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

27 juli 2024 - 15:38 ziggystardust is online

HOUSE
^{^{𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖔𝖓}}

╓┈♔◦☓◦☙◦♔◦☙◦☓◦♔┈╖
rollentopic
praattopic • praattopic II • praattopic III
praattopic IV • praattopic V • praattopic VI
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

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 23 sep 2024 - 11:18 ]

and the spiders from mars

28 aug 2024 - 18:24 lustforlife is offline

lustforlife 912

_{_{CEDRICK STARK}}
THE WILD WOLF

Lord of Winterfell • Warden of the North • 30 • with his sister • on the edge of the dancefloor

"I kissed his sister..."
Voor een moment was Cedrick terug in Winterfell. Waar de bloedrode schubben van Caraxes hard tegen de sneeuwwitte omgeving af hadden gestoken. De draak hoorde niet thuis in het Noorden en hetzelfde had voor Visenya Targaryen gegolden. Haar hoopvolle vastberadenheid had in scherp contrast gestaan met Cedricks nalatigheid. De man kon nog steeds kristalhelder voor de geest halen hoe Visenya's teleurstelling omsloeg in woede. De rest van de flashbacks knipperde de wolf weg. Hij had geen behoefte aan een trip down memory lane en toch vonden zijn ogen de vrouw die zijn excuses verdiende. In alle eerlijkheid wist de noorderling niet of beide klaar waren voor dat gesprek. Visenya had hem niet onder ogen willen komen en had de Starks niet persoonlijk uitgenodigd, maar in plaats daarvan de rode krullenbol die nu het podium op stapte naar hen toegestuurd. Lethia had niet alleen met haar muzikale talent voor warmte in het koude Winterfell gezorgd. Cedrick was in de tijd die ze samen hadden doorgebracht erg gecharmeerd van haar geraakt. Op haar verzoek sloot de man zijn ogen om de draken voor zich te kunnen zien tijdens het horen van haar muziek. De rust die voor het eerst deze avond over Cedrick heen viel, werd abrupt verstoord door geschreeuw.
Domeric Bolton en prins Valerion sloegen op elkaar in. "Come on! Fight me! You coward, fight me! Fight your own friend!” Cedrick kon de grijns die op zijn gezicht was verschenen moeilijk tegenhouden. It must have been his lucky day. De mannen die hij het liefst een dolk in hun borst duwde, reageerden zich af op elkaar. De wolf had het hele spektakel met veel plezier aanschouwd. In ieder geval tot Nehemia zich ermee begon te bemoeien.
“I’ll talk to you again later, or not, if you have decided to stop glowering at me and judging me for my actions,” had de prinses van Dorne hem koel toegebeten, waarna ze bij hem was weggelopen. De Stark had een fles alcohol van een van de tafels willen grijpen om vervolgens de zaal mee uit te vluchten, maar bleef staan op de plek aan de rand van de dansvloer. Zijn blik gevestigd op Nehemia en de twee mannen. Een verkeerde aanraking haar kant op en Cedrick ging zich ermee bemoeien.
"Cedrick," Lyssandra snelde naar hem toe en stak haar arm door de zijne. "Did you see what happened?" De man schudde zijn hoofd. "But does a Bolton really need a reason to throw hands?" Lyssandra suste hem. "Not here." Haar blik vloog richting Nehemia die nu zelf alle aandacht opeiste. "What did you say to her? She seemed annoyed." De man veinste een glimlach. "Yeah well, that makes two of us."
"Maybe it's a good thing they broke off the engagement then." Cedrick zuchtte en nam Nehemia Martell in zich op. Hoe ze in haar onthullende jurk de twee bruutste mannen van het bal de les las.
"Yeah, maybe.."

THE NORTH REMEMBERS

[ bericht aangepast op 28 aug 2024 - 18:25 ]

love me until I love myself

2 sep 2024 - 17:45 euphemia is offline

euphemia 870

𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒂
^{^solani}

court musician and dancer • witch • 24 • dress with a red corset and without the split • with qhomir • in the gardens

Her hands fell away from the harp as soon as the shrieking started. The source of it was all too easy to find. Lethia stared at Domeric. She had seen him angry before, many times. This, however, seemed different – more fury and rage in his face. He and the prince were rolling on the floor. Through gaps in the crowd she saw the blood on their faces. The prince. Domeric was fighting with the prince. Stupid, stupid idiot. Despite the entire situation, she felt like yelling at him for doing something so reckless, that could get him severely punished.
She yearned to go over to him. It had become a second nature to take care of his wounds, sustained by either battle or brawl. She had already done so when she was still with Leiff. The first time she had actually managed to make him completely shut up, was also the first time she had mended his wounds. Snapping at him to stay quiet and be quiet. She had done so ever since. And after a while, after losing Leiff, she hummed a little protective charm over him as well. Subtle enough that he could still get hurt during battle, thrawting any suspicions, but vigorous enough that he would not died. It was a little charm that she put over him every time he went out to battle, or to a bar – she knew him well enough.
Apart from that one time, nearly eighteen months ago. She had to rush, already late with meeting Baelish, and had no time for it. Weeks after that, Baelish had told her that Domeric had died. Lethia hadn’t even bothered to protest that nothing was going between them, his news devastating. The wave of guilt that followed nearly drowned her from the inside out. Maybe if she had taken a bit more time, he would still be there. But turned out, that maybe wasn’t a maybe anymore.

Someone had come closer to her. Her eyes darted over to him. A rare, unknown face. She had no memory of seeing him in the castle before. He knelt down before her, one of his hands on her ankle. His other hand neared her face, brushing away tears that had gathered in the corners of her eyes. Lethia was too startled to react to his sudden movement and only when she did realize it, she leaned backwards, away from his hand.
“A breath of fresh air, I think.” The man held out his hand and motioned towards the door. “Show me the way to the gardens?”
One of the first things she learned as a performer, or a girl, really, was that it was better to not be alone with a Lord or one of his sons. But she wasn’t sure if this man was either of those. Nothing on his clothing distinguished which house he could possibly belong to, or where he had suddenly come from. She studied him curiously.
The shouting in the rest of the room had died down somewhat, only those of Domeric and his opponent remaining. It felt like a betrayal, to leave him to his own devices, even though she knew he could handle himself. The only reason for her to, finally, nod slowly to the stranger, was the twisted sense of joy that displayed itself on both Domeric and the prince’s faces.
Yet, she refrained of accepting his hand and clasped hers in front of her instead, after carefully moving aside her harp. Neither did she guide him to the servants passage that would lead them to the gardens, opting for the big open doors instead.

