Archangel89

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@Dead Cruiser sorry for the lack of activity, Ive been pretty busy lately. I do have some of my sheet done but its just getting the gritty details as it were put together.

Legion of Chaos: A World-Conquering Multidimensional Supervillain RP

sorry i havent had the time to put anything up, ill get to this ASAP, because he is as you say an all consuming plasm he does have a "human" form but i will work the kinks out later

Legion of Chaos: A World-Conquering Multidimensional Supervillain RP

So I have a question, roughly how large can our characters be? My thing will have a humanoid vessel but it's true nature is huge as it is basically bringing everything into it?

Legion of Chaos: A World-Conquering Multidimensional Supervillain RP

@Dead Cruiser They will be, I was thinking of something like a sorcerer/summoner type thing but Im still working the kinks out in my head

Legion of Chaos: A World-Conquering Multidimensional Supervillain RP

If one wanted to make a hive-minded slime/ooze like character, would that be something that would work as an evil vilian?

A Song Of Ice And Fire : The Swords And Stars

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_{Location: Few miles off the coast of the Reach - 41 AC}

Chapter 1: Face to Face @Archangel89 @Ruby

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The hunt in Harlaw had been successful to a point, a band of Faithful had escaped on a longship under the cover of confusion. The Harlaw boy had put up more of a fight than previously thought and in the ensuing fight were gone before they knew it. They had taken advantage of the couple of hours lead and prolonged the hunt. The fools would be heading towards some sort of sanctuary, some port to stow away in. There were only two that came to mind and neither would bode well for Rowan if they chose them. In the distance he saw their sails unfurled, catching the full breath of the wind.

”They’ve caught the wind, they’ll be pulling into Lannisport soon. If they dock there then there is nothing we can do. The Lannister’s will kill us as soon as let us leave.”

”There’s another port they could get to, it would depend on them thinking that they can out run us…”

Rowan’s face turned into a mischievous grin, his gaze never leaving his prey,

”...they’re going to Oldtown. They’re going to hope to outrun us and get down to the Reach and make a run for it. Bring the sails to half mast and give them some space, let them run, let them think that the Seven have saved them. Before we show them the true might of the sea.”

The sails raised and the Faithful took a slow lead as they started to edge further and further out. The other sailors looked on in a sort of confusion as Rowan stood there and watched them go further and further out. It had long been speculated that while it was ordered by the Lord Reaper to drive out the Faith of the Seven from the Isles, Rowan had seemed to take it overboard by tracking them down like this was excessive; though they dare not say anything to him, especially after what happened to the Harlaw kid.

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_{Location: The Mouth of the Mander - The Reach - 41 AC}

Chapter 1: Face to Face @Archangel89 @Ruby

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The chase had gone on long enough, and an impatient captain began pressing the attack. It was true that the Faithful had chosen to forgo Lannisport and tried to make it to Oldtown like Rowan had said but his impatience pushed them towards the Shield Islands but they breached themselves at the Mouth of the Mander and took off. The forest was green thick, life teemed in every nook and cranny and it sickened Rowan. The weak had inherited such fertile ground and had to earn none of it, the greenlanders had to do nothing more than go outside and take from the earth. The tracks were sloppy and easily readable; they were heading towards the nearest village. He was going to bring them back.
“Signal fires, from the Shield Islands.”
The messenger was breathless, a soak of sweat and near panic as he crashed into her pavilion in their camp outside the walls of Oldtown, where she’d been removed to following the incident. There was little time, as badly as she felt, purple and black as her shoulder was, there was just no time for discussion. “Mount who we can. I’ll dress quickly.” Not even Ren argued. He’d stay behind, but from the camp and Garin’s men they assumed possibly thirty. By the time she was on her horse and meeting them on the other side of Oldtown, the number was thirty-two. Half were Garin’s men, half was her knights.
Ryam cursed mentally as the messenger simply had the worst timing possible. He knew exactly what Vittoria was going to do and he felt his duty to defend her rise up… But no, he didn't say a word. He simply left the tent while she dressed and secured his, and Vittoria's horse.
It wasn’t much, but they could easily be joined by men from the Shield Islands themselves, let alone the nearby villages and towns. She herself had gotten quickly into plate, the simple silver, with a thick wool cloak dyed emerald with the golden rose of Highgarden upon it, trimmed in gold.
They found other messengers along the way; Ironborn, for sure, possibly three longships near the mouth of the Mander. Another messenger had reported longships of the Reach dispatched from stations along the Mander, itself, heading down towards the mouth of the river. Messengers from Brightwater Keep found them last: the truth of it was a small force from the Shield Islands had chased the Ironborn who landed, though they had quickly lost the Ironborn after a quick skirmish.
Men from Brightwater Keep had found a band of fleeing men and women of the Faith, and there the story was finally learned: one, maybe two, longships of Ironborn chasing the members of the Faith. Vittoria had a sick feeling when she heard the news. There was little choice but to go as fast as they could, they had gotten a fresh horse for the Brightwater Keep messenger, and he rode point to guide them.
They were found by Garin’s men, between the mouth of the Mander and Highgarden. They crossed at the ferry near Orchardtown, a village, not a town, but the merchants of the village had always been a braggadocious, ambitious sort. By the time they found them, the men from the Shield Islands were gone. Dead, or lost, and only a handful of Brightwater Keep scouts in mail were found with the members of the Faith.
The moment they saw her ride up, they began to sob. She hoped in joy,

