Thayr

Pokemon: Dream

Isla Gill

---

Mentions: N/A Location: Byjerlfal City, Camphor’s Lab

Pokemon | Inventory

Pokemon:

• N/A

Inventory: 1000p

1 x Potion

---

Isla was surprised by the state of the lab, at least on the outside of it. She’d built up in her mind some sort of large office building, same as every other one around, with maybe a few floors set up for the lab, the offices, things like that, but instead it was a pretty unassuming building aside from the large sign outside. Sliding her headphones off and onto her neck, she could suddenly hear the city around her, how loud as it was, and shuddered just a tad. The other employee’s chatter washed over Isla, almost ignored as she took notice of the sculpture and pond. They were nice, in an almost…vague way.

“Ahem, now if you’ll all wait in the reception area I'll let the professor know you’re here. Camilia can answer questions or help with anything in the meantime.”

Entering into the building with the door audibly locking behind them, the strangest feeling washed over Isla. She’d never gone into a building before where the door locked like that and she wasn’t entirely certain if she could get it open. Before the girl even looked around the room, she glanced quickly back at it, noticing the little circular button next to it. Press to Open. OK, well…crisis averted. She took a deep breath before looking back around.

The room was fairly modest, almost like the hotel near the trainer tower back home. There were three others already sat by the table, some drinking coffee, another snoozing away. They must’ve been there for some time, maybe, Isla thought. That or one was just…used to taking naps? They had Pokemon too, same as Jill did. She felt even more out of place. Unconsciously, she let out a long breath again, almost deflating at the thought.

Well, there were still more than enough seats and she wasn’t going to be one to wait. Walking out from the group and over to one table, Isla extracted herself from her duffel bag, setting it down beside her as she sat as well. She briefly considered striking up a conversation with one of the three trainers, but…paused, thinking on it. No, that’d be intrusive, somehow.

From Ashes We Rise : The Imperium Is Born

Caine, Primarch of IV

Name: Caine

Lord Primarch of the Red Architects, System Governor of Selys, Lord Commander of Cretecia, King of Balidarys, Archduke of the Illede Isles, Grand Duke of Veradania, Numedarnt, and the Tiber, Regent to the Urte Throne, Duke of Clemence, Royan, and Durne, Imperator Executor of the Order of the Thrice Lions, Arch Herald of the Order of St Selys

Legion: IV Legion, Red Architects
Homeworld: Cretecia

Classification: Gamma
Location: Selys System, Segmentum Obscurus
One of the many subjects for terraforming amid the Dark Age, it is practically impossible to know what this world was prior. Like the many other worlds of its solar system, the world grew to be a habitable one with only minor differences to a standard Terran atmospheric composition. With large amounts of arable land, world-spanning oceans, and a variety of biomes, Cretecia could be considered a near clone to the original model. This would all change with the rise of the Age of Strife.

The breakdown of intergalactic travel, and indeed the breakdown of interplanetary travel to a wide degree, would heavily cripple the economies of the Selys System. While it was not under widespread Daemonic threat, space travel appeared to attract a number of threats to include a species of alien which tended to feast on the drive systems. Such feeding would lead to the destruction of several vessels in Warp phenomena. As a result of the breakdown in trade, the system as a whole would be placed under immense stress. Planetary trade would break down as further off mining stations attempted to exert disproportionate pressure on the colonial centers while fabrication regions experiencing a lack of raw materials were forced into poor deals to maintain their operations. A number of reactor failures would only serve to accelerate this breakdown in relations.

Eventually, as the equipment broke down due to a lack of necessary materials, each of the settlements, fabrication hubs, and mining compounds in system reverted to more sustainable, lower technologies. Due to sporadic interfighting between each, the information itself to generate the old technologies would be lost. In time these would grow to be independent states, wary of neighbors as their cultures vastly diverged. By the time a certain habitation pod landed in Cretecia, the system itself had been embroiled in a war for twelve long years, crude warships ferrying troops between worlds or engaging in void combat, massive salvos of artillery shells flung from one world to another via gravity sling, and interplanetary assaults claiming hundreds of thousands in casualties.

Psyker Grade: Delta

While Caine lacks a vast array of skills and rarely is one to extort his capacity as a Psyker openly, he still remains a rather potent subject of the Emperor. Used passively in the Warp's tendencies to allow foresight and prediction, he is quite capable of naturally intuiting the results of battles currently in progress to a greater degree than a normal, mortal servant of the Emperor.

Skills/Abilities:

The Grand Game
A visionary for wide reaching warfare, Caine is comfortable and capable in conducting system campaigns down to the planetary level. His methods of achieving victory vary as the situation dictates, between the use of mass offensives, subtle flanking maneuvers, development of kill zones in defensive lines, or eliminating the enemy support Infrastructure. Caine remains quite light on his feet and responsive towards new developments and unexpected actions, flexible to adjust the details of his campaigns to better achieve victory.

In addition to this, as a notable architect who rebuilt his home system in the brutal, utilitarian method which has grown to characterize the Selys System, Caine places strong emphasis the restoration of worlds to a useful state following his conquests. He considers it to be an integral portion to the action of galactic conquest, something not to be shied away from in the name of speed. Despite this, Caine is not so inflexible as to place his forces at risk in the name of rebuilding a planet. A planet taken does not require immediate construction, save for the rapid placement of strongholds to which the Red Architects have become known for.


---

Direct War
While Caine is rarely known to directly participate in personal combat, he remains a lethal implement of the Imperial will. Honed in training again and again, he prefers his fights to be brief, brutal, overwhelming. Utilizing a power blade and bolter, he applies force aggressively to shift enemy attentions, remove defenses, and if able quickly end combat with a bolter shell to the neck or a blade through the chest.

Appearance:

Standing at 11' 7", while one could claim the inheritors of the Emperor's gifts possess degrees of otherworldly beauty this is quickly proven false with Caine. With more mortal facial features, a smooth oval face, short black hair, and a bushy mustache extending past the corners of his mouth, if it weren't for his size one could potentially mistake the Primarch as an Imperial Army officer. His tanned musculature is notably lean, long limbed as he is, with calloused hands. Caine exudes a quiet confidence, capable and demanding of respect to all those about him.

While at peace, he wears a simple uniform in the Cretecian style with deep navy blue jacket, blue field kepi, trousers, and boots. The campaign ribbons are in a similar style, plain lines of muted colors against the blue sewen into the fabric. The quality of the uniform itself is relatively poor compared to what otherwise may be expected for a Primarch, drawn as it was from Selys stores. When in war zones, Caine dons a set of Mk III Powered Armor painted in the deep crimson of his Legion. Equipped with a number of shield generators intended to deflect incoming blows, he bears a single edged, curved power blade and a bolter into the close combat.

Concept:

The General. The Builder. As the hammer to break down the Imperium's many foes and the cement for which conquests would be integrated into that same Imperium, Caine is suitable towards the great many challenges for the future. Flexible, aggressive, and demanding, his way is that of total war, commitment to the victory no matter in which shape that might come. If a world can be taken with diplomacy only, that is his route. If a world must be taken by force, that is acceptable as well. Noncommittal to any singular way of war, he is perfectly comfortable whether his forces fly for leagues about a flank, land deep in the foe's rear to attack their leaders and supply lines, form long lines of defensive layers and fortresses, poison enemy supplies and arms, or all of the above. To worlds taken, Caine is exceedingly pragmatic, working on primary needs first with utilitarian, plain structures for power, water, housing, and transportation.

IV Legion

Legion Name: Red Architects
Associated Primarch: Caine
Concept:

A generalist Legion, the Fourth utilizes a wide range of tools to achieve its objectives in the Great Crusade. Aggressive in its actions and total in its measures, the Legion employs its full energy to move forces in offensive assaults, construct forward operating bases, build defensive lines, and to effectively destroy the enemy. Its tendencies to construct installations and strongholds extends far past the end of the planetary conquest, with Legion elements aiding in reconstruction efforts. In this degree, the Fourth is known to work exceptionally well with the Imperial Army to the degree that units permanently attached to the Legion tend to adopt many of the tendencies of Legionnaires.

Culturally, the Red Architects are highly pragmatic, holding that their tasks must be as perfect as can be practicably seen. Self-critical, they assess combat actions from low to high, often employing large numbers of observer servo-skulls to observe their actions and relay information back to the fleet. The Legion is highly insular to other Legions with only a few exceptions, eschewing the radical extremes of such.

From Ashes We Rise : The Imperium Is Born

Caine, Primarch of IV

Name: Caine

Lord Primarch of the Red Architects, System Governor of Selys, Lord Commander of Cretecia, King of Balidarys, Archduke of the Illede Isles, Grand Duke of Veradania, Numedarnt, and the Tiber, Regent to the Urte Throne, Duke of Clemence, Royan, and Durne, Imperator Executor of the Order of the Thrice Lions, Arch Herald of the Order of St Selys

Legion: IV Legion, Red Architects
Homeworld: Cretecia

Classification: Gamma
Location: Selys System, Segmentum Obscurus
One of the many subjects for terraforming amid the Dark Age, it is practically impossible to know what this world was prior. Like the many other worlds of its solar system, the world grew to be a habitable one with only minor differences to a standard Terran atmospheric composition. With large amounts of arable land, world-spanning oceans, and a variety of biomes, Cretecia could be considered a near clone to the original model. This would all change with the rise of the Age of Strife.

The breakdown of intergalactic travel, and indeed the breakdown of interplanetary travel to a wide degree, would heavily cripple the economies of the Selys System. While it was not under widespread Daemonic threat, space travel appeared to attract a number of threats to include a species of alien which tended to feast on the drive systems. Such feeding would lead to the destruction of several vessels in Warp phenomena. As a result of the breakdown in trade, the system as a whole would be placed under immense stress. Planetary trade would break down as further off mining stations attempted to exert disproportionate pressure on the colonial centers while fabrication regions experiencing a lack of raw materials were forced into poor deals to maintain their operations. A number of reactor failures would only serve to accelerate this breakdown in relations.

