Shizuochan

[ASOIAF]: Before the Dragons Danced

House Drahar of Myr

House Drahar is an ancient family from the Free City of Myr, their blood distilled from the adventuring conquerors of the Valyrian Freehold and the Rhoynars both. While in time they too would make sizeable fortunes as merchants -- as any proper Myrish family of note should -- they prospered, firstly, as pirate hunters of great skill and renown. During Aegon I’s reign there was Vaeqaro Drahar, ‘Dancing Flame of the Sea’, and in more recent times, Craghas Drahar, ’Crabfeeder’, whose staking of over a hundred pirates upon the Stepstones’ beaches was a feat as worthy of the family name as any other.

Currently, the House Drahar sails through dire straits. The defeat and death of Prince-Admiral Craghas Crabfeeder by Daemon Targaryen’s blade has vastly lowered the Drahar name in the estimation of the Triarchy’s Magisters, and a name is no small matter. House Drahar’s good fortune relies not only on a favorable outcome in the conflicts against Daemon Targaryen but, indeed, that the victory is leveraged in no small part by their deeds. Craghas Drahar was first among them, but fresher blood must prove the stronger if House Drahar is to thrive or, rather, survive.

House Members:

• Magister Dareon Drahar (57), patriarch of House Drahar and a Magister of the Triarchy. Last in esteem amongst the conclave, often mocked. Married to Taena Ostel.
  
  
  • Taena Ostel (49), first -- and only -- wife of Dareon Drahar. A pleasure-dancer who became something more than a bedwarming companion with honeyed words, clever tongue and a shrewd mind. Her body has grown bloated and plodding, but her tongue remains nimble, and her mind possessed of a muscular prowess.
    
    • Craghas Drahar (29, Deceased). Crabfeeder. Eldest son. Former Prince-Admiral. Commanded the armies of the Triarchy. Brutally defeated and humiliated many times in battle by the likes of Daemon Targaryen and Corlys Velaryon before meeting his end at the hands of the former. Feeding the crabs.
    • Aeraro Drahar (28). Failure. Eldest (living) son and heir. Captains the war galley ‘Moonglow Maiden’ -- formerly named ‘Crab, Upturned’ and ‘Ship’ -- with questionable efficacy. Bachelor.
    • Nila Drahar (25). Artisan. Eldest daughter. Found a certain fame carving immaculate figures of the seven. Moved onto more abstract creations with middling success. Married to her craft, and not much else.
    • Lererah Drahar (24). Hedonist. Daughter. An outspoken drunk (and outspoken sober) and glutton gifted in her ability to commune with merchants. Does her best to sell Nila’s more… unpalatable creations. Married to Jaqono Bahin, eldest son of Magister Baresso Bahin, and Prince-Admiral of Myr.
    • Adarano Drahar (18). Clever. Youngest son, and favorite of Taena. Aspiring sellsword of some promise, constantly manipulated by Dareon and Taena into comfortable houseguard duties. Finessed his way onto the crew of the Moonglow Maiden, unbeknownst to father and mother, in a questionable demonstration of his cleverness. Bachelor.
  
  
  • Joresso (34). Formerly an Unsullied of some ill-wrought name before given a new one. Has grown quite fat in his capacity as captain of the house guard. May still be the finest spearman in Myr.

Crew of the Moonglow Maiden:

• Doniphos the Quarrel, first of the three foremost warriors aboard the Moonglow Maiden. Has grown complacent in his martial prowess, preferring instead to tinker with his Myrish crossbow. Lunatic.
• Waera Reyaan, second of three. Braavosi, exiled. Lover of courtesans, water-dancer, and prolific duelist in the nighttime. Sadist.
• Varan, third of three. First mate. Wields an arakh and boasts of the braids held at his satchel, which he claims belongs to a group of khals easily defeated. Liar.
• Horos. Hapless deckhand. Mistreated.

Character Sheets:

Prince Aeraro Drahar

Age:

28, born 83 AC.

