The Followers of R'hllor

The night is dark and full of terrors.

Description:
The Red Priesthood can be found all across every major city in Essos, but with an exceptionally large presence in Volantis. Worshipping the Lord of Light, the faith is much more in line with the traditions of Essos with things like human sacrifices still commonplace, making its tenets somewhat alien to the Westerosi, and in turn having many dub it a demonic cult. Nonetheless its devotees of all classes are some of the most fervent followers of any faith in the world, their sincerity rarely matched by the followers of the Seven.

Recent History:
While the followers of the Lord of Light do not have absolute control or recognition as a state religion anywhere, it is undeniable their evangelical efforts have guaranteed them recognition as an important actor within Essos. In Volantis in particular their temple is a gargantuan construct that lets all see its import within the city and the continent.

Recently their spread has become somewhat of a matter of concern. While not outright preaching any kind of sedition, people's devotion to the faith has begun to undermine the other power structures in Essos.

Now, with the rise in import of Lord Maelys Blackfyre, they see an opportunity. If they can convince him of the value of the faith and assure his claim to the throne of Westeros, they would be able to attach themselves to a powerful force to evangelize the West.

Notable Members:

Ronko: The High Priest of Volantis for the Followers of the Lord of Light, his position makes him the closest thing to a centralized authority in the religion. With control of the single largest coffer of the faith and the largest congregation the Priesthoods his decision is very often seen as final in any action of the faith. Any effort of R'hllor's worshippers needs at the very least his indifference to find any success, but ultimately all seek out his aid and favour. If he looks well upon a cause, he may shower it with gold and men to ensure its success. If he sees no fruit to be born of it, he would ensure not a single coin or Red Priest from Volantis comes to it and in turn it would likely wither and fade.

Ronko is somewhat skeptical of the mission to the Band of Nine. While it would be splendorous for the Red Cult to put its favoured man on the throne of Westeros, the plan has many issues. For one, Maelys Blackfyre has not yet been converted, and his disposition to the faith has yet to be seen. Second, the success of the new Blackfyre rebellion as some dub it is very, very dubious. Should it fail, it would simply aid the existing power structures in Westeros in demonizing the religion and hence make supporting Maelys not only a useless, but outright counter-productive proposition. However, the fervour of some of the Priests supporting this have come to interest him. He has permitted the use of some funds and resources of the Volantene Red Priesthood, but he demands that first there be results before he releases much more. Conversion of Maelys and his victory in the Stepstones would be ideal, but for now he at the very least wishes for some assurances from the Blackfyre pretender and his supporters about what might be granted for the glory of R'hllor should they throw their support behind the band of Nine.

Mara:
A Westerosi woman that was once enslaved after being captured by pirates, she was liberated by the Volantene Priesthood. Since then, she has been positioned as being one of the vanguards of evangelizing Westeros. Her efforts are to be complementary to that of Koloth, ministering to the smallfolk and nobility alike in Westeros that might work as a fifth column in support of Lord Maelys should he come to worship the Lord of Light, or to simply lay the seed of converting all Westeros more organically if that fails. In particular, she is valued because she diligently kept the old Gods and the new. Having been immersed in both religious cultures she is well aware of how to best evangelize the different people of Westeros according to what they might find best convincing to follow the Lord of Light.


Koloth
Age: 39

Appearance:
Dark skinned and dark haired, his eyes have a milky green tint that might have been a proper green once, but is now just a symbol of his blindness. His skin has the texture of a a very old leather boot, stretched across a broad and meaty frame that is still ready to take on the duties of the Fiery Hand.


Description & biography:
Koloth was born a slave to slave parents. His early life bore nothing of note. Inevitably being broad shouldered as he was he served many years as a galley slave, his back turning into a carapace of whipped scars and his body a lot of cords of muscle to better push ships across the sea. On one unfortunate journey, the ship he was on crashed on the rocks, him being among the few survivors. Nonetheless he was still property, and gladly sold to the Volantene Priesthood of R'hllor.

As the catechism of Koloth began, he took to the faith earnestly. He had quite literally nothing in his life before, and suddenly he had the whole of infinity presented before him in the form of the Lord of Light. He strived with every passing moment to better serve the Lord, and with the death of one of the Fiery Hands he was presented an excellent opportunity.

It was the first moment in his life that Koloth felt pride, when he finally donned that armour and saw a reflection of himself in the point of his spear. Now he was something, now he was not mere property of another man.

Yet as the years passed, his service felt... unfulfilling. Night after night at his post he would stare into flames, his vision seemingly dulling. Until one day, vision was gone outright. But to Koloth, this was not blindness. He had gained sight. He saw a vision of the war upon the Stepstones, and immediately came to High Priest Ronko. Visions weren't an entirely uncommon thing in the Red Priesthood, and so he was not very skeptical of Koloth's words. When the conflict between the Westerosi crown and the Band of Nine began, the affirmation of Koloth's vision gave him great credence. Thus, while somewhat reluctant, the high Priest was willing to spare some resources in the form of faithful souls and coin to support them for Koloth's vision of bringing Maelys on the crown of the Seven Kingdoms with the burning heart behind him.

