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So nice to see interest! I'll try to answer some questions.

This looks cool. I'd like to hear some more of the ins and outs of supernatural beings and their communities.

So, I'll summarise a bit more of this in the OOC - but in short, most communities live seperately. Werewolf communities are the most isolated from the mortals, but some might find peace in smaller villages or towns. Vampires are comfortable mingling with mortals, but will generally have their own communities within a given region or country (certain powerful families, etc). Wizards/Witches are, on the whole, the most open minded toward mortals. Their communities are a bit less coherent, and are generally just magical families living among mortals, but naturally with knowledge of other supernaturals living near them. Members of all three communities might even have mortal jobs, or they may keep themselves as entirely seperate from humans as possible. Up to individual players.

The Academies (few and far between) are the 'institutions' that maintain order, and take supernaturals for teaching on their 18th birthday by ancient agreement. Hawthorne Academy is located in Scotland and, for example, will likely be responsible for all of Western Europe. The Headmasters and Headmistresses of these Academies may cooperate internationally, but that will be more 'behind the scenes' for the purposes of our roleplay.

I'll similarly explain tensions between the groups and histories a bit more in the OOC - but so far, the general idea is this: Wizards/Witches are very much the group 'in power'. They represent most senior staff and professors at Academies, and thus set a lot of supernatural rules/laws. This is the result of an ancient conflict between the three groups, that resulted in the creation of the Academies to ensure supernatural cooperation and coexistance.

On the whole, Vampires have some resentment to this and consider themselves the most powerful beings, rightful rulers, etc. Werewolves are home to the more rebellious characters, underrepresented and generally uninterested in goings on outside of their own communities - they send children to the Academies because they have to. Vampire and Werewolf hatred will definitely be a thing, with Wizards/Witches between them keeping the peace and feeling tension from both sides, as it were.

Characters can of course break the mould of their groups 'stereotype', but hopefully that gives you a bit more of an idea for how these supernatural characters exist with one another.

interested! is there any specific type of magic the witches and wizards would specialise in, or would we have some wiggle room for unique spells within reason?

I haven't quite decided on this, but for the sake of simplicity, we'll probably go down a 'Harry Potter' route for magic users - which means yes, they can specialise in magical areas of potions, herbology, conjuration, offensive/defensive spells, etc. I'm happy for 'unique' powers or spells to be proposed - and this goes for Vampires/Werewolves too - so long as it fits within the setting, and isn't obviously overpowered. None of our characters will be 'exceptionally powerful' by supernatural standards, yet. Expect to lose a fight with a professor, for example.

How did you envision vampires working? People aren’t really born Vampires, so the whole waiting for a vampire to turn 18 for them to attend a college doesn’t really work considering most vampires would be older than 18 when turned.

Interesting question. Vampires naturally are the only major supernatural group with immortality, and so it's feasable that some Vampire students have been at the academy for decades, even. I think Vampire students will have a unique program and curriculum tailored to them, meaning the Vampire cliques are even more profound than the rest. In our universe, I think we'll say it is possible for Vampires to be born, but they stop aging somewhere around 25-30, dependent on the individual. Vampires that are turned via mortals will be rare, as in this universe, Vampires will be forbidden from feeding on mortals by Academy Decree (though some may secretly ignore this), and instead drink a blood-like cocktail made by Wizard/Witch alchemists. Another point of contention in our story between the two groups.

Interested. I'm thinking of a Warlock character with an eldritch patron.

Would multiple characters be allowed?

Multiple characters, absolutely. I'll have a bit more of a think on a character with an eldritch patron, I don't know how much I want our setting to explore deities and extraplanar beings.
hawthorne academy

 hawthorne academy



This is a murder mystery roleplay, set in a supernatural academy within a world of dark fantasy. Werewolves, Vampires, Witches and Wizards and more. All coexist in this world, hidden from mortals by ancient decree - with those risking discovery punished harshly. Most of the communities live apart, but are obligated to have their children attend one of the few supernatural academies spread across the globe upon their 18th birthday, where they will learn better to control their powers and cooperate with other supernaturals. They generally remain in the academy until around the age of 24, meaning a six-year term. This does however mean that students often come to the academy with preconcieved stereotypes of other supernaturals, and there are very strong cliques. Primarily, these are of Werewolves, Vampires, Witches/Wizards. These academies also function as governing bodies in the supernatural world, each responsible for maintaining order in their respective territories. Our story takes place in Hawthorne Academy.

This will be a school slice of life roleplay as our young adults try to navigate this complicated social situation - understanding their powers, making friends, enemies, and lovers along the way. Additionally, our characters will become involved in the mystery behind an increasing number of supernatural dissapearances, murders and thefts of ancient artefacts - all of which will center around Hawthorne Academy, hidden in the highlands of present-day Scotland. How much individual characters involve themselves in this plot is ultimately up to the players, but have no doubts that the developments of these mysteries will have consequences for us all.

Among other things, players will be free to have their characters attend classes, interact with professors, form friend groups, be assigned roommates, and generally immerse their characters in this supernatural, dark academia setting. Narrative events will be created by me, and these will be explained in a little more depth below. Though, before going into too much detail, I wanted to put this interest check together to test the waters and see how much interest there is!

I intentionally want to keep this accessible without too much required reading, but lore will be expanded upon in an OOC post should this gather enough interest. Please do let me know if you're interested, or have any questions.


supernatural / dark fantasy / dark academia / murder mystery / school life / romance / betrayal

narrative events

This roleplay will include narrative events that players can opt to have their characters involved in. These will range from a calendar of school activities (the annual ball, competitions, etc) to investigations into dissapearances, murders, and more. Some choices in these narrative events will have consequences, but these will all be discussed with players beforehand. At all times, the driving idea is to create collaborative, engaging story.

Players are free to choose which narrative events they involve their characters in as they appear. As such, it is possible to focus more on the school slice of life - but there will be a plot, always moving gradually forward, which will have impacts on all characters.

Thanks for reading!