The near silence of the garden welcomed them. Dusk had already fallen and some stars were shimmering in the sky above, but the air still had that slight chokehold of stufiness, that King’s Landing always seem to have. So much unlike the crisp winds of the North.
The garden was lit with lanterns and torches, giving it a soft, golden glow. The pebbles crunched under their feet and Lethia had half a mind to kick of her shoes and walk on the grass instead. Her nimble fingers slid under the tight fabric of her corset, wriggling it lose, having more than half a mind to rip that thing of so she could breathe properly, for the first time since seeing Domeric again.
“Thank you for inside there.” Lethia smiled at the dark haired man. “Hopefully the two men did not dislike the music that much that they decided fighting would be the better form of entertainment,” she joked lightheartedly, though her body was still tense. The joke more for herself, than for the stranger. “I’m afraid I’m not sure who I am talking to, though. Are you new here, working in the castle?” Lethia had decided the man must be one of the new workers, for his lack of house insignia. The princess had hired a storm of new staff for the upcoming events. “My name is Lethia. Has someone shown you around already?”

all the lights are sparkling for her

darling, you can't let everything seem so dark blue

3 sep 2024 - 14:56 ziggystardust is online

ziggystardust 991

Doran Sand
^{^{Personal Guard to the Princess of Dorne}}

✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼

Fire and Blood, but not ours.
Post III • 26 y/o • Aegon's Fort • with Emilya and hopefully Tamas

The girl in the white dress seemed taken aback by Doran’s question. Though he had merely inquired if the Lady was alright, her reaction suggested she was deeply unsettled. Doran couldn’t help but reflect on times in his own life when such a question might have sparked an existential crisis.
“Uhm...” she began, but quickly fell silent again.
Doran waited patiently, a gentle smile on his face as his gaze occasionally flicked over to Nehemia.

"Uhm, I’m sorry. Have you seen the princess? Visenya? She needs to be brought to safety..." She gestured toward the men who had been fighting, though the skirmish had thankfully ended. The reason for the sudden halt in the brawl was more alarming than the fight itself. Doran couldn’t believe his eyes—was that the knight who had broken Nehemia’s heart? He glanced at Nehemia, curious to see her reaction as the figure loomed behind her. Offending the princess or even harming her physically was one thing, but breaking her heart was another matter entirely.
The girl turned to search for the princess near the podium. After a moment, she turned back, her expression shifting from a wave of relief to one of confusion. Doran couldn’t suppress a grin. The rigid formalities of the North always seemed so pointless to him, and he found it amusing to see someone else struggling with them.
"Wait, I’m sorry, that was also very inappropriate. Uhm... Emylia. That’s my name..." She apologized again, still looking flustered.
“There’s no need to apologize. It’s kind of you to introduce yourself, Emylia of a House that remains a mystery,” Doran replied, bowing slightly. “Doran Sand,” he introduced himself with a touch of humor. “But I suspect you’re a Lady of status who shouldn’t be apologizing to a lowborn bastard like myself, now should you?”
Ideas like that would be nonsense in Dorne, but Doran enjoyed dropping the term "bastard" in conversations with Northerners just to see their reactions. Their obsession with bloodlines felt so irrelevant and exhausting compared to the freedom he knew back home. Still, he couldn’t help but enjoy the humor in it all, even as he waited to see if he’d need to step in and rescue the princess—or rather, her ex-lover, who had so casually appeared behind her. Knowing Nehemia, she was likely armed and ready to fight.
"Would you care for some wine, Lady Emylia?" Doran asked with a smile. "I hear they’re serving Dornish tonight—nothing finer, if you ask me."

The taste of vengeance is sweeter
than the taste of honey.

[ bericht aangepast op 3 sep 2024 - 14:58 ]

and the spiders from mars

3 sep 2024 - 15:36 ziggystardust is online

ziggystardust 991

Visenya
^{^{of the House Targaryen

✦ . 　⁺ Master of Laws ⁺ 　 . ✦}}

Post IV • 22 y/o • Aegon's Fort • Wearing • with Celia

Visenya barely registered Celia’s concerns about her dress. She couldn’t, Celia her previous words still ringing in her ear. "Your brother made sure I was out of the way before I got caught in the crossfire." She loved hearing about him—Valerion. Whether it was good, bad, or somewhere in between, the mere mention of his name captured her full attention. It had always been that way. The only person who had once captivated her more now stood alone at the edge of the dancefloor. Cedric Stark was the only man she had ever truly opened her heart to, and nothing in her life filled her with more regret.

Even after so many moons had passed, Visenya couldn’t shake the shame she felt that night in Winterfell when Cedric had stood her up. How could she have been so foolish? Trusting someone outside her family and giving them her heart so freely? She had flown all the way to the North, her veins buzzing with excitement and nerves, only to return with a shattered heart and a lingering sense of disgrace. Cedric had made her feel so small, so utterly insignificant. Never again would she allow herself to be that vulnerable, to be brought so low by a man. Her heart was now locked away, her feelings hidden behind a wall of courtly manners and rejected marriage proposals. Only Valerion remained. He was her blood. Surely, he wouldn’t hurt her—not like other men could, not like Cedric Stark had.
So Visenya kept her distance from other suitors, surrounding herself instead with Ladies in Waiting and other noblewomen she could trust. With them, she was safe—just as she was now, holding tightly to Celia’s arm.
"You did an outstanding job with this ball. It is a pity that the men could not control themselves, but it does give the court something to talk about for ages. We just have to make sure the clash of muscles will not overshadow your efforts in the aftertalks." Celia said. It warmed Visenya her heart.
“Thank you, Cece, that means a lot coming from you.”she replied, laughing softly at her friend’s joke. They raised their glasses to Valerion and Domeric owing her in the morning, then drank together.

"Oh, it is a lovely thing when men find themselves in your debt." Celia said.
“It’s my favorite position for the other sex.” Visenya whispered. “But don’t tell my brother I said that.” Speaking off the devil… Visenya leaned closer to Celia, lowering her voice to a whisper. "But you must tell me, what was my brother whispering in your ear before the fight broke out? Anything about Lord Bolton getting on his bad side?”

