*Pours out some coffee*
Morning/afternoon peeps. Thanks, that's exactly what I need, Heroes. Need caffeine to keep me awake; haven't slept well in 4 days T_T. Very much enjoyed reading fantasyfan's post after a lecture/seminar that had me teetering on the edge of consciousness. At least I didn't lose my clothes heheh.
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Updated my CS with an 'Other Details' section if anyone's interested. All this talk of fish has made me hungry :D
Good day y'all :). Hope everyone's having a good day so far. I've just posted my first IC post, I hope you enjoy it half as much as I've enjoyed reading the others. Don't think I've ever been so excited for roleplaying and reading posts before ^_^.
YES PLEASE! Wish my breakfasts were as exciting as this, I'm going through a filthy phase of living off noodles. Student life, living the dream. I feel like a hippo self-indulgently wallowing in muck.
May I have a badge please :D. My computer skills are lacking and I doubt I could even open the program without throwing my laptop against the wall after hours of searching Yahoo answers for answers to simple questions. Sometimes I feel like my life is dictated by Google -_-'. I'll send you the picture and specifics, if I can think of any.
PS. Is it just me that wants to give Adam a big fat hug? Golem love <3
Lillian Thorne said
Good Morning all! I have a nice stack of Chocolate pancakes studded with dark cherries and some homemade cherry preserves for breakfast this morning. Anyone want some? I'm hoping to power through the IC this morning and maybe start a post this afternoon. If anyone wants a badge from me just PM me the image and anything you want done. .
YES PLEASE! Wish my breakfasts were as exciting as this, I'm going through a filthy phase of living off noodles. Student life, living the dream. I feel like a hippo self-indulgently wallowing in muck.
May I have a badge please :D. My computer skills are lacking and I doubt I could even open the program without throwing my laptop against the wall after hours of searching Yahoo answers for answers to simple questions. Sometimes I feel like my life is dictated by Google -_-'. I'll send you the picture and specifics, if I can think of any.
PS. Is it just me that wants to give Adam a big fat hug? Golem love <3
Raleigh gazed out to sea, mind as dark as the clouds. It was mirrored too in the water, grey and unsettled, sloshing against the ferry’s hull. Quite a day it was shaping out to be. It would rain soon.
Raleigh headed back into the lounge. He settled back into the booth he had occupied and took a sip of scotch. As he heard an Irishman once say, this’ll put a fire in ye belly. Raleigh hadn’t touched a drop of it in forty years but today it appealed to him. Atticus Mac Cléirich. The name fanned the flames in his stomach. Both evoked painful memories.
It wasn’t like Raleigh to feel bitter. He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger and rubbed. Why was he here? What did that incubus want of him now, after so many years and all that had transpired? It was all so conflicted. Whatever the nature of his summons, Raleigh deduced it was important and urgent. Inquisitive, Raleigh had obliged. Rain trickled down the window.
The Irish Sea was in a mood this morning. It was clear skies when the ship departed Liverpool at 10:00. Such was British weather, Raleigh thought to himself, a wild mistress. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. It was good to have been back home, he supposed.
Work had taken him abroad for longer than anticipated, five years longer. What had originally been a relatively simple job in the Amazon basin developed into something much more. The scale of deforestation was alarming and someone of his particular skillset was urgently required. Collecting samples and specimens, blessing trees, calming forest spirits, securing sanctuaries, Raleigh’s work was cut out for him. There was no time for creature comforts.
He had been enjoying a little time off when Atticus’ letter had struck him, smack in the face as he was about to putt on the ninth green. Raleigh couldn’t help feeling it was deliberate; outwardly it must have been amusing to see a man fall sideways into a sandy bunker and roll several feet downhill. He read the message in between sputtering fits. No rest for the wicked.
Vacation over, Raleigh terminated his golf session, gathered some belongings and set off for the Liverpool ferry port. Teleportation or the airplane would’ve been quicker and easier, but Raleigh felt a good drive would soothe his nerves and bring some clarity. The Irish countryside would be nice too.
Raleigh took another long sip of scotch. He watched as fingers of water ran down the window. It had been almost thirty years since he had last seen Atticus. Raleigh had had a brief stint at the Boston branch as several jobs had cropped up there that piqued his interest. It was there he met the then-director of operations Atticus Mac Cléirich. He was a likeable chap and Raleigh considered him a good friend. He had a magnificent beard as Raleigh recalled. The calamity that befell them all but severed their bonds. Raleigh stared into the dwindling whiskey. A woman’s face flashed in the amber, and then was gone. He closed his eyes and sighed.
“We will shortly be arriving in… Dublin,” an automated voice came over the intercom, alerting drivers to get back to their cars. Raleigh necked the remaining liquor, slammed the glass on the table, and got up, readjusting his fitted charcoal blazer. The Mercedes smelt of pinecones and cedarwood, reminding Raleigh of home. Soon the ferry arrived in port, allowing the passengers to disembark. Raleigh drove southwards, windscreen wipers swiping away the downpour.
