Role Playing - Game of Thrones - Prequel #2: Love is poison. A sweet poison, yes, but it will kill you all the same.

degausser · 05-10-2015, 08:20 PM

When you play the game of thrones you win or you die. There is no middle ground.

Sometime in the undisclosed past, a supernatural event occurred to stretch out the seasons in Westeros for years at a time. Legend says that long before men set foot in Westeros it was inhabited by a number of fantastical creatures. Among them were the Children of the Forest, who are rumored to have possessed a vast knowledge of magic, and for many a millennia, the Children along with giants, mammoths and other fantastical creatures had been left mostly undisturbed. When the first men invaded Westeros, an alliance was formed and men were allowed to coexist so long as they left the forested areas to the Children. Shortly thereafter a large 300 foot wall of ice was erected in the North to protect the southern lands from barbarian tribes beyond the wall, as well as the mythical undead creatures said to dwell in the northernmost lands where winter never ends. The ancient House Stark has stood as guardians of the North and allies to the men of the Night’s Watch who devote their lives to patrolling the Wall. 4,000 years later brought the invasion of the Andals from the Eastern continent of Essos, and subsequently the Children of the Forest were eventually driven to extinction, the secrets of their magic dying with them. The Andals brought with them a new religion called the Faith of the Seven and shortly thereafter the seven kingdoms were born.

The rise and fall of the Targaryen Dynasty
The seven kingdoms ruled themselves separately until four hundred years ago when Aegon the Conqueror invaded from the East and conquered six of the seven kingdoms with the aid of his two sisters and their three dragons. Only in the Southern most region of Westeros did he meet with any formidable resistance, and it would be centuries before Dorne finally joined the united seven kingdoms through marriage. For the first time in its history, the seven kingdoms of Westeros were united under one banner and from that point on the seven regions as a whole have been ruled from the Red Keep in Kings Landing. Aegon’s dominance bore a new dynasty and the next three hundred years saw the Targaryens rule the seven kingdoms of Westeros. Their Legacy is embodied by the Iron Throne, the seat of the King, and was forged by the breath of a dragon with the swords of Aegon the Conqueror’s fallen enemies.

As the years went on Targaryen dominance over Westeros began to slowly fade. Whether it was the result of a long-standing incestuous bloodline making the Targaryen rulers increasingly insane, or the eventual extinction of their dragons, their demise is a popular subject of debate. In the end it was the young Lord of House Baratheon, a House fiercely loyal to the Targarayens normally, that lead the rebellion against Aerys II Targaryen, dubbed the “Mad King” in lieu of his propensity for public spectacles of brutish torture. When Robert Baratheon took the Iron Throne, he ordered the whole of the Targaryen lineage be purged from the Earth. The two youngest Targaryens fled to the East in exile. The years that followed saw little peace as a number of uprisings occurred in revolt over “The Usurper” sitting on the Iron Throne.

What followed was one of the longest summers ever experienced by Westeros, and as it slowly came to a close, the seven kingdoms were once again rocked by a number of civil wars. Beginning with the deaths of King Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark of Winterfell, 5 Kings emerged with claims to both the Iron Throne and regional sovereignty. For years, the Great Houses of Westeros warred with one another as power in the capital shifted between the various Great Houses of Westeros. With the Starks losing their hold on the north and the rebel kings killing each other off, the seven kingdoms were left devastated and unprepared for the long winter approaching and the supernatural enemy from the north that came with it.

A more recent history
Everyone remembers the winter that followed the longest summer to date. Lasting for nearly eighteen years, winter brought both famine and death, the later taking on a terrifyingly corporal form. Children raised on stories of White Walkers thought to be extinct grew up to fight a nightmare that proved all too real. By the time Daenerys Targaryen rode across the sea on the back of her dragon, much like her former ancestor, she came not as a conqueror but instead a liberator of a people deeply entrenched in winter’s chilly hold. A clash of supernatural forces occurred shortly thereafter. United once again under the Targaryen banner, the seven kingdoms of Westeros, headed by a trio of dragons, finally drove the army of Whites back beyond the Wall in the North.

In order to starve off extinction, Houses great and small had to set aside old vendettas and petty squabbles in order to come together to face a greater foe. The Battle of Ice and Fire left Westeros ravaged and devastated but ultimately triumphant. Westeros has a short memory though, the struggles of that fateful time now two generations removed. Alliances struck between lion and wolf, stag and falcon, snake and rose, have begun to unravel without a common foe to tie them all together. The current King of Westeros has proven wise, shrewd and capable with the return of dragons helping to cement Targaryen rule, but the Seven Kingdoms have grown restless with this peacetime King. There are those who thirst for the glory of the battlefield that earned their predecessors a permanent place in history through song and heroic tale. There are others who would reclaim power lost in the wars predating The Battle of Ice and Fire. And then there are those who play a more subtle game, fought with secrets and with words.

The Targaryens may be in power now, but as history has told us before they are hardly invincible. It is their dragons that secure their power and as well all know, the dragons have been felled before.

“ “The common people pray for rain, healthy children, and a summer that never ends. It is no matter to them if the high lords play their game of thrones, so long as they are left in peace.”
“They never are.”

The Great Houses of Westeros

House Targaryen of King’s Landing
“Madness and greatness were two sides of the same coin and every time a new Targaryen was born, the Gods would toss the coin in the air and the world would hold its breath to see how it would land.”

House words: Fire and blood
House sigil: Three-headed dragon
Ruling Domain: The Seven Kingdoms, The Crownlands and Dragonstone
In the recent history of Westeros, no dynasty has been more dominant than the Targaryen dynasty. It was nearly 400 years ago when Aegon the Conqueror rode across the Narrow sea on the back of a dragon, and in the 300 years that followed the Targaryens conquered almost all of Westeros and in time united the seven kingdoms under their banner. It was the Targaryens that built both the fortress of Dragonstone in the Narrow Sea as well as the Red Keep which serves as the royal palace in King’s Landing. It was also Aegon Targaryen who forged the Iron Throne; the swords of his enemies all gathered and melted by the fire of his dragon, Balerion the Black Dread. The Targaryens are pale with silvery hair and violet eyes, and notorious for maintaining a pure bloodline through incestuous marriages. It was only eighty years ago that the Targaryens were unseated and exiled after King Aerys was murdered during Robert Baratheon’s rebellion. The Targaryens had been all but wiped out, but for the two youngest Targaryens who fled into exile in the East. In the end it was Daenerys Targaryen who emerged to reclaim the Iron Throne after several years of gaining a following in Essos, with the aid of her three dragons. Daenerys arrived just in time to reunite Westeros against the blight of Whites invading from beyond the wall in the North. In the decades that followed, the Targaryens struggled to rebuild the war-torn lands of Westeros. Having abandoned the practice of purified bloodlines, the Targaryens arranged a number of shaky marriage alliances. The present Targaryen King is a peacetime King twice married now after his first wife died of illness. His new wife, quietly working to ensure her family’s legacy is secured despite the heirs already existing from her husband’s previous marriage.

