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Hidden 9 yrs ago Post by Sini
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Willem “Willie” Morningwood, Lame Willie, assistant to the Master of Coin
Age: 40
Appearance:



Sigil: A golden oak tree on a field of green
Words:To Rise and Shine


Personality
Willem Morningwood is bitter and whimsical towards life in general, often mocking his own condition, and views steps as his greatest enemies and chairs as his greatest allies. After the accident and depression, Lame Willie became extremely cynical, capable of appreciating irony to its fullest extent. He despises his fat employer, but enjoys the influence and protection his position bestows on him.

Spat out by his peers has made Willie thrive on isolation. Instead of the strength of his sword-arm, he had to rely on his wit. He has a sly and ruthless nature, branding himself as a survivor at all costs, trying to out-think his adversaries. Being a cripple, he has resolved to ignore, even amputate, his scruples. As such, he is no stranger to strong-arming, bribing or cajoling to have things his way. These often come in handy in both the worlds of commerce and politics.

Willem has turned himself into a caricature, and likes to mock everyone and everything. Keenly aware of the world laughing at him, he has turned to a sickly mockery and laughs back. His cane made of black oak, for instance has a silver knob in the shape of a large acorn, with leaves wrapping downward alongside the length of it.

Biography:
Willem grew up as the son of a landed knight, sworn to Ashford in the Reach. As the years went by, he received a traditional upbringing, and showed some promise while being a squire and page. Like many a nobleman’s son, Willie, generous with his smile, dreamed of making a name for himself as a tourney knight. In spite of his humble origins, the son of Morningwood was a rising star in the firmament of the Reach.

His tale of glory and fame came sharply to an end when he, at the age of 18, participated in a tourney at Maidenpool. Over-confident and careless, Willem had challenged a much older and experienced knight to a bout. The subsequent exchange of tilts ended with Willem’s horse tripping, falling and crushing its rider’s leg.

For the next two months, Willem drifted between life and death for his broken, wounded leg had begun to fester. When he finally was on the mend, it became clear that his mutilated right leg would not be able to bear his full weight any longer. His old friends left him, and he could no longer bask in the adoration of fair maidens. Instead, he was shunned by most of the society and abandoned by those he held dear. Though his father did not say, it was clear he considered Willem as less than before.

Crippled, Willem experienced a period of debauchery where he consumed vast quantities of poppy-milk and passed his time with dicing and whoring. A failed attempt at suicide later, he set sail for the Free Cities where he led the life of a rogue. After spending some time in Pentos, he moved to Lys in order to escape his debts. There he was employed by a pleasure house to handle the ledgers, accounts and sensitive information. It is said he even served with a free company as its paymaster for some time.

However, eventually he returned to Westeros at the request of his ageing father. Willem agreed to pass his inheritance over to his younger brother, Ser Joss Morningwood while he took up a position as steward in Ashford, dealing with market days and financial affairs. The local lord, however, refused to recognise his talents and so Willem departed once more after helping his brother Joss.

After the final stages of the Dance of Dragons, Willie ventured to the capital and worked as a customs officer and port official, until he was selected by the Master of Coin. For the past five years, Lame Willie has toiled in royal office, and made a reputation for himself as a brilliant accountant.

Thriving in a metropolitan environment such as King’s Landing, Willem has acquired a steady income and a reputation, and works on gathering his fortune and influence. He has, ever since his time in Lys, sworn off knighthood and donned the cape of a politician, though some might call him a crook. Dealing in coin or favours, it is all the same to him.

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Hidden 9 yrs ago 9 yrs ago Post by Meth Quokka
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Meth Quokka This Was Nutter's Idea

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Hidden 9 yrs ago 9 yrs ago Post by Winston Smith
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Winston Smith

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House: Grafton of Gulltown

(not my picture)