Pebbles crunched underfoot as Raleigh neared the fabled Ardgroom Stone Circle. He saw eight figures dotted around the monoliths. Looks quite the party, he mused. Step by step nearer, Raleigh felt an intensifying weight deep down in his gut and a feeling that he was making a grievous mistake. It was too late to back out now. A cold breeze whistled by, soft and solemn. He walked into the centre.
“Hello, Atticus.”
Good morning, and carrot muffins?! That sounds interesting, yes please. =]
I'm glad you like my character concept Hellis and a dryad-druid collab sounds awesome. ^_^ Can't wait to get started with all these interesting and varied characters.
I'm glad you like my character concept Hellis and a dryad-druid collab sounds awesome. ^_^ Can't wait to get started with all these interesting and varied characters.
Name: Raleigh Oakwood
Gender: Male
Type: Dryad [part human, part deer “centaur”; cervitaur]
Appearance:
Raleigh can alternate between two forms: human and hybrid. In the presence of humans, Raleigh appears as a man in his mid-thirties stood at 6ft 2in with pale complexion, stark against his dark red hair and neat stubble. His eyes are grey in colour, portraying a depth and steeliness mirrored in his typical cool countenance. Raleigh has a masculine frame with broad shoulders and a well-toned musculature honed from gym exercise. Tattooed along his arms and across his chest are a variety of Celtic runes usually hidden beneath crisp smart-casual attire as is Raleigh’s style, always in mind of contemporary fashion and portraying a particular professionalism.
His other form is that of a part human, part deer “centaur”, with the head, arms, and trunk of a man and the body, ears and legs of a red deer. Raleigh stands at an impressive 9ft 1in, two feet of which from the set of grand, branched, bone antlers protruding vertically from his skull. These do not shed seasonally unlike in typical deer but do not grow beyond two feet; slow regeneration does occur if severed. Raleigh’s pupils also change from circular to rectangular and lose their grey pigmentation. His ears become deerlike and can swivel 90 degrees around.
Age: Appears mid-thirties but in reality is approximately 2,500 years old, the precise age unknown
Powers/Traits: Raleigh is fluent in Celtic and English and well versed in Germanic and proto-Germanic dialects. He is well read with a strong academic background and has specialist knowledge in the natural sciences, especially pertaining to botany and zoology. His mind is sharp and logical, helping in difficult situations and for problem solving as his work often requires. With centuries of martial experience, Raleigh is a dab hand in combat, aided by his ability to read the flow of one’s spirit to bolster his reflexes.
Magically, Raleigh can converse with tree and animal spirits psychically and bless creatures on the verge of death with sanctity in the afterlife or with enlightened growth, developing saplings or encouraging recovery at an accelerated rate. Raleigh is spiritually bound to his tree and any damage done to it equally affects him. He is unaffected by the ageing process and can regenerate lost limbs if needed. He has shown insusceptibility towards disease thus far but can be damaged and quite probably killed through physical harm.
In his dryad form, Raleigh’s physical abilities are enhanced. Sight, smell and hearing all become highly attuned and his bestial lower half allow him to release a great amount of energy, able to run at incredible speeds for extended periods.
Personality-wise, Raleigh is a kind soul, expressing gentility and peace through supernatural charisma. He is fiercely loyal to those he calls friends and when something important to him is endangered then he becomes a formidable warrior fuelled by anger. Raleigh has adopted several human traits over the years, such as a well-rounded sense of humour and a penchant for adventure and the mysterious unknown. However, Raleigh does sometimes feel conflicted between man and nature, the consequence of his hybrid form, and struggles at times to balance the two and see clarity.
Background[/b]: Raleigh came into existence in the hollow of a great oak tree in the heart of a vast deciduous forest in what is now called England. It is said scores of faeries and creatures of the forest attended his birth, for the tree had shed its leaves early that year, heralding an imminent and significant event. Raleigh was the spirit of the tree, a dryad, materialised, unique among his brethren who stayed bound to their oaks. He fashioned the name Cernunnos for himself back then, or the “horned god” as the humans came to call him, and was born a fully-formed half human, half deer beast.
Cernunnos had a great affinity with the forest and its lifeforms, propagating nature and fruitfulness as he came to represent. At first he was antagonistic towards the humans, stealing the wood and meat from the forest without replanting the felled trees or blessing the animals they slew, and slew them in turn, antlers soon reddened with their lifeblood. Cernunnos was a fierce and loyal protector of the forest, seeing it as his purpose as the outwards manifest of the forest’s grandest tree.