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖓𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗
𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖓𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗

𝖘𝖎𝖝 𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖍𝖘 𝖆𝖌𝖔

mentions: Garrett & Leyla Tyrell @Danvers

𝕿he Ocean Road has long been a vital link between the Westerlands and the Reach. Stretching from the gates of the Lannisport to Highgarden, it winds alongside the western coast with striking views of the Sunset Sea, the edge of the known world. It was on this road that, centuries past, the two kings of Lannister and Gardener had met to form an alliance against Aegon Targaryen. While dragons had been their doom all those winters ago, and occupants of Highgarden changed, the strength of such a union remained obvious. Between them, they could command more gold, grain and men than most other regions of Westeros combined - and now, there were no dragons. It was in pursuit of this alliance that Lord Tytos Lannister rode the ancient Ocean Road, the thundering of their hooves disturbing an otherwise peaceful winter's morning. His party headed for Highgarden and the funeral of Leo Tyrell, the late lord.

Yet it was not respect for the dead that brought Tytos to Highgarden but opportunity, for Leo had long resisted a joining of their two houses. Small-minded, and craven, Tytos had thought him. He would not be missed, and his early passing had been welcome news in the halls of Casterly Rock. With his eldest son now in the early and most impressionable days of his lordship, the opportunity to secure an alliance between their houses was ripe. An unequal alliance that Tytos had every intention of leading.

In the distance, as the morning frosts melted and gave way to a midday sun, the white towers of Highgarden came into view. The group, of no more than two dozen or so, found themselves on an elevated rise by the Mander, and looked upon the impressive seat of House Tyrell. Sunlight danced across the myriad gardens laid outside the walls, and waters of the Mander snaked peacefully alongside.

As they rode toward the gates, the Lions of Lannister brought their jaws around the Roses of Highgarden.

Even in mourning Highgarden was beautiful as ever. Nature did not care for the follies of man. Naught but winter would halt its slow but steady progress, and it would bloom even as tears were shed. Servants milled back and forth, preparing for a funeral that none had been ready to hold. Even with the prolonged illness of their Lord, they had never considered that he would not survive. They bowed their heads somberly as the small entourage passed, some brave eyes glancing up for a sight of a lion. It was not a familiar one to many of them.

They were led through the gates, past the maze that would foil any attack and the rising gardens that seemed endlessly bountiful. The air was heavy with floral scents, almost perfume like in its intensity. As they moved through the final wall they were led deeper into the gardens, through archways and under ivy that concealed passages barely even visible at first. They were to be taken to a place that the Tyrell children had always loved, for it felt secret and quiet and only for them.

The new Lord sat alone under a large pergola, servants waiting quietly and stood still in the background. His body was slung casually atop a chair, arms hanging languidly on its sides. When the lion arrived he looked up but did not make to move, instead offering a simple nod.

"Ah Lord Tytos, welcome to Highgarden. You are looking well for one who must be travel weary. I do hope your journey was not too unpleasant. Please take a seat..." He waved a nonchalant hand as he spoke, "Tea? Wine? Something stronger perhaps?" Dressed in dark clothes of mourning, there was no question that Garrett had still taken the time to carefully tend to his appearance. A light smile played on his lips and the heir turned Lord looked ready to laugh at any moment. His deep brown eyes watched Tytos slowly, waiting. Highgarden welcomed the lions jaws and hoped it would forget that roses have thorns.

Tytos strode through the garden with purpose and pace in his step, emerald eyes cast over the figure of a young lord awaiting him. It only took him a few moments to get the measure of the man. Inexperienced, cocksure and, he was willing to wager, not as smart as he thought himself - a dangerous combination, and one to be exploited. Some of his companions had bristled at the immediate summons to business after such a long ride from Casterly Rock. The young rose had not even thought to meet his party at the gates - a disrespect that betrayed his inexperience and, in truth, Tytos did not much mind. It was in his interests to have this business concluded with haste.

He lifted a hand to his shoulder, unbuckling a golden clasp in the form of a roaring lion, releasing a crimson riding cape and folding it across the back of a chair. The smell of horse clung to him, still. “Water will be fine.”

No sooner than he had sat himself opposite Garrett, a serving girl had a goblet filled and set on the table. “I was sorry to hear of your father.” He reached for the goblet now, his gaze scrutinising the conceited man across him. First impressions were made quickly, and Tytos had already concluded that it was unlikely he would be fond of the new Lord Tyrell, though for reasons entirely different to the last. It did not matter. The strength that their alliance could hold was reason enough to suffer the man’s company. “I did not know him well, but I can at least say he was a man of strong convictions.”

Setting down the goblet after a welcome drink, Tytos wasted no more time on hollow pleasantries. It had been easy enough to see through the black veils of mourning and discern Garrett’s ambivalence for the death. Perhaps he disliked the late lord even more than Tytos had. If Reynald was to be believed, that may well have been the truth. “But, for all my respect of your late father, I am sure you know it is not a funeral that has brought me this far from the Rock, no. I am here because of those convictions. Convictions that, I hope, you do not share.”

Garrett shrugged noncommittally, his face one of peaceful indifference. "No, I did not suspect that it was respect driving you here on the morn of his funeral. Far be it for a Lord to wait a single day before encroaching on territory that my father would undoubtedly be uncomfortable with." He smiled insincerely; it did not reach his dark eyes. "But you are correct. We shared little in common if I speak truthfully. He was very fond of pleasing others and there is no doubt that he will be severely missed..." Some may have mistaken Garretts words for a form of wistful sadness, a son grieving for a father that he had known for all twenty-eight years of his life. Yet the shallow disingenuity of one who likes to play with others had always made him hard to truly read.

Taking a sip from his wine, Garrett placed it on the table before leaning towards the lion. His chin rested atop his hand as if he were simply meeting up with an old friend. This particular area was secluded, unlikely to be encroached upon, especially by those with ears and eyes as sharp as any thorn. "I suspect you are not one to pussy-foot around an issue and I am apt to become easily bored. So please, tell me more of your purpose here."

The stony expression remained, but even if he would not show it, Tytos felt a wave of relief at the invitation to continue. Reynald had advised that the man was not one for mincing words, and this guidance had now borne fruit. Already, he could feel his ambition starting to be realised. With a soft incline of his head, he began to describe his offer. “I am here because there is an opportunity that lies before us. One that your father could not see.”

