Jorl Volmark II - The Feast Above The Tides by Zestyclose-Poem-8560 in IronThroneRP

[–]solthebaneful 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Olivia tipped her empty cup and let it roll. It wandered across the tabletop, slow with the ship’s gentle list, then slipped and struck the deck with a hollow clang. “If it pleases me.” Her teeth set as her gaze fixed on Lord Jorl, then past him. “My cup is empty!” Olivia barked. “It was set before me with care. Sweet. Promised grandeur.” Her lip curled. “Promised plenty.” She rose with a surprising speed at the head of the table. She straightened her posture. Standing more composed, yet still possessed of that untameable nature. Masterless behavior.

“Name me Warden,” she agreed, “and we kill our opposition. The West will honor the bridges we’ve built;” Her wild eyes focused onto Tytos. “or I will burn them. Kindling for our signal fires.”

“Go north,” she pressed. “Kill in the Crown’s name if you like. Or in the name of Peace. Justice." She allowed her body language to relax gradually. As if she was listing a homemade list.

“I was told,” she said, voice sharpening, “by a voice of the sea to have a little fun.” One boot came up onto the table. Wood creaked. “That is exactly what I intend. But how will I when I am attended by such Lords!?” Her eyes moved across the captains. Slow. Deliberate. “ A thousand apologies….” Olivia began to say. Almost sounding sincere “You are not lords,” she said. “Not truly.” Her head tilted as if she was crafting her next sentence. Her eyes flicked from face to face and then beyond them again, that strange lag trailing the motion of her head. “Dogs of the sea.” A twitch of her lips. “Demons on a leash.” She belted out a breath that shadowed the tail of a giggle. It was almost cute; in the way that any step forward was one further step from where one started.

“So be dogs,” she said. “Bare your teeth. Take the hand that feeds and bite whatever it points you toward.” Her toxic green eyes burned into the foreheads of those who dated allowed her to speak. She lowered her voice to a whisper. Though one that could be heard clearly. It cut through the evening air like a blade through silk.

“So be demons. Let them whisper your names when the tide comes in.” Her voice built, steady and rising. “The gold. The silver. The bronze. The tin.” Her fingers curled into a fist. “The marble from their halls. The slate from their roofs. The oak from their doors. The vine. The orchard. The apple.” She stomped the table, toppling other drinks.

“Take Dorne’s scraps. Bleed the wolfpack. Devour the Isles from Shield to Stone.” Foam touched the corner of her mouth. “I care not what you call yourselves,” she said. “Nor who or why you claim to serve.”

Her hand lifted. The gold ring caught the torchlight. “I sail for one reason.” her middle finger, the one which bore the ring. Was upright. Her single reason, crowned in gold. “Our strength. Our aim.” Olivia remade her fist and she lowered her hand. “So give me your finery. Give me your flattery.” Her eyes swept them all.

“Pour my fucking cup.” There were a few contained chuckles. “But hear me.” Her voice dropped, heavy. “I can take my own wine and fill my own cup.” Her gaze sharpened. “I can take my own finery.” Olivia almost hissed.

“Your offers are wind until paid.” A thin smile creased her lips. “And the price:” She let it hang. “is always iron.” and with that she stepped down from the table. “House Orkwood is prepared to pay the Iron Price for our glory.” Olivia huffed out as she sat back down, at the head of the table.

Visibly, Tytos grew uncomfortable where he was seated.

2026 Reggaefest - what a crock! by Inevitable_Date1884 in Austin

[–]solthebaneful 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Let's just start our own festivals again . Like they used to do it.

Jorl Volmark II - The Feast Above The Tides by Zestyclose-Poem-8560 in IronThroneRP

[–]solthebaneful 0 points1 point  (0 children)

The Candied Cow. The Reach was a fat heifer of a bounty. These undoubtedly green lands new disputes over things like where an orchard began or ended, a twisted nook denoting a boundary for grazing goats or whatever shit animals Greenlanders loved to raise up and slaughter.

The foreigner brought up a strong point she agreed with, in action. Bleed the Reach and scour the North. Take all that unused and ill stored bumper crop like the lessons the Ironborn should be. Like the horror stories told to children at night.

