Flagg Member
Strange. This outcome I did not foresee.
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@all- the Celestine system is now closed for business. I suggest those factions residing there work together to spin out some mutual history btwn your factions, since you'll all be in somewhat close quarters. If it's too cozy for you, there's always room in the Valeya System and the Aurica System (though in the latter you'll be up close and personal with House Asryaa).
WIP
Faction Name: Great House Grindéhook
Faction leader(s):
Her Undisputed Excellency Katarine Valacious Pauline Hildegaard von Grindéhook, first of her name, Ducal Regent, by right of birth Countess of all Odros and Margravine of Garyth-on-Valyrius, lawfully elected Protector of the Realm.
His Illustriousness Volkmar von Grindéhook, Lord High Admiral of the Ducal Fleet
Vydious Pallansour
System(s): Throne
Planet(s)/Territories: Odros (de jure), Cathedra, Xaxus, Far Valyrius (de facto, this planet is officially sworn to House Kesselbrood)
Sentient Species Governed: Humans, Gn'Mok, Vakeshi, Nirkyne (others TBD)
Faction Desc:
The most powerful Great House in the Seven Systems, House Grindéhook and its vassals dominate the mighty Ducal Navy, primarily because their home planet, the fortress world of Odros, boasts ancient, Imperial-era orbital shipyards capable of reproducing the archeo-tech that is the key to the navy’s continued power. Countess von Grindéhook has ruled the Seven Systems for fifteen years as Ducal Regent, and consolidated tremendous power into the hands of her House and its allies. The planets nominally sworn to the Grand Duke himself- Far Valyrius, Cathedra, and Xaxus-have increasingly come under the domination of the Regent’s House.
Historically, the House has defended the feudal arrangements of the Grand Duchy, since, thanks to its own dominance of the military, it benefits from the diffuse and decentralized power structure- which keeps potential rivals divided. Even before Countess von Grindehook assumed the Regency, the House was a close ally of the Kesselbrood dynasty, who depended heavily on House Grindehook support to maintain their position.
Government type: Feudal Hereditary Aristocracy
Military Capabilities:
Extensive. The military power of House Grindéhook is the key to its current political ascendency. Almost all of the Ducal Fleet is loyal to the Regent, including those elements under the command of Great House Mandelbaum in the Celestine System, who are traditional allies of the Grindéhooks. Naval assets based in the Throne system number about one thousand ships, including around three hundred archeo-tech ships-of-the-line: heavy cruisers and carriers. The Grindehook fleet boasts three Imperial capital ships: one Imperatrix Class battlecarriers- the Regent’s flagship Ancestral Right- and two Hadrius Class battleships. These millenia-old ships, each over ten kilometers long, are capable of independently engaging entire fleets, and are the core of the Navy’s might.
Naval power is not limited to the ships based in Throne, since the Navy maintains orbital fortresses, bases and resupply depots in all Seven Systems, out of which it operates substantial battlegroups.
The Navy, and House Grindéhook by extension, also commands the loyalty of the Gn’Mok, a xenos warrior people who have served the Navy as elite shocktroops and marines since the collapse of the Imperium. The Navy also maintains considerable ground forces, though these are of very mixed composition and quality, and many are mercenary forces.
Relations with Other Factions:
Great House Mandelbaum: Historically close allies. Both houses dominate the Navy.
Great House Threulard: Historic rivals.
House Regius: TBD (the Regent would want them as close allies)
PropheTech: TBD (the Regent would want to court the megacorp as close allies)
Great House Wander: TBD (the Regent would want them as close allies)
RWU: TBD
Great House Asryaa: Wary tolerance.
EXALT: TBD
The Opal Convectorate: The Regent considers the Convectorate enemies of the state and fugitives from justice.
The Ralirim: Wary tolerance.
Faction Name: Great House Grindéhook
Faction leader(s):
Her Undisputed Excellency Katarine Valacious Pauline Hildegaard von Grindéhook, first of her name, Ducal Regent, by right of birth Countess of all Odros and Margravine of Garyth-on-Valyrius, lawfully elected Protector of the Realm.
His Illustriousness Volkmar von Grindéhook, Lord High Admiral of the Ducal Fleet
Vydious Pallansour
System(s): Throne
Planet(s)/Territories: Odros (de jure), Cathedra, Xaxus, Far Valyrius (de facto, this planet is officially sworn to House Kesselbrood)
Sentient Species Governed: Humans, Gn'Mok, Vakeshi, Nirkyne (others TBD)
Faction Desc:
The most powerful Great House in the Seven Systems, House Grindéhook and its vassals dominate the mighty Ducal Navy, primarily because their home planet, the fortress world of Odros, boasts ancient, Imperial-era orbital shipyards capable of reproducing the archeo-tech that is the key to the navy’s continued power. Countess von Grindéhook has ruled the Seven Systems for fifteen years as Ducal Regent, and consolidated tremendous power into the hands of her House and its allies. The planets nominally sworn to the Grand Duke himself- Far Valyrius, Cathedra, and Xaxus-have increasingly come under the domination of the Regent’s House.