“They come quickly!”
Vittoria’s Myrish looking glass confirmed their story. Those were, indeed, Ironborn making a sprint through the rolling fields of golden roses, hot in pursuit. Garin’s men were split in half, one to the right flank, one to the left. The scouts of Brightwater had found a small grove of old oaks atop the tallest hill in the area. Two were left with the Faithful and told to lead them to Highgarden, the other three went with her, inflating the number of mounted men directly with her at nineteen.
“Should we charge?”
Vittoria saw no reason. Garin’s men were on their side of the ridge, not close but not too far for a shout to reach them. Two of her own knights had brought longbows, whereas Vittoria herself couldn’t move her left arm nearly at all without a good deal of pain. The milk of the poppy the Maesters had given her had all but worn away by now, leaving her with a splitting head and an aching body.
“No. We’ll wait for them here.”
The sun was red and sinking fast in the late afternoon by the time the Ironborn got close enough. The spyglass alerted her to a certain presence, one she openly cursed, hotly, without naming a name. The Knights around her stared, never before having heard their Lord Commander’s temper rise so hot, so fast. When they were close enough for the two longbow wielding Knights to reach, standing in front of the horses, Vittoria had them all move forward to the edge of the ridge, so those approaching the steep hill with the grove of old oaks could see the figures on the ridgeline.
“ROWAN!!!”
She screamed so loudly she shook, her shoulder throbbing hot, her left hand going near enough to numb, her head swimming,
“Let’s go,”
,was all she said, as her ears rang. Two of her own mounted knights carried tall, broad shields, flanking her closely as they went down the hill that was just kind enough to their horses. Near the foot of the hill they stopped, awaiting the Ironborn leader to approach.
She looked to either side of the ridge, and saw Garin’s men, both flanks, appear as they got closer, bows drawn. If he tried anything stupid towards her, he and his would be dead, and fast. It was either talk, die, or try to run. Honestly, Vittoria had no idea what the man would do.
That voice, that commanding presence that radiated from behind him, there was only one person in the seven kingdoms that could have that kind of presence. He knew that the Reach was her territory he wasn’t sure that she would even be in the area. Mirth quickly spread across his face as he turned to see the Ardent Maiden herself, Vittoria Tyrell. Rowan hadn’t seen her since their campaign against the so called pirate king but to see her here in force was something truly masterful to behold. Rowan turned and to his party with two of the faithful held hostage, his joy unable to be contained,

”Stay here and keep a blade to their necks, we wouldn’t want them to get to…anxious.”

As he turned back to his swarm of advisories and pointed his drawn axe to the object of his glee,

”VITTORIA!!!, IT HAS BEEN AGES HASN’T IT!!!”

Rowan stolled towards the collected armored knights, in the back of his mind he knew that this was a bad idea. He was strategically at a massive disadvantage. The divided mounted soldiers on either side of the ridge were staring with intent, simply waiting for their commanders orders. The knights behind her were also well equipped, Rowan could make out several longbows with arrows notched and ready to be fired. In any sane commander's mind this should be as simple as letting the prisoners go, getting in the longships and walking away to see another day. Rowan, however, was always known to push the boundaries of greenland behavior,

”Good evening Vitt, still traveling with those armored scarecrows is see, are their sticks still firmly planted or have you gotten them to loosen up?”
Lady Vittoria of House Tyrell, High Marshall of the Reach, looked anything but pleased,
“Lord Rowan the Reaver, so good to finally see you again, instead of just trading letters. Speaking of letters, did I mention to you I spent some time in the Citadel going over copies of the letters sent from the King to the Lords of Greyjoy? Did you know the King rather explicitly states in those letters that members of the Faith may be DEPORTED from the Iron Islands, but NOT killed?”
There was a rise in her voice towards the end of her words, with emphasis on ‘deported’ and ‘not’, without ever approaching the anger of her earlier shout of his name,
“We have most of the members of the Faith running from you. Where are the rest, Rowan? Give us the rest and your crew may live to see another day.”
Despite her straight posture in the saddle of her palfrey, someone who had spent time with her before would hear it—pain hiding under her tone. The sound was familiar to Rowan, the sound of stifled pain while attempting to be strong in front of a command. As he looked up under his eyebrows, staring with an almost hungry and malicious intent, Rowan grinned with an arrogance that he should not have in the situation that he finds himself in,

