Supermaxx

The Voyagers of Duonia: A Medieval Fantasy RP

---

A soft snoring rose from the back of the carriage where a halfling could be found, all wrapped up in furs and curled into a ball. If not for the sound one might've mistook him for a large rock, for the furs seemed to blend into each other and the man underneath didn't appear to move at all, even to breathe. He'd been like that since the moment they climbed into the carriage to leave Aelia, and he hadn't woken up once since, no matter how rough the road or loud his fellow passengers. There wasn't much sleep to be had in the frozen frontier from which he hailed, so he had some catching up to do.

Whether by wild coincidence or supernatural senses Chip began to stir when they neared their destination of Auonar. Heavy laden eyes fluttered open seconds before Gudrik spoke, and something resembling a squeak or a groan passed between his lips. The rock occupying the backseat vanished in a clutter of cloak and clothing as Chip sat up, stretching his arms out far above his head, bones popping and cracking as he did.

Chip Snowdryft was a tiny thing by most people's standards: he stood as high as the average man's elbow and looked thin as a rail even for a halfling; he practically vanished when looked at from the side. He had a narrow face with flushed cheeks, a button nose, and sunken, blue-gray eyes- tired, yet ever vigilant.

Those same eyes turned out the window to get a lay of the land around Auonar as Chip spoke an answer to Gudrik in a light, accented voice: "Doubtful. Better chance they either lost the road on their travels and buried themselves in the snow or were accosted by...something. Lots to kill you up here, Mister Temfarrow. Even the weather!"

Superboy's Shitty Characters

---

A soft snoring rose from the back of the carriage where a halfling could be found, all wrapped up in furs and curled into a ball. If not for the sound one might've mistook him for a large rock, for the furs seemed to blend into each other and the man underneath didn't appear to move at all, even to breathe. He'd been like that since the moment they climbed into the carriage to leave Aelia, and he hadn't woken up once since, no matter how rough the road or loud his fellow passengers. There wasn't much sleep to be had in the frozen frontier from which he hailed, so he had some catching up to do.

Whether by wild coincidence or supernatural senses Chip began to stir when they neared their destination of Auonar. Heavy laden eyes fluttered open seconds before Gudrik spoke, and something resembling a squeak or a groan passed between his lips. The rock occupying the backseat vanished in a clutter of cloak and clothing as Chip sat up, stretching his arms out far above his head, bones popping and cracking as he did.

Chip Snowdryft was a tiny thing by most people's standards: he stood as high as the average man's elbow and looked thin as a rail even for a halfling; he practically vanished when looked at from the side. He had a narrow face with flushed cheeks, a button nose, and sunken, blue-gray eyes- tired, yet ever vigilant.

Those same eyes turned out the window to get a lay of the land around Auonar as Chip spoke an answer to Gudrik in a light, accented voice: "Doubtful. Better chance they either lost the road on their travels and buried themselves in the snow or were accosted by...something. Lots to kill you up here, mister Temfarrow. Even the weather!"

The Voyagers of Duonia: A Medieval Fantasy RP

Chip Snowdryft, Ranger Extraordinaire

_{“Chip Snowdryft: legendary archer, walker of horizons, defender of the mortal realm...and soggy boots haver.”}

_______________________________________________ Chip Snowdryft _______________________________________________________________ 24 | Male | Lightfoot Halfling _______________________________________________________________ Neutral Good | Ranger, Horizon Walker | Outlander _______________________________________________________________ [+] ▼ A T T R I B U T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Perception ► Survival ► Nature ► Athletics ► Stealth - [+] ▼ I N V E N T O R Y ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Armor - Snowdrfyt wraps himself in many layers to protect himself from blade and cold alike. His outermost is a cloak of animal furs, thick and heavy. Underneath lies a set of well-worn leather armor, reinforced with iron studs and bearing the mark of his conclave on the right shoulder pad. Everything Chip wears is dyed white to blend in with the snow. ► Weapons - As part of his induction into his enclave, Chip was given a pair of curved shortswords with runes written into the blades and hilts carved of ram horn. He carries a Duskwood shortbow as well, though its better at killing birds and hares than men. ► Coinpurse - His coinpurse is always light, even after a long day's work. The conclave takes a portion from all of his earnings as 'tithe.' ► Misc. Items - Aside from the usual belonging's one would find in an explorer's pack, Chip keeps smaller kits for climbing rough terrain, starting fires, trapping and skinning game, and mixing poisons. -

P E R S O N A L C H A R A C T E R In the northernmost reaches of the far north lies a cold, unyielding frontier. Its tundras lack for life, its people are rough and bitter, and its settlements are poor as dirt. One of the largest remaining settlements is a place called Far Hearth, populated by a handful of human tribes and halfling clans too stubborn to die and too stupid to leave. The largest of these halfling clans are the Snowdryfts, whose fiftieth member was a young lad they named Chip. Chip was born with a rare ailment, arcane in nature, that perplexed and befuddled the local healers. It would've- should've- claimed him, if it hadn't been for his mother's tenacity. By sheer force of will she kept Chip alive long enough to carry him many miles to a mountain shrine where a conclave of rangers was said to congregate. The cold took her on the steps of their temple, but the rangers managed to get to the boy in time to see him live. He was raised as one of their own, inducted into their holy order as soon as he was old enough to walk. They taught Chip of their conclave's ancient traditions, otherworldly powers, and terrible purpose: to defend the mortal realm from extra-planar entities that would see it brought to ruin. It was a daunting task, and the tools they offered him were woefully insufficient, but he was made to make do. Chip served as apprentice to Odegrim, a dwarven senior ranger with a sour disposition and little patience for the boy's antics. The two were never friends, though Chip appreciated any company during those long treks through the dark wastes; even if all all Odegrim did was grunt and complain. F A V O R The time had come for Chip to earn his right to be a full-fledged ranger. The master he'd been apprenticing under the last few years would assign him a target to track, hunt and neutralize. Whether out of overwhelming confidence in his student's ability or a desire to get rid of him, Odegrim found a hag that'd recently made her home outside of a minor company town at the base of a mountain. Given a few months she'd likely have a full coven established, and she'd soon become a terror upon the whole region. It was an important threat that needed to be dealt with quickly, but one fledgling ranger was little match for a hag. Enter Ordrin Entheys, the man who had everything. What the merchant was doing so far north Chip couldn't say, but he was glad for his presence nonetheless. Ordrin was able to procure a number of items such a hag might want, and he offered to give them to Chip in exchange for a later favor; the halfling was loath to owe anyone anything, yet with no other real options he accepted. With a bag full of exotic items in hand and a few honeyed words, Chip managed to convince the hag to move her coven southward, with promises of further help from Entheys's friends in the future.

