smarty0114

CANCELLED.

Jamie and Katie will be coming back, as will Cassie and Quincy. Becca seems like she'll have a role to play so I'll bring her as well. Wyatt, and Connor and Noah too. Basically my first list of characters. Martelle, Elliott and Ivy can be background characters, and Finley I'll probably just drop.

I should say, this coming back makes my heart very happy :)

[ASOIAF]: Before the Dragons Danced

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As the song of steel rang out around her, as men lunged, and parried, and died, Sara Snow paused and took a deep breath. Blood and death and seawater assailed her nose, but a moment later, there was another assailant to worry about. A man was charging her from behind, his oafish footsteps revealing his position, even amongst the clashes of swords, and screams of dying men. The Bloody Wolf waited, feigning ignorance, and bent over at the last moment, sending the pirate careening over her back, leaving him sprawled on the deck in front of her. Her sword found it’s way through his throat quickly enough, and then it was on to the next.

Sara had come a long way from Winterfell, though in truth that had never been her home. She’d found her home on the battlefield, amidst blood smoke. She’d never felt more alive than with a sword in her hand and an enemy staring her down. That lust for battle had led her across Essos, and finally, to the court of Daemon Targaryen. His violet eyes and platinum hair had enamored her, his dragon had amazed her, and his riches had bought her and her men. Today though, she saw no sign of Daemon, or his beast. This was their fight to win, and theirs alone it seemed.

Blood ran across the deck of the Sea Snake, so much blood. She shook her dark hair away from her face, and began adding to it, cutting down another pirate with her shortsword, bashing another with her shield. The second pirate stumbled, but kept his feet under him, and returned her attack with his curved sword, bringing it down just as she raised her shield to block the attack. He was quick though, and came at him with a swipe from the right, which she parried with her sword. She jumped back, putting some distance between her and the pirate. He was good, she’d give him that. She beat her sword against her shield, a challenge that the pirate took, charging her, raising his sword, and then stopping suddenly as she drove her own sword through his chest. Laughing, she pulled her sword out, and watched him drop to the deck, another lifeless body that would soon feed the sharks.

The Bloody Wolf fought on, slashing through foes as they charged her, blocking furious strikes with her shield. Blood coated the boiled leather vest she wore, and it had soaked into the sleeves of her tunic, staining the once blue fabric a dark purple. Her hair was sticking to the back of her neck now, matted together with sweat and dried blood. She might have worn a helm, but out on the sea she couldn’t afford to lose her peripheral vision. This battle would continue, until their enemies were dead, until they had their prize, until Daemon had pushed the forces of the Three Daughters out of the Stepstones. Until that moment came, she fought on.

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The great city of King’s Landing had been in view for miles, yet Ellard Stark could not seem to take his eyes off it. The Stark host had been travelling for nearly two months now, and Ellard was anxious to arrive. He’d made this journey once before, for the coronation of King Viserys, but that had been almost a decade ago, and he’d grown older since then. His bones ached, he grew weary, and most of all, his ass hurt.

Ellard had not intended on traveling south for the tourney. He preferred the North, and he shared his father’s distaste for the Targaryens, and so he avoided the capital. Bennard had convinced him to join Cregan for the tourney, and so he blamed him for his aches. He’d heard of the growing rift amongst the royal family, but it was Bennard who’d noted that a rift in the Targaryen dynasty, meant opportunities for the Starks. He was well aware that Cregan remained unwed, and now would be as good a time as any to negotiate a marriage with a prominent house. It might be custom to wed within the North, as he himself had, but Bennard insisted that the realm hung in a precarious balance, and strong allies would be the best sort of protection in the times to come. Ellard had protested, but Bennard had eventually won him over, and thus he ventured south, into the snake pit that was King’s Landing. Bennard of course, got to stay behind as Castellan, the lucky bastard. Arrana stayed in Winterfell as well, overcome with a sudden fever before their departure. Longing, for his wife, and for his home, pierced his heart. With any luck, this trip would be a short one.

As the procession approached the Dragon Gate, Cregan trotted up beside him, astride his dark brown palfrey. His squire, Jon Umber, a boy of six and ten years and Cregan’s cousin, was not far behind, and soon came to ride beside him. Cregan had taken the boy on as a squire at his mother’s insistence, but the two had grown close over the past two years. He’d proven himself as good a squire as he could, considering his son had never seen a real battle. His son was ferocious in melees, but aside from the occasional outlaw in the North, he had yet to taste a true battle. He hoped the day never came that he would, but those were green dreams, for green boys. Ellard knew as well as any man, the inevitability of war.

Cregan smiled jovially at Ellard, who remained steely as ever. “Smile, Father. Our journey is almost at an end, and then we shall be awash in all that King’s Landing has to offer,” he said, earning a hearty laugh from Jon. Ellard kept his eyes focused ahead of them, watching the Dragon Gate rise for the van. “All that King’s Landing has to offer is vipers wearing the skin of men. I’ll smile when this wretched city is to our backs,” Ellard replied. Despite the noticeable lack of humor in his voice, his son laughed. “What is a viper to a wolf?” he said.

“Venom kills wolves just as it does men, and no matter our sigil, we are still men. You would be wise to remember that. This was a dangerous city when I last came, and if what Bennard says is true, it’s only become more so.”

“All this worrying will send you to an early grave Father. This is a celebration, we should treat it as such.”

Ellard remained silent at that. This was no simple celebration. They would be coming to court at a time when it was dangerously divided. Viserys may have named Rhaenyra his heir, shortly before his brother’s exile, but that had become a point of contention in the past few years. The young prince Aegon had a better claim to the throne, if the precedent set by the Great Council was anything to go off of. They would have to be wary of any outward displays of support. Ellard had no desire to choose sides. Issues of succession had a long history of tearing realms and houses asunder, and he did not intend to see the Starks fall into ruin.

He’d be lying if he said he was not struck by the opulence of the city as they passed through it’s gates. The Red Keep soared high into the sky, and everywhere he looked commoners were raucous with celebration. Spirits were clearly high in the streets, and Cregan had taken notice. “See, Father? Even the common folk are celebrating!” he jested, before riding ahead, taking the young Umber with him. Ellard kept his pace, remaining in the center of the procession. He would arrive when he arrived. Until then, he would enjoy this fleeting moment of solace, likely one of the last he’d have for the next few weeks. There were no moments alone in King’s Landing, not truly.

CANCELLED.

Y'all know I'd be back for this, without a doubt.

✡ Welcome to Salem, Massachusetts ✡

Quinton Lynch

_{{ "Power is the only thing we can rely on to keep us safe." }}
Ocean Eyes - Billie Eilish || All Over - CRUISR || Run Boy Run - Woodkid

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| {Full Name} |

Quinton Archibald Lynch

| {Nickname} |

Quinn - His preferred name. Quinton just sounds too stuffy for him.

| {Date of Birth} |

December 21st

| {Age} |

23

| {Gender} |

Male

| {Sexuality} |

Bisexual

| {Relationship Status} |

Single

| {Role} |

Warlock

| {Occupation} |

Works at his mom's shop in town, Curious Curios. The shop doubles as a place to get a witches help for their more... interesting customers.

| {Face Claim} |

Shawn Mendes

| {Dialogue Color} |

027465

| {Appearance} |

The first thing you're likely to notice about Quinn is his height. Standing at 6'5, Quinn towers over the majority of people he meets. He's lean, but with clear muscle definition. His arms might not be bulging out of their shirt, but looking at them you can tell that he cares about his body, and puts in work to keep it looking good. His head is crowned by a mop of brown hair, thick locks that would almost be curls if he let it grow out long enough, but at the length he keeps it, remain wavy. His eyes are an earthy brown, flecked with caramel and green. They're reminiscent of a forest floor if you catch them in just the right light. When he smiles it's infectious, a wide, toothy grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes, and lights up his face.

