Appearance: Ser Hogg is an ultimate specimen of a man. So tall and broad, he can do naught but loom over all. His body appears to have been carved and sculpted, every angle exact, every muscle carefully laid to place. His eyes sparkle like sunrises, his smile can turn from warm friendship to slow burning desire with just a flick of his lips. Few can resist his charms and none want to.
Description & biography: Though from a small house of landed knights, he has gained recognition and renown over the past three decades. He has never wed nor even sought marriage. He does not pursue women, but does not deny any who pursue him. Men have challenged him, none have bested him. He travels alone, yet always ends his nights surrounded by friends. He is recognizable on sight, and whispered about long after he has left.
He is the most interesting man in Westeros. He is Ser Baekyn Hogg.
Stranger take them all! Vorian was in a foul mood, skulking about his private library. He picked up items only to slam them down, angrily shuffled the piles of parchments that had taken over his desk. His face was a deep set scowl, his neatly trimmed beard even seemed to stand on end as a wave of anger roiled. The parchment contained some translation to complete a set he had been working on for nearly a year now. He had just looked at it the night before, before he had succumbed to restless sleep.
His lady wife, Nymella, had approached, likely drawn by the noise that had sent the servants scattering. They knew better than to be nearby in his moments of rage. She said nothing, as she stood in the doorway, she watched him intently, but knew he needed no prodding. It seemed his friends had retired already for the night. They told Vorian whatever he wanted to hear, and left her to do the real work.
Vorian returned her gaze, his eyes frantic. His tongue worked in his mouth, delayed to finding his words and pushing the frenzied thoughts to coherence. “We are the blood of an ancient and mighty empire. The last descendants, we are meant to be a bulwark of day against the death of night.” Spittle flew from his mouth as the texts converged together in his mind. “Instead we scrape our knees to the Rhoynish invaders of Sunspear. And they in turn force the heavy weight of tainted Valyrian bastards upon our backs. My own father sold my sister to them. And she has already whelped for him twice!” He wiped his chin with his arm but carried on with a crazed look coming to his dark violet eyes. “It is they who should bow to us. We brought the world from the brink of extinction and extermination into a glorious dawn. Yet these bastards and their simpering great houses ignore their duty to us and the world, so that they may instead play at war and peace with each other rather than prepare for true threat.” He was sweating profusely, his dark hair slick as rivulets trickled down his face. Anger, exhaustion, lingering drunkenness mixed into a volatility that the Dayne household had become too familiar with.
His lady wife looked back at him thoughtfully, and though she cared not for whatever it was he found in his parchments while in his cups, it was a useful thing after all. “My lord husband, if it is as you say - and I’ve no reason to doubt you though such matters are beyond me - what do you do now?” She spoke flatly, certainly her family held no love for the Targaryens, but words were wind; she had to know if he could be molded for more.
"Pah! They travel to Summerhall to celebrate the end of summer. As if that is some cause for celebration. The Starks are an insufferable lot but at least they half-remember." Vorian was losing himself to a tangent, but he caught himself. "Now is the time. With so many eyes elsewhere, we may make moves without being perturbed." He turned back to his desk and searched for missives he had hastily scrawled. “Now is the time, before that asshole cousin of mine can usurp what will be mine when father dies. You will help me contact the other houses who at least remember that the Iron Throne does not rule in Dorne. I will lead them, as soon as Ryon is dead and Dawn returned rightfully to my hands.”
Vorian slumped against the desk, exhaustion overtaking the rage of mere moments ago. His wife approached at last to take the missives from his hand and the rest off his desk. She had work to do, though her husband need not know of it. “Go rest, I will do as you bid.” Before she could walk away, his hand grasped her arm, and she bristled coldly.
“Ryon will be dead before that tourney ends.” Vorian twisted her wrist in his hand, watching the pain flicker across her eyes though she remained stoic as always. “You will bring your relations to heel.”
The heir to Starfall watched as his wife walked away to deal with sending out his calls. He had paid good coin for a man to slit his cousin’s throat. Now he needed only to wait.
This was short, go read it.
Fine...the heir to Starfall has come to believe in an absurd consspiracy theory and has plotted the death of his cousin so that he may claim the sword, Dawn.
The Bay of Seals was no great distance from the North’s mainland and yet the waters surrounding the isle were rough and treacherous. This held particularly true in autumn, and no sane man - Skagosi or otherwise - would dare to even think of the journey come winter. As it was, Torwynd had marshalled the Skagosi as summer waned and turned to autumn, the cold winds would not have overtaken the bay yet. At least on the way there. Torwynd had made no contingencies for returning to Skagos.
He stood at the hull, an eye on his rowing men. Two thousand men, nearly fifty longships. His Skagosi captains had insisted on bringing their mounts. No matter that the unicorns - suited for the rocky outcrops on their isle - would be of little use on the mainland or against any cavalry. The creatures bleated and called to each other, the noise punctuating the mens’ grunts and huffs as they rowed. It had taken Torwynd over two decades to accomplish this. It was an achievement but a meaningless one if the weapon he had honed missed its mark. Though striking during autumn was a strategic decision, the North could field enough men to crush them without ever having to touch their full strength. At least, that would be the case in open warfare which the Crowsbane had no intention of offering.
Yrsa joined him silently. She painted her face and body in the way of the Skagosi warriors but she fit no exact position within their society. She had been a killer from before she was born, her twin brother dead in the womb, she had the soul of both. She trained and fought but was not recognized as a warrior. She studied beneath the shamans but could never claim that title. She was all things and none. She seemed to understand it, though it still left Torwynd puzzled as to how their society actually worked. It was no matter, he did not need to understand it, only use it.
“This final push will bring us to shore within the day.” He spoke, and received only a nod in answer. Yrsa would not disembark with her father. Where the Skagosi had taught her as one of their own, her father had taught her of Westeros proper. He had taught her what he knew of the houses and rulers. Word traveled slowly, but occasionally the wildings would even have news to pass on. And so it was not the raiding or pillaging that his daughter would undertake, but one of diplomacy. Their men would never be enough to do more than leave a cut too easily healed. No, Torwynd knew that he would need the North to be unbalanced. The best option, unless much had changed since he was exiled, was House Bolton. Yrsa would travel on with three ships and a small contingent of men to The Dreadfort.
They had come on land, some weeks back, at a small fishing village. The inhabitants had called it Eyron’s Pier. Small-folk and their imaginative names to seek favor with the ruling men who would just as soon crush them beneath their boots. His men were now scattered along the coast, raiding, pillaging and burning the small settlements and farms they came across. Fields were being harvested and preparations made to dry, store, and preserve the fruits of the summer past. The Skagosi had not seen such bounty and Torwynd had to stop them from burning everything - to last the winter, they would need the stores just as much.
Further inland, no more than three days’ march from Karhold proper, he was certain, Torwynd was encamped with the bulk of his forces. They were one thousand strong, with ten of his mounted captains. Runners kept news going between their smaller camps and further north where a small force kept guard on their vessels. The men had waited long enough and could be denied no longer. Their king gave the signal and preparations were made.
The small outcrop of buildings was known as Wylla’s Eye. The women and men rounded up had been quick to caution that they were under protection of the Karstarks. They called the men wildings, though the Skagosi looked nothing like the free people of beyond-the-wall. They looked nothing like the tall man still dressed in black leathers and furs as if his watch continued yet. Farmers by and large, the warriors had set their fields aflame to draw them out. It was a simple thing to round them up into the hastily made wooden pens that now circled round a roaring bonfire. The air was heavy with smoke and heat. The orange-red glow illuminated and obscured the night sky.