Historically, the House has defended the feudal arrangements of the Grand Duchy, since, thanks to its own dominance of the military, it benefits from the diffuse and decentralized power structure- which keeps potential rivals divided. Even before Countess von Grindehook assumed the Regency, the House was a close ally of the Kesselbrood dynasty, who depended heavily on House Grindehook support to maintain their position.
Government type: Feudal Hereditary Aristocracy
Military Capabilities:
Extensive. The military power of House Grindéhook is the key to its current political ascendency. Almost all of the Ducal Fleet is loyal to the Regent, including those elements under the command of Great House Mandelbaum in the Celestine System, who are traditional allies of the Grindéhooks. Naval assets based in the Throne system number about one thousand ships, including around three hundred archeo-tech ships-of-the-line: heavy cruisers and carriers. The Grindehook fleet boasts three Imperial capital ships: one Imperatrix Class battlecarriers- the Regent’s flagship Ancestral Right- and two Hadrius Class battleships. These millenia-old ships, each over ten kilometers long, are capable of independently engaging entire fleets, and are the core of the Navy’s might.
Naval power is not limited to the ships based in Throne, since the Navy maintains orbital fortresses, bases and resupply depots in all Seven Systems, out of which it operates substantial battlegroups.
The Navy, and House Grindéhook by extension, also commands the loyalty of the Gn’Mok, a xenos warrior people who have served the Navy as elite shocktroops and marines since the collapse of the Imperium. The Navy also maintains considerable ground forces, though these are of very mixed composition and quality, and many are mercenary forces.
Relations with Other Factions:
Great House Mandelbaum: Historically close allies. Both houses dominate the Navy.
Great House Threulard: Historic rivals.
House Regius: TBD (the Regent would want them as close allies)
PropheTech: TBD (the Regent would want to court the megacorp as close allies)
Great House Wander: TBD (the Regent would want them as close allies)
RWU: TBD
Great House Asryaa: Wary tolerance.
EXALT: TBD
The Opal Convectorate: The Regent considers the Convectorate enemies of the state and fugitives from justice.
The Ralirim: Wary tolerance.
AnriuSB said
Thai was the first Artificial intelligence that was given human properties and made self aware. He has the ability to transfer himself into any program or software and take it over in a way similar to what a virus does. He can transfer himself to anything from a small memory drive to a fully operational death robot.
@ AnruiSB: this will need a bit of editing. It may be that Thai is the first AI with self awareness made by Malinkov, I'm not so sure about him being the first EVER, since that will limit what other rpers can create. Also, I'm ok with his virus takeover abilities, I'm not so sure he can do it with any program or software, at least not easily or without significant danger to himself. That's a bit OP.
@All- our old pirate pad from the Int Check is full, so lets start using this to fill in odd worldbuilding stuff until i set up the wiki. Keep faction military stuff to the OOC or the old pad for now, since it takes up a lot of room: http://piratepad.net/UhWwEwo4yL
The Palace of the Regent, In the City of High Sepulchrave, On the Moste Revered and August Moon Cathedra, in Orbit of Far Valyrius, In the Throne System, Capital System of the Grand Duchy of Agamenos
She sat on the balcony adjacent to her private solar, at a small table set for two. She sipped ocha-leaf tea and looked down over the white marble towers and verdigrised roofs of High Sepulchrave.
The massive blue-white orb of Far Valyrius hung over the metropolis like the eye of God, bathing it in deep cerulean radiance.
Her gaze wandered over the panorama spread before her, pausing on the immense, pink-granite dome of the Sector Diet and the twisting spires of the Spyndlebrood Palace beside it, where the Grand Duke dwelt, mouldering in senility.
To the east rose the vast Temple of the Hyades, a towering ziggurat that climbed even higher into the dark azure skies than the spires of the ducal Palace. As she watched, the Temple lit its morning fires, each of its uncountable tiers bursting into successive golden radiance.
Above, airships and pleasure drogues lumbered lazily across the urban skyline like contented fish in calm seas, careless of the smaller craft swarming around them.
High Sepulchrave. Capital city of seven star systems. The place from which uncounted billions were ruled.
Ruled, at least in part, by her: Katarine Valacious Pauline Hildegaard von Grindéhook, first of her name, by right of birth Countess of all Odros and Margravine of Garyth-on-Valyrius, lawfully elected Protector of the Realm, and – most significantly- Regent to the Grand Ducal Throne.
She was tall and slim, severe in both her features and bearing, and wore the starched blue uniform of a naval officer, replete with gold trim. A single medal shone on her chest, the Imperial Order of Lord Admiral Hyrophylies, the single highest naval honor awarded by the Sector Diet or the Grand Duke. She had other decorations, of course, but unlike the majority of her caste she had no need nor urge to parade her accomplishments. Boasting was the habit of the frustrated and weak.
