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 head first 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.
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.
I can't 'thank' this due to liking it before, which is my usual method of marking acceptance.
I've just kicked off an RP set in the Game of Thrones / A Song of Ice and Fire setting, the OOC is already up with a few players signed on, but still certainly looking for applications! We also have a discord!
The era of the RP is set early in the history of a unified Westeros, with King Aenys I Targaryen as King, just before the rebellion of the Faith Militant kicks off. If you'd be interested in writing during a time where the idea of a unified Westeros was still new, certainly check it out!
Give me priests who are fat and corrupt and cynical, the sort who like to sit on soft satin cushions, nibble sweetmeats, and diddle little boys. It's the ones who believe in gods who make the trouble.
IC outline:
Although the uprising began during the reign of King Aenys I Targaryen, the first seeds were already planted during the reign of his father, King Aegon I Targaryen. Before the birth of Aenys's children, his younger half-brother Maegor was regarded as his heir. However, Aenys was wed in 22 AC, and his first child, Princess Rhaena, was born the next year. Her birth sparked the discussion of the line of succession, as it was unclear whether Maegor remained second in the line of succession or whether he fell behind the newborn Rhaena. In 24 AC, shortly after Maegor turned twelve, his mother Queen Visenya Targaryen proposed a betrothal between Rhaena and Maegor to settle the issue of the royal succession. However, both Prince Aenys and his wife and the High Septon protested. The High Septon suggested his own niece, Lady Ceryse Hightower, as a bride for the young prince instead. Maegor and Ceryse were subsequently wed in 25 AC at the Starry Sept in Oldtown, in a ceremony officiated by the High Septon himself.
Maegor's second marriage angered many. Ceryse's father, Lord Martyn Hightower, protested the marriage to King Aenys and demanded that Maegor set Alys aside. The High Septon denounced the marriage as sin and fornication and called Alys "this whore of Harroway." Many of the pious lords in the realm similarly condemned the marriage, and openly began to call Alys "Maegor's Whore". Maegor remained defiant, however, citing that his father had taken two wives as well, claiming that the strictures of the Faith did not rule the blood of the dragon.
Maegor quarreled bitterly with his brother over the marriage, as the king had neither known of the marriage prior to the ceremony, nor given his leave for it. Eventually, Aenys made Maegor choose between setting Alys aside or going into exile for five years. Maegor chose the latter, and left for Pentos in 40 AC. The High Septon was not yet satisfied, however, so Aenys appointed Septon Murmison as his new Hand of the King, but even he could not heal the rift between the Iron Throne and the Faith.
The situation worsened in 41 AC, when Aenys wed his daughter Rhaena and son Aegon to one another. The High Septon sent Aenys a denunciation, addressing him as "King Abomination". The uprising was about to begin, and even the pious lords and smallfolk, who had loved Aenys turned against the king.
Hello there! It's another GoT/ASOIAF RP in the style that myself and a few others have hosted plenty of times over the years, most recently with A Song of Ice and Fire - the Blackfyre Rebellion. Those who are familiar with this style of play likely know what you're in for, but for those that may not be so, here is a fine summation of how the RP shall proceed, with some minor alterations to remove the era specifics of that brief.
Generally, players will create their own house and roleplay with several members of it. This means each player is entitled to several characters per house. However, they do not all have to be members of said house by ties of blood. Instead you can use several types of characters as points of views. Naturally there are other options in the world of Westeros, such as Septons, hedge knights, spies and spymasters, mercenaries and many more. Evidently, this is a game set in the world of George R.R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire fantasy series, as well as the short stories of the Hedge Knight, and most recently HBO's adaption series 'Game of Thrones' and 'House of the Dragon'. This is, however, an 'Alternate Universe' game. While canon is where our story begins...it will certainly not be where it ends.
Most importantly this game will continue the tradition of a hybrid approach of sandbox and storyline RP all our prior games have had. Who will we play? Lords high and small, members of their households, smallfolk, prelates, mercenaries, knights, damsels, This doesn't mean you cannot (re)create a house from scratch. Possibilities are legion, and mostly limited only by your imagination (or GM approval). So go ahead, plot and scheme with or against your fellow players.
To further address the point of player creativity, this rp is set in the early period of the Targaryen Rule, only a single generation has passed since the Conquest and the Realm still quakes beneath the changes imposed upon it. Westeros is very much a land of Kingdoms forged together in flame, it's capital of King's Landing is barely the largest settlement in the Crownlands, let alone the wider continent and none have yet conceived of the King's Road. This is an almost mythological age, where even what is written can hardly be considered to be in stone. Combined with there being larger gaps than usual in our games to fill by player creativity, I will also be allowing players to modify what we do know of the era to a greater extent, although I would suggest running such ideas by me first!
OOC Rules and Guidelines:
Advanced standards; common sense approach; game of logic and collaboration.
Character Sheets should be posted on the OOC (though they can be sent via pm as well) for approval/disapproval. Not all decisions will be made public. Approved sheets go in the approved section.
You are assumed to be an adult by submitting a character for this game; please act like one.
Players playing Great Lords will have the chance to weigh in on applications for Minor Lords under their Great Lord.
Applications may take a few days before a decision can be made. Generally issues will be resolved over pm (forum or Discord)
Players are encouraged to play typically one-on-one scenarios, large battle scenarios, cloak-and-dagger scenarios, small plots and large plots. To be creative, and to interactive with their fellow players on their own to plot. Take initiative.
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.
Land
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 tunnelling 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 meagre 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.
People
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.
The southernmost kingdom of Westeros, Dorne is a desert land of red mountains and warm winds. Its princes rule from the mountains, the desert, and the sea, following 1,000 years of Rhoynish tradition and rule. Until Princess Nymeria and the Rhoynar crossed the sea, it was populated by the descendants of the Andals and First Men, who fought bloody wars all across its lands. Nymeria married into the Dornish nobility, and their family attained supremacy over the rest of Dorne.
The people of Dorne are fiercely independent, but loyal to their rulers; it was the only land to escape the wrath of Aegon the Conqueror and his dragons. Land
The lands of Dorne are as diverse as its people: from the Red Mountains in the west and north, to the inland desert and river vales, to the coasts of the Sea of Dorne and the Summer Sea. All regions of Dorne are almost universally harsh, giving birth to a hardy, determined people who know how to survive. Lack of food and water, the threat of stinging scorpions and vipers, and the natural dangers of the land itself conspire against those who live in Dorne, but somehow they have always found a way to endure — and even thrive.
The vast majority of Dorne is a dusty land of small deserts and dry river valleys. This region is the southernmost part of Westeros, reaching out into the ocean from the mountains that separate it from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. Water is scarce in this land, and most of its inhabitants live near the low-running rivers and canyons that cut into the dry terrain. The Brimstone runs south into the sea, while the Vaith and Scourge meet in the eastern mountains to form the Greenblood. This river runs to the sea in the east, just south of the stronghold of Sunspear.