Polaris: A New Anchorage Story

Polaris: A New Anchorage Story

---

Smith's Rest, New Anchorage | Administration Offices
January 16th, 2677

---

Demetrius wandered down hallway after hallway, looking lost as could be. He was supposed to be waiting for his physical with the rest of the pilots. Unfortunately Demi happened to take a wrong turn on the way there, and he found himself in a completely different wing of the complex. Moving on quick feet, he kept one ear open for the sound of approaching feet so he could 'stumble' into a side room. After waiting a breath, he'd pop back out and continue to explore. Was this going to mean trouble later? Probably, but he was bored out of his skull and couldn't handle sitting around. And he wouldn't admit it to Mara but he was worried, too.

Graham was hiding something. Demi was sure of it. A backwater like New Anchorage didn't need and shouldn't be able to afford to bring so many NC pilots up to the ass end of nowhere. Megafauna and waster bandits? Yeah, right. This place had enemies. It had secrets. And Demi wasn't about to wander into danger blind and deaf, hoping his piloting skills could keep him alive. That was how Mara did things. But Demetrius? He had...other ways.

There, His quarry lay before him. A door marked with the name he'd heard earlier: Alvarez, M, Operations Administrator. This was where he'd find his answers and he'd spent longer than he'd care to admit looking for it. Demi waited, pressed against the corner, and listened for awhile. Once he was sure no one was coming this way, Demetrius glided over to the office door and tested it. Locked.

'It can't ever be easy, can it?' He grumbled to himself, pulling his datapad out of the duffel bag hoisted around his shoulder. Approaching the keypad beside the door, Demi waved his personal device in front of it, and waited for a moment. Lines of code dashed across the datapad screen, and the door's keypad started to blink: red, red, red...green. The lock clicked, and the door slid open.

Taking one last look to make sure the coast was clear, Demi stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. He scanned the room for a moment before approaching the office computer, rubbing his hands together. "Alright, buddy. Time to tell me everything you know about this place."

What Are You Listening To?

One Universe: World Of Heroes - A Marvel & DC Comics RPG

I don't want to drag my feet with this any longer so, unfortunately, I think I'll have to drop out. There were a lot of kickass concepts and posts for OU and I enjoyed reading 'em all, but I just haven't been able to put out posts as of late. Lotta different factors that I don't want to get into as they'd just look like excuses for not writing. Don't want to hold down as important a character as Wonder Woman if I can't consistently put out quality posts. Do want to thank Bruce, Henry and Hillan for all the work they put into this game and games prior, and I hope its still in full swing by the time my motivation's returned!

peace and love and all that shit, catch ya on the flip side, ect ;)

Blood Runs Over Westeros Mk4 - A Game of Thrones Roleplay

Hoster I

---

A morning mist rose off the Blackwater Rush, its pale threads carried over the Kingsroad on a gentle breeze. They danced and weaved their way between horses, wagons and people alike. They blew pass banners furled around their poles, hanging lazily in such an uninspiring breeze. The people seemed just as weary as their flags. Their eyes were a puffy read. Their feet dragged along the cobblestone, heavy as bricks. Some of the riders were moments from slipping out of their saddles. On the horizon the sun was only just beginning to rise out of its own bed, the first of its rays just barely breaking through the trees. Everyone seemed to be afflicted by the early wake up call- save for one.

A mare as pale and grey as the mist trotted along the river's shore. Quicksilver was as surefooted as any palfrey, carrying her little rider along with an easy grace. For his part, Hoster did his best to make it easy on her. The two had ridden together for three years now, and he'd grown to understand her well; he'd had quite a fine teacher.

"A little closer, now," he told her, pressing his heels into her sides. "I think I see them."

The water was fast here, perhaps even faster than the Tumblestone, and it made it difficult to see underneath the river's surface. All that mist swirling over the Rush didn't help matters either. Still, Hoster had sharp eyes, and he swore he could the shapes of fish swimming underneath the water. He rode further down the shoreline, making for a break in the sheet of vapor.

'There!' Hoster thought, grinning to himself. There were over a dozen trout, scales shining like rainbows, all racing down the Blackwater in a fat bunch. He swore he'd seen just this same school all the way back at the God's Eye, almost a fortnight ago. Was it following the Tullys all the way to King's Landing? An older man may've thought it silly, but Hoster thought otherwise. It was an omen, mayhaps even from the gods themselves. Something magnificent was going to happen at the Targaryen-Arryn wedding, and his family was meant to bear witness.

"Hoster?" A voice boomed from down the road. "Where'd that damned boy run off to now?" That was the voice of his father, all thunderous and hard. It was the same voice he used on the drilling fields, when the men didn't have their hearts in it. Hoster pulled at his reins and kicked hard, driving Quicksilver back up the shallow slope and onto the Kingsroad once more. Knights from other houses offered the boy greetings as they parted, letting him through. A pair of serving hands nearly dropped the boxes they carried as Hoster came galloping by. Lord Bracken's daughter blew a kiss his way and his cheeks flashed red. He kicked Quicksilver a little harder, then, hoping to outpace his own embarrassment.