Quinn's height lends to his general swagger. He walks about like he's invincible, as if the world isn't happening to him, but rather he is happening to the world. Quinn's overall style is reflective of the confidence he walks around with. Punk rock is what it might have been called in the early 2000's, but now it's more akin to grunge. Black Converse, flecked with dirt from constant wear, and more often than not jeans, with carefully placed tears. His shirts rotate between soft button up tops, and band tees, depending on the mood.

| {Habits & Quirks} |

• Bites his nails
• Keeps a pendant from his father around his neck at all times. He says it's his good luck charm.
• When he's uncomfortable, he tends to crack jokes. It normally results in everyone being more uncomfortable.

| {Hobbies} |

• Spellcasting. Quinn loves magic, and it's many mysteries. Studying and practicing spells takes up a good portion of his time.
• Playing guitar. Ever since he was a kid, Quinn's loved music. He plays at the bar's open mic night occasionally, but for the most part he keeps it to himself.
• Hiking. Living in the middle of nowhere, you get into the great outdoors.

| {Likes} |

• Books, particularly mystery novels
• Cookie dough ice cream
• A good party
• Similarly, a good lay
• Oreos. If God himself came down and told Quinn to give them up, he'd almost certainly tell God to fuck off.
• Dogs. Preferably the kind that don't turn into humans, but to be completely honest, he's not that picky.

| {Dislikes} |

• People who don't try.
• LSD. That was a bad night.
• Confrontation. Fighting makes him angry and when he's angry, his magic gets all out of whack.
• Phone calls. Seriously, it's 2019, send a text.
• Brussel sprouts.
• Kids. They're sticky and they cry.

| {Fears} |

• Being powerless. Both in terms of magic, and everyday life, the idea of having no control is a scary one.
• Spiders. Not the small ones, like the big ones that eat birds.
• Dying. Because, who isn't?

| {Secrets} |

Stowed away deep in his closet is a book about dark magic. He's never opened it, but he thinks about it, and all the power it could bring him. And all the trouble.

| {Abilities} |

Elementalist - Quinn's magical affinity lies with the elements, and as such, the manipulation of them is his most powerful ability. He wouldn't call himself a master right now, seeing as he's still young, but he's formidable still.

Scrying - This is a shaky ability at best, but given the right amount of focus, Quinn can look into the future. The best he can get is quick glimpses, visions that only show possible futures, never a certain one.

Enchanting - Quinn's mother is specializes in enchantments, and she has begun teaching him the practice of imbuing items with magic.

| {Limitations} |

Despite his talent, Quinn is no where near powerful yet. His magic is still somewhat dependent on his emotions, and things have been known to catch fire when he flies into a fit of anger. When it comes to scrying, he requires a lot of focus and even then, his visions are rarely certain. Enchanting requires immense preparation, and Quinn is still a novice in that field, so his enchantments run weak.

| {Personality} |

♦ Flirtatious ♦ Arrogant ♦ Resourceful ♦ Hot-Headed ♦

At first glance, Quinton is your typical 23 year old boy, walking around like the world can't touch him, oozing charm and trying to sleep with anything that moves. He's a hedonist at heart, and indulges in the pleasures life has to offer, and thus he can't help some harmless flirting. He's all too charming however, and harmless flirting rarely stays harmless flirting. Coupled with his good looks, his effortless charisma is a potent tool that he wields expertly to get into the good graces of others. It's shocking to nobody how manipulative Quinn can be, given how resourceful he is. Years of studying spells has forced him to be constantly assessing the tools at his disposal, and the way he sees it, his charm is just another tool.

Underneath his mask of amiability, Quinton is quick to anger. Prideful, he's prone to taking even the smallest slights to heart. When he's angry, Quinton is impulsive, and stubborn. He holds a grudge, and values his revenge, no matter how small. His fuse may be short, but his memory holds depths, and he is insistent on showing his superiority over a perceived foe. Superiority to Quinton is one of the most important qualities, because superiority means power. Without power, how can you expect to defend yourself?

| {Place of Origin} |

Seattle, WA

| {Background} |

Being born into a coven, Quinton has never known a life without magic. He remembers being little and chasing his mother's enchanted duster throughout their home, or his father lighting candles with the snap of a finger. Their coven was an ancient one, descended from Irish immigrants who'd come across the ocean many years ago. Then it had been older than many, and when Quinton was born, it was one of the oldest remaining covens. The majority of the coven practiced natural magic, but there were some like his mother who specialized in other skills. Quinton's father was head of them all, the most powerful warlock, by far. Magic was a part of the smallest pieces of his childhood. It's also what tore it all apart.

Quinton has fuzzy memories of his father, stumbling home one night. At the time, it had never seemed like much, but his mother would tell him later the truth of that night. Quinton's father had found a spell book that night, dedicated to dark spells, not meant for any witch or warlock. Over the next three years, his father grew more haggard, and unhinged. He'd talk to people who weren't there, snap at the smallest inconvenience, and he took to spending hours upon hours in his workshop. Eventually, the coven discovered what Quinton's father had been studying, and they came to their home to seize him. A fight ensued, after his father refused to go, and in the process, four people died, and their home burned, along with Quintons father.

After that, he and his mother moved to Salem, where she'd heard it would be safe. Safe it was, and they stayed there. His mother opened up a shop, Curious Curios, a place that sold useless trinkets to mortals, and powerful boons to the supernatural residents of Salem. Quinton for the most part, grew up happy. The loss of his father hit him hard, but his mother did her best. Despite her endless affection, he struggled up until his tenth birthday, when he cast his first spell. It was a simple one, simply lighting a candle on a birthday cake, but he remembers it as if it was the first time he'd ever breathed in air. It was a rush, a euphoric intensity that he's been chasing ever since.

Magic tore his life apart, but inevitably, became the foundation once more. With magic, he excelled, learning from his mother, and the rest of the Salem coven. When he graduated from high school, he decided he'd skip college. As far as he was concerned, it was for people who couldn't control the elements. He left Salem for a time, and traveled around the world, with only a spell book for company. He explored the sites where witches from centuries before performed their rituals, taking notes of the runes and carvings that decorated the areas. It was at one of these sites, a tomb in Ireland that supposedly housed the remains of an entire coven, that he chanced upon a dusty old tome. It was leather bound, with no words on the cover to denote a title. Upon closer inspection, Quinn realized it was a book of dark magic. Curious as ever, he pocketed the book, vowing never to use it. Shortly afterwards, he returned to Salem, and took up a job at his mother's shop, the book safely tucked away in his room. He hasn't opened it. Yet.

| {Extra} |

Quinton drives a motorbike

that used to belong to his dad.

[ASOIAF]: Before the Dragons Danced

House Stark of Winterfell

Recent History

Long before Aegon and his sisters, the Starks of Winterfell ruled over the north as Kings of Winter, their bronze and iron crown a testament to the strength of their people, and the unyielding nature of their homeland. Then they ruled with the strength and honor that came to be synonymous with the name Stark. When Aegon landed, The North was far out of mind, but after the subjugation of Stormland as well as the Riverlands, Torrhen Stark called his banners, well aware of the time it would take to raise an army in his cold, harsh country. After the destruction of the Lannister and Gardener forces at the Field of Fire, Aegon turned his eyes toward Torrhen, having received word in advance of his march south. At the base of the Trident, Aegon Targaryen met Torrhen Stark with forty five thousand men and three full grown dragons, and there it was that, the last King in the North became the King Who Knelt.

This new subjugation was poorly received in the North, and Torrhen would spend the rest of his reign struggling to convince his vassals, as well as his sons, that kneeling before the Dragon King had been a wise decision. Despite this unrest, upon his death his eldest son, Rickon, kept the peace, and enforced the Targaryen’s rule as Warden of the North. While the passing of Aegon Targaryen after thirty seven years on the Iron Throne would see many rebellions against the throne, including one by Jonos Arryn who proclaimed himself King of Mountain and Vale after deposing his elder brother, the Starks remained staunch supporters of the Targaryens.

Relations between the Starks and the Targaryens remained positive for many years, but the reign of King Jaehaerys would see relations between the two houses turn sour. Alaric Stark would become Lord of Winterfell after the death of his brother Walton at the hands of a band of Night’s Watch deserters, made up of rebels that King Jaehaerys had exiled after taking the throne from Maegor the Cruel. Alaric notably blamed the king for his brother’s death, and so, in order to improve relations, King Jaehaerys planned a tour of the north with his wife, Queen Alysanne. When Jaehaerys fell ill, Alysanne insisted she go on the tour as planned. Alysanne’s tour brought her to the Wall, where she took great interest in the work done at the edge of the world. Upon her return to King’s Landing, she convinced her husband to grant the Night’s Watch more land, land which came from Alaric Stark’s domain. The Proud Wolf bristled at what he believed to be an unlawful seizure of land, land which would be squandered by the Watch. This slight would see Alaric Stark’s son and heir, Ellard Stark, to side against the King in the Great Council of 101 AC.

