Ezekiel

From Ashes We Rise: An Alternate Warhammer 40,000 Unification and Great Crusade RP

Yes.

@Ruby

Hey hey

From Ashes We Rise: An Alternate Warhammer 40,000 Unification and Great Crusade RP

Before I express interest, I would wonder if you'd take twin primarchs (i.e. like Alpharius and Omegon) scattered to Mars? one would remain there inducted into the Martian cult, another would go off on an explorator expedition around the same time as the unification war. They (at least the one that stays behind on mars) would likely be among the first primarchs rediscovered but thats up to you, could be cool that it isn't even realized they are primarchs until much later

@Bugman

Whether I'd accept it or not would probably depend on the sheet, but as a concept I could see it working, possibly with some tweaks, given we know the Emperor at least has the possibility to tavel between the worlds of the Solar system it's quite likely he'd have found them at a similar time to Alpharius, but it's an interesting enough dynamic if done correctly that we can discuss :)

From Ashes We Rise: An Alternate Warhammer 40,000 Unification and Great Crusade RP

'Possession of this galaxy is Mankind's birth right. The stars are ours for the taking.'

In a time that is but a memory, humanity ruled the stars. With the power of technology they remade worlds, and even themselves, becoming unto gods of creation and building a stellar empire that rivalled the greatest alien civilisations of the time. This time of ascendancy was short lived, however, spanning mere centuries of dominance, before a collapse that would last millennia. Horrific stellar events known as warp storms burst into life across the galaxy, fed by the blazing souls of human psykers that were born in ever greater numbers. Vast and horrific wars were fought among humanity's fraying civilisation, as well as with the unrelenting Men of Iron, an enemy of mankind's own creation. Mankind was cut off from its cradle, the beating heart of its empire, and all fell into darkness. For over two thousand years since this great collapse, humanity has been isolated from itself, at the mercy of warlords, aliens and worse, in the great dark beyond.

The homeworld, Terra (Earth as it was once known) has not remained unscathed by this. Wars among the other Stellar bodies of our home system have burned as hotly as anywhere else, the Saturnye Ordo, the Tech-claves of Mars, the Selenar Gene-Cults of Luna and many more each vied for dominance while interplanetary travel became increasingly difficult as humanity stagnated. Upon Terra itself, great warlords vied for dominance, unleashing the worst technologies of Mankind's ascendancy upon each other, lands were irradiated and oceans boiled away, leaving those still alive to wage further wars over the dirt. Countless nations and empires have risen and fallen in the span of these long horrific years, haunted by their ghosts and worse, some cling to a forgotten idea of civilisation, while others revel in the atrocity of what they have become.

In the waning years of the 29th Millennium, a secret hope has begun to spark. A mysterious being calling himself the Emperor of Mankind has risen to power among the technocratic clans of Hymalazia, aligned with the mysterious custodian of the Sigillite Order. Through pacts made with the Gene-Cults of Luna he has created gene-crafted warriors of unrivalled ability, the noble Custodes and the brutal Thunder Warriors, as well as enhancing the abilities of many others. Beneath the mountains, the Emperor's hidden laboratories continue to work away, at projects secret to all but his most trusted allies and advisers. The Emperor's aim is a feat that has not been achieved for millennia, to unite the warring people of Terra and for humanity to once more stride forth from its cradle, unto the stars.

OOC Information

This RP is an alternate reality based on the setting of Warhammer 40,000 and it's origin stories, the Great Crusade and the Horus Heresy. It takes great inspiration from a previous RP, the Grim Crusade, hosted originally by @BCTheEntity . Unlike the Grim Crusade, however, this RP starts right at the beginning of the Imperium's story, with the Unification Wars for Terra. The Space Marine legions have yet to see the light of day, and the long brutal years of war that will be required for the Unification are just about to begin.

Meanwhile, on far flung planets, the Primarchs, the Emperor's first secret geneproject, find themselves cast across the galaxy. Unaware of their birthright, these beings, utterly superior to the humanity from which they were created, will define the future of their worlds and many more, should they survive to once again meet their father and his growing empire.