”Careful Vitt, your humanity is showing, wouldn’t want any of these fine soldiers knowing the great Ardent Maiden is anything less than impervious,”

With outstretched arms his voice rose to a roar, almost loud enough for all in attendance to hear,

”, AND I HAVE BEEN DEPORTING THEM, I DEPORT THEM TO THE TEMPLE OF THE DROWNED GOD, AS I WILL GLADLY SEND YOU ALL TO SEE! YOU FAITHFUL HAVE GROWN WEAK, BELIEVING IN THE SOFT AND FORGIVING SEVEN! YOU HAVE FORGOTTEN THE GODS OF YOUR FATHERS FATHERS! THE IRONBORN ARE STRONG, HARDENED BY THE CRUEL AND UNFORGIVING SEA! WHAT IS DEAD MAY NEVER DIE!”

By instinct the other reavers behind him chanted in unison, the sound of their cries could be heard at least as far as those in immediate attendance as Rowan could see the nerves of Vittoria’s shieldmen waver just a little,

”How about it Vitt? What say you give this merry band of a******s the slip and be my stonewife? We could conquer the coasts taking all that we please and pay the iron cost for all of it?”

Her jaw clinched, and with her one good hand, she pointed at him,

“You are insufferably mad sometimes!”

She didn’t yell, but the heat from her was enough to lift her in her stirrups until the haze of her head and the weight of her armor immediately pulled her back down, again. To its credit, her palfrey simply snorted.

Vittoria Tyrell didn’t let her mind even entertain his proposal. She was enough of a bookish girl to know what a stone wife was. Deep down, she was flattered. Deeper down, far away from this moment, when she was very much alone, she might even think about the idea in some twisted thought.

But now? She wanted those members of the Faith alive. It took her long, long moments to calm herself, and wait until her heart slowed in her chest,

Gods, it hurts. All of it. Everywhere.

She sighed. Then, after a moment, she sighed again, deeper. Her eyes looking past him,

“Your people will never make it a hundred yards, Rowan. You’ve doomed them to death.”

He irritated her. He was at every war council. He was everywhere she turned. He was also, by far, the best man at sea she had ever seen. He was as a spirit of vengeance with an axe in his hand. He scared grown, veteran, men just with a shout and a charge. He was mad. His madness intimidated,

But not her. There were times she suspected that’s why he pushed her so hard. She sighed, for a third time, and just…looked at him,

“Rowan, give them to me. You will live. I will make you my prisoner. Don’t make me kill you.”

She said, as tiny beads of sweat started down her brow, as her head began to flutter, as her arm began to burn in a heat she had not felt before.

”You know that I can’t do that Vitt, as serious as you are about the Seven, I am about the Drowned God, these are not just ’faithful’, these are Ironborn from the Iron Islands. I have to send them to his temple for his judgment.”

Vittoria looked to one of the knights next to her, the one on the right; her sworn shield, Ser Ryam. Her brown eyes just started, but for a moment, before they slid away from her cousin and returned to the horizon,

“I suppose so, you’re right. NOW!”

It was yelled, loud enough to make her visibly wince in pain and draw her left arm ever closer to her body. Before she was even done with the short word both flanks were kicking up dust. Steeds between one thousand and two thousand stones picking up steam, drawing and readying arms,

"Move, my Lord, and they will gut you like a fish and sew the ground you stand on with your entrails. See how your damned God likes that,”

,she said, never even directly looking at Rowan. She had wanted all of the members of the Faith alive, but her patience was gone, exhausted by him. The mounted archers would make the first contact. If they tried to use the two members of the Faith they still had as a hostage or shield, they would be pinned with arrows by the missile cavalry, or ran through with sword or lance by the light cavalry.

“Bind him, we take him with us as prisoner. Have the Brightwater scouts locate the longships. I want them found and dragged onto shore and burned. I’ll be speaking to the others.”

She sounded as casual as a comment upon the weather as she turned her palfrey and headed off to speak to the members of the Faith they had rescued. The sound of approaching calvary was dim in Rowan’s ear as he watched Vittoria turn his back on him. In that moment everything fell away; his crusade, the faithful none of it but only the words burned rang in his ear.

TYRELL!!, HAVE I NOT EARNED YOUR RESPECT! DO YOU NOT KNOW WHAT A LONGSHIP IS TO AN IRONBORN CAPTAIN! YOU CAN HAVE THE D****ED FAITHFUL, YOU CAN TAKE ME HOSTAGE BUT BY ALL THE GODS BOTH NEW AND OLD IF YOU BURN MY SHIP I WILL REIGN HELL UPON YOUR SHORES AND BRING WAR TO YOUR HOME!!