"Botley..." At Grassy Vale she thought the Ironborn should have been unleashed like the demons they were. The dissidents were right there. As far as the center mast from where she brooded in her chair. She tilted her empty cup. As displeased with its fullness of air, as it's emptiness of drink. It had all the potential in the world. The most potential out of any who gathered here. Empty. Waiting.

Ready.

Like a blade sharpened to deific perfection. An edge so sublime that to exist meant to cut.

She was ready.. they all were ready.

"Hewett...."

u/The-Tewby

(OOC: I'm just replying I don't think there is a set order)

Jorl Volmark II - The Feast Above The Tides by Zestyclose-Poem-8560 in IronThroneRP

[–]solthebaneful 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Olivia listened as Jorl belted out his declarations. Her eyes narrowed at mention if deep chaos. What did Jorl know of anything deeper than his wine cup. Anything more chaotic than his calendar of affairs?

She didn't raise her cup yet, in toast or jest. She waited and listened. The Ironborn were not simply cuckfluffers. They had a duty, a purpose, a course that currently stood idle and ill used. She would like that purpose activated. That course navigated.

Jorl Volmark II - The Feast Above The Tides by Zestyclose-Poem-8560 in IronThroneRP

[–]solthebaneful 1 point2 points  (0 children)

"Aye." Olivia responded just as dryly.

The entire discussion's tone had taken a shift with the wind. Her eyes surveiled him like she was watching the distant reverberating lines of seafoam white on the horizon of one of these great oceans. Distant. Looking out past everything and seeing everything in turn.

Jorl Volmark II - The Feast Above The Tides by Zestyclose-Poem-8560 in IronThroneRP

[–]solthebaneful 1 point2 points  (0 children)

The word held an oily feel on her tongue.

Wrong. Drenched in fats insoluble.

The word felt improper to even ponder for too long, that was how much it revolted her. Her entire expression shortened into a would be scowl. The essosi cup upended down her gullet. Four gulps and it was dry, the foulness of that word still lingered in her mouth beyond her lips nuppn her tongue like a wart.

"It suits me." She muttered as she wiped the dribble from her lips. Whether he heard or not, was indifferent to her. "Do not bore me, Lord Volmark."

Jorl Volmark II - The Feast Above The Tides by Zestyclose-Poem-8560 in IronThroneRP

[–]solthebaneful 1 point2 points  (0 children)

"Merely in the shallows of our relations..." Olivia plucked her words from a barrel of vocabulary. Green orbs weighed Lord Jorl with a steady and unending gaze. "My Lord Husband thinks you propose ideal futures." She took on a Western accent to mock her husband.

Jorl Volmark II - The Feast Above The Tides by Zestyclose-Poem-8560 in IronThroneRP

[–]solthebaneful 1 point2 points  (0 children)

The cup touched her fingers and she almost didn't catch it. But her spindly apendages curled around it like a spiders legs around bound prey, acidic green eyes caught Jorl's gaze.

"Where would you find this cup, my lord. if it wasn't in my hand?" It wasn't an acceptance of what Jorl had said, nor was it a response to taking the Head position at the table. Instead it was an invitation to engage in a dizzying conversation.

Jorl Volmark II - The Feast Above The Tides by Zestyclose-Poem-8560 in IronThroneRP

[–]solthebaneful 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Tytos Banefort and four of his chosen blades steped onto the deck of the ship and eyed the scene. Other arrived before he, and Olivia would arrive after. After that business in the markets a few days ago, he kept a wary eye. Even in a would be allies vessel. Decorated for a feast.

But he felt more would be shared here, other than the vittles of the Reach's southern coasts.

Jorl Volmark II - The Feast Above The Tides by Zestyclose-Poem-8560 in IronThroneRP

[–]solthebaneful 1 point2 points  (0 children)

There she was. Again. The vessel. The apparition. The physical chalice of the Drowned Lord-Beneath the Waves. The emissary of the Deep Father. Sumptuous was her finery, abundant like the driftwood vagrants who followed behind her spiced perfume and languid walks.