Torwynd Crowsbane, King of Skagos, stood in front of the fire. “Men, the last First Men, you stand upon the lands of your forebears. You stand upon the land taken from your ancestors. The time has come to take it back. Nourish yourselves with the flesh of your enemies, the true fight begins soon enough.” His voice echoed just moments before the assembled men's raucous shouts drowned him out. Screams then filled the air, guttural and visceral as the Skagosi warriors pulled the men out of the pens to be butchered in front of the women and children.
Some pieces of flesh were tossed to the flames to be charred but left raw, organ meat never touched the flame lest the fire burn away its essence. The men passed around skeins of fermented doe milk to wash down the ritual feast. Torwynd stalked the edge of the camp to watch his men partake. He would not deny them their rites - he would never have united them had he tried - but neither did it feed his proclivities. Captain Uthor melted out of the darkness, a short man but broad and heavy, the Skagosi were unexpectedly stealthy. “The women you marked have been pulled out and are ready for you, Crowsbane.” Torwynd grunted, the men respected his rule, but honorifics were not natural to them.
No, he would let the men finish their feast, and partake in his own ritual in solitude as he preferred. A cruel smile, cold and hungry, passed over his face. He licked his lips expectantly. “Good. I’ll not keep them waiting.”
Some time prior to the start of the tourney, the Stoneborn host arrives on the mainland. They burn and pillage their way south and inland towards Karhold.
The majority of the host remains with Torwynd where they set upon a small farming village and slaughter the men in a cannibalistic ritual. Torwynd has other plans with the women captured.
Yrsa has continued on with a much smaller contingent (~100), sailing to The Dreadfort.
Alys Rivers & Dannel Flowers Somewhere near Fawnton - Seat of House Cafferen Vanq & @LadyRunic
One could not say that there was not game to hunt in the Kingswood, but then game had long since grown used to the humans who stalked about with long bows being predators just as deadly as the wolves. Of course, the worst of the hunters dressed in silks with men to beat the brush so that deer and duck might spring from hidning to be a useful target for one to a noble lord to bring his exemplary skill to bear on. Which was utter poppycock. Alys Rivers glared at the distant retreat of a small herd of deer, their tails waving banners as she fingered the long bow that sat across her saddle’s pommel. “If you did not sound as though you were some tinkering merchant’s cart, I could have had us some nice supper and something to trade for coin as well.” The complaint held no edge of anger, but the stout grey mare switched her ears back at the tightened grip of the reins.
Dannel walked his horse gently, his eyes rolling at his partner’s chastisement. It was not the first time Alys had chastised him for his noise - unwarranted as he had corrected her the first dozen times - but now he let it slide. It was the normal rhythm of their travels. Dannel silently letting Alys fill the silence, until eventually he would be prodded enough to return a few words. He had always liked the silence of travel. Yet his years now spent with Alys gave him at least some appreciation of the woman’s quirks. He was, however, hungry, now that she mentioned it. His stomach betrayed his silence with a low rumble.
“Dannel, my boy, we are in desperate need of coin.” Which had run out at the last tavern leaving them to sleeping under elm and oak as they made their way through the Stormlands.
He grunted in response. Alys had a way of remembering things differently. “I believe it was not that it ran out, but that we ran out on it.” There had not been much coin left anyways, but it would have been enough for at least a loaf of bread and maybe even an ale to share. But he preferred sleeping beneath the sky than in the confined taverns they often found themselves in. Dannel never slept much those nights, he’d stay awake to keep watch over his companion and an ear for any disturbances.
Tossing her long braid over a shoulder, the short woman ignored the fact that to even hunt she would have had to dismount her mare, strung her bow and then hope the deer were still there. As long a shot as the chance would be that they were. For all she had the face of the lady, anyone passing the two would find her the oddity. A woman with tanned skin from the constant riding, dressing in a grey tunic with a leather vest trimmed with fox fur about the edges and breeches that were tucked into sturdy, if worn boots. Behind her, the shaggy packhorse looked longingly at a green patch of leaves and began taking the small stop to attempt a midday meal. Watching after where the deer had fled, the woman drummed her fingers on the shaft of the yew bow. Two strings along it’s shaft. One was the bowstring, the other a more durable and stubborn cord. Short as she was, Alys used the latter and a foot to string the bow rather than bending the thing. She was a small woman and for all she could pull any bow, height did not always help in the stringing.
Setting her cap back over her red hair, she cocked her head and gave a far drier comment. “My apologies, ser.” Her voice changed from it’s normally throaty tone to one of a boy’s with a cracking break on the border to manhood. “Ser Knight, might’n we be stoppin’ and winnin’ ye some glory an’ all in a tourney afore we starve of ‘unger?” Leaning back in the saddle, the woman’s lips thinned. She did not like being low on coin and in the middle of nowhere. Fawnton, the seat of House Cafferen, was a pleasant enough place, but it was no large city where she could get lost in the maze of streets with no one the wiser for a few coins missing. Switching back to her normal throaty voice she eyed the distant smoke of a village’s fireplaces. “I could perhaps find a merchant to swindle if we were closer to a town of some worth. Though you having a shield of a House would help.” She remarked more to herself than Dannel, seeming to toy with a plan she had in the works.
“Alys…” It was his turn for admonishment. He gave her a look that he must have given a hundred times before. His brow furrowed, the skin on his cheek pulled at the long scar that ran down it. His stomach rumbled again in contradiction to his tone. “We’re probably only a day or two’s ride from Summerhall.” His voice grated a bit at naming the castle. Damn nobles - and not just nobles - but the Royal Prince himself and his Dayne bitch. A day or two’s ride but they would not last without stopping somewhere as she had so rightly suggested. Her plans usually worked, but Seven help them when they didn’t. “What are you thinking, squire?” Gods, he hoped it wasn’t going to be another swindle where he bore the bruises and she the coin.
Alys waved away his worry with a hand as though shooing away a servant. "Two days to work then." She remarked with a smile that could match that of a fox's in a hen house. Putting her heels to the mare, she urged the grey on while the packhorse mournfully munched the last of his midday. Considering the tournament, she recalled what she knew of Summerhall, Prince Maekar and his lady wife, Dyanna Dayne. The names of such prestigious people were common enough on tongue that spoke of gossip surrounding the royal family and after Aegon IV had declared his Great Bastards legitimate tongue hardly ceased. They spoke of how likely it was that King Daeron the Good was a bastard himself leaving Daemon Blackfyre the true heir. Why else would Aegon have given the bastard, even a Targaryen bastard, the heirloom sword that had been handed from King to Heir since the Conqueror? Personally Alys was of the opinion that King Daeron or Daemon, the matter was hardly of note. The Realm was at peace while nobles bickered as they did.
"A prickly man, I'd not wager for my life to try to swindle Prince Maekar." She agreed, as good as a promise that she would not. Her own small attempt to soothe the hedge knight. "Though the tournament will be filled with others of our sort, good ser and those lofty nobles who wish to curry favor with the Prince. A good of place as any to see if I can swindle some coin come bet or beauty." Nobles were always bragging and she surely would be able to slip into a few tents, slip away a few shiny goblets and they be gone before anyone raised a hue or cry. Though she still thought to turn a deal perhaps posing as the infamous Lady Webber of Coldmoat, doubtful. Though they did say the Redwynes had some redheads among them… It would be a matter of getting a shield for Dannel to pose as a knight escort for a lady.
Even a year ago having her joke at swindling a Targaryen Prince would have given Dannel heart palpitations. But he allowed her to prattle on for she had already known it was no plan. This was the way of things, start at the absurd and Alys would talk herself down to a mostly manageable plan of attack. He picked at dirt beneath his fingers. “Pah, there should be plenty who are drunk enough on their Dornish red for it to be easy pickings.” Drunk nobles and knights, all their attendants; tourneys were always events that offered much for just a little work. And it would be good to put his sword arm to some actual use outside of scaring men in taverns or on the road.