Celia turned her face slightly towards her. "Not one single word was spoken about Lord Bolton during our whole encounter. It was quite a surprising turn of events." she said.
“Really?” Visenya whispered, shocked and eager for more information.
"He did tell me to go find you and bring you to safety," Celia laughed for a short moment. "as if I could do more than your kingsmen."
Visenya laughed with her. "Oh, we’ll just have to let him dream."
"It does show his care for you and I found it rather charming. I don't want to come to his defense, princess.. but keep in mind that he did not want anyone in this room harmed.. especially not you." Celia continued.
Visenya looked up, eager to find Valerion’s gaze. Had he really shown concern towards Celia about Visenya’s safety? The thought alone was enough for Visenya to sigh. “Always the gentlemen.” She said, more to herself than to Celia.
She took a sip of her wine and leaned against her friend. “Was your dance with my brother at least to your satisfaction? That dress is certainly made for dancing. I’ll make sure it’s restored to its original state by my housekeepers,” she added with a smile. “You two did make a beautiful couple.”

A Targaryen alone in the world
is a terrible thing.

and the spiders from mars

5 sep 2024 - 20:52 Kiramman is offline

Kiramman 12021

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

^{qhomir hoare

31 ☩ With Lethia in the gardens ☩ Wearing a long, black, loose tunic}}

The red-haired woman leaned away from him, but that didn't bother Qhomir. It was to be expected, in any case. He was a stranger to her after all, and if she'd been raised even barely decently, she would've learned to be wary of strangers – especially men. But Qhomir didn't intent to remain a stranger to the woman for long.
He felt her eyes dart over his face, his clothing, in search of anything that might hint who he was or whom he belonged to. He waited patiently for her verdict, which came with a small nod – approval. She would accept his offer.
A corner of his mouth curled slightly upwards, as he stood up and watched her put aside her instrument. She didn't take his hand, which wasn't a bad sign; only a compliment to her intellect and upbringing. Quietly and softly, to not disturb her peace, he let her guide him to the gardens. As they passed through the main doors, he glanced back at the ball room – quickly, shortly – before following her into the night.

Qhomir stayed a few paces behind the red-headed woman as they strolled through the castle gardens. His hands were clasped behind his back, his stance relaxed. He enjoyed the fresh, cool evening air. The quietness of the night and the smell of the herbs and flowers surrounding him, reminded him of home. His new home, the home he had built himself.
He watched as she untightened the lacing of her corset with her fingers, and the moment felt almost intimate – and Qhomir wondered if he had been wrong about her. Maybe her carefulness had been a ruse after all. But then she breathed in, and out. Qhomir could almost see the weight falling off of her, and the tension in the muscles of her small shoulders releasing.
“Thank you for inside there,” she spoke gently. Her voice was soft, as he expected, but there was a certain clarity in it too. A certain determination, he figured, and subsequently wondered what had happened in her life that made her gain it. He also wondered if she could sing as well as she could play and if her singing voice carried that same determination. He decided there and then, he would not leave King's Landing without hearing her song.
''Hopefully the two men did not dislike the music that much that they decided fighting would be the better form of entertainment.'' Her smile brought sudden warmth into the cold air.
Qhomir huffed. ''Unlikely.'' He caught up to her speed to walk next to her, still maintaining an appropriate distance. ''I don't doubt those gentlemen have internal conflicts to solve. It's shameful they ruined a ball for it.'' He tsk'd his tongue against his teeth in disapproval. ''And your performance, it was truly magnificent.'' He shook his head tragically – almost as a lament, for the performance it could've been.
''I’m afraid I’m not sure who I am talking to, though.'' The red headed woman looked at him quizzically. ''Are you new here, working in the castle?'' Her question was so innocent, he almost laughed. But before he could answer, she introduced herself: ''My name is Lethia. Has someone shown you around already?''
Qhomir turned to her and smiled. A name – and a far as he knew, not a Westerosi name. He grew more and more intrigued by the casual charm of the woman.
''Lady Lethia, my pleasure.'' Smoothly and without force, he took her hand in his and placed a small, polite kiss on it. And then, just as quickly, he let go of her hand again, as to not make her uncomfortable. ''Please, call me Aeron. And no, I am not working in the castle – luckily for me, for I'd certainly get lost very quickly,'' he joked comfortably. ''I am a guest of the Queen Visenya, an envoy sent by House Greyjoy, as they could not attend themselves.'' It wasn't a lie, it just wasn't the full truth either, and that made it easier. ''Like I mentioned, I've already gotten very lost since arriving here, so a tour of the grounds would be most welcome.''
The path they were walking on was illuminated by torches. Qhomir could see where they had had recently planted new flower beds. As they passed by one, he recognized the flower and stopped walking. Slowly he kneeled down and held the crown of the flower with the receptable between his fingers. ''Spiceflower,'' he said. ''King Aegon must've had it imported from Essos.'' With his free hand, he touched the pistil and then motioned to the woman, Lethia, to move closer as he held out his hand for her to smell. Spiceflower was well known for its sweet and intense smell – which made it very expensive and coveted. It must've cost a fortune, Qhomir thought, all while the Trident remained in a ruinous state and people were dying.

kindness is never a burden.

8 sep 2024 - 20:56 lustforlife is offline

lustforlife 912

_{_{CELIA LANNISTER}}
THE LION'S PRIDE

Lady Celia Lannister of Casterly Rock • The Golden Daughter • 22 • dress and necklace • with princess Visenya • at the edge of the podium