In time however, Cernunnos came to sympathise with the humans and their alien ways, deeming their abominable actions the result of ignorance rather than malice. Given he too was part human, Cernunnos thought himself a bridge between the humans and the natural world. After decades of observation, Cernunnos developed the ability to transform from his deerlike body into a pure human form. One day he emerged from the forest and metamorphosed before a human settlement, beckoning them towards the forest. Some followed and in a clearing Cernunnos drew in the soil pictures of man’s sins for them to see. His visitors saw the errors of their ways and decided to come again to the clearing at regular intervals to learn more from and worship Cernunnos whom they idolised.
Centuries passed in peace, the humans increasing in number to see Cernunnos and himself learning the ways of the humans, learning their Celtic language, the nature of the hunt, farming and war. They soon grew a part of Cernunnos and slowly he was becoming more and more distant from the forest. Eventually, Cernunnos came to reside in a human dwelling, opting more those days for his human form. He had left the forest unprotected.
The Romans came with steel and fire. Cernunnos fought alongside his human companions for their homeland but their numbers and discipline were overpowering, forced them to retreat further and further north. Cernunnos’ forest was put to the torch and as he saw the smoke on the horizon he knew what was happening and was swallowed up by guilt over forsaking his home and duty. Reverting to dryad form, Cernunnos galloped headlong for the forest, charging through Roman scouts as he passed, fear and anger surging through his veins. He stormed through the smoke and leapt over fiery trees on his singular path towards his tree. When he arrived, it was too late. The tree caught alight as he arrived, searing through every cell of his body. Cernunnos cried out in agony as he attempted to quell the flames in vain. Upon the forest floor he found an acorn and in frenzied desperation fled the burning forest with it in hand. Running to safety, Cernunnos made a hole in the ground for the acorn and closed his eyes. Cernunnos imparted his spirit into the acorn, his body disintegrating in the wind to oblivion. He was bound to the acorn and for centuries therein he remained as the acorn slowly grew into a great oak tree like its mother tree before it.
In 1803, Cernunnos was reborn in physical form. He adopted the name Raleigh for his new life and had picked up scraps of English from overhearing it over the centuries. The searing agony he had felt in his soul for hundreds of years was all but gone now and he felt free and atoned of his sins against nature. Like at his first birth, Raleigh’s second was attended, though not by woodland creatures and spirits but by three men. They introduced themselves as operatives of the Bain & Hoyle Investigation and Recovery Company and made Raleigh a proposition, a new purpose for his life. In return, they would ensure the protection of his tree, sealed away from the outside world and mortal eyes by a magic field. Raleigh accepted.
Raleigh refined his English and learnt all he could of the natural sciences, attending Oxford university to further this goal. Raleigh found purpose in the natural world as he had been harshly and painfully reminded and took on work for the company in anything and everything relating to the natural, artifacts and organisms. The thrill of the hunt instilled in him by the Celts was revived and Raleigh relishes in his work, finally finding order in the world.
Other Details:
- Dryads are oak tree spirits given physical form by a tree reaching such an advanced age that its spirit must regenerate, and in so doing is reborn outside the tree, like a fruit.
- Although in Greek mythology dryads are nymphs of oak trees, in reality these nymphs simply refer to themselves as tree nymphs or oak tree nymphs, and so Raleigh adopted the term 'dryad' for his unique entity.
- Raleigh is the only dryad to his knowledge and is unique among tree spirits in that he is male, not a nymph. It is unknown whether his tree's form prior to regeneration was female.
- The trees to which Raleigh was and is now bound are a unique species among oak trees, the 'giant oak' or Quercus giganteum, identified by Rayleigh. The giant oak is able to live to an indeterminable age and grows to a staggering 80m in height, becoming the second largest tree species classified in the world. The giant oak reaches maturity after approximately 1,750 years after germination, though this is based on a singular specimen. Its nut has only been known to grow once.
- Raleigh's ability to communicate with other tree spirits operate by him "seeing" inside a tree to its spirit which appears like a bright white humanoid and can communicate with it psychically. A tree spirit only becomes active once its tree reaches maturity. If it is still developing, the spirit appears like an embryo, curled up in the fetal position.
Gender: Male
Type: Dryad [part human, part deer “centaur”; cervitaur]
Appearance:
Raleigh can alternate between two forms: human and hybrid. In the presence of humans, Raleigh appears as a man in his mid-thirties stood at 6ft 2in with pale complexion, stark against his dark red hair and neat stubble. His eyes are grey in colour, portraying a depth and steeliness mirrored in his typical cool countenance. Raleigh has a masculine frame with broad shoulders and a well-toned musculature honed from gym exercise. Tattooed along his arms and across his chest are a variety of Celtic runes usually hidden beneath crisp smart-casual attire as is Raleigh’s style, always in mind of contemporary fashion and portraying a particular professionalism.
