Bloodrose

My Brother's Keeper - A Song Of Ice and Fire Blackfyre Rebellion RP

@Bloodrose I finally got a chance to read your post. Very well done. I love Danelle. She is wicked. If you ever want to do a modern day crime drama, I'm in.

@Gunther

Thank you very much! That's very kind of you to say :)

My Brother's Keeper - A Song Of Ice and Fire Blackfyre Rebellion RP

M A D D A N E L L E

“The sharpest sword in the Riverlands, and here I am babysitting a lady what thinks she’s a lord.”

Danelle ignored Hoster’s grumblings, spurring Nightmare onwards. The great black stallion’s hooves thudded against sodden ground, its onyx coat gleaming like dragonglass beneath the gentle glow of the sun.

Danelle’s armour was the same sheer black as her horse, with steel plates that clanked and rattled in rhythm with Nightmare’s bouncing strides.

“The Blackwoods must be bleedin’ desperate if they’re lettin’ maids pretend to be knights,” Hoster Rivers prattled on, “Ain’t never seen somethin’ so queer in all my days.”

“Give this one to the Black Goat,” the shadows hissed and whispered inside Danelle’s skull, “The darkness will delight in the taste of his blood.”

Hoster was not especially impressive to look upon. He was a dumpy, pig-faced bastard with brown hair that reminded Danelle of mud. His small, ugly eyes looked like dirty chips of ice, and his armour was a motley hodgepodge of rusted plate and worn leather.

The bastard’s mount was a pitiful mare, who was about half the size of Nightmare. Where Danelle’s stallion was a giant beast, caked in rippling muscle, Hoster’s mare was a gaunt, scrawny creature.

“There.” Danelle nodded at the rickety building that had popped up in front of them.

The Warm Hearth was a ramshackled tavern, rising out of a stretch of boggy wetland. Its painted sign was chipped and faded, and its wooden supports looked as though a gentle breeze would snap them in twain.

House Blackwood’s scouts had reported that the Warm Hearth had been seized by men fighting for House Bracken. Supposedly, they were led by a brutal, bloodthirsty thug that folk had taken to calling “Calon the cruel”.

“I ain’t blind!” Hoster snapped.

“Blind him,” the shadows begged her, “Blind him and send him screaming into the black forest.”

Ever since the witch Naessanara gave Danelle her dagger, the shadows had writhed and sang inside her head.

She carried the knife with her wherever she went. Its hilt was carved to resemble a monstrous goat, with horns that looped and curled around its shaggy head.

The pair rode onwards, the tavern growing larger and larger as they drew near. After a few minutes of riding, they dismounted a stone’s throw from the Warm Hearth.

A lone post poked out of a tuft of long grass, which they hitched their horses to with a long coil of rope.

Danelle Lothston rested one gauntlet-clad hand upon the pommel of Visenya’s Fury.

“Tread quietly,” she advised, “We don’t know how many of them are here.”

“Bugger that,” Hoster spat a fat wad of phlegm on the ground, “I ain’t not damn coward.”

“Such arrogance! All are made humble before the Black Goat. Gods and men are naught to the hungry darkness.”

Danelle watched with a combination of amusement and irritation as Hoster marched up to the front of the tavern, beating his fist against the door.

“Oi!” he bellowed, “Open up!”

Danelle slowly strode up behind her travelling companion.

The ramshackled door creaked open, and Hoster marched brazenly inside. Danelle followed, her fingers coiling tightly around the leather-wrapped handle of Visenya’s Fury.

The interior of the Warm Hearth was as old and battered as its exterior.

Huge wooden support beams held up the ceiling, infested with rot and decay. The walls were built from stone so faded they looked as if they were laid during the Age of Heroes, and the inn’s chairs and tables seemed equally ancient.

There were no crackling flames in the fireplace. Amusingly, the Warm Hearth had a markedly cold and empty hearth.

“All fires burn out. All light is extinguished. In the end, there is only darkness.”

“Find a different drinking hole,” a gruff, common-sounding voice commanded, “This one’s ours.”