Eventually, as the equipment broke down due to a lack of necessary materials, each of the settlements, fabrication hubs, and mining compounds in system reverted to more sustainable, lower technologies. Due to sporadic interfighting between each, the information itself to generate the old technologies would be lost. In time these would grow to be independent states, wary of neighbors as their cultures vastly diverged. By the time a certain habitation pod landed in Cretecia, the system itself had been embroiled in a war for twelve long years, crude warships ferrying troops between worlds or engaging in void combat, massive salvos of artillery shells flung from one world to another via gravity sling, and interplanetary assaults claiming hundreds of thousands in casualties.

Psyker Grade: Delta

While Caine lacks a vast array of skills and rarely is one to extort his capacity as a Psyker openly, he still remains a rather potent subject of the Emperor. Used passively in the Warp's tendencies to allow foresight and prediction, he is quite capable of naturally intuiting the results of battles currently in progress to a greater degree than a normal, mortal servant of the Emperor.

Skills/Abilities:

The Grand Game
A visionary for wide reaching warfare, Caine is comfortable and capable in conducting system campaigns down to the planetary level. His methods of achieving victory vary as the situation dictates, between the use of mass offensives, subtle flanking maneuvers, development of kill zones in defensive lines, or eliminating the enemy support Infrastructure. Caine remains quite light on his feet and responsive towards new developments and unexpected actions, flexible to adjust the details of his campaigns to better achieve victory.

In addition to this, as a notable architect who rebuilt his home system in the brutal, utilitarian method which has grown to characterize the Selys System, Caine places strong emphasis the restoration of worlds to a useful state following his conquests. He considers it to be an integral portion to the action of galactic conquest, something not to be shied away from in the name of speed. Despite this, Caine is not so inflexible as to place his forces at risk in the name of rebuilding a planet. A planet taken does not require immediate construction, save for the rapid placement of strongholds to which the Red Architects have become known for.


---

Direct War
While Caine is rarely known to directly participate in personal combat, he remains a lethal implement of the Imperial will. Honed in training again and again, he prefers his fights to be brief, brutal, overwhelming. Utilizing a power blade and bolter, he applies force aggressively to shift enemy attentions, remove defenses, and if able quickly end combat with a bolter shell to the neck or a blade through the chest.

Appearance:

Standing at 11' 7", while one could claim the inheritors of the Emperor's gifts possess degrees of otherworldly beauty this is quickly proven false with Caine. With more mortal facial features, a smooth oval face, short black hair, and a bushy mustache extending past the corners of his mouth, if it weren't for his size one could potentially mistake the Primarch as an Imperial Army officer. His tanned musculature is notably lean, long limbed as he is, with calloused hands. Caine exudes a quiet confidence, capable and demanding of respect to all those about him.

While at peace, he wears a simple uniform in the Cretecian style with deep navy blue jacket, blue field kepi, trousers, and boots. The campaign ribbons are in a similar style, plain lines of muted colors against the blue sewen into the fabric. The quality of the uniform itself is relatively poor compared to what otherwise may be expected for a Primarch, drawn as it was from Selys stores. When in war zones, Caine dons a set of Mk III Powered Armor painted in the deep crimson of his Legion. Equipped with a number of shield generators intended to deflect incoming blows, he bears a single edged, curved power blade and a bolter into the close combat.

Concept:

The General. The Builder. As the hammer to break down the Imperium's many foes and the cement for which conquests would be integrated into that same Imperium, Caine is suitable towards the great many challenges for the future. Flexible, aggressive, and demanding, his way is that of total war, commitment to the victory no matter in which shape that might come. If a world can be taken with diplomacy only, that is his route. If a world must be taken by force, that is acceptable as well. Noncommittal to any singular way of war, he is perfectly comfortable whether his forces fly for leagues about a flank, land deep in the foe's rear to attack their leaders and supply lines, form long lines of defensive layers and fortresses, poison enemy supplies and arms, or all of the above. To worlds taken, Caine is exceedingly pragmatic, working on primary needs first with utilitarian, plain structures for power, water, housing, and transportation.

IV Legion

Legion Name: Red Architects
Associated Primarch: Caine
Concept:

A generalist Legion, the Fourth utilizes a wide range of tools to achieve its objectives in the Great Crusade. Aggressive in its actions and total in its measures, the Legion employs its full energy to move forces in offensive assaults, construct forward operating bases, build defensive lines, and to effectively destroy the enemy. Its tendencies to construct installations and strongholds extends far past the end of the planetary conquest, with Legion elements aiding in reconstruction efforts. In this degree, the Fourth is known to work exceptionally well with the Imperial Army to the degree that units permanently attached to the Legion tend to adopt many of the tendencies of Legionnaires.

Culturally, the Red Architects are highly pragmatic, holding that their tasks must be as perfect as can be practicably seen. Self-critical, they assess combat actions from low to high, often employing large numbers of observer servo-skulls to observe their actions and relay information back to the fleet. The Legion is highly insular to other Legions with only a few exceptions, eschewing the radical extremes of such.

Pokemon: Dream

Isla Gill

---

Mentions: @Pyromania99 @PKMNB0Y @XxFellsingxX @Savo Location: Byjerlfal City Docks

Pokemon | Inventory

Pokemon:

• N/A

Inventory: 1000p

1 x Potion

---

"Richard and Isla alright, got it."

"Oh, and this is Aster!"

Isla watched as the Aipom perched atop the girl’s head gave a little wave, and for some reason or another just gave a slight, little wave back to the small Pokemon. There was something cute about it, though she could recall somewhere in her studies that that specific Pokemon was a tricksy sort, inclined for jokes and sorta…thievery? Maybe it just is when they don’t intend on giving things back. She hadn’t ever dealt with a mean-spirited Pokemon like that which had more human in it than most, but those definitely did exist somewhere, with some trainers, if they didn’t exist like that on their own. She huffed out a bit at the thought, dismissing it away. Things to learn in the future, that’s all it was, and for the time being she could keep one slight eye on the Pokemon she didn’t know. At least the trainer seemed OK.

Folding her arms as the trio began to make its way over, she could see another guy approach closer. Must be another one of the new hires, then, she thought. He was pretty tall, though, lanky as can be with a dead stare and a way of moving that just sort said a hostility to Isla. She’d seen that sort of walk before, at the trainer tower, with the ones who thought they not only were good enough to beat everyone but also that they were destined for it. She hoped that was wrong. What was a little pinprick of movement about his head, a trick of the light maybe, soon was a small Pokemon in the shape of a…a phone? Isla stared for a second, wracking her head for what the heck that could be. Nothing really came to mind, though. What was it? The guy took the Pokemon in his hand, though, and started taking pictures left and right of…she couldn’t really tell from where she was at.

Of course, some others approaching threw themselves into the forefront of attention and Camila’s introduction soon dropped from Isla’s attention. The Captain, she recognized him when they’d first boarded, and someone else…maybe the other trainer he’d been battling? Isla didn’t recognize him, though the remnants of the passengers made comments here, there, that made her feel like she should know who he was. Valarie’s contest stars, one of them had said…who was Valarie again? Isla really didn’t know. Gym leaders and above hierarchies, maybe? She knew they did those a little bit different to back home, though then again Kanto wasn’t exactly ‘back home’. He didn’t seem to like the attention though, and she caught him leaving. Of course, the Captain didn’t make much of it.

“Surprisingly one to shy away from the limelight, eh? Captain Tuule, at your service. How was the trip if I may inquire? Any complaints? Ah, and before I forget again, lass. You must be Camila. Camphors said good things about you. Here, Camphor’s delivery. Be sure this gets to her.”

Isla watched as a little box was handed over to the assistant, a bit of a whisper between the two that she couldn’t quite catch, though looking over she couldn’t help but catch the taller guy…seeming to have a crisis of faith? Some sort of concern? He didn’t look outwardly well. What’d set him off? Isla wasn’t sure of that either as the guy seemed to shake his thoughts away and return back to reality.

"Ah! Captain! Yes, I am the new assistant. H-has she said good things about me? I'm glad to hear it then."

"I shall keep it safe. With that in mind...Come now, new workers. We should get going. You guys can ask me questions along the way if you want."

Isla paused, waiting for someone else to ask a question before she felt she could just ask her own question, “What’s the professor like, exactly?”

Pokemon: Dream

Isla Gill

---

Mentions: @Pyromania99 @PKMNB0Y @XxFellsingxX @Savo Location: Byjerlfal City Docks

Pokemon | Inventory

Pokemon:

• N/A

Inventory: 1000p

1 x Potion

---

Before he, whatever his name was, had gotten a chance to reply another person came bounding up. Isla hadn't seen the girl at all and her first indication of anything at all happening being the sound of her voice. For the briefest moment she could feel herself jump in place, head whipping over to find a hand extended out. Isla took a moment to steady herself, thinking that her mentally shutting out the vast crowds probably was the best catch-all solution. Deep breaths, deep breaths were always good. The crowd about them seemed to part ways, a little pocket amid another wave of disembarking passengers with all their luggage and talk and motion. Lots of distracting movement about here and there, stuff Isla wasn't too keen on.

"Oh, are you guys about the job too?"

"Hi, I'm Jill, and it's very nice to meet both of you!"