Lost in thought, she paused and looked at the man with a glint in those pale blue eyes. "A good way to show your skills and under the eye of a Prince. My, good Ser, you could rise to some standing." It was also a risk of her losing her bodyguard and muscle. Yet, Alys could not begrudge him. If Dannel wished to move to better things? Then it was his right and she would only encourage him. Of course there was that matter of his dislike for nobles. "But then again, you could never scrape and bow without growling." All the better for the both of them.
He reflexively rolled his shoulders from a shudder that rolled down his back. “Don’t jest, I’ve no desire to rise in their ranks.” He had left House Lyberr, his adoptive home of sorts, having refused to pledge himself to them. He’d at least hope to avoid their tents should they make their way to Summerhall. “Besides, I couldn’t leave you out here on your lonesome. Not when you’ve finally gotten used to my growling.” He tossed her a half smile, from the unscarred side of his face. “But surely I must be a knight of some named place for whatever scheme you are brewing. Who shall I be this time? Perhaps a Knight of House Bushy?” He recalled their standard, a simple pattern to create. He couldn’t quite recall a single striking thing about them, but that was probably for the best. Another small family looking for a son or cousin to win a bit of coin and accolade.
Shaking her head at his attempt of a jest, the woman felt a twinge at amusement at how this man scorned nobles. The circumstances in her life seemed to play this as one of the minor amusements she could always laugh at. "The Bushy? They have enough family, even if you walked among them they would take you for a cousin of a cousin's cousin's, despite the Lord’s current family being small. A rarity." She remarked with dry humor, recalling what Septa Bessa had once said when a refusal of any daughter of that house was given to marry her father. Though there had developed a cease of worry between her brows as she recalled the past.
Dannel could appreciate the moments where they had seemed in step. It had not always been so. But he also knew her mannerisms. “What is it Alys? Don’t think I’m up to snuff to be a cousin’s-cousin’s cousin?” He spoke lightly, but if she fret, he would fret. His hand moved to rest on the hilt of his sword, a comforting act even if it could not dispel whatever had creased her brow.
“House Bushy will do well.” She remarked, shakinging her head which left her long braid flicking low across her horse’s withers. At least one sister would have been married quietly to a commoner who took up as a distant cousin to the Lothstons’. Her father would see to that and that it would be Danelle. Elayne would find a husband in a compliant Riverlord who Manfryd could see to his own use. They would have no reason to go to a tournament with no son to win the joust or melee. Danelle’s husband would be shaking in his boots, terrified to do more than press for a single son with his wife. As quickly as she had considered revealing that to Dannel, Alys dismissed it. It had been the better part of six if not seven years, and she had changed much. From a high brow lady who would carry on the Lothston name to a woman who could wear any face she chose. Of course she was no Faceless Man, but the appeal did carry to her of their legendary skill that her father had talked about in his study on dark nights. Their job as assassins, according to Manfryd Lothston, was what had her recoiling. Killing was never an easy thing, necessary at times but never easy. “I am merely thinking.” She admitted, hedging about the truth. “There are those that I like to avoid.” Which she had done so well, though mostly by staying away from the God’s Eye and Harrenhal. Avoiding the entirety of the Riverlands if she could.
Dannel nodded sharply in agreement, he could understand that all too well. The sellsword shifted in his saddle. It seemed they had decided a course; one that would bring him in proximity to a House that he had nursed a grudge against for over a decade. A familiar pang began behind his eyes. The pain would come and go, and it had been a constant reminder with this scar of what they had done to him - even if he could not remember the details, just flashes. His rough hand massaged at his temples as he gazed ahead of them. “Smoke, but I’m sure you noticed that already - I am always slower than you. Perhaps we can sing for some food and a spot in the stable.” Sing, steal, connive - Alys would have a plan.
“Sing?” The woman was incredulous as she looked at the knight. “I thought you wanted a place to sleep and a small feast, not to be tossed out on our ear so hard that we bounce on the cobbles.” She gave a startled laugh at the mere thought of her singing. “No, I shall not sing. Recite a tale, swindle some folk, I shall ser.” The woman was almost falling out of her saddle with a cackle. “Sing!” Chuckling to herself as she quickly regained control of herself, the woman dabbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. She had never sung in Dannel’s presence and with good reason, it was nice to know the man did not know everything about her. Drifting back beside the man she let him take a slight lead as she dipped a hand into a pocket and began pinning her long braid into a coil on her head. The chuckles and huffs of her laughter still breaking through at the mere thought of her singing, even as a child she had given it up early. Sing, indeed!
Alys and Dannel are out of coin and banter about how best to get some more. Going to the tournament is a good plan, Dannel decides on pretending to be a knight from House Bushy. Both have apprehensions about running into people they know at the tourney but neither are completely honest about why.
And Alys makes fun of Dannel a lot - the poor bastard.
The sun beat down, tempered just barely by a cool breeze. It was blessedly quiet, a few moments of peace before the entire realm would descend on Summerhall; not unlike locusts to a field of wheat. A tourney was a fine thing, yet it would bring with it the crushing reality of the chaotic world outside their walls. She’d need to see fit to act as was only expected of a Targaryen’s wife. There would be no escaping having to sit with the other ladies of the realm, listen to their woes, sidestep the favors that would be sought. At least she would keep the tradition of competing in the archery contest. There had been no denying her, and Maekar’s support had been enough to quickly dissuade their advisers from pushing otherwise.
Dyanna tried to not take for granted the years of happiness she had been given at Summerhall. They had built this place to be their own. They had crafted pieces of Dorne throughout the Stormlands castle. Pools and heady gardens, even a vineyard grown from cuttings from House Dayne. It was not producing yet, but seemed primed to within a few more years. And now they would open it to the realm. Yet something seemed different, a vague and amorphous dark cloud that hung over their preparations. In the weeks leading up to their tourney, news had filtered in through missives and hushed tones. There was an unease, discontent even. Her own family had sent notice that only her father, Eldon, and Arron would be in attendance. Her eldest brother and heir to the Starfall would stay home, undoubtedly sulking.
And so the Lady of Summerhall escaped from the palace’s halls and fled to fields to center herself. Without thinking, she guided herself to her secret sanctuary on the outskirts where open fields would give way to ancient groves. There was a giant tree with a large hollow, large enough for even a grown man to stand in. Dyanna crawled in, spreading her skirts beneath her and leaned back, her roughly plaited hair further mussed by the roughness of the tree. She just needed some time to think, and closed her lavender eyes in contemplation. She had wanted nothing more than to seek out her husband, yet with so much left to accomplish, she knew that his mind would be elsewhere. Better to be alone with her thoughts than to be just another item requiring his attention. Sharing, at least as far as Maekar was concerned, was not her strong suit, she thought with a smirk.
Besides, she did not know for certain that she had news to share with him. She would not know, did not want to know, until the tourney had ended. Sweet precocious Daeron, and bright little Aerion, sweet summer children both; lost in thought of her children, her hands wandered over her torso, resting atop her stomach, seeking the signs she had felt the other day. Dyanna’s mind wandered, and in the utter quiet, she drifted off to wild dreams.
“By the Seven, Dyanna, wake up!”
A gruff voice stirred her, she slowly blinked open to afternoon sun cast around the figure that now blocked the entrance to her cove. She knew that voice all too well. “Ser Ryon?” She was just half-awake, startled that she had ever been asleep. “Something wrong?” Her senses returned to her, Dyanna rose and dramatically stretched with a long yawn. She returned her poor cousin’s worried gaze with innocent, inquisitive eyes.
