fair skin and bright bluebonnet eyes do mark him in his ancestry. The young Tully’s hands are worn enough from honest work, dirt forever underneath his fingernails, and he almost makes it a point to keep it so. As far as clothing, Bensen prefers to wear blacks and reds, though in a muted color. In most ways, it would be easy to mistake him for a common peasant anywhere else than the Riverlands.Description & Biography:Born from Lord Tully’s brother, Karkan Tully, and a Blackwood noblewoman, Olira, Bensen grew up split between Riverrun and Raventree Hall. As the eldest son of the couple, he bore the black hair of his mother’s house, endearing many of her cousins and earning the suspicion of some at Riverrun. They spoke of mistakes, for Olira was married further into her years, of unfound maidenheads and stableboy lovers, though Karkan was headstrong against the whole of it and his elder brother forbade such hated talk. Bensen would grow to be a tolerable hunter from that young age, preferring to tend to hawks and hunting hounds about Raventree Hall, and took up fishing often at his young age. The boy tended to falter at his knowledge of houses though, near and far, the colors and names and words seeming to blend together often.

His mother would become laden some few years after his sixth name-day, when he had finally gotten his first puppy to raise into a hound, and it was explained just three times to him on what precisely it meant. Bensen had a younger brother or sister, and they were coming soon. Seven months later though, his father off to Riverrun for family business, a dam broke with blood too, and both her and child were lost despite the Maester’s best efforts. The burial was held soon after, in Blackwood fashion, buried under the dead weirwood tree, and Bensen was as numb as could be to all of it. One day she was there, as vibrant as could be, and the next…the Maester didn’t let him see her, as still as she was. He’d only heard the screams, calls for help, the rush of servants here and there. Bensen had hid away with his pup during it, he had no idea really what had been.

The death broke Karkan, though. He grew to drink heavily, confess sins to holy brothers and Maesters, never to Septons, take long walks along the river with a bundle of stones in a pack. He didn’t speak to Bensen, long gone were his smiles and laughter. Eventually, the man did speak to the Maester at Raventree Hall, having Bensen sent to live with his brother. Karkan traveled north, though, far north to the wall to take on the Black. 

Bensen still didn’t understand, though Lord Tully took pains to explain it. He would soon be distracted by the careful machinations of that new protector, hunting dogs, hawks, fishing supplied alike. The young boy would be embraced by his older cousin, Abigael, as she in some ways adopted him while shielding him against the fool rumors that had begun to surround Bensen. Some of the worst repute in Riverrun called him an ill-omen, marked as he was by his black hair, one who had driven a proud Tully to run off and a Blackwood to die, though Bensen rarely noticed such as the talk notably died-down whenever he and Abigael were about. Worried as they were for the actions of her father against such, and for the actions of the Lord Tully’s daughter, such fools were loath to risk their necks. 

Bensen meanwhile would grow to continue to be an even better hunter than before, a good enough hawker, and well-beloved by his hunting hounds, even taking up riding in more than a cursory fashion by virtue of long-running competitions with Abigael. Young, still incapable at the strangeness of court life, still incapable at the cruelty of court politics, he remains delightfully oblivious to many of those issues which are sure to trouble him in the future. His singular connection to the probable entrance of court life would be a strong bond with his cousin, Abigael, which continues still as the pair do at times read together.

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Apollosarcher Knight with the Rowan Shield

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Gynn Tully
Age: 38

Appearance: Long red hair and a short kept stubble of a beard across his face, he is fit well muscled sporting a bit of a pudge that he has tried to keep off by eating less. His hard set look hides a man who adores his family, with emerald green eyes and a handsome features he strikes the look of a younger man than he is.

Description & biography: The youngest nephew of the former lord Tully, he was sent to study to become a Maester in Oldtown from the age of seven. Building resentment against his parents, aunts and uncles, siblings, and the more over how he was sent away and made to study with the Maesters without anyone speaking up for him desire to remain. He would eventually leave his service to the Maesters after forging ten links with three iron links, two copper, one of yellow gold, one of red gold, two of silver, and one of black iron. He keeps his chain using it to bind a bracelet to his sword to his hand so might never lose the weapon. 

When not helping to train the Poor Fellows or Warrior Sons, Gynn would spend time at home teaching his nieces and nephews. Presents and near a constant push to be a part of their life and a force of positive energy. Whether sword, reading to them or more over the past eighteen years he has pushed to be there, even without formal invitations to return home he would bring gifts and take his nieces and nephews under his wing whenever possible. While loyal to the faith for giving him somewhere else to go after his family sent him to the Maesters, he is more so loyal to the members of the faith in Oldtown than a deeply pious warrior.

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Almalthia Friendly neighborhood redhead

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House: Tully

Age: 23 born in 12 AC

Appearance:

Description & biography:

Irenya had the same lustrous hair and beautiful eyes of her kin.  But what truly distinguished her was that she was always possessed of an especially large stature, even from an early age.  Standing over six feet in height, in her sock feet and broad of shoulder, she would have been an imposing figure, even for a man.  But she moved with a skill and careful grace that would have been the envy of nearly any dancer.  While she was a decent enough seamstress, she also possessed a lovely voice and proved to be an adept player of the lute.  So when the women of the household or from some other family sought to make their whispered japes, Irenya was always more than happy to demonstrate her skills and agility.  

Though she knew such things would only garner more jealousy and spite, she was more than happy to silence those who would mock her.  But these things of the noble court were never truly her chief passion.  While she spent many hours with the Maesters and in the library, she was always more to keen to learn of the great deeds done by mighty knights in days gone by.  As her childhood waned, she spent more time evading her Septa and watching the young squires and lords train to be warriors.