So the man departs, eager to bring the Blackfyre claimant into the fold and unto the Throne.

Godric Stark
Age: 21

Appearance:
Just a bit shorter than the average nobleman but still taller than most peasants, Godric has thick red hair that somehow curls itself into messes no matter how much it is combed, a fact that unless trimmed almost to a buzz cut makes him look like a vagabond even in fine clothes. His eyes are a very dark, almost black colour that people have described as either a soulless void or a reflection of the night sky depending on their disposition towards him. He has a somewhat distinctive gait, even when walking slowly his legs have far more movement in the knees and calves as if he is always rushing to be somewhere.


Description & biography:
Godric Stark is son of Coeman Stark, son of Brandon Stark, son of Artos. As a baby and as a child, Godric was very large leading to great hopes that he could grow into a warrior to proudly represent the House in any tourney. Alas, as the boy reached puberty he barely grew at all, leaving him if anything somewhat shorter than much of his family if still taller than commoners.

Still, all the whisperings into his ears that he was destined for great things never left him. He didn't need to be a monster of muscle to make a name for himself. He trained, he studied, he dreamed of a great destiny for himself. Whatever plans his family might have for him, he would be ready to fulfill them so long as his efforts were recognized.

With the passing of time, he feared that his labours were for not. He fought great warriors and Knights, he gained the praise of the Maesters, and yet it seemed there was naught for him. But a day dawned that it was suggested he might marry one of the Targaryen Princesses at the edge of their dynasty. He was overyjoyed, and made sure to have a good showing for himself by fighting in a tourney in the capital. Though he didn't win, the honourable position of fourth place among many more experienced Knights was nonetheless impressive. All seemed well and indeed even Aenara herself seemed to be receptive to this. She loved the sonnets he sang for her, and indeed promised her heart to him.

The negotiations for the marriage were coming to a close, when Godric's world was turned upside down. Suddenly everyone in the capital seemed cold, distant in his presence. His brother came forth, demanding if a whole slew of accusations was true. Supposedly Godric had slandered the Targaryens in a drunken rant, it was claimed he had called them inbred madmen unworthy of being royalty. He denied all of this, but none were convinced. So great was the shame was that not only was he recalled to the North, his father gave him a simple ultimatum. He would take vows and head to the Wall, or he would he would be quietly made to disappear. It didn't matter to him, so long as the King was appeased.

He seethed and writhed and cried, but what choice did Godric have? He took his vows, and went North. Briefly, he tried to make the best of the situation. Perhaps he could ascend to leadership of the Watch, perhaps he could become a great hero here to be remembered forever just as Artos for defence of the realm.

But, this wouldn't be. As the reality of this cold exile set in, with each passing day he felt more resentful and betrayed than he already had.

Finally, he decided he had enough. He didn't deserve any of this, and after discussions with a few fellows that had a distaste for their position he chose mutiny.

A Volantese sellsword company of over two thousand warriors of mixed origins known as the Doombringers in Valyrian dialect. The sellswords of this company have been active for approximately fifteen years, expanding their operations from as far as Braavos to the Qarth’s Jade Gates. A vast majority of their time has been spent operating in the Disputed Lands, warring for control under one contractor or another. Their reputation is fearsome, rivaling that of the Second Sons and the Golden Company in terms of martial prowess and contract satisfaction. While most of their strength comes from a hearty doctrine of combined martial traditions, it is rumored that their company employs the use of sorcerers, witches, and alchemists to boost their numbers. This includes their sizable fleet of seven carracks ready to transport at a moment’s notice.

Their leader, the Sword of Shadows, is their figurehead and the reason for their overwhelming infamy, each individual electing to join for a chance to fight with him for one reason or another. A plethora of legends have come to being because of his influence across Essos, but most link back to his company and their overwhelming success. It is primarily due to their captain that the Doombringers hold Volantis as their home, having been invited beyond the Black Walls to places unknown. Similarly, it is also due to their leader that the Doombringers refuse to operate in any part of Westeros.

Waving far above the battlefield on war banners, the symbol of the Doombringers thrashes in the wind. A winged serpent of orange, yellow, and red on a field of black. The sight is enough to strike fear in some, confidence in other, and caution in most. The clank of their armor, the beat of his greaves, and the thump of their shields drives in the bravest mercenary into fits. No matter where they hail from, the Doombringers raises men from animals to knights of their own.

The history of the Doombringers is a small footnote of history in comparison to other greater mercenaries like the Golden Company, Men of Valor or the Second Sons. Being active for approximately fifteen years, the Doombringers have managed to carve out a name for themselves that outlast their meager reputation. Ultimately, however, their history is neither written or told by their members. Everything that is said about them is myth, legends told by sellswords and sellsails. Bards and tavern-gossip are their heralds. Only the Sword of Shadows knows the truth - a truth that he refuses to yield.

