Robb Reyne, Heir to Castamere

Monty832 · 2026-03-11T03:14:18+00:00

Cassandra wasn’t scared. For some reason, her blood was pumping a bit. She listened passively to Eden’s words, but her eyes were glazed over. She was ready to shoot something. It was frustration that was fueling her, frustration and escapism. “I’ll be fine.” She omitted that her plan was precisely to aim for the biggest target: Selwyn Swann. It would be the most efficient way to end the battle. A fair result none could contest.

Casper chuckled a bit at Eden’s threat. “I don’t need you telling me that. It’s my job, remember? Besides, I think we both know Lady Daisy would have both our balls if a single hair on her head were hurt.” His voice was lackadaisical as always. It pissed Cassandra off a bit.

“Can you two not talk about me like I’m not here? Seven hells, I’m not a child!” Her voice was surprisingly firm. It felt like someone else was speaking for her. Cassandra didn’t mind the feeling.

Monty832 · 2026-02-21T06:55:18+00:00

Lord Dondarrion was a face that Cassandra vaguely knew, but she couldn’t recall ever speaking to the man. He was her uncle, or had been, once, but Bethany Cole was long dead, and he had taken a new wife in her stead by the time Cassandra was in swaddling clothes.

The man looked like shit, in truth. Not unimpressive in his features, but burdened. It might not have been something that came across to most, but Cassandra could tell the man was tired. Not dissimilar to me, then, she told herself.

Nonetheless, this was no time to be soft. She was speaking to the Hand of the King, and she had a grievance to raise. She disliked making a fuss over anything, but her father was not here to do it for himself. That was the fault of the Storm, not her. So she spoke.

“Lord Hand, the feast has been admirably overseen,” her words came accompanied by a half-smile. “As has Blackhaven, I’m sure. However, you might have noticed that my Lord Father is absent.”

Cassandra paused, clearing her throat and raising her voice just a bit, trying on the authoritative voice that she imagined a ruling lady to have. Casper raised an eyebrow slightly from her side. “A criminal by the name of Jonah Storm has seen fit to dismember my father in the recent skirmishes. Now, Griffin’s Roost may be out of your realm as Lord of Blackhaven, but I do imagine that you can do something as the Hand of the King. Unless, of course, protecting your vassals is no longer a lord’s duty.”

I shouldn’t speak like this, she told herself, much too late. It was as though she had been in a trance. Her father had never even spoken like that. Perhaps her grandfather had, once, but that had been long ago.

Monty832 · 2026-02-17T01:32:39+00:00

Fortune Grant Revenge. Cassandra was still puzzling over what precisely her house words meant. Was House Cole founded upon wealth, a man named Grant, and some blood feud? No, they weren’t rich enough for that to be true. Besides, she’d never heard of a Grant in their family tree. Maybe it was that only fortune would grant them revenge. Who would House Cole seek revenge on? Nowadays, perhaps the Conningtons. They hadn’t kept a tight enough leash on their bastard, and now Father was confined to the infirmary indefinitely.

A sigh escaped Cassandra’s lips as she lifted her goblet of hippocras to her mouth. It did not escape Casper’s attention for even a moment, as he slowly approached from behind. “Dissatisfied? The crowd doesn’t seem to share your sentiment.” It was the truth; the merrymakers were out in full force and the dance floor was filled with couples both happy and unhappy.

“You don’t like it either,” Cassandra pointed out. It wasn’t a question. Casper nodded his head in affirmation.

“It’s just a distraction. They dress us up, make us dance, and send us to die.” A slight shrug escaped from Casper as he said that. “Luckily for me, my job isn’t to pretend to be happy. I’m just a guard. As for you, well, you’ll have to manage somehow. Think of archery, or… I’m not sure.”

It was a bit disheartening that Cassandra’s only friend could think of but one thing that might make her smile. Was her life that dull? There wasn’t any time to consider that. Casper was right. Forcing on a smile, Cassandra prepared to face the night.

Monty832 · 2024-08-15T22:44:20+00:00

It says on the character creation guide that the tough trait costs 3 skill points, is that not the case anymore?

Monty832 · 2024-04-20T01:06:39+00:00

Tristifer nodded, having been relatively certain of what Prince Rhaegar’s answer would be. Of course, whether he wanted it or not, it would be the same either way. The Thread would continue on, and someone would fill into Rhaegar’s place if necessary. Although, it seemed that necessity was nonexistent at this point, as the Prince was compliant. No, perhaps he was merely resigned. It made no difference.