A chime dinged softly, signaling the arrival of her guest. The details of her appointment were sent directly to her neuro-uplinks over the palace noosphere, but she waved them away with a slight shake of her head. She knew who was here, and why.
“You may come out,” said the Regent.
The door to her solar slipped open and a short, slender man stepped into the dark blue light of the Cathedran morning. He was dark skinned, with close cropped hair and startlingly pale eyes. He wore a simple but finely tailored black suit. A cigarette of tarric root smouldered between the fingers of his left hand. The faint silver tracery of high-end bioaugmentics crawled up the right of his neck and ended at his temple.
He stopped short of the table and bowed.
“Your Undisputed Excellency,” he said. His soft voice trembled, as though he were unwell, but he moved with an effortless, precise grace. His hands did not shake.
“Pallansour.” she replied, her dark eyes meeting his pale gaze. “Sit.”
Synthetic arms extended from the underside of the table and utilized their delicate manipulators to pour the Regent's guest a cup of tea, which he did not sip.
Vidyous Pallansour took a draw on his cigarette instead, and exhaled a cloud of twisting, spicy smoke.
“Well?” she asked.
“It's as we've feared,” he said.
The Regent leaned back in her chair and folded her arms, frowning, her dark eyes sweeping back over the city. Somewhere in the floating gardens a level below them, a songcrab began to croon and twitter amorously.
“Who's been told?” she asked.
“Me and you, Your Excellency. The scouts themselves know, of course- those who managed to return alive, anyway, but I've detained them in Silence Chambers. No one else knows. I came straight here.”
She nodded. There was a long silence before she spoke.
“Worlds will burn, Pallansour. Even if we do stop them in the end.”
The small man shrugged slightly. “That is likely, Excellency.”
“And before that, in the time before they arrive... you and I are going to have to shed a great deal of blood.”
Pallansour gazed across the table at the handsome, grim woman who ruled- as much as anyone did, anyway- the last bastion of civilization in the entire quadrant.
“Oceans, Excellency.” he said in his wavering, sad voice. His eyes, for their part, remained quite cold.
She sat on the balcony adjacent to her private solar, at a small table set for two. She sipped ocha-leaf tea and looked down over the white marble towers and verdigrised roofs of High Sepulchrave.
The massive blue-white orb of Far Valyrius hung over the metropolis like the eye of God, bathing it in deep cerulean radiance.
Her gaze wandered over the panorama spread before her, pausing on the immense, pink-granite dome of the Sector Diet and the twisting spires of the Spyndlebrood Palace beside it, where the Grand Duke dwelt, mouldering in senility.
To the east rose the vast Temple of the Hyades, a towering ziggurat that climbed even higher into the dark azure skies than the spires of the ducal Palace. As she watched, the Temple lit its morning fires, each of its uncountable tiers bursting into successive golden radiance.
Above, airships and pleasure drogues lumbered lazily across the urban skyline like contented fish in calm seas, careless of the smaller craft swarming around them.
High Sepulchrave. Capital city of seven star systems. The place from which uncounted billions were ruled.
Ruled, at least in part, by her: Katarine Valacious Pauline Hildegaard von Grindéhook, first of her name, by right of birth Countess of all Odros and Margravine of Garyth-on-Valyrius, lawfully elected Protector of the Realm, and – most significantly- Regent to the Grand Ducal Throne.
She was tall and slim, severe in both her features and bearing, and wore the starched blue uniform of a naval officer, replete with gold trim. A single medal shone on her chest, the Imperial Order of Lord Admiral Hyrophylies, the single highest naval honor awarded by the Sector Diet or the Grand Duke. She had other decorations, of course, but unlike the majority of her caste she had no need nor urge to parade her accomplishments. Boasting was the habit of the frustrated and weak.
A chime dinged softly, signaling the arrival of her guest. The details of her appointment were sent directly to her neuro-uplinks over the palace noosphere, but she waved them away with a slight shake of her head. She knew who was here, and why.
“You may come out,” said the Regent.
The door to her solar slipped open and a short, slender man stepped into the dark blue light of the Cathedran morning. He was dark skinned, with close cropped hair and startlingly pale eyes. He wore a simple but finely tailored black suit. A cigarette of tarric root smouldered between the fingers of his left hand. The faint silver tracery of high-end bioaugmentics crawled up the right of his neck and ended at his temple.
He stopped short of the table and bowed.
“Your Undisputed Excellency,” he said. His soft voice trembled, as though he were unwell, but he moved with an effortless, precise grace. His hands did not shake.
“Pallansour.” she replied, her dark eyes meeting his pale gaze. “Sit.”
Synthetic arms extended from the underside of the table and utilized their delicate manipulators to pour the Regent's guest a cup of tea, which he did not sip.