He interlocked his fingers, resting his hands on the table before him. “When Aegon first landed on these lands, it was the combined force of Highgarden and Casterly Rock that met him on the field. My ancestors knew then the power of our combined lands. Now, you know the histories and the dragons that overcame them. But that truth - that power of our combined houses, of the Rock and Highgarden, remains." His pale green eyes glanced about, contenting himself that they were unheard. “There are storms brewing, and with it treacherous days await both our houses. I propose that together, our houses can not only weather this coming storm, but conquer it. We have the opportunity to command more gold, and more men, than most of Westeros combined.” He fell quiet for a moment, allowing the thought to linger in the head of his opposite, before explaining the obvious means for such an alliance. “I have a son, and you have a sister. Together, they can hold an alliance that will overcome any foes. So.”, he brought his hands apart, his palms facing toward Garrett. “Does this bore you, Lord Tyrell?”

The young lord let out a loud bark of a laugh. For the first time he seemed more than lethargically disinterested, his eyes glimmering wickedly. "Surprisingly not. I'll give you that." Thoughts, of his own power, of his own desire to maintain his position, ran through his head. Yet he had been to all of his fathers meetings, listening even when he did not wish to; the curse of a keen mind perhaps. It was this unfortunate consequence of his upbringing that made him acutely aware of the Tyrells current position in the Reach. His father had seemingly been too preoccupied with extravagant festivities to give little care. Or at least that's what he had thought. "I have two sisters, though only one of age so I will presume you mean Leyla. And you do not just have one son…" He trailed off, leaving his question unsaid but open to be carried by the soft wind. "And I can not deny that gold and men are tantalising offers, but I wonder whether I can truly trust a lion..." He raised an eyebrow, his words as blunt as the dull edge of a blade.

A wry huff escaped the Lannister. “We would not be discussing a marriage alliance if you could trust me.” His thin lips creased into the shadow of a grin. “If I might offer you advice, it is that you do not need to make formal alliances with those you trust. That is the purpose of this alliance - to join our interests.” He relaxed against the chair, and the brief display of amusement faded. “And you are right, I do not have only one son, but only one is unwed. Loreon, one of the finest knights in the kingdoms and a fair match for Leyla.” He brought a hand to idly stroke the greying beard at his chin, as he was often wont to do. “Together, they will hold our alliance - and when wed, your interests shall become mine and mine yours.”

As the lion spoke, Garrett stood, striding to a nearby rose bush. With deft fingers he plucked one of the white flowers, easily avoiding the thorns that dotted its firm stem. "Yes, yes, you are old and therefore wise." He smirked, the insult passing over his lips as easily as water over rocks. "But I see no qualms in marrying my sister off to your kin. I can't deny that it would be a pleasing match…though she may be angry at me for the decision." The young lord replied idly as he walked back to his decorated seat, standing behind it whilst he twirled the rose between his forefinger and thumb. "Will you tell me of these interests of yours? Or are you as secretive as the rest?"

“You’ll find my interests quite plain. By vesting our houses in one another, we strengthen the holds on our lands, and discourage disloyalty in any storms that may come.” The inscrutability of Lord Tytos had always made him hard to read and while his words were honest enough, it did not take a political savant to recognise when the whole truth was not being told. Every lord in Westeros was out for themselves and their kin above all else, after all. It was not dishonest - rather, the game they played. He quickly moved the topic on. “But I am glad you have seen what your father could not. We’ll announce the match at Summerhall. My son will be there, have your sister be there also. Once the tourney is resolved, my host will travel to Highgarden for the wedding, and we’ll have this business concluded in a fortnight. Loreon will remain at Highgarden thereafter, as symbol of our joined families.” With a curt nod, Tytos pressed upwards from the chair, his brevity an intentional manoeuvre. “Good.”

"You have cast a ray of light on a very dark day." Garrett answered, smiling at the Lord of the Westerlands as he placed the rose gently atop the table. "We will be sure to make Loreon more than welcome. I must attest that we rarely get complaints from those who stay at Highgarden - excepting the few who get lost in the maze." He picked up his goblet once more, idly swirling the deep liquid but not moving to take a drink. "But I hope he is not so foolish." He added with a smirk before standing from his chair. "Now I sadly have more sorrowful matters to attend to but please, rest and refresh your party. My servants can advise you on some interesting parts of the garden that would be good to take a turn about." Garrett nodded to a group of servants who remained put as he took his leave, waiting not for the lions reply.

Tytos watched as the lord took his leave, the whisper of a smile curling at the corners of his mouth. The words of his ancient house were ‘Hear me Roar’, but in this, nothing would be heard. His influence over Highgarden would grow in the shadows like a weed in their garden, choking out all other seeds of ambition. It was to become his, and the Reach would answer to the Lions of Lannister.

Collab with @Danvers

Loreon Lannister | | Nyla Martell

Having unburdened himself from the last of his armor plate, standing it on the armor rack in his tent, Loreon rolled his shoulders. There were few sensations better than when finally removing armor after a long ride. Now he wore only a simple black gambeson, with well-fitted trousers and leather boots of a similar black. He had always felt it was his colour, despite the Lannister red and gold. Indeed, the only thing he wore of colour was the crimson belt around his waist, with the buckle in the unique form of a golden lion’s head - and, of course, his blade which hung, sheathed at his hip. The gilded hilt contrasted against the black - just how he liked it. Vanity? Perhaps.

Turning to leave his tent of crimson fabric, he was yet to encounter any of his family, despite arriving at the tents of House Lannister. He had left his hedge knight companions behind, for they had insisted their first stop be the famed Redwyne pavilion, determined to put every wine and spirit and to the test. He would join them, soon enough. But not before he’d met with his family. As fate would have it, he was intercepted the moment he stepped foot out of his tent.

“Brother!”, a loud voice called over. It was the heir to the Rock, and his elder brother, Lyman Lannister. If one was to ask any for their image of a Lannister - it was likely an image of Lyman that came to mind. Golden, fair and wavy hair that fell down his face. Eyes of perfect green, and a beard grown evenly and well-groomed - something Loreon had never been able to achieve. Lyman was, as always, at the head of a large group. He was charismatic, popular. A natural leader, they said. None could truly blame Loreon if he felt jealousy - but, he never had. In truth, he was glad to be free from the prison of Casterly Rock. Beaming a wide, genuine smile, he called back. “Ly!”