He found his father riding alongside a number of other prominent lords and their sons. Ser Tristan Vance was telling a story of how he and Malwyn Wayn- who looked sick as a dog beside him- had gotten into a drunken brawl over the same tavern wench before recognizing one another. Lord Rowen Cox was laughing so hard he could barely breathe, and Garth Mooton had to cling to his saddle to keep from tumbling off in his fit. Hugo Smallwood, the man Hoster had squired for since his youth, looked much less amused- he had a terribly awkward smile on his face that said he'd rather be talking of anything else. All together, these were some of the finest warriors and knights in the riverlands.

Robert was practically swallowing his wineskin when he caught sight of Hoster riding up. Upon seeing his boy he let out a surprised, gargled yelp. In one, fluid motion he tore the wineskin from his mouth and slammed it into Tristan's face to shut him up. Tristan yelped as well, and let out a string of angry curses as he tossed the drink to the ground, clutching at his nose.

"My beloved son!" Robert Tully cried out, trying not to choke as he rode forward to meet Hoster halfway.

To his credit the boy tried to look as if he hadn't heard a thing, throwing up a hand in greeting to his father, and then to his many friends. Some of the men returned the gesture, others were shamefaced, and still more ignored him all together. Hoster looked back to his father. "You were calling for me? Is something the matter?"

Turning his destrier- called Dream- about, Robb motioned for his son to follow him away from the retinue so that they might speak more personally. He was a tall man, especially on the back of his horse, and he had a lean sort of strength to him. Hoster was sure it was some kind of miracle his father hadn't grown fat and crusty yet, what with how he drank and ate. Even now, not even an hour after rising, Robb had been drinking. Men like Lord Eustace Bracken were round as wagon wheels, yet Hoster never saw him eat like Robert did.

Once they had ridden up the column a little ways, Robb spoke. "We aren't far from the pavilion grounds, now. We'll be there before the sun is highest in the sky, gods be good. I just wanted to check on you- see where your mind is. Are you excited?"

Eyes to the sky, Hoster mulled over the question for a moment before answering. "I think so." He had enjoyed tournaments a great deal as a boy, but as time marched on and his circumstances changed, they seemed different, somehow. Less thrilling than before. Still, there was fun to be had, even if he couldn't play a part in it.

Robb's face twisted into the slightest of frowns, like he was trying and failing to hide it. "This will be one for the ages. Every man to call himself knight is making his way to King's Landing, and you'll get to see me unseat each and every one of the bastards."

Hoster's face lit up. "Uncle Alesander, too?"

That got Robb grinning. "Oh, yes, the Knight of Pretty Things will no doubt be there. I only hope he has the balls to knock his goodfather on his ass." He sniggered.

"I hope Myr comes with him," Hoster turned in the direction he thought Highgarden might be. "Feels a lifetime since we last spoke. She promised she'd bring me all the best books in the Citadel the next time we met."

"Uhh...yes, of course." Robb coughed, wrinkling his nose when he thought Hoster wasn't looking. The boy was, and he felt a pang in his chest, but he said nothing. Silence passed between them for far too many minutes. They continued to ride on, with Robert glancing back over his shoulder at his pack of friends, and Hoster staring off into the distance, his mind in Oldtown.

A shape appeared in the sky, dragging Hoster's attention to it. It was a massive bird, wings spread wide, and it was circling over the Blackwater Rush below. He recognized its kind for a river hawk: a bird that preyed upon small woodland creatures, other birds, and- most famously, fish. The hawk was slowly descending toward the water in large, seemingly lazy circles. It was far from lazy, however, for the bird was hungry and sought to catch its morning meal. Hoster felt his breath catch in his throat, and his blood pounding in his ears. 'Don't do it,' he begged. 'Go find a hare, or...or a field mouse. Something!'

It didn't listen. The hawk folded its wings against its body and dove for the water. There was abrupt chaos as it splashed and kicked up the water, obscuring Hoster's view. For a moment he could hope it had failed, but only for a moment. Its wings spread wide again, beating against the air as he left the Rush behind. In its clutches were three or four fish, scales shining with a dozen colors in the morning sun. They wriggled and writhed, panicked, and bleeding. There were too many for the hawk to hold in its talons, and one managed to slip free, falling back into the water to swim away, bloodied though it was.

"A fine haul," Robb said from behind Hoster. The boy did not seem so impressed.

Blood Runs Over Westeros Mk4 - A Game of Thrones Roleplay

House Tully

H O U S E T U L L Y

♫

Family, Duty, Honor

House Information

---

My Hider

Synopsis

House Tully is an ancient house descended from the First Men and finding its origins in the Age of Heroes. One of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, they rule as Lords Paramount of the Trident from their seat in Riverrun. Times have been difficult for House Tully. The War of the Five Kings ravaged the riverlands so utterly that they say blood still soaks the soil sixty years on. Lord Manfryd Tully, son of Edmure and Roslin, spent the better part of his reign rebuilding his broken realm through shrewd alliances and borrowed coin. Through slow, careful investment, the riverlands has begun to prosper once again.

Head of House

Manfryd Tully

Seat

Riverrun

Demesne

The riverlands is the centermost region of the Seven Kingdoms, its borders touching all but Dorne's. Its lands are prosperous, its soil rich and fertile, and its people numerous. The riverlands are named for the endless rivers that crisscross it, from the Trident and its three forks that connect the Neck to the westerlands, to Blackwater Rush that runs right to Kings Landing and the Gods Eye River, which feeds from the largest lake in Westeros by the same name.