Vidyous Pallansour took a draw on his cigarette instead, and exhaled a cloud of twisting, spicy smoke.
“Well?” she asked.
“It's as we've feared,” he said.
The Regent leaned back in her chair and folded her arms, frowning, her dark eyes sweeping back over the city. Somewhere in the floating gardens a level below them, a songcrab began to croon and twitter amorously.
“Who's been told?” she asked.
“Me and you, Your Excellency. The scouts themselves know, of course- those who managed to return alive, anyway, but I've detained them in Silence Chambers. No one else knows. I came straight here.”
She nodded. There was a long silence before she spoke.
“Worlds will burn, Pallansour. Even if we do stop them in the end.”
The small man shrugged slightly. “That is likely, Excellency.”
“And before that, in the time before they arrive... you and I are going to have to shed a great deal of blood.”
Pallansour gazed across the table at the handsome, grim woman who ruled- as much as anyone did, anyway- the last bastion of civilization in the entire quadrant.
“Oceans, Excellency.” he said in his wavering, sad voice. His eyes, for their part, remained quite cold.
OOC is up! It's a hot mess. Thanks for your patience as I continue to refine it.
It was 400 Atheni-Standard Years ago when the Ignatio Event collapsed the Golden Road and two other major subspace arteries, plunging the galaxy-spanning, human-dominated Arcturus Imperium into two centuries of chaos and civil war. In many systems, oppressed xenos and undercaste humans erupted in rebellion against their now-isolated imperial sector governments, while in others Imperial governors and admirals turned into warlords and bandit-kings, carving fiefdoms out of whatever territory they were strong enough to seize and hold.
In ASY 3,320, Emperor Fashti XVIII was murdered on his throne by his successor, who ruled for all of three days before the Imperial Palace on Atheni II was bombarded from orbit by a rival claimant and all semblance of Imperial authority ended for good.
The Galactic Dark Ages had begun.
It is now ASY 3,576.
Along a once-minor subspace stream known in Imperial times as the Old Way lies the populous Agamenos Sector, in which peace has been maintained over the centuries under the neofeudal tutelage of the Grand Dukes of the ancient and august House of Kesselbrood. Declaring itself the sole heir of Imperial authority, the Grand Duchy of Agamenos and its loosely governed vassal-planets have weathered techno-barbarian invasions, pirate incursions, and internal rebellion over the long years of galactic chaos. In that time it has endured, even prospered. The Grand Duchy's decentralized, feudal holdings boast a truly massive population of humans and xenos and a wild profusion of local governments. The Ducal military controls a large and well maintained remnant of the Imperial fleet- massive ships of the line lovingly maintained through the centuries. Planetary governments, republican free cities, human noble houses and trade guilds have over time placed important legal checks on the autocratic power of the Grand Duke, checks delineated in the Agamenos Constitution. The many alien minorities of the sector have slowly gained liberties of their own, recently winning the right to representatives in the Sector Diet and protection under Ducal law, though their status as second class subjects remains clear. The culture and political life of the Duchy is diverse and rich, if inefficient, chaotic and marked by incredible inequalities of wealth and political power.
All is not well. The Grand Duchy has always been more of a confederation of states loyal to a dynasty than a unified polity, and the seams in its governing structure are beginning to tear. The current Grand Duke, His Magnificent Effulgence Adamantious von Kesselbrood XI, is an enfeebled madman, governed by his ministers. Worse still, he is childless and a succession crisis looms.
As human noble houses scheme after the Ducal throne, seperatists movements abound among both monohumanist militants incensed at the relaxation of Imperial Caste and race laws, and dissatisfied aliens, many of whom chafe at subjection to human rule.
Meanwhile, in the deep reaches of space, a new chieftain is on the rise among the techno-barbarians, uniting the Hordes and their Corsair Fleets...and his gaze wanders towards the rich planets of the Grand Duchy.
________________________________________
Hello and welcome!
This RP is a bit of an experiment, a combination between traditional space-nation RPs and character rps. Participants are invited to create subfactions of all kinds within the Grand Duchy that will participate in some way in a massive interstellar conflict known as, unsurprisingly, the War of the Seven Suns.
Players will be free to create characters and factions of all types within the Grand Duchy- human great houses which rule over entire planets, semi-autonomous republics, trading guilds of enormous influence, mercenary companies, naval fleets and army groups, xenos vassal kingdoms, mafias, monohumanist fronts, socialist guerillas, etc. Characters can be scheming aristocrats, drug lords, transhuman fanatics, aliens...whatever you can think of. One of the main goals of this RP is to build up a compelling, original setting- the Grand Duchy of Agamenos- in which subsequent rps and subplots can unfold. In other words, one of the main foci of this RP will be collaborative worldbuilding, so that the stories we develop will do so in a richly detailed world designed by more players than just the GM.