"It does show his care for you and I found it rather charming. I don't want to come to his defense, princess.. but keep in mind that he did not want anyone in this room harmed.. especially not you." Celia keek opzij. Ze was benieuwd hoe Visenya op haar woorden zou reageren. Wanneer het om Valerion ging, was haar vriendin onvoorspelbaar. De ene keer prijste de prinses haar broer de hemel in en het andere moment leek ze hem met haar blik te willen doden. Celia stond nog te ver van de prinses af om te kunnen aanvoelen welke van de twee moods de juiste keuze was op welk moment. Visenya haar blik gleed richting Valerion waarna ze zuchtte.
“Always the gentlemen.” Celia knikte instemmend. "He certainly is."
De prinses nam nog een slok van haar wijn en Celia deed hetzelfde. Ze voelde hoe Visenya tegen haar aanleunde en een glimlach trok haar mondhoeken omhoog. Het waren dit soort momenten die Celia vertrouwen gaven in de groei van hun vriendschap. Het had de blondine in het begin beangstigd. Het gevoel van iets erg graag willen, maar niet zeker weten of het ging lukken, was de Lannister vreemd. Als ze iets wilde dan zorgde ze wel dat ze het kreeg, maar met Visenya was dat anders. Een prinses kon je niet dwingen. Misschien manipuleren, maar niet alleen was dat een gevaarlijk spel om met royalty te spelen, op de een of andere manier was dat het laatste wat Celia bij de Targaryen wilde doen. Visenya belichaamde alles wat Celia belangrijk vond in Westeros. Elegantie, zelfcontrole, etiquette en respect voor je naam, je familie en jezelf. Ze wilde vriendinnen zijn, omdat Visenya Targaryen haar daar goed genoeg voor achtte. Niet omdat ze in haar vriendencirkel omhoog was gekronkeld of omdat de witharige dame een kroon droeg. Al was het daar wel mee begonnen. Oprechte vriendschap. Celia Lannister betwijfelde het bestaan daarvan in deze wereld, maar als ze het dan ooit een kans ging geven, waarom niet nu?
“Was your dance with my brother at least to your satisfaction? That dress is certainly made for dancing. I’ll make sure it’s restored to its original state by my housekeepers,” Celia glimlachte. "Thank you, princess. I really appreciate that."
"You two did make a beautiful couple.” Celia schoof het compliment vluchtig weg. "Thank you, but I do think it is not so difficult to be a beautiful couple when one half of it possesses ethereal beauty." Er viel niet te concurreren met de sneeuwwitte lokken en de lichtpaarse pupillen van de Targaryens. Hun schoonheid was letterlijk magisch. "The dance with your brother was everything I could have wished for. His dance skills are out of this world. One second he was spinning me around on the floor and the next I was in the air. It was..incredible.. just like something out of fairytales."
Celia kon zich niet herinneren dat ze Visenya had zien dansen. Het verbaasde de blondine. Misschien wilde de prinses simpelweg een goede host zijn, maar zelfs een uitmuntende host verdiende het om op haar eigen bal te genieten van een prachtige dans. "Did you dance with anyone special tonight?" Celia's ogen gleden over het publiek heen. "I mean, a ball is a great way to invite someone you care for and spend some time together without anyone being suspicious!" Een voor een nam de Lannister de gezichten van de hogere Lords die niet in vechten uit waren gebarsten op. Al hoefde ze daar niet veel moeite voor te doen. Ze wist precies wie waar stond. "Is there a Lord present by whom you could be tempted to show your incredible dancing skills? I promise I will not tell a soul."

GOLD RUNS IN OUR BLOOD

[ bericht aangepast op 8 sep 2024 - 21:02 ]

love me until I love myself

9 sep 2024 - 22:36 euphemia is offline

euphemia 870

𝔫𝔢𝔥𝔢𝔪𝔦𝔞
^{^{of the House Martell

✷ . 　* 𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔡𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔢 * 　 . ✷}}

Unbowed, unbent, unbroken

The words of House Martell

A promise to our enemies, and a challenge to our lovers

princess of dorne • second in line • 22 • dress in the colour of a sunset • bracelet • eyes made-up with kohl • with lord domeric bolton • in the garden

“My lady, I must ask you to step aside for your own safety.” Emrys their voice was soft and as familiar as it been years ago, yet it felt like the words were spoken by a stranger. My lady...
Nehemia’s jaw tightened. The first words in years that they spoke to her and it was a pathetic ’my lady’. She scoffed.
''Lord Bolton. You have made a spectacle of yourself and disturbed the peace. You have rudely interrupted a performance, which was in favor of your generous hostess, the princess Visenya. For this, I must ask you to leave the castle at once.''
She ignored Emrys their words and stepped forward. There wasn’t any protection she needed, let alone from Emrys. Doran was now the only one allowed to do so. Besides, the men weren’t stupid enough to hit a highborn women in public. Fighting each other was one thing, their reputation would recover from that. Strengthen it even, in some situation. But punching a women, that was something that would not simply disappear from the gossips quickly.

Domeric snorted. "My Prince, did I ever tell you about the time Ser Emrys here couldn’t keep away from my late wife? Practically hounding my beloved wife—may the gods bless her soul—into his bed. Wonder how that oath of yours is holding up, Dayne?"
It took everything in her willpower to not whip her head around to Emrys. Domeric’s words didn’t sound anything like her former lover, but neither had she thought that Emrys would ever leave her family behind. Or perhaps, was this the reason why they had left? Another lover, somewhere else? The heir of House Bolton was throwing out apologies to the prince, but she was barely listening, simmering on the inside. As if the betrayal and hurt had happened all over again.

"No problem leaving the castle. I was just invited for a lovely stroll in the garden, wasn’t I, my Lady?" Domeric’s eyes found hers.
“Certainly. I am not one to go back on my words.” She flipped her dark hair over her shoulder and faced the crowd, clapping her hands, though that was not strictly necessary, with all the attention that was already on them. “Alright, my lovely Lords and Ladies. The situation seems to be resolved. I suggested we all go back to what this evening was intended for. It would be rude of us to let our beloved Princess Visenya’s effort and time that she put into organising this dance, go to waste. The night is still very young. Lets end it well.”
She found Visenya in the crowd, nodded towards her, and glanced at Domeric. “Come on, let’s go then.” She didn’t bother to help him up, considered to snide at Emrys that they could take care of the clean-up, but decided not to. A frightened servant left behind a tray of wine glasses on a table, near the doors that led to the garden. Nehemia took two of them, though it was tempting to take them all. A glance over her shoulder to Doran, gesturing that he did not need to follow.

The air outside was near chilly, compared to the heat in Dorne. She was missing home already and it hadn’t even been that long yet. Everything in the garden was too perfect, too neat. How the rows of bushes and flowers were lining up. The perfectly even spacing between the lanterns. Nothing as amiss. While to some, it would be beautiful, to her, it was forced. Fabricated and fake. She was frowning at it as she handed Domeric the second glass of wine.
“Do you make a habit out of punching people at dances, or is that merely reserved for royal dances?” She asked, not mockingly, but curiously wondering what had made him lose his temper that much. When they had been dancing, minutes earlier, he had been fine. “Or did you just think the music was not a valid form of entertainment?”