She looked Jill up and down, focusing on her instead of the movement behind. All of it seemed pretty well in line with…maybe a history book Isla had read some years before? Maybe some of the trainers at the tower before she'd left? Ninja type, but…greens instead of blacks. It was more than odd. Despite having a few inches on her, Jill seemed a lot smaller too. The comparison went further still, a little Pokemon Isla didn't recognize perched on her shoulders eating a treat. They already had one? And…they were out and about, not confined in a Pokeball? She suddenly felt a little smaller, too. Sure, mom and dad had always said that Pokemon should be asked to be friends, not forced to it,but that argument always made it seem as though it was a far off thing she could never quite reach. Maybe that was closer than it seemed? Maybe?

Isla looked back at the guy she'd originally poked. He seemed a lot younger from the front than the back, tall and lanky and just a little bit annoyed at the other girl, Jill. He introduced himself, sort of laid back compared to what he could be.

"Sir's a bit formal, but yeah, I am. Name's Richard Evans. I presume you two've also been pulled from overseas?"

"Isla. And yes," she replied to both, taking the otherwise ignored hand from Jill to shake as the guy - Richard, now he was Richard she had to remind herself, seemed distracted enough to look out through the crowd. Letting free the hand, she turned too to look down whatever direction it was…she could nearly see it, a piece of cardboard through which Isla could see…ah, it was at an angle. She could only make out "Lab". Had to be it, the.

"We can continue talking as we walk. Let's not keep anyone waiting," he followed, gesturing briefly in the direction of the sign waving in the air before starting to move. "I'm getting a bit tired of smelling nothing but saltwater, anyhow."

Well if there was anything that'd make her decide to jump into it, offering up what she had desperately been looking for before was surely among them. Adjusting her straps for the duffel, Isla nodded her agreement before saying, almost eagerly, "sure, that's fine by me. Let's go."

Pokemon: Dream

Isla Gill

---

Mentions: @Pyromania99 @PKMNB0Y Location: SS Calliope, Byjerlfal City

Pokemon | Inventory

Pokemon:

• N/A

Inventory: 1000p

1 x Potion

---

She could hear it, even though the topside decks were maybe three, four above. In her minds eye, she could see all of them, all the people, all the noise about the battle. When Isla had boarded, she couldn’t really have imagined there being so many in one place, all packed around together. Deep breath, deep breath. Her headphones were tight around her head, music blasting. At the quiet points, she could still hear them. There were so many, watching and yelling and moving and- no, no, too much. For a brief moment before, she’d looked up the city they were going to, Byjerlfal. No idea on how to pronounce the place, one way or another, but then again she’d forgotten about the name the moment the population numbers popped up. After that, Isla hadn’t read much at all about the city.

In some ways she really, really wanted to get back home. She knew everyone there and they all knew her. It was simple and easy, with the only ones who came and went being the trainers at the tower. They were in a whole different category to her, people she couldn’t really make real friends with as they always came and went. But…with so many people, everyone was going to be like that. Isla was already wanting to leave the city before she’d even arrived, to get out on the road and see Pokemon or nature, to just be away from all the people and noise and movement.

Eidda. Hands shook a little as they rummaged around a pocket in her jacket before finding the little folded-up map dad had printed off. There were a lot of places around, different routes to take, a whole new…continent, really. A thought arose at that. How different would the food really be? She’d grown up eating fish, mainly. There was enough coastline for that, surely, but…would they be the same? Maybe, maybe not. Things to try out, Isla supposed, things to try out and experience. She had to like something there, surely, and maybe it’d be something surprising.

Her eyes glanced at the little phone resting on the desk, charging away, and at the message the Professor had sent. What was her name? It reminded her of a Pokemon in some ways. Camphor, that’s what it was. She’d mentioned Tanoby, as well as Nemesis. They seemed sort of…dismissive on things, things deemed boring or dull or sad like the Unknown at those Ruins. Dad had warned her, said that if the Professor was difficult to work with to just accept it and remember she’d not have to work with Camphor directly in the field, right there, all the time. It was weird advice, especially considering all the other Professors Isla knew about. She could remember Oak’s talks, televised and recorded as they were, or Elm and Birch. They were all pretty good, educational, interesting. What’s a Professor like if not that? What’s a Professor who’s not good with talking or being…nice? She wasn’t entirely sure.

The ship’s announcement system came on, something she only noticed by the fact that a little green light appeared next to the speaker. As she took her headphones off, the sound of wind crept through the noise as the Captain gave his announcement. It sounded like he was outside, somewhere. Was he battling? Isla thought, suddenly distracted. Maybe, maybe. The sounds of it had seemed to die down, she thought. In any case, there was that announcement.

“-pulling into port shortly! Everyone get ready to pack up and move out! If you need assistance, ask any of the crew! I’ll be out on deck.”

She looked over at her bags, just an old forest green duffle they’d bought from one of the Seagallop sailors a few years before, already packed away. Sure, there was a sleeping bag tucked away there, a blanket or so, few sets of clothes and the like, a set of waterproofed pants for fishing, and in some ways it was probably not as packed as it could be. It looked almost sad, drooping over slightly with all the weight at the bottom, the metal fasteners at the top jangling slightly. Two rubber boots hung by their laces on one of the straps, only serving to make it look even more awkward. A quick check around the room and, well, everything seemed to be in order there, nothing lost, nothing out of place, and a made bed. Good, good, she thought, everything nice and set. Getting up, her hand slapped against her pocket and gears started to whirr. Phone, phone, phone, phone - she checked under her bag, under the pillow where she kept it while asleep, before her head whipped around to the other side of the room. Desk. Good. Only she could lose something in plain sight, and a bit of relief came at the fact that no one had seen that. It was fully charged, too, and quickly enough unplugged from the socket, the charger wrapped up and put into its proper pocket on her pants. Good.

A ship’s horn, closer. It was…a few blasts, though she couldn’t really make out in what order. Might as well go outside to check. Slipping her phone into her pocket and heaving up the duffle about her shoulders, Isla patted herself down again, checking that she had everything in her pockets where it should be, especially that key card, and clicked off the lights. Down, down, down the hall, and she could hear people in a lot of the rooms packing away in the last minute. Where’s that exit to the weatherdecks, where is that…ah, there. She took the turn, opening the door out into the wind. Well, there was the source of it, a tug pulled up alongside. Leaning out over the railing, boots swinging to one side for just a moment, she felt herself staring, trying to make out details here, there. People moved about on the decks, seeming to be so far away, one of them looking up just a moment. Isla couldn’t help but smile, waving down before feeling foolish at waving, of all things, at a…tug. Whoever it was down there waved back. Ah, crisis averted. Good. Looking back up, she saw for the first time, truly for the first time in person, that city as the tugs swung the ship around, the one she had been staring at moving away and off to the other side.

It seemed so big, compared to everything else, so big and just…tall. Buildings reached up, sleek glass and steel shining against the light, and the streets between them seemed to be lost. Next to the piers and quays, long and low warehouses dotted the landscape, roofs painted at random intervals with various company colors, logos, designs. Where would she find that…assistant? They had to be near the pier, that’d be the best place to be, that or a…terminal, like there was for the Seagallop ferries. There had to be one somewhere, to process people coming on or off the ships. Swallowing her nervousness at the idea, especially at the fact that her plan had boiled down to waiting at the terminal until the vast crowds had finally sifted away from the piers and into the city, she stood there, waiting, waiting as they slowly, slowly came closer to the pier. The warehouses seemed to grow bigger for a moment before they moved past, off and away to a more clear, clean area.

Finally they were right alongside it, the tug engines growing louder as they pushed the ship up against the buffers. Here and there Isla could see little teams waiting, hardhats and even some Pokemon dotting the length of the cruise liner. Lines were cast off and away to the pier, teams working quickly to secure them away, and still they waited. A brow was brought up, a crane working quicker than Isla could have guessed before it was in place as well and lines also set down and secured. Figures moved along it, up and down for a long handful of minutes, before it was finally open to traffic. Quick as can be, it seemed like a floodgate had been opened as tourists moved down it as rapid as they could, down and out into the city.

Wait, wait. She didn’t want to deal with that sort of traffic. She just sort of marveled, breathing in and out, looking at the city and the various little details. There didn’t seem to be any little groups forming on the pier…maybe at the terminal. Probably. Hopefully. Aside from a phone number to call, out to Camphor’s lab directly, there wasn’t much of a backup plan for Isla. She knew she should have gotten out more during their voyage, out and talked to people to try and find others who would be going to the lab as new hires, but just…every time she’d tried, there had just been too many people. Too late for that sort of wishful thinking. Wait, wait. Ah, it was finally clearing up after a…Isla checked her phone. Fifteen minutes? Time had just gone and flown away. She sighed. It wouldn’t do that at the terminal.

Making her way over to it, she turned in her room card with one of the staff members before briefly bounding down the brow. It shook and bent at the action, elastic as it seemed to be, and her heart just dropped. She stopped, waiting for it to stop moving, before starting again with careful, measured steps. Someone behind her chuckled at the pause, another somewhere behind them snorted in annoyance, and Isla tried to ignore both reactions. Definitely not the sort of thing she’d been used to with the Seagallop, there it was as short as could be and you were just…there. Dry land, there it was. She walked to the side just a few steps, letting others go past as she scanned about for…another person who was scanning about? Someone standing to the side and waiting for others? Maybe? There was someone off to the side, and tentatively Isla took a few steps forward.

“Excuse me, sir?”

He looked over, then down again one he realized that whoever he was talking to wasn’t exactly as tall as himself. Oh, heck, he was tall with a big gut, a sparse beard, crinkles in his face that spoke of long years smiling. The huge backpack set down next to him said either tourist or another new hire, but the sparse beard did not say the same. Too old? Maybe he was the assistant, Isla didn’t know how old those got especially with a strange person like this Professor. Maybe he’d just…go out and live life in the mountains? Maybe? He replied with a curious little accent, almost nervous and too quiet among the hum-drum of the pier, and Isla almost had to stretch upwards to hear him. “Yes?”