As such, details in the Grand Duchy's governing structure, the number and type of planets under its control, the diversity of sentient and nonsentient aliens, and the types of technology available will all be decided by the group of rpers. One of the main sources of inspiration for this RP is Europe right before WWI, when the old Imperial dynasties clung to power in a time of deep changes. Other influences include 40K, Gormenghast, Game of Thrones, and the original Dune.
Hope you're interested! I look forward to writing with you.
The RP's Chatzy can be found here: Chatzy
Important Information:
All established lore can found at our wiki: Wiki
(PPad until wiki is set up: link)
Important Characters and Institutions of the Grand Duchy
Factions and Characters
For those interested in creating factions and characters, templates can be found below:
In ASY 3,320, Emperor Fashti XVIII was murdered on his throne by his successor, who ruled for all of three days before the Imperial Palace on Atheni II was bombarded from orbit by a rival claimant and all semblance of Imperial authority ended for good.
The Galactic Dark Ages had begun.
It is now ASY 3,576.
Along a once-minor subspace stream known in Imperial times as the Old Way lies the populous Agamenos Sector, in which peace has been maintained over the centuries under the neofeudal tutelage of the Grand Dukes of the ancient and august House of Kesselbrood. Declaring itself the sole heir of Imperial authority, the Grand Duchy of Agamenos and its loosely governed vassal-planets have weathered techno-barbarian invasions, pirate incursions, and internal rebellion over the long years of galactic chaos. In that time it has endured, even prospered. The Grand Duchy's decentralized, feudal holdings boast a truly massive population of humans and xenos and a wild profusion of local governments. The Ducal military controls a large and well maintained remnant of the Imperial fleet- massive ships of the line lovingly maintained through the centuries. Planetary governments, republican free cities, human noble houses and trade guilds have over time placed important legal checks on the autocratic power of the Grand Duke, checks delineated in the Agamenos Constitution. The many alien minorities of the sector have slowly gained liberties of their own, recently winning the right to representatives in the Sector Diet and protection under Ducal law, though their status as second class subjects remains clear. The culture and political life of the Duchy is diverse and rich, if inefficient, chaotic and marked by incredible inequalities of wealth and political power.
All is not well. The Grand Duchy has always been more of a confederation of states loyal to a dynasty than a unified polity, and the seams in its governing structure are beginning to tear. The current Grand Duke, His Magnificent Effulgence Adamantious von Kesselbrood XI, is an enfeebled madman, governed by his ministers. Worse still, he is childless and a succession crisis looms.
As human noble houses scheme after the Ducal throne, seperatists movements abound among both monohumanist militants incensed at the relaxation of Imperial Caste and race laws, and dissatisfied aliens, many of whom chafe at subjection to human rule.
Meanwhile, in the deep reaches of space, a new chieftain is on the rise among the techno-barbarians, uniting the Hordes and their Corsair Fleets...and his gaze wanders towards the rich planets of the Grand Duchy.
________________________________________
Hello and welcome!
This RP is a bit of an experiment, a combination between traditional space-nation RPs and character rps. Participants are invited to create subfactions of all kinds within the Grand Duchy that will participate in some way in a massive interstellar conflict known as, unsurprisingly, the War of the Seven Suns.
Players will be free to create characters and factions of all types within the Grand Duchy- human great houses which rule over entire planets, semi-autonomous republics, trading guilds of enormous influence, mercenary companies, naval fleets and army groups, xenos vassal kingdoms, mafias, monohumanist fronts, socialist guerillas, etc. Characters can be scheming aristocrats, drug lords, transhuman fanatics, aliens...whatever you can think of. One of the main goals of this RP is to build up a compelling, original setting- the Grand Duchy of Agamenos- in which subsequent rps and subplots can unfold. In other words, one of the main foci of this RP will be collaborative worldbuilding, so that the stories we develop will do so in a richly detailed world designed by more players than just the GM.
As such, details in the Grand Duchy's governing structure, the number and type of planets under its control, the diversity of sentient and nonsentient aliens, and the types of technology available will all be decided by the group of rpers. One of the main sources of inspiration for this RP is Europe right before WWI, when the old Imperial dynasties clung to power in a time of deep changes. Other influences include 40K, Gormenghast, Game of Thrones, and the original Dune.
Hope you're interested! I look forward to writing with you.
The RP's Chatzy can be found here: Chatzy
Important Information:
All established lore can found at our wiki: Wiki
(PPad until wiki is set up: link)
Important Characters and Institutions of the Grand Duchy
Factions and Characters
For those interested in creating factions and characters, templates can be found below:
things will be somewhat easier whence I get the OOC up. Somewhat. any questions though, everyone is super helpful- and many people probably have a better grasp of whats going on than I do- so feel free to ask in the chatzy or pm me.
(Squrmy/Flagg Collab)
Some Weeks before the Gulltown Tourney.