“My lady…you…” Ser Ryon sighed, shaking his head he turned sideways to allow her to pass him back into the field. “How many times have I asked that you not wander off alone like this?” He put up a hand as if to stop an argument before it could form on Dyanna’s pressed lips. “Your dagger does not count as a companion, not that it does you much good when you slumber so heavily.” He passed a rough hand over his face, as if to scrub away the fear that had enveloped him. “Perhaps you should aim to actually get rest at night - instead of whatever it is that keeps you up?” His chastising tone cracked, just for a moment.
Dyanna stood with her hands pressed to her hips, a look of feigned shock plastered on. “Ser Ryon, I think you forget yourself!” She hung her head as a throaty chuckle bubbled over. “But as is often the case, you are not wrong - at least about my sleeping habits. Do the servants still whisper or has it at last become old gossip?” She slid her arm through her knight’s gesturing forward with her free hand. The last bit of sleep dispelled, and with it gone, the worry and anxiety that she had fled began to creep back in. Still, Ryon provided a welcome distraction and she would prod for the gossip that her ladies refused to share with her anymore.
“They always seem to have some new tidbit, my lady, but it is good for their morale I think, to have something so scintillating to discuss. I’m afraid, though, that it leaves them with conflicting views on their Prince.” Ser Ryon patted her hand, leading them both back to his horse and hers - Moonlight. “Come, we must get back to the castle, your presence is needed.”
Dyanna laughed again, eyes crinkling in delight. “Oh, Seven knows that it bothers my Prince, but I think that is just an act to maintain his reputation.” She patted the silver beast beneath her, earning her a soft neigh. Moonlight had been another gift from her husband, bred from a line of royal Dornish sandsteeds and the Targaryen’s own equine stock. She was not so fast as the horses Dyanna had always favored, but she was a hardy - and stubborn - beast. A kindred soul in some ways.
She glanced at her cousin atop his horse as they made a slow walk towards the castle path. Ser Ryon had played many roles in her life, a father in her youth, but now that she was wed and a mother he had become her protector, a confidant - even a friend. Truthfully, she did not know what she would do without him. She missed him dearly whenever he was forced to return to Starfall. And it seemed so did her husband, the two had formed a rather unexpected friendship as far as Dyanna was concerned. Ryon had been protective at first, but perhaps that is what allowed the men to bond. Summerhall had also offered new conquests for her cousin. Though he was a soft spoken man, reclusive at times, he did love freely.
“And how about you, it’s been some time since your last lover departed. He wed, did he not? If you’ve recovered from this heartache, perhaps this celebration will bring you fresh love…or maybe you have grown too old for such trifles?” She goaded him but gave him no opportunity to respond as she urged her horse to a cantor and then a gallup - an unfair start to an unannounced race back to Summerhall. For a short time longer, she was free of duty, and free to have the wind whip at her face with joyful abandon.
While finishing up preparations for the tourney, Dyanna runs away for some peace of mind and quiet. She thinks she's pregnant with baby dragon #3. Her cousin - Ryon, the Dayne Sword of the Morning, finds her and chastises her for just wondering off alone and then falling asleep. They poke fun at each other and head back to Summerhall.
Snow King of the Stoneborn, Last of the True First Men
Age: 46 (born 156 AC)
Appearance:
Description & biography:
Torwynd had been born to a young serving woman at Karhold; his father, a Karstark boy of barely 17. While The babe was not quite raised as one of the family, he was recognized as a bastard and became Torwynd Snow. Nearing his sixth nameday, he was made a page to the household and began his martial training. He showed promise, a quick study. Even as an awkward child, there also seemed a darkness that plagued the boy, The Karstark master-of-arms was certain that could be beaten out and routinely employed the rod.
The darkness and anger would not be beaten out, only forged into a weapon. It started when the boy formed a small gang of castle urchins at just 9 years old. At first they committed just petty crimes. Eventually they escalated to poaching on the castle grounds. Though the Karstark family was aware that something was awry, Torwynd was skilled at deflecting and covering his tracks. Things ended a few years later when one of the boys was found beaten to death in a stable. Torwynd had become a squire by that time, and he gave gods-sworn testimony that it was another of his group that had beaten the boy - a dispute over a small bit of coin that ended in death. The other boy, son of a blacksmith, was put to the sword. Torwynd's gang however was splintered over what had occurred. As the bastard boy excelled in his studies and was given greater notice by the Lord, their lot would see no improvement.
Torwynd, now outcast from the group he had formed yet also spurned by those of his station, lost the bit of control he had maintained over his true nature. He lashed out, his half-sister the target. The girl was just fourteen, her broken body was found in the godswood, the weirwood stained with her blood.
A bastard. A kinslayer. The depravity of the crime and kinship had Lord Karstark send notice to Winterfell to pass judgement. Rather than risk any taint of additional kinslaying, Torwynd was sent to the Wall. Originally assigned to the Rangers, he was transferred within a few months to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.
According to the Night's Watch, a ship was lost at sea; Torwynd Snow among those whose watch had ended. There had been many dead, but Torwynd was not one of them. Nor had the ship been lost. Not all of the crew had agreed to his plan, but enough had for the mutiny to be a success. They sailed on to Skagos. A few years later stories began to spread of the crows who lived amongst the cannibals. Whispers of a Skagos clan raiding and trading with the wildings of Hardhome began to spread.
Torwynd took a wilding woman as a bed warmer. Fire-haired, she was supposed to be bring him luck. She grew heavy with child, and died in childbirth. The woman gave him a daughter and stillborn son. The Skagos said the daughter was blessed - having killed her brother in the womb as well as her mother. From the daughter's birth, Torwynd's reputation grew. Though he could be rash and violent, he could also mold men to his will.
By 199 AC he had unified a majority of the three Skagossi houses beneath the Stane banner. Those who resisted, the splintered houses, were hunted. Torywnd sought revenge and he frenzied the Stoneborn to his cause. They would sail to the mainland, they would teach the Starks - all of them - what it meant to be men of the north.
YrsaCrowsbane
Age: 22 (born 190 AC)
Appearance: Strawberry hair, knotted and adorned with bone beads, she has a willowy strength. Prefers layers of tanned leathers and furs, wears a large horn - a unicorn talisman - around her neck. She carries an obsidian axe into battle.
Description & biography:
Yrsa is said to have two souls, a rare thing and rarer still to be born as a woman. But the shamans on Skagos read the signs and saw her birth. There could be no doubt to what she was. From the time she came shrieking into the world, she was destined for greatness.
Her status offered no respite from the harshness of the island or its inhabitants. The Stoneborn saw need to test her all the more, to prove her continued worth. Her father used her to his own ends, and though she knew it, she knew no other way of life. She did not rebel, she reveled in their way of life. Yrsa would earn her place over and over again. She joined her father in his war to unite the houses of Skagos, and has taken her place at his side in leading them across the Bay of Seals. The men worship her and fear her. But it is a tenuous thing, and the Skagossi are not a people dispositioned to unity.
Regarded as a great beauty and seductress, she has Targaryen silver-gold hair. Unlike her father's blood, her eyes are mismatched —one dark blue, the other bright green. Although a "defect", many consider to increase her beauty. She prefers ivory and lace and cloth-of-silver, and scorns gold - too vulgar for her tastes.
Biography:
At twenty-four, Shiera is well regarded for the shape of her body, her delicate face, and feared for practicing dark arts. Yet it is her mind for which she wishes she was known. She first learned to read as barely more than babe at three name days. She has learned seven languages fluently. She has amassed a vast collection of tomes and treatises from across both Westeros and Essos.