There are two main options for characters in this RP. Players can take on the act of creating an Astartes Legion and their Primarch, playing the former when they are unleashed during the later stages of the Unification and the latter upon their isolated homeworld, and then during the Great Crusade should the rp progress to this point. The second option, and the primary focus of the rp, is to play as a character on Terra, be they a technobarbarian warlord, member of a gene-cult, officer in the new Imperial army or more beside. As time passed in the RP it is likely mortal characters will change, for this is a dangerous era and life is never guarenteed. Thus, instead of players taking on individual characters, you may opt to play a household of characters, represent a sub-faction of the world, or a role within the new Imperial society which will grow and change as the rp carries on. The scope for who or what you want to write is pretty vast.

The only major change at the onset of the game is that the Emperor's gene warriors, be they Custodes, Thunder Warriors, Astartes or Primarchs, are not gender locked. This is not a comment on the canon situation, but just something that myself and the previous writers of Grim Crusade prefer as an exploration of an alternate setting.

Any questions feel free to ask, Character Sheets and a formal set of rules will be added to the OOC.
Our discord can be found here: https://discord.gg/rWZ7aJpTyb

Map Credit: https://www.reddit.com/r/ImaginaryWarhammer/comments/d70e3t/map_of_preunification_terra_created_by_me_but/?utm_source=ifttt

A Song of Ice and Fire - the Blackfyre Rebellion

Dorne, The Water Gardens

Some Time Earlier

“I hope my presence does not offend you, Prince.” The sun beat down endlessly on Ser Gwayne Corbray of the Kingsguard, thankful both for the reflective white of his cloak and the intermittent shade cast by the blood orange trees lining the pathway he walked with the Prince of Dorne. The Martell had little and less difficulty with the scorching Sun, but Gwayne could hardly believe that it was still far from the zenith of Summer. He already understood how much a relief the construction of the Water Gardens would have been for the Northern ladies sent to accompany the Princess, and appreciated the gesture from their host in their stead. "The King means no offence to your own household in sending me to accompany the Princess on her Northern journey."

"Of course not, Ser, I well understand the traditions of the Crown and their importance, just as King Daeron has shown respect to us, so we shall in turn." Maron Martell's bearing did not possess a heroic charisma, but even Gwayne felt the coercive honey of his tone, a subtle performance next to the grand standing so common among the great and good of the North, but no less effective. "And if I may say, Ser, even here in Dorne we have heard of the nobility and skill of Ser Gwayne Corbray, it will do me no disservice to think such a blade protects my lady wife. Even in peace the roads can be dangerous." In truth, it was not the roads that made Daeron fear for the safety of his sister, but the destination. The great unspoken truth was that the peace of the realm was fraying, and gatherings such as the tourney of Summerhall were ideal ground for those last threads to finally snap.

"I shall make sure your faith is not ill placed, Prince, shall any of your children be joining her highness?" Over the near two decades of Daenerys marriage to Maron, they had already been blessed with three children, two of whom were of age to manage such a journey without too much additional observation. It was unusual that a Princess of the Targaryen dynasty would have grown children not yet introduced to the wider court, yet that was far from the most unusual aspect of this particular marriage.

"If you can find Saeria, I imagine she will do so. I do not know if she recalls any of King's Landing but it is rare she does not desire an opportunity for adventure, the only risk is she has found a more tempting one already." Maron laughed shortly, a warm personable turn of affection for the eldest of the three Royal children, whatever her wild character. "The others will remain here, perhaps I shall be able to pry them away from their mother's lagoons for half a moment to discuss the matters of the land they may one day rule." Maron did not speak of the true reason the Martell family was not travelling in full, that the vultures of Yronwood and Dayne circled as closely as those of Blackfyre did further North. Daenerys was a prize protected by both realms, the Martells themselves could rely only on Sunspear to shield them.

