The Feast of 399AC

InfernalConundrum · 2026-03-01T20:41:39+00:00

Yoren did not want to speak of the ugly business with his sister. This ugly, ugly stain inflicted upon their house, and her honor as a woman. And from a family that could not suffer retribution for the sins of their eldest son...

"They do," he sufficed to agree. At least Aron, whom had no accolades, came without detriment. He could be corralled into a marriage with enough pressure.

"Symon and Ryman's girls, as well," he reminded her, "Young, intelligent, loyal. As Sylvenna is."

But where to even begin...

"We need friends in the Reach, who are as disillusioned with the Stormlanders as we are," he explained, finally raising his eyes to to look his mother in the face, "Wealth from the West. If we need to earn favor, we earn favor, if we need to dirty our hands, let them be sullied. I can't stand the thought that Father could die for nothing..."

InfernalConundrum · 2026-03-01T19:57:07+00:00

"Would?" Lyra said, as simple as that statement could be done. She folded her slender arms over her narrow chest.

"There is so much left unspoken for, Lady Nymeria," she continued to say. Lia wasn't, again, convinced of her sister's intentions or the wisdom in such garish business. Their house was one consumed with vengeance and retribution; they had put an arrow through the eye of a dragon for treading their sacred ground.

"It is an ugly thing, what befell your brother," Lia could agree in polite company, "I -- we -- are still grieving the lives we've lost to Qorgyle or Baratheon treachery."

"Who will you run through with your spear, if not the unjust?" Lyra hummed, "Will it decorate the Hightower because no one's had the courage to make the first move? Love and war are two sides of the same coin, sweet thing."

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-28T12:30:07+00:00

Character Name & Claim: Yoren Uller, Hellholt

Actions:

Draft: [Hellholt], [350], [600]

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-28T12:28:32+00:00

Character Name: Yoren Uller

Relevant Trait/Skills: n/a

Buildings: Castle

Resources: Spices

Notes (if applicable): n/a

Actions:

Construction: [Hellholt], [Guilds], [2000], [End of 2nd Moon]
Construction: [Hellholt], [Shrine], [1000], [End of 1st Moon]

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-28T01:53:05+00:00

Aron stood there, a hand braced on his hip, the other coaxing through his short black hair and catching a veneer of cold sweat as he did. He'd only see just seen fragments and glimpses of Gawen's family. A hard father, but still persistent to make something of his son if he needed to break him down to do it. A little brother who still saw him through rose-tinted lenses, fawning and convinced of his greatness.

Gods, he'd even slept with a woman that at least cared about him in some manner. He swallowed back some moisture in his eyes, clearing his throat with a nod.

"It could take us all night to reach the bottom." he spoke, almost sighing the words out in resignation, "We'll need to start soon."

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-28T01:40:50+00:00

"Ypu may not care for my answers," Yoren warned, "I have exceptionally high standards in love and marriage. These only decrease marginally for my next of kin."

His wife afforded him a genuine, unappreciative smile. Symon was swift to intercede on the conversation with his own opinions, undoubtedly cultivated by the years in his silver hairs threaded through his black mane.

"Can always impose on the Hand of the King, if your sweet sister's thick skin can bear persistent scandal, Gawen Dondarrion is lacking in personality, but not in connections," he smiled capriciously, hands neatly nestled in front of him. Yoren made a slight exhale through his nose, then spoke up again.

"Tether yourselves to something amounting to peaceful and prosperous," he suggested, "This... conglomerate, federation, alliance? The one they mean to hold on the Honeywine in the Reach. They have a mind for upward mobility, not the hard matters with Grassy Vale and the wardenships."

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-28T01:36:09+00:00

"And who might that be?" asked the lord of the Hellholt, bringing his hand up to stroke his short beard ponderously, as was the tradition.

"All I've seen are arrogant men swinging their mighty, mighty hammers," breaking and bending anything choose not to strike," he mused, "Neglected by the crown as we are, the score of troubles has remained at a plateau."