Green or Black: Black

Recent History: House Grafton is a house that earned its enviable position as the Lords of Gulltown during the Andal invasion and have never relinquished their position. House Grafton have since had several disputes with their northern Royce rivals there is a somewhat of a family feud between the two houses although armed conflict has only once broken out between the two houses. This war was promptly won by the Royces who imposed humiliating peace terms on House Grafton and sent all but the youngest generation of its’ men to the wall. For a while six shields bearing the blazon of house Grafton adorned the Shieldhall of Castle Black. Afterwards the lords of Gulltown were much more cautious in their dealings with house Royce. Occasionally House Grafton would discretely hire corsairs to raid ships heading in and out of the ports controlled by Runestone, alternatively they would deny their services to House Royce whenever the lords of Runestone would require a loan. As the principal moneylenders of the Vale, the Graftons would not usually deny their services to anyone and would make a hefty profit from the spendthrift attitudes of other noble houses. House Royce would not be extended this courtesy and frequently had to turn to the banks of the Free Cities who charged exorbitant interest rates. More recently House Grafton has loyally followed Lady Jeyne Arryn in support of her Kinswomans Rhaenyra Targaryen and the cause of the Blacks. Needless to say house Grafton drew great pleasure from the fact that house Royce had lost their Valyrian Steel Sword in the Storming of the Dragonpit less than a year ago.

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Hidden 9 yrs ago 9 yrs ago Post by Ruby
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Ruby No One Cares

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House: Greyjoy
Green or Black: Black
Recent History:

During the Dance of Dragons, the Greens attempted to lure the Ironborn into the battle on their side with political appointments. This made the Ironborn laugh. When the Blacks countered with no more than asking the Ironborn to attack Queen Rhaenyra's enemies, among them the weakened Lannisters, the Ironborn did not laugh; they grinned, grabbed their arms and armor, and hopped into their longships. Many in the Seven Kingdoms see this ultimately as a mistake: while it certainly provided a boon to the Blacks, the Ironborn have not stopped raiding and reaving since the official end of the civil war, causing nearly every bit of Westeros' western coast to bleed. Recently the Red Kraken has disappeared; some claim murdered, others illness, still others more fantastical stories than the last.

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Hidden 9 yrs ago Post by Lightning Fast
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Lightning Fast Aspiring Lawyerguy

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House: Hightower
Green or Black: The greens

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Hidden 9 yrs ago 9 yrs ago Post by Heat
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Heat Hey, nice marmot

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(WIP, editing the bio for acceptance.)
Hidden 9 yrs ago Post by Sini
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Sini

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Name: Callum “Callous” Greyjoy, the Butcher of Blackcrown
Age: 51
House/Affilitation: House Greyjoy, the Iron Islands

Description:
Callum is a big, physically imposing man who has a great many scars, including such curiosities as a wound through his stomach and out his back from a duel with Ghiscari champion wielding a spear. He has many scars over his asymmetrical face, a bent often-broken nose, and a big notch out of one ear. Bearded like a robber, his hair is greying at the temples and fringes, age finally catching up with him. His most noticeable scars, and the source of his name are his tormented hands and forearms - burnt, slashed, chafed. Thick marks like coiled snakes wrap around his forearms, where the coarse rope had dug into his flesh. Holding fast on the lines of the mast during a heavy storm had stripped Callum of most of his skin and flesh, but earned him a name. Even so, Callum has long clever fingers, a tangled mess of rough ginger hair, and deeply set dark blue eyes beneath a heavy brow.

Callum has led a gruelling life according to the Old Ways, raiding and pillaging from the Sunset Sea to the Spice routes of Essos. He has been to Slaver’s Bay, visited Qarth, forayed into the jungles of Sothoryos and the Summer Isles. He has berthed in all of the Free Cities and drank in every inn and fucked in every whorehouse from Lannisport to Volantis. Callum killed his first man, a Rills’ crofter, at the tender age of thirteen, when his bellicose uncles took him along as a deckhand but instead found a talented killer in him.

Ever since, Callum has contributed to the dark history of the Ironborn himself, writing entire chapters in the blood of his enemies... and as an Ironborn, the world was your enemy. There is not a coast that knows not his name, not a graveyard without a corpse that he put there. Blood, gold, booze and girls, those were the deities worshipped by Callum the Callous for decades. A veteran raider, Callum is both capable of instinctive actions during a fight and employing calculated tactics.

Now an aging Ironborn, time and his conscience are catching up with him. He has, every year, always found himself with less friends and more enemies. Blood has only led him to more blood, a fact Callum is sick of. He is hoping to become a better man than he was, serve his kinsman the Red Kraken in a different way. Since his last raid, when he and his crew sacked a sept filled with innocents, Callum has started thinking on his life. He has lost all pride and vanity, discarding all the trinkets and golden jewellery he had paid the iron price for. The veteran now dwells on his failures and regrets.
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