"I recall your daughter, your highness, I am sure the trip will be more eventful for her presence." While Corbray's tone never shifted from the respectful, it was enough of a jest to bring another laugh from Maron, and amused mumble of a "Perhaps," of agreement. As the pair moved, the sound of gently running water became louder, and soon the narrow walkways through the Blood Orange trees gave way to a courtyard, one of the great spaces which houses the various pools of the water gardens. Flowing plants and drooping leaves surrounded the space, casting great shadows over the high walled yet open space, fed by the same channeled streams of water which created the great central pool of freshwater. Thanks to the kind spirit of the Princess, much of the water gardens were open to children of any standing, but here was one of the spaces the Martell family controlled more restrictively. A space to find solace from the heat of both Dorne and the Dornish.

Enough of the Sun still reached through the awning cover of palm leaves to send the water sparkling, golden pinpricks of light atop the slight crests of water. It was almost enough to disguise the slightly different shimmer of spun-gold that crested gently through the water. A flush of light that might have remained a mystery were it not to begin steadily rising from the water.

When Daenerys Targaryen had been at court, the young woman had already been known as one of beauty. Minstrels had likened her to Rhaenys reborn, and while that was quite a common claim among those seeking to earn the favour of a High Valyrian lady fond of her looks, for once there was little dispute as to them being right. Even younger, she had born a striking resemblance to the paintings and tapestries that adorned portions of the Red Keep and now, a woman grown, it was only more obvious. Despite the shade within the Water Garden, years within Dorne had clearly touched her, the naturally pale Valyrian skin turned to a tone closer to bronze. Most distressingly to the Kingsguard Knight, the swimming Princess was entirely naked.

With a quiet exhalation of concern, the famously chivalric knight turned his eyes to the ground, although his words managed to not waiver as he spoke. “Your Highness.” Daenerys smiled warmly, not that the Knight could see, as her bare feet padded over the gentle bank and onto the pavestones to draw closer to her husband, greeting him with a kiss to the cheek.

“You see, Ser, you should tell your Daemon Blackfyre that he need not hate me, if he still convets the sight of my lady wife’s breasts, he is welcome to join us here in Dorne.” Maron grinned, even through the Princesses’ light slap to his chest in reproach. “Although he may find them larger than he remembers.”

“Maron, you are being awful, such a terrible impression you are making on Ser Cobray, he will think you as wanton as they all say about Dorne.” Daenerys tone was stern, even if her eyes glimmered with reluctant amusement.

“I do not think it is anything I say that is causing his sudden shyness, My lady.” Maron’s words caused Daenerys to stop for a moment, a flash of confusion on her features, before she let out an amused laugh.

“Oh…of course, I am sorry Ser, I have been too long in Dorne, and it does become terribly hot…I may require your cloak, if you are to not to spend the walk back to the chambers glaring at the ground.” While her tone had been teasing with her husband, the Royal Princesses’ voice flowed easily into the soft authority she had wielded so well at court, already her hand extended to accept it without confirmation he would proceed. As it happened, Ser Corbray, ever vigilant and dutiful, was already removing the white cloak, handing it over for the Princess to drape around herself, to which he finally met her now apologetic smile. “Good, now, let us get in from this heat, although if you had expected to find Saeria I can only offer you both disappointment, I am quite certain she has flown away for some time, you shall have to do with me alone.”

Marvel Comics: Dawn of X

"I don't much head out that way, although Rogue did spend a whole month tryin' to tell me to go an' give surfin' a try." Gambit smiled in a truly friendly manner at their appreciation of the drinks, "But I'm afraid the only surf Gambit's caught goes with a Turf and a side of fries." He continued to work as he spoke with the two female mutants, sliding drinks across the bar to people awaiting their turn, but his attention didn't drift from them, fingers made fast from both pickpocketing and card dealing needing no great effort to keep up without need for line of sight.

"But I did work with some of those West Coast Avengers for a bit, back when we were freein' the 'Noshans." Despite the heavy topic, Gambit's mood didn't seem to drop at all, in fact, his lips pulled into something of a grin. "Let me tell you ladies, that Scarlet Witch was one scary lady, almost enough to scare Gambit off, but I never did see sense." To say Maximoff was unpopular on Krakkoa was an understatement, in some way, he appreciated the ability to talk with someone about the memory without sending them into a fit of rage. "This was back before it all started goin' wrong over there, you know, workin' with the Avengers, overthrowin' the government. That's where I first learned to barkeep." He nodded enthusiastically, before explaining, "Undercover, see, no one expects to find an X-Men servin' them a rum punch." Before, with a wink, he slid two new drinks to the girls.

