Name: Hendri Hotspur
Age: 28
Appearance: Hendri stands at a relatively impressive 6’2”, with a head of fair hair and bright, intelligent blue eyes. His skin tone is relatively light, the lighter colour inherited from his Lyseni mother, the darker touch a result of his father’s brown skin. Hendri looks to be a mixture of Salty and Stony Dorne, but any who knew him by name would know of his true heritage.
The Bastard’s facial structure is handsome; a chiseled jawline, angular cheekbones and a winning smile. His eyes are almond shaped, and shine with intelligence - somewhat diluted by an outgoing personality and an eagerness to live life to the fullest. He’s usually cleanshaven, but occasionally he can be seen with a few days growth on his cheeks and across his lips.
His hair is long and straight, hanging down to his shoulders if allowed to sit freely. Usually, however, the fair strands are tied up into a tight ponytail, a few strands falling down on either side of his face to frame his features.
He has the body of a warrior - he’s no bear, by a long shot, but he’s certainly muscular. Hendri’s abdomen is flat and hard to the touch, legs toned from a lifetime spent on horseback. The man’s most impressive muscles, perhaps, would be those of his upper back - used to draw the bow he is renowned for using.
Personality: With a Dornish father and a Lyseni mother, it was only to be expected that Hendri would inherit a taste for adventure and frivolousness. Infected with a bad case of wanderlust, one of the Martell’s most renowned bastards is a curious creature - he wants to know everything there is to know about the world, and plans to see it all before he dies; he doesn’t want to be contained in Westeros.
Along with his curiosity about the world, he also has a deep-seated urge to know all there is to know about every race’s women; just like his father, in that regard. A spontaneous man, Hendri is known to make split second decisions, apart from when they carry a particular weight. When it comes to warfare, Hendri is serious and determined; he wants to be the best of the best, and is on his way to achieving that.
Despite his spontaneous and fiery personality, Hendri is extremely grateful to the Martells who accepted him as one of their own when his father returned with him from Lys. He’s one of Prince Richard’s loyalest subjects, and plans to return to Sunspear and take up a position as one of House Martell’s sworn swords whenever he’s finished with his travels.
Biography: Hendri was born in the Free City of Lys, a product of Bolivar Martell’s relations with a Lysian woman, who’s name Hendri refuses to speak out of respect for his father’s wishes. When he was still but a babe, Bolivar decided that he wanted to take his son home with him to Sunspear - as a symbol of the love he truly held for Hendri’s mother. When they arrived back in Dorne, Hendri was two - and he quickly forgot the faces of the family he’d left behind him in Lys as he grew older; all but his mother’s.
The bastard was adopted into the Martell’s household without resentment, and was treated the same as his trueborn brothers. He was given a noble’s upbringing, and studied under the same tutors as his brothers, learning the same things they did.
When he was perhaps six or seven, and truly grasped the gravity of the kindness that House Martell had shown him, Hendri was eternally grateful - he had been given a much better shot at life than he would ever had in Lys, and it was all due to his Uncle’s generosity - Trystan, the Prince of Dorne.
As a child, Hendri played and had contact with all of the Martell’s children - from his aunt’s bastard of Florent descent to the Prince’s children themselves. He spent time with both Richard and Hugh, but had a particularly close connection with the fair-headed second-born, who would help him with his studies when he was having trouble.
When he grew older, Hendri, after watching a tournament held at Sunspear, expressed a desire to his father that he wanted to learn how to fight. Bolivar was all too happy to accommodate his bastard son, and organised for one of his old friends to begin training him. Hendri proved to have a talent for fighting, and it was discovered that he had a particularly strong natural ability with a bow.
At the age of only ten-and-four, Hendri announced that he wanted to leave Sunspear; something that his father had been expecting for years. After a few months of organisation and the finalising of Hendri’s training to his father’s satisfaction, the bastard was given clearance to leave Sunspear - after long goodbyes with his childhood friends, with whom he had shared the Martell’s Palace - and departed one morning at Dawn with an escort of six of his father’s men.
Hendri spent the next five years of his life travelling around much of Northern Westeros, participating in tournaments and learning some of the Northerner’s tactics and fighting techniques. He also joined a voyage to Lys, and was briefly reunited with his mother on her deathbed - she’d caught an illness, and died swiftly after Hendri met her again, but it was said that she died with a full heart.
The fiery bastard who earned himself the nickname of ‘Hotspur’ due to his flamboyant, fiery personality and eagerness to fight was not seen in Sunspear until he was ten-and-nine; having turned from a boy with promise into a powerful, renowned warrior, who had made his own mark on the world without his father’s guidance. He was welcomed back by the Martells with open arms, but noticed that the atmosphere of the household was somewhat more.. strained.
In his twentieth year, civil war broke out in Dorne - a result of House Yronwood’s scheming against the Prince of Sunspear, the rightful ruler. Hendri was shocked by the rebellion, and he too was torn by the division of Prince Trystan’s household. Extremely loyal to the man who had made the life he’d had thus far possible, Hendri swore that he would fight for Trystan alongside his second-born son.
After two years of bloody warfare, the war was won - and Hugh was executed. Despite his dislike for the boy because of his betrayal of his father, Hugh was still family - Hendri was shocked by the execution, but remained in Sunspear even after Richard left for Essos, serving his father until he passed away.
When Richard returned to Dorne, Hendri stayed for a year to ensure to help him secure his claim, before announcing that he would be taking off again on another adventure. Recently, he has returned to Sunspear, and serves Richard loyally.
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Oh yeah, crap! For Ramsay, right? I'll do that now. xD
Edit: Here's Hendri Hotspur's sheet, I'll put him in the pending thread as well.
Name: Hendri Hotspur
Age: 28
Appearance: Hendri stands at a relatively impressive 6’2”, with a head of fair hair and bright, intelligent blue eyes. His skin tone is relatively light, the lighter colour inherited from his Lyseni mother, the darker touch a result of his father’s brown skin. Hendri looks to be a mixture of Salty and Stony Dorne, but any who knew him by name would know of his true heritage.
The Bastard’s facial structure is handsome; a chiseled jawline, angular cheekbones and a winning smile. His eyes are almond shaped, and shine with intelligence - somewhat diluted by an outgoing personality and an eagerness to live life to the fullest. He’s usually cleanshaven, but occasionally he can be seen with a few days growth on his cheeks and across his lips.
His hair is long and straight, hanging down to his shoulders if allowed to sit freely. Usually, however, the fair strands are tied up into a tight ponytail, a few strands falling down on either side of his face to frame his features.
