[RPG • 100] House of the Dragon| Speeltopic - Speeltopics

27 juli 2024 - 15:38 dove_ is offline

dove_ 1553

HOUSE
^{^{𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖔𝖓}}

╓┈♔◦☓◦☙◦♔◦☙◦☓◦♔┈╖
rollentopic
praattopic • praattopic II • praattopic III
praattopic IV • praattopic V • praattopic VI
praattopic VII
speeltopic I
Map of King's Landing

Storyline

King's Landing is sinds Aegon's Verovering het centrum van de macht in Westeros. De jonge Targaryen koning Aegon the Conqueror veroverde Westeros samen met zijn queen-sisters en hun draken. Nu heersen zij vanuit de hoofdstad over het continent. Aan het hof van de Targaryen's verblijven de machtigste adelijken van het land, samen met hun hofhouding.

Nu, één jaar na de verovering van heel Westeros, is de grote zaal van de Red Keep rijk versierd met Targaryen-banners, drakenmotieven en weelderige bloemstukken. De zaal wordt gevuld met muziek terwijl adellijke families samenkomen om de eenwording van Westeros onder Targaryen-heerschappij te vieren. Ter ere van het éénjarig jubileum van Aegon's Verovering wordt een debutantenbal georganiseerd. Dit bal dient als een gelegenheid om huwbare edelen te presenteren voor potentiële huwelijken, waarmee allianties worden gesmeed en de stabiliteit van het nieuwe rijk wordt versterkt.

Regels van het Hof

Deze regels helpen om de orde, respect en veiligheid binnen het Targaryen hof te handhaven en zorgen ervoor dat het hofleven soepel en volgens protocol verloopt:

Basisinformatie

Deze RPG speelt zich af aan het hof in King's Landing, ongeveer 300 jaar voor de gebeurtenissen in "House of the Dragon".

Situatie voor Aegon's Vervovering - De Zeven Regerende Families

Vóór Aegon's Verovering (ook bekend als Aegon's Conquest) waren er verschillende grote huizen die over de Zeven Koninkrijken van Westeros heersten. Elke regio had zijn eigen heersende huis:

• Kingdom of the North (Het Noorden) - Het Huis Stark regeerde als koningen van het Noorden vanuit Winterfell.
• Kingdom of the Mountain and the Vale (De Vale) - Het Huis Arryn heerste over de Vale van Arryn.
• Kingdom of the Isles and Rivers (De Rivierenlanden) - Het Huis Hoare (House Hoare) regeerde over de Rivierenlanden vanuit Harrenhal.
• Kingdom of the Rock (De Westlanden) - Het Huis Lannister was het heersende huis in de Westlanden vanuit Casterly Rock.
• Kingdom of the Stormlands (De Stormlanden) - Het Huis Durrandon regeerde over de Stormlanden vanuit Storm's End.
• Kingdom of the Reach (Het Bereik) - Het Huis Gardener was de heersende dynastie in het Bereik vanuit Highgarden.
• Princedom of Dorne (Dorne) - Dorne werd geregeerd door verschillende vorstenhuizen, zoals het Huis Martell vanuit Sunspear.

Situatie na Aegon's Vervovering - Targaryen heerschappij

Na Aegon's Conquest waren er geen onafhankelijke koningen meer in de Zeven Koninkrijken van Westeros. Na Aegon's Conquest werden alle eerdere koninkrijken verenigd onder de heerschappij van de Targaryens. De titels van koning werden afgeschaft voor alle regionale heersers behalve voor de koning op de IJzeren Troon, dat is Aegon momenteel. Hij heert samen met zijn twee sisterqueens Visenya and Rhaenys. ~~Ja ze zijn siblings en met elkaar getrouwd.~~ De oude regionale heersers dienden als leenmannen van de Targaryen-koningen. De belangrijkste leenmannen van Aegon de Veroveraar waren:

• House Stark - Lords van Winterfell en het Noorden.
• House Arryn - Lords van de Vale van Arryn.
• House Lannister - Lords van Casterly Rock en de Westlanden.
• House Baratheon - Lords van Storm's End en de Stormlanden.
• House Gardener - Lords van Highgarden en het Bereik (voor hun ondergang in de Field of Fire).
• House Martell - Lords van Sunspear en Dorne (na hun vredige overgave).

Deze huizen, samen met andere regionale heersers, erkenden Aegon als hun koning nadat hij met zijn draken en legers Westeros had veroverd. Ze behielden een mate van autonomie in hun respectievelijke regio's, maar waren verplicht om Aegon te dienen en belastingen en troepen bij te dragen wanneer dat nodig was.

Personages

Rollen kunnen een highborn of een lowborn inwoner van King's Landing zijn. Ze kunnen zowel uit Westeros als Essos afkomstig zijn, al zullen de meeste leden van het hof afkomstig zijn uit Westeros.

High borns

Als hooggeborene ben je een lid van de adel en speel je een belangrijke rol aan het hof. Je kan een lid zijn van de Targaryen familie of een van de andere adelijke families in Westeros. Je kunt, maar dat hoeft niet, een van de volgende posities bekleden:

• ~~Hand van de Koning~~ - De belangrijkste adviseur en rechterhand van de koning, beheert de dagelijkse zaken van het koninkrijk.
• ~~Meester van de Wetten~~ - Toezicht op de handhaving van wetten en het beheer van gerechtigheid.
• Meester van de Munt - Beheert de financiën en schatkist van het koninkrijk, zorgt voor economische stabiliteit.
• Meester van Schepen - Verantwoordelijk voor de koninklijke marine en de verdediging van de kustlijnen van het koninkrijk.
• ~~Meester van Whisperers~~ - Verantwoordelijk voor inlichtingen en spionage, verzamelt informatie ter bescherming van het rijk.
• Lord Commander van de Kingsguard - Leidt de elite Kingsguard, zorgt voor de veiligheid van de koninklijke familie.
• Hoge Septoon - De hoogste religieuze figuur, biedt spirituele leiding en houdt toezicht op religieuze ceremonies.
• Warden - Adellijke heren die verantwoordelijk zijn voor de veiligheid en het beheer van specifieke regio's (~~Noord~~, Oost, Zuid, West).
• Hofdames - Adellijke vrouwen die de koningin en prinsessen dienen, hen assisteren met verschillende taken en gezelschap bieden.