Ten years on from the Great Council, and Ellard Stark remains Lord of Winterfell, and despite his rising age, all who have treated with him in the past years insist that he remains hard as iron, and sharp as steel. Ellard’s heir, Cregan, has earned a name for himself over the years through his victories at various tourneys throughout Westeros. Current notable members of the house also include Ellard’s wife, Arrana Umber, their son, Cregan Stark, Ellard’s brother, Bennard and Bennard’s bastard daughter, Sara Snow

Members of House Stark

Lord Ellard Stark, The Grey Wolf of Winterfell, Warden of the North

Appearance

In his youth, Ellard Stark was an intimidating man. His shoulders are broad, and his body sinewy with muscle. He is formidable in height as well, standing over many a man. His face holds the classic Stark features. His jaw while hard and defined, hides behind a coarse beard of dark hair flecked with grey. His eyes are steely, sullen and almost pained, their grey depths a wall of stone that halts any that might try to glean knowledge from them.. Three scars mark the right side of his face, from an encounter in the Wolfswood when he was young. The first goes right across his eye, and the next two fall just below. His hair falls to his shoulders, and has gone mostly to grey, though like his beard some dark brown remains, a reminder of his youth.

Biography

Ellard Stark was born at the beginning of the winter of 59 AC, a particularly harsh one due to the surprisingly short summer and autumn that had preceded it. Famine broke out across Westeros and soon the Shivers began to ravage the land. That winter saw the death of many, highborn and low, including that of Ellard’s mother, Raya, and his sister Lyarra. Despite the cruelty the winter of his birth wrought, Ellard survived, and it was not long before he could be seen hard at work in the courtyard at Winterfell, drilling with the master of arms.

Alaric Stark had been a cold and proud man, harsh as the lands he presided over and he sought to instill the same values in his son. While he loved his son in his own way, his affection was hard to come by. Ellard often tells the story of his twelfth name day, when his father took him out into the wolfswood for a hunt that was meant to last a week. On the third day, as Ellard tracked a deer, his father slipped away, taking his horse and leaving the boy alone. At first frightened, Ellard began to track his father, assuming he’d only wandered off. Soon however, he lost Alaric’s trail, and he became fearful once more. The heir to Winterfell ended up so turned around, that he did not return for three nights. When he did, he carried a dead wolf across the back of his horse, and bore a fresh scratch across his face. After the maester had patched him up, his father came to see him. The man sat across from him, and took a long look at Ellard’s wound. “I watched you slay that wolf. You were strong. If you hope to rule one day, you’ll need to be just as strong as that, stronger even.” Alaric had then placed a hand on his shoulder, and offered up a soft smile, one of the few Ellard ever saw.

By the time of Alaric’s death in 82 AC, Ellard was a man of three and twenty years, and much like his father. Cold as ice and as unyielding as the stones of Winterfell, there were those who said that the winter of his birth had stayed with him, and that should you cut him, an icy river would pour out in place of blood. Ellard would prove that his nature was not a detriment. While not the warmest of men, Ellard was just and honorable, and the smallfolk came to love him, as did his bannermen.

When his father had died, Ellard had been unmarried, having refused the hands of many women. This had been a point of contention between him and his father, and his advisers would continue to insist that he take a wife, for the good of the house. Ellard refused to entertain the idea until the harvest feast at Winterfell, in 84 AC, when he laid eyes on Arrana Umber. His bannermen’s daughter, she was a maid of seven and ten, and her beauty had caught the eye of many men that night. However, when it came time to dance, it was Ellard’s hand she took. They were married soon after the feast, and many in attendance said it was the first time they’d seen the Lord of Winterfell smile.

Today, Ellard Stark is growing old. He looks out over Westeros with the eyes of a seasoned man. He’s been lucky enough to rule in a time of relative peace and prosperity, but he’s seen the turmoil brewing in the south. The North will be called upon, sooner or later, he’s sure of it. His son, Cregan, while strong and hardy, is still a green boy, arrogant and brash as young men tend to be. Ellard fears that he might die before Cregan is ready. The future of his house hangs in the balance, as Westeros moves further and further towards chaos.

Lord Cregan Stark, The Summer Wolf

Appearance

Built for strength, Cregan stands tall over his contemporaries, an intimidating brute of a man. He prefers his hair cut short, and his face kept shaved, leaving the chiseled jaw that looks so like his father’s, open to the air. One look at the young man is enough to note the resemblance between him and his father. They have the same grey eyes, Stark eyes, and while Ellard’s hair has gone to grey for the most part, the dark streaks that remain are the same shade of dark brown that color Cregan’s hair.

Born and raised a noble, Cregan walks about with a certain sense of importance that is evident in the way he swaggers through the streets of Winter Town. He is still blessed with the youthful arrogance of someone too young to know the true hardships of the world, and nowhere is that more apparent than the energy he carries with him, so full of lust, both for women and battle.

Biography

Born six years after his parent’s wedding in 84 AC, Cregan Stark was welcomed into the world with a great clangor, perhaps an indication of the life he would lead. He was the third son of Ellard and Arrana Stark, but the only one not born still. A spirited young boy, Cregan was often seen running through the courtyard after the older boys that resided within the castle, wooden sword in hand. A mischievous boy, he and what soon became his band of castle boys were responsible for more than one foolhardy trick, played on the unsuspecting denizens of Winterfell. Cregan would have invoked his father’s wrath, had it not been for his doting mother. More often than not, when he was caught causing trouble his mother would step in and sweep away any issues with her kind words. In spite of his troublemaking, Cregan’s jovial personality made him many friends. His nickname, The Summer Wolf, was given both for the season of his birth, but also for the warm blood that ran through him, so different from his father’s wintery harshness.

As much as Cregan may have preferred it, his life was not filled with endless play. His father was adamant that Cregan learn to fight, and trained the boy himself. He was a harsh teacher, but an effective one. The song of steel is a familiar one to Cregan, a sweet tune that he seems to chase. As soon as he could properly hold a sword, the boy was challenging whoever would listen to him to a duel. Many defeats followed, but soon he began to win. Now, Cregan’s skill with a sword has surpassed even his father, and he is known throughout the North for his prowess in their brutal melees.

Ellard Stark would not be content with a son who simply knew how to hold a sword however. Shortly after his eighth name day, Ellard took Cregan into the Great Hall with him, and had him sit by his side while he held court, listening to the troubles of the peasants and noble lords alike. He taught Cregan about justice and honor, about the weight of his family name. The word of a Stark meant something, Ellard would say, and it was Cregan’s duty to uphold that meaning.

Cregan, for the most part, has done his best to live by his father’s teachings. He does his best to be honorable, and courageous, just and kind. Despite that, Cregan is not his father, and he answers to impulse more often than not. He finds it difficult to resist the tempting curves of the young women who work the inns in Winter Town, and he is a green boy in truth. He is brash, and quick to draw steel, but he has yet to be in a true fight, having spent the majority of his life in Winterfell, aside from traveling to the keeps of his father’s bannermen. His thirst for glory has brought him to King’s Landing, where he will compete for the honor of House Stark at the upcoming tourney.

Bennard Stark, The Lone Wolf, Castellan of Winterfell

Appearance

While Bennard shares the dark hair and grey, steely eyes of the Starks, that is where the resemblance stops. His father and brother were both large, imposing men, but Bennard has no such qualities. He is not particularly tall, though he’s not short either. His frame is slim, lacking the bulging muscles built by years of training with sword and shield. His face is long, somber, and since returning to Winterfell he’s let a beard grow out that covers his mouth and makes his almost gaunt face seem fuller, and more lively.

Biography

The second son of Lord Alaric Stark is a far cry from the first. Where as Ellard is a fierce warrior and a firm ruler, Bennard is bookish, preferring the biting wit of his words to the cold bruteness of steel. Born to the second wife of Alaric Stark, Bennard was born in 65 AC, Bennard was always in the shadow of his elder brother. His father had loved his first wife, but his second had been a marriage of duty, and Alaric came to resent Bennard’s mother. That resentment seemed to extend to Bennard as well, at some point. Bennard was not made of cold iron like his brother, and he often failed and shortly after his eighth nameday, Bennard was sent to foster with his father’s bannerman, Lord Harys Umber.

At Last Hearth, Bennard was treated as his brother had been at Winterfell. He was respected, and while Lord Harys pushed him to learn to wield a sword, the maester of the keep taught him all he could of numbers, the great houses and the relations between them, as well as the history of Westeros. It was at Last Hearth that Bennard grew up, and it was there that he met his first, and some say only, love. Arrana Umber, two years younger than him and the daughter of his foster father, became his closest friend at Last Hearth. Friendship became desire, and it became apparent to all at Last Hearth that Bennard lusted after the girl. It’s said even, that he asked for her hand in marriage, twice, but her father refused him both times, thus resulting in his sudden return to Winterfell when he was seventeen.