He has the body of a warrior - he’s no bear, by a long shot, but he’s certainly muscular. Hendri’s abdomen is flat and hard to the touch, legs toned from a lifetime spent on horseback. The man’s most impressive muscles, perhaps, would be those of his upper back - used to draw the bow he is renowned for using.
Personality: With a Dornish father and a Lyseni mother, it was only to be expected that Hendri would inherit a taste for adventure and frivolousness. Infected with a bad case of wanderlust, one of the Martell’s most renowned bastards is a curious creature - he wants to know everything there is to know about the world, and plans to see it all before he dies; he doesn’t want to be contained in Westeros.
Along with his curiosity about the world, he also has a deep-seated urge to know all there is to know about every race’s women; just like his father, in that regard. A spontaneous man, Hendri is known to make split second decisions, apart from when they carry a particular weight. When it comes to warfare, Hendri is serious and determined; he wants to be the best of the best, and is on his way to achieving that.
Despite his spontaneous and fiery personality, Hendri is extremely grateful to the Martells who accepted him as one of their own when his father returned with him from Lys. He’s one of Prince Richard’s loyalest subjects, and plans to return to Sunspear and take up a position as one of House Martell’s sworn swords whenever he’s finished with his travels.
Biography: Hendri was born in the Free City of Lys, a product of Bolivar Martell’s relations with a Lysian woman, who’s name Hendri refuses to speak out of respect for his father’s wishes. When he was still but a babe, Bolivar decided that he wanted to take his son home with him to Sunspear - as a symbol of the love he truly held for Hendri’s mother. When they arrived back in Dorne, Hendri was two - and he quickly forgot the faces of the family he’d left behind him in Lys as he grew older; all but his mother’s.
The bastard was adopted into the Martell’s household without resentment, and was treated the same as his trueborn brothers. He was given a noble’s upbringing, and studied under the same tutors as his brothers, learning the same things they did.
When he was perhaps six or seven, and truly grasped the gravity of the kindness that House Martell had shown him, Hendri was eternally grateful - he had been given a much better shot at life than he would ever had in Lys, and it was all due to his Uncle’s generosity - Trystan, the Prince of Dorne.
As a child, Hendri played and had contact with all of the Martell’s children - from his aunt’s bastard of Florent descent to the Prince’s children themselves. He spent time with both Richard and Hugh, but had a particularly close connection with the fair-headed second-born, who would help him with his studies when he was having trouble.
When he grew older, Hendri, after watching a tournament held at Sunspear, expressed a desire to his father that he wanted to learn how to fight. Bolivar was all too happy to accommodate his bastard son, and organised for one of his old friends to begin training him. Hendri proved to have a talent for fighting, and it was discovered that he had a particularly strong natural ability with a bow.
At the age of only ten-and-four, Hendri announced that he wanted to leave Sunspear; something that his father had been expecting for years. After a few months of organisation and the finalising of Hendri’s training to his father’s satisfaction, the bastard was given clearance to leave Sunspear - after long goodbyes with his childhood friends, with whom he had shared the Martell’s Palace - and departed one morning at Dawn with an escort of six of his father’s men.
Hendri spent the next five years of his life travelling around much of Northern Westeros, participating in tournaments and learning some of the Northerner’s tactics and fighting techniques. He also joined a voyage to Lys, and was briefly reunited with his mother on her deathbed - she’d caught an illness, and died swiftly after Hendri met her again, but it was said that she died with a full heart.
The fiery bastard who earned himself the nickname of ‘Hotspur’ due to his flamboyant, fiery personality and eagerness to fight was not seen in Sunspear until he was ten-and-nine; having turned from a boy with promise into a powerful, renowned warrior, who had made his own mark on the world without his father’s guidance. He was welcomed back by the Martells with open arms, but noticed that the atmosphere of the household was somewhat more.. strained.
In his twentieth year, civil war broke out in Dorne - a result of House Yronwood’s scheming against the Prince of Sunspear, the rightful ruler. Hendri was shocked by the rebellion, and he too was torn by the division of Prince Trystan’s household. Extremely loyal to the man who had made the life he’d had thus far possible, Hendri swore that he would fight for Trystan alongside his second-born son.
After two years of bloody warfare, the war was won - and Hugh was executed. Despite his dislike for the boy because of his betrayal of his father, Hugh was still family - Hendri was shocked by the execution, but remained in Sunspear even after Richard left for Essos, serving his father until he passed away.
When Richard returned to Dorne, Hendri stayed for a year to ensure to help him secure his claim, before announcing that he would be taking off again on another adventure. Recently, he has returned to Sunspear, and serves Richard loyally.
Edit: Here's Hendri Hotspur's sheet, I'll put him in the pending thread as well.
Name: Hendri Hotspur
Age: 28
Appearance: Hendri stands at a relatively impressive 6’2”, with a head of fair hair and bright, intelligent blue eyes. His skin tone is relatively light, the lighter colour inherited from his Lyseni mother, the darker touch a result of his father’s brown skin. Hendri looks to be a mixture of Salty and Stony Dorne, but any who knew him by name would know of his true heritage.
The Bastard’s facial structure is handsome; a chiseled jawline, angular cheekbones and a winning smile. His eyes are almond shaped, and shine with intelligence - somewhat diluted by an outgoing personality and an eagerness to live life to the fullest. He’s usually cleanshaven, but occasionally he can be seen with a few days growth on his cheeks and across his lips.
His hair is long and straight, hanging down to his shoulders if allowed to sit freely. Usually, however, the fair strands are tied up into a tight ponytail, a few strands falling down on either side of his face to frame his features.
He has the body of a warrior - he’s no bear, by a long shot, but he’s certainly muscular. Hendri’s abdomen is flat and hard to the touch, legs toned from a lifetime spent on horseback. The man’s most impressive muscles, perhaps, would be those of his upper back - used to draw the bow he is renowned for using.
Personality: With a Dornish father and a Lyseni mother, it was only to be expected that Hendri would inherit a taste for adventure and frivolousness. Infected with a bad case of wanderlust, one of the Martell’s most renowned bastards is a curious creature - he wants to know everything there is to know about the world, and plans to see it all before he dies; he doesn’t want to be contained in Westeros.
Along with his curiosity about the world, he also has a deep-seated urge to know all there is to know about every race’s women; just like his father, in that regard. A spontaneous man, Hendri is known to make split second decisions, apart from when they carry a particular weight. When it comes to warfare, Hendri is serious and determined; he wants to be the best of the best, and is on his way to achieving that.