Invullijstje High borns

Low borns

De Low borns werken aan het hof. Zij zijn niet afkomstig uit een adellijke familie, maar kunnen wel bastaarden van die families zijn. Alle low borns in de rpg moeten een baan hebben aan het hof, deze banen zijn :

• Drakenhouders - Verzorgen en beheren de draken van de Targaryens. [2/2]
• Rentmeesters - Verantwoordelijk voor het beheer van het huishouden, het toezicht op de voorraden en het coördineren van dagelijkse activiteiten. [0/2]
• Kamermeisjes/Kamerdienaars - Verzorging van de persoonlijke behoeften van edelen, zoals het schoonmaken van kamers, het voorbereiden van kleding en helpen met aankleden. [1/2]
• Keukenpersoneel - Koks, bakkers en assistenten die maaltijden bereiden voor het hof. [0/2]
• Staljongens - Verzorgen de paarden en onderhouden de stallen, zorgen ervoor dat de rijdieren klaar zijn voor reizen en evenementen. [0/2]
• Wachters/Schutters - Zorgen voor de beveiliging van het kasteel en zijn inwoners, bewaken ingangen en patrouilleren over het terrein. [0/2]
• Boodschappers/Koeriers - Brengen berichten binnen het kasteel en naar nabijgelegen locaties, zorgen voor soepele communicatie. [0/2]
• Entertainers - Muzikanten, dansers en narren die optreden voor het hof tijdens evenementen en bijeenkomsten. [1/2]

Invullijstje Low borns

Rollen

Highborns
- Visenya Targaryen| F | House Targaryen | Master of Laws | 22 | Faceclaim | ziggystardust
- Valerion Targaryen| M | House Targaryen | The Spare Prince of the Seven Kingdoms | 22 | Faceclaim | ziggystardust
- Aelor Targaryen| M | House Targaryen | The Spare Prince of the Seven Kingdoms | 24 | Faceclaim | Hennessy
- Domeric Bolton| M | House Bolton | 33 | Aaron Taylor Johnson| ziggystardust
- Cedrick Stark| M | House Stark | 30 | Warden of the North | Faceclaim | lustforlife
- Celia Lannister| F | House Lannister | 21 | Sydney Sweeney| lustforlife
- ~~Qhomir Hoare~~ Aeron Greyjoy | M | House Greyjoy | 31 | Manny Jacinto | Hennessy
- Nashayana Hightower| F | House Hightower | 22 | FC| albono
- Haelle Bolton ~~Manderly~~| F | House Bolton | 25 | FC| albono
- NAME HOUSE| F/M | House Frey| 00 | FC| lustforlife
- NAME HOUSE| F/M| House Umber | 00 | FC| ziggystardust

Lowborns
- Lethia| F | Court Musician| Aubri Ibrag| albono
- Kiren 'Ren' Celtigar Waters | F | Bastard of House Celtigar | Dragonkeeper | 23 | Mia Goth| Hennessy
- Rhaegar Waters| M | Bastard of House Targaryen | 24 | Faceclaim | albono
- Pyotr Baelish| M | House Baelish| 25 | FC| ziggystardust

Inactief
- Emrys Dayne | T | House Dayne | 29 | Vico Ortiz | Hennessy
- Doran Sand| M | Bastard from Dorne | Damiano David| ziggystardust
- Nehemia Martell| F | House Martell | 20 | Bruna Marquezine| captainlee

Timeline of Westeros

Relationships

-31 AC
• Birth of Domeric Bolton

-30 AC
• Birth of Cedrick Stark
• Birth of Qhomir Hoare

-26 AC
• Birth of Pyotr Baelish

-24 AC
• Birth of Haelle Manderly
• Birth of Ylva of the Snowshade

-23 AC
• Birth of Rhaegar (bastard of house Targaryen and house Velaryon )
• Birth of Aelor and Elaena Targaryen
• Birth of Lethia Solani
• Birth of Sivga Umber

-22 AC
• Birth of Kiren Waters ( Bastard of House Celtigar of Claw Isle)

-21 AC
• Birth of Visenya Targaryen
• Birth of Valerion Targaryen
• Birth of Nashayana Hightower
• Birth of Serra Frey

-20 AC
• The Targaryen Conquest of Westeros Begins[/b]: Aegon I Targaryen, along with his sisters Rhaenys and Visenya, begins his campaign to conquer the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. The Targaryen dynasty’s control of the Iron Throne will be established through this conquest, which includes battles, diplomacy, and strategic marriages.
• Birth of Celia Lannister

-19 AC
• Rhaegar claims a dragon (age 4)

-16 AC
• Qhomir gets a new name, Aeron.

-15 AC
• The Fall of House Gardener and the First Battle of the Conquest: The Targaryens defeat House Gardener of the Reach at the Battle of the Field of Fire. This battle marks a significant victory, and House Gardener falls, with the Reach being incorporated into Targaryen rule.

-14 AC
• Kiren moves to Dragonstone

-10 AC
• The Conquest Continues: The Targaryen forces continue their conquest, facing resistance from various houses, including House Stark and House Arryn. However, the Targaryens’ superior forces and dragons give them a significant advantage.

-9
• Pyotr enrolled in the Citadel.

- 6 AC
• Engagement Elaena (17) and Valerion (15) Targaryen
• Kiren (17) and Eleana (17) make plans to run away together.
• Princess Elaena’s death
• Marriage between Haelle and Domeric Bolton

-5 AC
• The Unification of the Seven Kingdoms: After multiple battles and strategic marriages, Aegon the Conqueror successfully unites the Seven Kingdoms under his rule, establishing the Targaryen dynasty on the Iron Throne.
-4 AC
• Celia’s fiancée, the heir of House Durrandon is killed by Orys Baratheon him during the conquest and took over the Storm Lands.

-3 AC
• Death of Lord Baelish
• Serra got engaged to Othgar Hoare
• Cedrick became Lord of Winterfell. His family was murderd by House Bolton ( Torrhen, Brannon and Cregan) were killed.
-2 AC
• the entire Hoare-family was murdered after Lord Harren refused to bend the knee. Aegon burned them all by flying over Harrenhal with his dragon. (Qhomir’s family and Serra’s fiancée die)
• Haelle gets abducted.

-1 AC
• Pyotr joined the Kings Guard
• Maisie, daughter of Haelle, is born.

0 AC
• Aegon I’s Coronation: Aegon I Targaryen is crowned as the first King of the Seven Kingdoms at a grand ceremony in Oldtown, marking the official beginning of Targaryen rule in Westeros. The Seven Kingdoms are now united under the Iron Throne.
• Letha moved to King’s Landing

1 AC - Current year
• Targaryen Reign Solidified: Following his coronation, Aegon consolidates his rule and begins the rebuilding of the realm. The Iron Throne becomes a symbol of his authority, and his rule marks the beginning of the Targaryen dynasty’s long reign over Westeros.

Regels van de RPG

• Het woordenminimum is 100 woorden.
• De huisregels van Quizlet en daarbij in het bijzonder het RPG-forum gelden uiteraard ook hier.
• 16+ is toegestaan, maar gelieve hier wel voor te waarschuwen zodat anderen het kunnen mijden als zij het liever niet lezen.
• Bespreek gevoelige onderwerpen op voorhand met je schrijfpartner.
• Als eternalsunshine niet online is, maakt de laatste die reageert een nieuw topic.
• Maximaal 3 characters per schrijver.
• Als ik 21 dagen niets van je hoor, stuur ik je een reminder PB.
• Als je 45 dagen niets post, wordt je char opgeofferd in een blood sacrifice.
• Reserveringen blijven 10 dagen staan.

When a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin.
One side greatness, the other madness.