Three men were sitting around a shabby wooden table. They were dressed in boiled leather and tarnished chainmail.

The biggest of the three sat at the head of the table. He was huge in both height and width, with an enormous battleaxe slung across his back. He had a gaunt, sunken face, wreathed in dark whiskers. A long, pointed moustache drooped down his haggard likeness, and his skin was the colour of warm bronze.

“You are the one they call Calon the cruel.” Danelle addressed him.

It was not a question.

“You know me,” the giant grunted, “But I don’t know you.”

“This land belongs to House Blackwood!” Hoster puffed out his chest, “Bracken dogs have no place here.”

A murmur of chuckling washed over the three men.

“You gonna make us leave, little man?” the figure to Calon’s right laughed.

He was smaller than Calon, with a lithe frame. His skin was unusually pale, and he had a pair of daggers resting on his belt.

“You and your bitch?” the man on Calon’s left chimed in.

He was a plump, somewhat rotund man. He was completely bald, with a soft face encased in blubber. An oaken shield and a pointed spear rested at the foot of his chair.

“All this land belonged to the Andals and the First Men, before the Conqueror came,” Calon wore an amused smirk, “Didn’t stop Aegon from taking it. Why should I care who ruled these parts a week ago? It's Bracken land now.”

“Bugger the Brackens!” Hoster growled, “And bugger you!”

Calon gazed at Hoster with bored, detached eyes. His gaze wandered past the dumpy warrior, settling on Danelle.

“Don’t see many women with swords,” he mumbled, “Can you use it?”

“Well enough.” she replied.

Calon gestured to the men sitting on either side of him.

“You two take the loudmouth,” he commanded, “I fancy seeing how the woman fights.”

“This one thinks he knows cruelty. Show him how wanting his grasp of suffering is.”

Moving with terrifying speed for such a massive man, Calon leapt up onto his feet. He darted over the table, barreling towards Danelle with his axe suddenly unsheathed.

Calon’s lackeys charged at Hoster.

Danelle drew Visenya’s Fury. She left Hoster to whatever fate awaited him, her focus locked on the axe-wielding giant who was storming towards her.

Calon’s movements were fierce and wild, fuelled by primal fury rather than skill. She ducked beneath the swing of his axe, thrusting the point of her blade at his stomach.

The behemoth pulled back, narrowly dodging the sharp of her sword.

Calon’s axe shrieked through the air as he chopped downwards, aiming for her crown.

Danelle parried with her sword, catching his axe with the flat of her blade.

Her arms throbbed with pain as the force of Calon’s swing reverberated through her. She had to fight through the instinct to drop her sword, such was the strength and power behind Calon’s attack.

The muscular colossus swiped at Danelle with his foot, trying to kick her off-balance.

Danelle hopped over Calon’s kick, but doing so made her wobble. Her footwork became awkward and clumsy as she struggled to regain stability.

Calon seized advantage of her unsteadiness. He charged forward, using one of his massive shoulders like a battering ram.

Danelle was too slow to dodge, gasping for air as Calon slammed into her. It was as though she had been struck by a rampaging aurochs.

She landed in a heap on the floor, messy tangles of red hair twisted across her face.

Calon loomed above her, a wicked grin twisting his features.

“Should have spent less gold on fancy armour, and more on learning how to bleedin’ fight.” he sneered.

Danelle yanked her goat-pommel dagger off of her belt, ramming it into Calon’s right calf.

A roar that was equal parts shock and pain exploded out of her attacker.

The shadows giggled and tittered, singing their delight inside Danelle’s skull.

Whilst the brute was stunned, she thrust her blade into his belly.

Visenya’s Fury let out a wet squelch as it bit through leather, plunging into the flesh beneath. Calon gasped, dark blood bubbling out of his open mouth.

Danelle yanked the sword free.

A torrent of carmine gushed out of the open wound in Calon’s stomach. Danelle rolled to one side, whilst Calon swayed forwards, landing in a bloody heap on the ground.

He twitched and jerked as life flowed out of him, his limbs spasming erratically. Calon the Cruel died laying face down in a pool of his own blood, with his belly torn open.