Rage flashed in his eyes and foam gathered in the corner of his mouth as in defiance he roared in command. Until this point Rowan had been calm, he had been respectful in his own way, but the mere thought of burning his ships sent him into a whirlwind of anger that if he had not had some grasp of himself he would have made the wrong move and killed his entire crew,

”IRONBORN, RELEASE THE FAITHFUL AND MAKE IT BACK TO THE SHIP INFORM MY FATHER PERSONALLY OF WHAT HAPPENED HERE, GO NOW!!”

The Ironborn quickly turned from their prey and darted away running in haste back to the shoreline, as the mounted knights began to pursuit Rowan once again roared in command,

”NOW HEAR ME KNIGHTS OF THE REACH! I AM LORD ROWAN GREYJOY, FIRST OF HIS NAME AND HEIR TO THE IRON ISLANDS! I HAVE RELEASED YOUR FAITHFUL AND YOU HAVE ME CAPTURED BUT KNOW THIS! I AM THE PERSONAL CAPTIVE OF THE ARDENT MAIDEN, I WILL ONLY BE HANDLED BY HER AND HER ALONE! ANY MAN WHO DARES TO SO MUCH AS TOUCH ME WILL BE SLAIN AND SENT TO WHATEVER GOD YOU SO PLEASE!”

Rowan moved with righteous fury up to Vittoria’s palfry wrists in front of him in a bound position,

”Your move Lady Tyrell.”

A Song Of Ice And Fire : The Swords And Stars

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_{Location: Off the coast of the Iron Islands - 41 AC}

Prologue: The Ironborn Inquisition

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The salt and spray of the unforgiving waters of Ironman’s Bay were refreshing to feel against the face of the ironborn commander. Rowan Greyjoy, commander of the Iron Inquisition, stood at the bow of his ship and watched his destination come closer into view. He and his detachment of two longships had been sailing around the Iron Islands for months now taking on his fathers mission to bring the Drowned God back as the only god worshiped among the ironborn and their thralls. The sharp wind seemed to whip and whirl around him as his hair which he had thankfully tied back for just such an occasion.

The heavy sounds of boots along the deck of the ship made him aware of his second in command approaching him. The tall reaver, longsword at the hip, stood in an almost casual half-cocked stance, looking out over the same direction as his captain.

”Weather’s holdn’ out, were gonna be there before midday. So how many do ya’ think this place is gonna have?”

”Ahh, it’ll be enough. We could circle the islands three times over and they’d still find a rock to hide under. Like the insects that they are.”

The awkward pause in conversation let the captain know that what he said had struck a chord,

”Does that bother you Harlaw? Does the idea that these traitors to the Drowned God are like insects?

”No sir, it’s just that…these people are still Iron Islanders aren’t they? It seems strange that we would be wantonly cutting down our own people?”

At the sound of his rebuttal Rowan turned and faced the young reaver. A fairly good looking who looked more green than he should be at his age, the boy was knowledgeable around a ship and could hold his own in a fight but his ideals and thoughts are ones that shouldn’t be uttered on a Greyjoy longship. A look of mock surprise spread across Rowan’s face as he sarcastically expressed disbelief,

”Well I’ll be, now that is a fancy word from a fancy lord. I’ll tell you Harlaw I’m glad I brought you along so that you can show us simple Pyke boys the power of words, let's give Harlaw here a round of applause.”

The sailors on the deck of the ship all gave an uproar in sarcasm as the Harlaw man began to shift and look around in irritation. The obvious look of embarrassment couldn’t be hidden as he looked around as his crew pointed and laughed at him as the preparations for landing was made,

”Ya’ see Harlaw, these people have chosen the faith of the greenlanders. They chose to abandon not only the Iron Islands but the Drowned God himself. We are born and shaped by the sea, the Drowned God has blessed us with the strength to take what is rightfully ours. This ’Faith of the Seven’ filth is nothing but a way to make hard men soft and soft men deserve nothing. Weak men deserve only to be thalls on our islands to draw from the land while the strong go out and take what is deserved. Gather your gear men…our quarry awaits.

The island came within a stones throw and the men moved and scrambled into action. A wave crashed against the bow as a blast of salt water covered the unmoving captain,

’I will send them all to the Drowned God…one way or another.’

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_{Location: Iron Islands - Harlaw - 41 AC}

Prologue: The Ironborn Inquisition

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The hunt wasn’t as exciting as Rowan had thought as most of the fight came from the minor houses on the island while House Harlaw watched from a distance. The collection of septons and septas were lined up along the beach on their knees, blades at each of their throats as Rowan paced back and forth in front of them. All of them were fattened noble types who hadn’t spent as much as one day on the sea let alone pay the iron price for anything that they owned. This is exactly the weakness that his father sought to drive out. The Iron Islands pride themselves on their strength and their willingness to do what was necessary to take what was theirs.