The Sea of Dorne separates this dry land from the rainwood and Storm’s End, a long-time enemy of the princes of Dorne. The last outposts of Dorne include Starfall, a castle that guards the pass to the western arm of the Reach, and Yronwood, as a final defence against invaders coming down the Boneway.
North of the strongholds of Starfall and Yronwood are the mountains that both protect and isolate Dorne from their northern neighbours. These lands are populated by a tough and hearty breed of Dornishman, warriors who have led the vanguard in almost every Dornish assault on Storm’s End or the castles of the Reach. Since Dorne has become one of the Seven Kingdoms, the large battles of the past have largely been left behind, but the Dornish mountain folk have not been quiet. They still occasionally raid the lands of the Reach, ensuring that the old wounds between the two lands never heal.
North and east of these mountains stretch the vast Dornish Marches. The castles of Blackhaven and Nightsong stand outside these lands, marking the last stops before a traveller must pass through the Boneway or the Prince’s Pass to reach the desert lands of Dorne. Dornishmen heading north often take the Boneway up to the ruins of Summerhall, where they turn east and intersect with the kingsroad in order to bypass the lands of the Reach.
People
The people of Dorne are scattered all across its lands. King Daeron I once observed that there were three types of Dornishmen, and those divisions are still present in the region to this day. The salty Dornishmen live along the coasts, mainly along the Broken Arm region where the red mountains stretch out into the Sea of Dorne. These Dornishmen are litheand dark, with smooth olive skin and long black hair. They are fishermen and sailors, hard men who sail the ships of the Dornish fleet. They wait eagerly for the next opportunity to test their mettle against the steel and stone of Storm’s End or the harrowing waves of Shipbreaker Bay.
The salty Dornishmen have the most Rhoynish blood — a fact that gives them a sense of pride and a connection to their rulers in Sunspear. Sandy Dornishmen live in the deserts and long river valleys of the Dornish inland. Their skin is even darker than that of their salty brethren, burned brown by the hot Dornish sun. Even in the heat of the desert, these Dornishmen prefer to wear armour inlaid with copper. They often wear one or more copper discs about their body in tribute to the desert sun.
The stony Dornishmen live along the Boneway and in the Red Mountains that separate the region from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. They are the largest and fairest of the region’s people, and have the least amount of Rhoynish blood. They keep the look and many of the customs and traditions of the Andals and First Men from whom they are descended. Of all the Dornishmen, the stony sort hold the least allegiance to the princes of Sunspear. They are still loyal, however, and appreciate the protection given them by the Rhoynish princes against their hated enemies to the north.
Stretching from Moat Cailin in the south to the Wall and beyond, the North is nearly as large as the other six kingdoms of Westeros combined. It is a harsh land filled with bogs, forests, and large stretches of open plain dotted by the various castles and holdfasts of the people who inhabit the frozen region. The Starks of Winterfell Castle are the most prominent of these people, although many houses hold claim to territory within the North. Also found within the region’s icy grasp is the Night’s Watch, outcasts from the Seven Kingdoms and eternal guardians against terrors beyond the North.
Land
The lands of the North are mostly cold and empty, with civilisation rare, scattered far and wide about the freezing land. The various houses that hold sway here are almost all descended from the blood of the First Men, for few others have the strength to live in such a place, much less grow fond of it. Settlements can be found in even the remotest of places, from the heart of the wolfswood to the broad, flat plains that stretch between the Dreadfort and White Harbor. As one moves north toward the Wall, though, the settlements become fewer and farther between. These lands are harsh, even during summer, and the woods along the Last River are cold and grey.
Perhaps because it is so sparsely settled, the North holds some of the greatest fortresses and castles in the Seven Kingdoms. Moat Cailin guards the southern boundary, nigh-impregnable even after enduring years of neglect and the ravages of the humid swamp on which it sits. Winterfell stands north of Moat Cailin along the kingsroad. This fortress stands like an impregnable granite monument to the hardiness of the First Men, whose blood flows through the veins of the Starks who inhabit it. The Mormonts sit on Bear Island in the Bay of Ice, while House Umber rules from the Last Hearth, east of the kingsroad on the edge of a small, cold forest by the border of the Gift.
The Gift is an area of land ceded to the Night’s Watch by the North’s rulers. It stands as an unmarked barrier between the lands of the North and the Wall, sparsely populated by a hearty people who eke out an existence despite mounting raids from wildlings and the harsh, wintry environment. Beyond the Gift lies the Wall, and the remaining fortresses of the Night’s Watch. The men along the Wall have given up their old lives to guard the Seven Kingdoms against the horrors of the frozen wastelands.
The southernmost portions of the region are known as the Barrowlands. This is a wide, hilly region in which many of the barrows of the First Men can be found. Its plains stretch from the Stony Shore on the Sunset Sea in the west to the Bite and the fortress of Widow’s Watch to the the east. Where the kingsroad cuts this region down the middle, it is a featureless grassland that stretches for days and days in every direction.
People
The people of the North are a tough and hardy lot, working hard during the summer to plan for leaner times. One will not find any dreams of the Great Summer among these people and already the maesters and stargazers are accounting for the shorter days that lead them to the inevitable realisation that winter is coming. Those who come from the settlements of the North are practical and direct, not favouring the political games and guarded communication of the cities of the south.
Transactions are made above the table, and those who would do otherwise are looked upon with a suspicion reserved for scoundrels. This attitude toward dealing with one’s fellows translates into a relatively safe region — at least from the depredations of one’s fellow man. It is said of the North that “a maiden girl could walk the kingsroad in her name-day gown and still go unmolested, and travellers could find fire, bread, and salt at many an inn and holdfast.”
The people of the North are practical in their dress, their attitudes, and their outlook. They tend toward simple clothing that will keep them warm, rather than the impractical fashions one might find in King’s Landing or Highgarden. Even the nobility prefers simple dress, although they wear their house colours proudly and travel with bannermen on many occasions.
The majority of the North’s population lives on farms owned by the family or families that live within them. During the long summers these farms prosper. As winter approaches, the farmers move in toward the towns and castles of the North. These “winter towns” lie abandoned during the summers, but become bustling trade centres when the people of the North huddle together to endure the long, wintry nights.
The farther north one goes, the more grim the people, like the land, become. They have resigned themselves to the bitter cold of their homes and the dangers of the wildling attacks that they endure. At one time the Wall made these people feel secure from the dangers of the Haunted Forest and the Frostfangs, but in recent years more and more threats have been spotted south of the great bulwark. The Wall’s defences have grown weak and scattered over time, and the First Ranger’s calls for more men have fallen on deaf ears. No one is certain what the ultimate consequence of such neglect will be, but the people of the North are determined to be as prepared as possible for the day when winter comes.