As a child budding into womanhood she had requested to be sent to Oldtown, to learn with the Maesters. Denied, she had gone to Oldtown directly herself to beg entrance. Denied again - it was no place for a woman - not even a Great Bastard. The girl quickly learned what men valued and wanted of her. Beauty. Grace. Desire. If that was all they would see in her, then she would give it to them. She would allow them to chase and think themselves lucky or skilled or - whatever lies men told themselves - when they caught her.
Men were simple creatures by and large, yet even she could not escape the pull of love, the thrill of the chase. Brynden loved her - and she, him - in their own way. She had thought he would understand, and instead he offered her the same as any other man, a desire to own her. Perhaps more than any other, her flirtation with Aegor was the most dangerous game she played. At first, it had been simply to enrage sweet Brynden, yet perhaps Shiera had underestimated the bitter brother. She was caught now, between two forces, two loves, and she would give up neither for the other.
Snow King of the Stoneborn, Last of the True First Men
Age: 46 (born 156 AC)
Appearance:
Description & biography:
Torwynd had been born to a young serving woman at Karhold; his father, a Karstark boy of barely 17. While The babe was not quite raised as one of the family, he was recognized as a bastard and became Torwynd Snow. Nearing his sixth nameday, he was made a page to the household and began his martial training. He showed promise, a quick study. Even as an awkward child, there also seemed a darkness that plagued the boy, The Karstark master-of-arms was certain that could be beaten out and routinely employed the rod.
The darkness and anger would not be beaten out, only forged into a weapon. It started when the boy formed a small gang of castle urchins at just 9 years old. At first they committed just petty crimes. Eventually they escalated to poaching on the castle grounds. Though the Karstark family was aware that something was awry, Torwynd was skilled at deflecting and covering his tracks. Things ended a few years later when one of the boys was found beaten to death in a stable. Torwynd had become a squire by that time, and he gave gods-sworn testimony that it was another of his group that had beaten the boy - a dispute over a small bit of coin that ended in death. The other boy, son of a blacksmith, was put to the sword. Torwynd's gang however was splintered over what had occurred. As the bastard boy excelled in his studies and was given greater notice by the Lord, their lot would see no improvement.
Torwynd, now outcast from the group he had formed yet also spurned by those of his station, lost the bit of control he had maintained over his true nature. He lashed out, his half-sister the target. The girl was just fourteen, her broken body was found in the godswood, the weirwood stained with her blood.
A bastard. A kinslayer. The depravity of the crime and kinship had Lord Karstark send notice to Winterfell to pass judgement. Rather than risk any taint of additional kinslaying, Torwynd was sent to the Wall. Originally assigned to the Rangers, he was transferred within a few months to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.
According to the Night's Watch, a ship was lost at sea; Torwynd Snow among those whose watch had ended. There had been many dead, but Torwynd was not one of them. Nor had the ship been lost. Not all of the crew had agreed to his plan, but enough had for the mutiny to be a success. They sailed on to Skagos. A few years later stories began to spread of the crows who lived amongst the cannibals. Whispers of a Skagos clan raiding and trading with the wildings of Hardhome began to spread.
Torwynd took a wilding woman as a bed warmer. Fire-haired, she was supposed to be bring him luck. She grew heavy with child, and died in childbirth. The woman gave him a daughter and stillborn son. The Skagos said the daughter was blessed - having killed her brother in the womb as well as her mother. From the daughter's birth, Torwynd's reputation grew. Though he could be rash and violent, he could also mold men to his will.
By 199 AC he had unified a majority of the three Skagossi houses beneath the Stane banner. Those who resisted, the splintered houses, were hunted. Torywnd sought revenge and he frenzied the Stoneborn to his cause. They would sail to the mainland, they would teach the Starks - all of them - what it meant to be men of the north.
YrsaCrowsbane
Age: 22 (born 190 AC)
Appearance: Strawberry hair, knotted and adorned with bone beads, she has a willowy strength. Prefers layers of tanned leathers and furs, wears a large horn - a unicorn talisman - around her neck. She carries an obsidian axe into battle.
Description & biography:
Yrsa is said to have two souls, a rare thing and rarer still to be born as a woman. But the shamans on Skagos read the signs and saw her birth. There could be no doubt to what she was. From the time she came shrieking into the world, she was destined for greatness.
Her status offered no respite from the harshness of the island or its inhabitants. The Stoneborn saw need to test her all the more, to prove her continued worth. Her father used her to his own ends, and though she knew it, she knew no other way of life. She did not rebel, she reveled in their way of life. Yrsa would earn her place over and over again. She joined her father in his war to unite the houses of Skagos, and has taken her place at his side in leading them across the Bay of Seals. The men worship her and fear her. But it is a tenuous thing, and the Skagossi are not a people dispositioned to unity.
Regarded as a great beauty and seductress, she has Targaryen silver-gold hair. Unlike her father's blood, her eyes are mismatched —one dark blue, the other bright green. Although a "defect", many consider to increase her beauty. She prefers ivory and lace and cloth-of-silver, and scorns gold - too vulgar for her tastes.
Biography:
At twenty-two, Shiera is well regarded for the shape of her body, her delicate face, and feared for practicing dark arts. Yet it is her mind for which she wishes she was known. She first learned to read as barely more than babe at three name days. She has learned seven languages fluently. She has amassed a vast collection of tomes and treatises from across both Westeros and Essos.
As a child budding into womanhood she had requested to be sent to Oldtown, to learn with the Maesters. Denied, she had gone to Oldtown directly herself to beg entrance. Denied again - it was no place for a woman - not even a Great Bastard. The girl quickly learned what men valued and wanted of her. Beauty. Grace. Desire. If that was all they would see in her, then she would give it to them. She would allow them to chase and think themselves lucky or skilled or - whatever lies men told themselves - when they caught her.
Men were simple creatures by and large, yet even she could not escape the pull of love, the thrill of the chase. Brynden loved her - and she, him - in their own way. She had thought he would understand, and instead he offered her the same as any other man, a desire to own her. Perhaps more than any other, her flirtation with Aegor was the most dangerous game she played. At first, it had been simply to enrage sweet Brynden, yet perhaps Shiera had underestimated the bitter brother. She was caught now, between two forces, two loves, and she would give up neither for the other.
The Daynes are a large family and currently spatting internally because of the peace between the Iron Throne and Dorne - made even more personal by the marriage between Dyanna and Maekar. The House is at a precipice as the current lord is aging and the heir seems fit to upend everything accomplished.
Purpure, a blazing star bendways surmounted by a sword bendways sinister argent
House Dayne of Starfall
Fire and Dawn
House Description:
House Dayne is a proud house, with ancient royal blood flowing through their veins. They meticulously maintain a history of their lineage back to the dawn of days when they tracked a falling star and found a stone imbued of magical quality. This stone would be smithed into Dawn. Their house has flourished over the millenia, a foundation of Dorne - no matter that they bent the knee to House Martell. They remain a powerful, and plentiful, family, with connections across Dorne. In the years of peace since the Conquest, the family has been divided over how to proceed with their continental neighbors after so many centuries of strife.
Their house seat is Starfall, a castle located in the western Red Mountains on an island where the Torrentine meets the Summer Sea. Starfall guards the western arm of Dorne. A cadet branch is located to the northeast, in High Hermitage.
Recent History:
House Dayne has felt strained relations with their overlords in recent years. Peace, after so much bloodshed, left a bad taste in the mouths of many. Lord Ormond had eventually been persuaded to fall in line and his daughter's marriage within the royal family quelled the turmoil - at least for a time. The heir to Starfall, Ser Vorian, however, has not been so easily convinced. Others of Ormond's generation remain dissatisfied as well and debates often get heated when the family gathers.
Relations between Dayne and Martell have been strained as well. Ser Vorian had spent his childhood and adolescence among the family, as had many Dayne children before him. When peace was negotiated, the heir found an excuse to return home to Starfall. While there had been unofficial plans to tie Starfall and Sunspear by marriage, this slight ended those talks.