Despite his spontaneous and fiery personality, Hendri is extremely grateful to the Martells who accepted him as one of their own when his father returned with him from Lys. He’s one of Prince Richard’s loyalest subjects, and plans to return to Sunspear and take up a position as one of House Martell’s sworn swords whenever he’s finished with his travels.
Biography: Hendri was born in the Free City of Lys, a product of Bolivar Martell’s relations with a Lysian woman, who’s name Hendri refuses to speak out of respect for his father’s wishes. When he was still but a babe, Bolivar decided that he wanted to take his son home with him to Sunspear - as a symbol of the love he truly held for Hendri’s mother. When they arrived back in Dorne, Hendri was two - and he quickly forgot the faces of the family he’d left behind him in Lys as he grew older; all but his mother’s.
The bastard was adopted into the Martell’s household without resentment, and was treated the same as his trueborn brothers. He was given a noble’s upbringing, and studied under the same tutors as his brothers, learning the same things they did.
When he was perhaps six or seven, and truly grasped the gravity of the kindness that House Martell had shown him, Hendri was eternally grateful - he had been given a much better shot at life than he would ever had in Lys, and it was all due to his Uncle’s generosity - Trystan, the Prince of Dorne.
As a child, Hendri played and had contact with all of the Martell’s children - from his aunt’s bastard of Florent descent to the Prince’s children themselves. He spent time with both Richard and Hugh, but had a particularly close connection with the fair-headed second-born, who would help him with his studies when he was having trouble.
When he grew older, Hendri, after watching a tournament held at Sunspear, expressed a desire to his father that he wanted to learn how to fight. Bolivar was all too happy to accommodate his bastard son, and organised for one of his old friends to begin training him. Hendri proved to have a talent for fighting, and it was discovered that he had a particularly strong natural ability with a bow.
At the age of only ten-and-four, Hendri announced that he wanted to leave Sunspear; something that his father had been expecting for years. After a few months of organisation and the finalising of Hendri’s training to his father’s satisfaction, the bastard was given clearance to leave Sunspear - after long goodbyes with his childhood friends, with whom he had shared the Martell’s Palace - and departed one morning at Dawn with an escort of six of his father’s men.
Hendri spent the next five years of his life travelling around much of Northern Westeros, participating in tournaments and learning some of the Northerner’s tactics and fighting techniques. He also joined a voyage to Lys, and was briefly reunited with his mother on her deathbed - she’d caught an illness, and died swiftly after Hendri met her again, but it was said that she died with a full heart.
The fiery bastard who earned himself the nickname of ‘Hotspur’ due to his flamboyant, fiery personality and eagerness to fight was not seen in Sunspear until he was ten-and-nine; having turned from a boy with promise into a powerful, renowned warrior, who had made his own mark on the world without his father’s guidance. He was welcomed back by the Martells with open arms, but noticed that the atmosphere of the household was somewhat more.. strained.
In his twentieth year, civil war broke out in Dorne - a result of House Yronwood’s scheming against the Prince of Sunspear, the rightful ruler. Hendri was shocked by the rebellion, and he too was torn by the division of Prince Trystan’s household. Extremely loyal to the man who had made the life he’d had thus far possible, Hendri swore that he would fight for Trystan alongside his second-born son.
After two years of bloody warfare, the war was won - and Hugh was executed. Despite his dislike for the boy because of his betrayal of his father, Hugh was still family - Hendri was shocked by the execution, but remained in Sunspear even after Richard left for Essos, serving his father until he passed away.
When Richard returned to Dorne, Hendri stayed for a year to ensure to help him secure his claim, before announcing that he would be taking off again on another adventure. Recently, he has returned to Sunspear, and serves Richard loyally.
I'll put House Mormont in the accepted thread, then.
I'm working on a sheet for Hendri Hotspur and the Cadet branch of the Daynes; so hopefully we can get some stuff going on in Dorne soon!
Does anyone want to collab while the Mormonts are still in Summerhall? Could just be a few pointless conversations, to keep the IC flowing.
I'm working on a sheet for Hendri Hotspur and the Cadet branch of the Daynes; so hopefully we can get some stuff going on in Dorne soon!
Does anyone want to collab while the Mormonts are still in Summerhall? Could just be a few pointless conversations, to keep the IC flowing.
Outside the walls of Summerhall, where the largest gathering of Westeros’ nobility for decades was taking place, thousands of men were present; sitting around, waiting for the Great Lords of the realm to decide upon the details of their invasion of Dorne; the details of many of those gathered’s deaths.
Garlan Mormont, eldest son of the aging Androw Mormont and heir to Bear Island, sat with a group of Northmen soldiers around a large fire, passing a large skin of wine around. The Lordling had found that he mixed with the lowborn men of the North more easily than he did with the highborn of the South, or the ‘Summer Lords’, as he and his men mockingly referred to them. Garlan took a particularly large swig of wine when the skin returned to his hands, laughing uproariously at a crude joke one of the Stark’s bannermen had made, a grin on his bearded lips as he rose to his feet, belching and wiping at his lips with the back of his right hand - a loud yawn leaving him before he murmured his farewells to the men gathered, slapping a few on the back as he began the walk back toward his tent; the tent that he shared with his younger brother and sister.
The Northerner’s boots crunched on the small stones beneath his feet as he walked through the section of the large, sprawling city of tents set aside for the Northron ‘army’. Even though it was dark, the sky was bright, and the moon was near full - the light provided was enough to illuminate his path, brightened even more so by the occasional flickering torch. While the majority of the Lords feasted and talked within Summerhall’s relatively new walls, the men who’s blood would soon run into Dornish sand ate and drank outside. Although he had only been through their campsites briefly, the majority of any of the men recruited from below the neck were green; either young, or inexperienced and foolish - or both. Geldings, all of them - still wet behind the ears, clumsy and foolish. With more arrogance than brains. They’ll be men soon enough - if they survive their first battle.
While Garlan did not particularly understand nor approve of the young King Daeron’s decision to invade the unexplored lands of the Dornish, he was going to do his best to use this opportunity whilst he was close to the young man to attempt to curry his favour. He knew his father wouldn’t approve of any attempt to sweeten up the King, but he was all the way back in Bear Island - Garlan was in charge, and Ramsay and Cassana would certainly cooperate.
He arrived back at the relatively large tent that had been erected for his and his sibling’s use within a few minutes, ducking beneath the tarpaulin that served as a door and stepping inside the roomy - albeit temporary - structure. Fine, hand-sewn rugs covered the ground, as well as various pelts that the Mormonts had brought with them from home; it was nothing fancy, but it helped to keep the feet warm and to remind the Northerners of home, even though they were so far away from it.