The two brothers embraced when the distance between them was closed, the group accompanying Lyman offering a variety of idle greetings with feigned eagerness. Loreon was unknown to the Westerlands and, usually, disliked by the few who did.

“Hells, Loreon. How long’s it been? Two winters, almost three? Too long, brother.”, Lyman clasped his hands firmly on Loreon’s shoulders. “Let me get a look at you.”, and a grin then curled on his lips. “No great scars from your many combats?”

“They’ve tried.”

Lyman laughed at that, lifting his hands from Loreon, and the pair spoke for a short while longer, swapping stories and congratulations for various feats, ‘til Lyman decided to make his leave. His smile faded, and voice lowered.

“Much has changed since I saw you last. Father has- ”, he paused to consider his words. “He’ll tell you himself at supper, this eve. His tent.”

And with that Lyman left, as he always did - even when they were small children. Their father had been successful in drilling a sense of duty into one of his sons, at least. Loreon made for the tent of his father, only to be turned away by the guards at post. Business inside, they said. He insisted he was not to be disturbed by any. What could possibly be more important than meeting with his own son? Loreon did not care to press the matter. Instead, he began to make for the Redwyne Pavilion, and his friends already there. If nothing else, he would enjoy a drink.

Weaving through the ongoing chaos of carts and busywork, the morning sun began to fall to midday, and suddenly he caught sight of a familiar form. Could it be? Was it? He focused his attention, pushing through moving crowds to catch a better glimpse. It was.

“Princess..?”, he raised his voice soonafter to call above the noise of a crowd, “... princess!”

At his words, a young girl abruptly stopped in her tracks, forcing several stewards and servants to veer out of her path, a flash of colours and movement parting around her. Oblivious to the chaos she was causing, the princess turned, beginning to deftly slip through the crowd as she searched for the voice that had called out to her. Her dress of light blush silk had once been heavy with layers, fit for sitting and gossiping loquaciously but not for any sort of easy movement. Nyla had quickly seen to this error however and now the garment effortlessly flowed with her every step.

The throng of people was dense here and Nyla nearly crashed into Loreon as she finally spotted the recognisable shock of blonde hair, her limbs too caught up in the thrill of the moment. The face of the young martell lit up at the familiar sight before her, a hand resting against his chest, having been the only obstacle preventing her from toppling the pair of them onto the dirt path. "Ser Loreon!" She smiled as she lifted her hand away, no hint of unease in her standing, the words both fond and teasing as they slipped from her lips. "What luck you are here! I was just wishing for some excitement. Perhaps the seven listened to my plea, or perhaps you have just missed me terribly?"

Walking around him like a small pup unable to contain its excitement, Nyla only stopped when a passing merchant grunted irately at her, his cart tilting precariously under the weight of several bushels of ripe cherry red apples and sweet pears. Though she lived at court and was in many ways linked to the royalty themselves, many did not know of her and often presumed she was from a lowly house. But Nyla enjoyed this thoroughly. There could be nothing more fun after all than being mistaken for something one was not.

Clasping her hands behind her back, she looked up at him, chewing gently at the soft skin of her lower lip, a behaviour that many servants had tried & failed to drill out of her. It was terribly uncouth afterall. "Are you here to partake in the tourney?"

The corners of his lips curled upwards into a grin, meeting her eyes with his own and following her gaze as she circled him. Finally planting her feet in one spot after almost toppling an overburdened cart, the grin on his lips grew wider. “I am.” His tone low and playful, he took a small step toward her. “I’m here to compete… in the joust, and the melee...” He continued to slowly close the gap between them as he spoke, till there was but a perilously thin wall of air between them. Leaning forward and to her side, his words became little more than a whisper to her ear. “… and, perhaps, to see you.”

He pulled back suddenly, the distance between them again respectable. The pair had always had a teasing relationship, but that had been brave even for Loreon. If there was any self-doubt, it didn’t show. “It’s good to see you again, Princess.” His words had become more formal, but in a way the two could recognise as teasing. They had always enjoyed the spectacle of keeping up appearances. “Pray tell you’ve been keeping out of trouble?”

His arms fell from his chest, one hand idly resting on the hilt of his blade while the other rested at his waist, inviting her to walk alongside. “… and speaking of trouble, I did hear the Redwynes have built quite the pavillion. I thought we might pay a visit.”

Nyla had to fight against the blush that dared to flare upon her cheeks as he closed the gap between them. She may enjoy to tease and taunt but in reality the girl was thoroughly inexperienced, particularly for one of House Martell. It bore from over a decade living at Kings Landing, where appearances had to be kept up, despite her attempts otherwise. Loreon had always been a refreshing change against the bore that was daily court.

"Well perhaps I will also be kind enough to give you my favour." Nyla grinned, matching his stride, her eyes twinkling mischievously at the mention of trouble. The pair walked precariously close, occasionally bumping gently against one another. She nodded eagerly when he mentioned the tent.

"Oh yes please! I tried to go there earlier but they told me a lady should not sit alone with so many men. How ridiculous!" She raised her hands in exasperation as she spoke, "I personally think I could drink at least half of them under the table."

An amused huff escaped him as she mentioned her favour. “I’m not above buying your favour with wine, Nyla.” The young pair continued to meander their way to the pavilion, but neither seemed in a rush. He couldn’t resist stealing more than one glance to her as they walked, and occasionally they caught their eyes together.

He scoffed at the suggestion she could drink half of them under the table. “Please, if I know you, you can drink far more than half under the table, and that includes me.” They’d once spent part of an evening away from the prying eyes of servants and maids, drinking whatever vintage they could find. At least, Loreon was told they had done this. He had no memory of it, such was Nyla’s ability to both outpace and outdrink him.

“Besides, you won’t be sitting alone, now. You’ll have me.” This only doubled their chance of falling into trouble. “… but tell me, how is the capital? Is court as exciting as it’s always been?”, he looked to her more obviously now, the grin tugging at his lips. “The suitors must be lining up.”

Nylas face fell at his mention of suitors. "I do not wish to marry some man who cares not about me." She frowned, brushing a piece of stray hair from her face as they neared the pavillion. "It does not seem like a good life..." As much as she grew tired of Kings Landing, she knew her days would be much more tedious if she had to live with some boring old lord. And she could not help feeling perturbed by the ease with which Loreon asked her of such things. He clearly must not see her as anything but an acquaintance, someone fun to drink with but little else.