King's Landing. The stench of the place was unmistakable, and even if one was blind, they would know where they were purely by the smell. It was a large, busy place - noisey, and dirty at that. Lord Arron Redwyne had only been to the city five or six times - and the first time had been in his youth, when he had visited all of the cleaner Pleasure Houses that the city had to offer. A ghost of a smile played on his lips at the thought of those buildings and the experiences he'd had in them as he rode through the city, on the back of a noble destrier: heading for the manse that his family had built in the city roughly seventy years ago, in the time of his grandfather.
In company with the aging Lord were five or six knights, and another ten men-at-arms: the colours of House Redwyne worn proudly upon their chests, the two men who rode a slight distance behind their Lord on equally noble horses carrying flags from which the pennants of the Noble House flew, snapping proudly in the wind. Arron was travelling away from the large, sprawling docks that were located by the city's waterfront: having arrived in the capital only a few hours prior, he planned on freshening up at his manse in preparation for the arrival of his family: Halmon had informed him roughly a month ago that the Tyrells were leaving Highgarden, in company with numerous Knights of The Reach.
It had only taken twenty-eight days to arrive in the Targaryen's City, built in the time of Aegon's Conquest, and it was a time that Lord Arron was proud of. His ships had moved swiftly through the ocean around the Westerosi Coast, the well-built vessels overtaking merchants from Dorne and The Stormlands alike with ease. The performance of the galleys was a testament to the skill of The Arbor's shipmakers - several of whom had travelled in company with Arron to King's Landing with their apprentices, in order to begin work on a number of pleasure ships for the nobles who called the city their home: having recieved Lord Arron's permission to do so, their Master pleased for them at the prospect of such large commissions. They were good, honest, hard-working men: they deserved their reward.
The snowy-haired Lord arrived at the large, ornate gates of his manse within the hour, having navigated his way through the busy streets and thoroughfares of the capital from memory. At the sight of the Lord, the gates were quickly opened by the men on duty: Arron's proud posture and the sigils that were flown and worn all around him leaving no mistake of who he was.
Riding into the courtyard, Arron dismounted from his destrier, waving off the help of a young stableboy with a small smile. He may have been getting older, but he could still mount and dismount from his horse: the day when he was unable to ride or sail would be the day he died. "Take good care of him - he's a good mount," Arron instructed the lad with a small smile, pressing a few halfpennies into the boy's hand as he made his way towards the doors that led to the mansion's interior; the sound of men who had not seen each other in years greeting one another filling the Lord's ears.
The large, polished double doors - each with a cluster of grapes engraved into them expertly - were swung open by the guards who stood on duty outside them, the men standing at rigid attention as Arron passed them. Stepping into the manse's main hallway - which was brightly lit, a result of the curtains all having been thrown open so the bright sunlight of King's Landing could seep inside - the Lord looked around with a critical gaze, tutting softly.
Everything looked to be clean and maintained, which is what he was paying the men for - he knew it was an easy job, living and enjoying the manse when he and his family were away, but it was a reward which Arron bestowed upon his elder and loyal retainers: a thank-you, of sorts, for their service to him over the years.
The Lord allowed another smile to pass over his lips, turning his attention to the steward - an elderly, bent-over man who had served as one of The Arbor's best wine merchants before his retirement - as he hurried over to greet him, bowing deeply despite the hunched nature of his elderly back. A result of the weight of the burdens he had carried over the years for Lord Arron - or so he liked to joke. "Their rooms are prepared?" Arron began, referencing his impending guests, "The kitchens are working? You've hired in new staff? There's not a spec of dust to be seen?"
To each and every question, the steward nodded his head - earning a grin of thanks, along with a small sigh of relief from his Lord. "Thank you, Jon - I don't know where I'd be without you. Back on The Arbor, probably - without a penny to my name."
Laughing, Arron made his way up the wide staircase that led to the manse's upper floors, already beginning to unbuckle his heavy travelling cloak as he went - after all, he had to look like a Lord, whenever his son-in-law arrived.
Later that Day. Some Weeks before the Gulltown Tourney. The Kings Road, near Kings Landing
They rode side by side, the Lord of Highgarden and his young heir, at the head of their party. Behind them, arrayed in neat formation, rode guards in the green and gold livery of the Reach. A huge wheelhouse trundled along in the middle of the column, bearing twin standards of the Rose of Highgarden and the Grapes of the Arbor.
Lord Tyrell was dressed in an emerald riding doublet and matching pants, with a shimmering cape of iridescent feathers from the Summer Isles hanging about his shoulders. A gold-chased Dothraki arakh hung at his side in place of a long sword. A crown of white flowers adorned his wild black hair.
He was talking quickly at his son and gesticulating wildly with the reins as he did so, causing his mount to weave and stumble as they plodded on towards the capital.