The tent was dimly lit - by a few candles scattered around the place - and Garlan could see the curled-up form of Cassana; already asleep. Ramsay, however, was sitting at a temporary writing desk - pouring over the information about various lords he had already been able to collect from those of their bannermen who were eager to talk. “Ramsay,” Garlan barked, startling his younger brother, “Get some clothes on - make sure they’re nice ones. And rouse Cassana. We’re going to join the feast.”
Twenty minutes later, the three Mormont siblings were on their way to Summerhall; dressed in their finest clothing, which for Ramsay and Garlan consisted of finely made leather garments decorated by the occasional piece of bearfur, the colours of their House sewn onto the chest and back of their jackets, and for Cassana a beautiful cream dress, which complimented her curves, purchased during the Mormont’s descent South. Longclaw, the Mormont’s Ancestral Valyrian bastard sword, was slung diagonally across Garlan’s shoulders, the bear-shaped pommel clearly visible over his broad shoulders. Accompanying the Mormonts were two large, shaggy-looking men - wielding battleaxes, about as well groomed as they could be on short notice with their ponytails pulled back and beards braided.
As they left the sea of tents behind them, heading for the far-off but still visible walls of Summerhall, the hubbub and clatter of the drunken soldiers gradually died away until the only thing that could be heard was the occasional bird chirp, or the rustling of the undergrowth as the Mormonts made their way through it; walking along a small, windy path. There were various others along the path as well - servants, mostly, but the occasional lord or knight could be seen further up the road, hurrying towards the castle - or palace - to take their place in the Great Hall.
“Thoughts, Ramsay?” Garlan inquired in his rumbling bass, eyeing Summerhall’s walls. “It’s beautiful, brother,” Ramsay replied in his smooth baritone, smirking, “But it looks rather.. flimsy. It could be taken quite easily, I imagine - it would be child’s play in comparison to taking The Twins, Winterfell or The Dreadfort.” The eldest Mormont grunted, nodding his head. “A palace, if anything - not a castle. A holiday home for the Dragons, I imagine. And now it is to be a staging point for an expedition into unexplored, unchartered and hostile territory.”
“At least you’ll have a fight for once, Garlan - so you’ll quit your complaining.” The soft voice, tinged by a mocking tone, came from Cassana - a mischievous grin on her lips as she looked up at her older brother. “Aye, Cass - there’ll be fighting. Fighting you won’t be taking part in. I’ll find somewhere for you to stay when we go into Dorne - or send a few of the boys with you to take you home.” Before Cassana could open her mouth to argue, a low sound left Garlan’s mouth - almost akin to a growl - and the woman’s words died on her lips; a sullen expression on plainly beautiful features as she walked. Although she walked with a Lady-like grace, it was clear that Cassana was unused to wearing dresses; and, truthfully, she felt naked without an axe by her side - but Garlan had forbidden her to bring her weapon with her; it would be unladylike, he’d said.
After a fair bit of walking, the small party of Northerners approached the gates of Summerhall - which were manned by men wearing the colours of House Targaryen. “The Mormonts of Bear Island, banners of House Stark. Here to join the feasting.” Garlan’s voice had a gruff, commanding edge to it - the voice of a man used to yelling orders above the din of battle; a warrior’s voice. Garlan may have noble blood, but he was as good a fighter - if not better - than any lowborn mercenary. The Targaryen Guards checked their list, before grunting and waving the Mormonts inside the gates - where a servant was waiting to escort them to the Great Hall.
Garlan cleared his throat as he pushed past the guardsmen, adjusting his finely made jacket - eyes looking around the beautifully built palace into which he had stepped, with an expression of awe akin to that of an uneducated farmboy’s painted on his features for a few moments as he simply stood and.. stared. After all, the log hall that he’d grown up in on Bear Island possessed none of the grandeur of this Targaryen-built palace.
Ramsay pushed past his older brother, giving the rough-looking man a hard jab in the ribs to snap him out of his gawking, muttering harshly as he passed him, “We can’t have you looking like a boy who’s just seen his first pair of tits, brother - close your mouth, and get moving. We have a King to meet.”
The Mormonts entered the Great Hall just as Daeron stood to address the gathered lords, slipping in through a back door. Garlan tried to move as quietly as possible, but various heads turned to see the arrival of the Mormont siblings and their two escorts; Garlan could easily have been mistaken for a Wildling, were it not for his House’s colours emblazoned upon his chest, and the sword made from Valyrian steel slung across his shoulders.
The bear of a man led the way over to the section set aside for the representatives from the North, nodding to those few lords whom he recognised - the Mormonts quickly assuming their seats, Garlan in the middle, Ramsay on his right and Cassana on his left - their guards standing a good few feet away, arms folded across their chests.
Garlan Mormont, eldest son of the aging Androw Mormont and heir to Bear Island, sat with a group of Northmen soldiers around a large fire, passing a large skin of wine around. The Lordling had found that he mixed with the lowborn men of the North more easily than he did with the highborn of the South, or the ‘Summer Lords’, as he and his men mockingly referred to them. Garlan took a particularly large swig of wine when the skin returned to his hands, laughing uproariously at a crude joke one of the Stark’s bannermen had made, a grin on his bearded lips as he rose to his feet, belching and wiping at his lips with the back of his right hand - a loud yawn leaving him before he murmured his farewells to the men gathered, slapping a few on the back as he began the walk back toward his tent; the tent that he shared with his younger brother and sister.
The Northerner’s boots crunched on the small stones beneath his feet as he walked through the section of the large, sprawling city of tents set aside for the Northron ‘army’. Even though it was dark, the sky was bright, and the moon was near full - the light provided was enough to illuminate his path, brightened even more so by the occasional flickering torch. While the majority of the Lords feasted and talked within Summerhall’s relatively new walls, the men who’s blood would soon run into Dornish sand ate and drank outside. Although he had only been through their campsites briefly, the majority of any of the men recruited from below the neck were green; either young, or inexperienced and foolish - or both. Geldings, all of them - still wet behind the ears, clumsy and foolish. With more arrogance than brains. They’ll be men soon enough - if they survive their first battle.
While Garlan did not particularly understand nor approve of the young King Daeron’s decision to invade the unexplored lands of the Dornish, he was going to do his best to use this opportunity whilst he was close to the young man to attempt to curry his favour. He knew his father wouldn’t approve of any attempt to sweeten up the King, but he was all the way back in Bear Island - Garlan was in charge, and Ramsay and Cassana would certainly cooperate.