"But anyway, we should not dwell on such miserable thoughts!" Nyla shook her head decidedly as she grabbed ahold of his forearm, pulling him along to join the rabble of people entering the pavilion. "I think we should get our first drink! I do so wish to see you slumbering under a is not often that one gets to witness a sleeping lion afterall." She teased, her expression lighting up with excitement as they neared the feasting tent. "And I can tell you all the secrets from court."

His lips pursed into a sympathetic smile as she spoke, listening quietly. The fall in her expression was obvious, though in truth, Loreon shared her outlook. Marriage had always seemed a prison to him, rarely made for love. It was no accident that he was still unwed. Still, as it always did with Nyla, she soon perked up to lead him through the entryway of the pavilion. “Oh, you have secrets to spill? Then you’re right, we must find our first drink.”, the grin returned to his lips. “…and, much as I’m sure you could quickly have me sleeping under the table, let’s not drink too fast.” Loreon leaned closer again to whisper, “I don’t want to miss your company for a moment.” With that, the pair found their way to the nearest counter pouring wine. His friends could wait.

Collab with @Ruby

Lord Tytos Lannister || Lady Celena Lannister

Tytos had moved from his central tent to one of the smaller extensions, the curtains drawn open and tied in place. The interior of this extension was more intimate. There was a table of nightwood, decorated with floral carvings and dark as the midnight sky. Three leatherbound chairs of similarly dark wood sat beside it - two on one side, the third opposite and facing the entrance. Two lit braziers flanked the third chair, their low flames creating a soft glow. Heavy rugs of crimson were laid across the floor, depicting lions and floral arrangements. Where his central tent was intended for receiving groups, this was clearly a section for more private, delicate discussion.

Within, Tytos stood behind the lone chair, tightly gripping it, between both braziers. His slim form was illuminated by the light, and he had not changed from the earlier clothing. A simple jacket of black leather, crimson neck scarf beneath, and the golden brooch of a roaring lion on the left of his chest. The aging grays and silvers of his golden hair were more accentuated, perhaps, by the light on either side.

“You are sure of it?”, he asked to the more finely clad of the two, standing opposite - his trusted adviser, Raynald.

“This source has yet to lead me astray.”, Raynald answered confidently. He had spent decades cultivating a network of informants and trusted contacts within the Westerlands, since before even he had found himself in the court of the Rock. It was, in part, how he had secured this position as Tytos’ most able and trusted servant. And he was, for the most part, a servant. He held no great ambitions to rule - but this would not mean he did not enjoy the privileges of his post. He did. The fine clothes he wore were but one such example. The women waiting in his tent, another.

Tytos huffed in consideration, lifting his grip from the chair and straightening his posture. his hands now folded behind his back. “Then I will visit with their new lord.”

“Tarbeck Hall is but a shadow of itself.”, Raynald offered. “They will not be difficult to persuade from this course. Josmyn is a second son who stands to inherit nothing, and this is a desperate attempt for attention. He is clinging to any crumb of influence he can find.”, he paused to allow for a quiet sigh. “Like most friends of Blackfyre.”

Before the conversation could continue, Ser Benedict Vikary entered the tent and made his way to the pair, bowing his head toward Tytos quickly. “Forgive the intrusion, my lord, but we’ve found her. She’s outside.”

This grabbed Tytos’ attention. “Leave us, and send her in.” Vikary gave a curt nod at this, turning to enact the order while Raynald remained in place, but not for long. Silently understanding the glare shot his way, he followed after Vikary to leave Tytos alone, awaiting the Lioness.

The walk was long, the gray doeskin slippers were newly made by an artisan and held up much more beautifully than she did. The two armored men were full on sweating by the time they arrived at the Lannister camp, while three months traveling Westeros had left her in far better shape than she was in when she left Braavos. Thankfully, she escaped the walk across almost the entire width of the small valley, or near enough, with barely an issue save for the thin gloss of shine from sweat on her neck and chest.

When she arrived at the camp it seemed like nearly immediately Lady Lorelai had appeared at her side, casually dismissing the two men-at-arms who had gone to some lengths to retreat Celena, before leaning in so the two of them could exchange rapid whispered words. It was Lady Lorelai who saw Celena to the Lannister main tent, where they met Ser Benedict and the two women said their goodbyes for now.

Celena never was good at stopping the little voice in the back of her head that always whispered in her ear, ”Careful. Danger.” Her eyes sank in details with a single glance around as she was escorted to an off-shoot section of the main tent, thoughts lingering to what exactly the meeting might be about.

One of the Bannerman of the Rock that were in debt to the Iron Bank, using the bank as an alternative to loans from their Lord and Warden. She thought perhaps, but it didn’t explain sending men to find her and bring her, as if she were little more than a servant girl caught stealing.

Some part of Celena bristled at the disrespect shown, but it was a part of her that was deeply hidden away. Her green eyes all but actually glowed as she thanked Ser Benedict and gave a happy quick hello to Lord Garner as he left, and she was motioned to enter. She was well aware of Garner, but he seemed less aware of her and her people.

That was the way she preferred it.

Her smile was big, her demeanor friendly and warm and sweet as she bowed her head gently to the man on the other end of the table she suddenly found herself standing at. “Lord Tytos, it’s so good to finally meet you, I’ve heard the Warden of the West was a capable and intelligent man,” her lips pressed as her smile thinned and twisted at the corners of her mouth into a little grin, her voice lowering as if she were letting Tytos in on a secret, “you know, they don’t say that about every Great Lord of Westeros.”

It was true, too. There were concerns about the North, even concerns about the Reach with so many influential Houses so seemingly fractured. Was it just the cycle of things? Was it the Blackfyres? Her voice had a depth of tone that could give the sound of her a husky, exposed quality at times. Giving the impression there was always something more; to her, to what she had to say, secrets buried atop secrets, some hers and some belonging to the world around.

It was with that sound that her golden head tilted just to the side, the silk gown tight with the long walk before to her still cooling skin just below, her eyes focusing on the Lord before her in a way that was more focused than before. Like she was searching…and then a few moments later, she retreated to a gentle, warm, smile. She thought she might have it now.

“…you’re curious where I’ve been? What happened to me after that early morning murder of my parents?”