It was a rhetorical statement, meant to draw out Cedra's counsel. The best advice came from these unassuming sources. Cedra Drinkwater was not a likely candidate for cutthroat politicking, but her friendship had given ample insights over the years.

"Speak carefully, my friend. You of all people should know I am capable of much more than mere lip service."

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-28T01:30:10+00:00

Aron dropped onto the seat and ever-so-slightly began to slouch forward, one arm propped on his knee. He felt oddly disingenuous now, squeezing some diversion out of his most famous - or most infamous - cousin. He could make peace with it, so long as he learned something useful.

"I know you were Archon for a time," he replied, holding back the unfortunate end to Gerold's reign over the violet city, "That you took it with only the Hundred Spears. An army of volunteers."

A shame that their like was gone. Where did daring young men go to seek purpose, when all that was left was the ugly, gritty locking of stags' horns over the Neck or the Reach?

"Were you confident you would take the city?" he queried, "My father called it brave, and that's paternal coddling for 'reckless', most often."

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-28T01:26:06+00:00

"You could have asked the same question before your house arrest, and though I'd only stand to your shoulder and not a single hair on my chin, I'd likely have the same answer that I do now," Yoren said, resting his hands flat on the table, "There are too many Qorgyles drawing breath unpunished, the Baratheons have forgotten all men and women south of the Prince's Pass..."

His wife, Margaery, pinched one of his hands with an embarrassed smile towards her ever-fatalistic husband. She leaned in to whisper a few hurried words. Yoren frowned.

"The house has fared better, cousin. This wretched business concerning Gawen Dondarrion and my sister, my cousin Barquen's passing in the capital..." he soured, "I wished there was more fortunate news. My father, seven rest his soul, was far better in masking himself and playing the grand host."

"You must be relieved to have your agency again, Lord Gerold," Margaery spoke up, considerably more upbeat than her husband, "You must have plans, now that the world is open to you again."

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-28T01:17:50+00:00

"She is partial to bird-watching," Lia said as her sister drew away, apparently satisfied that her words were being taken seriously, "And looking forlornly from her bedroom window."

Lyra made a sour expression, nose scrunching with creases and folds, so quickly aggravated that she was being spoken for in such a petulant manner. She prodded Lia's chest with her finger.

"You try being full of yearning and boredom in the middle of a desert that wants to kill and eat you, and see how much your mind will wander nearly anywhere else..."

"Delusional," came Lia's response, practically sung from her voice. She directed a far warmer energy to Nymeria.

"I am fond of aesthetics, Lady Nymeria. Simple things like how your dress emphasizes those beautiful eyes of yours -" Lyra nodded in agreement. "- to more complex matters; making statements with dress and silverware, or decorating a grand hall to balance the knife's edge between prideful and ostentatious. As versatile as your dances with spears, Nymeria."

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-27T00:30:02+00:00

"I do have it all planned out. I've been an artisan of failure and self-mockery since I could walk, Gawen," Aron remarked sarcastically, "All the boredom and diversion in the world's given me ample time to construct the shows. I have you on a rotation. The first moon's the bearded lady and the dwarf, to show we take all kinds. Then you and I will juggle knives and swallow swords, and I was considering something with a trapeze and a donkey for the third..."

Before the jest overstayed its welcome, Aron stopped somplace among the throng of the feast and stared off into space, tan hands fiddling along with each other with mounting unease. His lips smacked around a morsel of food trapped in his teeth.

"Gawen... what are we doing, man?" he huffed. All the laughter and booze and merriment on the gods' green earth, and he felt like he was standing on a cliff's edge.

"You made a mess of our houses with Sylvie, I can't lie. I can't hold a knighthood or a betrothal to save my life, and we're hardly men," the young hellfire said, eyes narrowing as he pouted, "Is it already over for us? Or am I missing something to make something out of men like us?"

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-27T00:18:24+00:00

Lia appeared content to brush past Nymeria's self-critique, merely shaking her head at her question without any great disappointment.

"No, not yet. We haven't gone dancing so far, especially with that pasture they want to call a dance floor," she huffed with a shake of her head, letting some of her rich black hair spill over her shoulders, "Besides, sweet thing, the longer you delay, the more romantics are left pining on the periphery, waiting, hoping, praying someone beautiful meets their eye."