Its smallfolk are called the rivermen and the riverlanders, known just as much for their homely farmers, fishermen and merchants as they are for their battle-tested warriors and unflappable knights. Their lords are infamous for their ancient rivalries and petty quarrels alike, as quick to fight one another as they are to unite against outside invaders. They are all sworn to House Tully, who rule from their seat at Riverrun.

Sworn Vassals of House Tully

House Blackwood of Raventree Hall
House Bracken of Stone Hedge
House Butterwell of New Whitewalls
House Cox of Saltpans
House Frey of the Crossing and Darry
House Redtrout, Cadet Branch of House Tully, of Goodbrook Keep
House Harlton of Castlewood
House Lolliston of Stoney Sept
House Mallister of Seagard
House Mooton of Maidenpool
House Piper of Pinkmaiden
House Roote of Harroway
House Ryger of Willow Wood
House Smallwood of Acorn Hall
House Vance of Atranta and Wayfarer's Rest
House Paege of Fairmarket
House Wayn of Tumblers Falls

Recent History

Edmure Tully's reign: 301 - 345 AC

House Tully was restored to Riverrun by Aegon VI Targaryen through Edmure Tully, after he and his wife, Roslin Frey, were freed from Lannister captivity. Edmure, starved and near-broken though he was, rallied what forces he could and rode north with his king to fight alongside the lords of Westeros in the War for the Dawn. After the dead were offered their final rest, the river lords marched back to their burned holdfasts, salted fields, and villages with naught a soul left lingering in them. A week long period of mourning was declared to give them time to bury their innumerable dead and to grieve those they'd lost. All in all, they're still counting the fallen, but tallies taken from the towns and largest villages put the total to near twenty thousand. Of them, over a hundred and fifty were noblemen, of great and small houses alike. Already overwhelmed by death and lacking many of its former farmers, the Riverlands wasn't prepared for the Four Years' Winter that followed. It was only by the grace of the Reach that their population wasn't halved by the famine.

There's no one date to mark when reconstruction began, neither one for when it ended; the process was started even before the War of the Five Kings had finished, and it continues even into Manfryd's reign. But none would argue that the bulk of the trouble lay during Edmure's time as lord. He was forced to borrow great sums of money from the Iron Throne and other, richer houses, including his own bannermen, to finance that great venture. In typical Edmure fashion, he began by pouring money into those towns whose smallfolk were the hardest hit. A direct investment to have fields re-sown, homes built anew, and a new fleet of skiffs, grain barges and trade ships constructed to revitalize the regional economy. The noblemen received their own portions to do with as they wish.

Broken men, robber knights and other vultures still plagued the Riverlands. Its fetid carcass was poorly protected thanks to the War of the Five Kings, and in many rural places, outlaws outnumbered the just men. Edmure nominated his friend Ser Marq Piper to lead the campaign, and gave Grover Tully, his son, to be Marq's squire. Little Grover was polishing armor and carrying wine during the battle of Bitter Bridge, running at his ser's heels when Piper chased down Rickon the Pauper Prince and his Mirthful Band, and Grover stood at Piper's side as Black Walder met the King's Justice.

After Piper’s passing in 318 AC his work would continue through Grover, now a man grown and knighted in the sept at Riverrun. He had a squire of his own, as well, though his choice has angered many river lords and disappointed his father: his squire was his younger sister, Lanna, who’d taken to fighting with quarterstaves when she was meant to be dancing and sewing. Together Grover and Lanna would bring terror to every outlaw Riverlands, with sword and noose alike, twisting what had once been called a noble quest into butcher’s work. For fifteen years they hunted, earning a name for themselves as the Hunters Two.

Edmure's other daughters went down more traditional paths. They would marry into houses near and far, securing new alliances and strengthening bonds with old vassals. Jeyne was the youngest of them at only six and ten when she was married to Lyman Goodbrook, lord of his own house at nearly the same age. The wedding was held at Goodbrook Keep and many of the great lords of the Riverlands attended. What followed was several days worth of celebratory feasting, drinking and dancing. It would've been a thing to be remembered fondly for years to come if not for the horror that followed.

Jeyne's elder brother, Belgrave Tully, had been taken by madness. He lay in wait until the wedding guests had dispersed and night had fallen, and then he set about slaughtering every living thing in the keep. He took an ax to his sister and husband as they lay in their bed, cut down the servants and guards, and fled the household when nothing but corpses remained there. Grover and Lanna would hunt their rabid brother down themselves and put him to the sword, though it did little good; the damage had already been done. Edmure would retreat into isolation in his solar, stricken by grief, and he would stay there until he passed in his bedchamber a year later.

Manfryd Tully's reign: 345 - 364

In 345 AC, just a few days after her lord husband's death, Roslin Tully would read his will before her household and a few, choice lords. Edmure had chosen to pass over Grover in the line of succession and named his younger brother, Manfryd, Lord Paramount of the Trident and Lord of Riverrun. Grover was all howls and fury for a fortnight. He threatened to call the will a mummer's farce, raise up his friends' banners in rebellion, and take his birthright by force if Manfryd didn't give it up. For all his faults, Grover was a well-liked man with many a friend. If he had followed through on his promises he may have well succeeded. For reasons only he could know, Grover never pressed his claim, and he decided to leave the Riverlands with his pregnant smallfolk lover, Willow, called 'the Beauty'.

Manfryd's first act as lord was to stabilize the Trident. He gave the Goodbrook holdfast to Jorah Tully, his nephew by Grover, to kill any quarrels he may have had with his father's treatment. Then Manfryd offered an early betrothal to Lord Blackwood, between Manfryd's daughter, Helena, and his own heir, Tommen. There were other lords and landed knights who saw their debts waved or gifts in their hands to sway their hearts away from their foolish whims.