”You all know me, if you don’t then your lords have done you a great disservice. My name is Rowan Greyjoy, first of his na….”

”We know who you are Iron Inquisitor, we know….

THWACK

The sickening sound of axe splitting head sent a residual wave of blood across those that were in attendance Rowan, at its epicenter, stood still for a moment as large trails of blood ran their way down his face. This was a moment that needed to happen for those that remained, a true reminder of who it was that they were dealing with.

”...it’s rude to interrupt someone when they're speaking, as you now know.

Letting go of the handle and allowing the corpse to fall limp to the ground, Rowan cleaned his face the best that he could with the exposed sleeve of his shirt,

”Now…THAT was not part of the plan. I wanted to go about this the proper way, letting you get to know me and explain how this was going to go, but THIS bastard had to be rude and interrupt a speaking lord. Now you all have me in a bad mood, now I’m thinking that we simply carve off you arms and legs and let the crabs eat at you and never send you the Drowned God to make up for your weakness. IRONBORN…”

One of the septas cried out in fear which drew Rowan’s attention, tears streamed down her face as she threw herself towards Rowan screaming at the top of her lungs,

”I RENOUNCE THE SEVEN, WHAT IS DEAD MAY NEVER DIE!”

The somewhat stunned captain walked over towards the hysterical woman, each step crunching against the gravel of the beach in slow methodical movements. Reaching down to gently cusp her face to hold her gaze to his, she would have been a fairly decent woman save for the rivers of snot and tears,

”There now was that so hard. You get it now don’t you this life in these ’new gods’ makes us weak. We are ironborn. We have to be stronger than these greenlanders. They offer us these loving and weak gods thinking to placate us and make us like them; soft, weak, loving. We draw our strength from the unforgiving sea not from the light above. I am glad you get it.

A soft, comforting smile spread across his face as she calmed down to the point of silent sniffles. Any one from the outside would assume that Rowan was showing some sort of kindness, some sort of peace and good measure. This of course was a fallacy.

”Now, go and meet the Drowned God in his court. Ask for his mercy there.

The hopeful look on the womans face slowly faded into horror as two reavers carried her away binding her hands and feet and drug her on to the ship,

”You will all meet the Drowned God this day, line them up at the water's edge. The tide is rising soon. They will meet him on this day. Oh and take Harlaw here as well,”

The shocked reaver attempted to rebuttal but was quickly cut off by his fellow reavers stripping him of his armor and weapons,

”, your weak mindset will not stand on my ship. Go and ask the Drowned God for the strength to harden your resolve.”

A Song Of Ice And Fire : The Swords And Stars

We Do Not Sow

House Greyjoy

We Do Not Sow

House Description:
The Iron Islands rise from the stormy seas in the midst of Ironman’s Bay, west of the Neck. This desolate archipelago consists of the isles of Pyke, Old Wyk, Great Wyk, Harlaw, Orkmont, Saltcliffe, Blacktyde, and dozens of smaller crags and islets, some so tiny that they can barely host a single village. Life is hard on the Iron Islands, and the brutal conditions have given rise to a grim fatalism among the fierce, hardy folk who have dwelt on the isles for millennia. The Ironmen are as hard and cold as their homeland, and their wrath is as deep and fierce as the sea they love.

The rest of Westeros dismisses the Iron Islands as an insignificant backwater of the Seven Kingdoms. The islands are all rocky and barren, the soil is thin, and the weather is harsh to extremes rarely found elsewhere in Westeros. Damp, cold, and wind are ever present; only the interior of Great Wyk, largest of the islands, has places out of sound or sight of the sea. The thralls and common folk of the Iron Islands spend their lives in dismal toil, scraping a living from the poor soil, wrestling with the sea and the creatures in it, or tunneling under the earth as they pull their fortune from its depths.

Aside from the sea’s bounty, which is little enough, the rocky crags of the Iron Islands are blessed with one other meager source of wealth. Many of the isles, particularly Harlaw, boast deposits of metals, including lead, tin, and the iron that gives the isles their name. These ores are the only resource of note that the Iron Islands export to Westeros and the rest of the world. Trade, however, has never been a great concern to the Ironmen. They take to the seas, living as raiders and reavers. For thousands of years, the people of the Iron Islands have taken what they need to survive, letting the rest of the world thrive as best it may.

The origins of the Ironmen are lost to the mists of time. They claim descent from the Grey King, the mighty mariner of the Age of Heroes. The Grey King’s people have always been people of the sea, revering the Drowned God and plying the oceans on swift longships. They have no patience for farming, fishing, or mining (as the Greyjoy words say, “We Do Not Sow”) — such lesser work is left to the thralls taken in raids.