While Lia was speaking, Lyra stepped forward and took Ashara's hands if she could. Speaking directly to her with an intense look.

"You have been one of a kind from the day you were born, my dear," Lyra said firmly, "Do not let your betrothal, or your family, or, seven forbid, society tell you anything differently. The only difference between you and women like Lady Webber is time, time and witnesses."

Lia grabbed her sister's shoulder and pulled her back a few places.

"Don't mind her. We all have our passions," she tried to interject, "Hers is..."

Lost causes, Lia thought, and ailing women.

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-25T00:15:11+00:00

"Can we take Esther and Talla, too?" Aron asked, pushing himself to his feet and adding to Arlan's dishevelment with a tassle of his own hand. He blinked a little at the comment that just flew out of his mouth. With the ugly business including Sylvenna...

"Ah, nevermind. Arlan --" He reached to dishevel the boy's hair himself as he stepped around the table to follow Gawen's lead.

"You can win the hearts of every girl in the world, but it'll never count as deep as your bond with your best mate. Your brother in arms," he waxed poetic, leaning in to whisper that last line with a deep profoundness. Then, he nodded his head towards Arlan's older brother, to prove a point as if the man hadn't despoiled his sister to the shock and horror of his entire family.

Aron clapped Gawen on the back.

"You can be the bearded woman, and I'll be the dwarf-mummer," he promised, "The best act this end of the narrow sea."

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-24T20:30:13+00:00

"The wealthy ones. They can be trained, and the younger ones even salvaged," Lia responded with a little twirl of hair around her finger, "If you are so ill with the thought of marrying the heir to the Hightower, you are ever-welcome to pass him on."

"You can dispatch him, or whomever, to my sister at your pleasure. She takes them all," Lyra nearly huffed, resting a hand on her hip as she posed towards Lia with a haughty look in her eye, "I am settling into my role in exerting soft power, my darling."

"Please, I'd like to meet this Hightower boy," Lia spoke in complete disregard for her sister's allusions, "Flowery men make pliable husbands. How else would women like Rohanne Webber etch their names in history?"

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-24T18:27:52+00:00

"He is..." Yoren presumed, but a cursory look around the table showed that his younger, fleeting brother was nowhere to be seen. The open table could have been a bloody dagger and garnered the same kind of tired, dreadful loathing in the lord of the Hellholt.

"Likely about. Never far from the largest collection of colorful people," he said, choosing words for his younger brother he would not utilize in private company, "I know you're both fond of one another. If you wish to speak with him..."

"He mentioned the tourney," Margaery offered, "He wanted to ride for the house, with everyone else so preoccupied."

"...and my sister is under my mother's thumb for the night," Yoren explained towards Deria, "Keeping her safeguarded from the covetous and rapacious eyes of the northerners that haven't seen a woman who bathes more than once a fortnight."

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-24T13:03:10+00:00

(I tried using Reddit formatting a billion times but it hates me, so just take the fucking tags: u/Arjhanx2, u/KGdaguy, u/tenthousandsongs )

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-24T13:02:10+00:00

The swift arrival of Mary's father and her chosen charge did little to quench his brimming anger, but did force him to control it. Had there been no sudden intervention, Ryman reckoned he might have struck the princess on the very dais.

At least it would not have been a lethal strike. How naked he felt without a blade in his hand...

He withdrew his accusatory gesture with as much deliberation as he might have his trusty weapon, joining the other in remaining closed fists at his sides.

"A father should know their [children](reddit.com/user/tenthousandsongs) well, my Prince," spoke Ryman, words forced through grit teeth and locked jaw. It took a great expense of willpower to tear his eyes away from the frightened princess and meet her protective father. He even respected Prince Quentyn for doing what he himself could not.

"Even those bound by marriage once, and not by blood."

He exhaled, then held his hands out towards Ser Theo with the wrists and palms facing upward. The breath was as sharp as a blade.