AND IF I GET BURNED,
AT LEAST WE WERE ELECTRIFIED

[ bericht aangepast op 9 sep 2024 - 23:46 ]

darling, you can't let everything seem so dark blue

14 sep 2024 - 17:55 Kiramman is offline

Kiramman 12021

Ser Emrys Dayne
29 | Lord Commander of the Kingsguard | Domeric, Valerion and Nehemia | Gambeson with a Dornish scarf tied around the waist

Emrys tried to not look too hurt by Nehemia's cold attitude towards him, as she turned away when they approached. They like they were failing badly, until that Bolton opened his mouth. The look of hurt turned into a look of horror mixed with anger as Domeric accused Emrys of foul play with his late wife Lyra. They didn't know what they wanted to do more: gauge Boltons eyes out or plead with Nehemia that its all lies. They wondered how Bolton would feel about the fact Lyra was planning to leave him before she died, as Emrys didn't think Bolton knew about that. In the end, though, they settled for calm diplomacy and the rage just raged on inside. As was expected from the Lord Commander. Later tonight, Emrys would pray to the Father, and hope that in the end, Domeric would get what he deserved.
''My oath is of no consequence to you, my Lord,'' Emrys replied and tried to keep a emotionless face. This was never one of their strongest fortes, as Emrys had learned to wear their heart on their sleeve. Not looking at Mimi helped, yet Emrys still caught her tensing up at hearing about Lyra. They wanted to reach out, touch her shoulder and make her turn around to face them. They wanted to tell her it was a lie, and Lyra had been their friend, had needed their help to escape this horrid man. But the sword weighed heavy on Emrys' hip and the Dornish scarf around their waist seemed to get tighter and tighter the longer she was near.
''No problem leaving the castle. I was just invited for a lovely stroll in the garden, wasn’t I, my Lady?" Domeric looked at Nehemia and Emrys heart sank to their feet.
Their eyes flicked towards her, trying to ascertain if Domeric was lying again or if she truly had invited him to the gardens. She must know what an intimate thing that was for an unmarried Lady to ask of a Lord. And then there were the rumors about Nehemia's grandmother betrothing her to some faraway prince; whether that was Valerion or one from another continent, Emrys did not know. They had wanted to inquire about it with Thorns or Mya, but hadn't had the chance.
''Certainly. I am not one to go back on my words,'' Nehemia had replied and Emrys instinctually reached out to grab her wrist, but before they could reach she'd clapped her hands together to announce the end of the skirmish and invite all the guests to go back to their business.
Embarrassed about the sudden seflishly-motivated movement, Emrys scraped their throat and took a few steps back. They placed the hand that had reached out to Mimi back on the hilt of the greatsword and flexed the other one. Emrys felt the sweat forming until the dark curls on their forehead. They needed a drink and the itch to leave for a pub to gamble away some money and problems was almost too much to ignore.
''Excellent, well done, Mimi- I mean, my Lady.'' As if the embarrassment hadn't reached its peak, Emrys stumbled over their words, but thankfully Nehemia and Bolton had already moved away from them towards to doors to the hallway, so they hoped she hadn't heard.
Emrys took a minute to compose themselves. The other kingsguards had returned to their posts as soon as Bolton had left, so it was just Emrys and Valerion who remained in the center of the dance floor. Emrys turned to the prince and eyed him. He looked fine. A little trail of blood dripped down his nose and there was a red spot on his jaw that would certainly turn into a big purple bruise the next day, but for now, there was no need to escort the prince to the Grand Maester.
''Are you alright, my prince?'' Emrys asked, more out of duty than sincere interest and they'd already confirmed the prince to be well. ''Would you like me to escort you to princess Visenya? An explanation, or an apology, might be owed.'' Emrys knew ordering a prince around was dangerous, especially this prince, yet in that moment, with all the guests around and Visenya but a few meters away, it felt necessary.

[ bericht aangepast op 14 sep 2024 - 17:59 ]

kindness is never a burden.

24 sep 2024 - 20:37 euphemia is offline

euphemia 870

𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒂
^{^solani}

court musician and dancer • witch • 24 • dress with a red corset and without the split • with qhomir • in the gardens

“Lady Lethia, my pleasure.” The stranger took her hand and placed a kiss upon it.
Her cheeks flushed, despite him letting go of her hand within seconds. She wasn’t used to be greeted in that manner.
“Please. Call me Aeron. And no, I am not working in the castle – luckily for me, for I’d certainly get lost very quickly. I am a guest of the Queen Visenya, an envoy sent my House Greyjoy, as they could not attend themselves. Like I mentioned, I’ve already gotten very lost since arriving here, so a tour of the grounds would be most welcome.”
Her mouth dropped open for a second. Way to make a blabbering idiot of herself. The handsome man being a part of House Greyjoy solved the riddle as to why she did not recognise him. While she had attended many courts in the past decade, House Greyjoy had not been one of them. Baelish had told her that the miserable, lifeless island was not worth the long trip. His dislike towards the house had only made her more curious and intrigued. And of course it was now specifically towards that house that she embarrassed herself. Though the stranger, Aeron, seemed more amused than annoyed, her cheeks remained red.
“Oh, fuck.” She shouldn’t say fuck in front of a lord either. “I mean, sorry! I didn’t see a house sigil on you so i figured that…” Lethia smiled apologetically at him. “How about I make up to you by giving you that tour, tomorrow? I have the day off, so I should have some time. And I… I am not of noble birth,” she corrected him. Not as far as anyone knew, anyway. “You don’t need to call me lady.”

Aeron stopped at one of the flowerbeds, kneeling down. “Spiceflower. King Aegon must’ve had it imported from Essos.” He beckoned for her to come closer, holding up the flower to her.
A small smile lit up her face. She appreciated him for not ripping the flower from its bed. It had been many years since she last saw the red with orange flower. How many months would it survive here? Perhaps it wouldn’t even be months, but weeks, outside of its normal habitat. It was oddly wrong, seeing it here, were it didn’t belong.
She leaned in closer, loose red curls falling into her face, closing her eyes. The flower smelled like her mom though she personally found the scent too sweet, prefering more delicate perfumes. She sighed softly, pushing away the memories that had invaded her mind. It had been at least two years since she last saw her mom and after the emotional turmoil of that night, she missed her more than ever. “It has an interesting fragnance,” she mused, as if this was the first time.