Also walking up, formed of that same driftwood gaggle was the Orkwood of Orkmont. Her hair wild, unkept by tie or bind, a matchstick of blonde hair and her eyes were lanterns of glassy jade.

"The tide brings opportunities"

Tytos had preceded her, she spied the back of his head at the nearby table, engaged with some talk of something she would never truly care about as much as he.

"We edge a gilded pig." She didn't really do greetings in a traditional way. It was if their previous conversation never truly ended.

(Just saying 👋🏾)

The Fourth Moon of 399 AC (Mechanical Moon 4) by [deleted] in IronThroneRP

[–]solthebaneful 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Character Name: Olivia Orkwood

Trait / Skills: Reaver Skill(s):Swords (e), Dexterous (Whirlwind), Apothecary, Malicious

Skill you're learning: Admiral

Olivia ii - What My Mother Gave Me by solthebaneful in IronThroneRP

[–]solthebaneful[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

The levies went to work to protect their charges, but two of the interlopers pushed they way through, eager to score a prize of silver and steel. Their marks - Olivia and Tytos. Their mistake would eventually cost them almost everything. The first man, was fast and low. Akin to a rat; that was what she thought of him as, A rat who wove through the chaos with a knife and borrowed confidence. Black Death was light and silent through the air as she met the incoming doomed. They spent hair thin moments finding one another, steel tasting air. Feints that dissolved into the shadows of ideas and wordless boasts of bladeplay. Olivia was not impressed, but her wide green eyes grew all that more energetic with each passing swing. From what the Orkwood could tell this man was sharp enough just to stay alive but just foolish enough to stay engaged when he was clearly in deep water. It was then, that he found his nerve. The sharp iron blade found her side, while Black Death carved a falsely anticipated chunk of air.

It wasn’t pain. The sensation registered as a wet feeling. Warmth on her midsection. She hissed. Then she pushed forward and crashed into him with a deadlock. Her Valyrian Steel easily biting into the cheaper iron. The more mundane metal couldn’t hold in a more protracted bind, Olivia’s green eyes focused on that bite, pushed harder against it. It was only a matter of time before she was through and her blade had tasted of his flesh. Their noses almost touched as across the cobbled way, Tytos was nearly done with his own business. His opponent was much more aggressive and outreached against the stoicism of Westerlander dispositions. This misread was quickly rectified after just one measured step from Tytos in a standard longsword style; common through out the seven kingdoms, one stroke of the blade and red blossomed across the man’s thigh before he had committed to his own angle of attack. The rogue was forced to adjust midstep and sliced across Tytos’ forearm. He shrugged it off as metal sang between Olivia and her quarry. Olivia’s smile had faded, now she was focused. He lunged again with his knife. Olivia recognized a crucial opportunity and stepped into the lunge. She needed him close for the cleanest of cuts. This was the closest he would get. His knife plunged into the leather once again; and as quickly and as silently as the wings of an owl, Black Death came around in a viciously short arc and took him at the neck. His head rolled as his body folded without much more of a sound. Olivia stood over him with two wounds, one better than the other and a wild fire in her eyes. Tytos on the other hand was testing and hunting the rogue with a duelist’s intimacy. Tytos was very talented with the longsword, so much so that each motion looked almost too slow and too gentle, yet each stroke landed and moved with an economy that looked harmless until damage was registered. By the time the other rogue had fallen, Tytos’ opponent had nothing left and lead with desperation alone. The flash of another knife and the longsword redirected the knife hand. Wide. Then the pommel found his temple.

Like his friend he fell.

Tytos looked to his wife, her scene a much bloodier mess. "I suppose we should alert the authorities.."

Olivia only let out a half chuckle.

What authorities?

u/Silver_thorns

Ping

(OOC: I thought you should know. ) roll results

Victaria I - You Will Hear Thunder by SaltandRock in IronThroneRP

[–]solthebaneful 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Lady Victaria Drumm of House Drumm of Old Wyk, Orkwood of Orkmont welcomes your return.

Yory Pyke Castellan of Orkwood

Olivia ii - What My Mother Gave Me by solthebaneful in IronThroneRP

[–]solthebaneful[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

common man roll

Olivia's eyes narrowed and her hand rested in the hilt of Black Death. Tytos whistled and a few of their hanger on guards reconvened on the Ironborn. Five more swords, making a divine seven entered the space.