[ bericht aangepast op 13 april 2025 - 21:14 ]

We'll pick lilacs and daisies and weave them through our hair

24 mei 2025 - 10:48 dove_ is offline

dove_ 1553

Sivga
^{^{of House Umber

The Oath Binder}}

"I"I believe she's named something along the lines of Ren," Cedrick spoke plainly. "I met her once during the war." His eyes flew back to the fire sea in which she had escaped.
Sivga’s eyes lingered on the path the girl had taken. Could it be her? Kiren? Ren?
She blinked the memory away. Beside her, Cedrick added. "I remember her as a nice girl. It's a shame we won't be seeing her around no more."
Nice.
That wasn’t the word Sivga would’ve chosen. Wild, maybe. Wounded. Bright as fresh flame and just as reckless. But nice? Perhaps. In the way storms are nice when they pass without tearing the roof off.
"It's a shame we won't be seeing her around no more." Cedrick said.
“Yes,” She replied with a distant voice.
A shame. He made it sound like she was already gone.
Maybe she was.
The thought stung more than Sivga thought it would. She barely knew the girl after all. But Ren, with her storm-wet hair and laughter. Ren, who’d run straight into her, screaming like a ghost, and laughed with her on the streets like the world wasn’t already falling apart.
Would the Targaryens catch her? Would they kill her for touching what wasn’t hers?
Of course they would.
It was always the same with the silver-haired beasts of the South. Touch what they call sacred, and they burn you for it. Mercy was weakness. And the Targaryens could not afford to appear weak.
Cedrick’s voice became softer now, more to himself than her. “It would be seen as weakness to show that girl unprecedented Targaryen mercy.”
Sivga’s jaw tightened.
He didn’t mean it cruelly. He was only telling the truth.
But truth could wound just as well as lies.
Sivga her eyes rested on the spot she saw Ren disappear. Don’t die, girl. Not like this. Not in their fire.

But there was nothing to be done. This was the south. So Cedrick and her kept drinking their beer and watched the festivities unfold before them. Sivga enjoyed how they could sit in silence together.
“I believe this one belongs to you.” Mara patted over to Sivga, only to bounce back to.. Ylva? The wildling smiled fondly and kneeled down, allowing Mara to lick her face. “It seems like an odd thing, to keep creatures that are meant to soar in the sky in a cave, don’t you think?”
Sivga hadn’t seen the woman in years. She didn’t answer right away. Just leaned back and let her gaze flick over the domed ceiling, blackened with soot, the chained dragons beneath the stone, the eggs still steaming in the fire.
“Just as odd as seeing you here.” Sivga said straightforwardly. She wanted to ask the girl why she was here, but the voice of Princess Visenya echoed in the pit.
Shortly after, the ground trembled under Sivga her feet as a dragon tore through the upper arches, wings folding and unfurling .
Sivga pushed her chair back without thinking. The dragon’s shadow fell across the chamber like the Targaryen’s reign had fallen across Westeros. Visenya climbed onto his back.
A moment later, they were airborne.
Then came the voice of another Targaryen, sharp and formal. “Dear guests,” he called out, “for the safety of our youngest princesses, the remaining eggs will be hatched in private. I count on your understanding.”

Sivga could almost hear the wine glasses clinking back down onto tables. The pit had gone deathly still.
“You are free to remain in the Dragonpit, if you wish. Food and drinks will be provided for. Should you wish to return to your quarters, please inform one of the guards. They will escort you back.”
She glanced to Cedrick, catching his eye.
Sivga’s gaze swept the room again, and then she saw her.
Nasha.
Slipping away through a side corridor. She leaned toward Cedrick. “Your future bride just ghosted out the side. You want her followed?”
Mara pressed against her leg. “I can go after her,” Sivga added. Cedrick knew what she meant.
Ever since Mara had been gifted to her, Sivga had not been the same. Something in her had shifted. There were moments when her awareness blurred with the hound’s, when her senses stretched beyond her own skin. She could see through Mara’s pale eyes, feel the earth beneath paws that weren’t hers, even guide the hound’s steps with thought alone.
The wildlings had a name for it: worging. South of the Wall, the word didn’t exist, or if it did, it came wrapped in old wives’ fear. Sivga wasn’t sure what to call it here. She only knew to keep it quiet.
Few knew. Only those she trusted.
So Cedrick knew. Of course he did.
Her eyes settled on Ylva now, sharp and steady.
“What are you doing here, of all places?” Sivga asked. “The South doesn’t suit you.”

No One Passes

[ bericht aangepast op 24 mei 2025 - 10:48 ]

We'll pick lilacs and daisies and weave them through our hair

24 mei 2025 - 12:50 dove_ is offline

dove_ 1553

Visenya
^{^{of the House Targaryen

✦ . 　⁺ Master of Laws ⁺ 　 . ✦}}

Wearing • 22 y/o • Harbour • with Kiren

There were certain things one didn’t speak about: how unfair it was that her mother had birthed Rhaegar a bastard, leaving him to grow up a second-class Targaryen; or how Visenya loved to spend the moonlit hours tangled in Aelor’s sheets, praying their parents would do the only thing that made sense: betroth them. Another thing no one dared speak of was the bond between the late Elaena and the dragonmaster Kiren.
And yet, Kiren did.
Visenya didn’t flinch. It was a lot to take in. Kiren Waters. Born from Cira Wendwaterand Crispian Celtigar, Lord of Claw Isle and the first Master of Coin. Blood of old Valyria. In a way, they were kin.
And Visenya had seen it happen with her own eyes, in the Pit. How the creature had chosen. She wasn’t fool enough to challenge a dragon’s will.
She could end it here. She could say the words. Caraxes would obey. The alley would be filled with fire and ash, and the girl would vanish. Easier, perhaps. Cleaner.
But she didn’t want to.
Madness runs in our blood, they said, like it was an excuse for all the cruelties that came too easily. But Visenya had never felt the same hunger for blood. She didn’t feel fire in her bones every time she was crossed.
She wanted Kiren to live. Needed a reason to spare her.
Maybe Elaena could give her one.
“What were you to her?” Visenya needed to know. “To Elaena?" She clarified. "You may die here anyway, and if you do, it will not be for a lie. So why not tell the whole truth.”

A Targaryen alone in the world
is a terrible thing.

[ bericht aangepast op 24 mei 2025 - 12:51 ]

We'll pick lilacs and daisies and weave them through our hair

27 mei 2025 - 15:58 lustforlife is offline

lustforlife 1726

_{_{CEDRICK STARK}}
THE WILD WOLF

Lord of Winterfell • Warden of the North • 30 • with Sivga & Ylva • at the feast table in the torchlit halls

Everything went on, but everything stood still at the same time.
Laughter and chatter filled the torchlit halls. Cups of wine and beer flowed, but Cedrick Starks eyes were still on the pit.
His focus relentlessly drawn to Princess Visenya's next move. His trust in Sivga ran so deep that he had forgotten about his immediate surroundings. Entrusting his companion more than enough to be aware for the both of them. The voice that embodied quiet fierceness took him by surprise.
“I believe this one belongs to you.”
The same woman Sivga had just asked about stood before them. From a far she could indeed be mistaken for a Targaryen beauty, but now he saw that didn't do her justice. This woman embodied a perfect winter. She kneeled down and didn't mind Mara licking her face. Unusual.
“It seems like an odd thing, to keep creatures that are meant to soar in the sky in a cave, don’t you think?” Cedrick agreed, but kept quiet. He had to remind himself it were simple truthful words like that to strangers, that could get you on the chopping block here in Kingslanding.
It seemed like an odder thing that a Lady from the South would get on her knees for a dog. Although, he knew of multiple instances like that, none of them involved animals.
For a heartbeat it stayed quiet. Cedrick wasn't in the mood for pleasant conversation. He hoped Sivga could take this one, but one glance sideways told him enough. He found her staring at the domed ceiling. Great, she wasn't in the mood either. Still, she spoke.
“Just as odd as seeing you here.” His eyes furrowed. Did they know eachother? Suddenly this didn't seem like the dull conversation, he thought it would be. Suddenly he was intrigued. Why was it odd seeing her here?