@Silver Carrot @Abillioncats

Marvel Comics: Dawn of X

"I'm sure you can ask all sorts 'round these parts about my bite or sting, chere, but we all friends now," The jest back from the fox-eared mutant brought a grin to Gambit's features that wasn't just his usual charm and joviality. Witty in the worst way, it was his kind of joke. "And 'a don't mind, been filmed a few times, but I don't think those fly with the terms of service," He spoke as he worked, objects floating too and around him as he both put on a show and rustled up the drink.

"Pretty or strong?" The question was asked mid flow, and whatever the answer, he made it to suit, soon pouring out a vibrant red drink, finished with a slice of lime pressed to the rim of the glass. "That there's a Bayou Rum Punch, girl, dangerous drink that, lead to all sorts of mistakes and headaches, but sure does taste sweet." With that, the hero-turned-bartender leant forwards on the bar, his hands pressed to the surface. "So, what do you want to be filmin' with ol' Gambit? What kinda story you and yours wantin'?"

A Song of Ice and Fire - the Blackfyre Rebellion

Collab with @Vanq

The Thunder Of Hooves

Shiera had not explicitly had any dresses in the garish colors of House Bracken, yet, her maids had been rather resourceful in getting her what she desired while on their journey to Summerhall. Few would deny her her desires. It had started as an errant thought, as if having spent weeks with Aegor was not enough of a slight to her Brynden. Certainly the Bloodraven had heard by now where she had gone and who she had taken to bed in his place. Or whose bed she had been taken to; in the quiet moments by herself, she struggled to decide if it was her or Aegor who truly had the upper hand in the game they played.

“It’s finished, my lady.” Her maid disturbed her from her musings. Jeyne held the surcoat delicately in her outstretched hands.

“Very good, girl. Leave it there, I’ll need you to deliver a message to Aegor. Tell him I will ride with him as we enter Summerhall. And find your tongue to remind him I’ll not take no for an answer.”

The maid’s reluctance to deliver these messages had never faded, but she had at least stopped protesting. Shiera had already been dressed for this final stretch of their journey, and while they were not riding clothes, as surely Aegor would be quick to point out, they were at least slightly more practical than her normal attire. She picked up the surcoat that Jeyne had left for her. It was heavier than she would normally wear, not the delicate fabrics she favored. Yet she sought to make a statement, and the large red stallion of House Bracken embroidered across the back was the garish display she sought.

Shiera joined Bittersteel at the front of the train as Summerhall came into view. It was one of the few times on their journey she had moved herself to ride instead of travel in the wheelhouse, but she would not ruin her entry by looking road-weary. Especially not with so many eyes to be upon her.

In contrast to the sight of Aegor that Shiera had no doubt come to expect, neither he, nor the men with him, were garbed in simple riding leathers. Instead, the bold yellow of House Bracken adorned them, cloaks and tabards over finely polished, if still functional, armour.The red charger, rampant, stood out on the flowing cloaks which draped back over their steeds, that is except for Bittersteel himself. His own personal heraldry, a more recent creation, bore the scaled wings of the Targaryen dragon upon the horse’s back, and its mouth spewed a stylised fire. It was an unusually aesthetic decision for the man, but certainly stood out as a statement of his unique heritage.

In their time traveling the Riverlands and Northern Reach the infamous rumour about Aegor’s lack of ability to show good humour had proven wrong on many occasions, but it had still been largely concealed from the party as a whole. The small smile, that rose to his features as he turned in the saddle to regard her arrival was not, a rare glimmer upon his iron visage.

“I am surprised you can bear it.” His amusement rumbled forth, his steed keeping stride with her own. It was a large steed for her, they did not travel with steeds not bred for use in their campaigns, but that perhaps only added to the display of her arrival. Whether he spoke of the material, or the mount, as unclear, but he shortly continued. “I’d be careful, I might start expecting it of you, maybe a few weeks on the road really have shown you something.”