Pale green eyes studied her form silently as she spoke. She was gorgeous, and held the look of a perfect Lannister, there was no denying. His eyes locked with hers for but a moment as she searched his expression - and he, hers. Two lions, each getting the measure of the other. Lesser men may have easily succumbed to her natural charm, and beauty. They may have followed meagrely as she sought the initiative of their conversation, putting a question to Tytos.

He wasn’t willing to grant her that control of their dance. Not yet. A hand was brought from behind his back to gesture at one of the chairs beside her, his other hand moving to a golden jug on the table. It was water he poured into two goblets, not wine. “I remember your parents well.”, he began. Her earlier compliment was heard, but not acknowledged. “We supp’d together, when you were but yea high.” A flat palm was held beside his waist to illustrate her height, before he moved to sit in the chair opposite her.

“What befell them was unconscionable. But I cannot help but wonder… what is it you remember of them - your mother and father?”, he asked in a not-so subtle test of her identity.

"Everything. I remember you. I remember the Rock. The Bank of Lannisport. The brass studded leather chairs in the big office on the second floor of the bank in that dark crimson color. I was a baby when I learned what power felt like…it felt like sitting in those chairs. One for my father. One for you. One for the old man with the crown of white hair and the big belly that ran the Bank…a Lannett, as I recall."

His remark about a murder he didn't understand was heard but not acknowledged, as she slipped into the seat as she smoothed the dress and her straight blonde hair that looked as shiny soft as the silk gown, tucking it behind her right shoulder with her right hand, delicately, settling into the chair to the great relief of her feet.

"I can show you to South Shore and the path among the rocks between our centuries old fortified manse of a home and the secret beach below. More importantly," she said, her smile again the kind of shine that was usually reserved for steel, "you are the second to this line of questioning, my Lord. My cousins were the first four years ago when I first returned home. I wanted to see that manse. I wanted to walk those streets. I wanted to feel that chair, even if just one more time…and I wanted to offer help to them if they needed it. I never expected to return. My fellow Keyholders of the Iron Bank thought I could represent their interests in Westeros better than anyone else; so at their gracious invitation I arrived three months ago. The only part of Westeros I haven't been to since my arrival is…the Westerlands."

Tytos reached for the goblet of water closest to him, taking a drink as she recounted the memories and, surprisingly for him, the fact that she had been to Westeros before. At Lannisport even, four winters past. So close to the Rock, and yet he had heard nothing. His thoughts raced to find conclusions that were still out of his reach - but he wagered the silence of her past visit meant that it was kept secret and that she, at the very least, was no stranger to travelling unseen. But to what purpose, why keep her return secret till now? Frustratingly, he didn’t know.

Her present reason for being in Westeros made sense enough, but then again, perhaps that was the point?

“Then Lady Celena”, an acceptance of her identity, “I am glad to see you again. It had always felt, to me, that we failed Jasen and Kyra by not finding you - and the fact that their murderers have also gone unpunished…”, he trailed off to let that point linger. In the aftermath of that morning, the red cloaks had hanged common criminals they proclaimed “guilty men”, but it did not take much insight to know that they were not responsible.

His posture straightened in the chair, “You were right, though. I am curious - curious of what happened to you, and your insight of what happened to them both… unless you have never wondered?”

Her face illuminated with the joy of knowing a secret he did not as he spoke of her parents murder, and their murderers, her pink lips spreading wide and bright in a smile so earnest she couldn’t seem to contain it, her honeyed tone taking on that slight hint of husk and mystery that was nearly lost in the glow of the woman, “Their murderers didn’t go unpunished.”
They just couldn’t tell me anything useful.

Sudden and surprising as a crack of thunder over a barely cloudy sky, her face changed: gone was the radiant smile, stolen was any semblance of satisfaction or joy. The light had gone out, as her green eyes hardened before his very eyes, her tone was that of a woman…there was no more or no less. As close to maintaining the connective tissue of reality of what happened without leaving enough to make her feel.

“The two men leading the wheelhouse stopped the horses, got off, opened the door, and then burst in with daggers, stabbing. My father tried to use his body to shield us, but he was so bloody, his face so white he was effortlessly snatched from the wheelhouse by one of them, the other ripping my mother from me, one hand using her hair to wretch her, the other stabbing his dagger into her side to force her compliance. One of them started towards me, the other grabbed him and told him no. The first said it wasn’t the plan, the other said it was worth the change of plan in their weight in gold to the slavers.”

Celena’s green eyes briefly moved to the goblet near her, found water as well, and simply returned her eyes to the Lord across from her. A pity. “I was taken to a ship waiting at the Lannisport docks. A merchant from Myr,” a ghost of her earlier smile came to haunt her golden and green features, fainter still. “But few Myrish captains would refuse the kind of reward such a slave could represent to the right buyer. And in Myr, there’s always someone who knows the right buyer. The right buyer was…strict, demanding, extreme in his views and thinking. Some brilliance to the madness, no doubt, but I’m not sure what became of him.”

The lie used to come so easy. Now? She found herself risking water, as she reached for the nearby goblet and took the kind of sip that came with a dry throat. The goblet was set down exactly where it had been before without so much as a half-moment’s glance, “I was freed by pirates. Their captain wouldn’t see me harmed further than I wished, as he put it…so I ended up on a pirate vessel for years. That captain died during a long voyage to the East. We returned to Braavos to complete the contract for the Iron Bank. I…had an interesting time. The wealth created from that voyage, treasures found and returned, allowed me to return to my roots of Lannister gold lending. Various investments…various adventures and mis-adventures,” she said, playfully shrugging, that glow slowly returning as if color was slowly returning to the woman before his very eyes.

Tytos studied her every expression as she wove the tale, subconsciously stroking at the greying beard on his chin, something he was wont to do when focusing. Her account of the morning was brutal, and a small part of him regretted that he asked her to recount it. The rest was interesting, remarkable even, and for the most part he was inclined to believe it. But there was one thing that stuck at the front of his mind while she spoke, something he asked as soon as she had finished. “Didn’t go unpunished?”