In the first two years of their active operation, the Doombringers began their legacy in the Disputed Lands fighting for the Magisters of Lys. Young, prideful, and led by the Sword of Shadows showed their would-be employers exactly who they’d spent good coin on. An unprecedented level of professionalism and discipline curbed ramshackle tribes, unprofessional mercenaries, and veteran levies of the Three Daughters. All eyes were on them in those years as an up-and-coming group that could fight just as well as the most expensive companies. From there on, their connections and contracts were as plentiful as the stars. It was the beginning of their myriad relationships from the tip of Braavos to Jade Gates.

For the next two years, the Doombringers operated out of Volantism, rumored to have crossed the Smoking Sea and coordinated under Astapor and Meereen. Burgeoning with five-hundred warriors, the Doombringers brought their namesake upon the slave-soldiers of the slave masters. The deserts were ravaged by the sellswords and their enigmatic leader, engaging in rampant salvaging and expanding their operations twofold. Their reinforced numbers only further brought them work in the form of intercepting Dothraki Khals; however, the Doombringers would complete their tasks with tactics most foul. Sand traps, alchemy, arbalists, and more were used to comply with their contracts. Their enemies, eager to ruin their reputation, told stories of black magic being used against them. None had thought it possible to push so far into the Dothraki Sea, yet the Doombringers fought impossible odds with impossible tactics.

With a great haul of gold, armor, and warriors fit for a mighty warband, the Doombringers departed Slaver’s Bay greater than they had arrived. Over the next six years, the sellsword company would haunt Volantis as an ethereal phantom that appeared and disappeared at the drop of a hat. Only rumors persisted from this point compared to more extensively detailed events. At one time, they’d appear at Qarth and disappear after claiming a cabal. At another time, they’d emerge from the Smoking Sea with their vessels scarred and near wrecked by the horrors from within. Few can vouch for these stories, their insane ramblings quelled by more rational minds. No matter their presence, their activity dropped significantly from their first four years of operation. Only on the sixth year did the Doombringers return to Essos in full force with over two thousand warriors, their leader departing from behind the Black Walls of Volantis.

For the remainder of their activity, the Doombringers were a plague upon the Disputed Lands. Their contract holder by that point was none other than Maelys the Monstrous, who aimed to carve out a kingdom to claim his birthright through subjugation and war. The Sword of Shadows reportedly refused to become one of the Band of Nine, preferring to simply fight for a righteous cause. So, the Doombringers plundered, selling their wares to Lys and Volantis between weeks of warfare or reinforcing from their own recruitment camps. Although unusual, the Doombringers and Golden Company fought nearly as one, separating only in their widely different tactics and war gear.

The military prowess of a sellsword company varies between the vast number of individuals who choose to sign up for their warband. The Doombringers, however, change this and properly outfit even the lowest member or newest members of their ranks. Black half-plate with surcoats of the winged serpent on black decorate their forms, while each carries a personally forged weapon of choice at their side. By default, the untrained are given a straight sword, a spear, and a reinforced shield of hide and steel to defend themselves. Great helms with wide visors protect their skulls, eschewed of all decoration save for only the barest engravings. Sellsword members are forced to abandon their war gear, the company preferring their own tempered armory to whatever land the recruit comes from.


Their obsession with discipline is a direct tie to the Sword of Shadows, who drills his warriors for several hours every day. His rigid training plan has led to the fighting force that can be seen in the Doombringers of today; however, while many of his main fighting warriors are useful, the Sword of Shadows understands the need for specialists. The most elaborate of his chosen warriors are known as Slayers, those veteran knights that have proved their worth in prowess and tactics. Each wears a full suit of armor with a hefty great sword more akin to a polearm, swapping between a long and short stance as required.

Unlike other warbands who utilize the likes of elephants or Westerosi destriers, the Doombringers have neither the space nor the ability to move such animals in large amounts. Instead, the Sword of Shadows defeats cavalry and defenses with alchemy. A hundred alchemists, stolen from across Essos, serve within the Doombringers with warlocks, witches, and priests attached to their sides. The addition of these impractical sciences has proven themselves time and again in engagements with shock cavalry, their explosives and acids performing what they could in place of pikes or horsed knights. Their addition, however, leaves a sour taste in the mouths of some contractors for they see the forbidden practitioners by their side and frown. Whether or not the addition of the arcane practitioners is a fear tactic, or an actual application of magic is unknown, only that the Sword of Shadows knows. Only their enemies can speak of the truth, yet they lie dead and buried beneath sand and stone.

Not to be forgotten, the many men and women that support the warriors of the Doombringers. Either as liberated slaves, indentured servants, or folk without prowess in combat, the Sword of Shadows always has a place for them in his ever growing warband. From the lowest of statuses to the highborn nobles from across the realm, the sellsword company will use them as either connections afar or as assistance in menial labor when the battles have passed. They are rewarded for their service as all of them are for their help is a boon, but they are not counted in the total number of warriors present for their warband. With their numbers added, their numbers far beyond the likes of a simple sellsword company.