The Reach is a beautiful region of lush fields and vibrant flower gardens. Its boundaries stretch from the Blackwater Rush in the north to Oldtown in the south, and from the Dornish marches in the east to the shores of the Sunset Sea. These lands are the heart of chivalric tradition in the Seven Kingdoms, and many of the greatest knights come from the House of Tyrell, or their bannerhouses. The fields of golden roses near Highgarden and their elaborate traditions hide a proud and vain people, however, and the ruling house of Tyrell is one of the most ruthless and conniving of all that play the game of thrones.
It was not always this way. The Tyrells were once only stewards of the royal house of the Reach, the Gardeners. When the Gardeners were destroyed on the Field of Fire, Aegon raised the Tyrells to supremacy ... but some say the Florents or the Hightowers would have had a better claim.
Land
The Reach is home to the most beautiful landscapes in all the Seven Kingdoms. Wide fields of flowers and lush grasses cover the plains of the north, while the roseroad travels southwest toward the wineries and fields near Honeyholt and Brightwater Keep. The Roseroad meanders through the land, at several points crossing the Mander River, which forks and winds across the entire region.
In the west, the Honeywine River creates a temperate lowland environment, much different from that of the mountains and deserts east of Starfall. The area is the agricultural capital of the Reach, growing everything from fireplums to honey to grapes. The Arbor, an island off the cape of Whispering Sound, produces some of the finest wines in the Seven Kingdoms. The city of Oldtown sits at the southern end of the roseroad, acting as the Reach’s primary port as well as the home of the Citadel, wherein young men are trained in the maesters’ arts.
Although the upper waters of the Mander are muddy and difficult, it becomes clear and calm as it nears Highgarden. Great green willows and plants grow along the shore, making any trip down the river pleasing to the eyes. The lords of Highgarden have pleasure barges that routinely travel up and down the river as their highborn passengers feast on melons and sweet wines from the Arbor. It is not uncommon for the ladies of Highgarden to have marriage ceremonies on the largest of these barges, with the river fi lled with rose petals and scented with mint and lemon.
The plains to the north and west bound the goldroad and the searoad. They are not nearly as fertile or beautiful as those to the east and south. These plains begin to show characteristics of the rocky flatlands of the Westerlands. One area in the region is particularly notable, the Field of Fire; it is here that Aegon Targaryen ended the final major threat to his rulership over Westeros.
People
The Tyrells of Highgarden are a proud house that demands respect from all who owe them their allegiance. They believe themselves to be the very definition of chivalry. Their sworn houses take their cue from Highgarden, acting in only the most gallant and courtly manner and maintaining a strict relationship with the smallfolk and fellow nobles of the region. Most every boy in the Reach dreams of one day serving as a squire to one of the great Tyrell or Florent knights, and perhaps even becoming knights in their own right. Girls grow up dreaming of marrying a handsome knight who will sweep them off their feet and carry them off on a grand destrier bearing the noble colours of a great house.
Even though the chivalric code followed by the lords of the Reach ensures that the smallfolk know their place in society and know it well, many still feel a sense of pride at being ruled by such beautiful and brave lords — or so their lords would like to believe. The smallfolk of the Reach are much like those everywhere between the North and Dorne, giving traditional tributes and paying taxes as their station demands. Celebrations and festivals are common, and knights on their way to a tournament often make many stops along the way to parade their sharply dressed horses and attendants and to receive the favours due them from the smallfolk. Many a bastard has been sired as a direct result of these pageant trains, though for the most part the mothers of such children feel blessed rather than forgotten.
The people of Horn Hill and other locations near the Dornish Marches are less interested in the honour of their lords and more concerned with how many swords they can send against the raids from the stony Dornishmen of the nearby mountains. They tend to be a harder people than the farmers and merchants in other areas of the Reach, although not nearly so much as the Dornishmen they fight or the hardy Northmen.
The people of the Reach have greater access to dyes than most because of the preponderance of fl owers. Because of this, they dress much more richly and extravagantly than smallfolk elsewhere, and more so than even some nobility. The greens and golds of Highgarden are popular colours, as are the reds and purples made in the Southwest from grapes that cannot be used for wine. The Reach has become a place of almost dream-like beauty in the time since Aegon Dragonlord immolated its lords on the Field of Fire.
The riverlands are the heart of the Seven Kingdoms. Within its borders are some of the most storied and significant castles in Westeros. House Tully flies its red and blue banners above the castle at Riverrun, while their bannermen, the Freys, guard the river crossing where the Green Fork flows from the swamps of the Neck. New alliances and old rivalries keep the riverlands in a state of flux, and the winner of the game of thrones may very well be determined on its green fields.
Land
The riverlands are a vibrant region, full of bustling riverside towns and farmers transporting goods to market. Settlements are common and it is hard to travel for a day by road or river without encountering other travellers or passing through a village. Some farmers and merchants have shops upon the great rivers of the region, floating from town to town and selling to travellers whom they happen upon. Even mummers use the rivers to their advantage, floating downstream on brightly coloured barges from which they can give performances.
The Trident is the heart of the region, being the confl uence of the Blue Fork, the Red Fork, and the Green Fork rivers. It was at the ruby ford of the Trident that Robert Baratheon slew Rhaegar Targaryen. The lands that surround this great river are green and fertile, home to several towns and farms as far as the eye can see. Most of the lords of the region have built their castles and holdfasts along the banks of the Trident, including Riverrun, the seat of House Tully.
Riverrun stands where the Tumblestone falls into the Red Fork before continuing towards the Trident. Its walls rise sheer from the water of the two rivers, and in times of war a moat can be formed to prevent an army from attacking from the west. It is here at Riverrun that Robb Stark wins a great victory against the Lannisters, and inspires his sworn lords to proclaim him King in the North.
Harrenhal is the greatest castle of the region, however, dwarfi ng Riverrun and boasting the highest castle walls in the Seven Kingdoms. It is held by Lady Whent until Lord Tywin drives her and her lords bannermen from it. The castle is rumoured to be cursed, however, since the time Aegon Targaryen unleashed his dragons upon it and turned it into a pyre, burning everyone inside.
The Gods Eye, a lake that stands south of Harrenhal, feeds a river into the Blackwater Rush, where it then travels on to King’s Landing and spills out into Blackwater Bay. This area is also fertile farmland where wheat and other grains are grown in abundance. The kingsroad runs through this region, to the east of the Gods Eye from the north after it crosses the Trident.