“A few weeks on the road, with you, have shown me several things.” She spared a small glance to him, her lips turned upwards in a knowing smile. “I’d prefer to think you had learned that there are more pleasurable ways to travel than on horseback, but you may be impossible to teach.” Shiera, for all her confidence, did struggle to ride a steed quite like the beasts that Aegor and his men rode with. The man who had prepared her ride had tried and failed to hide the judgemental look when she asked for the most gentle of the creatures.

“We can’t all live in wheelhouses.” He murmured, riding closely enough that he could have pulled his arm around her if he so wished, but if the woman complained at the scratchiness of his gambeson from before, she’d certainly have words about plate and mail. “Someone has to hunt the duck you and your ladies munch away on all day.” His tone came close to a lightly teasing, no doubt he would have, were they alone, but his voice never quite lost all of the authoritative command he used before his men.

Shiera caught the tone that she had struggled to parse when they first set off from Stone Hedge. She had come to tease him about that more often than not, though she held her tongue when his men were nearby. It seemed a small price to pay for when he had finally agreed to abandon his duties for brief moments.

Yet, Summerhall now loomed ahead of them and a pit of reticence grew in her stomach. Their company on the road had seemed eternal and ephemeral, for a time. Now reality stared back at her. Westeros gathered, and with it, that which she had fled. Shiera sought a few more moments of the easiness they had found with one another. A pout pulled at her lips. “Though I wish you had shared your plans for your new heraldry. It is you who holds my allegiance.” Not Bracken. A thought left unsaid, and one perhaps that could prove only too fleeting if also completely true for the moment.

The pout was enough for him to lean over, despite the need to retain his sense of purpose and command, placing a kiss to the softness of her cheek, the coarse hairs of his newly trimmed beard running along her pale skin. “No, but I do enjoy the sight of it on you. Perhaps allow me one first revelation to the nobility of the realm before I share it, then I am sure your ladies can get to work. They seem to jump enough at the sight of me still.” His eyes settled on the distant sight of Summerhall. The palace built for a rival, no doubt soon a foe, and steel returned to his visage. The thought had crossed his mind on several occasions on the ride, to simply not go, take Shiera away somewhere else they could lose all the disappointments that everyone else brought. Daemon had summoned him, however, and he could not quite abandon the work of decades for her. Not when her whims could change on the morrow.

“They find you to be rather…imposing. I cannot say why with any certainty.” She stared straight ahead at the comment though there she knew full well how little her ladies trusted him and why. “But fine, I shall wait with as much patience as I can muster before setting them off to correct this design.” If only he had perhaps selected less garish colors, but it seemed unlikely he’d appreciate such feedback. She allowed them to ride on in silence for a few minutes, her lip caught between her teeth. “Does Daemon expect me?”

“I didn’t expect you.” Aegor’s response was short, but it put words to the lingering sense of mystery around Shiera’s presence at his side. Still, there was none of the bitterness that had so often tainted his words towards her when they had first reunited at Stone Hedge. “And I do not keep ravens in my pockets.” There again was the ghost of good humour, a jest with her that was not meant harshly, and a slight upturn of his lips as he turned to study her again. Even in an outfit her, admittedly skilled, ladies had put together on the road she was stunning, and there was certainly something to seeing her in the heraldry of the house he had been born to. “I always thought you enjoyed making an entrance.”

As if timed to perfection, and perhaps it truly was, one of Aegor’s men pressed his lips to a horn and blared a short cascade of notes. The horn was a spoil of war from the Hill Tribes, a loud haunting noise, even when played in the rhythm of an Andal refrain, announcing their arrival. The horses spurred into a faster canter, moving in formation with enough pace as to not be challenged by any on the foot as they prepared to move into the tent city surrounding the palace, yellow cloaks cast behind them by wind and speed, but not so fast as to be perceived as an onrushing threat. The horn sounded again, one further time, rebounding around the camp.

Bittersteel had arrived.