During the early years of his reign, Manfryd made a point to increase House Tully's personal wealth. He invested coin raised by tax and tariff, borrowed from the Iron Bank in anything he could get his fingers in: foreign sellsword companies, trade ships in Maidenpool, vineyards and Sourleaf fields. Riverrun's military strength was a concern of his, too. His bannermen were notoriously fickle, bristling at even the thought of loyalty- they could not always be trusted to protect Tully interests. Knights from across the Seven Kingdoms who had no land or lord were offered plate and deeds in exchange for service. As many men-at-arms as could be afforded were put on retainer, to train and lead the levies if war were to ever find its way to the rivermen again. Manfryd was always prudent with his investments, and patient; many of them wouldn't bear fruit ten years on, yet when they did they were bountiful indeed.

But the Tully's best defense would always be its marriage pacts. Manfryd made himself a friend of Barristan Baratheon and joined their houses through his daughter, Brienne, and Manfryd's eldest, Robb. Edmyn Tully, a hauntingly handsome lad at just nineteen, was promised to a girl from House Payne before he was forced to take the black.

It was in 353 that King Aelyx I Targaryen called his banners to conquer the Stepstones, as many a king had done before him. Manfryd sent what men he could, with Robb to lead them, though he had urged against it. It was on the Stepstones that Robb reunited with his aunt and uncle, Lanna and Grover, who had already joined the van alongside Lord Desmond Mallister and Lord Mooton. It was a terrible, brutal thing, and that two year campaign claimed many lives- high and lowborn alike. Grover was among their number. Singers in every inn across the Riverlands still tell of his great courage, of how he slayed a dozen knights of New Valyria before they sent a dragon to burn him to ash. After their victory, Manfryd Tully decided to give The Skulls to the Mallisters, to honor their Lord Desmond's sacrifice and make up for the death of Grover Tully, husband to Ellinor Mallister. The Mootons writhed at this decision, having vied for the island themselves after the death of their own liege lord. Manfryd had hoped his relationship with Jocelyn would help ease the tension that arose afterward.

The Shivers had other plans when came to Riverrun in 359 AC. They would not leave until they had claimed the Lady of Riverrun, Jocelyn Tully, and her newborn infant, who was still yet unnamed. Hoster Tully took sick as well but by the grace of gods old and new, he survived, though his hands still shake to this day.

King Haegon was taken from this world by the Shivers as well, and by the time the plague had swept out of Westeros, Aerys III Targaryen sat on the Iron Throne. Unlike his last namesake, Aerys proved a good man and a good ruler, and Manfryd was quick to support him. The two traveled the Trident together while the king was there to help heal the realm's wounds. Manfryd made for a good enough host that he managed to secure a betrothal between his recovering son, called "Little" Hoster after his case of the Shivers, and Aerys's daughter, Daena. Aerys would introduce Manfryd to his Hand, Florian Tyrell, and the two hit it off immediately. The two forged another marriage pact through Myranda Tully and Alesander Tyrell. Together with their mutual friend Barristan the Houses of Baratheon, Tully, and Tyrell would back Aerys III, creating a power bloc to drag the realm back into stability, kicking and screaming.

Realm Relations

House Targaryen
Aegon VI was the man to free Edmure and give him back his ancestral lands, ensuring Tully loyalty until the last of that great house's days. Edmure safeguarded Aegon's' projects at Harrenhal and along the Kingsroad. Grover would follow a Targaryen to war, losing his life in his loyal service. And Manfryd would love their house so much he promised his heir's only son to Aerys' only daughter. Or mayhaps it was not love of his liege lord or dutiful devotion to the realm that saw them marry; mayhaps it was the quiet ambition of a patient man, who'd finally seen his opportunity and seized it.

House Baratheon
The Baratheons and Tullys have a long history of powerful alliances; their latest being the Usurper's rebellion against his Mad King. The War of the Five Kings saw their friendship complicated, as many such relationships had been. That old spark was rekindled the day Manfryd met Barristan Baratheon at a wedding tourney. They made a strange pair of personalities together, but they got along well, and had enough mutual political interests that they thought to join their houses. Its ten years on since Barristan's injury, and his raving has made for many a difficult night, yet they keep the bloc together, gods only know how.

House Tyrell
House Tyrell of Highgarden is a large, powerful family, all full up with honorable men. Their duty to the realm and honorable nature- or their proximity to power, some say- brought Manfryd to their doorstep. He and the lord of Highgarden were similar men of a similar nature, and after the epidemic, they were similarly aligned in their desire to stabilize the Seven Kingdoms. Their children liked each other even better, it would seem, and their future looks bright.

House Lannister
Many a relation has changed since the War of the Five Kings so many years ago. Yet, somehow, the trouts and lions remain as cold and distant as it was in the direct aftermath. Attempts were made by Addam Lannister to normalize things. They went ignored by Edmure. Manfryd was a little more receptive, but not by much; being seen as friendly to the conspirators behind the Red Wedding that nearly destroyed his house would not've been well received.

House Frey
House Frey is a treacherous, dishonorable house that yet continues to grow and fester in the Riverlands and beyond. It somehow managed to survive the Trident's wrath- thanks entirely to the mercies of Aegon and Edmure, convinced by Roslin- and its own little civil war for control of the Crossing. Not a single Tully has stepped foot in those thrice cursed keeps since 299 AC, and none has ever dared take food offered by a Frey. Manfryd is no ordinary trout, however. A storm is brewing in King's Landing, and the day might come when he is forced to take Guest Rights at the Crossing again, so that he might break bread with Alyssa Frey and help her decide the future of her house.

House Harlaw
House Harlaw is connected to the Tullys through Gwyn Tully, who married Wyl Harlaw at the behest of Edmure. They had many children together, all too far along the line of succession, and the current Lord Harlaw has little love for Manfryd or his river-troubles. But mayhaps it is a string that can be pulled upon, were the pieces to fall correctly into place...