People
The people of the riverlands are happy and well fed. For the most part they lead quiet lives, although the spectre of war always looms large over the green fi elds and hills. The people know when war comes they will be at the heart of it, but they do not despair at this. Instead they strive to find joy in their everyday lives. Fairs and celebrations are common in the region, especially around harvest time when the crops come in. The river people dress in bright colours and enjoy playing music gathered from all the settlements and communities along the great rivers. Their lords — the Tullys, Freys, Blackwoods, Brackens, and Mallisters — treat them well.
The people are not strangers to historical rivalries, however. The neighbouring Houses of Blackwood and Bracken have long been ancient enemies, and are always at each other’s throats. Their feud dates back to the Age of Heroes, when both houses ruled the riverlands at various times, and also splintered on religious lines — the Brackens went over to the new gods, while the Blackwoods remain steadfast with the old. Their liege lords spend a good deal of time and effort making peace between them, but it seldom lasts.
The folks of the riverlands have adopted the worship of the Seven, although there are a few lords who still follow the old gods. The blood of the Andals runs deep within their veins, and worship of the old gods has almost been completely eradicated from the region. Religion plays a large part in everything the folks from the riverlands do, and even smaller villages have septs dedicated to the Seven (like much of the south). To grow up to take the vows of the godsworn is almost as glorious a dream as becoming a knight for children of the riverlands.
Legends say the Stormlands were born in a struggle against the gods themselves. Thousands of years of conquest, conflict with the elements, and war with the people of Dorne have given rise to a folk as stern and strong as the tempests that give these lands their name. The coastlands of the narrow sea are not renowned for their wealth or prosperity, but as a breeding ground of kings. Two lines of great kings have called the Stormlands home: the Storm Kings who arose in the Age of Heroes, the Targaryens who invaded Westeros from Dragonstone Isle.
Land
The Stormlands stretch from the waters of Blackwater Bay in the north to the Sea of Dorne in the south. They include the lands surrounding Shipbreaker Bay, and the far southern region of the Dornish marches, which forms a troubled border with Dorne. Most of the inland regions of the Stormlands are covered in two great forests, the kingswood and the rainwood, while the coastlines consist of ragged snarls of rocks or sheer cliffs. Ships sailing to King’s Landing from Storm’s End travel through Massey’s Hook, which shields them from gales coming out of the narrow sea. From the end of Massey’s Hook, known as Sharp Point (and controlled by the Bar Emmons of Dragonstone), ships travel through the Gullet and into Blackwater Bay.
A few villages and holdfasts are nestled in the depths of the woods, while castles and fortresses cling to the coastal cliffs. The larger islands like Tarth host fiefs as well. None of these settlements has grown to the size of a full-fledged city, and in many ways the Stormlands stand in the shadow of King’s Landing. The lands along Cape Wrath and in the kingswood and the rainwood are fertile, but low populations and historic strife have kept the Stormlands fairly rural. The Stormlands have little to offer in trade with the surrounding regions — the coastal fiefs cannot hope to compete with the bounty of the Reach and riverlands, or the mineral wealth of the Westerlands.
Though it lacks any major cities, the Stormlands are home to one of the most famous castles in Westeros. Storm’s End, ancient home of the Storm Kings, crouches atop the chalky cliffs of Shipbreaker Bay facing the angry sea. According to legend, Storm’s End was the seventh castle built by Durran, the first Storm King. Legends say Durran raised seven castles during his feud with the gods of sea and sky, and only this last held strong. Some say Durran was aided by the children of the forest, or by Brandon the Builder in his youth. Potent spells are said to have been woven into the stout keep’s walls, magics that make the castle impervious to storm or siege. Since Aegon Targaryen awarded Orys Baratheon the titles of Argilac the Storm King, Storm’s End has been held by House Baratheon.
The Stormlands contain several other notable holdings, such as the castle of Bronzegate; Harvest Hall, home of the Selmys; and Evenfall Hall on the island of Tarth, which is also known as the Sapphire Isle.
People
The people of the Stormlands are primarily of Andal extraction, although some ancient houses trace their origins to Durran the Storm King in the Age of Heroes. At one time, the Storm Kings ruled all of the surrounding lands up to the Neck. They then lost their empire to the Iron Men. The last Storm King, Argilac the Arrogant, died during the Wars of Conquest at the hand of Orys Baratheon. Favoured by the Targaryens, the Baratheons have ruled the Stormlands ever since.
As in the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, most of the people of the Stormlands live in small villages clustered around keeps, crossroads, or holdfasts. Most lowborn folk till the soil or fish in the sea, pledging their labours to the nobles of lesser houses, who in turn serve House Baratheon. Fishing is a common profession among the island and coastal fiefs, and many of the lesser houses have turned to shipping (and even smuggling) as a means of making their fortune. Though the fiefs of the Stormlands produce few trade goods, their position between the markets of King’s Landing and the prosperous Free Cities draws many foreign merchants to the towns and islands of the Stormlands.
Perhaps the old enmity of the sea and storm gods has infused itself into the people of this ancient land. Kings and houses may come and go, but the fury of sea and storm always remains, and the people of the Stormlands have long since learned to trust to their strength and swords for survival. The kingswood and rainwood are notorious for the bandits and brigands who hide in them from the King’s Law, and the Marcher Lords have fought with the Dornishmen to the south for more than a thousand years. Some of the greatest warriors in Westeros, including Ser Barristan Selmy (Lord Commander of the Kingsguard), the Marcher Lord Beric Dondarrion, and King Robert Baratheon were all nurtured in the lands of the Storm Kings.
A hidden paradise nestled among the sheer peaks of the Mountains of the Moon, the Vale of Arryn is one of the oldest of the Seven Kingdoms as well as one of the most remote. Accessible only by long, treacherous mountain roads or by sea, the Vale has stood apart from the turmoil and intrigues of Westeros since the Kings of Mountain and Vale took the lands from the First Men. The Vale’s isolation — and the depredations of the mountain clansmen — have given rise to both pragmatism and caution among the folk who live there.
Land
The Vale of Arryn encompasses all the lands encircled by the Mountains of the Moon, from the twin watchtowers known as the Bloody Gate in the west, to Gulltown and the barren lands of the Fingers in the east. Near the Bloody Gate, the Vale is only a few leagues across, while the broken coasts to the east are a seemingly endless labyrinth of bays and cliffs.
The heartland of the Vale is a beautiful land, with stunning vistas of green fi elds, blue skies, and snowy summits. The wide valleys between sheer peaks of the Mountains of the Moon are blessed with slow rivers and black soil, dotted with hundreds of small lakes. The air is clear and chill in the Vale, and ice and snow are common sights in the mountain trails, even in summer.