“Um…” She paused, unsure. The accent didn’t say he was from Eidda…unless she was wrong about that and it was from Eidda. Oh, heck, it was too much to analyze in the moment. “Are you…Professor Camphor’s assistant, sir?”

He stared for a second before smiling, chuckling to himself. “Ah, no. Waiting on the wife. Forgot something in the room. But hey-good luck to you. Good for the kids to run around, even better if some Pokemon Professor helps em out. You have fun.”

“Ahhh…well, thank you. You have a good day, sir.”

“Oh, we will, we will.”

Well, that didn’t work. Looking about again, she didn’t see anyone else waiting on someone to come down. Terminal it was. Where was it…signs, signs, signs…pursing her lips, she walked off from the waiting man purely because she didn’t want to stand around with him and make something awkward. It’d be weird. Where was it…she couldn’t see. Even then there seemed to be too many people and the ship itself still seemed to have more waiting as others came off the brow. Wait, there was a…no, probably not. Maybe? He seemed to also be looking, young as well with maybe a foot of height on her and just a single bag. All the other tourists seemed to be carrying a house with them. Maybe. She inwardly collected herself, little courage and all after the brush with failure before, before approaching him before he got too far away from the pier and all the people coming off of it. Getting in close, she cleared her throat as loudly as she might which was not very loud at all, before speaking up.

“Excuse me, sir, are you…are you one of Professor Camphor’s new hires too?”

A Song Of Ice And Fire : The Swords And Stars

House Smokestone of White Rock

House Smokestone of White Rock

Earned In Blood

House Description:

Historical Background

Said to be old as sin, in reality House Smokestone was once upon a time not a noble house at all, nor even a cadet house in the later fashions, but instead as all things were a band of bloodthirsty Ironborn. When the hundred sons of the Grey King butchered one-another following his death, among those who emerged were pretenders, and among those numbered was House Smokestone. Taking its name from the almost mythical smoke which rose from deep vents in the island, so mythical that no one is said to have seen the smoke in at least a century, the house would grow a reputation for having very little reputation at all.

Such was the degree of that reputation that the rock king and the salt king were, more often than not, simply a master and subordinate though superiority seemed to change every moon. The House remained often undisturbed by the goings-on of more exceptional Houses, tending to its own matters with its own meager number of ships. They would become consummate sailors, and even those who reaved in the lands beyond would often return home to fish with their families and those who had been left behind. Idleness and wastefulness was not something afforded on White Rock, and the sloth of action which marked other Ironborn once they returned home was purged from every generation of the small house. Despite that size, the raiders of House Smokestone would become well-drilled over the generations of marching in the green lands, striking quickly when it was best and withdrawing when it wasn’t. These were the lessons taught to the house when the Greyirons fell, an event which some claim the Smokestones supported and others claim the Smokestones sat out.

The rise of House Hoare, and the outlaw of reaving, salt wives, and the Seven would be a time unnoticed by the Smokestones. So small and removed were they from the center that priests of the Seven seldom came at all to the island and, whenever they did, would often receive merely blank stares before their inevitable accident came to take them in whichever form seemed most apt. The removal of King Harmund would likewise be seldom acknowledged by White Rock, though the war with the westlanders and the following Famine Winter would only serve to cement the growing divide felt by House Smokestone with the rest of the Ironborn. The actions of others only seemed to burn them again and again while, in the end, the only ones they could count on to pull through were others of White Rock. However, due to the size of the house, they lost little in that war and were hurt even less in the following, their ships still setting sail to fish. Nevertheless, the famine still touched the island and the lessons were still taught.

House Smokestone would join the others, however, in the following centuries of hunger. They never were known for far-reaching voyages, nor for even touching down in raids to the Stepstones and Disputed Lands, but instead became traders of a common sort. They moved goods that were never their own from port to port, sails unadorned, and for that received profit enough. The Old Way, to the house, grew to be an old limb marred by illness, cut away to save the rest of the body, though captains of White Rock were ill to speak on such matters.

Despite this period of rust and wait, the house was nothing if not opportunistic. When Harwyn Hardhand took the Trident, among those who fought under his banner were the Smokestones. Longships from White Rock, small in size, would become known there for their tendency to appear without warning on the many rivers, attacking settlements nearby before sailing away within the hour. They often served to quell the smaller rebellions, prisoners given to Harwyn for his own executions. Some years into the construction of Harrenhal, and the decrees of Harren the Black, would be the event which gave the Smokestones reason to return to the Iron Isles. Such was their contributions, small and modest as they were, that it was said after that Harren dismissed them as not worth the time, that White Rock was a little stone which the waves swallow. In the forty years which followed, in which the hall was built, Smokestone paid as little as possible for the taxes levied against them by the Hoares, and so draining was even this.

Despite all which was poured into it, in 2 BC Harrenhal burned in dragonfire, the riverlands were lost, and the Iron Isles was bursting with claimants. As before, House Smokestone avoided all this and more. Reavers at White Rock bayed for blood nevertheless, claiming that the Smokestone was cut to be a woman, that he no longer had the will to fight, which resulted in the same man killing the twelve who made the claim, throwing them into the ocean, and announcing that he had no will to fight for another’s love of a rock stone, but had quite the will to fight another’s love of his throne. This silenced most further disagreement, though would largely sour his relations with many. White Rock itself would play host to the fighting some months later when the Wyk King arrived to receive the fealty of the Smokestone or kill him and replace him with another who would. The force which the Wyks had brought was, despite its greater number, largely comprised of damaged vessels and half-headed youngsters after clashes with the Greyjoys, while the Smokestones put to sea with well-disciplined reavers in the same longboats which had once plied the riverlands. The battle would prove to be fairly evenly matched and costly for both sides, though the Wyk King withdrew the next day from White Rock after receiving ravens that his own seat had come under attack.

The arrival of Aegon in 2 AC to the Iron Islands would be received by House Smokestone with some amount of relief. Tired of the chaos which had perverted the Iron Islands, and knowing that their lot would likely neither improve nor be damaged by the coming of a Targaryen King, they were fairly eager to remove the thundering wars in their midst. When the civil wars finally ended, Qhorin killed by the Targaryen and Lodos drowned in the seas, the Smokestone would support the rise of the Greyjoys of Pyke.

White Rock

Located as the northernmost island in the thirteen surrounding Lonely Light, White Rock stands out as somewhat unique among many of the Iron Islands. The cliff-faces of the island, which comprise most the south, east, and northern portions, are a dirty shade of white stone, streaked with grays and blacks. This same rock is present throughout much of the islands surface, leading to some to build their homes and storehouses directly into the rock. A number of buildings still jut from the largely barren surface, primarily made of wood received from the rivers, to include a squat lighthouse. A low palisade stretches around the settlement, built from the rock. The western side of the island gradually lowers to the water’s edge, with a man made harbor built from large stones and several small log homes and storehouses present nearby. The harbor itself can accommodate several smaller longships, with a slipway present, though would struggle to accommodate larger longships.

The seat of House Smokestone is a low-built longhouse placed in the center of the settlement. With walls of stone, a floor sunk five feet into the ground level, high-placed circle windows, and rafters built from dark-wooded riverlands timber, it would be a cozy arrangement were it not for the size. Capable of seating just fifty, with but six hearths, it is ostensibly a modest arrangement built from intentions to spend on necessities, not a ruler’s ambitions. In reality, it is entirely likely that the longhouse is built so small merely to save time in its construction. Banners, many of them from riverlands houses captured during the time of Harwyn, hang from the walls while the floor is covered by fur rugs.

Recent History:

Since the rise of the Greyjoys and the submission of the Iron Islands to the Iron Throne, House Smokestone has grown apart from the usual methods of the Isles. Aligned with the Farwynds since Aeron the Elder, Smokestone during the War of Conquests and the invasion of the Iron Islands, gave his title to his son, the house is far apart from the Old Way. Fishermen with little opportunity for raiding since the decrees of Aegon, it grows to be a rare time that the house reaves afar. Notably, the new Smokestone has taken it upon himself to source a Maester for his own purposes, to which he found a fledgling Maester who had only just earned the title. Through Maester Fergon, Aeron is rumored by the more superstitious to have become literate as well as knowledgeable on other matters.

The more recent events of the age, the death of Lodos the Twice-Drowned at the hands of Goren and the resulting purge of the Iron Islands by that same hand of any who dare hold the Faith of the Seven, has resulted in some degree of concern at White Rock. While they hold little in the way of septons whatsoever, so removed are they from the majority, Maester Fergon has reportedly renounced his faith and, even more surprisingly, been inducted in the faith of the Drowned God. How true such reports are remains to be seen, though a number of Ironborn on the island swear by the event.

Family Members:

• Aeron the Elder (84)
• Alannys Smokestone née Farwynd
  • Aeron, The Smokestone, Lord of White Rock, Captain of the Smokesong (26)
  • Harlan Smokestone, Captain of the Jester (22)
  • Lysse Botley née Smokestone (17)
• Mariane, Salt Wife
  • Haggen Smokestone
  • Erich Smokestone
  • Alvyn Smokestone
  • 3 Stillborn
• Brenne, Salt Wife
  • Emmond Smokestone
  • Theron Smokestone
  • Gulfe Smokestone

---

The Smokestone

Name

Aeron, The Smokestone, Lord of White Rock, Captain of the Smokesong
Age: 26 (15 AC)
Appearance:

Standing at nearly 7’, Aeron’s form can be likened more to a whip than a willow tree. With pale skin and long, uncut black hair, he fails at the task of growing facial hair at any degree whatsoever. He is more successful in having a strong body and constitution, his muscles like coiled springs. Aeron carries himself well, moving fluidly with a long stride.