“More than nostalgia brought me back to Lannisport years ago,” she allowed in answer to this question. “There are still questions. My cousin, Lady Lorelei, would like to speak to me regarding the matter and potential new information. For years I wasn’t sure who was behind it. I’m still not, the conspiracy seems hidden deep in the shadowy corners of the city, but I’ve come to eliminate the Lannisters of Casterly Rock from suspicion. Your family is insulated by the Rock and your greater power across the West. I believe those responsible focused on Lannisport, itself, and immediately adjacent lands.”

He reached again for the goblet of water nearest him, taking a contented drink. That explained the secrecy of her past return, something that had been clawing at the back of his mind since she revealed it. He set the goblet down with a soft exhale, considering the idea of a conspiracy. “It was something that had crossed my mind, years ago. A conspiracy of foes to Jasen, united by some cause. I appointed a…”, his words trailed off as he paused to recall. “Ser Darian… I think, to pursue an investigation even after the red cloaks had hanged their guilty men.” He sucked at his teeth in frustration, “Nothing came from it, and that was the end of it. You think you can find these answers, where I could not?” It wasn’t a challenge or doubt, but more an invitation. If such a group existed, then the Shield of Lannisport would be glad to hear of their end.

Celena settled into her warm expression with a gentle sigh, and tired eyes, "I think I'm going to talk with my cousin and meet some Westerland Lords regarding Bank business, and then Gods willing I get a boat and go home." After a pause, a dark brown perked, "Should more happen, I assure you I will let you know it."

“Good”, he remarked plainly. “… and, now you mention the Bank, there is one more thing.” Pale green eyes looked to her, his expression falling steely and tone cold.

“Under the misrule of our late King Aegon, the crown accrued a significant debt to my house. A debt he did not intend to repay. Now, I can only imagine that if the King turned to me, he also turned to the Iron Bank.”, he then raised a palm, “But I know you are not wont to discuss the details of that with me… However, since our new King - Gods be thanked - has ascended the throne, the crown has been faithful in repaying these debts. Again, a situation that I might wager is replicated with your Bank.”

He brought his arms forward now, to rest on the table they shared, his hands clasped together. “It stands to reason that the Iron Bank would not finance anything that could… upset the present circumstance, does it not?” His reference to the Blackfyres, and any possible supporters, was plain. House Lannister had spent decades investing in the Westerlands after the raids of the Red Kraken, and in this process, had found many vassal houses owing them debt from their generous loans. Tytos liked this. It was good to have his vassals reliant on his house. Oaths were too easily broken. That some of his vassals had Bank business he was not aware of, was already of mild concern.

“Stability is good for business, conflict provides opportunity,” She nearly shrugged again, instead choosing to take another sip. Not an answer he was looking for, but Celena respected the majority of her fellow Keyholders, and the rest mostly scared her. “Given how ledgers balanced after the Dance of Dragons, it may surprise you just how neutral the impact was for the accounts at that time. The storm gathering certainly hasn’t the scale of that one, at least in my opinion, though any prolonged period of uncertainty will inevitably see mitigation of risk by wise investors.”

She could see his pale green eyes narrow in either a losing of focus or interest, pivoting to a more direct approach to ease him, rather than the more Essos-based careful and roundabout way of addressing such a high-capacity concern, “Just so, the Targaryen dynasty, outside the recent Aegon, has generally acted in good faith with the Bank. Slavery is punished by death and seen as the abomination it is, open trade is encouraged. These are ideal conditions for the Bank, making major investments in potentially disturbing this unlikely, to say nothing of discussions I had at the Red Keep before journeying to this tournament to see Lady Lorelei.”

His thin lips curled into a faint, forced smile. The storm gathering. He knew well what the mitigation of risk meant. The Iron Bank will have it’s due, after all. “All storms pass, and this will be no exception.”

Lord Tytos Lannister
Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport and Warden of the West

Outside the walls of Summerhall, a small field of crimson and gold was being erected. The host of House Lannister had arrived. Their journey had taken them through the Goldroad, stopping frequently and gaining size as the procession grew larger, with other houses of the Westerlands joining their overlords. Among their banners when they finally reached Summerhall, they counted Lefford, Lydden, Reyne, Brax, Westerling and more. Tytos did not care for the action of tourneys, but the opportunity they provided for gathering together lords of the realm would always make them a valuable occasion. Ravens had been sent to all houses of the Westerlands months prior to the journey, inviting them to join the procession through the Goldroad. An intended display of strength and of unity, made plain for all the realm upon their joint arrival.

Halfway-completed tents were arranged in a rectangular arrangement, allowing naturally for a central walkway that would pass by all tents and lead to what was not only the largest, but also the only presently completed tent. This ‘hub’, composed only of tents for House Lannister, was to serve as the central location for all lords of the Westerlands that had staked their tents nearby, creating in effect a ‘westerlands quarter’ of the tourney-grounds. Crates of fabric were hauled by ox, tent poles carried by servants and household guards alike, furniture moved, and oak planks laid for tent flooring. The grass had already been killed by the trudging of boots, starting to brown and the soil beneath soften. It would turn to mud, soon enough.

Outside the completed tent, two posted guards maintained a quiet vigil, an island of calm amidst the chaos of busywork elsewhere. The tent was divided into four compartments - a large middle-section intended for audiences, with smaller and more private extensions to the left, right and rear, their interiors concealed by hanging curtains at the entrances. There could be no doubt of who the tent belonged to. Miniature golden lions rampant against the crimson fabric of the tent, golden frills adorning the corners and two sigils of House Lannister planted firmly in the ground by either side of the tent opening. This, for the coming days, was to be the seat of Lord Tytos Lannister.

Within, the furnishings were a touch more modest, but comfortable. Rugs laid across the wooden floorings, cushioned chairs, basins, golden braziers and storage trunks created a homely environment in the main tent. One item that particularly commanded attention was the display of Tytos’ personal armour. Plate of darkened steel over a crimson gambeson, the black cuirass had a design of golden lions and floral arrangements. The face of proud lions sat on each pauldron, and a belt of red leather was tied across the waist, supporting the sheath of a blade. A bolt of crimson cloth lay across the left-side of the armour, tucked underneath the leather belt and draping down to cover the armoured legplates. It was a display of wealth, and of skilled craftsmanship.

The other central furnishing in the middle section of the tent, was a large square table of dark oak. Bowls of fresh fruit, five-armed candle holders, and golden decanters with matching wine cups cluttered the table. Around the table, a gathering of lords made a toast.