Shortly after Bennard’s return to Winterfell, his father died and his brother became Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North. The rift between the two brothers was already growing by this point, but the final straw would come at the harvest feast of 84 AC when Ellard danced with a young Arrana Umber, spiriting her away from Bennard. The younger brother took the insult to heart, and left Winterfell before the wedding. Furious with his brother and unsure of his place in the world, he took a ship from White Harbour to Oldtown, and began studying to become a maester.

Bennard’s time at the Citadel proved fruitful. He served as a novice for a short time, before he began forging his chain. He was set to take perform his ritual and become a maester, sometime in 87 AC but his success proved short lived. While studying, a serving wench had caught his eye and they soon became enamored with one another. He’d taken the girls maidenhead and put a baby in her belly instead. When the archmaesters learned of the illicit relationship, they reminded Bennard that one of a maester’s vows is celibacy. They gave him a choice; forsake the woman, and the child she bore, or leave the Citadel. Bennard chose the serving girl, not that it would matter in the end. She died giving birth to their daughter, Sara.

Shortly after Sara’s birth, Bennard left Oldtown on a ship bound for Volantis. His time there is largely a mystery. When asked, Bennard claims he stayed in the manse of a wealthy noblewoman, but that is as much as he has ever been willing to share. All the people of Winterfell know for certain is that eight years after he’d left for the Citadel, Bennard returned, seeking a home to raise his daughter, offering an apology and his service. Ellard received his brother as warmly as he knew how, and granted him the position of castellan, a position he holds to this day. Bennard has become one of Ellard’s closest advisors. Rumors of Bennard’s lingering resentment are not uncommon, but Bennard dismisses them as simply that; rumors, made up by smallfolk who have become bored with their dreary lives.

Sara Snow, The Bloody Wolf

Appearance

Dark hair frames Sara’s heart shaped face, and along with her cold, grey eyes, remind everyone that despite her birth, Stark blood runs through her veins. Hers is a somber face, her mouth drawn into an ever present frown. When she smiles however, it lights up her face, and remind everyone that beneath the boiled leather and mail, a beautiful woman resides. Her body is slender, but toned after years of working with a sword. Her face is scarred, a silvery line of flesh that cuts across her upper lip, the unfortunate result of a fight with a Dornishman. She walks with the swagger of someone who does not fear death, and is anything but dainty. Her ferocity is evident in her stare, harsh and cold, looking for blood.

Biography

Born beneath the Citadel, in a musty room meant for servants, Sara took her mother’s life as she came into the world. She has never forgotten that, no matter how hard she tried.

The early years of her childhood are a blur of sights and sounds. She was raised amidst the household of a Volantene noble, and she remembers the bustling city with a fondness, though she can hardly picture it now. Then, she remembers her father coming, and telling her that she’d be getting on a boat with him, to go home. She’d been confused then. As far as she knew, Volantis had always been her home. Nevertheless, she and her father boarded a ship, bound for White Harbour, and made their way to a place he called, Winterfell.

Winterfell was different from Volantis in many ways. It was cold for one, too cold for Sara’s liking. Volantis had been much nicer, always warm, and nobody gave her the strange looks that the people of Winterfell did. Her father explained to her that in Winterfell she’d be Sara Snow, not Sara Stark, which was strange, even after he explained to her that she was a bastard, and thus couldn’t carry the family name like her cousin could. In Volantis, she hadn’t been a bastard, at least not in the eyes of their hosts

Despite that, Sara soon became at home in the great castle. The strange looks ceased to bother her, especially after she and her cousin Cregan became close, wreaking havoc throughout Winterfell. The little lordling’s seal of approval meant that she was part of the castle, whether people liked it or not. She didn’t understand why Cregan got to train with the men outside, while she was forced to sew inside with the women. They always bothered her, gossiping about this and that, never anything important. Thankfully, Cregan would give her lessons in the godswood secretly, and as they grew up, their lessons continued until one day, after finding the duo sparring, her uncle relented. “If you’re going to insist on getting into trouble, I’ll see that you know how to get yourself out of it as well,” he’d said in his gruff voice. From that day on, Sara spent her days learning how to fight rather than. The strange looks came back again, but nevertheless she persisted.

Sara came to appreciate the freedom of her bastardy. Cregan would be forced to take up the Lordship of Winterfell, marry some woman his father chose for him, and ultimately, live a life that is not his own. After her seventeenth nameday, Sara decided that she would live her life on her terms, and hers alone. She gathered men, from the castle as well as Winters Town, and made for White Harbour. There, her and the men she’d gathered sailed for Braavos, where they became known as the Pack From Across the Sea. They made their names as sellswords, and Sara became known as the Bloody Wolf. When Daemon Targaryen came to conquer the Stepstones, the Pack From Across the Sea fought for him, after a considerable amount of payment that is. Today, Sara’s whereabouts are mostly unknown, though rumors say she’s remained in the Stepstones with her Pack, aiding Daemon Targaryen in holding his kingdom.

✡ Welcome to Salem, Massachusetts ✡

@Lionhearted I present, a warlock, with daddy issues and a problematic proximity to dark magic.

Quinton Lynch

_{{ "Power is the only thing we can rely on to keep us safe." }}
Ocean Eyes - Billie Eilish || All Over - CRUISR || Run Boy Run - Woodkid

---

| {Full Name} |

Quinton Archibald Lynch

| {Nickname} |

Quinn - His preferred name. Quinton just sounds too stuffy for him.

| {Date of Birth} |

December 21st

| {Age} |

23

| {Gender} |

Male

| {Sexuality} |

Bisexual

| {Relationship Status} |

Single

| {Role} |

Warlock

| {Occupation} |

Works at his mom's shop in town, Curious Curios. The shop doubles as a place to get a witches help for their more... interesting customers.

| {Face Claim} |

Shawn Mendes

| {Dialogue Color} |

027465

| {Appearance} |

The first thing you're likely to notice about Quinn is his height. Standing at 6'5, Quinn towers over the majority of people he meets. He's lean, but with clear muscle definition. His arms might not be bulging out of their shirt, but looking at them you can tell that he cares about his body, and puts in work to keep it looking good. His head is crowned by a mop of brown hair, thick locks that would almost be curls if he let it grow out long enough, but at the length he keeps it, remain wavy. His eyes are an earthy brown, flecked with caramel and green. They're reminiscent of a forest floor if you catch them in just the right light. When he smiles it's infectious, a wide, toothy grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes, and lights up his face.

Quinn's height lends to his general swagger. He walks about like he's invincible, as if the world isn't happening to him, but rather he is happening to the world. Quinn's overall style is reflective of the confidence he walks around with. Punk rock is what it might have been called in the early 2000's, but now it's more akin to grunge. Black Converse, flecked with dirt from constant wear, and more often than not jeans, with carefully placed tears. His shirts rotate between soft button up tops, and band tees, depending on the mood.

| {Habits & Quirks} |

• Bites his nails
• Keeps a pendant from his father around his neck at all times. He says it's his good luck charm.
• When he's uncomfortable, he tends to crack jokes. It normally results in everyone being more uncomfortable.

| {Hobbies} |

• Spellcasting. Quinn loves magic, and it's many mysteries. Studying and practicing spells takes up a good portion of his time.
• Playing guitar. Ever since he was a kid, Quinn's loved music. He plays at the bar's open mic night occasionally, but for the most part he keeps it to himself.
• Hiking. Living in the middle of nowhere, you get into the great outdoors.

| {Likes} |

• Books, particularly mystery novels
• Cookie dough ice cream
• A good party
• Similarly, a good lay
• Oreos. If God himself came down and told Quinn to give them up, he'd almost certainly tell God to fuck off.
• Dogs. Preferably the kind that don't turn into humans, but to be completely honest, he's not that picky.

| {Dislikes} |

• People who don't try.
• LSD. That was a bad night.
• Confrontation. Fighting makes him angry and when he's angry, his magic gets all out of whack.
• Phone calls. Seriously, it's 2019, send a text.
• Brussel sprouts.
• Kids. They're sticky and they cry.

| {Fears} |

• Being powerless. Both in terms of magic, and everyday life, the idea of having no control is a scary one.
• Spiders. Not the small ones, like the big ones that eat birds.
• Dying. Because, who isn't?

| {Secrets} |

Stowed away deep in his closet is a book about dark magic. He's never opened it, but he thinks about it, and all the power it could bring him. And all the trouble.

| {Abilities} |

Elementalist - Quinn's magical affinity lies with the elements, and as such, the manipulation of them is his most powerful ability. He wouldn't call himself a master right now, seeing as he's still young, but he's formidable still.

Scrying - This is a shaky ability at best, but given the right amount of focus, Quinn can look into the future. The best he can get is quick glimpses, visions that only show possible futures, never a certain one.