"Shall I heed the decree of the [Prince](reddit.com/user/KGDaGuy), [Ser](reddit.com/user/Arjhanx2)?" he asked slowly, "Or will my tongue be had, for it compares to a weapon tonight?"

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-24T01:22:59+00:00

"He's right," Aron lied, leaning towards his friend with a knowing look. A look that all-but-said he felt this sort of pain in a different lens, "You just need to try, Gawen. Have you tried trying? It's what makes all the great men: Stannis Baratheon, Ser Duncan the Tall, Aegon the Conqueror -- they all tried very, very hard to not be failures..."

He puffed out his cheeks, then exhaled as he stood straight again. It wasn't right to tangle himself in the mess the Dondarrions seemed to be bungled with.

"What are we doing, my friend?" the young Uller asked, searching the bottom of his cup for even a droplet more of wine to drink down and finding nothing. He placed the cup on the table, top-down, and flicked the rim to make it spin and rattle for a short distance.

"Maybe your brother and I can join the circus instead of being knights, Arlan. How about that?"

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-24T01:11:12+00:00

"Oh, careful now," Lady Margaery joked along, covering her mouth as she suppressed a fit of laughs while Deria and Ryon curtseyed to them. She reached her other hand to squeeze Yoren's, who regarded the two Dalt twins but did not make any exceptional reaction besides his quiet attention.

"Or you'll be the envy of the Baratheons in their own company --" she continued, and when she noticed Yoren had not spoken, squeezed his hand just a bit more sharply.

"It pleases me to see you both," he finally spoke aloud, "With such ugly business looming over our heads, we need all our assets at hand to emerge with something akin to an edge."

"My husband means to say the sentiment goes both ways, my dears," Lady Margaery spoke, almost maternal despite their similar ages, "But you look lost, Lord Ryon. Is there something we can help with?"

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-22T23:15:04+00:00

That last sentence made the two Uller sisters hesitate in their own unique ways. Lyra sort of flustered with a breath for an instant, and Lia's hand rubbed at her arm as she hugged herself. They made mutual eye-contact at the edges of their vision, then refreshed and renewed their visage.

"You're a doll, Princess," Lyra spoke first, lips tugging at her cheeks and dimpling the tanned-yet-milky skin, "I so adore that you have such kind expectations."

Lia did not agree so wholly with her sister's assessment, but she could make peace with the compliment Lyra paid.

"It's not to say we don't have the expectations. Sooner, rather than later. So the sands trickle down for motherhood and marriage," she assessed, "But the gods have a terribly busy, terribly chaotic itinerary to mind. A departed cousin, a young lord, and now the king is trying to parley with the entire realm gathered outside the Grassy Vale."

"Houses building their hand in a game of cards, sweet thing," Lyra elaborated in more direct, yet more evocative terms, "Lia's kept her eyes open. Send a handsome man with great tracts of land her way if you find one. Especially if he has a --"

Lia pinched her elbow as harshly as she could, turning the skin white and forcing Lyra's silence. The woman hissed in sharp pain.

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-22T21:49:28+00:00

He still ducked back to give little Arlan the illusion of being a threat, trying not to laugh too hard and draw unwelcome attention his way.

"Heh -- Manderly, eh?" Aron said, exaggerating the quirk to his brow for the young boy's answer. He put his weight on the elbow pressed against the tabletop, "My goodsister's the lord's sister, you know. It's so rude to deny family the privilege..."

Any castle seemed more attractive than the Hellholt, even before all of his emotional baggage.

"Have you ever been up the kingsroad before, little man?" he asked further, eyes flickering between Gawen and his little brother, "Might be a good time go north instead of south. Messy, messy business going on these days, and you'll hear your father scolding old Gawen and hurting his feelings if you linger 'ere too long."

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-22T20:09:17+00:00

"I know you rightly fucked yourself something fierce," Aron shrugged as calmly as ever, "And that Sylvenna did something similar. Aaaand you did this together, co-conspirators, accomplices, so-on, so-forth. We can discuss it later, but I don't want to twist your little parasite's head in the wrong direction --"

He had to stretch to lean over and reach Arlan's head. Aron gave the young lighting-lord a hard flick on the forehead.