Characters:
King Jaehaerys Targaryen (III) (Linus Roache) degausser
Queen Laena Targaryen (Anastasia Griffith) Starfield_Scribe
Prince Maegor Targaryen (II) (Charlie Hunnam) dreamboat
Princess Daena Targaryen (Tamzen Merchant) degausser
Princess Indira “Dira” Targaryen (Emma Bell) Captivating
Prince Lucerys Targaryen (Nathan O’Toole) Starfield_Scribe
Princess Valaena Targaryen (Ruby O’Leary) Starfield_Scribe

House Baratheon of Storm’s End
“Do you think it’s honor that keeps them in line? Do you think it’s honor that is keeping the peace? It’s fear! Fear and blood!”

House Words: Ours is the Fury
House Sigil: Crowned Black Stag
Ruling Domain: The Stormlands
Although the name “Baratheon” is the youngest of the great houses in Westeros, their lineage can still be traced back to the Age of Heroes from 8,000-10,000 years ago in a time of peace that existed before the invasion of the Andals. The name of “Baratheon” first appeared in the form of Orys Baratheon, who served as one of Aegon the Conqueror’s great generals and was speculated to be one of his bastard brothers. The Baratheons were closely tied to the Targaryens for nearly 300 years as their families were joined by blood both on and off the field of battle. Consequently it was also a Baratheon who unseated the Targaryen empire after leading a rebellion against King Aerys Targaryen, and claimed the Iron Throne for his own. The Baratheons are an equally volatile and knavish people, and are often hardy in build with dark hair and light blue eyes. Their fickle and insolent personalities are better suited for waging wars on the battlefield than managing the subtler art of politics. King Robert Baratheon left the Kingdom in debt following his most suspicious death 60 years ago, which it only recovered from in recent years. Relations between the Baratheons and the Targaryens remain strained in the decades that followed the return of Daenerys Targaryen and the end of the War of Ice and Fire. The current Lord of Storm’s End is an ambitious man and formidable man, seasoned in warfare from various exploits across the narrow sea. But his legacy remains in question with a notoriously feeble and sickly heir with only younger daughters expected to continue the bloodline.

Characters:
Syemon Baratheon (Colin Morgan) fleur captives
Lyonel Baratheon (Stanley Webber) degausser

House Stark of Winterfell
“When the snow falls and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the back survives.”

House Words: Winter is coming
Sigil: The Direwolf
Ruling Domain: The North
The Stark way is the Old way; they keep the gods of the first men and the children of the forest. Starks trace their history back to the time of the first men in Westeros, who coexisted with the children of the forest before the Andals invaded from the south to conquer the southern lands. Their house words are unique in that they are not a boast but rather a warning that good times, like summer, are fleeting. It was a Stark that built the 300 foot wall that protects most of Westeros from the land of never-ending winter, and it is the Starks that have served as Wardens of the North, protecting the South from wildling tribes beyond the wall. The Starks are pale skinned with dark hair and darker expressions. They value honor and truth above all things, often to the detriment of their own well-beings. The Stark name suffered its fall from grace after Lord Eddard Stark was declared a traitor to the realm and subsequently executed; his eldest son, Robb Stark, led a failed rebellion during the War of the Five Kings. As Robb led his large northern host in the direction of King’s Landing, the North fell from their control, their fortress was sacked, while the remaining members of House Stark were either killed off or forced into hiding. It has only been in recent years that House Stark has been able to piece itself back together, beginning with heading the war effort against the invasion of the Whites and ending with the reconstruction of Winterfell. Today House Stark has been reinstated as the principle Great House of the North, although it remains a shadow of its former glorious self.

Characters:
Lord Torren Stark: (David Oakes) Captivating
Bethany Stark (Talulah Riley) dreamboat
Elric Stark (François Arnaud) Starfield_Scribe

House Lannister of Casterly Rock
“I will hurt you for this. A day will come when you think you are safe and happy, and your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth. And you will know the debt is paid.”

House Words: Hear me roar
House Sigil: The Lion
Ruling Domain: The Westerlands
Great house of the Westerlands and the wealthiest of Houses in all the Seven Kingdoms, the Lannisters seat their house atop a literal goldmine under their fortress of Casterly Rock, and they serve as Wardens of the West. Although their official house motto is “Hear me roar,” the more common, unofficial expression associated with the Lannisters is “a Lannister always plays his debts,” for they are a fortuitous ally to have at one’s back as well as one’s coin purse. On the flip side of that coin, a Lannister never forgets when he has been wronged. Cross a Lannister and spend the rest of your days sleeping with one eye open. Known for being as clever as they are ruthless, the Lannisters have always kept themselves close to the throne in one form or another. Whether serving as Hand of the King or ruling the whole of the Seven Kingdoms, the Lannisters always seem to be in the right place at the right time, though anyone would be a fool to believe their good fortunes are accidental happenstances. The Lannisters make their own luck. With fair skin and full heads of golden hair, the Lannisters are regal predators, and do not require an iron throne to validate their dominance. The man who truly rules the realm is the man who has the realm in his pocket. Long after the Lannisters left King’s Landing the Kingdom was still millions of septoms in their debt, and so the Lannisters remain influential to the King’s council. Today, a young Lord of Casterly Rock rules the Westerlands and is a close companion of the Heir Apparent to the throne. He currently sits on the King’s Small council as its Master of Coin.

Characters:
Lady Ambryl Lannister (Elizabeth Mitchell) Captivating
Lord Tybalt Lannister: (Todd Lasance) degausser
Lady Lorene Lannister (Romola Garai) dreamboat
Joanna Lannister (Elena Kampouris) Starfield_Scribe
Myri Lannister (Chloe Moretz) dreamboat

House Tyrell of Highgarden
“Soon enough all the power of The Reach will be marshaled against us, and then you may learn that some roses have steel thorns.”