Aeron wears either simple tunics, with white shirts and loose trousers, or simple black robes. Cloaks are often worn, though he does have strong preferences to the brisk wind and is at times seemingly immune to its chill. Likewise, the Smokestone seldom wears jewelry or gold, preferring a simple image especially when contrasted with the fact that both he and his island can ill-afford gold or frivolity.

Description & Biography:

Born on White Rock, Aeron was as weedy as any young man might be though, despite the seeming frailty of his figure, would prove quite resilient to his induction in the faith of the Drowned God. From that young age, he would prove to be far less a reaver, far more a ruler. It was by his request to his father that a Maester was acquired for the purposes of his education, something which would have spurned other tutors on White Rock were it not for his attentiveness there also. Before that Maester arrived, he would hound sailors and captains, sailing along to the mainland whenever possible, learning his way about the ship as well as he might. Aeron grew to be a tolerable sailor on his own accord, though by the accounts of many he was far less suited towards fighting despite all his efforts to being a good, honest Ironborn.

Nevertheless, the boy would eventually return home, settling in when Maester Fergon arrived. Aeron took to studies readily, to a great many almost suspiciously so for an Ironborn, consuming information at a ravenous pace. He would soon come to grips with his reading and, with that, the floodgates truly opened as he discovered so many new, strange, and fascinating worlds. Aeron would learn of the stars, navigation by them, of shipbuilding in the Westerosi way, and of architecture. Maester Fergon did have several links of iron as well, and seeing it useful he too learned of siegecraft, engine works and how to aim them properly, of warfare in the field. As a student, he found all these things and more to be of the greatest use to a lord when any other Ironborn found themselves unable to read the letters sent to them.

In time, however, his father would grow desperately old and had no indication of dying soon via natural causes. As a result, the title of the Smokestone would transfer on Aeron’s twentieth nameday, a celebration which was as raucous as one could expect. Such was the celebration, in fact, that not a single filled wineskin could be found on the island in the days after and, for Aeron the Elder’s degree of revelement, all expected him to have died during the event to which there was great surprise after that he had in fact not passed. Instead he was found in his newly lost vessel, Smokesong, which had been gifted to his son, drunk off his sense with four women and no more wine. In the years since, Aeron has ruled the island with a steady, cautious hand as his forefathers had before him. He has largely eschewed the Old Way, seeing an era of trade with others as beneficial to the Iron Islands, though remains largely wary of placing too much emphasis on such for fear that retribution may come from the other Ironborn houses or, failing that, the hand may be lost should war erupt in Westeros.

Aeron the Elder

Name

Aeron the Elder
Age: 84 (43 BC)
Appearance:

Standing at 6’3”, still exceptionally tall for an Ironborn though shadowed by his eldest, Aeron the Elder is by and large a rather hearty man despite his advanced age. With little bowing of his back and no need for an aid while walking, his age shows far more in his stride, which has grown slow, his eyes, which have grown dim, and his hands, which are somewhat shaky whenever he eats. Such tremors have, so far, only meant that he cannot fill his cup as much as he wishes which has somewhat irritated the old Smokestone. Aeron has grown thin in his advanced years, thin and bony, while his beard and hair have grown long, wispy, and as white as the rock.

Description & Biography:

Born before the Wars of Conquest, Aeron the Elder’s early life would prove typical for an Ironborn living on White Rock. Fairly removed from the taxes of Harren the Black, he learned to sail as soon as he learned to walk and would prove to be a capable shiphand at worst, an exceptional sailor at best. At a young age, he would be warded to House Blacktyde of the same name at the behest of his father, who had made agreements with the Blacktyde in exchange for other favors. On that island, Aeron developed a tuned sense for the nonpolitical politics of mainlander Ironborn, the games they played, and the methods they held to be true. He grew to be a cautious young man during his time as a ward, cautious in speaking his mind and acting as he desired, though despite such caution Aeron grew to be a powerful, able reaver in the riverlands. Though this native house eschewed such, for belief that the fighting and reaving would only serve to drain them of their strength, such was the time of Harren the Black when reaving was all that could be had against the rebellious lordlings, and along the many forks the young Smokestone would raid and plunder and burn. Such wanton activities would gain him his first salt wife, with whom Aeron did not marry as she was a riverlands woman and refused anything else. She would give him several children, young boys who grew quickly despite all of it.

Though his warding had been ended by the twenty-third nameday, Aeron still raided with the Blacktydes for the view that he could gain much and risk little, in terms of the people of White Rock and their lives. He sent back gold and treasure, as well as any Westerosi vessels he captured, and for that received both his people’s admiration of the far-off warrior and his father’s ire for raising questions why he, too, did not sail abroad and raid for the house. Some decade before the final stones of Harrenhal were laid to rest, however, Aeron’s father would pass suddenly, some to call it unnatural causes, and he would be called back to become the Smokestone. He did so with all capable haste as soon as the message was received and, quickly enough, found himself to be lord at White Rock. The following decade was hard, for the sons he had borne by his first salt wife died young months after the burning of Harrenhal, his new-found second bearing stillborn after stillborn, and the Iron Islands seemed to turn to chaos. He kept his island to his own, pledging allegiance to none for there was nothing to benefit there, and the grumblings of the many who had once been inspired by his intrepid raids grew louder and louder. Rumors were born that he was no longer a man, but a woman, and soon enough twelve of the bravest on the island confronted him in his own hall, calling their challenges, declaring their desire to go abroad again and, if not pledge themselves to another to have a share in the glory, raid the other islands about Lonely Light to have a share in the plunder.

Such infuriated Aeron, such blatant betrayal of the Ironborn, such blatant betrayal to himself. He called them to go outside, that they may speak more plainly there, and followed them out before the hall with a long blade. There he slew one after another after another, some fighting in pairs against him, others singley, and in the end twelve bodies strew the ground before the hall at White Rock. The bravest betrayers had died in their foolishness, though the lesser kept to the sides to whisper to each other in their discontent. Aeron did not know how to solve it, save for giving challenge to any who drew-up the bravery to face him, either to give their reasons for going abroad or to take his seat. Such a challenge would go unanswered. Some months later, White Rock received its share of the violence when the Wyk King arrived to demand the fealty of House Smokestone, either given freely or broken from it. Aeron led his house in the combat, which aside from a brief attempt by the Wyks to land at the harbor would largely be fought on longship. There, he cemented his reputation as a fierce reaver, cutting deep amid the larger Wyk fleet and burning a great many of their ships. The two sides would retire some hours after, both largely having been mauled and lost their cohesion, as well as bleeding the strength of the oarsmen, in the melee. The morning after, the Wyk fleet would sail back to their island, having received word that their seat had come under attack. Of course, such would not be known to the Smokestone and most would declare that the victory and Wyk retreat was attributed to the ferocity of White Rock’s defenders, the strength of their ruler. It was altogether a great boon to Aeron, though the dead and the damage received would worry him in private.

All would be solved with the arrival of the Targaryens at the Iron Islands. Aeron would pledge his support to that throne, seeing that they would be most capable of developing stability in the islands despite their foreign natures, as well as support the methods with which they chose their steward for the Iron Islands. In the years following the rise of the Greyjoys, the Smokestone would be by no means idly, finally taking a formal wife as his second salt wife, some months after the first, expired. Such would largely be an arranged affair with the Farwynds of Lonely Light, though despite both their ages Alannys would soon enough give Aeron three strong children.

As an older man, he led his house through the turmoil of years following the subjugation of the Iron Islands. Aeron would, in a rather consistent manner, lose the majority of his children as those given by his salt wives would die young or die in lands far away. He would keep the Westerosi largely happy, if not unaware of White Rock’s existence in the wider world, keeping away from the traditional reaving in the Narrow Sea or elsewhere as well as bringing from the Citadel a Maester for the purposes of his eldest son. When his wife finally passed due to complications of health, the Smokestone’s own would quickly fail him. At the age of 78, his eyesight allegedly failing him and his legs allegedly unsteady, Aeron would give up his responsibilities to his son and, in the aftermath, largely throw caution to the wind for several nights following that ceremony. Despite his age, it would be rumored that Aeron the Elder, as he quickly became known, fathered no less than seven bastards with various women of the island. Of course, he would never be able to confirm or deny this as he was dead drunk throughout the event. In the time following, despite the signs of failing health earlier, Aeron still is going strong with no cane in hand, acting somewhere between critic and advisor for his eldest son.

Harlan Smokestone

Name

Harlan Smokestone, Captain of the Jester
Age: 22 (19 AC)
Appearance:

Standing at 6’5” with broad shoulders and tanned skin, Harlan has the makings of a true sailor. His hands are well-worn by word at the line and tiller, his muscles well-trained by the sword and bow, and his emerald eyes seem calm amid any storm he might find himself in. The youngest Smokestone’s most striking feature to any who know the house would be his blond hair, longer than most might keep it, and though such produced rumors of bastardry these have long been put to rest by his expeditions on the Narrow Sea.

Description & Biography:

Born in the periods of peace following the War of Conquest, Harlan would follow in his older brother’s footsteps to a far lesser degree. While he would be taught by Maester Fergon, learning of reading, celestial navigation, and the geography of Westeros itself, the young lad would be far more at home on a rocking ship. He took to the sea almost as soon as he was given leave to, sailing along the Ironman’s Bay at a younger age than most. He built a reputation for having steady hands and a quick mind, seeming to foretell a squall before it reaching the ship, and in many ways would become a model for any self-respecting Ironborn. To Harlan, it grew natural to be as at ease in a brothel as he were on the seas, or in his own house’s halls.