Storyline Premise

The words of House Tully essentialize all that they hold dear: Family, Duty, Honor. In the conflict that comes with the death of the king, each of those values shall be tested, and each TUlly must decide which of them they hold most dearly to. Their beliefs are in conflict with themselves. We shall see which survives through the blood, the shit and the glory to come.

Character Information

---

Robb Tully

Identity

Ser Robert "Robb" Tully

Age

34

Role

Ser
Heir to Riverrun

Characterization

Robb Tully is bold as any man, well-liked by his peers, and forthright with lord and smallfolk alike. He's known for his love of tournaments- jousting in particular- and renowned for his showmanship and skill in equal measure. Robb often boasts that he's unseated every knight in the seven kingdoms. Cocky and proud though he may be, Tully is no mummer's warrior; he has seen true battle and never shied away from the song of swords. Some say he has more courage than sense, for he has little patience for scholarly things or the ongoings at court. A charismatic and outgoing man, he's well-loved by his peers and his subjects, often going out of his way to drink or dice with his soldiers.

Drinking and dicing are just a few of Robb's many vices. He has an appetite for sweet things, a fondness for sourleaf, and a love for gambling. He abhors a full coin purse, spending what he doesn't gamble away on fine clothing, armor decorated with the heraldry of his house, and on gifts for his many friends. Stubborn as a mule and ever indolent, Robb will do whatever he must to skirt his duties and pursue his pleasures.

There is only one sin he has never indulged in, and likely never will: whoring. Fond though he is of women and known to be a bit of a flirt, he's never known another woman but his wife, whom he loves with all his being. Robb makes for a surprisingly diligent father, he encourages his children to pursue their fancies and passions as he does, and helps with that however he can. Things are more...complicated with his own siblings and father, but for reasons he can't explain he loves them all the same.

Attributes & Talents

Few men in Westeros can ride as well as Robb Tully. He has a prodigious connection to his destrier, Dream, said to be so named because they're close enough to share the same dreams. Together the two are a fierce opponent on the tournament ground and battlefield alike, able to ride down any man that dares stand against them. A lesser swordsman than he is a rider, Robb is undistinguished when dismounted and wielding a sword and shield. The same can be said for his ability to command. He may have the love of his men, but his knowledge of tactics and strategy is sorely lacking.

Immediate Family

Brienne Tully née Baratheon, wife
Myranda Tully, eldest daughter
Hoster Tully, eldest son
Arwyn Tully, youngest daughter

Manfryd Tully, father
Edmyn Tully, younger brother
Helena Blackwood, younger sister

Lanna Tully, aunt

Personal Relations

Alesander Tyrell: TBD
Brienne Baratheon: TBD
Gaemon Targaryen: TBD

Hoster Tully

Identity

"Little" Hoster Tully

Age

15

Role

Squire to Ser Hugo Smallwood
Firstborn of the Heir to Riverrun

Characterization

In the early years of his youth Hoster Tully had dreamt of knighthood. He had paged for his father at tourneys, read tales of Barristan the Bold and Duncan the Tall, and practiced swordsmanship with Ser Hugo Smallwood every day. It was all he had ever wanted, and sickness had stolen it away from him. The Shivers came for him when he was only ten years old. Though he survived, his growth was stunted, and he was left with a constant shake in his hands. Instead of despairing at what had become of him, however, Hoster turned to other pursuits: he began to sharpen his mind.

The boy had always loved books; they had such wonderful stories of knights, dragons and ancient magic within. Now he'll devour a book on any topic, no matter how mundane, just for the sake of it. He particularly enjoys the subjects of history and the higher mysteries. His curiosity extended to people, too. He learned how to talk stories out of anyone. Charming, serene and kind, his is a disarming presence.

Hoster's trusting nature and openness make him vulnerable, however. He often takes people at their word, rarely considering that they might bend the truth or manipulate him. Words are weapons, he's found, and it isn't difficult to cut deep; Tully wears his weaknesses on his sleeve, so to speak.

Attributes & Talents

Describe said character's abilities and skills.

Immediate Family

List his immediate family.

Personal Relations

Describe notable (PC) characters they know, why they know them, and what their opinion of said character is.

Lanna Tully

Identity

Lanna Tully, also called the "Wraith of the Trident", the "Maiden Knight" or the "Wench of Riverrun"

Age

57

Role

Does your character have an important title, if not perhaps a role? Void this section if not applicable.

Characterization

Describe said character's reputation and values.

Attributes & Talents

Describe said character's abilities and skills.

Immediate Family

List his immediate family.

Personal Relations

Describe notable (PC) characters they know, why they know them, and what their opinion of said character is.

One Universe: World Of Heroes - A Marvel & DC Comics RPG

---

_{Pride of Man
Somewhere Under the Indian Ocean
Midday}

Under dark waters a steel behemoth slept. It had a head of steel-reinforced glass, crowned with ever-rotating rings. The thing's body had flesh of off-color steel, and from it eight fins extended out at regular intervals. Each of these fins was fixed with a monstrous engine at its center. Many protrusions dotted its surface: observation bubbles, antennae, windows and other nautical devices of unknown purpose. A thin line stretching the length of its belly, like a docking bay sealed shut. From bow to stern the beast measured near a thousand feet long and had to weigh many tens of thousands of tons.

Upon the neck a name was branded: Pride of Man. Three months ago that name had featured in every headline, prime time news slot and internet blog the world over as Argonautica International announced its maiden voyage. They called it the first fully submersible cruise liner- the first of many to come- and it was meant to lead the way in revolutionizing deep sea commercialization.

It was a pet project of one Veronica Cale, a multi-billionaire pharmaceutical mogul and heavy investor in Argonautica International, and it was plagued by problems from the start: Its original designers had been fired halfway through the project, the technology crucial to the ship's functioning was highly experiment and so closely guarded a secret that most of the engineers had never even see it, and the crew's training had been rushed to keep to the originally announced schedule. Experts and talking heads alike had torn Cale apart throughout the process, but she'd pushed ahead with it anyway, determined to prove it was possible. The vessel's first, major test would be a months-long journey from the harbor at Gateway City to the deepest point in the Indian Ocean, the Sunda Trench.