The heartlands are blessed with prosperity to match their breathtaking beauty. The rich soil is admirably suited for wheat, corn, and barley, and it is said that the pumpkins and other produce of the Vale are as large and fine as any in the orchards of Highgarden. The Giant’s Lance, tallest of the Mountains of the Moon, dominates the skyline of the Vale.
The Eyrie, one of the strongest castles in Westeros and ancient home of the Arryns, is perched atop the mountain. Though the Eyrie is far smaller than Winterfell and the other great castles, its granaries are ample, allowing it to withstand a long siege if need be. The difficult approach is guarded by a castle called the Gates of the Moon, along with three watchforts named Stone, Snow, and Sky. In places, the path up the sheer mountainside is only wide enough for a single man to pass. The watchforts are ideally positioned to rain arrows and stones upon it.
The outlands of the Vale are far less pleasant. The Fingers are bleak, empty lands, home to stones and sheep and little else. Most of the Vale’s commerce with the rest of Westeros comes through the bustling port city of Gulltown, for even the uncertain seas are safer than the mountain roads, plagued by clansmen and shadowcats.
People
The people of the Vale are mostly of Andal extraction and live as the rest of the peoples of Westeros do. The lowborn, mostly farmers or fishermen, dwell in small villages gathered around the holdfasts or mansions of the highborn. Every highborn family swears its allegiance to the Arryns. The Arryns have ruled the Vale from time out of mind and have served the Iron Throne as Wardens of the East since the Targaryen conquest.
Peace and prosperity have lingered in the Vale for centuries, and with them have flowered generosity, hospitality, and courtesy. The people of the Vale are friendly and generous even to outsiders, save at the western end near the Bloody Gate, where the continual raiding of the mountain clans has given rise to constant wariness.
The Vale was one of the first places that the Andals invaded during the Age of Heroes, landing at the Fingers and wresting the Vale from the First Men. The Kings of Mountain and Vale, legends say, were one of the purest lines of Andal nobility.
The people of the Vale have little tolerance for injustice, though their geographic isolation makes it all too easy for them to keep out of the intrigues of the rest of the Seven Kingdoms.
The long neutrality of the Vale may soon be put to the test.
West of the Trident and north of the Reach is a region known as the Westerlands, a rocky land of miners and fi shermen. The Westerlands are rich in coin, thanks to the many gold mines that dot the surrounding hills and mountains. Additionally, the coastal fisheries and large tracts of grazing land keep the region well fed. The Lannisters of Casterly Rock are the unrivalled rulers of this precious hill country. Through their ruthless actions and the devotion of their enforcers, such as House Marbrand, House Lannister has seen every family in the region bend the knee to their lord.
Land
The Westerlands stretch from Lannisport in the south to Ironman’s Bay in the north, with the goldroad and the Red Fork marking convenient southern and eastern boundaries. The lands here are rocky and mountainous, a far cry from the rolling wheat fields and pig farms of the nearby riverlands. The region’s farmers concentrate on blooming crops such as nuts and berries as well as root crops, such as turnips, which are staples of the Westerlands’ agriculture.
Fishermen from Faircastle and Lannisport supply much of the coastal region’s food, while those farther inland rely on the aforementioned fruits, herds of sheep and cattle, as well as deer and goats from the mountains. The region has few inland towns that are not directly tied to the many gold mines or the handful of silver mines found in the mountains. Some of the mines have dried up, leaving ghost towns whose inhabitants try to scrape by as best they can while newer generations move to other cities to find work and life.
The mines at the Golden Tooth are some of Casterly Rock’s most prolific, and the area around it has become hotly contested for this reason, as well as its strategic importance as a pass between Riverrun and Casterly Rock. Other gold minesdot the mountainous regions of the Westerlands, and people flock from the fields and cities to participate in the mining of the precious ore. These towns often present a sharp dichotomy for those who live there. The mines themselves are tightly regulated to discourage attempts to smuggle out any gold. The towns that spring up around them, however, are often lawless affairs, ruled by itinerant landlords and their personal guard. Some of these towns are run by sellswords in the pay of nobles who live in Lannisport and elsewhere. Living conditions in these towns are harsh, and violence can break out at any time without cause or justice.
The towns along the western coast of Westeros are rich from the plentiful gold. Nobles live good lives and are spared much of the fighting that has taken place. Fisheries and imports from across the sea keep trade bustling in Lannisport, and the city’s population reflects the diversity one often finds in port cities with access to the riches of the world.
There are fewer castles and holdfasts in the region than in the fertile regions to the east or in the North. The mountains provide a strong defensive position for local lords, and Casterly Rock is a nearly impenetrable stronghold whose presence protects those around it.
People
The best thing the people of the Westerlands have to say about their lot in life is that they are well defended. House Lannister holds more political power than any of the other houses, and this alone grants their lands some measure of security. Unfortunately, they give little else for their smallfolk to cheer about. The riches of the area’s gold mines have done little or nothing to help the region’s poor, who struggle daily to sell fish in the cities and bring gold out of the mines in the mountains. This gold goes to enrich the coffers of Lannister nobles and their bannermen, while life remains rugged and short for those without access to the wealth.
Lannisport and Casterly Rock are the two greatest hubs in the region; the world’s eyes are on the Lannisters upon their perch at the Rock, while the local population centres upon the prosperous city of Lannisport. Merchants and middlemen are somewhat scarcer in the cities of the west than in other regions, as the majority of the local wealth is controlled by the region’s nobles. Control over the money is given to lords and sworn men, leaving very little room for advancement in Westerland society. Yet undoubtedly those who prove outstanding ability can find powerful local patrons and great rewards.
Most labourers and beggars have little time for the intrigues and games played by nobles throughout the realm, of course. The smallfolk of the Westerlands are mostly loyal to House Lannister and its banner houses. Aside from the mining towns, law and order is kept throughout the region. Casterly Rock does not tolerate outlaw bands that seek to steal from the mines and coffers of its noble houses. Taxation remains relatively low, and there is always work to be had.
Military Might: The North
The Starks of Winterfell command perhaps 45,000 fighting men. Since the region is so large and has such a diffuse population, however, it takes a very long time to gather an army. Since the winters are so harsh, the local lords are always concerned with having enough men to bring in the harvest. Sending away needed workers means a cold, hungry death for everyone in the area. Among the forces of the North, the average ratio between foot and horse solider is 4 to 1.
The Northerners have no fleet to speak of since Brandon the Burner torched the navy.
Military Might: The Iron Islands
The Iron Islands can call upon an estimated 20,000 swords. The island fleet is the largest in Westeros. The islands can probably float about 500 longships or more — many of these might dip no more than 20 oars, while a handful dip more than 100. The Iron Fleet is a specific elite fleet of these larger ships. It should be noted that a longship does not compare well to a galley or carrack, despite being faster and more manoeuvrable, as those ships have much higher decks with room to mount scorpions and other such instruments of war.