House Varranis is a Dornish House located in the central southern region of Dorne along the sulphurous river known as the Brimstone. Proud, wealthy, and powerful, the Varranians have managed to rise from obscurity to an unprecedented level of power due to their location and ties. The men and women of House Varranis are known in appearance for their silky black hair, charming features, and hazel-orange eyes that rival on mysticism. While their features may be charming, they should never be underestimated for beneath their careful guises are martial geniuses and knowledgeable alchemists of fearsome prowess. Their symbol is the downward sword and dusken sun on a split field of orange and black. Their house’s motto is ‘Drown in Dusk’ for their presence beneath the shadows of the Brimstone’s coastline, forever basking them in a dull dusk.

The histores of House Varranis are stooped in legend, forever shrouded by thick tomes with heavy locks on them. Some claim they were Valyrian impoverished nobles that snuck into the Andals, escaping along with them across the Narrow Sea; however, their midnight hued hair deny this. Others claim that they were Summer Islanders having made peace with the First Men, establishing themselves on the mouth of the Brimstone; however, no record of these Summer Islanders exist. What is true is that they existed in the time of the Andals and remained unnoticed for hundreds of years as tenders of the Brimstone.

(3 AC) In the time of Aegon the Conqueror, they were forced into the light as dragon fire reigned down upon the deserts of Dorne. No sooner had they come to witness destruction did they come under the thumb of House Uller. Discounted as desert nymphs and Rhonyish faeries, the Dornishmen hadn’t realized the folly of their superstitions. It was there upon the Brimstone that Uthor Uller, in a desperate attempt to save himself, named them House Varranis and gave them the ruined estate of Duskspire. He grimly pleaded with them to use their magic, but they were simply men and had none. Uthor Uller later perished in the dragonflame that consumed the desert sands, leaving shattered glass in their wake.

Yet House Varranis had earned their keep. They did not have magic, but they were accustomed to the harsh sands of Dorne and the sulfurous rivers of the Brimstone. They had lived, breathed, and adapted the land to their sake. House Uller survived with the assistance of House Varranis, teaching them of the harsher desert lifestyles and the barebone alchemicals necessary to survive living by the river. When the dragonfire passed, the two rose each other up as kin.

(103 AC) For a hundred years, they maintained an amicable relationship based on goodwill and knowledge. The Varranian serfs mined the bristle brimstone, honed the sulphurous rivers, and aided their lives when their Maesters could not. In those hundred years, they were acclaimed and reviled for their secrecy and apparently arcane arts by other houses. Fortunately, House Uller was the shield that defended. In times of joy they made marry and interwed to one-another, promising the future and beyond.

(153 AC) Yet, House Uller was mad. Fifty years later, they grew jealous of the Duskspire and House Varranis’ fortunes at the mouth of the Brimstone. The ruined estate had become a mighty bastion of trade, knowledge, and power that grew with the accumulating wealth of House Uller. They had grown from a small, insignificant tribe to a rival worthy of their attention. House Varranis benefited greatly as they expanded out onto the coast with castles and townships befitting their granted territory. They had grown too much, Joslena Uller had thought with envy on her tongue, remembering the days of which they were nothing.

(178 AC) For the next twenty-five years, House Uller of Hellgate became an oppressive tyrant to House Varranis of Duskspire. Tithes of soldiers, weapons, gold, alchemy, and more were raised beyond their productive capabilities. Once more House Varranis plunged into poverty, their eastward expansion crumbled into obscurity and decline. It was this moment that the foundation for vengeance was established. The Varranians were not to be trifled with power and connection attached to their fingers. A dark chapter began as they learned to become harbingers of the dusken sky.

(187 AC) In the one-hundreth-and-eighty-seventh year since Aegon’s Conquest, Dorne bent the knee to the Targaryen throne and became one with the Iron Throne. Prince Maron knelt in King’s Landing along with all of the respective heads of the most powerful Houses in Dorne. It was this most benevolent day that House Uller suffered a devastating blow as House Varranis seceded from their territory. A series of assassinations and poisonings plagued House Uller, claiming the lives of Boran Uller and Ormond Uller along with their children among countless others unnamed. No direct link drew ire to House Varranis, yet Lord Daemon Uller knew well that it could only be Lord Matheil ‘the Scorpion’ Varranis that could’ve orchestrated such a thing. Upon returning with the Prince of Dorne, the two Houses engaged in open arms; however, Prince Maron intervened for the sake of the peace most recently gained. In the open fields of the Sulphur Flats, hosted by Lord Quinlan Cook of Sulphur Hall, House Varranis became a direct vassal under House Martell. For thirteen days and nights, the four houses celebrated under the gaze of their liege-lord; however, conflict brewed under the surface. It would only be the first of many conflicts.

(196 AC) In the one-hundredth-and-ninety-sixth year since Aegon’s Conquest, House Varranis participated in the First Blackfyre Rebellion alongside their Prince, Maron. On the Redgrass Field, House Varranis hosted two-hundred Duskblades and two-hundred spears with Matheil Varranis and his two brothers, Mortred and Zahariel. Fifty men died in the charge along with Sire Mortred ‘the Black Serpent’ Varranis, but House Varranis received accommodation and honors for their service to the Iron Throne and Sunspear.