She tugged her knife out of Calon’s corpse, slotting it back into its holster on her belt. Danelle slowly clambered to her feet, leaning on Visenya’s Fury for support.

Hoster was slumped against a table, with the corpses of Calon’s thugs laying beside him.

He was breathing heavily, sweat and blood smeared across his features. Half a dagger stuck out of Hoster’s shoulder, its blade thrust through his ragtag armour, and deep into the tissue below.

“Fucker got me whilst my back was turned,” Hoster wheezed, “Didn’t stop me splitting his throat open.”

He let out a raspy, guttural laugh.

“What did I tell ya? Sharpest sword in the Riverlands.”

Danelle waded over to Hoster, her armoured boots thudding and clanking against the wooden floor.

“You said a lot of things,” Danelle said as she stood over her blood-stained escourt, “A lady who thinks she’s a lord.”

“Help me up!” Hoster snapped, “Can’t you see I got a feckin’ knife stickin’ out of me?!”

“MORE! More blood! More misery! GIVE US MORE!”

Danelle eased her knife out of its holster. The blade was still wet with Calon’s blood.

Worry flashed across Hoster’s face.

“Hold on now -”

“You irritate me,” Danelle told him, “I don’t much care for your tone.”

“All in jest, m’lady! Don’t take nothin’ I said to heart.”

“Blackwood has plenty of men,” something sinister danced across her face, “Some of them will be less irritating than you.”

Hoster raised his hands defensively. The cocksure arrogance in his eyes melted away.

“Come now, Lady Lothston! See sense!”

Danelle’s chuckling was cruel and vicious.

“It is a shame that Calon’s men proved too strong for you, Master Rivers. We’ll have to make do without the sharpest sword in the Riverlands.”

“WAIT! PLEASE!”

The dagger gave a sickly squooshing noise as Danelle rammed it through Hoster’s eye.

The Black Goat was pleased.

My Brother's Keeper - A Song Of Ice and Fire Blackfyre Rebellion RP

Danelle Lothston

D A N E L L E L O T H S T O N

^{Mad Danelle}

P E R S O N A L D E T A I L S _________________________________________________________ Age:19 _________________________________________________________ Allegiance:House Targaryen A P P E A R A N C E _________________________________________________________ Danelle has a long mane of fiery red hair, contrasted against the eerily pale hue of her skin. She boasts a curvaceous build, toughened by a not inconsiderable amount of hard muscle. A thick white scar lurches across the young woman’s neck, resembling a bolt of pale lightning. K E Y A S S E T S _________________________________________________________ Click to View Equipment & Skills ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Blade of the Black Goat: An esoteric knife, gifted to Danelle by Naessanara. This unholy blade bears the likeness of the Black Goat of Qohor. Armour and Sword: Unusually for a woman of this era, Danelle has been trained in the basics of combat and can wield a sword competently. Wherever Danelle travels, she brings with her a suit of tight-fitting black armour and a bejewelled blade, which she has nicknamed “Visenya’s Fury”, after Visenya Targaryen, a woman from legend that she greatly admires. Ravella Rivers: Danelle’s secret lover and partner-in-crime. Ravella masquerades as Danelle’s lady-in-waiting. Ravella is perhaps one of the only people that Danelle harbours a genuine fondness for. -