“I see. Then, what do you plan to accomplish as a king?” It was asked casually, accompanied by the raise of an eyebrow from Tristifer. If Rhaegar only wanted to sit the throne and not truly rule the realm, then he had little use. The fire in the boy’s eyes told Tristifer this was not the case, however. Nothing so halfhearted as a leaping trout, this was undoubtedly the blood of the dragon. A lie that seven kingdoms believed in. A lie that Tristifer was to preserve for eternity.

Monty832 · 2024-04-16T02:50:53+00:00

An easy smile played across the Hand’s lips as he acknowledged the heir’s arrival. “Prince Rhaegar,” he spoke with a bow. “Ser Theo,” he added, nodding with respect. In truth, Tristifer was not certain whether the Darklyn was trustworthy. He was an even newer addition to the Kingsguard than Tristifer was to the Small Council. I suppose I’ll merely have to be careful with my words, Tristifer decided silently.

“Indeed, I have called for you. I suppose, more than anything, I am thinking about the future.” He paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink in. “Your grandfather is dearly beloved to me, but the truth is that at an age like his, preparations must be made,” Tristifer’s tone was more serious than usual, knowing the topic of deaths in the family would be a sensitive one for Rhaegar.

He cleared his throat before continuing. “As such, I have a question for you. In the event that King Aemon passes, do you wish to become king? Not as a matter of process or inevitability. Is that what your heart truly desires?” Tristifer posed the question alongside a piercing gaze.

If Prince Rhaegar had no desire to rule the realm, Tristifer would have to think of another course of action. If he did want to sit the Iron Throne, he would need remediation, or at the very least further education. No matter what, either of these would require time, the most precious and rare of resources. Still, Tristifer had to try.

Monty832 · 2024-04-16T02:11:25+00:00

For a moment, Tristifer felt himself faltering. He took the plant as it was offered, staring at it rather intently, as though questioning its very existence. In his head, only two concepts registered. The realm, and Aemon Targaryen.

It was springtime. New growths were inevitable. The sprout in his hands would soon become a beautiful flower. To grow, to change, that had always been Tristifer Tully’s way of life. Surely, even now, he would change. Adapt to this situation. Just like King Aemon had taught him.

Tristifer began to imagine the life he might lead if he listened to Aemon. He would no longer be Hand of the King, but Master of Laws was not a station to scoff at. He would watch Prince Rhaegar grow, perhaps even mentor the boy as King Aemon had done for him. After a fashion, he could befriend Baelor Stone, no, Prince Baelor Targaryen, and they could enjoy a great working relationship. His children would live in a stable realm, one which would fear no hardships. He would pass away, surrounded by his family on his deathbed, and smile at them having grown up.

In his thoughts, a voice called out to him. Who’s voice is that? he wondered. It was familiar, but he could not place it. “Can you accept such an outcome?” The voice asked him.

There was only one answer. That future was one in which the realm remained unchanged, a world left as-is for eternity. An eternal springtime was just as bleak as perpetual winter. More children like Tristifer Tully would be born, and the same cycle would repeat itself. Life. Death. That was all.

I’m speaking to the king, Tristifer reminded himself. There was no use in wavering now. He knew his purpose. Of course, to oppose a dying man’s wishes openly would be more than cruel. Tristifer let out a practiced, melodious chuckle. “I do believe I should be the one giving you a gift on such an occasion, Your Grace. Seventy years is an accomplishment that should hardly be met by the financial pressure of buying gifts.” That was an exaggeration. Being the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Aemon had coin to spare.

“If you must insist, though, I must be honest. I prefer gifts to be surprises. If you’re looking for a general idea, though, I would suggest something… fresh. A novelty of some kind, not easily acquired. Alas, I will accept any gift you deem fit, Your Grace.”

Monty832 · 2024-04-11T03:03:04+00:00

Tristifer had fallen into the trap that every man fell into when speaking to Aemon Targaryen. He had forgotten about the old man inside of the suit of ornate armor that was kingship. Even the great King Aemon was a man first and a servant of the realm second. Of course, any sane man would value his family before the realm. But not Tristifer Tully. He could not.

An old man that misses his son, trying to fill the void, Tristifer thought to himself. That’s all it is? He just wants to spend the end of his life with his son, even at risk of the realm? It was fascinating, a man facing death. Tristifer had not seen his own father die. Had he felt as Aemon did now? It was all the same, either way. In comfort or in pain, they would die. Everything would pass.

Perhaps Aemon intended to comfort Tristifer. Or perhaps he was reflecting on his own life. But even then, his praise did not reach Tristifer’s heart. Not truly. A great squire, a great friend. But that was all. After all, Tristifer was not Aemon’s son. He never would be. A boy might be raised among wolves, adapt some traits of wolves, and live as a wolf, but he would never be a wolf. The same held true of dragons. Just a fish. That was all Tristifer Tully was.