Today marked that journey's end.

The Pride lumbered to a halt at the mouth of the trench, engines sputtering and spitting boiling water from their heat vents. A long day's travel had exhausted the vessel as much as its occupants, but their destination lay open before them: a canyon draped in shadows, crawling with strange creatures and alien plant life. Two giants stood guard at the threshold, carved from and into the cliff face behind them. They wielded a spear in one hand, a shield in the other, and bore heavy armor not unlike that of ancient hoplites. Unfortunately for the archeologists that had joined the Pride's voyage, time had smoothed out any distinguishing features from the statues and ruined the runic text ascribed along their bases.

On the morrow the passengers that paid to do so would mount smaller submersibles to travel into the trench itself. For tonight, though, they would celebrate a successful trek across the world with a gala in the main dining hall. Hundreds of passengers would attend, all dressed up in their finest silks and putting on their best faces for the woman of the hour. There were ambassadors, CEOs, celebrities and superstars from almost every country on the map. There would be much dancing, eating and drinking- oh so very much drinking if miss Cale had anything to say about it.

It sounded like a hell of a time to Captain Wilde. She had hoped to attend half an hour ago, but she was trapped on the bridge. Snags in the final routine checks of the night, if her chief officer was to be believed. She was a tall woman, gaunt and pale as milk. Glassy-eyed and dour, the captain leaned against the railing of the observation deck, staring through holographic displays and reams of data. "All signs show normal," she sighed, "as they did the last eighteen times we ran this."

Her gaze went down and to the left, where the CO was crowding their sonar technician. "Eddy, this is a waste of-"

Eddy threw up a hand to her, his eyes never leaving the screen. "We adjust, then. Set pulse transmitters standard bearing: one-one-five. Pitch thirty degrees down. Widen beams." The technician repeated his orders to confirm and followed them. He was trying his best not to sound as bored as the captain.

The first mate was tense. Sweat trickled down his round features, gathering under his fatty jowls and slicking a too-thin beard. Eddy was a portly man of fifty years who wore his officer's uniform well. Too well, Wilde had told him. He'd been out of the navy damn near a decade, now, but he was as stuffy and ill-tempered as any commissioned man she'd met.

"Have you finished with your delusions yet, Ed? I have a date with a tall glass of red with curves like ya wouldn't believe, and you're keeping me from it over...what, exactly?" The captain whinged.

"Sonar pinged." He said.

"Sonar pinged." She repeated in a low-pitched drawl. "It was a glitch, man. An aberration in the machine. We haven't seen a ship for forty days."

With a shake of his head, Eddy looked back and up at her. "All eighteen of those checks showed all functions nominal. There's something out there large enough to set off the passive sonar."

Wilde paced back and forth. "Maybe it was a whale."

"At six thousand meters?"

"Or a rock. A big rock."

"Finding it would've been easy, then. Whatever this is moved."

Or maybe," Wilde pointed down at him with a long, accusatory finger. "We've all been down here too long. Seen nothing but water and more water. Maybe in his desperation for even the tiniest kind of excitement, our esteemed colleague- whose neck you've been breathing down, by the way- imagined it."

The tech didn't turn around, but he seemed to sink into his chair at that suggestion. He kept his eyes on his equipment.

The captain pressed. "We all have our delusions, my friend, its nothing to be ashamed of! For example, I thought I might get to drink, dance and fuck tonight. But alas, I'm in here, supervising you gentlemen in your search for Moby Dick."

Eddy finally had enough, taking a step toward his captain. "Perhaps, captain, you'd like to exercise your position of command and call off our pointless search?"

She scoffed. "I have half a mind to-"

♬

"Contact!" The technician screamed, cutting her off. "We- we have contact! Bearing three-zero-eight, degrees...its passing underneath us!"

Wilde felt her blood go cold. "I'll be damned. Maybe you aren't crazy." She stood straight and called up the sonar display in front of her, tracking the ping. There it was. It was a little red dot swimming through a sea of green, disappearing and reappearing with each chirp. Its movements were slow. So damn slow it barely seemed to crawl across the display.

"Contact is now inside minimum range, sir!"

Her voice caught in her throat as she went to call for cameras, but Eddy picked it up for her, bellowing out in that commanding tone of his. The bridge's skeleton crew rushed to fulfill the order, sending word down to the drone bay to deploy units one through five to the bottom stern. Five visual feeds popped up before her, sending her information from each of the active drones.

"Pitch up!" Wilde called, shaking out of her stupor. "Pitch up and quarter-rudder left. I don't want whatever that is scratching up the bottom of my fuckin' ship. Edward, what is it?"

"Unknown, sir!" He yelled back, running to a different station. "We need a visual first, but-"

"-But?!"

"It looks big." He breathed, his voice shaky and dry.

Everyone on the bridge went quiet. Someone from the engine room was yelling complaints at the captain through a speaker, but she ignored them. Her attention was absorbed fully by the screens in front of her. The ocean was pitch black at this depth. The only light came from the lamps and windows all along the side of the Pride and from the swarm of drones themselves. Beams of thin light cut far into the distance, but they revealed nothing but more water...nothing but ocean and shadow in every direction.

"Operator One," Wilde glanced toward the section of the bridge where the drone operators sat. Most of their seats were empty- their usual occupants off enjoying the gala, unaware of their troubles on the bridge. "Move down, see if you can't light up the sea floor." It was too dark underneath them for her comfort. She thought they'd gotten quite low before bringing the Pride of Man to a halt earlier. Had they really pitched up that quickly?