P E R S O N A L B A C K G R O U N D ___________________________________________________________________________________ Danelle Lothston was the niece of Lucas Lothston, the Lord of Harrenhal. Danelle grew up in Nighthold, a small, modest settlement in the Riverlands that had been the seat of House Lothston in the days before Harrenhal was granted to Lucas by Aegon the Unworthy. When Lucas and his immediate family moved to Harrenhal, Danelle’s family remained in Nighthold. Danelle was one of two children, growing up alongside her brother Edmure. Both were the offspring of Lord Dalton Lothston and Florence Lothston, née Frey. Edmure was Danelle’s elder, and irrefutably his father’s favourite child. Where Danelle was neglected, Edmure was showered in love and praise. This twisted Edmure into a vicious and arrogant young man, with a fondness for tormenting his younger sister. Dalton and Florence Lothston did nothing to shield their daughter from Edmure’s sadistic games, which grew more and more depraved as he matured. Danelle became an outcast in her own home, with her only friend being a strange old woman from Essoss called “Naessanara” who lived in a hut on the fringes of Lothston land. As Danelle grew closer to the peculiar crone, Naessanara would enthral the young girl with fantastical stories of her supposed adventures in Asshai and the Free Cities. This was the origin of Danelle’s fascination with black magic and esoteric mysteries. The old woman gifted Danelle with a strange knife whose handle was wrought from black wood and carved into the likeness of a monstrous goat. Naessanara claimed to have brought the knife from a sorcerer in Qohor, many years prior. Edmure, whose favoured pastime was harassing his sister, became jealous that Danelle was spending so much time with Naessanara. One evening, Edmure followed his sister to the cottage, stalking stealthily through the darkness to ensure that she didn’t know she was being followed. When Naessanara opened her door to greet Danelle, Edmure shot her through the eye with his longbow, killing his sister’s sole friend. Edmure then attacked Danelle, forcing himself on her as he attempted to rape her. As Danelle thrashed and struggled beneath him, Edmure pressed his blade into his sister’s neck. Danelle retaliated, killing her brother with the exotic knife that Naessanara had gifted her. Knowing that her parents would never side with her over Edmure, Danelle dragged Edmure’s corpse into the cottage before setting it ablaze with both the bodies of Naessanara and her brother inside. Danelle told her parents that the old woman had kidnapped her and Edmure, wishing to sacrifice them to some foreign god. She claimed that Naessanara had killed Edmure and came perilously close to killing her, using the bloody wound on her neck to substantiate the story. The loss of their cherished son devastated Dalton and Florence. They became hollow, despairing shells of their former selves, who grew more and more reclusive as time passed. Danelle came to resent her parents, growing bitter over years of mistreatment and neglect. Her hatred reached a zenith when Danelle butchered her parents in their bed, wielding the eldritch knife which Naessanara had gifted her. The young woman once again used fire to cover her tracks, starting a blaze which would reduce Nighthold to a blackened ruin. After what the realm viewed as a horrific accident, Danelle was sent to Harrenhall to live with her uncle Lucas and his son Manfryd. Danelle had a far more amicable relationship with Manfryd than she had with her brother. The two were equally unusual and fascinated with mysticism, which formed a strong bond between them. Manfryd introduced Danelle to Ravella Rivers, a young bastard girl who alleged that she was a witch. Whilst the triad bonded over their mutual obsession with secrets and sorcery, Danelle and Ravella were smitten with each other, becoming lovers in secret. Danelle and Ravella took their dark hungers a step further, preying upon outcasts and unfortunates that were too unimportant to be missed. They would enact eldritch rituals upon their helpless quarry, eating human flesh and bathing in blood. When the reignited feud between House Blackwood and House Bracken surged across the Riverlands, Danelle had been a guest at Raventree Hall, with Ravella attending as her “lady in waiting”. Enthralled by all things sinister and macabre, Lady Danelle pledged to lend her strength to Raventree Hall under the guise of repaying the kindness of her hosts. In reality, Danelle and Ravella are delighted at the opportunity to experiment with a delightful new host of fresh victims. C U R R E N T M O T I V A T I O N S __________________________________________________________________________________ Danelle’s primary motivation is to learn more about dark magics and forbidden practices. Beyond her lust for magical power, Danelle is fiercely loyal to Ravella, whilst also hoping to accumulate wealth and political influence.

_{__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

My Brother's Keeper - A Song Of Ice and Fire Blackfyre Rebellion RP

@Bloodrosechilling character. How did Naesenara die? Florence and Dalton are names of towns in Western Massachusetts.

@Gunther

Thank you!

"When Naessanara opened her door to greet Danelle, Edmure shot her through the eye with his longbow, killing his sister’s sole friend." :)

Hahah I didn't intend for the Massachusetts connection, but I'll take it!