A shadow swallowed the pit whole. The serpentine killing machine called Caraxes emerged from the shadows. Princess Visenya climbed onto its back. A burst of wind went through the pit leaving things scattered on the floor and nobles struggling to breath. Rhaegar Targaryen was left behind to clean up the mess. Cedrick just sat and smiled. Sivga catched his eye. She knew too.
However strong Rhaegars composed demeanor was, there was no denying it now. The Targaryens were caught by surprise. For a tiny moment, they were not in control and Cedrick enjoyed it. With what lies would they come up to mask the events of this day. He was eager to find out.

Sivga leaned into his space. “Your future bride just ghosted out the side. You want her followed? I can go after her." Cedricks gaze swept the cave, but indeed the soft waves of golden blonde hair of Nashayana Hightower were nowhere to be found. He sighed. He didn't particularly care for what the dutiful daughter of the Faith did in her spare time. From what he knew of her, she was probably on her way to do some dull acts of kindness that somehow grew the Hightowers riches or help others who desperately needed guidance towards her so called gods. It felt like a waste of Sivga's precious talent and her and Mara's time. However, the engagement talk between him and the Hightowers was almost coming to an end. It wouldn't be long now before their engagement would be set in stone.
He needed that engagement. The North needed it.
He didn't want to care about Nashayana Hightower, but he should.
So he leaned forward, scratched Mara behind her ear and nodded to Sivga. "Well, let's see what kind of quiet prayers she is up to then." In this chaos it would only be right to make sure she got back safe to her chambers or sept or wherever it was the Hightower woman wanted to spread her religious falseness.
The Stark leaned back in his seat and took another sip from his mug of ale. His eyes set on the beautiful human snowflake in front of them.
“What are you doing here, of all places?” Sivga asked. “The South doesn’t suit you.” That definitely got Ceds attention.
So, the woman wasn't from the South. But, he didn't recognize her from the North either. Such a beauty definitely would've been known to him.
He scraped his throat. "The South doesn't suit us either Sivga, yet here we are." He took the mysterious woman in. His eyes narrowed on her.
"Who are you?"

THE NORTH REMEMBERS

[ bericht aangepast op 27 mei 2025 - 15:58 ]

let the fears you have fall away

3 juni 2025 - 20:12 dove_ is offline

dove_ 1553

The Fire in the Storm
^{^{𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖌}}

╓┈♔◦☓◦☙◦♔◦☙◦☓◦♔┈╖

The Fire in the Storm

Date: Sixteenth day of the sixth moon, Year 1 AC
Time: 3:08 AM
Temperature: 21°C
Location: King’s Landing — Targaryen Guest Wing and surrounding city
Weather: Violent summer storm; heavy rain, roaring thunder, and blinding lightning

Description of the Night
It is just past 3:00 in the morning.
King’s Landing, which should be quiet under the shroud of night, is instead ablaze in a horrifying storm-lit inferno.

Lightning has struck the eastern guest wing tower of the Targaryen castle. The tower houses many noble guests who remained in the city after the debutante events and Dragon Hatching ceremony. Within moments, flames lick the wood, and smoke pours through halls, stairwells, and open windows.
The wind from the storm fans the fire outward and the rain struggles to douse what lightning and dry timber have conspired to ignite.

The fire is spreading, rapidly and unpredictably. From the tower, it’s reaching toward the Red Keep, threatening the heart of the royal stronghold. Nearby districts, the slums and merchant quarters, are catching. Panic is beginning to ripple through the sleeping city.

Where you are matters
If you are asleep in the guest wing:
• You are waking to smoke and possibly fire.
• Escape is not optional, it is immediate and life-threatening.
• Falling beams, burning staircases, and chaotic crowds of screaming nobles make every move dangerous.
• What do you grab? Who do you wake? Do you flee or try to fight the flames?

If you are elsewhere:
• Perhaps in the Red Keep, the city, on a rooftop, or in a tavern, you see the glow or hear the bells, the panicked shouts, the tolling alarms.
• Characters may act freely, whether to help, exploit the chaos, rescue someone, or pursue personal goals while the city burns.

The city is burning. Don't burn with it.

Aegon of House Targaryen,
the First of His Name

We'll pick lilacs and daisies and weave them through our hair

4 juni 2025 - 22:36 lustforlife is offline

lustforlife 1726

_{_{CEDRICK STARK}}
THE WILD WOLF

Lord of Winterfell • Warden of the North • 30 • with Nashayana Hightower • somewhere in the halls of the Targaryen Guest Wing

The smell of burned timber snuck up his nose just mere seconds before smoke filled his lungs. A chain of sudden violent caughs woke him up. Smoke. There was smoke everywhere. Faster than the lightning strikes outside of his window, Cedrick stood beside his bed throwing on a deepblue robe. Within seconds he was out of his private bedchamber and into the joined familychamber he shared with his sister.
"Lyssandra! Wake up!"
His tear-streaked eyes struggled to keep a clear vision, while the smoke grew thicker and thicker with every inch Cedrick gained towards his sisters chamber. He reached for the doorknob and hissed. It was scorching hot. Anger and fear clouded his thoughts. He wouldn't lose another sibling. He just couldn't.
Bewildered he slammed the weight of his whole body into the wooden door again and again and again, until it finally broke free from its hinges. He was launched into his sisters room to be greeted by blazing hot flames swallowing the entire right corner of the space.
"Lys!"
Cedrick crouched down beside her. Their eyes locked and he could see the relieve washing over her. "We have to get out of here. Now." Lyssandra just nodded as Cedrick scooped her up and carried her outside of their rooms and into the hallways, where more chaos reigned.

Screams of nobles and the ringing of the city bells filled the old hallways. The thought of this being an attempted assassination on House Stark drifted away quickly after seeing everybody in complete and utter panick. Cedrick hurried along staircases, which looked like they were about to crumble and turned corners as fast as he could. Sweat dripped down his forehead as the heat became harder to bear. Cedrick turned to take a left, when on his right just a few feet away a burning beam fell down. In response his gaze flicked that way. Long locks of golden blond accompanied by a green dress made of the most expensive fabrics hasted towards the eastern part of the castle. The part where he was sure the fire was coming from. He halted. Why would she-
"Lord Stark, Lady Lyssandra!"
Out of breath Lord Karstark and Maester Luwin reached them.
"This way is the safest. I've got my wife and daughter out already, but we came looking for you." Lord Karstark spoke, while taking the lead. Cedrick took a few steps, following his loyal vassal, but stopped. He didn't want to leave his sister, but he trusted these men.
"Lord Karstark, Maester Luwin, please escort my sister to safety. I entrust you with her well-being. Please, don't break that trust. There is something I must do, before coming after you. Don't worry, I'll find my way out." He assured the company, before quickly parting ways with them.

He cursed over and over again when he had to jump out of the way for yet another beam that came crashing down from the ceiling. How was she moving this fast? He fastened his pace and a sigh of relieve slipped from him when her golden locks came back into sight. Cedrick didn't want to care. She wasn't his to worry about yet, but he needed her to become his worry in the future. The North needed that and for there to even be a future filled with worries, she needed to be alive.
When he finally caught up to her his breath was ragged and his face no doubt smeared with sweat and smoke.
"Lady Nashayana,"
He grabbed her wrist.
"I beg your pardon for the interference, but I strongly suggest heading in another direction."
A rumbling sound came from ahead.
"I'm pretty sure nothing, but the Sept is that way. You will not find any exits there."
His gaze bore into hers. "Please, come with me."