Appearance:

Biography:

Aeraro was born in the shadow of his brother, and for this Aeraro has always been thankful. Craghas had grown, from an early age, to be strong and possessed of a certain brutal cunning, rendering him a suitable candidate to carry out the pirate hunting legacy of the Drahar’s. Aeraro, on the other hand, was passing skilled at the glib jab of the tongue, and at the very least Dareon believed this was indicative of a merchant’s cleverness. Craghas and Aeraro were thus two children intertwined, each entrusted to be exemplars of the twin pillars that held the family aloft in Myrish society.

Craghas was deployed as a young man to exact justice upon fledgeling pirates, and Aeraro was given a sizable amount of coin and wares to fund a mercantile excursion throughout the Free Cities. Where Craghas proved to hold promise in both his zeal and capability, Aeraro demonstrated a slothfulness in approach, an active tendency towards wastefulness, and a tongue fit only for stirring wroth and creating enemies. He made it through Tyrosh, Lys, and Pentos before the loss and debt he incurred rendered the excursion unsustainable. As the oft told story of Dareon’s sons go, Craghas became a noted warrior and leader early into his days, while Aeraro had journeyed three cities to come away merely with an appreciation for fine rugs. Quickly, the second son of Dareon Drahar became the subject of unstifled laughter and ridicule.

Aeraro’s lack of mercantile talent, a stubborn unwillingness to enter into marriage, and his sister Nila’s rise as a renowned artisan left the second son as something decidedly unnecessary -- a burden, perhaps, given his reputation. As such, Dareon gifted him with as grand a vessel the magister could spare the unfavoured son, with the hope that he would sail away from the Free Cities and bring his folly elsewhere. Instead, he brought it to the war for the Stepstones, serving beneath his brother the Prince-Admiral.

The second son was perhaps more passingly… passable a captain than any of the Myrmen could have expected, and his loyal brother proved himself keen to provide Aeraro opportunities to prove as much. Though he was capable of both foolhardy impulsiveness and cowardly inaction, the performance of his crew was largely buoyed by three talented sellswords Dareon had saw fit to hire for his sake. Indeed, the crew of the war galley named ‘Ship’ was a prominent fixture in what small victories the Triarchy wrought. In the end, however, it was Aeraro’s inaction and inability to cover his brother’s flank that led to Daemon Targaryen engaging the Crabfeeder on the day of his death.

Aeraro accepts the role he played in the death of his brother, and while he is resentful of a family that has long-scorned him, also acknowledges his duty to ensure his house rises once more. To that end, his ship once again sets sail into battle. All the same, he is still a slothful coward with an acrid tongue, and it seems unlikely that the newly-named ‘Moonglow Maiden’ will force Daemon Targaryen from the Stepstones. But if it could… if he could be the one to…

All would be forgotten, all would be forgiven.

[ASOIAF]: Before the Dragons Danced

House Drahar of Myr

House Drahar is an ancient family from the Free City of Myr, their blood distilled from the adventuring conquerors of the Valyrian Freehold and the Rhoynars both. While in time they too would make sizeable fortunes as merchants -- as any proper Myrish family of note should -- they prospered, firstly, as pirate hunters of great skill and renown. During Aegon I’s reign there was Vaeqaro Drahar, ‘Dancing Flame of the Sea’, and in more recent times, Craghas Drahar, ’Crabfeeder’, whose staking of over a hundred pirates upon the Stepstones’ beaches was a feat as worthy of the family name as any other.

Currently, the House Drahar sails through dire straits. The defeat and death of Prince-Admiral Craghas Crabfeeder by Daemon Targaryen’s blade has vastly lowered the Drahar name in the estimation of the Triarchy’s Magisters, and a name is no small matter. House Drahar’s good fortune relies not only on a favorable outcome in the conflicts against Daemon Targaryen but, indeed, that the victory is leveraged in no small part by their deeds. Craghas Drahar was first among them, but fresher blood must prove the stronger if House Drahar is to thrive or, rather, survive.

House Members:

• Magister Dareon Drahar (57), patriarch of House Drahar and a Magister of the Triarchy. Last in esteem amongst the conclave, often mocked. Married to Taena Ostel.
  