TLDR

Aegor shows off his new drip to Shiera and they arrive at Summerhall

A Song of Ice and Fire - the Blackfyre Rebellion

House Nymeros Martell of Sunspear

Born of the union between the Queen of the Rhoynar and the peoples of the Desert Coast, House Martell rules the tempestuous land of Dorne from their citadel of Sunspear. They have survived and prospered in the face of the unceasing heat of their homeland, the predations of Northern lords and even dragonfire.

They are Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken.

Prince Maron Martell

Name: Prince Maron Nymeros Martell
Age: 49

Biography:

At the cusp of his fifth decade, the ruling prince of Dorne has already lead a life that will be contentious in the minds of the Dornish for an age to come.

It has been fifteen years since Maron knelt before the Iron Throne, peacefully bringing Dorne into the Targaryen realm. The dispensations won for Dorne have benefitted the desert land, unifying with the Iron Throne to control the Narrow Sea. The empowered Dornish trade has grown to rival the historic maritime empires of Driftmark and the Arbor. Peace along the Marches has further enhanced the peace and prosperity of the region.

By maintaining Dorne's royal styling, Maron has eased the blow to Dornish pride and prestige, but not entirely. Wealth and peace are only salves to those who care for such things, and this means little and less to the warmongering Stone Dornish, who benefit less from the influx in trade than their cousins of Sand and Salt.

Maron may be the most effective ruler of Dorne for an age, but he is perhaps the most inconsistently respected throughout the realm. Certainly the Stone Dornish houses did not expect the brash young Martell who, as a youth, fought in the overthrow of the conquest, to be one who would sell them into bondage with the Iron Throne. Maron, however learned different lessons than most from the Dornish rebellion. He did not see, as they did, the indominatable spirit of Dorne. He perceived instead the terrible cost of continued conflict with the Iron Throne and how Dorne could never prosper beneath such a threat. This is not to say duty became the young man's only focus across the following years, not in line to inherit himself he travelled widely, both within Dorne and to foreign shores, the former of which resulted in the birth of his first child out of wedlock, although publicly they are recognised as a child of his father's second wife, and raised in Sunspear. These years were often spent to the East among Dorne's historic allies in the Free Cities. These times inspired Maron's later conciliatory nature even more so than the war, nothing about the Free Cities suggesting they could ever be relied upon to uphold their alliances should a new invasion occur.

This did nothing to end Maron's enmity for the Targaryen dynasty, as with many Dornish, considering them both crazed despots and abominations of incest. He was not in favour of his sister's marriage to Prince Daeron as a final grasp for peace between the realms, even if it did pave the way for his own ascension to the twin-thrones of Dorne. The following years did much to show that such an offer, one sealed in blood, was still not enough. Prince Daeron's father, Aegon, continued to play host to warmongering nobles clamouring for a resumption of hostilities. No matter how Prince Daeron worked for peace, his father constructed a new grand royal warfleet, made grand gestures of grievance to the Dornish in his court and yet more to provoke them. The debacle of the construction of the wooden dragons, while a comedy, further honed for Maron that even one party seeking war among the Targaryens and Martells could upset any efforts for peace.

When Aegon died, and Daeron ascended the throne, Maron, now Prince of Dorne, struct his great gambit. It was one sealed in blood again, taking the Princess Daenaerys to wife, but sealed in law as well. He travelled to King's Landing and knelt before the Iron Throne. The marriage may have been one of entirely political leanings, with many personal reservations, but the Princess and Prince soon found each other more than pleasant company. The marriage has proven both warm and fruitful, and Maron's great gift to his wife, The Water Gardens, is famous beyond even the limits of the realm. Their children epitomise the hyrbid court that has formed at both King's Landing and Sunspear.

In recent years, Maron's attentions have turned to matters of peace within Dorne. A land of hot sands and hotter tempers, this comes with many challenges. Only time will tell if his legacy will be one of triumph or shame.