House Words: Growing strong
House Sigil: The golden rose
Ruling Domain: The Reach
House Tyrell rules over the most fertile region of Westeros and are amongst the wealthiest of houses, second only to the Lannisters. The Reach is the home of chivalry, their Knights amongst the most revered and disciplined in all the seven Kingdoms. Their castle of High Garden sits along the bank of the river Mander and is renowned as being a cultural venue for music and art. As much as they are known for their cultivation of beauty, the Tyrells are equally known for their military prowess. With one of the largest standing armies in the seven Kingdoms, they serve as Wardens to the South, and can often make or break a rebellion depending on which side they happen to favor. The Tyrells were instrumental in defending the Red Keep from Stanis Baratheon’s invasion during the Battle of the Blackwater, and they would again prove valuable during the invasion of Whites from the North. With light brown curly hair and golden eyes, the Tyrells are as fair in beauty as they are ambitious and shrewd. They understand the virtue of patience and play a slower game of thrones than most. Some might even call them opportunists, though never to their faces. Nevertheless, House Tyrell always manages to be on the right (or rather: winning) side of history. It’s only in the recent century that they’ve managed to procure important council seats in Kings Landing and at one point a Tyrell served as two different Kings’ Consort. Today the Tyrells remain high spirited and sit proudly on their seat in Highgarden, and as always, it is their woman who are said to rule behind the scenes.

Characters:
Lady Rowena Tyrell (Annabelle Wallis) degausser
Lord Harlen Tyrell (Giacomo Gianniotti) dreamboat
Gemma Tyrell (Jenna Louis Coleman) AtomicEmpress

House Tully of Riverrun
“Did you teach him wisdom as well as valor, Ned,” She wondered. “Did you teach him how to Kneel? The grave yards of the Seven Kingdoms are full of brave men who had never learned that lesson.”

House Words: Family, Duty, Honor
House Sigil: A leaping trout
Unlike the other Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, House Tully has never ruled their own Kingdom. Not one of the colloquial “Seven Kingdoms” themselves, the Riverlands are more of an unofficial eighth Kingdom. House Tully is an old and ancient House that traces its lineage back to the First Men and served the Kings of the Trident prior to the War of Conquest. They would rise to prominence after joining their host to Aegon the Conqueror’s when he began his campaign to conquer the Seven Kingdoms, beginning with his campaign against King Harren the Black at Harrenhal. This pledge of loyalty earned them dominion over the Riverlands and the title of Lords Paramount of the Trident. The lack of natural boundaries has left the Riverlands vulnerable to conquest from the West and South, and thus the site of many battlegrounds. Marriage alliances thus became a strategic tactic employed in order to secure protection from neighboring Kingdoms looking to absorb territory in the Riverlands into their own Kingdoms. The Riverlands are also amongst the most fertile in the Seven Kingdoms, often responsible for feeding the whole of the realm. Members of house Tully tend to have auburn hair and light blue eyes. Family is, above all else, important to a Tully. Centuries of fending off attempted conquest from Westernlanders and the Iron Born has taught them humility and the value of learning when to kneel as well as when not to.

Characters:
Lord Axel Tully (Peter Capaldi) Starfield_Scribe
Lanford Tully (Max Brown) Captivating
Rosamund Tully (Alicia Vikander) degausser

House Arryn of The Eyrie
“The Eyrie is impregnable. You saw for yourself. No enemy could ever reach us up here.”

House Words: As high as honor
House Sigil: Falcoln and crescent moon
High above the Vale atop a mountain peak known as the Giant’s Lance sits the Eyrie, seat of House Arryn. Their fortress towers high above the valley and is said to be impossible to penetrate. Located on the eastern shores of Westeros, the Vale itself is a diversified land of jagged mountains and fertile valleys and rivers, all guarded by the Mountains of the Moon to the west. With olive complexions and auburn hair, the Arryns are similarly known as much for their honor as they are their stubbornness and resilience. Theirs is one of the most ancient and purest line of Andal descent and the Arryns can trace their lineage back to the original Andal invasion. Men of the Vale have a long tradition of being very skilled at arms. Their warriors are amongst the most devout, known to be fervent followers of the Faith of the Seven. The skill of their knights is often unrivaled save for maybe the knights that come out of The Reach, making them amongst the most revered of warriors in all the seven kingdoms. The isolated nature of both their region and their seat often makes travel difficult outside the Vale, and for the most part the Arryns like to keep to their rule in the Vale, generally finding the underhanded politics of the capital to be unseemly. Occasionally they are called upon to make the descent from their fortress in the sky to come serve the realm in King’s Landing. It was an Arryn that was King Robert Baratheon’s first Hand and more recently another Arryn has returned to King’s Landing to claim a seat on the current King’s small council.

Characters:
Lord Hugh Arryn (Colin Firth) Starfield_Scribe
Lady Ryella Arryn (Joely Richardson) dreamboat
Arwen Arryn (Eleanor Tomlinson) Starfield_Scribe
Anya Arryn (Maia Laura Attard) Starfield_Scribe

OTHER CHARACTERS:
Adeline Seaworth (Sophie Cookson) AtomicEmpress
Cecilia “Celia” Tarly (Keirnan Shipka) Captivating
Dacey Pyke (Gaia Weiss) Starfield_Scribe
Desmera (Tamal Kari) Starfield_Scribe
Freya (Àstrid Bergès-Frisbey) degausser
Isond Westerling (Tamsin Egerton) fleur captives
Lady Alannys Rosby (Marta Gastini)
Lord Hoster Rosby (David Wenham) AtomicEmpress
Lord Royston Hightower (Peter Mooney) Captivating
Maester Aneirin (Ewan McGregor) dreamboat
Prince Morgan Nymeros Martell (Elliot Knight) Starfield_Scribe
Rolf (Logan Lerman) AtomicEmpress
Ser Arstan Selmy (Taron Egerton) Starfield_Scribe
Ser Domeric Bolton (II) (Garrett Hedlund) dreamboat
Ser Raymar Corbray (Harry Treadaway) degausser
Silas Snow (Alexander Vlahos) degausser
Wylla Reed )Hailee Steinfield) Starfield_Scribe

Rules of the Game:
1. I am not enforcing the boy/girl rule per say, but if you intend to take more of one gender, you must find someone else to take on the other gender so that the ratio evens out.
2. This game is loosely book and show cannon, but I must specify the word loosely. I have left things deliberately vague as to who rules the varying regions after the events of a book series that has yet to conclude for obvious reasons. You do not have to be familiar with the book series or even the show to join. Just think of this as a feudal monarchy type game but with fantastical elements … like dragons … and frozen zombies.
3. With the above said … I have my own personal cannon that I use for reference. It has been entirely made up and I will not post it here in the thread because I don’t want it to curb anyone’s creativity … but if anyone is curious as to what that cannon consists of (as far as who rules the various “Kingdoms”) I am happy to PM it to you if you’d like.
4. Like the book and TV series, there will be mature themes in this game.
5. Be respectful of one another and be respectful of one another’s knowledge of the series, however extensive or limited it might be. This is a game after all. We are here to have fun.