The ironmen have an advantage over other regions for their martial culture encompasses everyone, high and low, men and even some women, all of whom learn to fight and reave. The only exception are the thralls, who are not taught to fight but instead do heavy labour.
Military Might: The Riverlands
The strength of the Riverlands is roughly 45,000 swords, likely comparable to that of the Vale of Arryn. Unfortunately, the strong personalities of the river lords lead to fractious divisions — the Freys like to sit and wait, and they command some 4,000 by themselves. The lords of Bracken and Blackwood are at odds, helping to paralyse the region. The ratio of foot to horse is likely fairly high, at about 3 to 1. Houses on the major rivers will have barges, galleys, and skiffs.
Military Might: The Vale
The Defenders of the Vale can summon perhaps 45,000 swords to their banners. Their force is comparable in power to the North, or Dorne, although far more concentrated than the former. They have little naval power to speak of outside of Gulltown, but have a decent ratio of infantry to mounted soldiers (perhaps 3 to 1).
Military Might: The Westerlands
The Westerlands commands slightly more troops than places like the Riverlands or the Vale. It is estimated that the entirety of the Westerlands can bring in 50,000 soldiers when all the banners are raised, but this includes the greenest boys, and leaves many castle garrisons desperately weak. The Lannister wealth allows them to command the second strongest land force, in large part because it allows them to field a tremendous mounted force compared to infantry, perhaps as good as 2 to 1. The pikemen of the City Watch in Lannisport are known to be well trained, perhaps the most disciplined feudal foot levy in the Seven Kingdoms. The Lannisters also have a fairly significant naval strength. The Lannisters have 20 or 30 cogs, carracks, galleys, and dromonds at Lannisport, and can call upon their bannermen to fill out their fleets. Each minor coastal house likely has two or three ships to patrol their waters. In total, the Westerland navy is probably close to 50 or 60 large ships, leaving their longships for coastal defence.
Military Might: The Crownlands The mainland lords of the crownlands can raise up to 15,000 men. The largest concentrations of fighting men can be raised by houses Darklyn and Rosby. King's Landing has yet to reach a size or even degree of organisation to make it a capable source of manpower.
Dragonstone, the island east of Blackwater Bay, can field its own military strength, but compared to the regions in Westeros, can field the least amount of soldiers. Its garrison is made up out of thirty knights, a hundred crossbowmen, and three hundred men-at-arms. Other, similar islands and strongholds are dotted along the bay, such as Driftmark, Stonedance and Claw Isle. It is unclear how many men may be called from Crackclaw Point, but a low estimate would be two to three thousand.
Military Might: The Reach
Because of its bountiful harvests and its wealth, the Reach has a large population. With that comes the largest army in the Seven Kingdoms, capable of reaching 80,000 troops with a foot to horse ratio of 2 or 3 to 1. Should the sweepings of the Reach be collected and trained, they might marshal as many as 100,000 swords. With the Redwynes, the Shield Islands, and the coastal lords gathered together, the Tyrells also command a fleet to rival the king’s royal fleet and the fleet of the Greyjoys, floating 200 ships or more of which dip 100 oars or more.
Military Might: The Stormlands
The Baratheons of Storm’s End command the most formidable castles in the Seven Kingdoms, but their arms are fewer than those of some of the richer regions. The lords of the Stormlands can raise perhaps 30,000 men to fight, however there is likely a poor horse to foot ratio. Individual soldiers are often seasoned veterans due to the strong martial traditions in the Marches, and the marcher lords tend to have very strong castles to resist Dornish raids.
Military Might: Dorne
The spearmen of Dorne number about 50,000. They favour spears and lighter armours, due to Rhoynish influence and the heat of the country.
The Dornishmen are famous for their sand steeds, light coursers that can outrun any other horse of the Seven Kingdoms; they tend to ready large numbers of mounted soldiers. The Dornishmen are experts at using terrain to their benefit. Already dangerous fighters, they become almost unbeatable when fighting in their mountain passes or across the hot deserts. They favour guerrilla tactics — light, quick assaults and hasty retreats that favour their fast horses and spearmen.
Dorne has few ships, certainly fewer than the Reach or the Westerlands.
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[color=]House Description:[/color] Historical background, seat information, lands, etc. goes here.
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Name: Remy LeBeau Alias: Gambit Age: 32 Place of Birth: Louisiana
Powers:
Molecular Acceleration: Remy has the power to take the potential energy stored in an object and convert it to kinetic energy, thus “charging” that item with explosive results. He prefers to charge smaller objects, such as his ever-present playing cards, as the time required to charge them is greatly reduced and they are much easier for him to throw. The only real limitation to this ability is the time required to charge the object. The larger it is, the more time it takes.
Most charging takes place through direct skin contact. The power of his explosions is dependent on the mass of the object he is charging, for example, a charged playing card explodes with the force of a grenade. He typically cannot utilize his powers on living matter or organic molecules.
History:
Born with blazing red eyes, the child that would become Gambit was abandoned shortly after birth, no doubt the generally highly religious and superstitious communities of the Bayou wanting little to do with the baby possessing the eyes of a demon, he was taken in and raised by the Thieves Guild. Few mutants exemplify the complicated and convoluted nature of the mutant factions than Gambit.
The young Gambit was commissioned to recover the diary of Nathaniel Essex from the Weapon X Facility in Canada. While he was ultimately discovered in the act, the chaos created by Logan’s escape managed to enable Gambit to escape. Appalled by the experiments he had seen at the Facility, he burned the diary. Back in New Orleans. Despite some suspicions, Essex eventually accepted the story, and Gambit became a respected and established member of the guild.
As part of a peace pact between the Thieves' Guild and their rivals, the Assassins Guild, a marriage was arranged between Remy and Bella Donna Boudreaux, the granddaughter of the head of the Assassins Guild; however, Bella Donna's brother Julien objected to the marriage and challenged Gambit to a duel. Remy killed Julien in self-defence, but was excommunicated and banished from New Orleans in an attempt to maintain the fragile peace between the two guilds.
First brought to the attention of the X-men while assisting in recovering a de-aged Storm from grave danger, the adventuring criminal had little in common with Xavier or other important members of the X-Men, and those who he might have aligned with were the kind to be most suspicious of him. Despite this, after several further encounters he would ultimately join the team. Whether this was due to a true change of heart from the Ex-Thief, or rather more to do with the Southern charms of a certain member, remains up for debate. He would, over time, become a well liked and valued member of the team. This made the revelation that he had long been a double agent working for Sinister, despite his reasons, all the more painful for the X-Men, in particular for Rogue. In their rage, the team abandoned Gambit in the Antarctic, a situation he was unlikely to survive.