Yet, the youngest son of White Rock quickly found himself wanting to see more. He wanted to see the far-away oceans on the other side of Westeros, to see other cities than the meager settlements of the Iron Islands, and to make gold from work. He wanted to travel abroad and, soon enough, found himself in command of one of the smallest vessels of House Smokestone, the Jester, at the tender age of eighteen. As clean a voyage as any would follow him, trading up and down the western coast of Westeros from the misers of Bear Island to the Arbor itself for but a year, and for a time even sailing the southern coasts of Dorne to move spices and silver. In time, he would make the voyage through Hags Mire, across and along the Green Fork to enter the Bay of Crabs. His was a free heart, an eager heart, and Harlan found it easy to move other people’s goods for them from Gulltown to Greenstone and all the ports between. The Jester became known as a strange, honest Ironborn ship, her captain just as so.

He would join along with other Ironborn houses in the Narrow Sea, down to the Disputed Lands on some few occasions, defying the longstanding conventions set down by his father. To the Westerosi the Jester was perhaps known as an honest trader, but to many a Pentoshi slaver the Jester was among the last to hunt them down. Harlan would establish a running agreement with civil servants in Braavos, delivering slaves to the city to be freed for a certain amount of gold, though a lesser known truth would be that many of the crew of the Jester would be former slaves themselves, having volunteered after being promised good food, treatment, arms and armor, and the possible chance to cut down even more slavers. Such would become inducted in half-official ceremonies into the faith of the Drowned God, though the more pious among the Jester’s crew might complain that the men rarely needed to be brought back to life, such was the speed of the ceremonies, and that Harlan’s conduct with the women inductees, which he at times personally conducted, often led to beddings rather than honest faith once the Jester found a free port to put into. His reputation by these raids would lead to some Pentoshi placing bounties on his head, something which Harlan flouted often by saying the Magisters were cheap and blind to put such a small amount on his head. To date, he has killed no less than fifteen bravosi from the Free Cities who try to claim that bounty. To call the young man famous along those lands would be foolish, but so would it be to call him unknown. To those who listen, Harlan has grown his reputation well.

Pokemon: Dream

Isla Gill

Appearance

Name: Isla Gill
Appearance:

Standing at 5’ even, Isla’s sparse frame is well-tanned and rather athletic for her age. Used to the outdoors, her hands are somewhat calloused and her smile has creased her face at a rather early age. She keeps her brown hair, which rarely meets a professional barber, is a loose and messy ponytail. Isla’s green eyes rarely seem to see the light of day, smiling as often as she does, though they do seem to constantly dart from one object to another. Likewise, her hands often are at play with any small item she can pick up on the go, such as stones, constantly turning them over and over in the palm of her hand or feeling the differences between smooth portions and the edges.

Age: 16
Gender: Female
Personality:

Moving would be the key word to describe Isla. Intensely curious, there is little answer which satisfies her aside from a complete answer. To this end, she constantly is searching through whatever environment she’s in, looking off at the ocean during boat rides to see the various Pokémon, listening in the distance when walking through places such as Sevault Canyon, and having a notebook and pencil in her hands. Whenever not looking through at Pokémon, she could be found to be fidgeting with a rock she’s somehow acquired, playing with loose threads on her jacket, or tapping out an irregular rhythm with her feet. If overwhelmed, which has rarely happened in her life, Isla tends to absolutely tune-out from her environment entirely, blasting loud music with her headphones and avoiding eye contact.

When talking with others, she tends to err on asking too many questions rather than asking not enough. Isla finds other people interesting in nearly every way, as they have lived elsewhere, done other things, and so on. There is a significant barrier, in her mind and manner, before she begins such interrogations as they need to be her friend, so she does not precisely prattle off to every shopkeep she runs across. To her friends, however, Isla is nearly a menace whenever a topic is come upon which she is not entirely familiar with and the other is. Her sense of planning is likewise interrogative, requiring information on every step of the way and little in the way of improvisation.

Hometown: Seventh Island, Sevii Islands
Background:

Born in the Sevii Islands near Tanoby Ruins to a pair of research assistants, Isla’s life would largely revolve around the same things as her parents. From an early age she grew to appreciate and be around Pokémon, though not necessarily be close to them or train them; her parents made it exceedingly clear that Pokémon should do, generally, as Pokémon naturally do and that interfering with such was simply wrong. From that young of an age, it was also simply due to the exceptional aggression which many of these Pokémon displayed. She would visit Trainer Tower several times, though it would eventually be shut down due to an incident where a Typhlosion destroyed two floors and forced an evacuation. The incident would highlight the growing trend in Pokémon to all, driving Isla’s parents to further study to determine what may be causing the rise in violence.

As time went on, eventually they began to teach her how exactly one studies Pokémon in the wild, on the shores or in the less hostile portions of Sevault Canyon, something to which she took to quite naturally and with similar enthusiasm. Isla would even venture down along the coast, though never venturing too far as even experienced Trainers became more wary of mere travel. How Pokémon were was a world all on its own and, in peeking in, she saw a grave issue at play. It was something to be fixed, making her want to follow in her parents footsteps even more. For a time, even the Seagallop ferries would be shut down due to several attacks.

The conclusion to such events would come when she turned thirteen, a group known as Nemesis which operated in further-off Kanto and Johto, one which had been using the distant islands as their testing grounds for new methods of control. Such would be remedied by the efforts of, at least in the Sevii Islands, the International Police with Isla’s parents helping to determine the exact locations of the Nemesis base in the region. She too would play a small part in this, mainly in the collection of rock samples in some parts of the island for chemical signs of the group’s tampering. The return to normal would come slowly, as the methods which Nemesis had employed were cleaned out from the ecosystem, though the local Pokémon Centers would work at maximum capacity to help heal Trainer Pokémon. The Trainer Tower would open ahead of many other services, though in time Seagallop would begin usual operations.

Eventually, as she got older, her parents decided that the very limited experiences on Seven Island were simply not enough for their daughter and that she needed to go out into the real world. There was more to life than just a few buildings and nature and, besides that, they worried that Isla would grow too accustomed to how things were done back home, that if she ever had to go to a city she would have a panic attack. Already to her a crowd was three people. Though they already were looking for opportunities for her to go and explore the world outside, through the grapevine of other researchers word came that Professor Camphor was interested in assistants. Along with that was of course some minor warnings on her tendencies and potential issues, but Isla’s parents figured that their daughter would not be working directly alongside the Professor and, as such, anything like that would be an occasional issue at best. With a few recommendations, courtesy of the International Police, they made inquiries to the Professor via normal channels and in due course she set off on the several days long journey there, taking the Seagallop to Viridian City before catching the cruise liner, paid by the Professor, to Eidda and Byjerlfal City. After a few months, at a not-so-insubstantial amount of anxiety, she would finally arrive in the city with the rest of the prospective employees.

Kind of Pokémon you like:

Isla prefers to judge Pokémon, in her likeliness to want to keep them, by their personality; to her, the best are playful or cuddly, with aloof, stand-offish, and aggressive Pokémon simply not a good fit for her. She does have a catch-and-release policy with the vast majority, believing that the Pokémon should also have an actual desire to be with her rather than it being her decision alone with the Pokémon having to “grow to like her”.

Quirks/Talents/Aspirations/Other:

She possesses a small talent in rapid pencil sketches which, generally speaking, are quite accurate to whatever she is using as a model though she does absolutely chalk it up to her own long years of practice. Generally speaking, Isla aspires to be the best researcher she can be, to learn things about Pokémon no one else has before discovered, and to grow to understand them even more than she does now.

Items:

1 x Potion

Pokédollars: 1000p

---

Dancing

Species: Eevee
Appearance:

Dancing possesses a noticeably thicker collar of fluff around his neck which resembles more of a large, wispy white cloud than anything else. He often buries his head into this cloud while asleep. In addition, his ears are somewhat shorter than normal and have white tips, ending around a quarter of the way down the length of the ear.

Level: 5
Gender: Male
Type: Normal
Ability: Anticipation
Moves: Tackle, Tail Whip, Covet, Growl, Helping Hand, Sand Attack, Wish
Personality and Nature:

Despite his name, Dancing is quite the lounger. If there isn’t something happening which is interesting, he is sleeping or perched up on Isla’s shoulder. Whenever she sits, he tends to fall asleep in her lap. If other Pokémon try to play with him, he tends to play dead or look up at them with a very, very blank face. Pokémon battles, to him, are merely rude interruptions between his naps and ones with which he tries to deal with as rapidly as possible. Somehow, Dancing does wake up mere moments before any food is ready and is perfectly energized to eat it. In other words, he is living his absolute best life possible.

Quirks/Talents/Aspirations/Other:

Dancing does not snore, or make really any noise at all, while sleeping. He also tends to not move whatsoever while asleep should he help it.

Held Item: N/A

A Song Of Ice And Fire : The Swords And Stars

House Smokestone of White Rock

House Smokestone of White Rock

Earned In Blood

House Description:

Historical Background

Said to be old as sin, in reality House Smokestone was once upon a time not a noble house at all, nor even a cadet house in the later fashions, but instead as all things were a band of bloodthirsty Ironborn. When the hundred sons of the Grey King butchered one-another following his death, among those who emerged were pretenders, and among those numbered was House Smokestone. Taking its name from the almost mythical smoke which rose from deep vents in the island, so mythical that no one is said to have seen the smoke in at least a century, the house would grow a reputation for having very little reputation at all.