PREVIOUS THREAD LINKS:
Game of Thrones: Prequel - A MYOC Role Playing Game

* HOUSE BANNERS MADE BY OUR FAIREST AND LOVELIEST OF MODS ON THE RP BOARD aka Em aka winter soldier

degausser · 05-10-2015, 08:21 PM

OOC: New thread, my lovelies.

Title is courtesy of the oh so wise Cersei Lannister, from A Clash of Kings.

If anyone out there is feeling bored at some point and would like to compile the profiles on a website like we have done in the past, I might possibly love you forever.

Carry on, my wayward son ...

Also, I was thinking I might categorize some people under the houses they are aligned with. For example, Ser Raymar Corbray being listed under House Arryn, since that is who he serves. Does anyone else have any thoughts and opinions on this?

winter soldier · 05-10-2015, 08:22 PM

OOC: I might be able to do the compilation, if Leigha isn't already working on it.

degausser · 05-10-2015, 08:26 PM

OOC: I haven't heard of anything but hopefully she'll pop in to say one way or another after work to confirm or deny that.

~~Silas is coming shortly~~ and again Raymar will come before bed tonight. In the mean time, reposts for convenience sake ...

Silas Snow
The stump at the end of his arm tingled at its mention and for a moment he remembered what it was like to have a hand again. Lady Gemma Tyrell surprised him a second time already in the short amount of time he knew her. Her dark eyes pierced into his as if to suggest the act of hiding his affliction offended her in some way. She told him he needn’t be ashamed and Silas swallowed hard. It was easier said than done. Cruel things had been said of his hook. Some people japed, others recoiled in fear. Gemma did none of these things and for that he was grateful, but in some ways it left him feeling out of his element. Acceptance was rare outside his closest circle of friends.

“Pray forgive me, my Lady. Most people do not like to look upon it,” he offered in explanation.

As she continued to speak, he could not help but feel as if he were some simpering maid. Was he afraid of her mother? The truth? Yes. Yes he was very afraid of her. He did not have to know the Lady of Highgarden personally to know of her reputation. Lady Gemma could have been any nobleman or woman’s daughter, though. She had an important name to shield her. Silas had neither a name nor anyone willing to speak up for him should he be discovered alone with a highborn girl in the middle of the woods. He could not afford to be careless.

Still, he could not help the smallest of smiles. “You are so used to the word ‘no,’ are you?” He did not give her an opportunity to respond and instead moved to saddle two horses for them. If she was going to insist on ignoring his call to caution, he supposed the least he could do was oblige her original request. “Which of these horses speaks to you, then? The mare I was working on needs her rest, but there is a young filly we’ve recently tamed that is high in spirit who I think might be to your liking.”

Daena Targaryen
There had been one beautifully and blissfully naïve moment when the princess had turned to look over her shoulder and found her pursuer to be absent from sight. It was short lived, however, and when Daena turned her head forward once more she nearly crashed right into the shiny breastplate and white cloaked prince of Dorne she foolishly believed she had escaped. Daena was panting heavily, her porcelain cheeks flushed. Prince Morgan did not even appear to have even the thinnest sheens of perspiration at his brow. What sort of sorcery was this, she wondered?

She had little time to contemplate her cousin’s unnatural stamina and endurance. He offered his elbow to her and she knew her cause was lost. She did not wish her father to know of her planned destination. Of the two options her cousin presented to her, only one was viable. Conceding defeat, she took her cousin’s elbow.

“I should have known better to believe I could outrun or outwit a prince of Dorne,” Daena offered sweetly to her cousin as she drew closer to him as they descended further into the city. She thought it best to keep Prince Morgan in the dark as to her intended destination for as long as she could manage. It was not long before they found themselves turning onto the street of silks and as soon as they did, she could feel her cousin stiffen at her side. A sly, teasing smile of her painted lips suggested he brought this all on himself. Before he could protest their location, she offered a cryptic explanation. “I am visiting a friend. She offers me council in times of uncertainty.” A shadow fell over her face in that moment, and Daena looked away. Her future had never felt as uncertain as it did now.

Without her brother, she felt lost.

The moment passed as quickly as it came, and Daena was all smiles once more. “I won’t be long, I promise. And there are …” she paused, choosing her words carefully so as not to offend the white knight at her side. “… ladies about who would be happy to keep you company …” in any way you might see fit she might have finished, but didn’t, fearing her cousin would fail to find any amusement in the jape.

Lady Alannys Rosby
Alannys could not help herself. She smiled impishly, as if she were a young maid with a secret. It was a smile that said she just could not help herself. Her brother knew her too well. The fact was that Alannys had not smiled too frequently in the last couple of weeks, not with the city readying itself to take action against the Iron Born. But it was more than that. Something was happening amongst the inner circle of the Targaryens too. Letters were being penned and trusted not to ravens but instead only the most trusted of riders. The King, normally not one to meddle in the affairs of his children, was seeking out alliances. The Queen had told her as much but not more beyond that and Alannys suspected it was because her own knowledge was limited. If there was anything Queen Laena Targaryen hated it was being kept out of the loop. Alannys would take her amusements where she could get them.

There were plenty of distractions to keep them all busy with the impending birth of Lady Ryella Arryn’s tenth child and the Northerners lingering in the city, but none of these things necessarily brought Alannys any joy. Tormenting her proud and upstanding brother was an admittedly rare pastime of hers, a fact that might be in need of remedy. Magically, threats to the royal family’s well-being do not cease at privy doors. Alannys smiled patiently at her brother, a gesture meant to humor him. Whatever you say, Domeric Bolton. Whatever helps get you and your hand through those lonely nights alone in that White Tower you now call home.