Enchanting - Quinn's mother is specializes in enchantments, and she has begun teaching him the practice of imbuing items with magic.

| {Limitations} |

Despite his talent, Quinn is no where near powerful yet. His magic is still somewhat dependent on his emotions, and things have been known to catch fire when he flies into a fit of anger. When it comes to scrying, he requires a lot of focus and even then, his visions are rarely certain. Enchanting requires immense preparation, and Quinn is still a novice in that field, so his enchantments run weak.

| {Personality} |

♦ Flirtatious ♦ Arrogant ♦ Resourceful ♦ Hot-Headed ♦

At first glance, Quinton is your typical 23 year old boy, walking around like the world can't touch him, oozing charm and trying to sleep with anything that moves. He's a hedonist at heart, and indulges in the pleasures life has to offer, and thus he can't help some harmless flirting. He's all too charming however, and harmless flirting rarely stays harmless flirting. Coupled with his good looks, his effortless charisma is a potent tool that he wields expertly to get into the good graces of others. It's shocking to nobody how manipulative Quinn can be, given how resourceful he is. Years of studying spells has forced him to be constantly assessing the tools at his disposal, and the way he sees it, his charm is just another tool.

Underneath his mask of amiability, Quinton is quick to anger. Prideful, he's prone to taking even the smallest slights to heart. When he's angry, Quinton is impulsive, and stubborn. He holds a grudge, and values his revenge, no matter how small. His fuse may be short, but his memory holds depths, and he is insistent on showing his superiority over a perceived foe. Superiority to Quinton is one of the most important qualities, because superiority means power. Without power, how can you expect to defend yourself?

| {Place of Origin} |

Seattle, WA

| {Background} |

Being born into a coven, Quinton has never known a life without magic. He remembers being little and chasing his mother's enchanted duster throughout their home, or his father lighting candles with the snap of a finger. Their coven was an ancient one, descended from Irish immigrants who'd come across the ocean many years ago. Then it had been older than many, and when Quinton was born, it was one of the oldest remaining covens. The majority of the coven practiced natural magic, but there were some like his mother who specialized in other skills. Quinton's father was head of them all, the most powerful warlock, by far. Magic was a part of the smallest pieces of his childhood. It's also what tore it all apart.

Quinton has fuzzy memories of his father, stumbling home one night. At the time, it had never seemed like much, but his mother would tell him later the truth of that night. Quinton's father had found a spell book that night, dedicated to dark spells, not meant for any witch or warlock. Over the next three years, his father grew more haggard, and unhinged. He'd talk to people who weren't there, snap at the smallest inconvenience, and he took to spending hours upon hours in his workshop. Eventually, the coven discovered what Quinton's father had been studying, and they came to their home to seize him. A fight ensued, after his father refused to go, and in the process, four people died, and their home burned, along with Quintons father.

After that, he and his mother moved to Salem, where she'd heard it would be safe. Safe it was, and they stayed there. His mother opened up a shop, Curious Curios, a place that sold useless trinkets to mortals, and powerful boons to the supernatural residents of Salem. Quinton for the most part, grew up happy. The loss of his father hit him hard, but his mother did her best. Despite her endless affection, he struggled up until his tenth birthday, when he cast his first spell. It was a simple one, simply lighting a candle on a birthday cake, but he remembers it as if it was the first time he'd ever breathed in air. It was a rush, a euphoric intensity that he's been chasing ever since.

Magic tore his life apart, but inevitably, became the foundation once more. With magic, he excelled, learning from his mother, and the rest of the Salem coven. When he graduated from high school, he decided he'd skip college. As far as he was concerned, it was for people who couldn't control the elements. He left Salem for a time, and traveled around the world, with only a spell book for company. He explored the sites where witches from centuries before performed their rituals, taking notes of the runes and carvings that decorated the areas. It was at one of these sites, a tomb in Ireland that supposedly housed the remains of an entire coven, that he chanced upon a dusty old tome. It was leather bound, with no words on the cover to denote a title. Upon closer inspection, Quinn realized it was a book of dark magic. Curious as ever, he pocketed the book, vowing never to use it. Shortly afterwards, he returned to Salem, and took up a job at his mother's shop, the book safely tucked away in his room. He hasn't opened it. Yet.

| {Extra} |

Quinton drives a motorbike

that used to belong to his dad.

[ASOIAF]: Before the Dragons Danced

@Ezekiel@Ruby@Sini

Here is House Stark. I considered making Ellard's wife, but that would probably be another two days of writing for a character that I don't envision myself writing very often, so for now she'll just be an NPC. Let me know if there's anything that needs to be fixed :)

House Stark of Winterfell

Recent History

Long before Aegon and his sisters, the Starks of Winterfell ruled over the north as Kings of Winter, their bronze and iron crown a testament to the strength of their people, and the unyielding nature of their homeland. Then they ruled with the strength and honor that came to be synonymous with the name Stark. When Aegon landed, The North was far out of mind, but after the subjugation of Stormland as well as the Riverlands, Torrhen Stark called his banners, well aware of the time it would take to raise an army in his cold, harsh country. After the destruction of the Lannister and Gardener forces at the Field of Fire, Aegon turned his eyes toward Torrhen, having received word in advance of his march south. At the base of the Trident, Aegon Targaryen met Torrhen Stark with forty five thousand men and three full grown dragons, and there it was that, the last King in the North became the King Who Knelt.

This new subjugation was poorly received in the North, and Torrhen would spend the rest of his reign struggling to convince his vassals, as well as his sons, that kneeling before the Dragon King had been a wise decision. Despite this unrest, upon his death his eldest son, Rickon, kept the peace, and enforced the Targaryen’s rule as Warden of the North. While the passing of Aegon Targaryen after thirty seven years on the Iron Throne would see many rebellions against the throne, including one by Jonos Arryn who proclaimed himself King of Mountain and Vale after deposing his elder brother, the Starks remained staunch supporters of the Targaryens.

Relations between the Starks and the Targaryens remained positive for many years, but the reign of King Jaehaerys would see relations between the two houses turn sour. Alaric Stark would become Lord of Winterfell after the death of his brother Walton at the hands of a band of Night’s Watch deserters, made up of rebels that King Jaehaerys had exiled after taking the throne from Maegor the Cruel. Alaric notably blamed the king for his brother’s death, and so, in order to improve relations, King Jaehaerys planned a tour of the north with his wife, Queen Alysanne. When Jaehaerys fell ill, Alysanne insisted she go on the tour as planned. Alysanne’s tour brought her to the Wall, where she took great interest in the work done at the edge of the world. Upon her return to King’s Landing, she convinced her husband to grant the Night’s Watch more land, land which came from Alaric Stark’s domain. The Proud Wolf bristled at what he believed to be an unlawful seizure of land, land which would be squandered by the Watch. This slight would see Alaric Stark’s son and heir, Ellard Stark, to side against the King in the Great Council of 101 AC.

Ten years on from the Great Council, and Ellard Stark remains Lord of Winterfell, and despite his rising age, all who have treated with him in the past years insist that he remains hard as iron, and sharp as steel. Ellard’s heir, Cregan, has earned a name for himself over the years through his victories at various tourneys throughout Westeros. Current notable members of the house also include Ellard’s wife, Arrana Umber, their son, Cregan Stark, Ellard’s brother, Bennard and Bennard’s bastard daughter, Sara Snow

Members of House Stark

Lord Ellard Stark, The Grey Wolf of Winterfell, Warden of the North

Appearance

In his youth, Ellard Stark was an intimidating man. His shoulders are broad, and his body sinewy with muscle. He is formidable in height as well, standing over many a man. His face holds the classic Stark features. His jaw while hard and defined, hides behind a coarse beard of dark hair flecked with grey. His eyes are steely, sullen and almost pained, their grey depths a wall of stone that halts any that might try to glean knowledge from them.. Three scars mark the right side of his face, from an encounter in the Wolfswood when he was young. The first goes right across his eye, and the next two fall just below. His hair falls to his shoulders, and has gone mostly to grey, though like his beard some dark brown remains, a reminder of his youth.

Biography

Ellard Stark was born at the beginning of the winter of 59 AC, a particularly harsh one due to the surprisingly short summer and autumn that had preceded it. Famine broke out across Westeros and soon the Shivers began to ravage the land. That winter saw the death of many, highborn and low, including that of Ellard’s mother, Raya, and his sister Lyarra. Despite the cruelty the winter of his birth wrought, Ellard survived, and it was not long before he could be seen hard at work in the courtyard at Winterfell, drilling with the master of arms.