Her eyes shifted over towards Lord Greyjoy. His black sleeve had slipped down his arm, revealing part of his well-toned body. Yet, it was the scar on his arm that she was looking at. Lethia reached out, but then thought the better of it and pulled back her hand. “If you want,” she started, “I could make you a salve for that.” Her voice was hesitant. Some people were proud of their scars. “My mother… she is a healer. She taught me a few things.”
She should leave something behind for Domeric as well. She had seen him, but had he seen her? The aftermath of the fight and the bruises on his face would most likely be a headache in the morning, something she had a little oil for, that he could rub on his temples. And then there was the matter of sleeping. The first time Lethia had made the calming, relaxing tea for Royce, after he had woken up after a nightmare, Domeric had raised his eyebrows at her, as if she had gone insane. Even when Royce slept like a baby afterwards, Domeric remained skeptical, until she dared him to try it himself.

all the lights are sparkling for her

darling, you can't let everything seem so dark blue

1 okt 2024 - 19:59 Kiramman is offline

Kiramman 12021

As Rhaegar went on his little monologue tirade, Ren just rolled her eyes at the Dragon Master. Why were men also such arduous meddlers? Thorns didn't need to be lectured, and certainly not by him. Ren knew her friend harbored secrets, but so did Ren herself. Women should be allowed their secrets. There was, in Ren's opinion, a distinct difference between her own concern for Thorns safety, and Rhaegar's uncalled for reprimand of her actions. Both of them didn't even know why Thorns had done what'd she'd done yet, so why jump the gun?
Ren's entire attention shifted to the blonde man and her eyes were filled with anger and annoyance as she scolded him: ''Hey, lord I-Am-So-Much-Better-Than-Everyone-Else, don't you have a Targaryen party to attend? We don't want or need your money. Thorns is doing just fine on her own.'' She gestured towards her friend who was eyeing them almost murderously.
''I wasn't reckless. I was careful,'' Thorns said and Ren nodded, her eyes still pinned on Rhaegar. She'd crossed her arms in an attempt to look taller than the man.
''I was quick. And I was very, very responsible in my actions. What I took with me was a weapon against your family, yours.'' Thorns words were directed entirely at Rhaegar now. ''He made sure that every word on the street was about him, about what he would do to destroy your family.''
Ren's mind began to turn. A weapon against the Targaryens? What could it be? And why would it be hidden here of all places, in the sums of the city so far from the actual castle and the Royal family? Or would the weapon be used against Rhaegar himself, who shared the blood of the royals? That would make more sense, considering the proximity of Throns pub to the Dragon Pit. Were they just targetting Targaryen bastards then, or anyone with the old blood of Old Valyria?
From the small bag on her hip, Thorns procured a small item. Ren took a step closer to her friend to inspect it. It was... a necklace? She almost wanted to laugh. Really? This was the threatening item? She didn't know what she'd expected - maybe something more like a dagger or some type of poison. But a necklace? It wasn't even pretty.
As Thorns explained what the necklace was, Ren tried to picture it. The lands across the Narrow Sea. A few years ago, the idea of going there didn't seem that out of reach, but now... Ren closed her eyes and furrowed her brows, like she was in pain. A sign escaped her lips as she thought of Elaena. Far away she heard Thorns conclude her explanation. She could almost smell the princess' perfume in the cold night air, feel the warmth of Calixte's breath on the back of her neck, hear the seagulls calling them in the distance...
But then she opened her eyes and it was gone.
She heard Thorns speak, softly, almost like a whisper. ''That was my so called reckless reason... That was my reckless, stupid, reason...''
Ren took another step closer to her friend, purposefully standing between her and Rhaegar. She took Thorns free hand in her own and threaded her fingers through her friends. ''Nevermind the reasoning,'' Ren said equally as soft as Thorns. ''The question is what we do now. Get the Gold Cloaks involved so they can seize the man? I'm sure our little prince here would be able to convince them.'' Ren cocked her head towards Rhaegar without looking at them. Then, her face turned mischievous. ''Or shall we deal with the man ourselves?''

kiren
wendwater
23 ✧ Dragonkeeper ✧ With Rhaegar ~~and Thorns~~ in the lower city ✧ fit

Before either Thorns of Rhaegar could answer Rens questions, a familiar face appeared around the corner of the alleyway. The soaked man stood but a few paces away from the little group. Whether he was heaving out of anger or exhaustion, Ren could not tell, yet his facial expressions shouted animosity.
''You!'' He pointed a finger at Thorns, but his eyes were focused on the necklace she still held out in front of her. ''You little thief!''
Thorns pulled her hands free from Rens grip, and hastily stowed the necklace away in the little bag on her hip. ''No time to chat,'' she said and winked at her friend. ''Gotta go!'' And before either Ren or Rhaegar could react, she jumped over the little wall behind them and disappeared in the night.
Ren needed a minute to stomach everything she'd just learned and what had happened, but she didn't get that minute as the man came closer, ready to go in pursuit. Ren had no choice. She was a lot smaller than the old man, but she also knew she'd be more cunning and agile if it came to a physical altercation. So she took a firm stance between him and the wall and braced herself for whatever it was he was going to do.
She couldn't hide the fact she was hurt by Thorns abandoning them so easily. Ren also knew her friend hadn't meant any harm in it, though, as the man was hardly a match for Ren ánd Rhaegar, so she decided to forgive her. In that moment, the most important thing they could do for Thorns now was to create distance and give her a good head start.
''Move out of the way, wench,'' the man spit. He violently grabbed Rens wrist and tried to pull her away from the wall. Ren, however, was relentless and braced her feet for more grip. With her free hand, she clasped the brick stones of the wall behind her. She refused to look at Rhaegar; she didn't want him to think she was asking for his help after all.
Instead of wasting her energy on trying to pull her hand free from his grip, she leaned into it a little, just to get enough momentum to able to whip her foot backwards and forwards, right into the old mans old windchimes. With a proud grin of her face, Ren watched as the man doubled over in pain, holding his hands in front of his private parts and thus releasing Rens arm.
She didn't waste the opportunity at all and immediately ran down the other direction Thorns went in. Not even waiting to see what Rhaegar was doing, she kept going until she made it halfway up the hill to the Dragon's Pit.

kindness is never a burden.