My Brother's Keeper - A Song Of Ice and Fire Blackfyre Rebellion RP

Danelle Lothston

D A N E L L E L O T H S T O N

^{Mad Danelle}

P E R S O N A L D E T A I L S _________________________________________________________ Age:19 _________________________________________________________ Allegiance:House Targaryen A P P E A R A N C E _________________________________________________________ Danelle has a long mane of fiery red hair, contrasted against the eerily pale hue of her skin. She boasts a curvaceous build, toughened by a not inconsiderable amount of hard muscle. A thick white scar lurches across the young woman’s neck, resembling a bolt of pale lightning. K E Y A S S E T S _________________________________________________________ Click to View Equipment & Skills ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Blade of the Black Goat: An esoteric knife, gifted to Danelle by Naessanara. This unholy blade bears the likeness of the Black Goat of Qohor. Armour and Sword: Unusually for a woman of this era, Danelle has been trained in the basics of combat and can wield a sword competently. Wherever Danelle travels, she brings with her a suit of tight-fitting black armour and a bejewelled blade, which she has nicknamed “Visenya’s Fury”, after Visenya Targaryen, a woman from legend that she greatly admires. Ravella Rivers: Danelle’s secret lover and partner-in-crime. Ravella masquerades as Danelle’s lady-in-waiting. Ravella is perhaps one of the only people that Danelle harbours a genuine fondness for. -

P E R S O N A L B A C K G R O U N D ___________________________________________________________________________________ Danelle Lothston was the niece of Lucas Lothston, the Lord of Harrenhal. Danelle grew up in Nighthold, a small, modest settlement in the Riverlands that had been the seat of House Lothston in the days before Harrenhal was granted to Lucas by Aegon the Unworthy. When Lucas and his immediate family moved to Harrenhal, Danelle’s family remained in Nighthold. Danelle was one of two children, growing up alongside her brother Edmure. Both were the offspring of Lord Dalton Lothston and Florence Lothston, née Frey. Edmure was Danelle’s elder, and irrefutably his father’s favourite child. Where Danelle was neglected, Edmure was showered in love and praise. This twisted Edmure into a vicious and arrogant young man, with a fondness for tormenting his younger sister. Dalton and Florence Lothston did nothing to shield their daughter from Edmure’s sadistic games, which grew more and more depraved as he matured. Danelle became an outcast in her own home, with her only friend being a strange old woman from Essoss called “Naessanara” who lived in a hut on the fringes of Lothston land. As Danelle grew closer to the peculiar crone, Naessanara would enthral the young girl with fantastical stories of her supposed adventures in Asshai and the Free Cities. This was the origin of Danelle’s fascination with black magic and esoteric mysteries. The old woman gifted Danelle with a strange knife whose handle was wrought from black wood and carved into the likeness of a monstrous goat. Naessanara claimed to have brought the knife from a sorcerer in Qohor, many years prior. Edmure, whose favoured pastime was harassing his sister, became jealous that Danelle was spending so much time with Naessanara. One evening, Edmure followed his sister to the cottage, stalking stealthily through the darkness to ensure that she didn’t know she was being followed. When Naessanara opened her door to greet Danelle, Edmure shot her through the eye with his longbow, killing his sister’s sole friend. Edmure then attacked Danelle, forcing himself on her as he attempted to rape her. As Danelle thrashed and struggled beneath him, Edmure pressed his blade into his sister’s neck. Danelle retaliated, killing her brother with the exotic knife that Naessanara had gifted her. Knowing that her parents would never side with her over Edmure, Danelle dragged Edmure’s corpse into the cottage before setting it ablaze with both the bodies of Naessanara and her brother inside. Danelle told her parents that the old woman had kidnapped her and Edmure, wishing to sacrifice them to some foreign god. She claimed that Naessanara had killed Edmure and came perilously close to killing her, using the bloody wound on her neck to substantiate the story. The loss of their cherished son devastated Dalton and Florence. They became hollow, despairing shells of their former selves, who grew more and more reclusive as time passed. Danelle came to resent her parents, growing bitter over years of mistreatment and neglect. Her hatred reached a zenith when Danelle butchered her parents in their bed, wielding the eldritch knife which Naessanara had gifted her. The young woman once again used fire to cover her tracks, starting a blaze which would reduce Nighthold to a blackened ruin. After what the realm viewed as a horrific accident, Danelle was sent to Harrenhall to live with her uncle Lucas and his son Manfryd. Danelle had a far more amicable relationship with Manfryd than she had with her brother. The two were equally unusual and fascinated with mysticism, which formed a strong bond between them. Manfryd introduced Danelle to Ravella Rivers, a young bastard girl who alleged that she was a witch. Whilst the triad bonded over their mutual obsession with secrets and sorcery, Danelle and Ravella were smitten with each other, becoming lovers in secret. Danelle and Ravella took their dark hungers a step further, preying upon outcasts and unfortunates that were too unimportant to be missed. They would enact eldritch rituals upon their helpless quarry, eating human flesh and bathing in blood. When the reignited feud between House Blackwood and House Bracken surged across the Riverlands, Danelle had been a guest at Raventree Hall, with Ravella attending as her “lady in waiting”. Enthralled by all things sinister and macabre, Lady Danelle pledged to lend her strength to Raventree Hall under the guise of repaying the kindness of her hosts. In reality, Danelle and Ravella are delighted at the opportunity to experiment with a delightful new host of fresh victims. C U R R E N T M O T I V A T I O N S __________________________________________________________________________________ Danelle’s primary motivation is to learn more about dark magics and forbidden practices. Beyond her lust for magical power, Danelle is fiercely loyal to Ravella, whilst also hoping to accumulate wealth and political influence.