His other form is that of a part human, part deer “centaur”, with the head, arms, and trunk of a man and the body, ears and legs of a red deer. Raleigh stands at an impressive 9ft 1in, two feet of which from the set of grand, branched, bone antlers protruding vertically from his skull. These do not shed seasonally unlike in typical deer but do not grow beyond two feet; slow regeneration does occur if severed. Raleigh’s pupils also change from circular to rectangular and lose their grey pigmentation. His ears become deerlike and can swivel 90 degrees around.
Age: Appears mid-thirties but in reality is approximately 2,500 years old, the precise age unknown
Powers/Traits: Raleigh is fluent in Celtic and English and well versed in Germanic and proto-Germanic dialects. He is well read with a strong academic background and has specialist knowledge in the natural sciences, especially pertaining to botany and zoology. His mind is sharp and logical, helping in difficult situations and for problem solving as his work often requires. With centuries of martial experience, Raleigh is a dab hand in combat, aided by his ability to read the flow of one’s spirit to bolster his reflexes.
Magically, Raleigh can converse with tree and animal spirits psychically and bless creatures on the verge of death with sanctity in the afterlife or with enlightened growth, developing saplings or encouraging recovery at an accelerated rate. Raleigh is spiritually bound to his tree and any damage done to it equally affects him. He is unaffected by the ageing process and can regenerate lost limbs if needed. He has shown insusceptibility towards disease thus far but can be damaged and quite probably killed through physical harm.
In his dryad form, Raleigh’s physical abilities are enhanced. Sight, smell and hearing all become highly attuned and his bestial lower half allow him to release a great amount of energy, able to run at incredible speeds for extended periods.
Personality-wise, Raleigh is a kind soul, expressing gentility and peace through supernatural charisma. He is fiercely loyal to those he calls friends and when something important to him is endangered then he becomes a formidable warrior fuelled by anger. Raleigh has adopted several human traits over the years, such as a well-rounded sense of humour and a penchant for adventure and the mysterious unknown. However, Raleigh does sometimes feel conflicted between man and nature, the consequence of his hybrid form, and struggles at times to balance the two and see clarity.
Background[/b]: Raleigh came into existence in the hollow of a great oak tree in the heart of a vast deciduous forest in what is now called England. It is said scores of faeries and creatures of the forest attended his birth, for the tree had shed its leaves early that year, heralding an imminent and significant event. Raleigh was the spirit of the tree, a dryad, materialised, unique among his brethren who stayed bound to their oaks. He fashioned the name Cernunnos for himself back then, or the “horned god” as the humans came to call him, and was born a fully-formed half human, half deer beast.
Cernunnos had a great affinity with the forest and its lifeforms, propagating nature and fruitfulness as he came to represent. At first he was antagonistic towards the humans, stealing the wood and meat from the forest without replanting the felled trees or blessing the animals they slew, and slew them in turn, antlers soon reddened with their lifeblood. Cernunnos was a fierce and loyal protector of the forest, seeing it as his purpose as the outwards manifest of the forest’s grandest tree.
In time however, Cernunnos came to sympathise with the humans and their alien ways, deeming their abominable actions the result of ignorance rather than malice. Given he too was part human, Cernunnos thought himself a bridge between the humans and the natural world. After decades of observation, Cernunnos developed the ability to transform from his deerlike body into a pure human form. One day he emerged from the forest and metamorphosed before a human settlement, beckoning them towards the forest. Some followed and in a clearing Cernunnos drew in the soil pictures of man’s sins for them to see. His visitors saw the errors of their ways and decided to come again to the clearing at regular intervals to learn more from and worship Cernunnos whom they idolised.
Centuries passed in peace, the humans increasing in number to see Cernunnos and himself learning the ways of the humans, learning their Celtic language, the nature of the hunt, farming and war. They soon grew a part of Cernunnos and slowly he was becoming more and more distant from the forest. Eventually, Cernunnos came to reside in a human dwelling, opting more those days for his human form. He had left the forest unprotected.
The Romans came with steel and fire. Cernunnos fought alongside his human companions for their homeland but their numbers and discipline were overpowering, forced them to retreat further and further north. Cernunnos’ forest was put to the torch and as he saw the smoke on the horizon he knew what was happening and was swallowed up by guilt over forsaking his home and duty. Reverting to dryad form, Cernunnos galloped headlong for the forest, charging through Roman scouts as he passed, fear and anger surging through his veins. He stormed through the smoke and leapt over fiery trees on his singular path towards his tree. When he arrived, it was too late. The tree caught alight as he arrived, searing through every cell of his body. Cernunnos cried out in agony as he attempted to quell the flames in vain. Upon the forest floor he found an acorn and in frenzied desperation fled the burning forest with it in hand. Running to safety, Cernunnos made a hole in the ground for the acorn and closed his eyes. Cernunnos imparted his spirit into the acorn, his body disintegrating in the wind to oblivion. He was bound to the acorn and for centuries therein he remained as the acorn slowly grew into a great oak tree like its mother tree before it.