While she had neither Prentys' lordly skills or Raulf's clever tongue or Abigael's skills as a lady, she had a heart for those who could not help themselves and a strong sense of duty and right.

Her singing and instrument playing turned more towards songs of war and as she read about tales of mystery knights.  One year, she was gifted a small pony for her birthday and as time passed, she rode farther afield.  As Irenya grew older and learned something more of the world, she quickly realized that some men were so foolish as to be intimidated by her strength and size.  Others were nothing like the knightly heroes she'd read about.  Some even seemed to be little different than the brigands they hunted, aside from having better armor.

One evening, as she rode back home, she recalled a line from a song about a mystery and asked herself a question; why not her?  Such things were hardly considered the proper lot of a lady born from a great house.  But then, no one would have to know would they?  Besides, the crowd at any tourney always lived a mystery knight.

So it was that young Irenya began carefully hoarding whatever funds she could come by, any way she could obstain them.  She watched the knights and squires train and then carefully mimicked their movements late at night in her chambers.  She would ride out and practice jousting on the spirited mare she'd been gifted for her 13th birthday.  But she knew that such things were still no substitute for real training and sparring.  So, she wrote a letter to an armsmaster from King's Landing and promised to pay him for her training, provided that she could wear her helm the entire time.

The old armsmaster, a crusty old codger by the name of Hollam, had trained his share of strange young nobles and found their coin all spent the same.  So by night, in the ruins of an old chapel, Hollam trained and sparred with what he believed to some foolish young nobleman seeking to preserve his mystery knight identity.  So over the years, Irenya trained in the evenings and practiced in the privacy of her chambers.  As time passed, she was able to scrape together funds for a warhorse and the armor of a knight.

Finally, at the age of sixteen, Irenya faked illness to avoid going with her family and entered a tourney as a mystery knight.  Though she took her fair share of hits, she did well enough for herself and left before she found an opponent that could unhorse her.  As she hide her armor and changed back into the garments of a noble lady, she had to admit that she felt . . . more disappointed than anything else.  There had been no real thrill.  She didn't feel any glory in it.  And she couldn't say why.

During one of the last times she trained with Hollam, the old warrior mentioned riding out against some former hedge knights turned bandit.  It was then Irenya realized her problem.  All the pomp and pageantry did nothing to ease the plight of those that a knight was sworn to protect.  A tourney could be a place for a knight to hone his skills but what of those who needed their aid the most but never received it?  So it was that Irenya practied all she'd learned with renewed vigor and began to ride the roads late at night.  Or if her household traveled to visit another lord or to a neighboring hold, she would venture out at night and quietly listen at taverns or in markets.  Irenya also learned a great deal as to what the smallfolk thought and their many struggles.

So by day, Irenya danced, sang and sowed with the women of her household.  If she spent a great deal of time out on her horse or with her hounds and falcons, that was just reckoned to be her way.  After all, the lady Irenya still conducted herself as a proper lady.  As far as anyone in House Tully believed, she would no doubt go on to be a great Septa someday.  After all, Abigeal was a fine lady and would no doubt make some suitor a fine match.  Though it still stung, Irenya was happen enough to let that silent perception stand.  After all, it sustained the illusion.  By night she would practice all she had learned with weighted blades and lances.  She would lift looped iron bells and practice climbing and vaulting into the saddle in full harness.  If she wasn't training her falcon or her dogs, she would hunt with bow and spear.  But at last the day came when she finally had to put those skills into practice.

At nineteen, Irenya was riding home, thinking of which sally port might be the best one to sneak back in by, when she stumbled across the bodies of a merchant family in a ditch.  The muddy rode bore the clear signs of cart and horse and the footprints of a half-dozen men bearing the weight of armor.

Unsure of how much her skills would avail her against multiple armed men, Irenya instead snuck through the woods and found the bandits back at their camp.  As the moon rose and the night winds wailed, Irenya waited for the drunken bandits to fall into a slumber and then she quietly dispatched them with her dagger.

But their chief was not drunk as that and bandits are not a trusting lot.  The man, a burly warrior with a bristling beard, had slept in his armor.  As soon he realized what was happening, he rose with a shout like to wake the dead and despite his drunkenness, still had some skill with a blade.  Irenya, having shed most of her armor to sneak through the woods, was forced to use every one of her deadly skills in a desperate fight by the flickering flames.  At last, having kicked a burning log towards the bandit and gaining a handful of precious seconds, Irenya cut the murderous rogue down and sagged to the ground.

If anyone noticed her exhaustion the next morning, they simply attributed it to the ways of a woman who was known to be quiet bookish and perhaps stayed up a little later than she should have.  But Irenya was nearly beside herself with fierce joy.  She'd proven to a deadly foe and to herself that she was worthy of knighthood, if only in her own eyes.  So it went, over the years, that Irenya would continue to maintain the facade she'd carefully cultivated.  A young noblewoman of good breeding and courtesy, possessing all the skills a lady of a great house should.  A handsome and well-spoken woman, though most likely destined for spinsterhood.

But by night, Irenya would ride out, bearing a device of two entwined roses, each mode of rusted iron.  Over the next five years, robber knights and brigands would learn to fear the Knight of the Iron Rose.  The roads throughout the Riverlands became much safer and it was said that a lone woman might very well be able to walk the streets alone at night.  Though of course were so reckless as to try and put that to the test.

When she found time, Irenya would enter the tourneys as a mystery knight and take a certain spiteful joy in unhorsing those who had no idea of her true identity.  Between her bandit hunting and the tourney, she was able to mass enough funds to gain a fine suit of armor, a great black mace, two good destriers and plenty of fodder.  Though it was said that the Iron Rose never took more than a small ransom from any knight "he" had unhorsed, and would never leave a man bereft of armor and warhorse.

@Ruby@Vanq@Almalthia

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