He arrived back at the relatively large tent that had been erected for his and his sibling’s use within a few minutes, ducking beneath the tarpaulin that served as a door and stepping inside the roomy - albeit temporary - structure. Fine, hand-sewn rugs covered the ground, as well as various pelts that the Mormonts had brought with them from home; it was nothing fancy, but it helped to keep the feet warm and to remind the Northerners of home, even though they were so far away from it.
The tent was dimly lit - by a few candles scattered around the place - and Garlan could see the curled-up form of Cassana; already asleep. Ramsay, however, was sitting at a temporary writing desk - pouring over the information about various lords he had already been able to collect from those of their bannermen who were eager to talk. “Ramsay,” Garlan barked, startling his younger brother, “Get some clothes on - make sure they’re nice ones. And rouse Cassana. We’re going to join the feast.”
Twenty minutes later, the three Mormont siblings were on their way to Summerhall; dressed in their finest clothing, which for Ramsay and Garlan consisted of finely made leather garments decorated by the occasional piece of bearfur, the colours of their House sewn onto the chest and back of their jackets, and for Cassana a beautiful cream dress, which complimented her curves, purchased during the Mormont’s descent South. Longclaw, the Mormont’s Ancestral Valyrian bastard sword, was slung diagonally across Garlan’s shoulders, the bear-shaped pommel clearly visible over his broad shoulders. Accompanying the Mormonts were two large, shaggy-looking men - wielding battleaxes, about as well groomed as they could be on short notice with their ponytails pulled back and beards braided.
As they left the sea of tents behind them, heading for the far-off but still visible walls of Summerhall, the hubbub and clatter of the drunken soldiers gradually died away until the only thing that could be heard was the occasional bird chirp, or the rustling of the undergrowth as the Mormonts made their way through it; walking along a small, windy path. There were various others along the path as well - servants, mostly, but the occasional lord or knight could be seen further up the road, hurrying towards the castle - or palace - to take their place in the Great Hall.
“Thoughts, Ramsay?” Garlan inquired in his rumbling bass, eyeing Summerhall’s walls. “It’s beautiful, brother,” Ramsay replied in his smooth baritone, smirking, “But it looks rather.. flimsy. It could be taken quite easily, I imagine - it would be child’s play in comparison to taking The Twins, Winterfell or The Dreadfort.” The eldest Mormont grunted, nodding his head. “A palace, if anything - not a castle. A holiday home for the Dragons, I imagine. And now it is to be a staging point for an expedition into unexplored, unchartered and hostile territory.”
“At least you’ll have a fight for once, Garlan - so you’ll quit your complaining.” The soft voice, tinged by a mocking tone, came from Cassana - a mischievous grin on her lips as she looked up at her older brother. “Aye, Cass - there’ll be fighting. Fighting you won’t be taking part in. I’ll find somewhere for you to stay when we go into Dorne - or send a few of the boys with you to take you home.” Before Cassana could open her mouth to argue, a low sound left Garlan’s mouth - almost akin to a growl - and the woman’s words died on her lips; a sullen expression on plainly beautiful features as she walked. Although she walked with a Lady-like grace, it was clear that Cassana was unused to wearing dresses; and, truthfully, she felt naked without an axe by her side - but Garlan had forbidden her to bring her weapon with her; it would be unladylike, he’d said.
After a fair bit of walking, the small party of Northerners approached the gates of Summerhall - which were manned by men wearing the colours of House Targaryen. “The Mormonts of Bear Island, banners of House Stark. Here to join the feasting.” Garlan’s voice had a gruff, commanding edge to it - the voice of a man used to yelling orders above the din of battle; a warrior’s voice. Garlan may have noble blood, but he was as good a fighter - if not better - than any lowborn mercenary. The Targaryen Guards checked their list, before grunting and waving the Mormonts inside the gates - where a servant was waiting to escort them to the Great Hall.
Garlan cleared his throat as he pushed past the guardsmen, adjusting his finely made jacket - eyes looking around the beautifully built palace into which he had stepped, with an expression of awe akin to that of an uneducated farmboy’s painted on his features for a few moments as he simply stood and.. stared. After all, the log hall that he’d grown up in on Bear Island possessed none of the grandeur of this Targaryen-built palace.
Ramsay pushed past his older brother, giving the rough-looking man a hard jab in the ribs to snap him out of his gawking, muttering harshly as he passed him, “We can’t have you looking like a boy who’s just seen his first pair of tits, brother - close your mouth, and get moving. We have a King to meet.”
The Mormonts entered the Great Hall just as Daeron stood to address the gathered lords, slipping in through a back door. Garlan tried to move as quietly as possible, but various heads turned to see the arrival of the Mormont siblings and their two escorts; Garlan could easily have been mistaken for a Wildling, were it not for his House’s colours emblazoned upon his chest, and the sword made from Valyrian steel slung across his shoulders.
The bear of a man led the way over to the section set aside for the representatives from the North, nodding to those few lords whom he recognised - the Mormonts quickly assuming their seats, Garlan in the middle, Ramsay on his right and Cassana on his left - their guards standing a good few feet away, arms folded across their chests.
House Name: House Mormont
House Words: Here We Stand
House Decription/General Information: The Mormonts of Bear Island are an old family, sworn to the Starks of Winterfell. Despite their decidedly empty coffers, the Mormonts have always served their Bannerlords faithfully and honourably - never stooping to dishonesty or illegal acts to increase their own wealth. The House is currently led by Androw Mormont, a great bear of a man nearing his Twilight years. Although Androw is still the ruler of Bear Island, his sons and grandchildren take care of much of the day-to-day running of the Mormont’s lands, with Androw spending most of his time in his personal chambers.
Name: Androw Mormont
Age: 58
Appearance:
Personality: Androw is a man bound by the importance of honour, duty and family. Raised from a young age to respect these three values, he will always put them before his own personal gain. Androw is known by the people of Bear Island to be a fair and just ruler in the way that he settles disputes between his subjects - he will always listen to both sides of a story, and mete out an appropriate punishment if there is one to be had; and, like many Northern Houses, he shares the belief that ‘he who deals the sentence should swing the sword’ - so, on the rare occasion that a death sentence is handed out, the honourable old Lord himself will be there to deliver the killing blow.
Androw is loyal to the Starks before any ‘Southron Kings’, as he gruffly puts it, as he believes that loyalty should be earnt and not freely given - and the Targaryens have never made any effort to come and visit Bear Island, at least during his lifetime.
Biography: Androw was born the first son of the late Lord Hareth Mormont and his Lady wife, and the middle child of four siblings. He had a younger brother and two older sisters, who had already been raised in the traditional Bear Island fashion - with a needle in one hand and an axe in the other.