“How long exactly have you been standing outside this privy door, I wonder?” How she managed the question with a straight face, not even Alannys could fully say.

Lyonel Baratheon
The princess meant to insult him, calling him for a hypocrite as if to appeal to a better nature that might have existed in any other man that was not Lyonel Baratheon. “Trust me, sweetheart. There is no blacker kettle out there.” Lyonel Baratheon was many things – a scoundrel, a drunk and perhaps hypocritical most of all, but then he would be the least of all people to deny these things of himself. The Lord Commander of the City Watch did not pretend to be anything other than he was, hiding behind his family’s good name, spouting off his house words of Duty and Honor as if he were somehow better than everyone else like a certain fishy subordinate he knew. The young silver-haired woman before him perpetuated their tête-à-tête because she had something to prove, evidentially oblivious to the fact that he was mostly spewing nonsense with the sole intent of getting a rise out of her. How could he not, when it was so easy?

So as she continued to sling her ill-informed accusations at him, he armored himself against her insults with a roguish grin. Her soliloquys provided him with ample time to appreciate the view her efforts to clean the grime off her skin afforded him. A long expanse of pale, blemish-free skin stretched from toe to thigh as her leg slipped through the convenient slip in her dress. Lyonel’s gaze lingered on her thigh before traveling in a natural line up her arm and over the plunging neckline of her gown. It occurred to him after some time that the slow manner in which she moved the wash cloth along her skin had been deliberate, as if somehow for his benefit.

Curious.

Several long moments of silence stretched out between them before his gaze managed to meet her own. Lyonel decided the princess was not half-bad looking when she wasn’t running her mouth. If only he could mute her permanently. Ignoring her last barb, Lyonel’s grin settled into a straight line on his face as he continued to hold her gaze. “So this is the part where we now discuss the manner in which you plan to thank your valiant defender.” His gaze swept the length of her body suggestively, lingering over her swelling bosom. “Your life was quite endangered, if you recall. I expect the recompense to match the valor of the act.”

Rosamund Tully
She was not used to seeing the prince in such a manner. Conversation generally came easy to him, as all other things always had. Maegor laughed easily, made friends easily and could talk a companion out of her skirts with a skill that might have brought the most diligent of students to tears. Rosamund had never known him to have a care in the world, even when they were both children. To see him struggle as he did now felt unseemly, almost as if she had just walked in on him in the middle of an intimate moment. It made her feel uncomfortable and painfully self-aware of everything about her – from the way his eyelids seemed to droop lazily, half-obscuring the violet pupils that lingered at her neckline, to the warm flush she could feel creeping into her cheeks, to the beat of her heart as it thrummed erratically at her breast.

Rosamund hated how things felt suddenly changed between them. More than that she hated the idea that she might be the cause of any sort of unease with him, and just as she would with any other friend who came to her distressed, she felt compelled to move forward and comfort him in any way that she could.

Yet her feet remained rooted stubbornly in place.

Rosamund glanced off in the direction of the heart tree, a massive oak covered in smokeberry vines, its roots blanketed in red dragon’s breath flowers. “I can only imagine the kind of tremendous energy that must have been expelled in order to reach the presumably deaf and forgotten ears of the Gods so far to the North.” She did not know for whose benefit she perpetuated the line of conversation, his or her own. “Desperate lovers clinging to one another in the night?” Rosamund maintained a demure expression. “No. A blood sacrifice instead, perhaps?”

AtomicEmpress · 05-10-2015, 09:32 PM

Gemma
"I'll take your suggestion then. You seem to know your way around horses well. I feel that you can trust a man that animals feel at ease with."
She said with smile.
"Your right though."
She said finally.
"My father gives in much more than my mother would like. He lets me take care of the gardens and fuss about with animals and horses in a way that my mother most certainly does not approve of."
Gemma shook her head.
"My mother and I have things in common but she...well we just don't connect well on most things. I like nature and books and she wants to worry about husband catching."
She shut her mouth and blushed.
"I suppose I didn't realize how much I needed to talk to someone until now. I've been around my mother and men I'd rather jump in a lake then talk to let alone marry. And Torren is my friend, I know you are his friend so if he trusts you - I trust you."
She said with a small nod.
"I hope you don't find me foolish to be talking so much so quickly. If you'd been shut up with my mother, you might be this way too. Oh, I suppose that was an awful thing to say. She's just doing what she thinks is right."

degausser · 05-10-2015, 09:57 PM

Silas Snow
Silas set to work on saddling up the Philly as Gemma began to speak about her mother. Gemma’s circumstances spelled out the way they had been, Silas supposed he could understand some of where her frustrations were coming from. In some ways, she reminded him of Torren’s little sister. Bethany had always rejected attempts made to mold her into a proper lady; she did not enjoy needlework or singing or writing poetry. The few times her Lord father had ever presented a potential husband to her, she had dug her heels in and refused any man that might have even entertained the notion of requesting her hand in marriage.

This was the lot of highborn women, Silas knew. They were reduced to the value of their dowry. He did not envy them that fact.

Yet Silas found it difficult to empathize with Gemma’s mother’s meddling. At least she cared enough to take an interest in her daughter’s future. That was more than some people could say. “Perhaps it is not my place to say so, but the fact that your mother is so invested in your future only suggests she cares, at least on some level.” Once he had Gemma’s horse saddled up, he set to work on one for himself -- the strong, brown Destrier he had ridden down from Winterfell on. “I do not think you are foolish, though. I think it speaks to a wise mind when someone is constantly questioning everything around them.”

AtomicEmpress · 05-10-2015, 10:19 PM

Gemma
"Yes...I know she cares, I just wish she expressed it differently, or at least wasn't so pushy with her efforts."
Gemma was wearing a sky blue dress and she reached up and touched the filly's head gently, her sleeve pool back at the wrist.
"I am not so stuck on myself to think everyone expresses themselves the same way. I don't think my mother has a very easy way of expressing her emotions. Her thoughts - yes. Her emotions, not as much."
She sighed.
"Maybe my mother even once felt the same way I do when she was young and men were looking at her for marriage. I feel like I see the reflection of my face in their eyes but a chest of gold, or maybe even a rose to represent the alliance I could help make."
Gemma patted the horse again and then removed her hand.
"I like being a woman because I know nothing else and there are enjoyments to it, but a man can just go off whenever he so pleases. It is, as they something that is not so fair to the fairer sex."

degausser · 05-10-2015, 10:47 PM

Silas Snow
Silas was certain Gemma was probably right in her assumptions of how some men must have seen her. She came from a powerful, wealthy family. Anyone fortunate to wed a daughter of Highgarden could count on the support of the whole of the Reach should they ever need it. He did not need to have a noble name attached to his given one to know this. Silas feared such facts were unavoidable for the young rose before him. She obviously struggled with her predetermined lot in life. The relationship with her mother was probably an extension of that.