Such was the degree of that reputation that the rock king and the salt king were, more often than not, simply a master and subordinate though superiority seemed to change every moon. The House remained often undisturbed by the goings-on of more exceptional Houses, tending to its own matters with its own meager number of ships. They would become consummate sailors, and even those who reaved in the lands beyond would often return home to fish with their families and those who had been left behind. Idleness and wastefulness was not something afforded on White Rock, and the sloth of action which marked other Ironborn once they returned home was purged from every generation of the small house. Despite that size, the raiders of House Smokestone would become well-drilled over the generations of marching in the green lands, striking quickly when it was best and withdrawing when it wasn’t. These were the lessons taught to the house when the Greyirons fell, an event which some claim the Smokestones supported and others claim the Smokestones sat out.

The rise of House Hoare, and the outlaw of reaving, salt wives, and the Seven would be a time unnoticed by the Smokestones. So small and removed were they from the center that priests of the Seven seldom came at all to the island and, whenever they did, would often receive merely blank stares before their inevitable accident came to take them in whichever form seemed most apt. The removal of King Harmund would likewise be seldom acknowledged by White Rock, though the war with the westlanders and the following Famine Winter would only serve to cement the growing divide felt by House Smokestone with the rest of the Ironborn. The actions of others only seemed to burn them again and again while, in the end, the only ones they could count on to pull through were others of White Rock. However, due to the size of the house, they lost little in that war and were hurt even less in the following, their ships still setting sail to fish. Nevertheless, the famine still touched the island and the lessons were still taught.

House Smokestone would join the others, however, in the following centuries of hunger. They never were known for far-reaching voyages, nor for even touching down in raids to the Stepstones and Disputed Lands, but instead became traders of a common sort. They moved goods that were never their own from port to port, sails unadorned, and for that received profit enough. The Old Way, to the house, grew to be an old limb marred by illness, cut away to save the rest of the body, though captains of White Rock were ill to speak on such matters.

Despite this period of rust and wait, the house was nothing if not opportunistic. When Harwyn Hardhand took the Trident, among those who fought under his banner were the Smokestones. Longships from White Rock, small in size, would become known there for their tendency to appear without warning on the many rivers, attacking settlements nearby before sailing away within the hour. They often served to quell the smaller rebellions, prisoners given to Harwyn for his own executions. Some years into the construction of Harrenhal, and the decrees of Harren the Black, would be the event which gave the Smokestones reason to return to the Iron Isles. Such was their contributions, small and modest as they were, that it was said after that Harren dismissed them as not worth the time, that White Rock was a little stone which the waves swallow. In the forty years which followed, in which the hall was built, Smokestone paid as little as possible for the taxes levied against them by the Hoares, and so draining was even this.

Despite all which was poured into it, in 2 BC Harrenhal burned in dragonfire, the riverlands were lost, and the Iron Isles was bursting with claimants. As before, House Smokestone avoided all this and more. Reavers at White Rock bayed for blood nevertheless, claiming that the Smokestone was cut to be a woman, that he no longer had the will to fight, which resulted in the same man killing the twelve who made the claim, throwing them into the ocean, and announcing that he had no will to fight for another’s love of a rock stone, but had quite the will to fight another’s love of his throne. This silenced most further disagreement, though would largely sour his relations with many. White Rock itself would play host to the fighting some months later when the Wyk King arrived to receive the fealty of the Smokestone or kill him and replace him with another who would. The force which the Wyks had brought was, despite its greater number, largely comprised of damaged vessels and half-headed youngsters after clashes with the Greyjoys, while the Smokestones put to sea with well-disciplined reavers in the same longboats which had once plied the riverlands. The battle would prove to be fairly evenly matched and costly for both sides, though the Wyk King withdrew the next day from White Rock after receiving ravens that his own seat had come under attack.

The arrival of Aegon in 2 AC to the Iron Islands would be received by House Smokestone with some amount of relief. Tired of the chaos which had perverted the Iron Islands, and knowing that their lot would likely neither improve nor be damaged by the coming of a Targaryen King, they were fairly eager to remove the thundering wars in their midst. When the civil wars finally ended, Qhorin killed by the Targaryen and Lodos drowned in the seas, the Smokestone would support the rise of the Greyjoys of Pyke.

White Rock

Located as the northernmost island in the thirteen surrounding Lonely Light, White Rock stands out as somewhat unique among many of the Iron Islands. The cliff-faces of the island, which comprise most the south, east, and northern portions, are a dirty shade of white stone, streaked with grays and blacks. This same rock is present throughout much of the islands surface, leading to some to build their homes and storehouses directly into the rock. A number of buildings still jut from the largely barren surface, primarily made of wood received from the rivers, to include a squat lighthouse. A low palisade stretches around the settlement, built from the rock. The western side of the island gradually lowers to the water’s edge, with a man made harbor built from large stones and several small log homes and storehouses present nearby. The harbor itself can accommodate several smaller longships, with a slipway present, though would struggle to accommodate larger longships.

The seat of House Smokestone is a low-built longhouse placed in the center of the settlement. With walls of stone, a floor sunk five feet into the ground level, high-placed circle windows, and rafters built from dark-wooded riverlands timber, it would be a cozy arrangement were it not for the size. Capable of seating just fifty, with but six hearths, it is ostensibly a modest arrangement built from intentions to spend on necessities, not a ruler’s ambitions. In reality, it is entirely likely that the longhouse is built so small merely to save time in its construction. Banners, many of them from riverlands houses captured during the time of Harwyn, hang from the walls while the floor is covered by fur rugs.

Recent History:

Since the rise of the Greyjoys and the submission of the Iron Islands to the Iron Throne, House Smokestone has grown apart from the usual methods of the Isles. Aligned with the Farwynds since Aeron the Elder, Smokestone during the War of Conquests and the invasion of the Iron Islands, gave his title to his son, the house is far apart from the Old Way. Fishermen with little opportunity for raiding since the decrees of Aegon, it grows to be a rare time that the house reaves afar. Notably, the new Smokestone has taken it upon himself to source a Maester for his own purposes, to which he found a fledgling Maester who had only just earned the title. Through Maester Fergon, Aeron is rumored by the more superstitious to have become literate as well as knowledgeable on other matters.

The more recent events of the age, the death of Lodos the Twice-Drowned at the hands of Goren and the resulting purge of the Iron Islands by that same hand of any who dare hold the Faith of the Seven, has resulted in some degree of concern at White Rock. While they hold little in the way of septons whatsoever, so removed are they from the majority, Maester Fergon has reportedly renounced his faith and, even more surprisingly, been inducted in the faith of the Drowned God. How true such reports are remains to be seen, though a number of Ironborn on the island swear by the event.

Family Members:

• Aeron the Elder (84)
• Alannys Smokestone née Farwynd
  • Aeron, The Smokestone, Lord of White Rock, Captain of the Smokesong (26)
  • Harlan Smokestone, Captain of the Jester (22)
  • Lysse Botley née Smokestone (17)
• Mariane, Salt Wife
  • Haggen Smokestone
  • Erich Smokestone
  • Alvyn Smokestone
  • 3 Stillborn
• Brenne, Salt Wife
  • Emmond Smokestone
  • Theron Smokestone
  • Gulfe Smokestone

---

The Smokestone

Name

Aeron, The Smokestone, Lord of White Rock, Captain of the Smokesong
Age: 26 (15 AC)
Appearance:

Standing at nearly 7’, Aeron’s form can be likened more to a whip than a willow tree. With pale skin and long, uncut black hair, he fails at the task of growing facial hair at any degree whatsoever. He is more successful in having a strong body and constitution, his muscles like coiled springs. Aeron carries himself well, moving fluidly with a long stride.

Aeron wears either simple tunics, with white shirts and loose trousers, or simple black robes. Cloaks are often worn, though he does have strong preferences to the brisk wind and is at times seemingly immune to its chill. Likewise, the Smokestone seldom wears jewelry or gold, preferring a simple image especially when contrasted with the fact that both he and his island can ill-afford gold or frivolity.

Description & Biography:

Born on White Rock, Aeron was as weedy as any young man might be though, despite the seeming frailty of his figure, would prove quite resilient to his induction in the faith of the Drowned God. From that young age, he would prove to be far less a reaver, far more a ruler. It was by his request to his father that a Maester was acquired for the purposes of his education, something which would have spurned other tutors on White Rock were it not for his attentiveness there also. Before that Maester arrived, he would hound sailors and captains, sailing along to the mainland whenever possible, learning his way about the ship as well as he might. Aeron grew to be a tolerable sailor on his own accord, though by the accounts of many he was far less suited towards fighting despite all his efforts to being a good, honest Ironborn.

Nevertheless, the boy would eventually return home, settling in when Maester Fergon arrived. Aeron took to studies readily, to a great many almost suspiciously so for an Ironborn, consuming information at a ravenous pace. He would soon come to grips with his reading and, with that, the floodgates truly opened as he discovered so many new, strange, and fascinating worlds. Aeron would learn of the stars, navigation by them, of shipbuilding in the Westerosi way, and of architecture. Maester Fergon did have several links of iron as well, and seeing it useful he too learned of siegecraft, engine works and how to aim them properly, of warfare in the field. As a student, he found all these things and more to be of the greatest use to a lord when any other Ironborn found themselves unable to read the letters sent to them.

In time, however, his father would grow desperately old and had no indication of dying soon via natural causes. As a result, the title of the Smokestone would transfer on Aeron’s twentieth nameday, a celebration which was as raucous as one could expect. Such was the celebration, in fact, that not a single filled wineskin could be found on the island in the days after and, for Aeron the Elder’s degree of revelement, all expected him to have died during the event to which there was great surprise after that he had in fact not passed. Instead he was found in his newly lost vessel, Smokesong, which had been gifted to his son, drunk off his sense with four women and no more wine. In the years since, Aeron has ruled the island with a steady, cautious hand as his forefathers had before him. He has largely eschewed the Old Way, seeing an era of trade with others as beneficial to the Iron Islands, though remains largely wary of placing too much emphasis on such for fear that retribution may come from the other Ironborn houses or, failing that, the hand may be lost should war erupt in Westeros.