THE NORTH REMEMBERS

[ bericht aangepast op 4 juni 2025 - 22:44 ]

let the fears you have fall away

7 juni 2025 - 16:59 sakamoto_ is offline

sakamoto_ 1312

𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒂
^{^solani}

court musician and dancer • lady-in-waiting for princess visenya • witch • 24 • dress • with domeric • domeric's chambers

A loud bang woke her up. Lethia stirred with a groggy, irritated grunt, one hand dragging the covers higher as she rolled toward the warmth at her side, instinctively curling up into Domeric’s side. “Did you forget to close the shutters again?” she murmured, voice muffled by the sheets. “I told you to close them because of the storm.” Outside, thunder cracked so violently it rattled the glass panes. Rain lashed simultaneously against the windows, a steady, savage rhythm that rattled the glass panes like they might give way at any moment. The storm hadn’t quieted—in fact, it sounded worse than before. Lethia pressed her hands against Domeric’s back, half-heartedly shoving him toward the edge of the bed. “Go close them.”
A few seconds later she sat up herself, slowly at first, the haze of sleep still clinging to her thoughts. The soft creak of the bedposts accompanied her as she pushed the sheets away and swung her legs over the side. The room was dark and with the deep, oppressive dark outside it made it impossible to tell what hour it was. Her frown deepened.“…Do you smell smoke?”
The question hung in the air for a moment—just long enough for her brain to catch up. At first, it was faint. Easy to doubt. But the longer she sat there, the more it grew—acrid and bitter. Then, all at once, it hit her. Burning oil and scorched wood. Not the distant sort that drifted from a chimney. This was fresh.
Lethia turned toward the windows. Lightning flared, casting the room in a split-second flash of bone-white brilliance. Shadows of the carved bedframe and high-backed chairs danced across the walls—and in that momentary glare, she saw the faintest trail of smoke curling under the door.
“Domeric!” she violently shook his leg. “Wake-up!”

all the lights are sparkling for her

baby, let's get messy, let's get all the way undone

8 juni 2025 - 13:32 sakamoto_ is offline

sakamoto_ 1312

ЯHΛΣGΛЯ
^{^{Waters

⚔︎ . 　* 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡'𝔳𝔢 𝔟𝔢𝔢𝔫 * 　 . ⚔︎}}

sky above me,
sea below me,
fire with me

targaryen bastard • master of dragons • 24 • alone • red keep inner court yard

The rain was cold on his exposed skin, the howling wind making a mess out of his hair. But yet, it was the best he felt in days, soaring through the sky on Stormseeker’s back. Rhaegar would advice most people to not fly in a storm, advice he did not listen to himself. Lightning lit up the sky, painting shadows on the water below. Dragonstone somewhere to the north. King’s Landing to the west.
He hadn’t talked to his family the last couple of days, except for his mother. Only coming to the dragon pit a few hours every day to take care of the newborn dragons. Then flying off again, in whichever direction he felt like that day. Anywhere that was within a few hours flight from the Red Keep. Stormseeker, normally not one for hunting herself, sensed something was off and did the hunting. No complaining.
Stormseeker dipped low, her massive wings slicing through the air as she skimmed the surface of Blackwater Bay, talons close enough to stir the dark waves. Then, with a powerful beat of her wings, she shot upward again, wind shrieking around them as they climbed. Rhaegar surrendered himself to his dragon, letting her take the lead in the storm. Flying dangerously close to the thunderclouds. The hairs in his neck stood on end with the anticipated electricity. He trusted her with his life.

His hearing smothered by the wind, rain and claps of thunder, it was the light in the distance that alerted him. Rhaegar glanced at it, looked away, only for his eyes to shoot back. The light flickered too much. Fire. In King’s Landing. Rhaegar looked north. He had planned to sleep at Dragonstone that night.
“STORMSEEKER! DARYS TEGORIR. ADERE!”
His dragon relented and they shot towards the city.
“TOLI ADERE.”
Stormseeker rumbled underneath him, but did as he said.

The fire grew and grew. Not only because they were getting closer. It was spreading. The harsh rain didn’t do anything to stop the flames. They couldn’t get too close. Rhaegar directed Stormseeker to the other end of the keep, the furthest point away from the fire.
“Dakogon se sōvegon.”
He had done it many times before. But always on a battlefield with flat ground. Never on watchtower walls. Rhaegar let go Stormseekers scales as they neared the wall, maneuvering himself over to her wings. It took all his muscle strength to not be thrown off by the strong winds. Hāre. Lanta. Mēre. Stormseeker angled her body. Rhaegar slid off of her spread out wing, hitting the stones with a hard crash and needed a couple of headrolls before coming to a standstill. Stormseeker flew of as the guards stared at him.
“Help evacuate the people living just outside of the keep.”
They kept on staring at him.
“Now.”
“But, my lord. The noble -”
“The nobles have guards and servants to help them get out. The people outside do not. Go. Help. Them. That is an order,“ he snapped. He had never snapped at the guards before.
The guards stood to attention immediately at his tone. “Yes, my lord!” And they ran off.
“Take off your armour!” Rhaegar yelled after them, before turning to the flames. The smell of fire made him sick. Flashbacks of burned bodies. Bile rose up in his throat. A hand gripped his heart.
He wiped the rain from his eyes with a trembling hand, though it did little good. Smoke coiled into the night sky, thick and black against the storm. He could already hear screams now — faint, but unmistakable. The city was burning.
He ran.
His boots splashed through water pooling across the stone. Every few paces he slipped, caught himself, kept going. His breath came in shallow gasps, not from exhaustion but from panic — a creeping, coiled fear he hadn’t felt since that day on the battlefield. Since the last time he had watched fire eat men alive. Because of him.
He vaulted the final steps of the tower, crashing into the inner courtyard of the Red Keep.

MOST DAYS
I AM A MUSEUM
OF THINGS I WANT TO FORGET

baby, let's get messy, let's get all the way undone

9 juni 2025 - 21:53 sakamoto_ is offline

sakamoto_ 1312

_{_NASHAYANA}
𝐻𝐼𝒢𝐻𝒯𝒪𝒲𝐸𝑅

house hightower • 25 • with cedrick • hallways

Dantis delivered her back to her chambers, as he also did a few years ago. She smiled at him, pretending to give a kiss on his cheek, before she shut the door in his face.
It was late and most of the castle was asleep. Nasha would regret the late night in the early morning. For now, she did not care about that. She sat down on the settee, humming along with a hymn as she brushed her hair.
A loud, echoing crack. The windows rattled. Everything in her chambers rattled. The shutters burst open. Nasha jumped, her brush clattering to the floor. Her humming stopped mid-note .A dragon must’ve flown against the castle walls. She stood slowly and made her way to the window.
The sky was lit in an orange hue, lighting up the dark. And it was close. Her entire body froze and her mind screamed.
FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE.
She slid down to the ground.
FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE.
Her hands were shaking too much to loosen her dress.
FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE.
She pulled up her legs, folding her arms around her knees. Her breath came in short gasps and her vision filled with tears.
It was a punishment of the Gods. For the Targaryens. It must be. For not fully believing. It couln’t have been her fault. Not like years ago. She sinned but she atoned every time. Recited her penance in an almost feverish manner. Had she forgotten something? Had she missed a line? Had she failed to kneel long enough? No, she was sure hadn’t. Almost sure. She whimpered softly and prayed.