“You should not discredit yourself so much as to think that option is not also available to you. We always have a choice. You could choose to abandon your name and your duty and live your life in a way that would be most fulfilling to you.” Upon securing the saddle to his horse in place, Silas moved toward Gemma only to stop at a respectable distance from where she stood. As she stroked the mane of the Philly, he could not help but smile after her. It was a sad smile though, for in spite of the things he said he knew no choice came without consequences. “The path would not be easy, but then nothing worthwhile in life has ever come easily.”

Theirs was a strangely sobering conversation; one that made him feel older than he actually was. He sensed Gemma had not come here to be scolded and instead was seeking out some kind of temporary relief from the confinement she felt under her mother's scrutiny and the role she was expected to play as a daughter of the Reach. Silas felt compelled to help her in that endeavor, thinking little harm could come of it.

“Ready whenever you are, my Lady.” He remarked after a thoughtful pause, gesturing to the readied horse with his hook as he extended his good hand to help aid in lifting her into the saddle.

AtomicEmpress · 05-10-2015, 11:23 PM

Gemma
"I fear I may be bold and I may be bright but I may not fearless. Not be a longshot."
Gemma said with a sigh and looked at him.
"I've heard of women who with or without choice have made off on a life of their own and I find myself very envious of them. I hear that Torren Stark's young sister is a fearless young woman. I overheard she knows how to use a sword. I know my mother would loose her mind but do you think I should maybe look into her help at being able to defend myself if I make a choice?"
Gemma took his good hand and got onto the philly. She carefully got on and sat there waiting for him to mount his horse.

winter soldier · 05-11-2015, 12:24 AM

Maegor Targaryen
Desperate lovers clinging to one another in the night? Vague as it was, Maegor couldn’t help but balk at the ambiguous implication though he covered it well, turning his face from Rosamund even as she herself refused to meet his eye. He knew enough of his fair companion that she hadn’t meant it in any precise way to reference his… relations with Daena, given Rosamund’s complete and utter lack of guile, but it’d struck him dumb all the same.

An entire month had gone by and in its passing Maegor had feigned normalcy as best he could, sinking into easy habits and routines without much difficulty but anything beyond shallow interaction continued to trouble him. Nothing felt comfortable or effortless, as if he were a warped peg making to fit back in a hole that hadn’t changed, and he suffered it most acutely in moments like this. He was with his Rosamund, making off-color japes to prompt her into a scandalized smile and that was familiar, just enough that it should’ve been akin to two pieces fitting neatly together. But it wasn’t, they didn’t, and it was just precisely wrong enough to be maddeningly frustrating. Maegor felt like he was cramming them together in hopes that they might magically correspond again, become two complementary cogs again, but it was an artless gesture and it probably would’ve been easier if he’d dodged her presence as he’d done with Daena’s—with all the poise of a toddler learning to walk. Because at least it wouldn’t seem so vexingly close to their norm—but not quite—to throw Maegor so completely off-kilter.

He tried again, too hard-headed to cede when he’d already gone through the trouble to expend effort in the first place. “A blood sacrifice, in exchange for a book born mysteriously from leaves and dirt. Seems less of a balanced exchange from the vantage point of whomsoever acted as donor, but as it evidently wasn’t me, nor you, and you’ve been granted the boon of entertainment, I’ll overlook the injustice just this once.” He tossed a vaguely interested glance toward the tome in question but it was a cursory act, an alternative for looking upon Rosamund in the interim.

Ser Domeric Bolton
One might never guess they’d been apart most of their lives, so effortlessly did Lady Alannys strike at the squishier, vulnerable bits of Ser Domeric’s dignity. Perhaps that could also be attributed to the blood of the Dreadfort, though it was not a trait so widespread as uncanny love of flaying bits or delight in the discomfort of one’s fellow man because it was a very real possibility that this quality skipped over Domeric completely. He bristled like a cat at her playful implications of his ineptitude, fixing her with an unamused stare that matched the rigid lines of his body as he turned next to consider his original foe—the motionless privy door. “Who am I to wonder at the private habits of a woman?” he parsed, intending to be adequately mysterious but coming off instead slightly more revealing than anticipated and it was fortunate he was facing a door incapable of judgment because he twitched a little, solemn façade faltering in a telling way. One, he was certain, of which his sister would take rife advantage. As any proper Bolton would feel compelled to do.

Being shamed, however, was probably the motivation he needed to take decisive action. Domeric squared his shoulders, mentally prepared for a shrill, horrified bit of melodramatic screaming and reached down to tug the privy door open to reveal—

Absolutely nothing.

No pool of blood, no weakened prone form of Daena Targaryen.

No menacing assassins lurking in nonexistent corners wielding wicked curved daggers.

Just a window slightly ajar, tepid breeze teasing at fluttering curtains in a blatantly mocking fashion. You guarded an empty room, they taunted, dancing in the wind. You guarded an empty room for half an hour without question. Domeric wanted to kick something, possibly the pail of lavender-infused water just to his left and watch it splinter against the unforgiving stone wall while pretending it was Daena’s head but under Alannys’s watchful gaze he maintained his composure. Instead he simply sighed, world-weary, like he knew the next few hours of his day were going to be agonizing.

Captivating · 05-11-2015, 08:50 AM

Indira Targaryen
Halting her bath (if one could call it that), Indira frowned at the commander’s silence. Had his quip well run dry? Was his mouth suddenly rendered lame? Disappointment and curiosity brewed from within. Present company’s insults were expected. The princess wasn’t comfortable addressing the man civilly. How odd, that she should realize her interest in a prickly exchange as it tarried. “Cat got your tongue?” she queried. Her open, lavender eyes soon turned to slits. Lyonel was no longer smiling. His straight face and empty stare unnerved her. Yet Dira needn’t wonder what he was playing at for long. His impure intentions came to light quickly, boldly, evoking a gasp. The role of disrespected virgin was not difficult to play. A daughter of the King was bred to be snow white. Indira abided by said teachings in a sense, having been everything but taken by suitors. Still, she knew desire, making her display of innocence a farce.