For the folk of the Iron Islands, the only true occupation is war. For countless centuries, all the coastlands of Westeros have lived in fear of the raiding longships of the Ironmen. At various times, bold High Kings of the Isles have conquered large sections of Westeros, while intrepid captains have sailed to Asshai and beyond. With the coming of Aegon Targaryen, the Iron Islands were brought under the sway of the Iron Throne. Septs, maesters, and other trappings of the green lands came to the isles, but the Ironmen still remembered the Old Way, and their hearts yearned for its return.

Cleverness, skill at arms, and persistence are all treasured traits to the Ironmen. They live in contempt of the weaklings of the “green lands” (their name for the mainland of Westeros), their gods, and their laws. Ship captains and warriors are revered among them; it is said that every captain is a king on his or her deck, and every king must be a captain. Captains are expected to raid, gaining wealth for their crews through plunder and pillage.

Indeed, true Ironmen only value things “bought with iron” (won by force of arms in combat), and have only scorn for those who clothe themselves in finery bought with gold. Among the Ironmen, women are usually relegated to secondary roles in society. There are, however, some women who have proven themselves in combat and become ship captains. Some say the salt and sea temper them, giving them the appetites and strength of men.

Life is short on the Iron Islands, and the harsh climate has brea harsh outlook in the Ironmen. Even their sports are brutal: most feasts see at least one “finger dance,” a game where one or more drunken warriors hurl short-hafted axes at each other. Players must either catch the axes or leap over them. The game draws its name from the fact that most dances end when one player loses some of his or her fingers. Death and pain are the expected results of a life spent reaving, and dying well in battle is seen as far better than a life of comfort.

Recent History:

It has been four years since Goren Greyjoy has quelled the ill-fated rebellion of the self proclaimed, Lodos the Twice-Drowned. As reward for his service to the throne he was given the authority to root out the septons and septas of the Faith of the Seven and return the Iron Islands back to the worship of the Drowned God. Tensions across the Isles are high as those who chose to serve the Seven are now hunted down and put to the sword as common criminals. Those religious fanatics on both sides are poised to instigate an all out war threatening to tear the Iron Islands asunder.

Family Members:

• Lord Reaper Goren Greyjoy
  Lord of the Iron Islands. He quelled the rebellion of Lodos the Twice Drowned and is now leading the purging of the Islands of the Faith of the Seven in an attempt to gain favor with the Drowned God. There are whispers that is secretly in the pocket of the Targaryen’s but none dare speak this in his presence.
• Rowan Greyjoy
  Goren’s son and commander of his fathers inquisition. Rowan lives for his fathers approval and follows his commands down to the letter in the hopes to keep his father’s shifting favor. He commands his own ship and is currently sailing from island to island in search of septons and septas to paint the head of his axe.
• Baelin Greyjoy
  Second son of Goren and younger brother to Rowan. Baelin is still within his formative teaching years and is still green in most areas of Ironborn life. He looks up to his brother and wants to be just like him some day. He can be found most days with a wooden sword galavanting up and down the halls of the castle harassing the guards in mock combat.
• Taeryth Greyjoy
  Twin sister to Baelin and daughter of Goren. She is the apple of all who beholds her eye. In the world of harsh and gray that is the Iron Islands she is a ray of sunshine and one of the prides of Goren’s life. She is approaching an appropriate age to marry and the anticipation of the event is on everyone’s mind.

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Rowan Greyjoy

Age: 25 (16 AC)

Appearance:
Rowan is a rather handsome looking man, his jet black hair normally kept tied behind his head as he sails and during his conquests; his face is covered in scruff that is dangerously close to becoming a full beard which annoys him greatly. He is usually always seen in light-weight practical armor adorned with his family’s crest which is perfectly suited for his style of medium to long ranged combat. When he is not engaged in combat related activities he is seen in typical sailors attire; loose fitting sailcloth shirt, hard leather boots and tighter knit trousers. Rowan is never seen without his quiver and bow, a strong blackened wood from the mainland that he has learned with deadly precision. A dull colored ax hangs at his hip that he is ready to use at a moments notice.

Description & biography:
Rowan’s life has been dedicated to the Ironborn lifestyle, from the time that he was old enough to hold a sword he was taught how to be the greatest heir to the Seastone Chair. On his twenty-first name day, Rowan was joining his father in crushing the foolish rebellion of Lodos the Twice Drowned taking charge of a longboat filled to the brim with ironborn ready to lay waste to the enemies of House Greyjoy. As the ship docked at Great Wyk, Rowan led the charge headfirst into the fray and would eventually break the enemy lines and bring his father several members of the rebellion to be given to the Drowned God. Goren, being well pleased with his now eldest son, brought him with him when he went before King Aenys I Targaryen.