In 1803, Cernunnos was reborn in physical form. He adopted the name Raleigh for his new life and had picked up scraps of English from overhearing it over the centuries. The searing agony he had felt in his soul for hundreds of years was all but gone now and he felt free and atoned of his sins against nature. Like at his first birth, Raleigh’s second was attended, though not by woodland creatures and spirits but by three men. They introduced themselves as operatives of the Bain & Hoyle Investigation and Recovery Company and made Raleigh a proposition, a new purpose for his life. In return, they would ensure the protection of his tree, sealed away from the outside world and mortal eyes by a magic field. Raleigh accepted.
Raleigh refined his English and learnt all he could of the natural sciences, attending Oxford university to further this goal. Raleigh found purpose in the natural world as he had been harshly and painfully reminded and took on work for the company in anything and everything relating to the natural, artifacts and organisms. The thrill of the hunt instilled in him by the Celts was revived and Raleigh relishes in his work, finally finding order in the world.
Other Details:
- Dryads are oak tree spirits given physical form by a tree reaching such an advanced age that its spirit must regenerate, and in so doing is reborn outside the tree, like a fruit.
- Although in Greek mythology dryads are nymphs of oak trees, in reality these nymphs simply refer to themselves as tree nymphs or oak tree nymphs, and so Raleigh adopted the term 'dryad' for his unique entity.
- Raleigh is the only dryad to his knowledge and is unique among tree spirits in that he is male, not a nymph. It is unknown whether his tree's form prior to regeneration was female.
- The trees to which Raleigh was and is now bound are a unique species among oak trees, the 'giant oak' or Quercus giganteum, identified by Rayleigh. The giant oak is able to live to an indeterminable age and grows to a staggering 80m in height, becoming the second largest tree species classified in the world. The giant oak reaches maturity after approximately 1,750 years after germination, though this is based on a singular specimen. Its nut has only been known to grow once.
- Raleigh's ability to communicate with other tree spirits operate by him "seeing" inside a tree to its spirit which appears like a bright white humanoid and can communicate with it psychically. A tree spirit only becomes active once its tree reaches maturity. If it is still developing, the spirit appears like an embryo, curled up in the fetal position.
Could I squeeze in too please :D Really interested in the concept of this RP and the caliber of the group forming. Got an idea for a shapeshifter-type character I'm drafting a CS for.
Lord Alyn climbed the grassy verge to witness the first atrocity of the war. The smells of burnt flesh and wood smoke clung to his nostrils. It had been decades since he had seen something like this and it brought back painful memories of the last war he had fought in. The Dance of the Dragons felt like yesterday, perhaps because it still frequently pervaded his dreams. Yet he had been so young then, so ambitious, so bold. The civil war changed him from boy to man. Alyn had seen his fill of suffering and death but war was part of life and vital to prove one’s self and their house. House Velaryon would fight with honour for the Crown whatever the cost. It was their duty both as subjects and as a testament to generations old bonds and loyalty to the Targaryens.
Disgusted, Alyn turned away to face his son Jace, placing his hand on his shoulder. “Welcome to war, son,” he sighed, walking back in the direction of the Velaryon camp. Jace remained, drinking in the spectacle and atmosphere. It was just how he had imagined it, the beginning of war. Ashamedly, the eyesore had rather the adverse effect than intended and enthralled the lord’s son and heir. He was as green as they come and war was still a fantastical event to his mind where valiant knights would collide and test their resolve and loyalty to their causes. Sure, he had fought often in tourney, engaged pirates and smugglers off the Blackwater Bay, tasted blood on his sword, but had never been on a battlefield, never witnessed a sea of blood and iron and death. Pumped up with adrenaline, Jace admitted the scene to memory and turned back to join his father at the encampment.
Soldiers from various houses bent their heads as Alyn passed. He acknowledged them with a weary hand yet his face betrayed no sincerity. The ride from King’s Landing had been long and exhausting and Alyn had slept poorly. The Velaryons had had the privilege of travelling down with the Targaryen host, far outnumbering the pathetic Velaryon army. The Velaryons were naval specialists and had little to offer in terms of ground units. Their worth would be measured along the sea and rivers and, if it came to it, in all-out naval warfare. On the road down, Alyn had been offered admiralty by the King and assigned a special task, which he gratefully accepted. His mission was at the same time a huge responsibility and a golden opportunity to reap glory and reward. Alyn would succeed.
Alyn soon approached camp, lavish with sea green and silver colours. More bannermen knelt to his presence which he swatted away as he headed towards the main tent reserved for family members. Inside sat his daughter combing her long cascade of silver hair, surprising given the early hour and no doubt her exhaustion, in her feminine delicacy, from the lengthy journey. Lunaerys smiled as her father entered, resplendent in her natural beauty.