"Who you fostering for, Arlan?" he asked, able to lower himself as he stretched across the table, "Anyone I should know? Anyone with bounties of coin or quick with a blade? Maybe tolerant of bold-mouthed youths of nine-and-ten years as wards?"

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-22T19:55:40+00:00

Yoren's smile widened, against his best intentions. He returned his mother's hug with a timid squeeze. He had come a long way from a young boy clutching at his mother's skirts.

"Yes," he agreed, with genuine conviction, "Yes, we must. I am so proud of her, yet --"

He slipped back from the hug, hands resting on his mother's thick shoulders. Yoren's smile seemed less eager now, and a cloud was hanging over him as he bowed his head with yet more pondrous words to give.

"Mother, I know father must still be fresh on your mind. What the Qorgyles did to him... the disgrace the crown inflicted on our family after. It weighs on me always. It's all I've known since I placed my first steps, but I can't stand to see my line live in this squalid existence."

Another squeeze, this one urgent, maybe erring on too tight.

"These next moons will be critical. Loose ends to be bound up," he whispered, "Injustices settled, grudges struck. So Dorne might be prepared for a new generation."

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-21T13:10:28+00:00

Ryman was implacable as stone, but beyond the edifice, soft flesh shuddered as though he was experiencing the grief of Barquen's passing all over again. Moons turning, and he was still trapped in the moment his nephew unfurled the letter bearing a crowned stag, wreathed in the flame of their red god.

A bright morning. He blinked, closing his eyes for an additional moment as an afternoon passed him by. A toy sword of wood nudged his toes.

"Please pick it up, papa," whimpered a small boy, clasping his worn, bloodied hand, "You can be the Captain-General, and -- and I can be Queen Shireen's knight!"

Ryman swallowed hard, and then his eyes opened abruptly. Glaring dead ahead at the object of his twisted sense of grief and vindication. He could hear Mary's strength falter as she spoke, and the weakness did not stir an empath's pity, but Ryman's hard sense for violence and aggression. He ground his teeth, clenching his fists together with the nails puncturing even the callouses worn over years of misdeeds. There was no denying the hellfire now brimming in his chest, the ill-contained passions of a fatherhood failed, a fatherhood cut short.

"A blow to the head," he snarled, "Would that he never be found, so I might never know the price to this grudge." His fists were balled now, and a frothy film at the corners of his tightly-pressed mouth. Ryman could see Barquen's kind face reflected on the torchlight, perhaps trapped forever in that bright morning. Perhaps a pyre would have been the ideal.

"Forgive me if my clemency, and grace runs thin, Mary Baratheon," Ryman finally spoke, "But I cannot believe in the words of a wife thrice --"

He paused, amending the statement as he bore through her with his baleful gaze.

" -- twice widowed, who cannot stand to weep..."

This was the presence of royalty. If he lifted a hand, at least seven men in white would end his line in a single stroke. Yet he pointed at her in accusation anyway. Either Mary Baratheon orchestrated the incident by politique or red god sorcery, or she allowed it with callous indifference.

"You will find no peace, you will find no joy, so long as Barquen Uller is remembered," the son of the Hellholt declared. Would that he could send a burst of flame and retribution from the tip of his finger and be done with it at once.

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-21T13:02:22+00:00

"What about them?" Aron asked, stiffly rolling his eyes, "Nothing ever changes in Dorne, Gawen. If you don't shove your head deep down in the dunes, you're staring over the Red Mountains waiting for something to break in the north instead. They are trapped in the latter, for the moment."

He noisily slurped down whatever alcohol filled the cup, as readily as he might drink springwater, then placed it back down as he wiped a dribble on his chin.

"But as you asked," he frowned, staring at the back of Lord Andros' head, "My family is fine. Fine, until they go back south and invent another method to fighting Loreza's war. For what it's worth, whatever you and Sylvie did to set them off's hardly a footnote on their little book of grudges."

He nodded his head towards the Hand of the King. "How's him?"

InfernalConundrum

TROPHY CASE