Androw’s young life was fairly uneventful, and from the age of about six and onwards his days were so full he hardly had time to be a child anymore. Unlike many young Lordlings, Androw did not enjoy a life of luxury - he was born into a lifestyle of hard work and labour, and was happy if at the end of the day he had a warm fire and a large, hearty meal to sit down to. His father saw to it that Androw would grow up to be a warrior worthy of wielding the Mormont’s ancestral weapon, Longclaw; Androw spent hours every day practicing swordplay with the warriors of Bear Island, and by the time he was fifteen he was already a fearsome warrior.
Androw fought alongside the men - and women - of Bear Island whenever they were invaded by Wilding - or Ironborn - raiding parties, and by the time his father was on his deathbed, he handed over Longclaw - and Bear Island - to his eldest son with a fond, parting smile. His two eldest sisters had already been married off to other Lords of the North by the time Androw became Lord Mormont, and his younger brother fell defending Bear Island from a Wildling attack when Androw was in his mid-twenties.
As the only surviving Mormont left on Bear Island, Androw recognised the importance of attaining a wife - and quickly. He was wed to Alysa Dustin - a rather plain young woman, but one with a large heart - something that had become rare within the nobility. She was someone whom Androw grew to love deeply. He and Alysa had three children - a boy, a girl, and then another boy, before his wife’s passing two years ago due to a cold she had never quite recovered from.
Weighed down by grief from his wife’s passing, Androw has begun gradually passing more and more responsibilities to his children and grandchildren, and spends quite a large amount of time locked away in his personal chambers - with a keg of ale kept closeby.
Name: Garlan Mormont
Age: 32
Appearance: Like his father, Garlan is a bear of a man - standing at an impressive 6’5”, he possesses a similar physique - broad, powerful shoulders, a wide chest and impressive strength; born from a mixture of genetically inherited ability and a lifetime of near constant training and labour.
His eyes are a bright blue, and shine with intelligence and wit despite Garlan’s somewhat brutish appearance.
Despite his almost beastly strength, Garlan has begun to put on a bit of weight - due to his handing over of much of Bear Island’s more physically demanding duties to his younger siblings, as well as his own two sons and his numerous nieces and nephews. The warrior’s stomach has gradually grown larger over the last few years, leaving the man with a respectable potbelly. As well as this, his facial features have lost the chiseled aspect of a young, rugged warrior - these angular looks replaced by fat and loose skin, and a rather large beard that the man has grown out in an attempt to hide this.
His hair is dark brown in colour, and sits atop his head in a mass of untamed curls; but his hair, wild as it is, is nothing compared to his massive beard; which, combined with his large amount of body hair, makes Garlan appear rather significantly bear-like. The Mormont usually dresses in leathers or chainmail, and will never be seen without a weapon - be it a large bastard sword resembling Longclaw (which he will one day inherit) or a double-bladed battleaxe.
Personality: Like his father, Androw, Garlan is an honourable man who recognises the importance of honesty, family and duty. Although he is certainly not a knight - and is much more straightforward and abrupt than the ‘Knights of Summer’ who reside in Westeros’ Southern Kingdoms, Garlan is certainly chivalrous. He cares for the smallfolk, and does everything in his power to make sure they are protected and are able to live comfortable lives.
Although he lives a good life on Bear Island, Garlan is ambitious - and, unlike his father, recognises the value of earning the Targaryen’s favour - and the wealth and power that will come with it. If he was given the chance to advance his place - and his family’s place - in the politics of Westeros, Garlan would certainly take it.
Biography: The first-born son of Lord Androw Mormont and his Lady wife Alysa Dustin, Garlan was given the full attention of his parents - and their household staff - until the age of four, when his younger sister was born. Garlan was raised in a similar way to his father - from a young age, he was allowed to explore Bear Island, accompanied by his mother - and, as he grew older, she was progressively replaced by his father’s most trusted men - and occasionally his father himself.
Garlan was trained in horseriding, hunting and fighting - and by the time he was in his mid teens, he was very well skilled indeed in all three fields. Although he was never necessarily ‘book smart’, Garlan had a talent for physical pursuits and a good head for tactics. As a result of his father’s unconventional approach to his upbringing, Garlan had all sorts of friends in his youth - from the sons of other Lords who came to visit, to the young fishermen who plied the waters of Bear Island learning their father’s trades. A very well known - and well liked - young man, he was a favourite with the ladies of Bear Island; and is likely the father of a few unacknowledged bastards.
Androw recognised his sons frivolousness, and decided to fix the issue by marrying him off as early as he could. As a way of broadening his family’s connections, Androw sought his son a wife from the Riverlands - a task which proved much harder than he had originally anticipated. However, a wife was eventually found in the form of Shireen Haigh, the youngest daughter of the Minor House Haigh. Garlan’s galavanting came to an abrupt age when it was announced at his nineteenth nameday celebration that he would be wed to Shireen the following month, after a great deal of planning and preparation on his father’s part - kept quiet from the young man to prevent his intervention.
Garlan appreciates Shireen’s beauty, but their marriage is a loveless one - Garlan, as he says, ‘could never be tied to one woman’, but instead prefers to distribute his ‘affections’ between numerous women - of both low and noble birth. Shireen accepts her husband’s indiscreet actions as part of who he is, but refuses to allow him to acknowledge any of his bastards because of the disgrace it would bring her.
Name: Cassana Mormont
Age: 28
Appearance: Cassana Mormont was lucky enough to inherit her mother’s looks over her father’s; and although she appears rather plain, she possesses beauty in other ways. Her hair is a light blonde - the colour of sunlight, as Androw often used to tell her when she was a child sitting upon his knee.
She stands at an average height, and although her frame isn’t the most curvaceous in the world, her green eyes and bright, perfect smile are what make her attractive. Cassana is not like most Ladies - she wears similar - if not the same - clothes to her brothers, and carries a sword at her side and an axe on her back.
Bio: Cassana - or Cass, as she’s called by those who know her - was born four years after Garlan Mormont, and was doted upon severely by both her parents - and her older brother, as he grew up into a young man. Cassana’s young life was somewhat more luxurious and easier than Garlan’s, but this was not to say she didn’t work - she took care of the running of the Mormont’s household, along with her mother and the few staff her father could afford to employ.
As well as household work, Cassana - like all women on Bear Island - was taught how to defend and look after herself in the event of a Wildling or Ironborn raid. Cassana is an excellent shot with throwing knives, and knows her way about a sword if she ever needs to use one.