The window above her head shattered with another clap of thunder, raining pieces of glass. Nasha shrieked and made herself even smaller, burying her face in her knees. Shards bit into her hair and shoulder, some catching in the folds of her dress. It was not safe here. She needed to go to the Sept. Now. She crawled to her bed, grabbed her copy of the Seven-Pointed Star from under the pillow, as if it were a shield. The leather was cool, a small mercy. Her knees scraped across the stone floor, her lungs hitching with each gasp. Her body was cramped and tense and it took a couple of tries before she unsteadily stood up on her feet. Her body was cramped and tense and it took a couple of tries before she unsteadily stood up on her feet. The walls tilted. Her ears were ringing. She barely even noticed the blistering heat of the handle as she opened the door.
The hallway was filled with smoke and chaos.
The Sept. Her destination. She could walk there blindfolded. It was going to be okay.

Someone suddenly grabbed her wrist. Nasha wrinkled her nose when she saw the figure. Fantastic. First, the Targaryen guards aren’t capable enough to catch a thieving servant. Now, they were letting homeless people into the castle.
“Lady Nashayana. I beg your pardon for the interference, but I strongly suggest heading in another direction.” Not a homeless person then. They would not talk like that. “I'm pretty sure nothing, but the Sept is that way.” Obviously. Why else would she be heading there? “You will not find any exits there. Please, come with me.”
“You look like a beggar, Lord Stark.” Nasha eyed the soot and sweat dripping down his face, ignoring that she herself was also covered in soot. At least his hair still looked sort of decent. “And, no thank you.” She pried his fingers off of her wrist, her hands shaking. “I need to go to the Sept to –” Coughing interrupted her sentence, tears stinging in her eyes. “I need to go to the Sept to pray,” she continued hoarsely, feverishly. “But as you are a heathen, you would not understand. Again, thank you, but I will be fine.” The Gods would protect her. She clutched the Star to her chest, so tightly that the edges of the gilded cover bit into her palm. “I will be safe in the Sept.” She said it again. Louder this time. As if saying it made it true.
She turned around and started to walk away from Lord Stark.
The Sept. The Sept. The Sept. It was her only thought, her only anchor.

[ bericht aangepast op 9 juni 2025 - 21:54 ]

baby, let's get messy, let's get all the way undone

11 juni 2025 - 21:08 Kestis is offline

Kestis 12351

T H E S T R A N G E R
^{AERON GREYJOY

^{qhomir hoare

31 ☩ With ???}}

Thunder roared above the pointed roofs of the keep, as Qhomir quietly left his room in the eastern wing of the castle. It was long past midnight, but he'd spent the last few hours pacing his room, waiting for the right moment. And then the storm had begun. Violent winds made the windows clatter against their frames, rain pounding down against the red bricks of the outer walls. It would be the perfect cover, Qhomir had decided.
He was creeping through the corridors, feeling the pointed end of his trusted knife against the small of his back. He was in his traditional black, without the house pin again. Aeron the servant, rather than the noble, if anyone were to ask.
The plan was simple. He knew where to go, because he'd spent the past two weeks mapping the guestroom locations of every noble at court. He knew where the northlings were staying, the Lannister woman he'd met the other day - and Aenis Targaryen, a distant cousin to Aegon's mother, and the only Targaryen Qhomir knew of who wasn't immediate relation to the king. Killing the young Aenis in the chaos of the storm would make exactly the point Qhomir wanted - mystery, panic and distrust, but not so much it would instigate a man-hunt for the killer.
The halls of the keep were fairly empty. He hid from a few rushing guards, who were yelling about rooftiles falling off and windows shattering, and crossed a few servants, but those too were too preoccupied with whatever their masters demanded to pay him any attention.
Qhomir stopped before the wooden door of Aenis' room. It was quieter in this part of the tower - as they were further away from outside walls. From this distance the storm sounded like a light summer rain.
Qhomir curled his lefthand around the handle of the knife, as his other hand twisted the doorknob open - as softly as possible. The floorboards creaked underneath his boots as he entered the room. And then he paused because the scene he was looking at wasn't what he'd expected.
He was definitely in the right room, because the unconscious man on the floor, with the long pale blonde hair and red and black colors was definitely Aenis Targaryen. Qhomir just had no fucking clue who the tall guy hoovering above him was.
Qhomir drew his knife and held ii casually beside his hip, just so the other man could see it. He softly closed the door behind him and cocked his head as he looked the other man up and down.
''Well, well, who- or rather what- do we have here?'' he asked with a raised eyebrow. One of the corners of his mouth turned into a half-smile. At that moment, a loud crack filled the air around them. A pause. And then a scream.

kindness is never a burden.

12 juni 2025 - 22:21 lustforlife is offline

lustforlife 1726

_{_{CEDRICK STARK}}
THE WILD WOLF

Lord of Winterfell • Warden of the North • 30 • with Nashayana Hightower • somewhere in the halls of the Targaryen Guest Wing

“You look like a beggar, Lord Stark.”
Cedrick blinked in surprise. They were in the middle of escaping a raging fire, yet here she was telling him off about his looks?
"And, no thank you.” Nashayana Hightower removed his fingers from her wrist. He couldn't help but notice her trembling hands. She must be in shock.
“I need to go to the Sept to –” a sudden streak of coughs interrupted her sentence. Cedrick could see the tears gathering in her eyes. “I need to go to the Sept to pray,” she continued, her voice struck by the thickness of the growing smoke. Cedrick just stared at her. Speechless. She was definitely in shock. There was no other explanation for this kind of religious madness.
“But as you are a heathen, you would not understand. Again, thank you, but I will be fine.” The Stark just scoffed at that statement. Heathen. Ofcourse, she would think of him as that. Nashayana Hightower clutched the symbol of her Faith tightly to her chest, as if her life depended on it. Cedrick gave her a pointed look.
"I will be safe in the Sept.” With that statement she turned around and walked away. She was out of her mind and going to get herself killed.

Cedrick watched her go for a few seconds. He rolled his head back, closed his eyes, sighed and started to follow her again. It didn't take much effort to catch up. The Hightower woman was about to take a flight of stairs downwards, when two steps in front of her crumbled. Cedricks hands didn't waste any time. He grabbed Nashayana's waist and pulled her backwards, against his chest. Just in time to avoid her getting caught in the chaos of the collapsing stairwell.
His heart was going faster and faster. They were losing time. Too much time.
"There are no safe spaces left, Lady Nashayana. So, no. You will not be safe in the Sept." he spoke while softly releasing her from his grip again, his voice coated with determination. "The lack of exits and windows would have you suffocated before the flames can even touch your skin." Cedrick wiped away the sweat and soot that assembled just above his brows. "You spend all your time there, surely you must know, deep down, that the Sept is the worst place to be during a fire like this.." He eyed the star Nashayana so desperately hold on to. Saw the blind devotion in her eyes and knew rational arguments like this wouldn't help right now. He had to take the religious route to convince her.
"You know that the Gods aren't merciful. They are cruel." He actually stood by that statement. "They do not save, they punish." He didn't believe that, but he needed her to do so. "If this is a punishment, they would not be here, nor in the Sept." His gaze bore into hers.
"But I am here."
He streched the palm of his hand out towards her.
"Take my hand and just let me get us out of here."