Alaric Stark had been a cold and proud man, harsh as the lands he presided over and he sought to instill the same values in his son. While he loved his son in his own way, his affection was hard to come by. Ellard often tells the story of his twelfth name day, when his father took him out into the wolfswood for a hunt that was meant to last a week. On the third day, as Ellard tracked a deer, his father slipped away, taking his horse and leaving the boy alone. At first frightened, Ellard began to track his father, assuming he’d only wandered off. Soon however, he lost Alaric’s trail, and he became fearful once more. The heir to Winterfell ended up so turned around, that he did not return for three nights. When he did, he carried a dead wolf across the back of his horse, and bore a fresh scratch across his face. After the maester had patched him up, his father came to see him. The man sat across from him, and took a long look at Ellard’s wound. “I watched you slay that wolf. You were strong. If you hope to rule one day, you’ll need to be just as strong as that, stronger even.” Alaric had then placed a hand on his shoulder, and offered up a soft smile, one of the few Ellard ever saw.

By the time of Alaric’s death in 82 AC, Ellard was a man of three and twenty years, and much like his father. Cold as ice and as unyielding as the stones of Winterfell, there were those who said that the winter of his birth had stayed with him, and that should you cut him, an icy river would pour out in place of blood. Ellard would prove that his nature was not a detriment. While not the warmest of men, Ellard was just and honorable, and the smallfolk came to love him, as did his bannermen.

When his father had died, Ellard had been unmarried, having refused the hands of many women. This had been a point of contention between him and his father, and his advisers would continue to insist that he take a wife, for the good of the house. Ellard refused to entertain the idea until the harvest feast at Winterfell, in 84 AC, when he laid eyes on Arrana Umber. His bannermen’s daughter, she was a maid of seven and ten, and her beauty had caught the eye of many men that night. However, when it came time to dance, it was Ellard’s hand she took. They were married soon after the feast, and many in attendance said it was the first time they’d seen the Lord of Winterfell smile.

Today, Ellard Stark is growing old. He looks out over Westeros with the eyes of a seasoned man. He’s been lucky enough to rule in a time of relative peace and prosperity, but he’s seen the turmoil brewing in the south. The North will be called upon, sooner or later, he’s sure of it. His son, Cregan, while strong and hardy, is still a green boy, arrogant and brash as young men tend to be. Ellard fears that he might die before Cregan is ready. The future of his house hangs in the balance, as Westeros moves further and further towards chaos.

Lord Cregan Stark, The Summer Wolf

Appearance

Built for strength, Cregan stands tall over his contemporaries, an intimidating brute of a man. He prefers his hair cut short, and his face kept shaved, leaving the chiseled jaw that looks so like his father’s, open to the air. One look at the young man is enough to note the resemblance between him and his father. They have the same grey eyes, Stark eyes, and while Ellard’s hair has gone to grey for the most part, the dark streaks that remain are the same shade of dark brown that color Cregan’s hair.

Born and raised a noble, Cregan walks about with a certain sense of importance that is evident in the way he swaggers through the streets of Winter Town. He is still blessed with the youthful arrogance of someone too young to know the true hardships of the world, and nowhere is that more apparent than the energy he carries with him, so full of lust, both for women and battle.

Biography

Born six years after his parent’s wedding in 84 AC, Cregan Stark was welcomed into the world with a great clangor, perhaps an indication of the life he would lead. He was the third son of Ellard and Arrana Stark, but the only one not born still. A spirited young boy, Cregan was often seen running through the courtyard after the older boys that resided within the castle, wooden sword in hand. A mischievous boy, he and what soon became his band of castle boys were responsible for more than one foolhardy trick, played on the unsuspecting denizens of Winterfell. Cregan would have invoked his father’s wrath, had it not been for his doting mother. More often than not, when he was caught causing trouble his mother would step in and sweep away any issues with her kind words. In spite of his troublemaking, Cregan’s jovial personality made him many friends. His nickname, The Summer Wolf, was given both for the season of his birth, but also for the warm blood that ran through him, so different from his father’s wintery harshness.

As much as Cregan may have preferred it, his life was not filled with endless play. His father was adamant that Cregan learn to fight, and trained the boy himself. He was a harsh teacher, but an effective one. The song of steel is a familiar one to Cregan, a sweet tune that he seems to chase. As soon as he could properly hold a sword, the boy was challenging whoever would listen to him to a duel. Many defeats followed, but soon he began to win. Now, Cregan’s skill with a sword has surpassed even his father, and he is known throughout the North for his prowess in their brutal melees.

Ellard Stark would not be content with a son who simply knew how to hold a sword however. Shortly after his eighth name day, Ellard took Cregan into the Great Hall with him, and had him sit by his side while he held court, listening to the troubles of the peasants and noble lords alike. He taught Cregan about justice and honor, about the weight of his family name. The word of a Stark meant something, Ellard would say, and it was Cregan’s duty to uphold that meaning.

Cregan, for the most part, has done his best to live by his father’s teachings. He does his best to be honorable, and courageous, just and kind. Despite that, Cregan is not his father, and he answers to impulse more often than not. He finds it difficult to resist the tempting curves of the young women who work the inns in Winter Town, and he is a green boy in truth. He is brash, and quick to draw steel, but he has yet to be in a true fight, having spent the majority of his life in Winterfell, aside from traveling to the keeps of his father’s bannermen. His thirst for glory has brought him to King’s Landing, where he will compete for the honor of House Stark at the upcoming tourney.

Bennard Stark, The Lone Wolf, Castellan of Winterfell

Appearance

While Bennard shares the dark hair and grey, steely eyes of the Starks, that is where the resemblance stops. His father and brother were both large, imposing men, but Bennard has no such qualities. He is not particularly tall, though he’s not short either. His frame is slim, lacking the bulging muscles built by years of training with sword and shield. His face is long, somber, and since returning to Winterfell he’s let a beard grow out that covers his mouth and makes his almost gaunt face seem fuller, and more lively.

Biography

The second son of Lord Alaric Stark is a far cry from the first. Where as Ellard is a fierce warrior and a firm ruler, Bennard is bookish, preferring the biting wit of his words to the cold bruteness of steel. Born to the second wife of Alaric Stark, Bennard was born in 65 AC, Bennard was always in the shadow of his elder brother. His father had loved his first wife, but his second had been a marriage of duty, and Alaric came to resent Bennard’s mother. That resentment seemed to extend to Bennard as well, at some point. Bennard was not made of cold iron like his brother, and he often failed and shortly after his eighth nameday, Bennard was sent to foster with his father’s bannerman, Lord Harys Umber.

At Last Hearth, Bennard was treated as his brother had been at Winterfell. He was respected, and while Lord Harys pushed him to learn to wield a sword, the maester of the keep taught him all he could of numbers, the great houses and the relations between them, as well as the history of Westeros. It was at Last Hearth that Bennard grew up, and it was there that he met his first, and some say only, love. Arrana Umber, two years younger than him and the daughter of his foster father, became his closest friend at Last Hearth. Friendship became desire, and it became apparent to all at Last Hearth that Bennard lusted after the girl. It’s said even, that he asked for her hand in marriage, twice, but her father refused him both times, thus resulting in his sudden return to Winterfell when he was seventeen.

Shortly after Bennard’s return to Winterfell, his father died and his brother became Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North. The rift between the two brothers was already growing by this point, but the final straw would come at the harvest feast of 84 AC when Ellard danced with a young Arrana Umber, spiriting her away from Bennard. The younger brother took the insult to heart, and left Winterfell before the wedding. Furious with his brother and unsure of his place in the world, he took a ship from White Harbour to Oldtown, and began studying to become a maester.

Bennard’s time at the Citadel proved fruitful. He served as a novice for a short time, before he began forging his chain. He was set to take perform his ritual and become a maester, sometime in 87 AC but his success proved short lived. While studying, a serving wench had caught his eye and they soon became enamored with one another. He’d taken the girls maidenhead and put a baby in her belly instead. When the archmaesters learned of the illicit relationship, they reminded Bennard that one of a maester’s vows is celibacy. They gave him a choice; forsake the woman, and the child she bore, or leave the Citadel. Bennard chose the serving girl, not that it would matter in the end. She died giving birth to their daughter, Sara.

Shortly after Sara’s birth, Bennard left Oldtown on a ship bound for Volantis. His time there is largely a mystery. When asked, Bennard claims he stayed in the manse of a wealthy noblewoman, but that is as much as he has ever been willing to share. All the people of Winterfell know for certain is that eight years after he’d left for the Citadel, Bennard returned, seeking a home to raise his daughter, offering an apology and his service. Ellard received his brother as warmly as he knew how, and granted him the position of castellan, a position he holds to this day. Bennard has become one of Ellard’s closest advisors. Rumors of Bennard’s lingering resentment are not uncommon, but Bennard dismisses them as simply that; rumors, made up by smallfolk who have become bored with their dreary lives.