"...the juice of justice. What is it? A philosophical question, and an alliterative one at that," said Lord Leos, favoring Vymar with a toothsome grin. "The Redwynes, your mother's family and your uncleses' family and your grandfather's family- you get the idea. They'd like the juice to be wine, you see, then they'd have all the justice, except for the justice that comes from elsewhere, like Volantis, of course. If justice were wine, I daresay your mother would be a paragon of righteous living just after lunch each day. But no, m'boy. Justice isn't wine, and nor is it gold, much to our friends of Lannister's displeasure. You can't buy justice with gold, and when you melt gold, it doesn't become juice. I don't think. That's a question for the maesters, anyway, and we aren't maesters. You're much too young and I don't go that way. But we were talking justice. The juice, I think, is blood."
Tyrell gave his son with a solemn nod, hooded lids drooping over dark eyes. Vymar listened, totally lost yet totally enrapt. It was for rare his father to notice him, let alone talk to him.
"Blood, my teensy grumpkin, my infinitesimal snark." said Lord Leos. "You want to keep the peace? You want to punish the wicked and make yet-to-be wickeds afraid to be actually wicked? Blood, I'm afraid- terribly afraid of rats, mostly. Disgusting creatures. Justice, though. It'll cost blood, from rolling heads and lashed backs."
Lord Leos sat back in his saddle, musing to himself for a moment. Ahead of them the red walls of Kings Landing rose higher, and the clamour and stench of the city drifted faintly over them on the breeze.
"I tell you this, poppinsy dear, because there will be much talk of justice in Gulltown, if my eyes and ears and the other sensory organs I have in place there are correct. Rousing speeches. The will of the gods, that sort of thing. Righteousness. Very inspiring, perhaps, to a lad your age. What are you, four now? Five?"
"Ten father."
"Fourteen, just so!" Leos exclaimed, slapping his thigh. "Now then. Keep in mind, my tasty little bobbet, when we're in Gulltown and those blockhead Arryns are screeching and cawing about justice and duty, just what the juice of the matter will be- more blood than they likely bargained for. Justice is blood- a little looks pretty on your smock, but a lot you can drown in. You'll be Lord of Lowgarden when I'm high, someda-"
"Father?"
"Don't interrupt, my tender peach. You'll be Lord of Highgarden when I die. You should be preparing for that, and a lord should know about juice."
Some Weeks before the Gulltown Tourney.
King's Landing. The stench of the place was unmistakable, and even if one was blind, they would know where they were purely by the smell. It was a large, busy place - noisey, and dirty at that. Lord Arron Redwyne had only been to the city five or six times - and the first time had been in his youth, when he had visited all of the cleaner Pleasure Houses that the city had to offer. A ghost of a smile played on his lips at the thought of those buildings and the experiences he'd had in them as he rode through the city, on the back of a noble destrier: heading for the manse that his family had built in the city roughly seventy years ago, in the time of his grandfather.
In company with the aging Lord were five or six knights, and another ten men-at-arms: the colours of House Redwyne worn proudly upon their chests, the two men who rode a slight distance behind their Lord on equally noble horses carrying flags from which the pennants of the Noble House flew, snapping proudly in the wind. Arron was travelling away from the large, sprawling docks that were located by the city's waterfront: having arrived in the capital only a few hours prior, he planned on freshening up at his manse in preparation for the arrival of his family: Halmon had informed him roughly a month ago that the Tyrells were leaving Highgarden, in company with numerous Knights of The Reach.
It had only taken twenty-eight days to arrive in the Targaryen's City, built in the time of Aegon's Conquest, and it was a time that Lord Arron was proud of. His ships had moved swiftly through the ocean around the Westerosi Coast, the well-built vessels overtaking merchants from Dorne and The Stormlands alike with ease. The performance of the galleys was a testament to the skill of The Arbor's shipmakers - several of whom had travelled in company with Arron to King's Landing with their apprentices, in order to begin work on a number of pleasure ships for the nobles who called the city their home: having recieved Lord Arron's permission to do so, their Master pleased for them at the prospect of such large commissions. They were good, honest, hard-working men: they deserved their reward.
The snowy-haired Lord arrived at the large, ornate gates of his manse within the hour, having navigated his way through the busy streets and thoroughfares of the capital from memory. At the sight of the Lord, the gates were quickly opened by the men on duty: Arron's proud posture and the sigils that were flown and worn all around him leaving no mistake of who he was.
Riding into the courtyard, Arron dismounted from his destrier, waving off the help of a young stableboy with a small smile. He may have been getting older, but he could still mount and dismount from his horse: the day when he was unable to ride or sail would be the day he died. "Take good care of him - he's a good mount," Arron instructed the lad with a small smile, pressing a few halfpennies into the boy's hand as he made his way towards the doors that led to the mansion's interior; the sound of men who had not seen each other in years greeting one another filling the Lord's ears.