The wraith-like Mary bonded with him, allowing him to survive until he reached the Savage Land, a hidden jungle nestled in the icy wasteland. There, Remy struck a deal with the enigmatic being known as the New Sun. In exchange for passage back to America, Remy agreed to run errands for the New Sun, a being that turned out to be a version of himself from other realities. The New Sun’s aim was the destruction of alternate versions of himself, but once this was revealed, Gambit was ultimately able to overcome his assailant, and make it home to America.
Various adventures followed, and despite earlier conflicts, Gambit returned to membership with the X-Men once the nature of his betrayals, and his lack of agency in them, was revealed. Similarly, Rogue and Gambit, despite their tempestuous nature, rekindled their relationship and it has been ‘largely’ uninterrupted since, even surviving Gambit’s brief period of domination by Apocalypse as his Horseman, Death. Ultimately this culminated in the pair finally marrying, the result of a failed ceremony between two other mutants instead becoming the impromptu matrimony of the pair, in a manner that seemed quite suitable for these two.
Since this time, Gambit has settled on Krakoa for the time being, while his wife remains a core part of the X-Men’s effort, he appears to have hung up his hero boots for the moment, quite content to bartend in the Lagoon. It’s a mystery if even Gambit believes the longevity of this attempt at a life no involved in heists and heroics.
Story Arcs:
Married Life and An Actual Job: Trying to achieve some sort of stability, how’s that going to go?
Espionage: If the above fails, Gambit has long been associated with the shadier dealings of the X-Men, Brotherhood, and more, certainly a skill set the new mutant state needs as it entrenches itself.
In the brief moments that existed before the arrival of the spattering of humans, the brief moments where there was still a possibility the day could have been a quiet, but solemn one, Magneto had asked the question that had niggled at him for the last few interactions he had with Jean Grey.
"Even Charles does not call me Max, not to suggest there are not differences between him and me, and you, but he knows those times of my life better than most." It was an unusual number of words for the usually precise Magento, and he would have to admit to himself that despite his experience of years, there was something about her that made him grasp for words in a way he had not for a long time. Equally, while the implication was otherwise, he avoided 'better than you' when you spoke with telepaths like Xavier and Jean Grey, they could know your own history better than you. "Why the change?" A simple question, for a complicated issue, interrupted by the arrival of the sort of blacked out vehicle which usually meant you were either meeting the Federal Government or the local cartel. In his experience on this continent, the distinction had always eluded him.
If there was another present with similar gifts to the finely, if slightly old fashioned, dressed mutant, the slight hum in the air would no doubt notice the subtle change in the air. All around them small metallic objects buzzed with the slight force of his attention, their focus trained gently to move through the air should he need them. The firearms in the possession of those stepping forth onto the street would be found to be most inoperable should they be drawn, only temporarily, but that's all that mattered.
He clasped the man's hand in greeting and decided roughly in that moment he would likely prove to be one of his preferred representatives of the United States various agencies he had met. This meant little in his evaluation of the man along lines that mattered, he had murdered people he had loved and spared those he hated when the cause was involved, but it would at least make the walk a more pleasant experience.
"Mr Joseph," It was a simple enough greeting, but the nod of polite respect he gave the man did much to suggest he simply wished to not insult his intelligence by feeling the need to give his own introduction. "The Birth of Krakoa is an apt name for it, if future communications to your government should be run through yourself I will be happy to inform our Council, although you may forgive our hesitation with divisions named as yours's is." The 'Mutant Desk' was never normally a pleasant term, not for those it had been created to monitor.
The formal meeting of state representatives, however different in their roles, was put aside for the moment as Magneto turned his attention to Paul Bailey, offering him another nod and smile of greeting, that was several degrees less political and several degrees more conversational, even as he walked ahead with Jean "Mr Bailey, pleased to meet you." In other circumstances he would likely allude to some support should he need against the government that had propelled him here, but that seemed a little unnecessary given the situation.
"Do forgive me if I am straight to business, but I had hoped to pay respects to a departed family friend on this day, what matter brings federal agents to attend us? I do so hope it is something a little more interesting than fear of our presence."
The carousel, despite it being the nexus of the Krakoan community, was not particularly busy at the time, a state of affairs which suited Magneto quite well. Much had been done to establish Mutants in their own nation, a people apart. It had not been the future most had hoped for, but it had been necessary. It was a truth he had known for longer than most, a lesson learned and earned many times over.
Yet here he was, preparing to attend the most human of occasions, a ceremony that, should matters remain as they were for mutantkind, need never again occur for his own people. Before he had been Magneto, however, he had been Max Eisenhardt, born to a people that were bound together tighter than most, across borders jealously guarded by other peoples, but mostly ignored by them. It was a closeness, much like mutantkind, forged by necessity, from the predations of outsiders. It had damned and saved them countless times, and it was not something he could ignore, not forever.
So the helmet had been removed, the white and black of Magneto replaced with a finely tailored suit of the same colouring, a silver chain hanging from the centre of his waistcoat to one pocket. He had been told that this, along with the flat cap position atop his white shock of hair had become fashionable once more, but to him it was simply the style of his choice, from a lifetime of altering tastes among the wider human people. He supposed there were some advantages to being a man out of his era.
He had been preparing to leave for some time, waiting for no particular moment among the sparse spattering of mutants going to and thro. Their presence only amplified the debate within him, these were his people, not those beyond the portal. When he had finally exhaled and taken to cross the threshold, a familiar voice resounded within his head itself.
"Hold a moment."
"I will not be long, Miss Frost, I am sure Krakoa will survive for a day," The sudden thought something had arisen that might prevent him from paying his respects was not a comfortable one, and it was one which convinced him, finally, that is was the right thing to do, even if simply for himself, and those who had been lost along the way. No reply was forthcoming from the telepath, however, and so he did as instructed, pausing, not wishing to risk any ire from a lack of patience.
Then he saw her, the crest of red hair over black and brown, drifting through the air itself. It was a sight many would enjoy, he was sure, but when he beheld her there was more to his understanding. Was that not how the humans depicted their divinities? The song of angels on high, Christ descending among them. As the woman who had been the Phoenix touched down, boot-clad feet onto grass, his mind considered just how much destiny shifted around her, around all mutants. Only her voice, spoken aloud unlike Emma's, snapped him from such considerations.
"Miss Grey, keenly observed as ever, although perhaps knowing the machinations of a certain mutual connection, I believe we may be heading in the same direction." Something of the Head Masterly tone entered his words as he spoke, it was not entirely deliberate, for their times at Xavier's school had never intersected, beyond the somewhat awkward number of times he had been trying to destroy the place. "While I do suspect of the two of us, she considers me the risk that needs managing, I may pretend at least otherwise, and ask if do not mind for me to accompany you?" He tilted one hand towards the portal, as one might have a carriage door, in ages past.