  
  • Taena Ostel (49), first -- and only -- wife of Dareon Drahar. A pleasure-dancer who became something more than a bedwarming companion with honeyed words, clever tongue and a shrewd mind. Her body has grown bloated and plodding, but her tongue remains nimble, and her mind possessed of a muscular prowess.
    
    • Craghas Drahar (29, Deceased). Crabfeeder. Eldest son. Former Prince-Admiral. Commanded the armies of the Triarchy. Brutally defeated and humiliated many times in battle by the likes of Daemon Targaryen and Corlys Velaryon before meeting his end at the hands of the former. Feeding the crabs.
    • Aeraro Drahar (28). Failure. Eldest (living) son and heir. Captains the war galley ‘Moonglow Maiden’ -- formerly named ‘Crab, Upturned’ and ‘Ship’ -- with questionable efficacy. Bachelor.
    • Nila Drahar (25). Artisan. Eldest daughter. Found a certain fame carving immaculate figures of the seven. Moved onto more abstract creations with middling success. Married to her craft, and not much else.
    • Lererah Drahar (24). Hedonist. Daughter. An outspoken drunk (and outspoken sober) and glutton gifted in her ability to commune with merchants. Does her best to sell Nila’s more… unpalatable creations. Married to Jaqono Bahin, eldest son of Magister Baresso Bahin, and Prince-Admiral of Myr.
    • Adarano Drahar (18). Clever. Youngest son, and favorite of Taena. Aspiring sellsword of some promise, constantly manipulated by Dareon and Taena into comfortable houseguard duties. Finessed his way onto the crew of the Moonglow Maiden, unbeknownst to father and mother, in a questionable demonstration of his cleverness. Bachelor.
  
  
  • Joresso (34). Formerly an Unsullied of some ill-wrought name before given a new one. Has grown quite fat in his capacity as captain of the house guard. May still be the finest spearman in Myr.

Crew of the Moonglow Maiden:

• Doniphos the Quarrel, first of the three foremost warriors aboard the Moonglow Maiden. Has grown complacent in his martial prowess, preferring instead to tinker with his Myrish crossbow. Lunatic.
• Waera Reyaan, second of three. Braavosi, exiled. Lover of courtesans, water-dancer, and prolific duelist in the nighttime. Sadist.
• Varan, third of three. First mate. Wields an arakh and boasts of the braids held at his satchel, which he claims belongs to a group of khals easily defeated. Liar.
• Horos. Hapless deckhand. Mistreated.

Character Sheets:

Prince Aeraro Drahar

Age:

28, born 83 AC.

Appearance:

Biography:

Aeraro was born in the shadow of his brother, and for this Aeraro has always been thankful. Craghas had grown, from an early age, to be strong and possessed of a certain brutal cunning, rendering him a suitable candidate to carry out the pirate hunting legacy of the Drahar’s. Aeraro, on the other hand, was passing skilled at the glib jab of the tongue, and at the very least Dareon believed this was indicative of a merchant’s cleverness. Craghas and Aeraro were thus two children intertwined, each entrusted to be exemplars of the twin pillars that held the family aloft in Myrish society.

Craghas was deployed as a young man to exact justice upon fledgeling pirates, and Aeraro was given a sizable amount of coin and wares to fund a mercantile excursion throughout the Free Cities. Where Craghas proved to hold promise in both his zeal and capability, Aeraro demonstrated a slothfulness in approach, an active tendency towards wastefulness, and a tongue fit only for stirring wroth and creating enemies. He made it through Tyrosh, Lys, and Pentos before the loss and debt he incurred rendered the excursion unsustainable. As the oft told story of Dareon’s sons go, Craghas became a noted warrior and leader early into his days, while Aeraro had journeyed three cities to come away merely with an appreciation for fine rugs. Quickly, the second son of Dareon Drahar became the subject of unstifled laughter and ridicule.

Aeraro’s lack of mercantile talent, a stubborn unwillingness to enter into marriage, and his sister Nila’s rise as a renowned artisan left the second son as something decidedly unnecessary -- a burden, perhaps, given his reputation. As such, Dareon gifted him with as grand a vessel the magister could spare the unfavoured son, with the hope that he would sail away from the Free Cities and bring his folly elsewhere. Instead, he brought it to the war for the Stepstones, serving beneath his brother the Prince-Admiral.