-|--202 AC: Starting point -|--200 AC: Aerion born to Dyanna & Maekar (2) -|--199 AC: Vorian’s second son born (3) -|--198 AC: Lady Casselle’s death at 52 -|--197 AC: Daeron born to Dyanna & Maekar (5) -|--196 AC: Lady Dyanna weds Prince Maekar -|--195 AC: Vorian’s first son born (7) -|--194 AC: Dyanna first meets Maekar at a tourney where she bests him in an archery competition -|--193 AC: Vorian weds -|--191 AC: Lord Ormond inherits Starfall -|--190 AC: Symon presumed dead -|--188 AC: Ser Ryon titled as Sword of the Morning -|--187 AC: Dorne brought into writ of the Iron Throne -|--181 AC: Arron born (21) -|--179 AC: Dyanna born (23) -|--177 AC: Eldon born & his mother dies (25) -|--176 AC: Symon born (end of year) (25/26) -|--174 AC: Teora born - a septa (28) -|--170 AC: Carolei born (32) -|--168 AC: Vorian born (34) -|--166 AC: Myria born -|--165 AC: Ormond and Casselle wed -|--164 AC: Ryon Dayne born (38) -|--161 AC: King Daeron dies and Conquest ends -|--158 AC: Previous Sword of the Morning dies in battle against King Daeron's forces -|--157 AC: Conquest of Dorne -|--148 AC: Perros Allyrion born -|--146 AC: Lady Casselle Allyrion born -|--136 AC: Ormond born
Family Members:
Lord Ormond Dayne, Lord of Starfall
Ser Ryon Dayne, Sword of the Morning
Ser Vorian Dayne, Heir of Starfall
Lady Nymella (Uller), wife of Vorian Dayne
Lady Dyanna Dayne, wife of Prince Maekar
Perros Allyrion, brother to the late Lady Casselle, close friend and advisor to Ormond
An aging man, soft, with a girth that speaks of many years of luxury.
Description & biography:
Ormond had always been destined to the inherit; the eldest child of his father Lord Addam. Yet it was whispered on occasion that Ormond would have made a better head of the cadet branch - or even as a merchant. He had a keen eye and mind for increasing coffers and little else.
Truthfully, while many young man entered adulthood in strife with their father over how to lead, Ormond had been content to build his family's wealth and leave the rest to his father to continue to manage. The attempted Conquest dominated his early adult years though he never took to the field himself. He lost an uncle to the conflicts, some distant cousins, yet war had not struck close to home. War offered opportunity to turn a profit, and so could ensuing peace if one knew where to look.
While his marriage had been political, they agreed on enough to produce an exceeding number of offspring. As Ormond entered middle age, passions finally caught up to him in a contingent of traders from Braavos. The woman bewitched him thoroughly, and for nearly a year he kept her in luxury. She became pregnant nearly the same time as Ormond's wife, and while the two were not friends they were civil. Ormond was devastated when his lover passed shortly after the birth of their son. Complications the maester had said. He withdrew, and though he occasionally found comfort in the arms of his wife, his minimal interest in his children waned.
By the time he inherited Starfall, he had come to rely on his friend and his wife's brother, Perros Allyrion, to take care of the minutiae of ruling. He has been estranged from his son and heir ever since agreeing to Prince Maekar's marriage to Dyanna. It falls to Perros and the maester to relay messages and coordinate between the two. For now, it has been enough to keep Vorian under control.
Lady Dyanna
Age:
Born 179 AC - 23 years old
Appearance:
Of average height and firm build, Dyanna was never a delicate girl nor lady. Her pale lavender eyes sparkle with life and laughter. She resists the refined elegance required of courtly life and instead is often found with her dark blonde hair roughly plaited. She is more likely to be adorned by scratches - or bruises - than glittering jewels. Her hands do not elegantly pluck at needlework but are rough and with dirt beneath her nails. The Lady is more comfortable in leather and linen than in samite or brocade.
Description & biography:
Dyanna had luck to be born after so many siblings before her. By the time of her arrival her parents had many other issue to concern themselves with. The girl's education was largely left to the septa - who Dyanna fled at any opportunity. As a child she played with her half-brother Eldon and youngest brother Arron. As an adolescent she trained with them. With Lord Ormond distracted and withdrawn, it was the Sword of the Morning who filled that fatherly role. Unsurprisingly, he did not see fit to raise her with any sort of womanly knowledge. She learned archery and excelled, was taught swordplay to a passable degree, and took great joy in the hunt. Within Starfall and her family's lands she was affectionately nicknamed Dyanna the Huntress.
When she was fifteen she attended a tourney at her father's behest, in the hopes of arranging a match for her. Dyanna doubted very much that any great thought was to be put into a match. Lord Ormond's goal was simply to have her out of Starfall and someone else's problem. Her elder sisters had been long married, her eldest brother wed the year before. A life like Myria or Carolei, a political match and courtly duties, was nothing the Huntress desired. The thought of it chafed at her; she was not meant to settle.
Indeed, when she arrived at the tourney with Ser Ryon - sent to chaperone her - she begged and pleaded until the knight relented and listed her in the archery contest. Dyanna had attempted to list in the melee but the Sword of the Morning was unmoved by her pleas in that regard. Lord Ormond would have surely had his head had he allowed it. There was some small scandal when she bested one of the Targaryen men, the surly and dour fourth son, Maekar. What a shock then, when later in the joust, the young knight asked for her favor. Perhaps more shocking, at least to those in attendance around her, was her response. She gave what was asked but with a jape. I wish you better luck than you had in facing me, my lord. Ser Ryon had whisked her away very quickly after that, before she could cause any more offense.
It was quite an uproar through Starfall when the first missive arrived on black wings. A letter to the Lady Dyanna, sealed by dragons cast in wax. It was not appropriate, not entirely, yet more came and Dyanna was given leave to respond. Within a year the betrothal was arranged and a wedding set. With Maekar she was free to pursue her hunts, nor did he forbid her from training with his men. It was, beyond all expectations the young girl had, a good match. Married life did in fact suit her, Maekar suited her. She was with child within a year of their marriage, her second child now just weaned.
Ser Ryon Dayne
Age: Born 164 AC - 38 years old Appearance:
Tall and widely regarded as handsome. He has an unquestionable strength in how he holds himself, even at repose. His body tells the story of several battles and some close calls. With peace, his body is more like to be bruised than have fresh cuts.
Description & biography:
Ryon Dayne was born in relative obscurity within the large extended family of the Daynes. His childhood was of standard fare, sent off as a page to House Qorgyle. Rather unexpectedly, he excelled in his training and quickly made a name for himself. With few options available to one of his station, he threw everything he had into his training and was knighted at 17.
House Qorgyle was in many way's a viper nest though. Their political whiplash made the Lord of Starfall reluctant to leave such an asset outside of Dayne control. Ser Ryon was recalled to Starfall to serve his family. Skirmishes with the Reach were common occurrences, and the young knight made a name not just in defense of the villages and towns of his family's demesne, but also in raids. In 188, the knight lead a defense against Stepstone raiders without losing a single man in his command. The Lord of Starfall - Ormond's father, Lord Addam, bestowed Dawn and the title Sword of the Morning. It had been three decades since any had held the title.
Two years later tragedy struck when Symon, in service as a squire to a friend from Ryon's youth, died. The Twilight Star had suggested the pairing, and indeed was meant to be in the party that was ambushed. Symon's body was never recovered, and witnesses were unable to provide a full accounting of what had transpired in the mountain pass. Ser Ryon never forgave himself, though Ormond found no fault to lay at his feet.