Prince Nymos Martell

Name: Prince Nymos Olyvar Nymeros Martell

Age: 31

Biography:

The younger half-brother of the ruling prince by a span of nearly two decades, Nymos has ever enjoyed the freedom granted to him by being the third child, regretting any impingement on such. He was born too late to be defined by the Conquest of Dorne as his siblings were, but instead formed who he was at peace in Sunspear, and travelling the Free Cities on his elder brother's diplomatic tours as heir of Sunspear.

As his brother ascended to the twin thrones of Sunspear, Nymos took on the duties of representing Dorne abroad in Essos, although he was privy to his brothers concerns for the state of Westeros and his plan to marry into the Targaryen dynasty in order to secure peace. Concerned that he too might be forced into such a marriage, likely to some other distant house, and confined to a life of boredom in order to secure the realm, Nymos disappeared into the aquatic maze of Braavos, along with most of the ransom in gemstones his party had been sent with in order to treat with the Sealord.

Despite being a capable youth of sixteen in terms of martial arms and no small amount of wit, it is likely that were it not for the intervention of the Black Pearl that Nymos would either have been recovered by the Dornish retinue with him, or otherwise lost his life in the dangerous streets of the republic. An older woman by the year, Bellegere Otherys was still a famed name in the city, although she sailed less than she oversaw, a maritime pirate and trading empire that worked beneath the unspoken approval of the Sealord. Her organisation already counted several half-valyrians among them, her own bastard children by the late king Aegon, and so a Martell was a natural addition to her 'collection' of notable Westerosi dynasties. Nymos, for his side of things, was more than willing to trade his life at court for one in Braavos and upon the seas, and so he disappeared from any histories of note for over a decade, presumed dead and drowned at the bottom of the Braavosi lagoon.

The exact details of these years are lost to most, but rumors eventually reached Sunspear of a Dornish pirate plying the inner seas of the Summer Isles, helming one of the famed Swanships with a crew as varied as any upon the oceans. Such tales were rarely connected to Nymos beyond the most far fetched of songs, but soon they would be proven right, as several years prior to 202 AC the ship, Dawnrider, set into Sunspear harbour, and the brothers were reunited. The long years had rid Maron of any sense of anger about his brother's abandonment of his position was lost in the relief of his return. Nymos' first stay in the city, meeting both his brother's wife and the first two of his children, was not a long stay, for matters were made clear there would be no return to full duty at court, but he left on well enough terms, returning to his life on the waves.

Now, however, with the threat of building resentment within Westeros rising, there is some chance that Nymos, and his crew, will sail home again to support his brother.

Other Characters

To be filled out when I want

Name: Daenerys Targaryen


Name: Othellos Otherys


Name: Narha Otherys, The Black Pearl

A Song of Ice and Fire - the Blackfyre Rebellion

House Nymeros Martell of Sunspear

Born of the union between the Queen of the Rhoynar and the peoples of the Desert Coast, House Martell rules the tempestuous land of Dorne from their citadel of Sunspear. They have survived and prospered in the face of the unceasing heat of their homeland, the predations of Northern lords and even dragonfire.

They are Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken.

Prince Maron Martell

Name: Prince Maron Nymeros Martell
Age: 49

Biography:

At the cusp of his fifth decade, the ruling prince of Dorne has already lead a life that will be contentious in the minds of the Dornish for an age to come.

It has been fifteen years since Maron knelt before the Iron Throne, peacefully bringing Dorne into the Targaryen realm. The dispensations won for Dorne have benefitted the desert land, unifying with the Iron Throne to control the Narrow Sea. The empowered Dornish trade has grown to rival the historic maritime empires of Driftmark and the Arbor. Peace along the Marches has further enhanced the peace and prosperity of the region.

By maintaining Dorne's royal styling, Maron has eased the blow to Dornish pride and prestige, but not entirely. Wealth and peace are only salves to those who care for such things, and this means little and less to the warmongering Stone Dornish, who benefit less from the influx in trade than their cousins of Sand and Salt.