_{__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

My Brother's Keeper - A Song Of Ice and Fire Blackfyre Rebellion RP

Aiming to get my application done this coming week 😊

A Song of Ice and Fire: A Gilded Throne

House Lothson of Harrenhall

“The Night is Ours.”

Recent History:

In the grand scheme of history, the Lothson’s are a remarkably new house, boasting a branch in both the Riverlands and Crownlands. But two generations ago, they were merchants and hedgeknights.

Following the Secret Siege, Lucas Lothson was promoted to Master-at-Arms of the Red Keep. When Aegon sought to rid himself of the despoiled Falena Stokeworth, Lucas climbed higher still by taking Falena as his wife, and doing his part to smother a potential scandal.

House Lothson prospered from the King’s favour. Not only does Harrenhall now belong to the Lothsons, but Lucas was made Hand of the King. His time as Hand was short-lived, however, as he had served for less than a year when he was dismissed by Aegon.

There is much bitterness and animosity between Lucas and Aegon, as the Lothsons were banished from court when Jeyne, the daughter of Lucas and Falena, contracted a pox from Aegon.

Erzedyth intends to capitalise on the rift between Lucas and Aegon. “The Pander” may have fumbled his chance with the king, but Erzedyth plots to use her uncle’s folly as a pathway to achieve what Lucas could not.

Family Members:

The Pander

Lucas Lothson - The Pander.

Appearance:

Lucas is a well-built man with a firm and imposing stance. A lifetime of mastering the arms has bestowed the Pander with a muscular, brawny form, even as he reaches a more advanced age.

He has a long, oblong-shaped face, dotted with eyes that hold a rich and verdant green. Lucas keeps his hair cut short and his beard neatly trimmed. The Pander’s hair is a chocolatey black, fringed with streaks of silvery grey.

Personality:

Renowned for his exceptional swordsmanship, Lucas is something of an enigma at court. He is a man who says much with only a few words, his face betraying less than little about the thoughts churning behind his eyes.

Lucas is a deft hand at the Game of Thrones, with a proficiency for subtle manipulation. Lucas’ cunning and skulduggery are so accomplished that those around him rarely realise he is pulling their strings.

Lucas is regarded as a warm and straightforward man, when in reality he has a sharp, opportunistic mind. It would do others well to focus less on Lucas’ skill with a sword, and more on his ruthless political manoeuvring.