Sara Snow, The Bloody Wolf

Appearance

Dark hair frames Sara’s heart shaped face, and along with her cold, grey eyes, remind everyone that despite her birth, Stark blood runs through her veins. Hers is a somber face, her mouth drawn into an ever present frown. When she smiles however, it lights up her face, and remind everyone that beneath the boiled leather and mail, a beautiful woman resides. Her body is slender, but toned after years of working with a sword. Her face is scarred, a silvery line of flesh that cuts across her upper lip, the unfortunate result of a fight with a Dornishman. She walks with the swagger of someone who does not fear death, and is anything but dainty. Her ferocity is evident in her stare, harsh and cold, looking for blood.

Biography

Born beneath the Citadel, in a musty room meant for servants, Sara took her mother’s life as she came into the world. She has never forgotten that, no matter how hard she tried.

The early years of her childhood are a blur of sights and sounds. She was raised amidst the household of a Volantene noble, and she remembers the bustling city with a fondness, though she can hardly picture it now. Then, she remembers her father coming, and telling her that she’d be getting on a boat with him, to go home. She’d been confused then. As far as she knew, Volantis had always been her home. Nevertheless, she and her father boarded a ship, bound for White Harbour, and made their way to a place he called, Winterfell.

Winterfell was different from Volantis in many ways. It was cold for one, too cold for Sara’s liking. Volantis had been much nicer, always warm, and nobody gave her the strange looks that the people of Winterfell did. Her father explained to her that in Winterfell she’d be Sara Snow, not Sara Stark, which was strange, even after he explained to her that she was a bastard, and thus couldn’t carry the family name like her cousin could. In Volantis, she hadn’t been a bastard, at least not in the eyes of their hosts

Despite that, Sara soon became at home in the great castle. The strange looks ceased to bother her, especially after she and her cousin Cregan became close, wreaking havoc throughout Winterfell. The little lordling’s seal of approval meant that she was part of the castle, whether people liked it or not. She didn’t understand why Cregan got to train with the men outside, while she was forced to sew inside with the women. They always bothered her, gossiping about this and that, never anything important. Thankfully, Cregan would give her lessons in the godswood secretly, and as they grew up, their lessons continued until one day, after finding the duo sparring, her uncle relented. “If you’re going to insist on getting into trouble, I’ll see that you know how to get yourself out of it as well,” he’d said in his gruff voice. From that day on, Sara spent her days learning how to fight rather than. The strange looks came back again, but nevertheless she persisted.

Sara came to appreciate the freedom of her bastardy. Cregan would be forced to take up the Lordship of Winterfell, marry some woman his father chose for him, and ultimately, live a life that is not his own. After her seventeenth nameday, Sara decided that she would live her life on her terms, and hers alone. She gathered men, from the castle as well as Winters Town, and made for White Harbour. There, her and the men she’d gathered sailed for Braavos, where they became known as the Pack From Across the Sea. They made their names as sellswords, and Sara became known as the Bloody Wolf. When Daemon Targaryen came to conquer the Stepstones, the Pack From Across the Sea fought for him, after a considerable amount of payment that is. Today, Sara’s whereabouts are mostly unknown, though rumors say she’s remained in the Stepstones with her Pack, aiding Daemon Targaryen in holding his kingdom.

✡ Welcome to Salem, Massachusetts ✡

This looks interesting, if there's room I have a few ideas floating around my head for this

[ASOIAF]: Before the Dragons Danced

Been lurking here for a little bit, finally decided to start working on a house. Not even close to done, but I figured I'd post what I'd finished so far. The canon concerning the Starks that I could find was fairly sparse so I did my best to work it into a way that fits, but if there's anything you'd like changed let me know.

House Stark

Recent History

Long before Aegon and his sisters, the Starks of Winterfell ruled over the north as Kings in the North, their bronze and iron crown a testament to the strength of their people, and the unyielding nature of their homeland. Then they ruled with the strength and honor that came to be synonymous with the name Stark. When Aegon landed, The North was far out of mind, but after the subjugation of Stormland as well as the Riverlands, Torrhen Stark called his banners, well aware of the time it would take to raise an army in his cold, harsh country. After the destruction of the Lannister and Gardener forces at the Field of Fire, Aegon turned his eyes toward Torrhen, having received word in advance of his march south. At the base of the Trident, Aegon Targaryen met Torrhen Stark with forty five thousand men and three full grown dragons, and there it was that, the last King in the North became the King Who Knelt.

This new subjugation was poorly received in the North, and Torrhen would spend the rest of his reign struggling to convince his vassals, as well as his sons, that kneeling before the Dragon King had been a wise decision. Despite this unrest, upon his death his eldest son, Rickon, kept the peace, and enforced the Targaryen’s rule as Warden of the North. While the passing of Aegon Targaryen after thirty seven years on the Iron Throne would see many rebellions against the throne, including one by Jonos Arryn who proclaimed himself King of Mountain and Vale after deposing his elder brother, the Starks remained staunch supporters of the Targaryens.

Relations between the Starks and the Targaryens remained positive for many years, but the reign of King Jaehaerys would see relations between the two houses turn sour. Alaric Stark would become Lord of Winterfell after the death of his brother Walton at the hands of a band of Night’s Watch deserters, made up of rebels that King Jaehaerys had exiled after taking the throne from Maegor the Cruel. Alaric notably blamed the king for his brother’s death, and so, in order to improve relations, King Jaehaerys planned a tour of the north with his wife, Queen Alysanne. When Jaehaerys fell ill, Alysanne insisted she go on the tour as planned. Alysanne’s tour brought her to the Wall, where she took great interest in the work done at the edge of the world. Upon her return to King’s Landing, she convinced her husband to grant the Night’s Watch more land, land which came from Alaric Stark’s domain. The Proud Wolf bristled at what he believed to be an unlawful seizure of land, land which would be squandered by the Watch. This slight would see Alaric Stark’s son and heir, Ellard Stark, to side against the King in the Great Council of 101 AC.

Ten years on from the Great Council, and Ellard Stark remains Lord of Winterfell, and despite his rising age, all who have treated with him in the past years insist that he remains hard as iron, and sharp as steel. Ellard’s heir, Cregan, has earned a name for himself over the years through his victories at various tourneys throughout Westeros. Current notable members of the house also include Ellard’s wife, Arrana Umber, their son, Cregan Stark, Ellard’s brother, Bennard and Bennard’s bastard daughter, Sara Snow

Members of House Stark

Lord Ellard Stark, The Grey Wolf of Winterfell, Warden of the North

_{Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North * 52}

Appearance

In his youth, Ellard Stark was an intimidating man. His shoulders are broad, and his body sinewy with muscle. He is formidable in height as well, standing over many a man. His face holds the classic Stark features. His jaw while hard and defined, hides behind a coarse beard of dark hair flecked with grey. His eyes are steely, sullen and almost pained, their grey depths a wall of stone that halts any that might try to glean knowledge from them.. Three scars mark the right side of his face, from an encounter in the Wolfswood when he was young. The first goes right across his eye, and the next two fall just below. His hair falls to his shoulders, and has gone mostly to grey, though like his beard some dark brown remains, a reminder of his youth.

Biography

Ellard Stark was born at the beginning of the winter of 59 AC, a particularly harsh one due to the surprisingly short summer and autumn that had preceded it. Famine broke out across Westeros and soon the Shivers began to ravage the land. That winter saw the death of many, highborn and low, including that of Ellard’s mother, Raya, and his sister Lyarra. Despite the cruelty the winter of his birth wrought, Ellard survived, and it was not long before he could be seen hard at work in the courtyard at Winterfell, drilling with the master of arms.

Alaric Stark had been a cold and proud man, harsh as the lands he presided over and he sought to instill the same values in his son. While he loved his son in his own way, his affection was hard to come by. Ellard often tells the story of his twelfth name day, when his father took him out into the wolfswood for a hunt that was meant to last a week. On the third day, as Ellard tracked a deer, his father slipped away, taking his horse and leaving the boy alone. At first frightened, Ellard began to track his father, assuming he’d only wandered off. Soon however, he lost Alaric’s trail, and he became fearful once more. The heir to Winterfell ended up so turned around, that he did not return for three nights. When he did, he carried a dead wolf across the back of his horse, and bore a fresh scratch across his face. After the maester had patched him up, his father came to see him. The man sat across from him, and took a long look at Ellard’s wound. “I watched you slay that wolf. You were strong. If you hope to rule one day, you’ll need to be just as strong as that, stronger even.” Alaric had then placed a hand on his shoulder, and offered up a soft smile, one of the few Ellard ever saw.