Even for one possessed of great mental control, Jean Grey was distracting. Eric imagined he could stretch the belief that it was a facet of her powers, but in truth that would be giving himself too much credit. It had far more to do with the cascade of red hair, the sing-song of her laugh as the giggle tumbled forth and the way the shimmering emerald of her outfit flared after her waist into her hips than any great telepathic ability.
"I believe there are still grooves." He mused quietly as she turned course on their conversation to discuss the furniture and its unintentional use. A lesser man would have joined the grin, but he prevented such, instead offering a warm smile at her acceptance of the request he had made of her, allowing his previous words instead to suggest that he hadn't quite forgotten either.
The next words which issued forth from her steeled him, allowing the warmth that had been building from her presence to drip away. Matters with Wanda were never easy, and her own children were often even more extreme. He could not blame them, but it was still a complication. They were wounds he one day wished to heal, but for the moment, had kept on cutting.
"Thank you, Jean." The words answered the summation of both her agreement and the news she had passed on, even as she was drifting away, the enclosing hold of his helmet slipped away, allowing the other, less horrifyingly powerful, telepaths of the island to reach him from beyond its restraining hold. She had only just passed the lip of the balcony before Magneto began his own flight. Unlike Jean, he did not drift leisurely, the Master of Magnetism soaring into the air as he twisted the force of the world around him, moving at a speed that was enough to draw attention from the ground below.
The attention only grew more intense as he neared his destination, dropping lower in descent, the exited inhabitants of the Lagoon turning from their revelry to note one of the Quiet Council moving towards them at speed. It wasn't panic, it was just good gossip. He did not land with force, nothing quiet so dramatic, but the magnetic ripple at him suddenly coming to a half a short distance from both Emma Frost and the two boys. Without the helm, the passing wave of energy shuddered through his own grey-white hair as he halted in mid-air, before gently drifting the final foot to touch down deftly.
"Miss Frost, I do hope you are enjoying the festivities." His initial greeting was directed to his fellow council member, before his attention shifted to the forms of Wiccan and Speed. "Welcome Home."
"Jean, my thanks on your promptness, I hope I have not disturbed your plans too greatly." Erik's response to Jean's arrival was much in the manner of her greeting. Unlike her communication with Charles, and perhaps others of her more long term allegiance, it remained spoken, in the clipped politeness of humanity rather than the freeflow of mutant telepathic thought. In this instance in particular the latter would have been impossible, the cold metal of Magneto's helm placed upon his features. A sure sign these days that Eric whished to keep his thoughts from straying into the minds of those who might wish to listen. "I would offer refreshments as a good host, but I imagine the selection and the celebration I have taken you from would be far superior, so we shall be direct." Eric's hands met behind his back, his eyes drifting from the form she struck, having just touched down on the structure of his home. His focus settled on the view of the island, and the celebrants, even as he spoke again.
"I am sure you well understand the fragility of this, even as we celebrate. What Charles and I have had to become to ensure it, among the work of others, has necessitated a pragmatism that is far from his first vision, as much as it was my own." As the man spoke, he extended one hand, a trio of metallic orbs floating from within the chamber he had been waiting in, beginning to turn and rotate in perfect even synchronicity around his hand. A form of meditation, but also no doubt, demonstration. "It could not have been done without it, but I also believe we have lost something important, and equally necessary." Once again his eyes settled on her, a turn of his head to bring her back into focus, all the glimmer of her outfit and the blazing corona of her red hair. The woman who had held creation within her.
"It is necessary for you to take a place on the Quiet Council, to hold Charles to account, myself as well, although I doubt you would ever refrain from that duty, even if you weren't." Time and shared struggle had done much to ease the scars of the past, but the memories of their own terrible power turned on each other was still there. "It has to be you, you are a beacon to them, the people celebrating below, even those who hate you, and more importantly, only you could make us appear trivial, were it to be needed." It was certainly not a question, although it fell short of an order, a statement impressing upon her the importance of what he was saying, and perhaps addressing the need for the wearing of his helmet, to prevent him being convinced otherwise before he could bring the matter to her.
In the brief moments that existed before the arrival of the spattering of humans, the brief moments where there was still a possibility the day could have been a quiet, but solemn one, Magneto had asked the question that had niggled at him for the last few interactions he had with Jean Grey.
"Even Charles does not call me Max, not to suggest there are not differences between him and me, and you, but he knows those times of my life better than most." It was an unusual number of words for the usually precise Magento, and he would have to admit to himself that despite his experience of years, there was something about her that made him grasp for words in a way he had not for a long time. Equally, while the implication was otherwise, he avoided 'better than you' when you spoke with telepaths like Xavier and Jean Grey, they could know your own history better than you. "Why the change?" A simple question, for a complicated issue, interrupted by the arrival of the sort of blacked out vehicle which usually meant you were either meeting the Federal Government or the local cartel. In his experience on this continent, the distinction had always eluded him.
If there was another present with similar gifts to the finely, if slightly old fashioned, dressed mutant, the slight hum in the air would no doubt notice the subtle change in the air. All around them small metallic objects buzzed with the slight force of his attention, their focus trained gently to move through the air should he need them. The firearms in the possession of those stepping forth onto the street would be found to be most inoperable should they be drawn, only temporarily, but that's all that mattered.
He clasped the man's hand in greeting and decided roughly in that moment he would likely prove to be one of his preferred representatives of the United States various agencies he had met. This meant little in his evaluation of the man along lines that mattered, he had murdered people he had loved and spared those he hated when the cause was involved, but it would at least make the walk a more pleasant experience.
"Mr Joseph," It was a simple enough greeting, but the nod of polite respect he gave the man did much to suggest he simply wished to not insult his intelligence by feeling the need to give his own introduction. "The Birth of Krakoa is an apt name for it, if future communications to your government should be run through yourself I will be happy to inform our Council, although you may forgive our hesitation with divisions named as yours's is." The 'Mutant Desk' was never normally a pleasant term, not for those it had been created to monitor.
The formal meeting of state representatives, however different in their roles, was put aside for the moment as Magneto turned his attention to Paul Bailey, offering him another nod and smile of greeting, that was several degrees less political and several degrees more conversational, even as he walked ahead with Jean "Mr Bailey, pleased to meet you." In other circumstances he would likely allude to some support should he need against the government that had propelled him here, but that seemed a little unnecessary given the situation.
"Do forgive me if I am straight to business, but I had hoped to pay respects to a departed family friend on this day, what matter brings federal agents to attend us? I do so hope it is something a little more interesting than fear of our presence."
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