All good tales for House Varranis end in tragedy, however, as several women and children were abducted from the Midnight Villa. Enraged, Zahariel ‘Dusk’s Edge’ Varranis led a daring assault on the kidnappers only to be ambushed by spearmen bearing House Uller’s sigil. Zahariel was murdered along with twenty Duskblades of Duskspire. Their remains were later found in the mouth of the Brimstone by fishermen off the coast of Dorne.

Vengeance was demanded, but Matheil refused to involve his liege lord. In the midst of the night with ten men and women of acquired talent, Hellgate Hall was emptied of life through the use of alchemical mixtures and daggers. Their hostages were saved and returned to Duskspire, yet House Uller used the events to leverage the crimes on House Varranis. A challenge was issued and accepted, laying low the cousin of Lord Daemon Uller, Sire Preiss Uller. The crimes of House Varranis were forgiven, but the price was much too high.

(200 AC) After the death of two sons, Matheil Varranis’ father, Zalach Varranis, perished from a broken heart and illness. Matheil Varranis ascended the Dusk Throne and ruled over House Varranis for thirty years. His hold over the aptly renamed Midnight Coast saw a flourish of expansion to the east over the barren hills. Under his guidance, Matheil saw the warhost of the House increase to two-thousand spears, two-hundred Duskblades, and forty knights of low- and highborn birth. Several castles were bolstered, towns grew large, and the amnesty between the Martells and the Varranians grew from plentiful trade. That year, Matheil remarried to Amalia Dayne after the loss of his previous wife in the siege of Hellgate Hall. They were blessed with two sons, Vallor and Zaphon, and three daughters, Miska, Anelia, and Elysa.

(230 AC) In the two-hundredth-and-thirtieth year since Aegon’s Conquest, the realm was in a state of grave recovery as Westeros recovered from the Third Blackfyre Rebellion. House Varranis, however, was in shambles as Matheil Varranis finally passed from his wounds having never fully healed after the Rebellion. He was joined by his son, Zaphon, who passed a year earlier from a broken leg. Vallor, his firstborn son, rose to the Dusk Throne and lorded over his father’s domain during an age of crisis.

A noble man with a strong bearing and an ambitious heart, Vallor Varranis was a warrior and veteran of the last rebellion and had planned for more. Martially focused, he continued Matheil’s efforts of raising an army worthy of attention from their liege-lord. While he was certainly successful, it only drew further rivalry from their Uller neighbors. His success, however, did draw the interest of a Velaryon woman by the name of Raeya during a routine stop along the Midnight Coast. The two quickly fell in love, earning some wrath from House Velaryon; however, the growing power of House Varranis cooled their anger. Their union was greatly blessed as they bore five sons: Zaharion, Zorian, Aldrich, Arthur, and Raegal. For the next twenty years, House Varranis grew greater and stronger with their Velaryon and Martell allies.

(255 AC) In the two-hundredth-and-fifty-fifth year since Aegon’s Conquest, House Varranis suffered a terrible blow as Vallor Varranis and Raeya Velaryon perished in an ambush along the most recently expanded territories of the Midnight Coast. Only recently left reeling by the Red Spring, the last sixteen years saw misfortune for the Varranians in the form of several cousins perishing from tragedies most foul. While their power as a Great House of Dorne had risen sharply, it could not stop the Stranger from looming over the household. Many within the House believed they were abandoned, while others believed that House Uller played a dreadful part in their demise. No matter the opinion, one thing could be certain this year. It was the beginning of a long reign of greatness beneath Vallor’s first son, Zaharion, known throughout Dorne as the Magnificent.

Ascending at the age of twenty-and-five, Zaphariel reigned in House Varranis with a firm and soft grip. His policies were lavish, his spending ludicrous, and his wealth generation tremendous. For the next ten years, Zaharion saw House Varranis grow beyond it’s size as he explored the world on Dornish ships. Trade beyond the shores of Westeros into new trading lanes with Qarth and Astapor saw an influx of exotic goods spread throughout Dorne. Towns began to burst from their original walls along the Midnight Coast, threatening to blossom into a great coastal city not unlike Pentos. The Era of Zaharion was bereft of trouble, save for the extravagances that the Varranian son dined upon; women, weapons, wine, and silk abound. He blessed the dynasty with two children after marrying a Lyseni by the name of Asalia; however, rumors abound ascertained that the House Head had harbored many bastards during his exploits. Curiously, the fear of the past eleven years passed as no further deaths were recorded. A true testament to House Varranis’ new, golden era.

(260AC)The last five years have been a golden era in the eyes of House Varranis while Lord Zaphariel has taken the reins. Their largest haul of exotic goods has brought their military might into unprecedented levels, while their ties have grown far beyond Westeros into Essos’ fertile lands. Because of his efforts, wanderers and nobles from the Three Daughters have become commonplace amongst the Dornish populace in their demesne. Although their complaints have been heard, their liege has ascertained the necessity of this to retain their level of luxury; however, some have seen Lord Varranis walk with the darker elements of Essos. A vapid rumor amongst the dockworkers and lickspittles of House Varranis tells about the House of Dusk interacting with hooded figures from across the sea. These rumors have been silenced at the source, yet these tales continue to persist. None can say if it is House Uller that spreads these lies or if it is simply the work of the peasantry.