The large, polished double doors - each with a cluster of grapes engraved into them expertly - were swung open by the guards who stood on duty outside them, the men standing at rigid attention as Arron passed them. Stepping into the manse's main hallway - which was brightly lit, a result of the curtains all having been thrown open so the bright sunlight of King's Landing could seep inside - the Lord looked around with a critical gaze, tutting softly.
Everything looked to be clean and maintained, which is what he was paying the men for - he knew it was an easy job, living and enjoying the manse when he and his family were away, but it was a reward which Arron bestowed upon his elder and loyal retainers: a thank-you, of sorts, for their service to him over the years.
The Lord allowed another smile to pass over his lips, turning his attention to the steward - an elderly, bent-over man who had served as one of The Arbor's best wine merchants before his retirement - as he hurried over to greet him, bowing deeply despite the hunched nature of his elderly back. A result of the weight of the burdens he had carried over the years for Lord Arron - or so he liked to joke. "Their rooms are prepared?" Arron began, referencing his impending guests, "The kitchens are working? You've hired in new staff? There's not a spec of dust to be seen?"
To each and every question, the steward nodded his head - earning a grin of thanks, along with a small sigh of relief from his Lord. "Thank you, Jon - I don't know where I'd be without you. Back on The Arbor, probably - without a penny to my name."
Laughing, Arron made his way up the wide staircase that led to the manse's upper floors, already beginning to unbuckle his heavy travelling cloak as he went - after all, he had to look like a Lord, whenever his son-in-law arrived.
Later that Day. Some Weeks before the Gulltown Tourney. The Kings Road, near Kings Landing
They rode side by side, the Lord of Highgarden and his young heir, at the head of their party. Behind them, arrayed in neat formation, rode guards in the green and gold livery of the Reach. A huge wheelhouse trundled along in the middle of the column, bearing twin standards of the Rose of Highgarden and the Grapes of the Arbor.
Lord Tyrell was dressed in an emerald riding doublet and matching pants, with a shimmering cape of iridescent feathers from the Summer Isles hanging about his shoulders. A gold-chased Dothraki arakh hung at his side in place of a long sword. A crown of white flowers adorned his wild black hair.
He was talking quickly at his son and gesticulating wildly with the reins as he did so, causing his mount to weave and stumble as they plodded on towards the capital.
"...the juice of justice. What is it? A philosophical question, and an alliterative one at that," said Lord Leos, favoring Vymar with a toothsome grin. "The Redwynes, your mother's family and your uncleses' family and your grandfather's family- you get the idea. They'd like the juice to be wine, you see, then they'd have all the justice, except for the justice that comes from elsewhere, like Volantis, of course. If justice were wine, I daresay your mother would be a paragon of righteous living just after lunch each day. But no, m'boy. Justice isn't wine, and nor is it gold, much to our friends of Lannister's displeasure. You can't buy justice with gold, and when you melt gold, it doesn't become juice. I don't think. That's a question for the maesters, anyway, and we aren't maesters. You're much too young and I don't go that way. But we were talking justice. The juice, I think, is blood."
Tyrell gave his son with a solemn nod, hooded lids drooping over dark eyes. Vymar listened, totally lost yet totally enrapt. It was for rare his father to notice him, let alone talk to him.
"Blood, my teensy grumpkin, my infinitesimal snark." said Lord Leos. "You want to keep the peace? You want to punish the wicked and make yet-to-be wickeds afraid to be actually wicked? Blood, I'm afraid- terribly afraid of rats, mostly. Disgusting creatures. Justice, though. It'll cost blood, from rolling heads and lashed backs."
Lord Leos sat back in his saddle, musing to himself for a moment. Ahead of them the red walls of Kings Landing rose higher, and the clamour and stench of the city drifted faintly over them on the breeze.
"I tell you this, poppinsy dear, because there will be much talk of justice in Gulltown, if my eyes and ears and the other sensory organs I have in place there are correct. Rousing speeches. The will of the gods, that sort of thing. Righteousness. Very inspiring, perhaps, to a lad your age. What are you, four now? Five?"
"Ten father."
"Fourteen, just so!" Leos exclaimed, slapping his thigh. "Now then. Keep in mind, my tasty little bobbet, when we're in Gulltown and those blockhead Arryns are screeching and cawing about justice and duty, just what the juice of the matter will be- more blood than they likely bargained for. Justice is blood- a little looks pretty on your smock, but a lot you can drown in. You'll be Lord of Lowgarden when I'm high, someda-"
"Father?"
"Don't interrupt, my tender peach. You'll be Lord of Highgarden when I die. You should be preparing for that, and a lord should know about juice."
Great! Glad to have you all aboard. Please join us in the chatzy and the pirate pad. I'm working hard at the OOC, which should be up soon.
Good! glad to have you. The OOC will be up on Sunday or earlier next week. In the meantime join us in the Chatzy or the pirate pad linked above and take a look at what's going on! If I'm not around, most of the folks rping in this will be able (and happy!) to help you out.
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