Most recently, tension has increased between Ser Ryon and Lord Ormond's heir, Vorian. Whenever the situation has allowed, the Sword of the Morning has made himself scarce, preferring instead to attend to Lady Dyanna in Summerhall as her sworn protector. Though he had been uncertain of Maekar Targaryen's intentions, following the wedding and early years of marriage, Ryon views the prince favorably. The two have formed a friendship of sorts, and can often be found sparring.
The knight remains unwed, though he has never hidden his lovers - men and women both. When pressed, he has quipped that the Daynes are already as numerous as stars in the sky and he need not add any more.
Ser Vorian Dayne - Heir to Starfall
Age: Born 168 AC - 34 years old Appearance:
Vorian is short for a man, solid, but without the athleticism of his cousin, Ryon. In younger years he was regarded as handsomely reserved. His eyes are dark, though in the sunlight they glint with a violet hue.
Description & biography:
Vorian was not always destined to be the man he became. As a youth, he was a gregarious child; quick to befriend those of any station. He was sent to live at Sunspear in the company of the lively Martells from a young age. He was mediocre in many things, excelled at none, and began to resent those who achieved more than him. In his late adolescence he took to politics as his forte, with philosophical debates late into the night with his cohort about how to rectify the issue of the Iron Throne. He was gutted when the Martells announced the pending nuptials and peace.
He left Sunspear and returned home, yet within a year had new cause to nurture the growing anger. His cousin, barely family, was named Sword of the Morning. Vorian was knighted in a small tourney and named as heir when his grandfather died, yet it did little to soothe the man. A good match was found, though he has little interest in his wife beyond putting sons in her belly. Outside of that duty, he spends no time with the woman. He ignores the sons he has, choosing instead to plot and scheme with a small group of sycophants who praise his every errant thought. His sister's marriage to a Targaryen prince drove a final wedge between father and son. The two have barely spoken but in passing since that day. Vorian seeks to drive forward his agenda, regardless that his father still lives. Yet for now, Lord Ormond retains enough control, and the Sword of the Morning is beloved by all. The heir awaits his moment with growing impatience.
Symon Dayne - Dannel Flowers
Age: Born 176 AC - 25 years old Appearance:
Symon is of average height and slim. He is heavily scarred, the most prominent scar across his face. A wound received in adolescence, though his eye had been saved, the gash never healed correctly.
Description & biography:
It has been over a decade since the scarred man has been known as Symon, son of House Dayne. Dannel Flowers as he calls himself, grew up a bastard under the banner of House Lyberr. He remembers little from his childhood, but what he does remember fills him with hatred for Dorne and House Dayne in particular. They were responsible for marring him - physically and mentally. Fatherless and motherless, House Lyberr offered refuge, for a cost.
Dannel left their household as a nameless bastard, trained in the sword but never to be knighted. He offered his services as a sellsword; primarily having protected small merchants or caravans. Occasionally he would join up with a company but preferred to be alone. He has seen much of Westeros for his young age, his wandering has taken him across the Reach, into the Stormlands, the Crownlands, and the Riverlands. He has not been to King's Landing - a cesspool of royal indulgence.
Meeting Alys Rivers changed the course of his life again. A conniving woman, their paths crossed in a small village's tavern. Dannel was already annoyed when the woman approached him, he had been robbed over night - a small bit of coin he kept hidden but apparently not well enough. When they parted, he realized he was yet again lighter of coin. Stolen directly from a pouch sewn into his armor. She was deft, but he would not be robbed so blatantly without recourse. In confronting her though, it seemed he stoked the smoldering flames of discontent amongst the smallfolk and a tavern brawl erupted. Someone knocked a lantern over and quickly enough, flames licked at the wooden inn. Dannel ran for his horse to the see the damnable woman trying to abscond with the steed.
With an angry mob at their back, the duo - thief and victim - escaped on the steed. Dannel has been with her ever since. Though he finds petty thievery below him, he offers her protection and cover when needed. And her coin provides more than being a simple sellsword ever did. Begging bastards cannot be choosers.
The Daynes are a large family and currently spatting internally because of the peace between the Iron Throne and Dorne - made even more personal by the marriage between Dyanna and Maekar. The House is at a precipice as the current lord is aging and the heir seems fit to upend everything accomplished.
Purpure, a blazing star bendways surmounted by a sword bendways sinister argent
House Dayne of Starfall
Fire and Dawn
House Description: House Dayne is a proud house, with ancient royal blood flowing through their veins. They meticulously maintain a history of their lineage back to the dawn of days when they tracked a falling star and found a stone imbued of magical quality. This stone would be smithed into Dawn. Their house has flourished over the millenia, a foundation of Dorne - no matter that they bent the knee to House Martell. They remain a powerful, and plentiful, family, with connections across Dorne. In the years of peace since the Conquest, the family has been divided over how to proceed with their continental neighbors after so many centuries of strife.
Their house seat is Starfall, a castle located in the western Red Mountains on an island where the Torrentine meets the Summer Sea. Starfall guards the western arm of Dorne. A cadet branch is located to the northeast, in High Hermitage.
Recent History:
House Dayne has felt strained relations with their overlords in recent years. Peace, after so much bloodshed, left a bad taste in the mouths of many. Lord Ormond had eventually been persuaded to fall in line and his daughter's marriage within the royal family quelled the turmoil - at least for a time. The heir to Starfall, Ser Vorian, however, has not been so easily convinced. Others of Ormond's generation remain dissatisfied as well and debates often get heated when the family gathers.
Relations between Dayne and Martell have been strained as well. Ser Vorian had spent his childhood and adolescence among the family, as had many Dayne children before him. When peace was negotiated, the heir found an excuse to return home to Starfall. While there had been unofficial plans to tie Starfall and Sunspear by marriage, this slight ended those talks.
-|--202 AC: Starting point -|--200 AC: Aerion born to Dyanna & Maekar (2) -|--199 AC: Vorian’s second son born (3) -|--198 AC: Lady Casselle’s death at 52 -|--197 AC: Daeron born to Dyanna & Maekar (5) -|--196 AC: Lady Dyanna weds Prince Maekar -|--195 AC: Vorian’s first son born (7) -|--194 AC: Dyanna first meets Maekar at a tourney where she bests him in an archery competition -|--193 AC: Vorian weds -|--191 AC: Lord Ormond inherits Starfall -|--190 AC: Symon presumed dead -|--188 AC: Ser Ryon titled as Sword of the Morning -|--187 AC: Dorne brought into writ of the Iron Throne -|--181 AC: Arron born (21) -|--179 AC: Dyanna born (23) -|--177 AC: Eldon born & his mother dies (25) -|--176 AC: Symon born (end of year) (25/26) -|--174 AC: Teora born - a septa (28) -|--170 AC: Carolei born (32) -|--168 AC: Vorian born (34) -|--166 AC: Myria born -|--165 AC: Ormond and Casselle wed -|--164 AC: Ryon Dayne born (38) -|--161 AC: King Daeron dies and Conquest ends -|--158 AC: Previous Sword of the Morning dies in battle against King Daeron's forces -|--157 AC: Conquest of Dorne -|--148 AC: Perros Allyrion born -|--146 AC: Lady Casselle Allyrion born -|--136 AC: Ormond born
Family Members:
Lord Ormond Dayne, Lord of Starfall
Ser Ryon Dayne, Sword of the Morning
Ser Vorian Dayne, Heir of Starfall
Lady Dyanna Dayne, wife of Prince Maekar
Perros Allyrion, brother to the late Lady Casselle, close friend and advisor to Ormond
An aging man, soft, with a girth that speaks of many years of luxury.