Visiting Lords have been somewhat shocked by the way Cass dressed, earning her the nickname ‘Lady Wildling’, which was often snickered about by boys her own age behind her back - before she punched a Lord from the Riverland’s son in the nose because he made the mistake of laughing at her when she was within reaching distance.
Cass is as yet unmarried, and it seems unlikely that she ever will be wed - her father just loves her too much to send her away.
Name: Ramsay Mormont
Age: 25
Appearance: Ramsay is decidedly shorter than his father and older brother, standing at a still very acceptable height of 5’11”. The young Lordling’s hair is blonde, like his mother and sister, but has still inherited the curly, wild nature of his father’s hair. His eyes are blue, like Garlan’s, and seem to whisper of a shrewd, careful intelligence.
Ramsay is no bear, but this is not to say that he’s not strong - he’s fit, but in a much more lean way than the other men of his family. His shoulders are narrow, his frame slender - lending the young man to a fighting style more quick and graceful than the strong, brutish attacks that most men on Bear Island practice.
He wears a longsword at his side, and often has a few days’ growth on his cheeks.
Personality: Unlike the rest of his family, Ramsay is not trusting - and nor is he honourable. He has a shrewd, calculating mind, and it is rare indeed that he’ll be truly honest with someone other than his siblings.
Despite his calculating nature, Ramsay is still quite likeable - he’s smart, witty and confident, and seems to know just what to say to keep people happy - or at least he likes to think so. Ramsay has a talent for books and mathematics, which is how he came to take up the position of House Mormont’s Steward.
Minor Members of the House
Name: Rolland Snow
Age: 48
Role: Head of House Mormont’s household guard, Androw’s deceased older brother’s bastard.
Name: Harwin
Age: 20
Role: Garlan Mormont’s right-hand man, a commoner from Bear Island - in a position of command within the fighting men of Bear Island.
I’ll add more characters to this list as they become relevant, and write proper sheets for any who become major characters.
House Name: House Mormont
House Words: Here We Stand
House Decription/General Information: The Mormonts of Bear Island are an old family, sworn to the Starks of Winterfell. Despite their decidedly empty coffers, the Mormonts have always served their Bannerlords faithfully and honourably - never stooping to dishonesty or illegal acts to increase their own wealth. The House is currently led by Androw Mormont, a great bear of a man nearing his Twilight years. Although Androw is still the ruler of Bear Island, his sons and grandchildren take care of much of the day-to-day running of the Mormont’s lands, with Androw spending most of his time in his personal chambers.
Name: Androw Mormont
Age: 58
Appearance:
Personality: Androw is a man bound by the importance of honour, duty and family. Raised from a young age to respect these three values, he will always put them before his own personal gain. Androw is known by the people of Bear Island to be a fair and just ruler in the way that he settles disputes between his subjects - he will always listen to both sides of a story, and mete out an appropriate punishment if there is one to be had; and, like many Northern Houses, he shares the belief that ‘he who deals the sentence should swing the sword’ - so, on the rare occasion that a death sentence is handed out, the honourable old Lord himself will be there to deliver the killing blow.
Androw is loyal to the Starks before any ‘Southron Kings’, as he gruffly puts it, as he believes that loyalty should be earnt and not freely given - and the Targaryens have never made any effort to come and visit Bear Island, at least during his lifetime.
Biography: Androw was born the first son of the late Lord Hareth Mormont and his Lady wife, and the middle child of four siblings. He had a younger brother and two older sisters, who had already been raised in the traditional Bear Island fashion - with a needle in one hand and an axe in the other.
Androw’s young life was fairly uneventful, and from the age of about six and onwards his days were so full he hardly had time to be a child anymore. Unlike many young Lordlings, Androw did not enjoy a life of luxury - he was born into a lifestyle of hard work and labour, and was happy if at the end of the day he had a warm fire and a large, hearty meal to sit down to. His father saw to it that Androw would grow up to be a warrior worthy of wielding the Mormont’s ancestral weapon, Longclaw; Androw spent hours every day practicing swordplay with the warriors of Bear Island, and by the time he was fifteen he was already a fearsome warrior.
Androw fought alongside the men - and women - of Bear Island whenever they were invaded by Wilding - or Ironborn - raiding parties, and by the time his father was on his deathbed, he handed over Longclaw - and Bear Island - to his eldest son with a fond, parting smile. His two eldest sisters had already been married off to other Lords of the North by the time Androw became Lord Mormont, and his younger brother fell defending Bear Island from a Wildling attack when Androw was in his mid-twenties.
As the only surviving Mormont left on Bear Island, Androw recognised the importance of attaining a wife - and quickly. He was wed to Alysa Dustin - a rather plain young woman, but one with a large heart - something that had become rare within the nobility. She was someone whom Androw grew to love deeply. He and Alysa had three children - a boy, a girl, and then another boy, before his wife’s passing two years ago due to a cold she had never quite recovered from.
Weighed down by grief from his wife’s passing, Androw has begun gradually passing more and more responsibilities to his children and grandchildren, and spends quite a large amount of time locked away in his personal chambers - with a keg of ale kept closeby.
Name: Garlan Mormont
Age: 32
Appearance: Like his father, Garlan is a bear of a man - standing at an impressive 6’5”, he possesses a similar physique - broad, powerful shoulders, a wide chest and impressive strength; born from a mixture of genetically inherited ability and a lifetime of near constant training and labour.
His eyes are a bright blue, and shine with intelligence and wit despite Garlan’s somewhat brutish appearance.
Despite his almost beastly strength, Garlan has begun to put on a bit of weight - due to his handing over of much of Bear Island’s more physically demanding duties to his younger siblings, as well as his own two sons and his numerous nieces and nephews. The warrior’s stomach has gradually grown larger over the last few years, leaving the man with a respectable potbelly. As well as this, his facial features have lost the chiseled aspect of a young, rugged warrior - these angular looks replaced by fat and loose skin, and a rather large beard that the man has grown out in an attempt to hide this.
His hair is dark brown in colour, and sits atop his head in a mass of untamed curls; but his hair, wild as it is, is nothing compared to his massive beard; which, combined with his large amount of body hair, makes Garlan appear rather significantly bear-like. The Mormont usually dresses in leathers or chainmail, and will never be seen without a weapon - be it a large bastard sword resembling Longclaw (which he will one day inherit) or a double-bladed battleaxe.