Biography:

Compared to many of the lords and ladies of Westeros, Lucas had a humble yet happy childhood. His father was the first Lord Lothson, having built success from modest beginnings.

Lucas grew up especially close with his brother Dalton. For much of their youth, the two brothers were inseparable, bound by both blood and friendship.

A rift formed between Lucas and Dalton when the latter successfully courted Emma Blackberry, a woman whom Lucas had become infatuated with. As quiet resentment festered within the future Pander, he began to view the world through a ruthless, enterprising lens.

The wants of the heart were flimsy and fickle. Beauty fades and happiness erodes. Power is eternal.

With this new ethos burning within him, Lucas rose from a minor lord to Hand of the King. Lucas’ exile from Aegon’s good graces was an immense stain upon his pride.

The taste of power infected Lucas Lothson, and he shall not rest until he can sate his hunger once again.

The Broken Bat

Erzedyth Lothson - The Broken Bat.

Appearance:

Whilst not horrifically ugly, Erzedyth is no great beauty.

Her already pale flesh is peppered with sickly blotches of inflamed pink. She has a hard, square jaw, giving her face a vaguely masculine appearance. Her eyes are mishmashed, one being a muted grey whilst the other is vibrant emerald.

Erzedyth’s left arm was severed at the forearm when she was a little girl. She makes use of a prosthetic, fashioned from steel, wood and silver, which extends into a curved hook.

The young woman is not especially curvaceous nor noticeably slender. Her breasts are small for her build, and she carries most of her weight in her bottom half.

Personality:

Erzedyth is a woman of contradictions. The version of her that existed before the horrific attack, which took her arm, still exists to some extent, yet is muddied by the clawing tendrils of the sadistic woman she grew into.

Erzedyth is capable of warmth and compassion, though few have gotten close enough to her to see the humanity that is shielded beneath layers of malice. Dark impulses fester and rot her from within, warping her into a power-hungry and ferociously ambitious schemer.

Above all else, the Broken Bat is determined. Erzedyth is never satisfied and will stop at nothing to climb higher and higher. Once a person has exhausted their usefulness, she has no qualms about tossing them aside.

Whilst she harbours a deep hatred for her uncle, Erzedyth and Lucas are far more alike than either would care to admit.

Biography:

Descended from the Crownlands branch of House Lothson, Ezedyth is the child of Dalton Lothson and Emma Blackberry.

Ezedyth is the niece of Lucas, who was sent to serve as her uncle’s ward during her early youth. The young girl was reluctant to leave her home, so her parents arranged for her childhood best friend, her cousin Darlessa Blackberry, to travel with her.

During the journey to her uncle’s seat, Ezedyth’s carriage was raided by bandits.

Her arm was severed during the attack, whilst Darlessa was savaged and then killed in front of her. Although her escourt ultimately managed to repel the attackers, this horrific encounter had a transformative impact on Ezedyth’s development.

She arrived at her destination a person utterly changed. The once jolly and kind-hearted Ezedyth began to exhibit strange, unsavoury behaviours.

She seemed to delight in the suffering of others, be they animal or human. Her fascinations became morbid, whilst a new darkness seemed to fester at her heart.

As Ezedyth grew, there was less than little love between her and her uncle. Lucas was embarrassed by his warped, disfigured ward, endeavouring to keep her hidden from the public eye at every opportunity.

When Lucas was dismissed as Hand of the King, Ezedyth saw an opportunity to worm her way into Aegon’s court.

Relocating from Harrenhal to King’s Landing, the young woman purchased a brothel which she renamed “The Brazen Bell”. Outwardly, the Bell is a somewhat luxurious pleasure house, frequented by those who have a respectable amount of coin, yet can’t afford the most exclusive parlours in King’s Landing.

Secretly, the workers at the Bell double as informants for Ezedyth. The Broken Bat trades in secrets, knowing that whores make for exceptional spies. Her ambition is to draw those of power and influence to the Brazen Bell, with the eventual goal of gaining a place by the side of the king himself.