"Descending." He confirmed, guiding the fat, ocular-shaped machine into the depths. Its feed sounded with the buzzing of its propeller and the beeping of its instruments; it was loud and overwhelming. The shape of the Pride disappeared high above it, other drones also, eventually, vanishing into waves. It was alone, now, so deep that not even the flood lights pierced this far down.

Wilde could feel her throat go dry, a lump forming within. She glanced between the depth meter and the main feed, anticipating the first sign of sand or rock. 'Surely we should see the floor by now...'

She looked to the other operators. "Can any of you see Drone One?" She asked, and all at once the different machines began their search. Several tense seconds passed before a roaming beam caught a glint of metal. It was drifting above a sea of blackness, its own flashlight pointed straight down into the void.

"Contact has not reappeared on sonar." The technician called, his voice cracking. "Its still under us."

"That drone's all but pressed on the sea floor." Eddy growled. "What the hell?"

The drone crashed into something unseen, cracking the camera and knocking the lamp from its mount. Its beam went flying, drenching the screen in darkness. Operator One let out a string of curses as he tried to get the drone back under control as it spun and whirled through the water. Its other drone companions raced into the black to find it, but without the guiding ray of its lamplight the round little thing was all but lost.

Wilde and Eddy were shouting, demanding a second pair of eyes on the situation, but no one could get it for them- nor could they explain what, exactly, had happened to Drone One.

Though it offered no visuals, its auditory systems were still running. Still picking up the buzzing of its own propeller, and the off-beat beeping of its malfunctioning equipment. But there was something else, too. Something so low and distant that the propeller drowned it out.

But the captain heard it. She shouted for the operator to shut it off to much protest from the man trying to regain control. He relented, after a moment, and now all they heard were the beeped warnings of broken parts and the tumbling, twisting currents.

"Can you hear that?" Wilde whispered.

The others on the deck were silent, straining to hear something between the beeps. Nothing had ever felt louder than that damned beeping.

Eddy closed his eyes and listened. He could feel it tingling at his ears, at the edges of sensation. Like a touch so light you'd swear it was never there. Focusing, he reached out to meet it. It was the rumble of a far away thunderstorm. A single drum beat echoing for miles. Less a sound and more...that ambient, not-sound that lay behind everything else, that humans weren't meant to hear.

And it was getting louder, he realized, the more he thought about it.

"Fuck." He heard Wilde mutter. "Fuck, fuck. Its so loud. How can't you hear that?"

He turned to look at her, meeting her eyes. "I can hear it, too."

It rose to a cacophonous crescendo so overwhelming that Wilde, Eddy, and half the bridge crew dropped to their knees. Their anguished screams confounded and terrified their compatriots, who looked between each other for any explanation as to what was happening. Some called for medical personnel to be brought to the bridge while others rushed to check on their captain and her first officer. Everyone had questions yet no one had answers. In those few, panicked moments, no one thought to check the camera feeds.

Four drones remained operable, their nose-mounted lamps and cameras pointed into the black beneath. They could see it moving. Those shadows on the sea floor did not rest as previously thought, but instead writhed and twisted as a living thing might. They squirmed away from each beam, as if its radiant touch caused them unspeakable agony. Dark hands slipped free from the mass, thrashing out at the nearest drone. It crumpled under the impact and went spinning into the distance, its lamp flickering out. Other hands, emboldened by this success, raced to crush and slash at other machines, snuffing them- and their hateful little lights- out one by one.

Static filled each of the screens.

Captain Wilde couldn't see them as she lay on the floor of the observation deck, staring up at the ceiling. That horrific sound still played at the edges of her awareness, kissing her ears and dancing away before she could take a hold of it. "God," she breathed, pushing up onto her elbows. The word had to be forced out between her teeth. She focused all her energy on sounding out each letter, as if talking was the hardest thing in the world. The sound was teetering off in severity, thankfully, so she was no longer completely debilitated, but everything still felt off- like she was swimming through syrup.

Someone grabbed her under each arm and pulled her up to lean her against the railing, but she was only vaguely aware of it. She was cursing under her breath. Her eyes were glazed over and bloodshot, and she could feel something wet and sticky in her teeth. There was a vague, aching pain stretching the length of her body, but from whence it came she could not say. Wilde grabbed the deck railing in front of her, staring forward. She was looking for something- something...important.

Other things were happening around the bridge. People were running. There was lots of yelling. It was loud. Too loud. Wilde strained to listen, trying to catch something specific. Even just a word would do. Something that could ground her while her head swam. "He's not getting up!" Somebody was screaming. They were screaming it over and over and over. "He's not getting up!"

"W-what happened?" Wilde slurred, looking around. Her head was pounding, but she was sober. Why was she sober, again? "I...I need a drink."

A man was standing in front of her. His mouth was moving, and she heard him talking, but she couldn't understand a lick of it. He was all dressed up in white, with a red symbol snaking around his arm. Was he a medic? Did she need a medic?

Suddenly the bridge shook, knocking Wilde off her feet, her forehead slamming against the rail on her way down. The medic went tumbling over her head, tripping over the railing and falling to the floor below. People were screaming. An alarm was going off. There was a sound like metal being sheared apart. Wilde blinked rapidly, turning to try to see what was happening, but her head was exploding by now. Red light filled the room. She could see someone laying against their station on the other end of the room, unmoving. Someone else was scrambling on their hands and knees up the stairs, a trail of blood in their wake.

She didn't bother trying to get to her feet again. Instead, she turned over onto her belly, and flicked her eyes around the bridge. Sparks were flying from broken machinery, metal plating was torn asunder in several places, and water was leaking in through cracks in the glass bubble that surrounded the bridge. It was only then that she noticed just how dark it was outside the bridge. The floodlights were either gone or off, and the water was as black as night. She blinked again, and saw the wicked face in the black. Captain Wilde prayed to every god she'd ever known.