Description & biography:
Ormond had always been destined to the inherit; the eldest child of his father Lord Addam. Yet it was whispered on occasion that Ormond would have made a better head of the cadet branch - or even as a merchant. He had a keen eye and mind for increasing coffers and little else.
Truthfully, while many young man entered adulthood in strife with their father over how to lead, Ormond had been content to build his family's wealth and leave the rest to his father to continue to manage. The attempted Conquest dominated his early adult years though he never took to the field himself. He lost an uncle to the conflicts, some distant cousins, yet war had not struck close to home. War offered opportunity to turn a profit, and so could ensuing peace if one knew where to look.
While his marriage had been political, they agreed on enough to produce an exceeding number of offspring. As Ormond entered middle age, passions finally caught up to him in a contingent of traders from Braavos. The woman bewitched him thoroughly, and for nearly a year he kept her in luxury. She became pregnant nearly the same time as Ormond's wife, and while the two were not friends they were civil. Ormond was devastated when his lover passed shortly after the birth of their son. Complications the maester had said. He withdrew, and though he occasionally found comfort in the arms of his wife, his minimal interest in his children waned.
By the time he inherited Starfall, he had come to rely on his friend and his wife's brother, Perros Allyrion, to take care of the minutiae of ruling. He has been estranged from his son and heir ever since agreeing to Prince Maekar's marriage to Dyanna. It falls to Perros and the maester to relay messages and coordinate between the two. For now, it has been enough to keep Vorian under control.
Lady Dyanna
Age:
Born 179 AC - 23 years old
Appearance:
Of average height and firm build, Dyanna was never a delicate girl nor lady. Her pale lavender eyes sparkle with life and laughter. She resists the refined elegance required of courtly life and instead is often found with her dark blonde hair roughly plaited. She is more likely to be adorned by scratches - or bruises - than glittering jewels. Her hands do not elegantly pluck at needlework but are rough and with dirt beneath her nails. The Lady is more comfortable in leather and linen than in samite or brocade.
Description & biography:
Dyanna had luck to be born after so many siblings before her. By the time of her arrival her parents had many other issue to concern themselves with. The girl's education was largely left to the septa - who Dyanna fled at any opportunity. As a child she played with her half-brother Eldon and youngest brother Arron. As an adolescent she trained with them. With Lord Ormond distracted and withdrawn, it was the Sword of the Morning who filled that fatherly role. Unsurprisingly, he did not see fit to raise her with any sort of womanly knowledge. She learned archery and excelled, was taught swordplay to a passable degree, and took great joy in the hunt. Within Starfall and her family's lands she was affectionately nicknamed Dyanna the Huntress.
When she was fifteen she attended a tourney at her father's behest, in the hopes of arranging a match for her. Dyanna doubted very much that any great thought was to be put into a match. Lord Ormond's goal was simply to have her out of Starfall and someone else's problem. Her elder sisters had been long married, her eldest brother wed the year before. A life like Myria or Carolei, a political match and courtly duties, was nothing the Huntress desired. The thought of it chafed at her; she was not meant to settle.
Indeed, when she arrived at the tourney with Ser Ryon - sent to chaperone her - she begged and pleaded until the knight relented and listed her in the archery contest. Dyanna had attempted to list in the melee but the Sword of the Morning was unmoved by her pleas in that regard. Lord Ormond would have surely had his head had he allowed it. There was some small scandal when she bested one of the Targaryen men, the surly and dour fourth son, Maekar. What a shock then, when later in the joust, the young knight asked for her favor. Perhaps more shocking, at least to those in attendance around her, was her response. She gave what was asked but with a jape. I wish you better luck than you had in facing me, my lord. Ser Ryon had whisked her away very quickly after that, before she could cause any more offense.
It was quite an uproar through Starfall when the first missive arrived on black wings. A letter to the Lady Dyanna, sealed by dragons cast in wax. It was not appropriate, not entirely, yet more came and Dyanna was given leave to respond. Within a year the betrothal was arranged and a wedding set. With Maekar she was free to pursue her hunts, nor did he forbid her from training with his men. It was, beyond all expectations the young girl had, a good match. Married life did in fact suit her, Maekar suited her. She was with child within a year of their marriage, her second child now just weaned.
Ser Ryon Dayne
Age: Born 164 AC - 38 years old Appearance:
Tall and widely regarded as handsome. He has an unquestionable strength in how he holds himself, even at repose. His body tells the story of several battles and some close calls. With peace, his body is more like to be bruised than have fresh cuts.
Description & biography:
Ryon Dayne was born in relative obscurity within the large extended family of the Daynes. His childhood was of standard fare, sent off as a page to House Qorgyle. Rather unexpectedly, he excelled in his training and quickly made a name for himself. With few options available to one of his station, he threw everything he had into his training and was knighted at 17.
House Qorgyle was in many way's a viper nest though. Their political whiplash made the Lord of Starfall reluctant to leave such an asset outside of Dayne control. Ser Ryon was recalled to Starfall to serve his family. Skirmishes with the Reach were common occurrences, and the young knight made a name not just in defense of the villages and towns of his family's demesne, but also in raids. In 188, the knight lead a defense against Stepstone raiders without losing a single man in his command. The Lord of Starfall - Ormond's father, Lord Addam, bestowed Dawn and the title Sword of the Morning. It had been three decades since any had held the title.
Two years later tragedy struck when Symon, in service as a squire to a friend from Ryon's youth, died. The Twilight Star had suggested the pairing, and indeed was meant to be in the party that was ambushed. Symon's body was never recovered, and witnesses were unable to provide a full accounting of what had transpired in the mountain pass. Ser Ryon never forgave himself, though Ormond found no fault to lay at his feet.
Most recently, tension has increased between Ser Ryon and Lord Ormond's heir, Vorian. Whenever the situation has allowed, the Sword of the Morning has made himself scarce, preferring instead to attend to Lady Dyanna in Summerhall as her sworn protector. Though he had been uncertain of Maekar Targaryen's intentions, following the wedding and early years of marriage, Ryon views the prince favorably. The two have formed a friendship of sorts, and can often be found sparring.
The knight remains unwed, though he has never hidden his lovers - men and women both. When pressed, he has quipped that the Daynes are already as numerous as stars in the sky and he need not add any more.
Ser Vorian Dayne - Heir to Starfall
Age: Born 168 AC - 34 years old Appearance:
Vorian is short for a man, solid, but without the athleticism of his cousin, Ryon. In younger years he was regarded as handsomely reserved. His eyes are dark, though in the sunlight they glint with a violet hue.
Description & biography:
Vorian was not always destined to be the man he became. As a youth, he was a gregarious child; quick to befriend those of any station. He was sent to live at Sunspear in the company of the lively Martells from a young age. He was mediocre in many things, excelled at none, and began to resent those who achieved more than him. In his late adolescence he took to politics as his forte, with philosophical debates late into the night with his cohort about how to rectify the issue of the Iron Throne. He was gutted when the Martells announced the pending nuptials and peace.
He left Sunspear and returned home, yet within a year had new cause to nurture the growing anger. His cousin, barely family, was named Sword of the Morning. Vorian was knighted in a small tourney and named as heir when his grandfather died, yet it did little to soothe the man. A good match was found, though he has little interest in his wife beyond putting sons in her belly. Outside of that duty, he spends no time with the woman. He ignores the sons he has, choosing instead to plot and scheme with a small group of sycophants who praise his every errant thought. His sister's marriage to a Targaryen prince drove a final wedge between father and son. The two have barely spoken but in passing since that day. Vorian seeks to drive forward his agenda, regardless that his father still lives. Yet for now, Lord Ormond retains enough control, and the Sword of the Morning is beloved by all. The heir awaits his moment with growing impatience.
Member
cider
Fetzen
Ezekiel
Almalthia
Massasauga
Thayr