A Song of Ice and Fire: A Gilded Throne

Lets goooo!

[IC] A Song of Ice and Fire: A Gilded Throne

Very much interested!

A Song Of Ice And Fire : A War And Nine Crowns

The Bastard of Claw Isle sat upon a perch of craggy rock, overlooking wide-dark waters that mirrored the colour of the night sky.

She was tucked into a discreet corner, away from the bustling crowds that flowed through Tyrosh’s coiling streets. Emnyra had chosen a quiet walkway, running along the waterfront, where the noises of the Free City became a muffled hum.

An ale mug rested in her hands, projecting the appearance that she was indulging herself, when all it contained was clear water.

That was deliberate. Her brew-stained tunic was deliberate. Her location was deliberate.

It had taken a few nights of studying the self-proclaimed “Swift Serpent”’s movements before Emnyra put her plan into action, yet the tedium of her work would soon bear fruit.

They had always told her that she was an impulsive, hotheaded wretch without a thought in her head. They had mocked and belittled her. They had told her she lacked patience.

She could be patient when she wanted to, though. She could be clever and cunning. She had grown into quite the schemer.

As soon as her eyes fell upon that delightful sword, with its striking pommel and deliciously decadent design, Emnyra knew that it had to be hers.

That was when she started scheming.

The Serpent came swaggering into view, his hair dyed a rich and vibrant blue.

The whore that was tucked beneath his arm had dull brown hair.

The Serpent’s namesake, a stunning blade with a pommel fashioned into the likeness of a hissing snake, was fastened to his belt.

His sea-green eyes narrowed into slits as they fell upon Emnyra.

“You’re in my way, bastard,” he snarled, “Move.”

Emnyra had watched from the shadows as the Serpent dragged a different slut down to his secret waterfront cove each night, so that he could fuck them on a ledge of rough stone that looked out over the sea.

“I was here first,” she mumbled, theatrically spilling some of her drink onto the ground, “Find your own spot.”

“This - IS - my spot, bastard,” the Serpent snapped at her, “The Old Mother isn’t here to protect you. If you don’t leave, I - WILL - kill you. I’ve killed far more beautiful women for far less.”

Emnyra hiccuped, dribbling out of the side of her mouth for dramatic effect.

She noticed the Serpent’s eyes flick between her and his dull-haired whore.

The Serpent stood in a loose stance, with relaxed shoulders that conveyed how utterly unthreatened he was by Emnyra.

What risk was some drunken, pampered brat to the fearsome Swift Serpent?

“Are we fuckin’, or what?” the Serpent’s tart grumbled.

“Get out of my way, bastard,” the Serpent hissed, fingers coiling tightly around the hilt of his sword, “I won’t ask again.”

Emnyra rose from her perch, making sure to stumble a little. Her movements were wobbly and she was softly slurring her words.

“Or what?” she shot back.

The Serpent took an arrogant stride towards her, shoving Emnyra backwards.

“Move, you blundering sow - !”

Blood bubbled in the serpent’s mouth as Emnyra’s dagger plunged through the soft flesh of his throat. She pulled the knife free, and he crumpled onto the ground in a bent heap.

She pried the ornate sword free from its scabbard, admiring the decadent etchings on the hilt and the sturdy yet graceful steel of the blade itself.

“That's a damn fine sword,” she said with a grin, “Wasted on the likes of you.”

Emnyra kicked the Serpent’s limp corpse into the sea, watching it sink down into a tomb of inky black water.

The Sepent’s whore let out an ear-splitting shriek, scrambling over the craggy walkway as her feet floundered beneath her.

Emnyra darted forward, grabbing the wench by her bland, ugly hair. Emnyra gripped hold of her, smashing her face against the crag again and again and again, until it was a messy heap of torn, wet flesh.

Emnyra delighted in the opportunity to use her new sword as she hacked the whore’s mangled head from her shoulders.

She watched the served head bounce across the ground, nestled in a mess of dull brown hair and dark blood.

A booming laugh erupted out of Emnyra Waters.

It may have been a lot of effort for a sword…but it was a damn fine sword.