Personality: Like his father, Androw, Garlan is an honourable man who recognises the importance of honesty, family and duty. Although he is certainly not a knight - and is much more straightforward and abrupt than the ‘Knights of Summer’ who reside in Westeros’ Southern Kingdoms, Garlan is certainly chivalrous. He cares for the smallfolk, and does everything in his power to make sure they are protected and are able to live comfortable lives.
Although he lives a good life on Bear Island, Garlan is ambitious - and, unlike his father, recognises the value of earning the Targaryen’s favour - and the wealth and power that will come with it. If he was given the chance to advance his place - and his family’s place - in the politics of Westeros, Garlan would certainly take it.
Biography: The first-born son of Lord Androw Mormont and his Lady wife Alysa Dustin, Garlan was given the full attention of his parents - and their household staff - until the age of four, when his younger sister was born. Garlan was raised in a similar way to his father - from a young age, he was allowed to explore Bear Island, accompanied by his mother - and, as he grew older, she was progressively replaced by his father’s most trusted men - and occasionally his father himself.
Garlan was trained in horseriding, hunting and fighting - and by the time he was in his mid teens, he was very well skilled indeed in all three fields. Although he was never necessarily ‘book smart’, Garlan had a talent for physical pursuits and a good head for tactics. As a result of his father’s unconventional approach to his upbringing, Garlan had all sorts of friends in his youth - from the sons of other Lords who came to visit, to the young fishermen who plied the waters of Bear Island learning their father’s trades. A very well known - and well liked - young man, he was a favourite with the ladies of Bear Island; and is likely the father of a few unacknowledged bastards.
Androw recognised his sons frivolousness, and decided to fix the issue by marrying him off as early as he could. As a way of broadening his family’s connections, Androw sought his son a wife from the Riverlands - a task which proved much harder than he had originally anticipated. However, a wife was eventually found in the form of Shireen Haigh, the youngest daughter of the Minor House Haigh. Garlan’s galavanting came to an abrupt age when it was announced at his nineteenth nameday celebration that he would be wed to Shireen the following month, after a great deal of planning and preparation on his father’s part - kept quiet from the young man to prevent his intervention.
Garlan appreciates Shireen’s beauty, but their marriage is a loveless one - Garlan, as he says, ‘could never be tied to one woman’, but instead prefers to distribute his ‘affections’ between numerous women - of both low and noble birth. Shireen accepts her husband’s indiscreet actions as part of who he is, but refuses to allow him to acknowledge any of his bastards because of the disgrace it would bring her.
Name: Cassana Mormont
Age: 28
Appearance: Cassana Mormont was lucky enough to inherit her mother’s looks over her father’s; and although she appears rather plain, she possesses beauty in other ways. Her hair is a light blonde - the colour of sunlight, as Androw often used to tell her when she was a child sitting upon his knee.
She stands at an average height, and although her frame isn’t the most curvaceous in the world, her green eyes and bright, perfect smile are what make her attractive. Cassana is not like most Ladies - she wears similar - if not the same - clothes to her brothers, and carries a sword at her side and an axe on her back.
Bio: Cassana - or Cass, as she’s called by those who know her - was born four years after Garlan Mormont, and was doted upon severely by both her parents - and her older brother, as he grew up into a young man. Cassana’s young life was somewhat more luxurious and easier than Garlan’s, but this was not to say she didn’t work - she took care of the running of the Mormont’s household, along with her mother and the few staff her father could afford to employ.
As well as household work, Cassana - like all women on Bear Island - was taught how to defend and look after herself in the event of a Wildling or Ironborn raid. Cassana is an excellent shot with throwing knives, and knows her way about a sword if she ever needs to use one.
Visiting Lords have been somewhat shocked by the way Cass dressed, earning her the nickname ‘Lady Wildling’, which was often snickered about by boys her own age behind her back - before she punched a Lord from the Riverland’s son in the nose because he made the mistake of laughing at her when she was within reaching distance.
Cass is as yet unmarried, and it seems unlikely that she ever will be wed - her father just loves her too much to send her away.
Name: Ramsay Mormont
Age: 25
Appearance: Ramsay is decidedly shorter than his father and older brother, standing at a still very acceptable height of 5’11”. The young Lordling’s hair is blonde, like his mother and sister, but has still inherited the curly, wild nature of his father’s hair. His eyes are blue, like Garlan’s, and seem to whisper of a shrewd, careful intelligence.
Ramsay is no bear, but this is not to say that he’s not strong - he’s fit, but in a much more lean way than the other men of his family. His shoulders are narrow, his frame slender - lending the young man to a fighting style more quick and graceful than the strong, brutish attacks that most men on Bear Island practice.
He wears a longsword at his side, and often has a few days’ growth on his cheeks.
Personality: Unlike the rest of his family, Ramsay is not trusting - and nor is he honourable. He has a shrewd, calculating mind, and it is rare indeed that he’ll be truly honest with someone other than his siblings.
Despite his calculating nature, Ramsay is still quite likeable - he’s smart, witty and confident, and seems to know just what to say to keep people happy - or at least he likes to think so. Ramsay has a talent for books and mathematics, which is how he came to take up the position of House Mormont’s Steward.
Minor Members of the House
Name: Rolland Snow
Age: 48
Role: Head of House Mormont’s household guard, Androw’s deceased older brother’s bastard.
Name: Harwin
Age: 20
Role: Garlan Mormont’s right-hand man, a commoner from Bear Island - in a position of command within the fighting men of Bear Island.
I’ll add more characters to this list as they become relevant, and write proper sheets for any who become major characters.
Heya - I'm still deliberating on what House/Character(s) to make.
I was thinking about claiming the Redwynnes, as well as a Dornish bastard (if Sini is still game for that), but does anyone have any great need for some Bannermen/Supporting Characters? I'm flexible, and don't really mind what I'm playing, at this point.
And #1 or #3 sounds cool.
I was thinking about claiming the Redwynnes, as well as a Dornish bastard (if Sini is still game for that), but does anyone have any great need for some Bannermen/Supporting Characters? I'm flexible, and don't really mind what I'm playing, at this point.
And #1 or #3 sounds cool.
I'm down for this, Sini, if you'll have me!
I might go for the Redwynnes, or perhaps the Boltons or a Dornish House.
I might go for the Redwynnes, or perhaps the Boltons or a Dornish House.
Looks like I'm back too, lol; Squrmy here, for those of you who remember me! c:
Member since June, um.. 2011 - I think? - on the original RPG. Happy to see a few familiar faces here again!
Anywho, uh.. hey! How's everyone going? c:
Member since June, um.. 2011 - I think? - on the original RPG. Happy to see a few familiar faces here again!
Anywho, uh.. hey! How's everyone going? c:
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