House Varranis rules over the southern central area of Dorne where the Brimstone meets the Summer Sea. Ruling from the great towering bastion known as the Duskspire, the Dornish house extends their will across several minor towns and castles that’ve blossomed from their personal expansion or proximity. One of the few ports outside of Sunspear, Duskspire is a monument of preservation and wealth that has brought innumerable benefits not only to the House, but to the Martells. Two-tiered circular walls surround the great fortress with the first wall protecting the port and city, while the second defends the spiraling castle of the Dusk Throne. The ambitious home of House Varranis is often likened to Starfall in its design, yet it pales in comparison due to its dark stones and proximity to the sulphurous river.

Second only to the Duskspire is the Midnight Villa, an estate several miles away from House Varranis’ primary castle bordering on the edge of Uller’s territory along the Brimstone. Built as a home away from home, the Villa was a prideful creation at the height of House Uller’s aggression. To establish their political power and wealth, the Villa rose up as a direct sign of insurrection with high walls around a beautiful manor.

Plentiful mines from nearby villages along the mountainous terrain surrounding the Brimstone feed minerals and precious metals across the Varranian domain. Towns, threatening on becoming a single city not unlike Pentos, dot the Midnight Coast of southern Dorne, stretching out into the Summer Sea with wooden docks and piers. Castles of midnight hue with the banners of House Varranis dot the wasteland spreading from the Brimstone, each garrisoned completely and ready to strike should House Uller press their supposed advantage.

At the dawn of their inception, House Varranis was a weak and timid family built on the protection of House Uller from would-be aggressors. Since that time over two-hundred years ago, House Varranis has grown a strong military that easily dwarfs their neighbors in terms of prowess and numbers. Either due to the circumstances of their upbringing or based on the focus of their leaders, the Varranians continue to grow the numbers of their military to this day.

The composition of their warriors appears simple at first until firmly observed by a cunning eye. Traditionally, Dornish spearmen and archers make up the vast majority of their ranks from levies raised by towns, villages, and castles; however, House Varranis has cultivated special men-at-arms ready to deliver their justice. The infamous Duskblades, warriors in half-plate and hooded helmets, fight valiantly with wicked hand and a half swords forged from dark metals. Their serpentine blades are their modus operati, flasks full of brewed poisons ever ready to be splashed against blade to further reinforce their alchemical prowess. Each is a master of murder, specialized in the brewing and application of toxin-infused dancing. Their prowess, at times, can equal that of knights from mainland Westeros, yet they are extraordinarily difficult to train and require specific teachings from Varranian knights, alchemists, and craftsmen to operate their gear.

Where the men-at-arms of House Varranis have earned their infamy across Dorne, it is their knights that truly shine as beacons of prowess and intelligence. Practised alchemists, rightful scholars, and excellent duelists make up the warriors that lead their levies into battle. Landed warriors, risen by the hands of Varranians past, eagerly fill the ranks of the many knights in service to House Varranis. While many have their own particular way of fighting, they are taught and trained in Duskspire to be Duskblades of their own. A great number of them carry the infamous swords of the Duskblades into combat, but feel the necessity to wear Dornish full-plate when sallying out.

Unfortunately, perhaps due to the Brimstone, House Varranis lacks cavalry and the raw shock-and-awe of their thunderous assaults. The ingenious minds of the House, however, make up for it a thousandfold using alchemists and their arcane arts to fill the gaps. Toxic elixirs, combined from gases of the Brimstone, are often used as combustive throwable weapons by their deft hands. Their aggressive use of these tactics has garnished bitter opinions from the Citadel and Old Town.

Not to be forgotten, the relatively small armada of House Varranis merely adds to the Dornish fleet mustered by the Martells. Unable to acquire a local source of wood, House Varranis imports precious timber at extraordinary prices from the Reach and the Stormlands. It is only due to their remarkable wealth that they’ve managed to hold onto a fleet of twenty galleys and a pair of carracks. A sizable portion for the Duskspire docks, but pales in comparison to any other Westerosi or Essosi fleet.

As of the two-hundredth-and-sixtieth year of Aegon’s Conquest, the military numbers of House Varranis average around four-thousand spearmen-archers, a thousand duskblades, and a hundred knights. Although the numbers have previously been counted by the Maesters attending Duskspire, it is currently unknown how many alchemists exist amongst their number that are and aren’t registered with the Alchemist’s Guild. It is fair to assume that these numbers are specifically hidden by Lord Varranis for some unknown reason. Perhaps a censure is in order from the Citadel?