There was the small, podgy lord of the Golden Tooth and the only man present who enjoyed the colour gold more than the Lannisters. The young patriarch of House Westerling, brother to the wife of Tytos’ own son and heir. The black-haired lord of Turnberry, adorned in his house colours of green and red. Other lords among them included those of Reyne, Brax and Lefford. Only one man stood without a cup, at the head of the table. Golden hair that had begun to turn silver was brushed neatly back, flowing behind his ears. His beard was well-groomed, though streaks of white were most noticeable around his chin and mustache. His face - of sharp cheekbones, and a straight nose - held a quiet intensity, and he stood proudly with a straight back, and tall. There was no mistaking that this was Tytos Lannister, patriarch of the house and Lord Paramount of the Westerlands. In contrast to his lavish surroundings, the clothes he wore were simple, and practical. A long jacket of black leather, with plain trousers and leather boots, both also black. A red neckscarf around his neck, and the golden brooch of a roaring lion on his left shoulder.

Some closing remarks were said to the assembled lords, who began to file out of the tent thereafter, leaving only three men present.

“She has been seen.” He had waited until all others were out of earshot before beginning the conversation. Raynald Garner, the red-haired second son of a minor house, had made good standing in the Westerlands. He acted as the most trusted adviser to Lord Tytos, and was said to maintain a network of informants throughout the Westerlands - and beyond. “Celena Lannister. The lost daughter.”

Tytos moved to warm his hands by a brazier. He was always first to feel the cold. “And we are still in the dark. We do not know her motive, where she has been, why she is here.”, a pause. “If it even is her, and not some falsehood.”

“A beggar, here to lay claim to Lannisport.”, offered Ser Vikary. A stocky, well-built master-at-arms with lips creased in a near-permanent frown. If Raynald was the adviser, Vikary was the enforcer.

Raynald threw a hand dismissively. “If that was her intent, we would know by now.”

“Then why else come here? A gathering of all great lords in the realm? She’s here to stake claim. She’s after the city.”, Vikary retorted. The men continued to bicker a while longer, before words from Tytos silenced the pair.

“There is but one way to know for certain, and it is not by gossiping as fish wives.”, his pale green eyes rose from the brazier to Vikary. “Take some men, and seek her. I doubt a golden-haired Lannister will be beyond your means to find. Bring her here.”, his attention returned to the brazier. “I will find the truth of this myself.”

Loreon Lannister
The Lion of Lannister

Loreon rode at the head of a small group as they approached the foothills of Red Mountains, and the palace of Summerhall. His black destrier - Midnight - felt tense. “Easy, boy.”, he said with a firm pat against the neck. It was unlikely the horse had been spooked by anything in particular. More likely, was that the steed could feel the tension of his rider. It was not the upcoming tourney that filled the young lion with apprehension, no, he had fought in a half-dozen this past season alone. Nor was it the royal audience in attendance. Instead, this was to be the first reunion with his family in near two winters. He had missed them, in truth, and written to his favored sibling - Leona - to tell tales of his travels, but she had never been able to return correspondence. After all, he could not remember the last time he had stayed idle in one spot for more than a week or two, at most. Perhaps, from this tourney, he would not go so long without visiting the Rock.

“Nervous, aren’t you.” Jon Heddle, a knight of very minor nobility, if it could even be called such, was one of the few competitors Loreon had befriended. The two had even become traveling companions, and had been for three winters now. If Loreon remembered properly, Jon’s family owned a popular crossroads inn, and that was the extent of their land. Smallfolk, in all but name, but he didn’t mind. Jon was better company than most.

Loreon offered no reply to the jest.

“I’m looking forward to meeting your sister.”, Jon continued.

That did provoke a reaction. Loreon twisted in his saddle to look back at the dirt-covered knight. Cleanliness with such constant travel was, admittedly, difficult. His eyes of deep green met the blue of Jon in a silent stare, that was soonafter broken by an amused huff from the lion. He returned his attention forward.

“Good luck.”, Loreon offered in a pointed tease. His sister had always been, in his mind, the most dangerous of the three siblings.

The group continued to trot comfortably forward to the tourney grounds, a few other knights alongside Ser Jon. They were engaged in energetic discussion, and Loreon caught pieces of it here and there. Who would best who, which lady they would crown the queen of love and beauty, and who they would bed. The usual.

Loreon had won more tourneys than the rest of his companions combined - though Ser Jon had bested him once or twice. He had built a reputation, and with it came expectation. Loreon did not intend to disappoint the House of Lannister, nor the Princess Nyla Martell, who’s favour he would surely carry. The pair had only fleeting encounters, though it had become something of a tradition between the two that she would grant him her favour. Perhaps this was to be the tourney that would bring him a victory under her favour, for the first time.

Starting to move through the tourney grounds proper, the makeshift roads and paths became busier and their progress slowed. Knights and squires, servants constructing tents, carts with materials, smallfolk peddling goods. He enjoyed the chaos of it - and, more than this, Loreon enjoyed the attention afforded to him. His armor had always turned heads.

A suit of plated steel, enameled with pure gold and constrasted by a heavy cloak of crimson. There could be no doubt to any who saw him, that this was a Lannister of the Rock. Even the hilt of his blade was gilded. Beneath the plate, visible at the joints of his arms and neck, was the black gambeson he wore underneath. His helmet, hanging by the side of his horse, was the mouth of a roaring lion with two pronounced teeth at the roof of the mouth. Unlike the rest of his troupe, Loreon took care in the polishing and cleaning of his armor - and the sheen of his plate glittered like a thousand stars in the reflection of the sun. The clasps of his plate were also gilded - but no ordinary clasps. They were fashioned as miniature lions, prepared to pounce. His belt of crimson leather was bejeweled with rubies.

Yes, the Lion of Lannister had arrived at Summerhall, and he made for the tents of his family.

I’m a little late but this has absolutely caught my interest. I saw that it’s marked as full so figured I’d ask here before setting out to write anything.

The main thing that’s plucked my inspiration is the tragedy that’s struck the Hresvelg family and how that could be explored by writing for the youngest that’s still alive.

If that doesn’t work/it’s all full up that’s totally fine. Cheers!
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