Aeron the Elder

Name

Aeron the Elder
Age: 84 (43 BC)
Appearance:

Standing at 6’3”, still exceptionally tall for an Ironborn though shadowed by his eldest, Aeron the Elder is by and large a rather hearty man despite his advanced age. With little bowing of his back and no need for an aid while walking, his age shows far more in his stride, which has grown slow, his eyes, which have grown dim, and his hands, which are somewhat shaky whenever he eats. Such tremors have, so far, only meant that he cannot fill his cup as much as he wishes which has somewhat irritated the old Smokestone. Aeron has grown thin in his advanced years, thin and bony, while his beard and hair have grown long, wispy, and as white as the rock.

Description & Biography:

Born before the Wars of Conquest, Aeron the Elder’s early life would prove typical for an Ironborn living on White Rock. Fairly removed from the taxes of Harren the Black, he learned to sail as soon as he learned to walk and would prove to be a capable shiphand at worst, an exceptional sailor at best. At a young age, he would be warded to House Blacktyde of the same name at the behest of his father, who had made agreements with the Blacktyde in exchange for other favors. On that island, Aeron developed a tuned sense for the nonpolitical politics of mainlander Ironborn, the games they played, and the methods they held to be true. He grew to be a cautious young man during his time as a ward, cautious in speaking his mind and acting as he desired, though despite such caution Aeron grew to be a powerful, able reaver in the riverlands. Though this native house eschewed such, for belief that the fighting and reaving would only serve to drain them of their strength, such was the time of Harren the Black when reaving was all that could be had against the rebellious lordlings, and along the many forks the young Smokestone would raid and plunder and burn. Such wanton activities would gain him his first salt wife, with whom Aeron did not marry as she was a riverlands woman and refused anything else. She would give him several children, young boys who grew quickly despite all of it.

Though his warding had been ended by the twenty-third nameday, Aeron still raided with the Blacktydes for the view that he could gain much and risk little, in terms of the people of White Rock and their lives. He sent back gold and treasure, as well as any Westerosi vessels he captured, and for that received both his people’s admiration of the far-off warrior and his father’s ire for raising questions why he, too, did not sail abroad and raid for the house. Some decade before the final stones of Harrenhal were laid to rest, however, Aeron’s father would pass suddenly, some to call it unnatural causes, and he would be called back to become the Smokestone. He did so with all capable haste as soon as the message was received and, quickly enough, found himself to be lord at White Rock. The following decade was hard, for the sons he had borne by his first salt wife died young months after the burning of Harrenhal, his new-found second bearing stillborn after stillborn, and the Iron Islands seemed to turn to chaos. He kept his island to his own, pledging allegiance to none for there was nothing to benefit there, and the grumblings of the many who had once been inspired by his intrepid raids grew louder and louder. Rumors were born that he was no longer a man, but a woman, and soon enough twelve of the bravest on the island confronted him in his own hall, calling their challenges, declaring their desire to go abroad again and, if not pledge themselves to another to have a share in the glory, raid the other islands about Lonely Light to have a share in the plunder.

Such infuriated Aeron, such blatant betrayal of the Ironborn, such blatant betrayal to himself. He called them to go outside, that they may speak more plainly there, and followed them out before the hall with a long blade. There he slew one after another after another, some fighting in pairs against him, others singley, and in the end twelve bodies strew the ground before the hall at White Rock. The bravest betrayers had died in their foolishness, though the lesser kept to the sides to whisper to each other in their discontent. Aeron did not know how to solve it, save for giving challenge to any who drew-up the bravery to face him, either to give their reasons for going abroad or to take his seat. Such a challenge would go unanswered. Some months later, White Rock received its share of the violence when the Wyk King arrived to demand the fealty of House Smokestone, either given freely or broken from it. Aeron led his house in the combat, which aside from a brief attempt by the Wyks to land at the harbor would largely be fought on longship. There, he cemented his reputation as a fierce reaver, cutting deep amid the larger Wyk fleet and burning a great many of their ships. The two sides would retire some hours after, both largely having been mauled and lost their cohesion, as well as bleeding the strength of the oarsmen, in the melee. The morning after, the Wyk fleet would sail back to their island, having received word that their seat had come under attack. Of course, such would not be known to the Smokestone and most would declare that the victory and Wyk retreat was attributed to the ferocity of White Rock’s defenders, the strength of their ruler. It was altogether a great boon to Aeron, though the dead and the damage received would worry him in private.

All would be solved with the arrival of the Targaryens at the Iron Islands. Aeron would pledge his support to that throne, seeing that they would be most capable of developing stability in the islands despite their foreign natures, as well as support the methods with which they chose their steward for the Iron Islands. In the years following the rise of the Greyjoys, the Smokestone would be by no means idly, finally taking a formal wife as his second salt wife, some months after the first, expired. Such would largely be an arranged affair with the Farwynds of Lonely Light, though despite both their ages Alannys would soon enough give Aeron three strong children.

As an older man, he led his house through the turmoil of years following the subjugation of the Iron Islands. Aeron would, in a rather consistent manner, lose the majority of his children as those given by his salt wives would die young or die in lands far away. He would keep the Westerosi largely happy, if not unaware of White Rock’s existence in the wider world, keeping away from the traditional reaving in the Narrow Sea or elsewhere as well as bringing from the Citadel a Maester for the purposes of his eldest son. When his wife finally passed due to complications of health, the Smokestone’s own would quickly fail him. At the age of 78, his eyesight allegedly failing him and his legs allegedly unsteady, Aeron would give up his responsibilities to his son and, in the aftermath, largely throw caution to the wind for several nights following that ceremony. Despite his age, it would be rumored that Aeron the Elder, as he quickly became known, fathered no less than seven bastards with various women of the island. Of course, he would never be able to confirm or deny this as he was dead drunk throughout the event. In the time following, despite the signs of failing health earlier, Aeron still is going strong with no cane in hand, acting somewhere between critic and advisor for his eldest son.

Harlan Smokestone

Name

Harlan Smokestone, Captain of the Jester
Age: 22 (19 AC)
Appearance:

Standing at 6’5” with broad shoulders and tanned skin, Harlan has the makings of a true sailor. His hands are well-worn by word at the line and tiller, his muscles well-trained by the sword and bow, and his emerald eyes seem calm amid any storm he might find himself in. The youngest Smokestone’s most striking feature to any who know the house would be his blond hair, longer than most might keep it, and though such produced rumors of bastardry these have long been put to rest by his expeditions on the Narrow Sea.

Description & Biography:

Born in the periods of peace following the War of Conquest, Harlan would follow in his older brother’s footsteps to a far lesser degree. While he would be taught by Maester Fergon, learning of reading, celestial navigation, and the geography of Westeros itself, the young lad would be far more at home on a rocking ship. He took to the sea almost as soon as he was given leave to, sailing along the Ironman’s Bay at a younger age than most. He built a reputation for having steady hands and a quick mind, seeming to foretell a squall before it reaching the ship, and in many ways would become a model for any self-respecting Ironborn. To Harlan, it grew natural to be as at ease in a brothel as he were on the seas, or in his own house’s halls.

Yet, the youngest son of White Rock quickly found himself wanting to see more. He wanted to see the far-away oceans on the other side of Westeros, to see other cities than the meager settlements of the Iron Islands, and to make gold from work. He wanted to travel abroad and, soon enough, found himself in command of one of the smallest vessels of House Smokestone, the Jester, at the tender age of eighteen. As clean a voyage as any would follow him, trading up and down the western coast of Westeros from the misers of Bear Island to the Arbor itself for but a year, and for a time even sailing the southern coasts of Dorne to move spices and silver. In time, he would make the voyage through Hags Mire, across and along the Green Fork to enter the Bay of Crabs. His was a free heart, an eager heart, and Harlan found it easy to move other people’s goods for them from Gulltown to Greenstone and all the ports between. The Jester became known as a strange, honest Ironborn ship, her captain just as so.

He would join along with other Ironborn houses in the Narrow Sea, down to the Disputed Lands on some few occasions, defying the longstanding conventions set down by his father. To the Westerosi the Jester was perhaps known as an honest trader, but to many a Pentoshi slaver the Jester was among the last to hunt them down. Harlan would establish a running agreement with civil servants in Braavos, delivering slaves to the city to be freed for a certain amount of gold, though a lesser known truth would be that many of the crew of the Jester would be former slaves themselves, having volunteered after being promised good food, treatment, arms and armor, and the possible chance to cut down even more slavers. Such would become inducted in half-official ceremonies into the faith of the Drowned God, though the more pious among the Jester’s crew might complain that the men rarely needed to be brought back to life, such was the speed of the ceremonies, and that Harlan’s conduct with the women inductees, which he at times personally conducted, often led to beddings rather than honest faith once the Jester found a free port to put into. His reputation by these raids would lead to some Pentoshi placing bounties on his head, something which Harlan flouted often by saying the Magisters were cheap and blind to put such a small amount on his head. To date, he has killed no less than fifteen bravosi from the Free Cities who try to claim that bounty. To call the young man famous along those lands would be foolish, but so would it be to call him unknown. To those who listen, Harlan has grown his reputation well.

Geonet: Battle for the Megacity

Just tagging this for the future.
Considering an older member of society

EDIT:
I feel like I should ask.
What is the technology for synthetic bodies looking like?
Are memetic viruses (for instance, a sequence of flashing lights which infects an optical modification) a thing?
Can one hack an implant to produce more mental strain/capacity than it would normally require (For instance, forcing it to run one billion instances of BonziBuddy)?
Aside from vehicles, what else is Geonet required for?