1 okt 2024 - 21:08 Kiramman is offline

Kiramman 12021

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

^{qhomir hoare

31 ☩ With Lethia in the gardens ☩ Wearing a long, black, loose tunic}}

The red-headed woman, Lethia, cursed and Qhomir was entranced by the filthy word coming out of her sweet mouth. ''I mean, sorry!'' she quickly followed up and he watched as her cheeks turned the color of her hair. ''I didn’t see a house sigil on you so I figured that…''
Qhomir smiled. It was true, he had left his Greyjoy pin in the bottom of his suitcase underneath his bed. He'd only brought it to prove his invite, but didn't enjoy wearing it in public at all. He often wondered why the pin felt like such a heavy weight on his cloak, or like it could burn a hole straight through the layers of his tunics. It wasn't necessarily a calculated move, to not wear it - although it had helped in a lot of situations in the past - but more psychological. He didn't want to wear the pin, but was that because he felt like a fraud? Or was it the betrayal he felt towards his biological family? Or perhaps it was the fact that titles were meaningless and nobility didn't mean anything in the new monarchy anyway?
''How about I make up to you by giving you that tour, tomorrow?'' Lethia continued. ''I have the day off, so I should have some time. And I… I am not of noble birth. You don’t need to call me lady.''
Qhomir said nothing, only smiled and nodded to convey he understood. He placed a hand on his chest and made a small, apologetic bow.

Lethia bend closer to smell the flower and loose curls fell in front of her eyes. Qhomirs hand instinctively went up to brush it away, but he refrained and held it somewhere mid air for a second, before dropping the hand again. As she smelled the flower, she closed her eyes and he studied her unashamed. He cocked his head a little and burrowed his brow as he tried to ascertain her wants in life, her passions, her traumas and generally what would make a woman like her tick. Qhomir wouldn't call himself a connoisseur of human emotions and body language, but he had taught himself to read into little details in people's faces and movements. The way Lethia pondered over the flower, told him she was reminiscing about something close to her. Family perhaps? A past lover? But when she opened her eyes and sighed, there was something else there too. Anger maybe? Regret?
Still, she simply said: ''It has an interesting fragrance,'' and Qhomir hoped his face didn't show the disappointment he so strongly felt. He let go of the flower between his fingers, and accidentally snapped a leaf of the stem. It fell down on the freshly groomed dirtbed.
He straightened his back and began the movement of getting up, but suddenly out of the corner of his eye he saw Lethia's hand moving towards him and he fell still. Yet she didn't touch him, but mirrored the movement he himself had made a minute ago by dropping her hand mid air. He looked at where her hand had been going and noticed the bit of skin showing between the layers of dark fabric. And the scar. Oh.
''If you want, I could make you a salve for that,'' she offered kindly, yet her voice was unsteady. Qhomir pushed himself upwards and gently readjusted the fabric to cover the scar. He wasn't ashamed of it, but neither did he think it was a proper manner of dress in front of a woman. ''My mother… she is a healer. She taught me a few things.''
Qhomir raised an eyebrow. ''Really?'' he said and there was genuine surprise in his voice. A musician and her witch mother, how very interesting. He didn't truly believe all female healers were witches, that would be an offence to actual witches, yet he also knew some female healers were. He wondered if her mother would identify as the latter.
''Tell me, lady Lethia,'' Qhomir inquired and motioned for them to continue walking, if she pleases. ''How does a woman become a healer in Westeros? After all, every House has its Maester and it is wildly believed the Citadel is the only way to gain knowledge of medicinal arts.'' He said it all so matter of factly, waving one hand in circles as he was speaking. Qhomir doubted the actual limitless knowledge of the Citadel, but he wanted to push her a little to find out everything there is to know about Lethia: where she came from, who she came from and what she'd learned.
''And, well, I have seen many a witch hang for the smallest of crimes, so you can imagine my intrigue. Please, I would very much treasure a salve of yours.'' At Harrenhal, Qhomir had someone who'd studied at the Citadel - a young man who had been on track to become a Maester if the Conquest hadn't happened. Qhomir had offered him shelter and a place to call home; in return the young man, Gareth, was to be Qhomirs healer. Yet, Gareth had never completed his studies so his knowledge wasn't extensive to say the least. An addition could be useful.
He looked at Lethia and winked. ''Although, I'm very doubtful of it succeeding as that scar is almost as old as I am.''

[ bericht aangepast op 1 okt 2024 - 21:13 ]

kindness is never a burden.

6 okt 2024 - 14:00 ziggystardust is online

ziggystardust 991

Visenya
^{^{of the House Targaryen

✦ . 　⁺ Master of Laws ⁺ 　 . ✦}}

Post V • 22 y/o • Aegon's Fort • Wearing • with Celia

" Thank you, but I do think it is not so difficult to be a beautiful couple when one half of it possesses ethereal beauty," Celia said after Visenya had complimented her on being a beautiful couple with Valerion on the dance floor.
"No, it really isn’t," Visenya replied dreamily, staring at the back of her half-brother's head.
It hurt.
Valerion didn’t look at her once after the fight was broken up. How could this keep happening? Visenya wondered. Why did the people she cared about slip through her fingers, even though she tried her best to stay on their good sides? It had been like that with Cedrick, who Visenya thought really cared about her, and now the same thing was happening with Valerion. The fear of ending up alone, left behind while everyone moved on, crept up on her again. She knew she shouldn’t entertain thoughts like that, but sometimes she couldn’t help it. Surely she had marriage proposals and men waiting in line, yet Visenya didn’t want to settle for anything but the love she heard about in songs and tales. She longed for a love that was over the moon, as fierce as dragonfire. But was that too much to ask?
"The dance with your brother was everything I could have wished for. His dance skills are out of this world. One second he was spinning me around on the floor, and the next I was in the air. It was... incredible... just like something out of fairytales," Celia continued, and Visenya thanked the gods for her friend’s presence at the ball. She sighed softly.

"Did you dance with anyone special tonight?" Celia asked, gazing over the party. "I mean, a ball is a great way to invite someone you care for and spend time together without anyone being suspicious!"
That made Visenya giggle a bit. One thing she appreciated about Celia was that she never confined herself to rules. It shouldn’t be something Visenya envied, especially as the Master of Laws, but there was something freeing about it. A kind of freedom she herself never felt.
"Is there a Lord present who could tempt you to show your incredible dancing skills? I promise I will not tell a soul."
Visenya lowered her gaze. There was only one. Yet he felt further away than ever before. It felt silly to admit that, so Visenya didn’t.
She stepped closer to Celia, holding tight to her arm, which she had linked through her own. “No, I’m afraid not,” Visenya said, with a hint of sadness in her voice. “May I ask you something, my beloved friend?”
For a moment, Visenya peeked over her shoulder, checking how close her Ladies-in-Waiting stood. The words she was about to speak weren’t for their ears.
“Do you really believe that true love is possible, for women like us?” she asked uncertainly. Her eyes were fixed on her glass of wine. “Or will we always be mere pawns in this game of houses?”