Maron may be the most effective ruler of Dorne for an age, but he is perhaps the most inconsistently respected throughout the realm. Certainly the Stone Dornish houses did not expect the brash young Martell who, as a youth, fought in the overthrow of the conquest, to be one who would sell them into bondage with the Iron Throne. Maron, however learned different lessons than most from the Dornish rebellion. He did not see, as they did, the indominatable spirit of Dorne. He perceived instead the terrible cost of continued conflict with the Iron Throne and how Dorne could never prosper beneath such a threat. This is not to say duty became the young man's only focus across the following years, not in line to inherit himself he travelled widely, both within Dorne and to foreign shores, the former of which resulted in the birth of his first child out of wedlock, although publicly they are recognised as a child of his father's second wife, and raised in Sunspear. These years were often spent to the East among Dorne's historic allies in the Free Cities. These times inspired Maron's later conciliatory nature even more so than the war, nothing about the Free Cities suggesting they could ever be relied upon to uphold their alliances should a new invasion occur.

This did nothing to end Maron's enmity for the Targaryen dynasty, as with many Dornish, considering them both crazed despots and abominations of incest. He was not in favour of his sister's marriage to Prince Daeron as a final grasp for peace between the realms, even if it did pave the way for his own ascension to the twin-thrones of Dorne. The following years did much to show that such an offer, one sealed in blood, was still not enough. Prince Daeron's father, Aegon, continued to play host to warmongering nobles clamouring for a resumption of hostilities. No matter how Prince Daeron worked for peace, his father constructed a new grand royal warfleet, made grand gestures of grievance to the Dornish in his court and yet more to provoke them. The debacle of the construction of the wooden dragons, while a comedy, further honed for Maron that even one party seeking war among the Targaryens and Martells could upset any efforts for peace.

When Aegon died, and Daeron ascended the throne, Maron, now Prince of Dorne, struct his great gambit. It was one sealed in blood again, taking the Princess Daenaerys to wife, but sealed in law as well. He travelled to King's Landing and knelt before the Iron Throne. The marriage may have been one of entirely political leanings, with many personal reservations, but the Princess and Prince soon found each other more than pleasant company. The marriage has proven both warm and fruitful, and Maron's great gift to his wife, The Water Gardens, is famous beyond even the limits of the realm. Their children epitomise the hyrbid court that has formed at both King's Landing and Sunspear.

In recent years, Maron's attentions have turned to matters of peace within Dorne. A land of hot sands and hotter tempers, this comes with many challenges. Only time will tell if his legacy will be one of triumph or shame.

Marvel Comics: Dawn of X

“Oh no, no more sleepin’ on the job, Remy.” He might not have been quite as eccentric as he once was, but Gambit had never quite slipped the habit of talking to himself, the mumbled words escaping his lips as he regarded the heaving scene. He’d attempted to catch a quick moment of shut eye before the party really kicked off, but had overshot it somewhat. Blob wouldn’t exactly be happy.

He didn’t need the job, no one on Krakoa really needed a job anymore, but he liked to keep his hands busy, and this kind of work kept him out of trouble, as his wife was want to put it, or at least the kind of trouble they were used to.

The party was just about starting up and already the Lagoon was heaving, the ceaseless wave of noise that was the crowd chattering lining the bar and spreading out into the wider lagoon itself. It was a good kind of busy, a cluster of celebration not bunch of people crammed into too small a space. It was a nice, bar, he liked the work.

“So, what can Gambit be gettin’ you?” The unmistakable accent was on full display when he worked, already the shaker in motion as he set about his work. Despite being ‘on the job’ he was still dressed for the Gala, a combination of deepest black and the bright purple he so enjoyed. His jacket was very smart, something out of a slightly edgy corporate fashion show. It was the fact his chest was utterly bare underneath that gave it the Gambit flare, an enviably cut physique, decked only with a series of beads that was very reminiscent of New Orleans infamous Mardis Gras celebrations. If that didn’t distract you, the shimmering energy around the drinks he so effortlessly juggled did. Drinks and a show, and all for free in the Krakoan lagoon.

“Come on now ladies, don’t be shy, Gambit don’t bite, well, not these days.” The man’s attention turned to a pair close by, who seemed quite taken aback at this exact moment, starstruck, even. “Sit yourselves down and I might even have a story to share.”