The second son was perhaps more passingly… passable a captain than any of the Myrmen could have expected, and his loyal brother proved himself keen to provide Aeraro opportunities to prove as much. Though he was capable of both foolhardy impulsiveness and cowardly inaction, the performance of his crew was largely buoyed by three talented sellswords Dareon had saw fit to hire for his sake. Indeed, the crew of the war galley named ‘Ship’ was a prominent fixture in what small victories the Triarchy wrought. In the end, however, it was Aeraro’s inaction and inability to cover his brother’s flank that led to Daemon Targaryen engaging the Crabfeeder on the day of his death.

Aeraro accepts the role he played in the death of his brother, and while he is resentful of a family that has long-scorned him, also acknowledges his duty to ensure his house rises once more. To that end, his ship once again sets sail into battle. All the same, he is still a slothful coward with an acrid tongue, and it seems unlikely that the newly-named ‘Moonglow Maiden’ will force Daemon Targaryen from the Stepstones. But if it could… if he could be the one to…

All would be forgotten, all would be forgiven.

You Can Become a Hero!

---

Mifune had, often, probed his parents regarding their choice of craft, their decision to serve as clergymen, spinning sermon and taking in prayer. Father had said something Godly and, fittingly enough, Vaguely so. Mother, on the other hand had espoused, with some vigor, the illuminating benefits she had derived from taking on the stories of the church’s attendees and of, indeed, people-watching. Unfurling the tapestry of souls through the careful siphoning of idiosyncrasies, and thusly arriving at some measures of empathy, of perspective, of knowing one’s own place in the world and society, and an almost spiritual solace in existing as part of the kaleidoscopic whole.

Bullshit bullshit bullshit, Mifune called.

Already he could detect ‘suspicious elements’ of his year that precipitated, well, precipitation from his pores. Some guy with the watery remnants of a crying spell lining his eyes; what was he crying about? Was he crying because he was about to do something life-changingly awful? Possibly, which meant probably, which meant definitely. Some purple-eyed guy that was both too polite and self-assured by far, which meant that he was either 1) a sociopath, 2) actually genuinely far better of a person than Mifune was, or 3) both, which was a terrifying prospect.

A bevy of students who, mercifully, past muster caught Mifune’s gaze as well. The mercy was, granted, short-lived, as Mifune was well aware that darkness could lay beneath the surface (which meant that he was afraid of both the surface and the beneath, which meant… everything). Mifune’s lip quivered as he realized the devastation the wider, heavy-set girl could bring about with a full-pace tackle towards an unsuspectin- why the hell was crying-boy beaming? Suspect.

By the time cries of “I hail from Tokyo too!” had rung out, the perfectly perfunctory dialogue of two seemingly upper-class folk had entered into a brisk swing, and a girl even taller than he was had came in glowering, Mifune had decided he should all but drown it out, and forego any attempt at joining the mingling. Still, he gave himself a bit of credit - at least he hadn’t thought anything too uncharitable of the foreign students. Not that he didn’t, just, not disproportionately so. He thought, anyways. Good, good. Good.

Great.

---

On second thought, not great. Hideaki’s gaze was a thousand-yard spear, or a thousand-page treatise and dissertation on emasculation and deep-seated (or surface-lingering) thoughts of inadequacy. Mifune could have walked out, right then and there, if day-0 failure and laughing-stock status wasn’t an infinitely more soul-crushing prospect. He’d just have to make it to at least… day 100. And then he could go a hundred more. And another hundred, and another hundred.

He procured his pamphlet. Room 14, Chiheisen.

Mifune allowed himself a deep-sigh, and began to trudge along to his new home, steps so stilted one wouldn’t be remiss to think he had perhaps soiled himself.

And, damn, boy was still sweatin’.

Granblue Fantasy: Rhapsody in Red

“You sure Kagami should do it? You two are the talent, you know?” Gilvan spoke in a hushed whisper despite the bedlam igniting all around him, “Just leave it to me or something. You two could be the helms-.”