A Targaryen alone in the world
is a terrible thing.

[ bericht aangepast op 6 okt 2024 - 14:37 ]

and the spiders from mars

6 okt 2024 - 14:22 ziggystardust is online

ziggystardust 991

DOMERIC
^{^{House Bolton}}

꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷

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

It must have been the Old Gods’ doing that Domeric didn’t punch Emrys in the face right this instant. Or perhaps it was the distracting invitation from Nehemia of Dorne. Whatever it was, Domeric was now leaving the ball. He didn’t bother saying his goodbyes to Emrys. For what it was worth, he was happy to be leaving. He had seen enough long dresses and arrogant faces for the night anyway. Growling and grumbling, Domeric followed Nehemia outside, muttering here and there words like "awful southerners" and "posh pricks."
By the time the cool night air greeted them, he was a tad calmer. If he were at home, he’d go riding in the woods to clear his head, but King’s Landing was in a completely different part of the land. Instead of the fresh smell of the forest, there was something salty in the air because of the nearby sea.
“Do you make a habit of punching people at dances, or is that merely reserved for royal balls?” Nehemia asked.
Domeric laughed loudly.
“Or did you just find the music wasn’t entertaining enough?”
His laughter died with her question.

“No, my Lady, there was nothing wrong with the music,” he said, as if there could ever be anything wrong with the magic Lethia produced, whether it was through her instruments or her spells and potions. “It’s just—” Domeric lifted his arms and dropped them again. “These—these—High and Mighty, flippy, floppy balls aren’t for me,” he admitted. “Give me a tournament, something to watch, with blood and gore. Now that’s what I call entertainment,” he continued, already getting carried away with the idea alone. “Dances and dresses aren’t my idea of a celebration, but we’re here, and the night is about more than my own pleasures, I’m afraid.” That sounded a lot more grown-up than Domeric had anticipated. He honestly surprised himself a little.
“What about yourself?” he asked, turning toward the Dornish woman. “Do you enjoy these kinds of evenings? I have to admit, you looked like quite the delight on the dance floor.” He smirked, deciding there was no need to become too mature just yet.

Our Blades Are Sharp

and the spiders from mars

6 okt 2024 - 14:36 ziggystardust is online

ziggystardust 991

Doran Sand
^{^{Personal Guard to the Princess of Dorne}}

✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼

Fire and Blood, but not ours.
Post III • 26 y/o • Aegon's Fort • Emrys -> Cedrick

Oh, Doran wasn’t a fan of this. Not at all.
Nehemia leaving the ball to stroll through the gardens with that brute from the North? No, Doran didn’t approve of this sort of behavior one bit. It wasn’t safe, and it wasn’t necessary. Yet Nehemia had been clear—he wasn’t to follow them, and therefore, Doran now found himself awkwardly in the company of Emrys, who was fussing over the Albino prince. He wasn’t sure what to say. He had always liked the knight, but given how things had ended between him and Nehemia, Doran was beginning to think his judgment had been wrong. Still, he wasn’t about to meddle in the princess’s business, especially when it came to her former lovers, so it was best to keep his distance from Emrys.
With nothing better to do, Doran straightened his clothes, gave a short nod to Emrys, and made sure to put as much distance between them as possible. He cursed Nehemia under his breath for what felt like the tenth time that evening. His life would have been a lot easier if he had just stuck to guarding boring old ladies. But also a lot more boring, a sneaky voice in his head reminded him. And the voice was right.

Lost in thought and paying too little attention to his surroundings, Doran bumped into a man standing at the edge of the dance floor. Luckily, he wasn’t holding any wine or refreshments, but his plan of not attracting too much attention was unraveling by the minute.
“My apologies, my Lord,” Doran said, bowing before the man in front of him. The man had dark blonde hair and blue eyes—features scarce in the South. Doran guessed he was a Northerner. “Can I get you something to drink, my Lord?” he asked, realizing how many times he had offered some Highborn refreshments tonight. Suddenly, he was very grateful to be guarding the princess of Dorne. A servant’s life would certainly bore him to death.

The taste of vengeance is sweeter
than the taste of honey.

and the spiders from mars

6 okt 2024 - 15:02 ziggystardust is online

ziggystardust 991

Pyotr Baelish
^{^{Lord of House Baelish}}

══════════════════

Knowledge is Power
Post I • 25 y/o • Dragonpitt • Alone

WWas this the smartest plan Pyotr had ever had?
Definitely not.
Was it the most thrilling?
Probably.
Well...
A close second.

Entering the distant city of Asshai and mingling with bloodmages topped this, but sneaking up to the dragonpit of King’s Landing was a strong competitor. He was wrecked, his body only moving thanks to the potions he brewed and drank, fueling him with enough energy to follow his curiosities. The ship that brought him to Westeros had only docked a few hours ago—he needed sleep, but first, he needed to see them with his own eyes.
For years, he had studied magic all over the known world, but the one form of magic that had eluded him were the dragons of House Targaryen.
The summer evening’s crisp air chilled his skin, and Pyotr pulled his travel cloak tightly over his worn body. He had grown thin over the past few years. Hopefully, King’s Landing would be kinder to him than the road had been.
This part of town was silent, but Pyotr knew he couldn’t possibly be alone. The dragons were the greatest treasures of House Targaryen—they wouldn’t be left unguarded. He heard his footsteps echoing against the cobblestones as he walked. By the time he reached for the potion bottle in his pocket to cheat himself out of some more energy, he saw it.
The dragonpit of King’s Landing. It was majestic in its own way—not because of the stones it was made of, or its position on the hill, but because of the fire lighting up the night sky, spewing from small openings along the sides of the building.
Pyotr stood in awe, transfixed.
He was finally here.
The enormity of the moment hit him all at once: he was witnessing real dragon fire.
And soon, Pyotr thought, the dragons of King’s Landing would be his to examine.

I did warn you not to trust me.

and the spiders from mars

Index RPG Actieve Topics Zoek