Zaphariel Varranis - Lord of Duskspire b. 230 (30)
Asalia Nahohr - Lyseni wife of Zaphariel b. 236 (24)
Aethor - son of Zapharie b. 251 (9)
Aelio - son of Zaphariel b. 251 (9)
Zorian Varranis - brother of Zaphariel b. 234 (26)
Cerenna Hightower - wife of Zorian, b. 236 (24)
Lemerra Varranis - daughter of Zorian b. 252 ( 8)
Vallor Varranis - son of Zorian 257 (3)
Aldrich Varranis - brother of Zaphariel b. 239 (21)
Viola Redwyne - wife of Aldrich b. 230 (30)
Zaharius Varranis - son of Aldrich b. 259 (1)
Arthur Varranis - brother of Zaphariel b. 239 (21)
Rylene Fossaway - wife of Arthur b. 240 (20)
Matheil - son of Arthur 256 (4)
Raegal Varranis - brother of Zaphariel b. 241 (19)
Vallor Varranis - father of Zaphariel b. 200 - d. 255 (55)
Raeya Velaryon - wife to Vallor Varranis b. 205 - d. 255 (50)
Matheil Varranis - grandfather of Zaphariel, b. 170 - d. 230 (60)
Arelia Dayne - wife to Matheil, b. 175 - d. 245 (60)
Zalach Varranis - great grandfather of Zaphariel, 130 - 200 (70)
Myria Uller - wife to Zalach, b. 130 - d. 188 (58)

Age: 19 (b. 241 AC)

Appearance:
A young man of unassuming height and a rather slender physique, Jayse is at the very least known to be a handsome young man. His hair falls near shoulder-length, largely unkempt except for when he dons his armor to which he ties it into a ponytail. Jayse, while not exuding confidence in his gait, does carry himself rather merrily and a smile is almost always on his face. While not in his armor, he wears rather common rags, greys and browns that bear the sign of many wearings on and off. His armor, however, is maintained and polished - cleaned to now end as a mark of pride in himself and the house he comes from. Over it, he wears a cream tabard with a gray eagle on it and with this donned he ensures that he stands above the rest.

Description & biography:

Born in 241 AC, Jayse Rivers was the bastard son of a minor Mallister lord and a Lysene courtesan who spent one scandalous summer in Seagard before vanishing without a trace. She left behind a baby with dark brown hair, a knack for avoiding responsibility, and an almost supernatural ability to stumble into fortune. Unlike most bastards who burned with ambition or resentment, Jayse never saw much point in dwelling on his station. Life was comfortable enough—he had food, a roof over his head, and just enough noble blood to get invited to feasts but not enough to be expected to do anything useful.

Jayse had an older half-brother, Ser Edric Mallister, a proper knight—dutiful, disciplined, and annoyingly noble. Unfortunately, Edric died in a skirmish with ironborn raiders when Jayse was 17. As the family mourned, Jayse quietly took his brother’s well-crafted armor—not out of ambition, but because no one else claimed it, and plate was expensive. He never intended to impersonate a knight, but life had other plans. The first time he wore Edric’s armor in public, someone mistook him for "Ser Jayse Rivers," and correcting them seemed like too much effort. He never called himself a knight, but if others assumed… well, that wasn’t really his fault, was it?

Jayse spent the next two years bumbling through the Riverlands, trying (and failing) to avoid trouble, yet always landing on his feet.

In 258 AC, he was supposed to deliver a message to a Mallister vassal but got lost and wandered into the wrong keep. When questioned, he panicked and claimed to be a hedge knight looking for service. The lord, impressed by his "humility," gave him a meal, a room, and a bag of silver before Jayse slipped away the next morning.

In 259 AC, he entered a Lannisport tournament on a whim. He had never jousted, and it showed—he fell off his horse before the tilt even began. As he scrambled to get up, his opponent’s horse spooked and threw its rider. The crowd, assuming Jayse had won through unconventional means, cheered. He collected a small purse and spent it all on wine that same night.

Later that year, while traveling to King’s Landing, he got into an argument with a Dornish sellsword. A duel was arranged, but before it could begin, Jayse tripped down a flight of stairs. The sellsword, taking this as an omen from the gods, decided to let him live.

By 260 AC, Jayse had acquired an odd reputation—not for skill, but for sheer inexplicable survival. Wherever he went, things just happened.

Jayse’s luck took a turn for the worse in the village of Greenbrook, where he stopped at an alehouse called The Staggering Stag for a drink. He had no coin left, but he was confident in his ability to charm his way into free ale—unfortunately, he misread the situation. The alehouse belonged to Harwin Grell, a petty knight known more for his temper than his skill. Jayse, thinking Harwin was just another tavern drunk, made a careless joke about the man’s receding hairline. Harwin, well into his cups, took offense and challenged Jayse to a duel at dawn.

Jayse tried to talk his way out of it. When that failed, he tried running. That failed too. By sunrise, he was standing in the muddy village square, armed with a rusty practice sword someone had thrown at him.

The duel began—and immediately ended when Harwin’s foot slipped in the mud. He pitched forward, cracking his head on the ground and knocking himself unconscious. A hush fell over the crowd. Jayse, covered in someone else’s spilled breakfast, awkwardly raised his sword. Someone cheered. Someone else called him "the luckiest bastard alive." That might have been the end of it—except Harwin’s younger brother, Alric, was furious. He demanded satisfaction and called Jayse a cheat. Not wanting to test his luck twice, Jayse made the wise decision to steal a horse and flee the Riverlands entirely.