“Good morning, father. What occupied you at such an early hour?” Her violet eyes beamed warmly at his, the image of ancient Valyria.
“The King wished us see him. Do not worry yourself, my Lunaerys.” He did not see the need to tell Lunaerys the truth, not wanting to frighten his fragile young daughter. Aryn pulled off his boots in preparation to redress. He had clothed in haste given the immediacy of the message from Viserys.
“Oh? Did His Highness mention me?” Her eyes burned into him with fervent intensity.
“Ah, I’m afraid not, my love. Don’t fret; there’s still plenty of time for that.”
The sole reason Lunaerys had come was to win the affections of the King. Other proposals would come in abundance; she was a great beauty and she well knew it. To become not just royalty but the queen of all Westeros was for Lunaerys a singular dream she obsessed over. She had flaunted and flirted with King Daeron from the moment they met on the road, taking note of every little thing she could glean from him in terms of temperament, body language and interests. Lunaerys knew the time she had left to charm him was wearing thin and every minute spent in his presence increased her chances of infatuating him.
She smiled, deceiving her feelings. “Yes. Perhaps our early presence in Summerhall will create an opportunity to talk again.” Yesterday’s meeting in the castle had been invaluable to Lunaerys’ game, allowing her to prepare for hours beforehand and dress in all her finery, more difficult when she was on the move. She had worn her favourite sea green dress with straps made to look like dried kelp and a silver waist belt to showboat her petite figure. It had the effect she desired, attracting much male attention in the hall. The Velaryons had seated early, well before the other Crownlands houses around them. Lunaerys’ father had opted for a grand silver doublet fastened with seahorse-shaped buttons and her brother a turquoise coloured one. They had conversed with many of those gathered, Lunaerys often pushed to blush on cue, including the King and the Targaryen royalty. Everything had gone to plan thus far and the endgame was approaching.
“Good idea. I’ll go get ready.”
Jace flung open the tarpaulin sealing the atrium to join his family. His eyes wandered to his sister who looked in all her freshness despite the hour. His gaze momentarily drifted from her face to her supple breasts and quickly darted away, ashamed of his impure thoughts. He had had plenty of women fall over him, lords make marital offers for their daughters, but they all paled in comparison to his sister. Jace knew his feelings were not reciprocated, Lunaerys devoted to finding a Targaryen husband. She would never be his, and it broke his heart.
“Morning, sister. Sleep well?” He kept up the façade of cheeriness. Seeing Lunaerys swoon over the young king since King’s Landing was soul-destroying and made a rage burn inside him. Jace did not begrudge King Daeron, he was as loyal as the noblest of the Kingsguard, but envied him deeply, longing to be in his shoes. He would fight and command with honour, shunting thoughts of his sister to the back of his mind. The battlefield was no place for women.
“Yes thank you. We are getting ready to go to Summerhall. You should redress.”
“Right.”
Within a half hour, the party had set off, escorted by a few household guards. They passed the camps of Celtigar and Darklyn, Staunton and Bar Emmon, flags billowing in the wind. The rising sun reflected in the morning’s dew, sparkling like tiny diamonds befitting a royal encampment. Alyn and Jaces’ minds were on war, mulling over battle details and strategies. Lunaerys on the other hand thought of King Daeron and how to win his affections. They soon arrived at Summerhall, a magnificent edifice of modern architecture. “House Velaryon,” spoke Lord Alyn to the door guard, seeing no need for further explanation. They were permitted and entered, a fresh breeze playing at their hair.
Disgusted, Alyn turned away to face his son Jace, placing his hand on his shoulder. “Welcome to war, son,” he sighed, walking back in the direction of the Velaryon camp. Jace remained, drinking in the spectacle and atmosphere. It was just how he had imagined it, the beginning of war. Ashamedly, the eyesore had rather the adverse effect than intended and enthralled the lord’s son and heir. He was as green as they come and war was still a fantastical event to his mind where valiant knights would collide and test their resolve and loyalty to their causes. Sure, he had fought often in tourney, engaged pirates and smugglers off the Blackwater Bay, tasted blood on his sword, but had never been on a battlefield, never witnessed a sea of blood and iron and death. Pumped up with adrenaline, Jace admitted the scene to memory and turned back to join his father at the encampment.
Soldiers from various houses bent their heads as Alyn passed. He acknowledged them with a weary hand yet his face betrayed no sincerity. The ride from King’s Landing had been long and exhausting and Alyn had slept poorly. The Velaryons had had the privilege of travelling down with the Targaryen host, far outnumbering the pathetic Velaryon army. The Velaryons were naval specialists and had little to offer in terms of ground units. Their worth would be measured along the sea and rivers and, if it came to it, in all-out naval warfare. On the road down, Alyn had been offered admiralty by the King and assigned a special task, which he gratefully accepted. His mission was at the same time a huge responsibility and a golden opportunity to reap glory and reward. Alyn would succeed.