Her solicitor’s kinked eyebrow signaled his awareness. So he did know what she was doing with the wash cloth. Good. Sexuality was an effective ace to play. “The man upon a high horse seeks reward. How very out of character,” she mocked. The princess rose slowly, bending low to fetch her bucket. A guttural, suggestive noise released at the action. A gawking patron, no doubt. “Privacy is key, if you wish to claim your prize.” Indira shoved past the libidinous member of the City Watch. She merely intended to tease him, though common sense demanded her departure. She was wading into dangerous territory. Dira knew little of this man. What she’d seen repelled her even, yet repulsion and attraction walked the same thin line. Hidden in the corner of the pawn shop, she wasn’t made to wait long. “You may wash me,” she offered. “If you promise not to talk.” Indira wrapped the wet wash cloth ‘round Lyonel’s fingers and smirked. “No need to be gentle.”

degausser · 05-11-2015, 09:49 AM

Ser Raymar Corbray
When Ser Raymar Corbray had been elevated to Lord Hugh Arryn’s Head of the Guard, this was not exactly among the duties the proud knight anticipated would come under his responsibility. They had a Maester and septas and wet nurses who could look after the littlest Arryn children. Yet somehow Raymar often found himself in a position such as this – the only adult in the room surrounded by a gaggle of giggling and whispering young girls.

His sword hand flexed restlessly over the hilt of Lady Forlorn, reminiscent of his tourney days or life on the road where a skirmish or scuffle could be just around the bend of any turn. Ser Raymar Corbray did not particularly like children. They were ornery little creatures and constantly scheming as little Amerei happened to be doing now, whispering into her young niece’s ear.

He waited with waning patience as the two girls whispered amongst themselves before at last the young princess, evidentially the mastermind behind this little scheme, spoke up.

They wanted to go on an adventure, apparently. Great. He was not just a babysitter but a chaperone as well. A low growl sounded at the back of his throat and he glanced over at his young charge with pleading expression … only to see little Anya’s eyes were wide with anticipation and excitement. All at once, his irritation seemed to melt, at least upon looking at the littlest one in the room. He could deny Anya nothing. Though she was not his own flesh and blood, in many ways he thought of her as such. Had things been different it might have been him who had married her mother after all.

Sighing heavily, he gave the young girls a perfunctory nod. Whether he wanted to or not, he would end up chaperoning them on this little adventure. He dare not refuse of a princess of dragons after all. “If you insist,” he remarked stiffly. “Though I expect the Lady Ryella will be out of labor sooner rather than later. Hopefully this will be a short adventure.” Raymar addressed the princess now, narrowing his eyes at her as she seemed to be the ring leader of the trio.

Silas Snow
I fear I may be bold and I may be bright but I may not be fearless. Not by a long shot. It appeared the young beautiful rose of Highgarden already had the answer to her conundrum. She might dream of setting off on a different path from the one that had been set out for her from birth, but that was all it was to be in the end.

Or was it?

When Gemma asked after Torren’s wolf-blooded sister, Silas could not help the short laugh that came from his lips. “Swordplay is no small task, my Lady. It takes years to master the skill. They used to say in Winterfell that the Lady Bethany was already hard at practice when she was still in her mother’s womb.” It was a good thing Bethany Stark was not around at the moment; to hear the title Lady in front of her name would have undoubtedly set her off. As soon as Gemma took his extended hand, Silas helped to lift her over the horse. He could not help but notice the skin on her hand was as soft as sin itself.

Silas remained at the horse’s side, peering up at Gemma. “I have no doubt she would be delighted at the notion of another woman taking interest in the martial arts, however.” He smiled encouragingly up at her before moving off to mount his own horse.

Lady Alannys Rosby
Ser Domeric Bolton appeared to be conflicted as his hand hovered over the privy door handle, his breath bated as he steeled himself for the outrage his intrusion would provoke. Alannys watched on expressionless, somehow already knowing that it was her brother’s own humiliation waiting for him on the opposite side of that door. He wrenched the door open with enough force that it sent a small gust of air through her pale, yellow skirts. The silky fabric gently whipped against her legs while she remained as still as the stone that surrounded them.

The white cloak at her brother’s back obscured his embarrassment, but the light slouch in his shoulders and the manner in which he hung his head told Alannys everything her brother was thinking without him speaking the words.

Perhaps she should have let up at this point. Domeric could be hard enough on himself without his little sister ribbing him incessantly. She might have patted him on the shoulder consolingly or perhaps even offered her assistance in tracking down the troublesome princess. Alannys might have done a lot of things, but then she would be neither his sister nor the blood of the Dreadfort. Slowly, Alannys moved forward, peeking her head inside the privy before fixing a dumbfounded look on her face as she peered up innocently at her brother. “The princess has vanished!” She whispered theatrically, throwing herself at her brother’s elbow. “Quick! To the King! Foul sorcery is afoot here!”

Lyonel Baratheon
The princess continued to bate him, but Lyonel had long ago learned how to maneuver around such tactics knowing silence could be every bit as vexing as a well-crafted jape. That she had not turned him out right then and there or screamed bloody murder upon his suggestion was a favorable sign. Lyonel had friends a plenty in the slums of King’s Landing but one cry of outrage from the princess would have brought ten loyal servants of House Targaryen to every one of his questionable associates. He knew it was a precarious game he played, but one look at the fire lit in her violet eyes suggested to him that the threat of pain upon death would be worth even a sliver of a chance to find out what the princess kept hidden under her skirts.

Lyonel fell into step behind the princess, the subtlest of springs in his step. She lead him to a quietly shadowed alcove in the shop, her back pressed against the wall as she placed the washcloth in his hand. “I am a slave to the truth, my Lady.” Lyonel lied. “To pledge my silence to you would be a bold faced lie I simply could not abide,” he breathed against her ear as he blindly reached into the slit of her dress and wrenched her leg through the silks to wrap around his waist. No need to be gentle, she had teased, but Lyonel was deliberate in his defiance. He slowly ran the damp washcloth along the length of her leg, gently massaging the skin of her inner thigh.

His defiant gaze locked onto hers where his face hovered close enough for her warm breath to mingle with his own. Despite his undulating desire in that moment, he did not kiss her. Instead, the uncharacterstic affection he had shown toward her passed without ceremony. All at once his hips thrust forward against her, pinning her between him and the wall as his fingers traveled further up her inner thigh in search of the warmth he felt pulsating from between her legs. The washcloth suddenly slipped from his hands, falling to the floor with a soft thud.