By the time of Alaric’s death in 82 AC, Ellard was a man of three and twenty years, and much like his father. Cold as ice and as unyielding as the stones of Winterfell, there were those who said that the winter of his birth had stayed with him, and that should you cut him, an icy river would pour out in place of blood. Ellard would prove that his nature was not a detriment. While not the warmest of men, Ellard was just and honorable, and the smallfolk came to love him, as did his bannermen.

When his father had died, Ellard had been unmarried, having refused the hands of many women. This had been a point of contention between him and his father, and his advisers would continue to insist that he take a wife, for the good of the house. Ellard refused to entertain the idea until the harvest feast at Winterfell, in 84 AC, when he laid eyes on Arrana Umber. His bannermen’s daughter, she was a maid of seven and ten, and her beauty had caught the eye of many men that night. However, when it came time to dance, it was Ellard’s hand she took. They were married soon after the feast, and many in attendance said it was the first time they’d seen the Lord of Winterfell smile.

Today, Ellard Stark is growing old. He looks out over Westeros with the eyes of a seasoned man. He’s been lucky enough to rule in a time of relative peace and prosperity, but he’s seen the turmoil brewing in the south. The North will be called upon, sooner or later, he’s sure of it. His son, Cregan, while strong and hardy, is still a green boy, arrogant and brash as young men tend to be. Ellard fears that he might die before Cregan is ready. The future of his house hangs in the balance, as Westeros moves further and further towards chaos.

Lord Cregan Stark, The Summer Wolf

_{Heir to Lord Ellard Stark * 21}

Appearance

Built for strength, Cregan stands tall over his contemporaries, an intimidating brute of a man. He prefers his hair cut short, and his face kept shaved, leaving the chiseled jaw that looks so like his father’s, open to the air. One look at the young man is enough to note the resemblance between him and his father. They have the same grey eyes, Stark eyes, and while Ellard’s hair has gone to grey for the most part, the dark streaks that remain are the same shade of dark brown that color Cregan’s hair.

Born and raised a noble, Cregan walks about with a certain sense of importance that is evident in the way he swaggers through the streets of Winter Town. He is still blessed with the youthful arrogance of someone too young to know the true hardships of the world, and nowhere is that more apparent than the energy he carries with him, so full of lust, both for women and battle.

Biography

Born six years after his parent’s wedding in 84 AC, Cregan Stark was welcomed into the world with a great clangor, perhaps an indication of the life he would lead. He was the third son of Ellard and Arrana Stark, but the only one not born still. A spirited young boy, Cregan was often seen running through the courtyard after the older boys that resided within the castle, wooden sword in hand. A mischievous boy, he and what soon became his band of castle boys were responsible for more than one foolhardy trick, played on the unsuspecting denizens of Winterfell. Cregan would have invoked his father’s wrath, had it not been for his doting mother. More often than not, when he was caught causing trouble his mother would step in and sweep away any issues with her kind words. In spite of his troublemaking, Cregan’s jovial personality made him many friends. His nickname, The Summer Wolf, was given both for the season of his birth, but also for the warm blood that ran through him, so different from his father’s wintery harshness.

As much as Cregan may have preferred it, his life was not filled with endless play. His father was adamant that Cregan learn to fight, and trained the boy himself. He was a harsh teacher, but an effective one. The song of steel is a familiar one to Cregan, a sweet tune that he seems to chase. As soon as he could properly hold a sword, the boy was challenging whoever would listen to him to a duel. Many defeats followed, but soon he began to win. Now, Cregan’s skill with a sword has surpassed even his father, and he is known throughout the North for his prowess in their brutal melees.

Ellard Stark would not be content with a son who simply knew how to hold a sword however. Shortly after his eighth name day, Ellard took Cregan into the Great Hall with him, and had him sit by his side while he held court, listening to the troubles of the peasants and noble lords alike. He taught Cregan about justice and honor, about the weight of his family name. The word of a Stark meant something, Ellard would say, and it was Cregan’s duty to uphold that meaning.

Cregan, for the most part, has done his best to live by his father’s teachings. He does his best to be honorable, and courageous, just and kind. Despite that, Cregan is not his father, and he answers to impulse more often than not. He finds it difficult to resist the tempting curves of the young women who work the inns in Winter Town, and he is a green boy in truth. He is brash, and quick to draw steel, but he has yet to be in a true fight, having spent the majority of his life in Winterfell, aside from traveling to the keeps of his father’s bannermen. His thirst for glory has brought him to King’s Landing, where he will compete for the honor of House Stark at the upcoming tourney.

CANCELLED.

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_{Featuring: Jamie Callaghan, Alison Callaghan and Henry Callaghan
Location: The Callaghan Home
Interacting With: Trixie Kingsley @Lovely Complex}

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It had been an absolutely perfect night. This had been the kind of date that you tell your kids about, the kind of date that could send even Jamie, the most grounded and practical of lovers, into a full on fit of romanticism. As Marshall’s home grew smaller and smaller in his rear view mirror, Jamie’s mind lit up with images of Marshall, his brain replaying snippets of the night over and over. He smiled, grateful that his tumultuous week had ended with a very handsome capstone.

All good things must come to an end, and Jamie’s lovestruck day dreams were no exception. After parking his car and walking into his house, he heard his mom call from the kitchen.

“Jamie, can you come here? Your dad and I need to talk to you.”

Adrenaline flooded his nervous system, and his heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t even sure what they could’ve found, but suddenly he knew they had something. He inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, and put on a poker face. From the balcony that overlooked the entryway, Katie peeked her head over, grimacing in a shared commiseration. This wasn’t going to be good.

Jamie found his parents seated at the kitchen table, staring him down, a copy of the school newspaper between them. They remained silent as he slowly approached the table and took a seat, a deer all too curious of the hunters stalking him. The copy in question was his infamous piece on Hailey the Heartbreaker, leading to a moment of confusion. How the hell had they even gotten it, and why the hell did they care?

“Owen Lyon dropped this off earlier. He wasn’t very happy about it,” Alison said, cooly. She had yet to pass judgement on Jamie, but his next few words would determine his sentence.

“Well that’s no surprise,” Jamie scoffed, his confidence rising. He’d had this fight enough times this week that he could navigate it like a pro. “He didn’t want me to write it, but he’s also not my boss. So what’s the issue?”

Henry sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples as if to relieve the headache that seemed to have started the moment his children became teenagers. “The issue, Jamie, is that we have kids showing up at our house, complaining about what you said about them,”

“And what exactly did I say about Owen Lyon? That he’s not a cheater? That he stood up for Jennifer Hart? I didn’t slander anyone, I did my job. I may have gone over Trixie’s head in the process, but that was a matter of time. I needed the story out.”

“Jamie, did you perhaps stop to consider that there’s certain things that everybody doesn’t need to know? That some people value privacy?”

“Dad, my job is to report on this kind of thing! Trixie told me to get this story, hell, she’s the one who spilled everything to me! It’s not my job to consider what Owen Lyon wants, it’s my job to save the paper!”

“Well maybe, you should find a different job,” Henry said, his words hanging in the air as he stormed out of the kitchen, leaving Jamie and his mother in an uncomfortable silence. After a moment, Jamie stood to storm out too, but his mom stopped him, placing her hand on his.

“Honey, sometimes, the right thing isn’t in line with what you’re supposed to do. Sometimes your path is a little different than the one you lay out for yourself. I know it can be hard, but I also know that you have it in you.” Alison said, giving her oldest boy a comforting smile.

Jamie shook his head, and followed his father out of the kitchen, storming upstairs and throwing himself onto his bed, letting out a guttural scream into his mattress. Gone were the thoughts of him and Marshall. He was furious. He was doing everything he was supposed to, doing everything he’d done for the past two years of high school, and yet he was suddenly being persecuted for it.

For a while, he let the anger wash over him. His fists found pillows to pummel, slamming into them over and over, a number of them taking on Owen Lyon’s stupid face. His screams were released into the muffling ball of blankets, as the weeks worth of stress and irritation, the pressure that had been building since the New Years party all came flooding out.

Finally, he fell back, exhausted by his outburst of emotion. His breathing returned to normal, and out of the fires came an idea. He pulled out his phone, and sent a text that he hoped would set in motion a chain of events that would put this whole thing behind him once and for all.

To: Trix
we need to talk