Alyn soon approached camp, lavish with sea green and silver colours. More bannermen knelt to his presence which he swatted away as he headed towards the main tent reserved for family members. Inside sat his daughter combing her long cascade of silver hair, surprising given the early hour and no doubt her exhaustion, in her feminine delicacy, from the lengthy journey. Lunaerys smiled as her father entered, resplendent in her natural beauty.
“Good morning, father. What occupied you at such an early hour?” Her violet eyes beamed warmly at his, the image of ancient Valyria.
“The King wished us see him. Do not worry yourself, my Lunaerys.” He did not see the need to tell Lunaerys the truth, not wanting to frighten his fragile young daughter. Aryn pulled off his boots in preparation to redress. He had clothed in haste given the immediacy of the message from Viserys.
“Oh? Did His Highness mention me?” Her eyes burned into him with fervent intensity.
“Ah, I’m afraid not, my love. Don’t fret; there’s still plenty of time for that.”
The sole reason Lunaerys had come was to win the affections of the King. Other proposals would come in abundance; she was a great beauty and she well knew it. To become not just royalty but the queen of all Westeros was for Lunaerys a singular dream she obsessed over. She had flaunted and flirted with King Daeron from the moment they met on the road, taking note of every little thing she could glean from him in terms of temperament, body language and interests. Lunaerys knew the time she had left to charm him was wearing thin and every minute spent in his presence increased her chances of infatuating him.
She smiled, deceiving her feelings. “Yes. Perhaps our early presence in Summerhall will create an opportunity to talk again.” Yesterday’s meeting in the castle had been invaluable to Lunaerys’ game, allowing her to prepare for hours beforehand and dress in all her finery, more difficult when she was on the move. She had worn her favourite sea green dress with straps made to look like dried kelp and a silver waist belt to showboat her petite figure. It had the effect she desired, attracting much male attention in the hall. The Velaryons had seated early, well before the other Crownlands houses around them. Lunaerys’ father had opted for a grand silver doublet fastened with seahorse-shaped buttons and her brother a turquoise coloured one. They had conversed with many of those gathered, Lunaerys often pushed to blush on cue, including the King and the Targaryen royalty. Everything had gone to plan thus far and the endgame was approaching.
“Good idea. I’ll go get ready.”
Jace flung open the tarpaulin sealing the atrium to join his family. His eyes wandered to his sister who looked in all her freshness despite the hour. His gaze momentarily drifted from her face to her supple breasts and quickly darted away, ashamed of his impure thoughts. He had had plenty of women fall over him, lords make marital offers for their daughters, but they all paled in comparison to his sister. Jace knew his feelings were not reciprocated, Lunaerys devoted to finding a Targaryen husband. She would never be his, and it broke his heart.
“Morning, sister. Sleep well?” He kept up the façade of cheeriness. Seeing Lunaerys swoon over the young king since King’s Landing was soul-destroying and made a rage burn inside him. Jace did not begrudge King Daeron, he was as loyal as the noblest of the Kingsguard, but envied him deeply, longing to be in his shoes. He would fight and command with honour, shunting thoughts of his sister to the back of his mind. The battlefield was no place for women.
“Yes thank you. We are getting ready to go to Summerhall. You should redress.”
“Right.”
Within a half hour, the party had set off, escorted by a few household guards. They passed the camps of Celtigar and Darklyn, Staunton and Bar Emmon, flags billowing in the wind. The rising sun reflected in the morning’s dew, sparkling like tiny diamonds befitting a royal encampment. Alyn and Jaces’ minds were on war, mulling over battle details and strategies. Lunaerys on the other hand thought of King Daeron and how to win his affections. They soon arrived at Summerhall, a magnificent edifice of modern architecture. “House Velaryon,” spoke Lord Alyn to the door guard, seeing no need for further explanation. They were permitted and entered, a fresh breeze playing at their hair.
Toltegin Hills, Elymea Satrapy, Shahdom
The desert winds skirted the ridge of the escarpment. The cliff, bared by centuries of erosion to its stratal framework, marked the horizon between the wastelands and the starry sky, kindred in their vast and largely empty space. The sands rolled endlessly on into the night like the waves of some dead ocean. It was cold.
A lone silhouette traversed the rock, defined by starlight. The camel bore two humps and a rider on a saddle between with various pouches attached. The beast's shaggy coat grew in tufts over its hooves, muffling its passage and distorting its prints. All that could be heard was the wind.
In the distance ahead rose the undulant mountains.
The hills howled at the rider. The headwind impeded the camel's passage and billowed dust and sand into its face. The camel marched on with its head lowered to the ground.