Captivating · 05-11-2015, 12:59 PM

Torren Stark
He’d overstepped, the young Lord feared, Isond’s stiff movements igniting remorse. He meant no disrespect. His words carried with them no ulterior motives, only a desire for adventure. To suggest the unexpected was a trait of the North. But he was not a boy, and this was not a game. A lady’s reputation could not be restored by good name ‘nor fortune. Torren averted his gaze to craft an apology. He could not look upon the offended and think clearly. A plea for reprieve hadn’t time to surface before Isond’s teeth gleamed in the sun. She was smiling. Brave enough, she recited gaily, why of course she was. Torren stood dumbstruck. Women were curious creatures. Twenty-four years observing their ways, yet mysteries remained. Truly, Torren expected a slap to the face. He was offered an outstretched hand instead. “Then you don’t mean to shun me,” he deduced. “How fortunate.”

Isond stifled a laugh as he looped his arm ‘round hers. She knew the perfect place for a dip, void of prying eyes and judgmental scowls. The Keep was not without its charms. If only Torren’s observation skills could’ve yielded the same results. A hideaway akin to Winterfell was unlikely, save the ice room of the castle. “Your directions are peculiar,” Torren commented as the pair dodged in and out of alleyways. Their journey was not as he predicted. “Don’t tell me, you plan to threaten my life in the shadows…teach me a lesson about letting my guard down?” Naturally, he was jesting. He was very aware and his guest, very unmenacing. It was her lion relatives he regarded with contempt. The North remembered. Forgiving House Lannister’s sins was treasonous. What kept them safe was not good will, rather, their closeness to the throne. “Should I drown, I will haunt you. If the Seven allow.” Another rib, another grin. He rather liked the lightness Isond’s company brought. Though he jabbed, it had been ages since he swam in human form. Today he relied on muscle memory, rather than warging, to keep afloat.

degausser · 05-11-2015, 02:02 PM

OOC: Stole this poem directly out of last night's episode. Sorry, not sorry.

Rosamund Tully
She was beginning to grow restless. Their conversation started and stalled frustratingly. The awkwardness of the situation compounded upon itself as she watched Maegor struggle the way he did through her weary gaze. Rosamund felt her stomach roil with guilt, feeling partly responsible for the way he acted around her. He had come to her several weeks ago as a friend in need seeking council and what had she done? She had recoiled away from him, giving him her back when it was her ear and her compassion he needed most. Yet there was another part of her that was equally frustrated with him. She could see now this path had been there before him all along. It was there in the way he carelessly drowned himself in his cups just as it had been paved by his own actions with every woman he invited into the ever increasing rotation he took to bed.

Was it really any surprise that his lack of inhibitions might one day include the twin that had always clung to his side?

Rosamund kept her ruminations to herself, not thinking it her place to scold him though perhaps it was what he had needed all along. She closed her eyes in frustration, silently meditating on all the ways she might be able to salvage what remained of their friendship. Somehow it had fallen to her to diffuse the tension between them. Rosamund did the only thing she had ever known to do whenever she felt overwhelmed by anything in life.

She recited the words she had read earlier from memory.

“They held each other close, and turned their backs upon the end. The hills that split asunder, the black that ate the skies, the flames that shot so high and hot, that even dragons burned, would never be the final sights, that fell upon their eyes. A fly upon a wall, the waves, the sea wind, whipped and churned. The city of a thousand years, and all that men had learned … the doom consumed it all alike, and neither of them turned.” Rosamund opened her eyes and revealed the book of poetry gifted to her by the Gods they both knew held no power this far south. “If it is to the old gods of the North I owe my gratitude for this collection of poetry about the Doom of Valyria, know that any sacrifice previously made in this wood has not gone unappreciated,” Rosamund remarked reverently while tilting her head back as if to speak to the nameless gods that moved the leaves of the trees above them.

She glanced back at Maegor in hopes that her theatrics had served to at least temporarily distract from his melancholy. Rosamund was not sure how much longer she could take this awkwardness between them. “Do you think they heard me?” She sasked demurely, clutching the book once more to her chest.

winter soldier · 05-11-2015, 02:58 PM

Ser Domeric Bolton
To Daena’s (dis)credit, feigning woman troubles and bolting the moment Domeric’s back was turned occupied the very bottom of the list of ‘Personal Slights Daena Targaryen Has Visited Upon Me.’ He might not’ve been so peevish and irritated had his own sister not been present to bear witness to his humiliation, he might’ve only firmed his jaw and wished only vague, indistinct threats upon her silvery-haired person before setting himself to the task of tracking her down. Yet Alannys was an enabling presence for his temper, poking at the tinder in his belly until the embers smoldered with promise of a new flame. ”The princess has vanished!” she trilled, feigning horror with all the gusto of a genuinely scandalized maiden and playing the part well, despite the dearth of maidenly innocence she’d never had, not even as a newborn babe. Domeric knew he was being made to look the fool. He also knew Alannys was feeding on his discomfort and mortification like a properly-raised Bolton sadist. Their father would be so proud.

Ignoring her seemed the most logical path, denying her of her gratification. “I’ve much ground to cover and limited amount of daylight with which to do so.” As he spoke, he carefully shut the window, denying the curtains their traitorous mocking breeze and bent the latch to refuse entrance or escape from any other industrious deserters thinking themselves entirely too clever. “Tracking down the Princess may prove wearisome, though I might have an easier time finding the Prince. And he is most typically her end goal.” He backed out of the privy, slowly, maneuvering his sister’s scantily clad body to one side. “You may best aid me in this plight by remaining behind, on the dubious chance that her majesty may return to this spot while I am away.” He pressed her forward into the chamber, her willowy frame providing minimal resistance even as she caught wise to his intent, then shut the privy door snugly behind her. A large oak table provided efficient counterweight in forcing the door inert, just the right height to block the handle from turning. “I will return to you when the task is done. We’d best hope sorcery played no part, else I may never locate her.” With that, Domeric allowed himself the satisfaction to smirk as he turned on his heel and strode away, reinvigorated with purpose.


Fan Forum > Archived General Discussion > Role Playing > Game of Thrones - Prequel #2: Love is poison. A sweet poison, yes, but it will kill you all the same.