THE NORTH REMEMBERS

[ bericht aangepast op 12 juni 2025 - 22:26 ]

let the fears you have fall away

12 juni 2025 - 23:05 Kestis is offline

Kestis 12351

Alyssandra Arryn
^{^{Lady of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale & Warden of the East.

◇ ◇ ◇

25 ◇ With Aemma ◇ Wearing ◇ Red Keep courtyard}}

''Hurry! Please, hurry!''
It was futile, really. Alys knew asking the driver to hurry wasn't to make the storm disappear, or the horses go faster. She heard the pattering of thick raindrops on the roof of the carriage; the entire thing shaking violently due to the winds slamming against it.
The innkeeper had warned them to not set out tonight. He'd felt in 'in his toes', as he'd told her multiple times. His toes must be magic, she thought to herself now, because he'd been right. It was the worst weather it had been in weeks.
The plan had been to arrive in time for the Dragon's Hatching Festival. Alys had already missed the previous festivities due to disputes between sworn Houses in the Vale. And then the carriage had broken down and she'd been stuck in an inn for several days until they fixed it. But then Aemma got sick.
She looked down at the small child clutching her chest. Little red-haired Aemma, barely four years old, was shivering and shaking even worse than the carriage. Alys shushed her child, carefully pressing cold, damp cloths against her forehead, in the hopes the fever would go down.
''We should stop and rest, my lady,'' Leonette spoke. Alys heard the panic in the voice of her companion. The older woman was clutching the sides of the carriage, her eyes firmly closed. ''We're no good to the child death.''
Alys stroked Aemma's head, who let out a small whimper in return. ''We cannot, Leonette.'' She placed a soft kiss on Aemma's forehead and rocked her back and forth. With her other hand, she clutched the small hammer pendant around her neck, whispering a prayer to the Smith, followed by yet another hymn to the Mother:
''Gentle Mother, strength of women, help our daughters through this fray.'' She sung the words softly, like a little lullaby. Halfway through, Leonette's shaky voice joined hers: ''Soothe the wrath and tame the fury, teach us all a kinder way.''

The carriage slowed down. It was pitchblack out - the only light coming from the flashes of lightning every once in a while. Thunder rumbled above their heads as the driver shouted: ''We made it! I can see the lights of King's Landing!''
Alys made another prayer to all Seven Gods, thanking them for their mercy.
The carriage rolled down the wet cobbled streets of King's Landing. Alys looked out the window. She hadn't been here in over a year, the last time being the official Coronation of the King after the war. It looked larger than she remembered, but that could be due to the dark and the rain.
As the tall red towers of the Keep loomed in front of them, Alys got the sinking feeling something was wrong. And then she saw it. One of the towers was ablaze with flaming hot fire. Her breath stopped in the throat and the driver jerked the carriage to a halt. On both sides of the carriage, Alys saw people running past, fleeing from the flames devouring the castle one wooden beam at a time.
''We must turn back, my Lady!'' The driver yelled. She could hear the horses whinnying in fright. She nodded, to herself, to Leonette. Another glance at the small child in her arms, who was her first priority always. Alys' eyes drifted out of the window again, and then she saw him. A man, staggering out of the grand doors of the Keep, his pale blonde hair illuminated by the light of the fire up above. Rhaegar.
Alys exhaled long and deep. She didn't remember the last time she saw him. His smile flashed through her brain, his hair in the moonlight, limbs tangled together in ignorant bliss.
And before she knew it, she'd jerked the door of the carriage open, leaving Aemma in Leonette's care, and jumped out of it. She pushed through the people running out of the courtyard into the city, nearly getting knocked back by men and women twice her size. The rain was still hammering down hard and it didn't take long for her to be completely soaked. Her hair, previously loose and curly, now stuck to her face and neck, with raindrops dripping down her forehead.
She stopped running when she reached him. ''We have to go, now!'' She yelled at him, hoping to transcend the noise of the chaos. She took his hand and pulled him towards the carriage. ''Please, Rhaegar.''

kindness is never a burden.

17 juni 2025 - 1:18 lustforlife is offline

lustforlife 1726

_{_{DRYSTAN BARATHEON}}
THE BRUTAL STAG

House Baratheon • 24 • with Aeron Greyjoy • in the suite of Aenis Targaryen

Crammed into the small space of the wooden closet, Drystan sat waiting, bored out of his mind. The sound of water dripping out of the edges of his hair onto the ground the only sign of his presence. In the distance he could hear the ravenous storm going on outside. It reminded him of the glorious storms in the Stormlands. He sighed. He wished he could've stayed outside. Seeing the sky light up after hearing the raging thunder without the walls of this Fort acting as a shield. He longed for the pressing rain to soak his clothes. For the demanding wind to challenge his balance. But business was business and a night like this could not be wasted.
The sounds of the storm outside, would muffle the sounds of the battle inside. Although, Drystan wondered how much of a battle it really would be. Aenis Targaryen had just turned 20 and from what he heard, the young man wasn't much of a fighter. Drystan also didn't expect the Targaryen to wear weapons on him at all times, so it wouldn't be much of a fair match anyway. Then again, this wasn't the battlefield, where there was glory to gain. This was a paid assassination. Nobody cared for the way the man would be killed. A dead body was the only thing that mattered. A shame really.

Footsteps that bursted into the room pushed Drystan into a lethal focus. He had walked every path the room had to offer and memorised how every step had sounded earlier this evening. By just listening to the way the floorboards creaked under Aenis Targaryens boots, he knew where in the room the man was. He waited for the particular sound of the loose floorboard in front of the closet to make an appearance, before jumping out. He made quick work of it. In less than 30 seconds Aenis Targaryen laid unconscious on the ground.
Now the real work would start. How would Aenis Targaryen really come to his end. With a quick slice of the throat? Or with some messy stabs in the chest? His client had given him free reign over that decision. However, before he could use his lovely dagger, he needed to fulfill one demand. Drystan stepped with his left leg over the Targaryens body. He hoovered above the man, searching with his eyes and hands for the wanted item.
The sound was soft, but loud enough to gain his attention. Drystan whirled and pointed his dagger out in front of him.
A man in the same black he was dressed in stared at him. A servant, Drystan thought, but when he beheld the knife at the mans hip, he thought different.
''Well, well, who- or rather what- do we have here?'' In the darkness Drystan barely could make out the mans features, but he swore he could see his mouth curling into a smile.
A loud crack filled the air between them.
Followed by a terrifying silence.
And then a scream.
Drystan wasn't sure what that was all about. He wasn't even sure what this in the room was all about.
Had this been a set-up? Would the predator suddenly become the prey? He rejected that thought. If he had been the target, the stranger would've never given up his advantage by stalling his surprise attack like this. Drystan eased a bit, but stayed on edge.
"You're the one looking at it." Drystan started, his voice distorted just like he once had learned in the House of Black and White. In his first months there, he was taught to never give a stranger the power of knowing your sound.
"So, you tell me. What do we have here?" Drystan scanned the man up and down, but he couldn't find anything that gave away his identity or reason to be in here right now. Just like himself, the man had erased every noticable part of himself. The only difference in their choice of clothing was the strangers lack of wearing a hood. "I do truly hope you're not looking at your lover laying unconscious on the ground. I would hate to have taken away your chance of swordfighting this night." Why else would someone at this hour creep into Aenis Targaryens room. He needed to feel out the various options before acting on something. Drystan put his free hand to his chest in an apologizing way. "I don't fight that way, so I'm afraid I can't stand in for him."