Time and space warped around the rider in the eye of the storm. After what may have been minutes or many hours, the camel emerged from the sand stream and knelt gracefully down. Its rider dismounted and walked a few paces before stopping at the head of a mound of earth and sand. The figure bent and dug.
The skeleton lay with its arms crossed on its ribcage. An assortment of trinkets and a tattered waterskin surrounded the corpse. It is said he who sleeps eternal in the desert will need water on his way. The skin was long dry.
The gravedigger retrieved something silver from beside the body's skull. The hand paused by the bony face. The rider shifted the object to their far fingers and touched thumb and index to cheekbone. They delicately traced the runes etched deep, like a sculptor admiring his finished work.
Elsewhere, in the northeastern Bonelands
The crone awoke. Her legs had gone numb from falling asleep crosslegged again. She massaged her haunches, watching her callused hand work. When had she gotten so old? She could not feel any familiarity for this flesh despite how long ago it had lost its youthful suppleness. She sighed.
Before the crone lay a large copper wok. In it were scattered the bones of small mammals and birds, beaks, kidney stones, fragments of charcoal, sandstone and quartz. To the untrained eye they appeared randomly assorted but to the oracles of the desert they were a map to the future. Each article could be interpreted in hundreds of ways in relation to where it fell in the wok and its proximity to other objects. It takes decades for even the most gifted young oracle to master the arts of divination it is told, and the crone was the oldest.
People came from far across the sands to seek her guidance, to ask whether their wives would birth many children or if their livestock would prosper. She was their shepherd.
The cold and the silence of the camp told the elder it was late night. She drew her furs closer and gathered up her materials. She released them as she had countless times before and observed as they clattered off the metal pan in all directions.
What she saw sent a chill up her spine so cold the desert night would envy. The crone rose with a speed she had not achieved in almost half a century. She hobbled to the portal and threw open the flap of the hut.
"DARK ONES! DAR..."
The elder fell as an arrow sprouted from her side. Sometimes the path is too dark to see the dagger till it sits in your belly.
The desert winds skirted the ridge of the escarpment. The cliff, bared by centuries of erosion to its stratal framework, marked the horizon between the wastelands and the starry sky, kindred in their vast and largely empty space. The sands rolled endlessly on into the night like the waves of some dead ocean. It was cold.
A lone silhouette traversed the rock, defined by starlight. The camel bore two humps and a rider on a saddle between with various pouches attached. The beast's shaggy coat grew in tufts over its hooves, muffling its passage and distorting its prints. All that could be heard was the wind.
In the distance ahead rose the undulant mountains.
* * * * *
The hills howled at the rider. The headwind impeded the camel's passage and billowed dust and sand into its face. The camel marched on with its head lowered to the ground.
Time and space warped around the rider in the eye of the storm. After what may have been minutes or many hours, the camel emerged from the sand stream and knelt gracefully down. Its rider dismounted and walked a few paces before stopping at the head of a mound of earth and sand. The figure bent and dug.
* * * * *
The skeleton lay with its arms crossed on its ribcage. An assortment of trinkets and a tattered waterskin surrounded the corpse. It is said he who sleeps eternal in the desert will need water on his way. The skin was long dry.
The gravedigger retrieved something silver from beside the body's skull. The hand paused by the bony face. The rider shifted the object to their far fingers and touched thumb and index to cheekbone. They delicately traced the runes etched deep, like a sculptor admiring his finished work.
Elsewhere, in the northeastern Bonelands
The crone awoke. Her legs had gone numb from falling asleep crosslegged again. She massaged her haunches, watching her callused hand work. When had she gotten so old? She could not feel any familiarity for this flesh despite how long ago it had lost its youthful suppleness. She sighed.
Before the crone lay a large copper wok. In it were scattered the bones of small mammals and birds, beaks, kidney stones, fragments of charcoal, sandstone and quartz. To the untrained eye they appeared randomly assorted but to the oracles of the desert they were a map to the future. Each article could be interpreted in hundreds of ways in relation to where it fell in the wok and its proximity to other objects. It takes decades for even the most gifted young oracle to master the arts of divination it is told, and the crone was the oldest.
People came from far across the sands to seek her guidance, to ask whether their wives would birth many children or if their livestock would prosper. She was their shepherd.
The cold and the silence of the camp told the elder it was late night. She drew her furs closer and gathered up her materials. She released them as she had countless times before and observed as they clattered off the metal pan in all directions.
What she saw sent a chill up her spine so cold the desert night would envy. The crone rose with a speed she had not achieved in almost half a century. She hobbled to the portal and threw open the flap of the hut.
"DARK ONES! DAR..."
The elder fell as an arrow sprouted from her side. Sometimes the path is too dark to see the dagger till it sits in your belly.
Hey everyone ^_^
Submitted a CS for House Velaryon. Enjoy!
Submitted a CS for House Velaryon. Enjoy!
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