He found his own voice overwhelmed by the bombastic staccato of the Erune lady. Or, woman, perhaps. ‘Lady’ seemed a smidge too proper-sounding a moniker for the organizer of a riot and prison break. Lady or not, she had a particular talent, and Gilvan did have an eye for talent. Regardless of whether her mercantile abilities proved up-to-snuff or otherwise, she seemed to have a preternatural capacity for organized chaos, of layering disarray and pandemonium. Disorder was a powerful tool - someone who could channel it in even a semi-orderly fashion was a force to be reckoned with.

With newly freed prisoners set to task, Gilvan took into the Prisoner Properties room, to reclaim that which had been taken. Which, in the end, was little more than a hard, leathery-ball, an oaken rod that he had grown fond of using as a walking stick during his injuries, and the black drapings of his garments. Ultimately all things he could spare, sentimental value being, strictly speaking, not a foundationally crucial currency. The singular beating heart, however…

That seemed crucial to someone.

“Right. Let’s not touch that,” The Headhunter turned to Arno and Kagami, perhaps inordinately compassionate towards the talent, “Are you two quite alrigh-?”

The momentary concern gave birth to even more worry, and a sad, idle thought, vocalized as he turned back to the Erune, “Hey… you don’t really think you’re going to manage getting all of us out, do you?”

Granblue Fantasy: Rhapsody in Red

I live again! Post incoming within the next one-or-two hours! Hiphip hooray!

Edit: Discord's cool with me, but I've heard that particular rationale against as well, so I'm down with whatever.

Granblue Fantasy: Rhapsody in Red

Gonna aim for a post tomorrow/Friday!

Granblue Fantasy: Rhapsody in Red

“I’ll round ‘em all up and we’ll have a nice, long discussion on vulture mercantilism and unsavory business practices... eh?” Wakefulness and a sounder, if less than keen, mind returned to Gilvan as he answered the Dragon’s first question with the beginnings of a rambling truth that gradually focused itself, “... s’pose we’ll just… all have a grand old time, won’t we? As we’re free to do, fate be damned.”

He could’ve sworn, although he dared not mention it, the slightest hint of condescension emanating from the dragon’s bound features. It pricked at him, although it did not dissuade him, “And, hey, who you calling a failure? Criminals getting locked up is more… natural cycle, is all. We’ll see the sky again and then, sure, we’ll carry that weight, just you watch.”

The dreamer bristled, his soul alight, “My conviction? The sun, and the moon, the crimson blaze and the cool blue sky. All our freedoms lie beyond the horizon, right? Right?!”

---

Today, Gilvan was feeling too lethargic by far for a prison break. Some voice, full of power and gravitas, reverberated between his temples, and Gilvan’s head ached from the tension. Still, it couldn’t be helped; the moment seldom waited on account of someone’s comfort.

He retrieved the stone from beneath his ‘bed’, some meager, rickety excuse for hospitality, giving it a toss or two into the air. To calibrate it, or whatever vaguely spiritual nonsense athletes believed in.

And then, as he lofted the stone one final time, he rose. His body twisted in the air, leg first - the rest of him following - to strike upon it with a furious crack.

The stone curved between the bars of his own cell, and smashed against the padlock of the cell opposite, before ricocheting back from the force.

It began.

Granblue Fantasy: Rhapsody in Red

Aiming for a post tomorrow. I recognize that in the scene it looks the onus is on me to, ahem, 'kick' it off, so I apologize for my tardiness thus far!

Granblue Fantasy: Rhapsody in Red

Also were you only going to be water to make a Blue Balls joke?

@The Irish Tree

No. Yes.

Granblue Fantasy: Rhapsody in Red

Balls (Gilvan)

Name: “Headhunter” Gilvan

Gender: Male

Age: 29

Race: Human

Element: Dark

Dream: While the Promised Land is sure to be marvelous, its value, as far as Gilvan is concerned, is derived from the journey it requires, and the characters it enthralls. Nothing would please him more than to witness the tales of esoteric and gifted dreamers, and the glory of their story, whether it end in triumph or tragedy. To condense this fancy into a singular dream, Gilvan would perhaps admit that he would like nothing more than to travel alongside the greatest of their number.