OURS IS THE FURY

[ bericht aangepast op 17 juni 2025 - 1:52 ]

let the fears you have fall away

20 juni 2025 - 14:34 dove_ is offline

dove_ 1553

Valerion
^{^{of the House Targaryen

The Spare}}

The suite smelled overwhelmingly of silk, sweat, and spilled wine.
The storm outside raged on, but inside it was all warmth and laughter. Valerion Targaryen moved across the floor, his shirt undone, silver hair loose and a half-empty goblet sloshing in one hand as he danced with Celia Lannister.
She was laughing, as in properly laughing, not the stiff and polished smiles he usually saw at court. After she had offered him support for the debacle of Dragon Hatching Day, he had dragged her to the lower city. He wanted to let loose and to remember what it means to be alive. So far, he had delivered.
Tomorrow he would face the consequences of his choices and his plot. Tonight he needed an alibi and he wanted to forget.

A young bard sat cross-legged on a velvet cushion,playing his lute. He was a pretty lad, but tonight Valerion had only eye for the one he was dancing with.
Around the room, Valerion’s usual crew lounged: highborn sipping peach wine, barefoot, silk-robed, adorned in half-dressed gowns. A pair of drunk twins from House Velaryon tossed grapes at each other. Lord Edrick from House Massey was snoring in a corner next to his tipped over goblet and wine dripping on his tunic.
Valerion twirled Celia again and dipped her. “Tell me this is way better than the boring court parties my sister orchestrates," he whispered in her ear. “And don’t you dare lie to me.”

A Targaryen all alone in the world
is a terrible thing

[ bericht aangepast op 20 juni 2025 - 14:36 ]

We'll pick lilacs and daisies and weave them through our hair

20 juni 2025 - 14:52 dove_ is offline

dove_ 1553

DANTIS BARATHEON
Master of Whisperers

Targaryen Tower with Aelor

The ink had not yet dried.
Dantis Baratheon leaned back in his chair, sharp eyes skimming the final line of a latest raven-letter. His oil lamp light was dying out. He had been reading for hours. From whispers from Flea Bottom to coded reports from bastard-born agents. This night was like so many others, until…
There was shouting in the distance. Next came the scent of smoke.
Dantis lay his letter down.
Another crash of thunder shook the walls. From somewhere above, bells began to toll.
Curious, he got up and opened the door of his chambers. The hallway beyond was alive. Servants scrambling, a guard sprinting toward the tower stairs, a high born lady shrieking through tears as she dragged a child behind her.
“What happened?” Dantis asked, grabbing the sleeve of a passing servant.
“The guest wing, my lord… struck by lightning… it’s aflame!”
The boy ran. Dantis turned in the other direction.
The princes.
If fire had touched the palace, they had no time. And knowing Valerion… well, he was likely sprawled across a woman or a wine-soaked pillow, oblivious.
Good.
Dantis wasn’t hurrying towards The Spare.
He was heading for The Cruel Prince.
Aelor.
Dantis climbed the stairs swiftly, making for the upper tower where Aelor’s chambers were.
When he reached the prince’s door, he knocked once before opening the door of his friend.
“There’s fire in the east wing. The Targaryen guest tower is burning. Nobles trapped. The wind carries it, could reach the Keep by sunrise.”
Lightning flashed across the room. “What do you want done?”

Secrets are the real coin of kings and queens.
And I am richer than them all

[ bericht aangepast op 20 juni 2025 - 14:53 ]

We'll pick lilacs and daisies and weave them through our hair

20 juni 2025 - 15:21 dove_ is offline

dove_ 1553

DOMERIC
^{^{House Bolton}}

꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷

A naked man has few secrets; a flayed man, none

DThe dream had blood. And corpses.
It always did.
But tonight, it wasn’t a flayed man on a pole. Tonight, it was the battlefield.
Not one in particular. Domeric had seen too many to name them now. They all blurred together, into one endless world of red and swords. He remembered the smell. By the old Gods, he always remembered the smell. Burned flesh and spilled guts. Horses screaming like dying women. And the dragons… above it all.
They were allies, the Targaryens. But on the field, with the world aflame, it hardly mattered which side you stood on.
In the dream, he saw Visenya again. The queen’s eyes were half-shadowed beneath her helm, her mouth tight, her dragon overhead. Flames sweeping across a line of shields. Enemies. Allies. All of them caught fire just the same.
Domeric stood on a hill of corpses. His own sword was sunk to the hilt in a dying man’s throat. He couldn’t remember whose. Couldn’t remember when he’d struck. All he could remember was the feel of blood running down to his wrist, warm and slick.
Around him, the flayed banners of House Bolton snapped in the wind.
Someone cried out his name, not Domeric, no, his father’s voice always used his full name like a command: Domeric Royce Bolton. And he turned..
.. only to see Royce, his baby brother, standing in the middle of it all, untouched and small. Looking up at the sky with eyes full of terror. There was no reason for Royce to be there. He’d been long dead by the time of the Conquest. But his dreams didn’t care about time. His dreams only wanted to hurt.
Royce reached out. His hands were burned to the bone. Still, he whispered:
“They’ll burn you too, brother. Sooner or later, even the dragon forgets who helped it fly.”
A voice from a far distance asked him a quesstoin. “Did you forget to close the shutters again?”
But Domeric had to focus on Royce. His little brother needed him. He tried to move, but his legs wouldn’t let him. The battlefield clung to him, weighed him down.
“…Do you smell smoke?” the voice from far away asked.
Yes. Gods, yes.
He smelled the burning of bodies and earth, thick in the air now, unmistakable. It curled under the door like a whisper of war returned.
“Royce!” He tried to yell, but nothing came out.

“Domeric!”
Lethia was shaking him now.
He woke drenched in sweat. The battlefield hadn’t left him yet. It never did, not fully.
Something was terribly wrong. The smoke he smelled wasn’t that of his nightmares. This was real.
He blinked twice, the scream of Royce still echoing in his head and then it was gone. The fear, the helplessness, the battlefield. All was gone.
Because Lethia was real. She was here. Alive. Not burning.
And he would keep it that way.
He sat up so fast the bed creaked in protest. One hand reached for her wrist, the other for the robe tossed across the back of the chair. “Up,” he said, voice low. “Come on. We have to go. Now.”
He opened the door…
The corridor was red.
Fire. They were trapped.
He turned to her, his face lit by flames and then looked across the room towards the window. They were too high up to climb out. So he looked to Lethia again. She had told him tales of women who could ease the flames, as long as it wasn’t dragon fire, but he wasn’t sure if it was true.
“You said once,” he said, “that not all fire obeys dragons.”
He held her hand tight. “You said there were ways to bend flame.” He continued. “If there’s anything you can do to get us out safely, do it now. I will deal with the rest.” If anyone wanted to hurt her, Domeric would strike them down. He could battle men, but not fire, that fight was hopefully going to be Lethia’s.

Our Blades Are Sharp

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