Sometime after the ill-fated rebellion on the Iron Islands, Rowan's father received a raven calling for Greyjoy longships in a Tyrell campaign, a courtesy between Great Houses. The promise of riches and supplies fueled Rowan to petition his father, to allow him to take his men and two other longships of seasoned fighters and sail into battle for the Ardent Maiden. The fresh from combat ironborn sailed posthaste to the Basilisk Isles and met this so called "King" in open water while his men were focused on the Tyrell assualt. The fight was glorious and the efficacy of Iron Island reavers was something to behold. Rowan navigated his men in targeted strikes causing chaos from the flanks while the Ardent Maiden took a hold from the front. After the battle won, and business concluded, Rowan acknowledged Vittoria Tyrell as a fighter and sailed back home with his loot brimming his three longships.

As a gift for his service, Aenys granted Goren any wish that was his to give and he would grant it, thus began Goren’s crusade to drive out the Faith of the Seven from the Iron Islands. On the trip back Goren entrusted Rowan to lead this drive, giving him command of his own detachment and longship to hunt down the septons and septa that had taken refuge among the islands. After being blessed by a Drowned Man, Rowan took to his new vocation with a zeal and vigor of a righteous man and began to hunt down those members of Seven. Rowan has spent the last two to three years sailing from island to island going and purging town after town of not just the septons but those who express devout faith in the Seven.

A Song Of Ice And Fire : The Swords And Stars

@Ezekiel thanks I appreciate that, I am going to add info to Rowan's backstory that ties him to the Tyrell's assault on the pirate king

A Song Of Ice And Fire : The Swords And Stars

We Do Not Sow

House Greyjoy

We Do Not Sow

House Description:
The Iron Islands rise from the stormy seas in the midst of Ironman’s Bay, west of the Neck. This desolate archipelago consists of the isles of Pyke, Old Wyk, Great Wyk, Harlaw, Orkmont, Saltcliffe, Blacktyde, and dozens of smaller crags and islets, some so tiny that they can barely host a single village. Life is hard on the Iron Islands, and the brutal conditions have given rise to a grim fatalism among the fierce, hardy folk who have dwelt on the isles for millennia. The Ironmen are as hard and cold as their homeland, and their wrath is as deep and fierce as the sea they love.

The rest of Westeros dismisses the Iron Islands as an insignificant backwater of the Seven Kingdoms. The islands are all rocky and barren, the soil is thin, and the weather is harsh to extremes rarely found elsewhere in Westeros. Damp, cold, and wind are ever present; only the interior of Great Wyk, largest of the islands, has places out of sound or sight of the sea. The thralls and common folk of the Iron Islands spend their lives in dismal toil, scraping a living from the poor soil, wrestling with the sea and the creatures in it, or tunneling under the earth as they pull their fortune from its depths.

Aside from the sea’s bounty, which is little enough, the rocky crags of the Iron Islands are blessed with one other meager source of wealth. Many of the isles, particularly Harlaw, boast deposits of metals, including lead, tin, and the iron that gives the isles their name. These ores are the only resource of note that the Iron Islands export to Westeros and the rest of the world. Trade, however, has never been a great concern to the Ironmen. They take to the seas, living as raiders and reavers. For thousands of years, the people of the Iron Islands have taken what they need to survive, letting the rest of the world thrive as best it may.

The origins of the Ironmen are lost to the mists of time. They claim descent from the Grey King, the mighty mariner of the Age of Heroes. The Grey King’s people have always been people of the sea, revering the Drowned God and plying the oceans on swift longships. They have no patience for farming, fishing, or mining (as the Greyjoy words say, “We Do Not Sow”) — such lesser work is left to the thralls taken in raids.

For the folk of the Iron Islands, the only true occupation is war. For countless centuries, all the coastlands of Westeros have lived in fear of the raiding longships of the Ironmen. At various times, bold High Kings of the Isles have conquered large sections of Westeros, while intrepid captains have sailed to Asshai and beyond. With the coming of Aegon Targaryen, the Iron Islands were brought under the sway of the Iron Throne. Septs, maesters, and other trappings of the green lands came to the isles, but the Ironmen still remembered the Old Way, and their hearts yearned for its return.

Cleverness, skill at arms, and persistence are all treasured traits to the Ironmen. They live in contempt of the weaklings of the “green lands” (their name for the mainland of Westeros), their gods, and their laws. Ship captains and warriors are revered among them; it is said that every captain is a king on his or her deck, and every king must be a captain. Captains are expected to raid, gaining wealth for their crews through plunder and pillage.

Indeed, true Ironmen only value things “bought with iron” (won by force of arms in combat), and have only scorn for those who clothe themselves in finery bought with gold. Among the Ironmen, women are usually relegated to secondary roles in society. There are, however, some women who have proven themselves in combat and become ship captains. Some say the salt and sea temper them, giving them the appetites and strength of men.