Home: Zildartz is a plain enough island of stony tower and rigid structure - architecture so pragmatically passable it seems perfunctory. It is a meritocracy of scholars, warriors and governors who preach humble grace and efficacy in labor. Effectively under the thrall of the Zweite Junta, Zildartz aspirants seek to grift and innovate to deliver tribute with efficiency. The sole aspect of Zildartz culture that… indeed, appears to fulfill the more romanticized ideals of culture is the island’s appreciation and facility for athletics, various sports created and played with some ingenuity and finesse.

All is not, however, tiresome servitude and the odd athletic exhibition. There are those bleeding-hand working folk who chafe at the influence of the Zweite Junta. To that end, the ‘Grifters’ - underground organizations - serve to, ostensibly, ensure that the work of Zildartz laborers are not dispersed to those ‘above’ them. Some (it could be argued: most) of their number, however, are exploiters in their own right, who redirect goods unto themselves in disproportionate measure, and engage in unsavory acts such as slavery to fulfill their ends. As such, even the Grifters are splintered, with factions that joust with each other for ascendancy in the underworld.

Gimmicks: A masterful sports-player from Zildartz, Gilvan is an athlete who focuses on finesse: in particular, the lad’s feet are almost as if magical in and of themselves. Quick and sprightly, he was notable in his island for being able to kick at objects (most notably, of course, a ball) and cause them to move at logic-defying, curving trajectories, as well as frightening pace. Such has been incorporated into his combat style; he is adept at using his legs in martial combat, as well as striking objects to engage in ranged combat.

“Blackballed” - Gilvan is able to conjure spheres of darkness to supplement his sports-inspired combat style - with a kick he can cause them to curve, ricochet, make sharp directional changes in the air, and all sorts of tricks of motion.

Personality: Headhunter Gilvan is a calm, self-assured sort, who - in his put-upon demeanor and tendency towards flowery verbiage - can’t help but come across as a little pretentious and haughty. There’s also the little matter of his unusual moral compass; good and evil are crapshoots to him, while agency and competency are paramount. Indeed, what matters to Gilvan is that things are done with full, uncorrupted intent and freedom, and that they be done well, if not necessarily with style (though he does so adore finesse and grace).

As such, while perfectly affable, the ease and levelled nature in which he can glimpse and comment upon violence and similar evils can be somewhat disconcerting. Nonetheless, he is a supremely supportive fellow, who sees it as his mandate to push forth the stories of talented others.

Background: Gilvan is, distinctly, not a Zildartz native born. Indeed, where the rest of his compatriots tended towards darker skin more akin to olive, Gilvan’s countenance was pale - fitting for a man born in darkness, a child who spent his first moments in a crate aboard a rickety vessel. Taken by slaving Grifters and marketed as cattle, he found himself bound to the island of Zildartz, for numerous times was he passed over; the nobles hard-of-conceiving chose fairer infants, while unscrupulous crews cast a blind eye towards the slender, narrow-framed figure he would grow into.

So, his captors decided he might as well be put to work - albeit, not very well. It was perhaps a blessing then, that in what spare-time he was afforded, that his prodigious talents in sport were noticed. Suddenly a slave with market value, he was purchased by a rather more benevolent (if not entirely so) faction of Grifters, made to leverage his talents to line the pockets of Zildartz bookies. In this role, he thrived, even repurposing his sporting ability into an uncanny sort of combat prowess. A crown jewel, he was promoted until he was given the position of ‘Headhunter’, whose responsibility was to scout for talents to recruit into Grifter ranks.

It was his talent and influence, in fact, that he leveraged to sway his faction out of the slavery business - indeed, as ‘Headhunter’, he served to instead recruit the disenfranchised and mercurial with the promise of freedom, of a journey embarked upon, and of gains well-earned.

In the present day, sadly, Gilvan’s faction has been more or less eradicated, a multitude of them imprisoned in various terrible places for various crimes of 'conspiracy', whatever that means. Cue Gilvan’s introduction.

Inventory: He’s got a lotta balls. ;]