Jayse arrived in Volantis with little more than a stolen horse, his dead brother’s armor, and a dwindling purse. Within days, he lost most of his silver to a rigged dice game, nearly got press-ganged onto a merchant galley, and somehow became the accidental bodyguard of a Volantene wine trader who mistook him for an actual knight. His true stroke of luck came when he crossed paths with the Sword of Shadows, the enigmatic leader of the Doombringers of Volantis, a sellsword company with a fearsome reputation. Jayse mistook the man for someone else and spent an hour recounting his version of his adventures across Westeros. Whether out of amusement or curiosity, the Sword of Shadows offered him a place among the Doombringers.

And so, by 260 AC, Jayse Rivers—bastard of Seagard, knight by mistake, survivor by sheer accident—found himself a sellsword.

Name:

Emnyra Waters

Appearance:

Emnyra is a tall woman, standing around five feet and nine inches. She possesses a broad build, punctuated by hard muscle, whilst also having a noticeable softness to her figure. Those casting a fleeting glance at the Bastard of Claw Isle would likely notice her brawny arms, wide hips and rounded belly.

Emnyra has the pale blonde hair and vibrant purple eyes that are typical of those with old Valyrian blood. The Bastard of Claw Isle has a love for the rich and decadent, regularly garbing herself in ornate jewellery and fine silks.

A cruel smirk often pulls at Emnyra’s full lips. She has a plump face, with a double chin and a noticeable bulge in her nose, from where it healed at an awkward angle after breaking.



Biography:

It is said that black clouds blanketed Claw Isle on the day of Emnyra’s birth. From the moment she came into the world, screaming and covered in blood, the infamous Bastard of Claw Isle would bring darkness and misery wherever she went.

Emnyra was conceived when Vakadlyn Celtigar, the notoriously twisted and deranged second son of House Celtigar, raped his niece, Rhaelythe, during a drunken mania in the aftermath of a Maiden’s Day feast.

Rhaelythe claimed that she was assaulted by one of the Celtigar’s guardsmen, who was gelded and sent to the wall for her uncle’s crimes.

In spite of the horrific circumstances surrounding the birth of Emnyra, Rhaelythe had grown tremendously fond of her baby, and insisted that the bastard child was raised alongside the legitimate Celtigar children. Due to the immense wealth of House Celtigar, even a lowly bastard such as Emnyra was afforded a life of splendour and luxury that most in the Seven Kingdoms would marvel at.

Rhaelythe adored Emnyra, who could do no wrong in her eyes. The rest of House Celtigar were far less enamoured with the disobedient young girl. Her behaviour was erratic, and she was plagued by painful headaches which would make the already quarrelsome girl even more difficult to manage.

When Emnyra was seven, she was found beating a stable boy with a wooden club. When she was confronted, Emnyra claimed that the stable boy had stolen an apple from the bowl of fruit in her room. Rhaelythe Celtigar unquestionably believed her daughter’s story, but others were less convinced.

That was the first of many such incidents.

Mere weeks after assaulting the stable boy, Emnyra set her septa’s hair on fire, in retaliation to a vicious scolding.

As Emnyra grew older and more indulged by her mother, her cruelty blossomed from mean-spirited pranks into pure sadism.

Complaints of an overpowering, putrid stench lead the household guards to the decaying corpse of a Celtigar handmaiden, crudely hidden beneath Emnyra’s bed. Fearing a scandal, the death of the serving girl was publicly attributed to sickness.

The bastard of Claw Isle was eleven years old at the time.

The excuses that Rhaelythe made for her daughter failed to placate the rest of House Celtigar, who were adamant that they could no longer indulge the obviously demented Emnyra.

Ignoring Rhaelythe’s pleas for clemency, House Celtigar arranged for Emnyra to be sent to Old Town, where she would study to become a septa.

Emnyra’s legitimate half-brother, Ulmond Celtigar, was dispatched to escort the Bastard of Claw Isle to Old Town, alongside two men-at-arms. The bodies of Ulmond and the two soldiers were found dead in the beds of a roadside tavern, less than a week after they had departed from Claw Isle.

The Bastard of Claw Isle disappeared for a stretch of years, with no reputable stories of her whereabouts or exploits surfacing. House Celtigar would go on to claim that Emnyra and Ulmond had been killed by roving bandits whilst on their way to Old Town.

When whispers of Emnyra Waters next arose, it was in the form of grotesque stories of an especially vicious woman with silver hair and purple eyes, who had become something of an outlandish spectacle in the Fighting Pits of Meereen.

It appeared that Emnyra had made her way to Essos in the intervening years, amassing a not-trivial amount of fame and fortune as a pit fighter. No sooner had rumours of the Bastard of Claw Isle made their way back to House Celtigar, than Emnyra disappeared into the shadows once more.

Emnyra Waters would next emerge serving as the right hand of the Old Mother, a pirate queen of great infamy and renown. Now in her elder years, the Old Mother did not fight as she once had, instead adopting a more directorial position within her fleet.

At the Old Mother's command, Emnyra is more than eager to smash skulls, flay flesh, and inflict countless other atrocities upon those who displease the pirate queen.

When the Old Mother and the rest of the Band of Nine came together, Emnyra Waters grew giddy with thoughts of returning to Westeros and taking vengeance against the family that had betrayed her.