Life is short on the Iron Islands, and the harsh climate has brea harsh outlook in the Ironmen. Even their sports are brutal: most feasts see at least one “finger dance,” a game where one or more drunken warriors hurl short-hafted axes at each other. Players must either catch the axes or leap over them. The game draws its name from the fact that most dances end when one player loses some of his or her fingers. Death and pain are the expected results of a life spent reaving, and dying well in battle is seen as far better than a life of comfort.

Recent History:

It has been four years since Goren Greyjoy has quelled the ill-fated rebellion of the self proclaimed, Lodos the Twice-Drowned. As reward for his service to the throne he was given the authority to root out the septons and septas of the Faith of the Seven and return the Iron Islands back to the worship of the Drowned God. Tensions across the Isles are high as those who chose to serve the Seven are now hunted down and put to the sword as common criminals. Those religious fanatics on both sides are poised to instigate an all out war threatening to tear the Iron Islands asunder.

Family Members:

• Lord Reaper Goren Greyjoy
  Lord of the Iron Islands. He quelled the rebellion of Lodos the Twice Drowned and is now leading the purging of the Islands of the Faith of the Seven in an attempt to gain favor with the Drowned God. There are whispers that is secretly in the pocket of the Targaryen’s but none dare speak this in his presence.
• Rowan Greyjoy
  Goren’s son and commander of his fathers inquisition. Rowan lives for his fathers approval and follows his commands down to the letter in the hopes to keep his father’s shifting favor. He commands his own ship and is currently sailing from island to island in search of septons and septas to paint the head of his axe.
• Baelin Greyjoy
  Second son of Goren and younger brother to Rowan. Baelin is still within his formative teaching years and is still green in most areas of Ironborn life. He looks up to his brother and wants to be just like him some day. He can be found most days with a wooden sword galavanting up and down the halls of the castle harassing the guards in mock combat.
• Taeryth Greyjoy
  Twin sister to Baelin and daughter of Goren. She is the apple of all who beholds her eye. In the world of harsh and gray that is the Iron Islands she is a ray of sunshine and one of the prides of Goren’s life. She is approaching an appropriate age to marry and the anticipation of the event is on everyone’s mind.

---

Rowan Greyjoy

Age: 25 (16 AC)

Appearance:
Rowan is a rather handsome looking man, his jet black hair normally kept tied behind his head as he sails and during his conquests; his face is covered in scruff that is dangerously close to becoming a full beard which annoys him greatly. He is usually always seen in light-weight practical armor adorned with his family’s crest which is perfectly suited for his style of medium to long ranged combat. When he is not engaged in combat related activities he is seen in typical sailors attire; loose fitting sailcloth shirt, hard leather boots and tighter knit trousers. Rowan is never seen without his quiver and bow, a strong blackened wood from the mainland that he has learned with deadly precision. A dull colored ax hangs at his hip that he is ready to use at a moments notice.

Description & biography:
Rowan’s life has been dedicated to the Ironborn lifestyle, from the time that he was old enough to hold a sword he was taught how to be the greatest heir to the Seastone Chair. On his twenty-first name day, Rowan was joining his father in crushing the foolish rebellion of Lodos the Twice Drowned taking charge of a longboat filled to the brim with ironborn ready to lay waste to the enemies of House Greyjoy. As the ship docked at Great Wyk, Rowan led the charge headfirst into the fray and would eventually break the enemy lines and bring his father several members of the rebellion to be given to the Drowned God. Goren, being well pleased with his now eldest son, brought him with him when he went before King Aenys I Targaryen.

Sometime after the ill-fated rebellion on the Iron Islands, Rowan's father received a raven calling for Greyjoy longships in a Tyrell campaign, a courtesy between Great Houses. The promise of riches and supplies fueled Rowan to petition his father, to allow him to take his men and two other longships of seasoned fighters and sail into battle for the Ardent Maiden. The fresh from combat ironborn sailed posthaste to the Basilisk Isles and met this so called "King" in open water while his men were focused on the Tyrell assualt. The fight was glorious and the efficacy of Iron Island reavers was something to behold. Rowan navigated his men in targeted strikes causing chaos from the flanks while the Ardent Maiden took a hold from the front. After the battle won, and business concluded, Rowan acknowledged Vittoria Tyrell as a fighter and sailed back home with his loot brimming his three longships.

As a gift for his service, Aenys granted Goren any wish that was his to give and he would grant it, thus began Goren’s crusade to drive out the Faith of the Seven from the Iron Islands. On the trip back Goren entrusted Rowan to lead this drive, giving him command of his own detachment and longship to hunt down the septons and septa that had taken refuge among the islands. After being blessed by a Drowned Man, Rowan took to his new vocation with a zeal and vigor of a righteous man and began to hunt down those members of Seven. Rowan has spent the last two to three years sailing from island to island going and purging town after town of not just the septons but those who express devout faith in the Seven.