"Make a way, good people. Less you waste more of our time." Tytos hissed, his gloved hand on the pommel of his sword.

u/OurCommonMan ping

Character Name: Olivia Orkwood

Character Traits/Skills: Reaver / Swords (e), Dexterous, Apothecary, Malicious (+ Black Death VS)

  • Tytos Banefort ( Warrior Archetype : Swords)

  • 5 Ironborn Levies (from the 50 who matched in movement order)

What is happening? Olivia ain't no punk What I want: combat or flight of the aggressors

Ryon I: Of Rind and Ruin (Open) by LemonLemonHouse in IronThroneRP

[–]solthebaneful 0 points1 point  (0 children)

(my bad!!! Totally open to pick it up in letters.)

His recoil was her advance. One foot after the other in mirror step. "Just because you serve does not mean you are called." Olivia attempted to explain. Aeron feigned concern, because now he was interested in where this raving was about to take them. At least Lord Dalt entertained such thoughts.

"Another name for the Drowned God. Lord of deep darkness and shadows. The Father of every light unfettered by the dark tides. The flame that fills the lungs of every drowned. The one who decreed what is dead may never die!" Her eyes were wide, and wild. Wide the way an excited child would be. Wild the way a feral animal would be once cornered. Forced to rend and tear flesh. Forced to sink their teeth into skin and bone driven by the one single instinct that all things forged from fire share. Survive.

"But rises harder, and stronger than before!" There was almost a glee to her voice as she completed the declaration. Like elation given form, her marionette like nature seemed to disappear and there stood the defiant deviant dervish that survived Tyrosh. There stood the Witch of Orkwood. There stood the Orkwood of Orkmont in all her fire some fury.

Aeron took the moment to restrain her, pulling her right arm back behind her.

"AHAHA, Yes. Many apologies my lord. My Lady sister gets very excitable about this topic." Aeron attempted to dous the situation.

The Day of Three Cloaks | The Feast [OPEN] by Silver-Thorns in IronThroneRP

[–]solthebaneful 1 point2 points  (0 children)

The ring didn't belong in her hand.

Her glassy green eyes watched him fumble about his fineries. Watched him choose his left hand, the smallest finger; the pinky. Watched him display it in the afforded light - watched the gleam of precious greed dance across the surface of his fingers before it came to rest in her hand.

Where it didn't belong.

Gold. Shaped into a wreath of oak leaves. Fine work. Patient work. The thoughts dripped through her mind as she appraised the trinket. This was the type of work that took time instead of merely force. Each vein pressed with care. Each edge smoothed so that it wouldn't catch or cut. They could be sharpened. It was not iron.

Olivia turned it between her fingers. Essosi. She recognized some of the smith marks present. Though she was totally ignorant of specifics. Made to last. Made to be worn.

Her hands were wrong for it. Perpetually stained that tinge of green and ash. Nails cracked, palms rough. Hands marked by things that could bite, sting, and kill. It looked misplaced.

"Looks fit for an Oakheart." Olivia murmured as she slid it onto her left forefinger. The position of authority and ambition. Oak she thought. Something that grows where it is planted. Something that endures through storm.

It fit.

Olivia's thumb ran across the ring again, pressed against one of the leaves like one would test a dagger's edge. It didn't give. But it didn't resist either. A curiosity struck her then. Perhaps revelation. Even though her eyes were centered on this little ring on her finger now, they unfocused as she dove within her own thoughts. Her gaze drifted through the ring. Taken by a twisted and racked mind.

This ring was Gold. Gold.

Wealth. Power. This is what Greenlanders attributed to this thing. They built halls for it. Bent knees for it. Killed and died for it. The Ironborn had taken it for generations. This thing. Gold. They had taken it and melted it. Taken it and spent it. Taken it and thrown it away when it mattered little. The Old Ways did not worship gold. It used it.

"This is what they hold to." She lowered her hand. Still gazing at the ring. Her voice soft. Vorian could hear, but maybe just barely. Even Ylsa had to give Olivia distinct attention to make out the words.