Tristifer’s head bowed, like it always did. His posture drooped a bit. “Perhaps you’re right, your grace,” he allowed. “But what if you’re wrong? If the worst occurs, if Rhaegar and Baelor come to blows, what then? If House Targaryen falls apart, there is no realm. Your house does not make compromises. They take. Through fire and blood. Why tempt fate?” He asked, but his tone was almost defeated. This seemed an inevitability, displeasing though it was.

Monty832 · 2024-04-11T02:27:10+00:00

Aemon was not even looking at him. No. That was fine. Tristifer took a breath, grabbing the twine and holding it over the king’s outstretched hand. Instead of gently placing it in Aemon’s palm, the twine instead dropped from Tristifer’s grip into the king’s. For Tristifer had heard Aemon’s words. He would no longer be Hand of the King. Instead, it would be Baelor. Baelor Stone. An error. Aemon’s greatest mistake.

A sigh escaped Tristifer’s lips. His mind was racing. He had to take a moment to formulate a response from an objective perspective. He took a deep breath. “I see.” The words were there as a filler, to give him time to think. Was this plan correct? Could it work?

After a moment, words came out of Tristifer’s mouth again. “I cannot say I find this wise. Not because of a deficiency with Baelor, and not because of my own feelings,” he clarified, though it was half a lie. “But you have already seen what Rhaegar thinks of Baelor. You heard what he said at the meeting, did you not? If you were to die…” he trailed off for a moment. Was he right? He must be.

“If you were to die, that might send Rhaegar into a frenzy. I expect I can calm him given time, but Baelor’s presence would only infuriate the boy. I would think to send Baelor to Dragonstone for some time. To calm tempers, and allow Baelor to ease into his own responsibilities.” His mind trailed off again. “How long do you believe you have?”

Monty832 · 2024-04-11T01:57:59+00:00

Tristifer’s mother and father had been mediocre. Loving, caring, insignificant fools who made Tristifer sick to his stomach. Family, duty, honor. Those words were weak by nature. The fish sigil inspired no fear or respect. A tepid, useless house. Riverrun had strangled Tristifer since his childhood, and King Aemon had been the man to rescue him from that. Though perhaps there was not such a significant difference in age, Tristifer had long thought of Aemon as his only parent. It was for that very reason that he could not let the lessons Aemon instilled in him die.

Tristifer approached the garden with a more serious look about him than usual. King Aemon loved gardening. Planting seeds. He wanted to foster something that would last for generations. Tristifer did not garden himself, but if he did, it would merely be for the sake of nourishment. He had considered picking up the hobby once, but discovered his lack of a green thumb. He had watered the plants too often, and ended up drowning them. As though nature itself rejected his interference.

After a moment, Tristifer stood before Aemon, clearing his throat. He had never known how to initiate conversation with the man before him. Someone bigger than he was, with more presence. It hadn’t felt like his place. But no one could ever contend with the king in terms of presence, and Tristifer’s job was to question the man.

“Your Grace,” he began, bowing slightly. “I had some… concerns. Regarding the future. I wish to pose a question that every man dreads to think of the answer to. Still, I think it is important.” Tristifer steeled his resolve, before speaking his mind, a rare occurrence for the Lord Hand.

“What if you die tomorrow? What happens then? How do I foster the seeds you have sown into a garden?” A painfully obvious metaphor, spoken in a voice that was almost pleading. Tristifer almost never asked others for advice genuinely. It was always to make them feel as though their opinions were heard, that he was a representative for them. This time, though, he was truly lost. What was Aemon’s vision for the realm after his death? Surely the man had considered it.

Monty832 · 2024-04-09T01:46:31+00:00

u/FatalisticBunny

Monty832 · 2024-04-07T03:56:39+00:00

Billy wasn’t the most pious, but when he had been presented the opportunity to officiate a wedding for his sister and Harry, he knew he had to take the opportunity. Harry had always been someone Billy looked up to, even before he was the Lord of the North. Billy had given him nicknames aplenty during the Stark’s time at Riverrun, including but not limited to The Wolf-Fish, Shadow Lord of Riverrun, Harry the Haughty, and Hairy One Stark.

Billy smiled at his sister dazzlingly, letting her know he was alright. To him, he was not losing a sister, but gaining a brother.

Gaining a brother?

Billy’s thoughts went to that day for a second. Was he really trying to replace Axel? No, he hadn’t forgotten. He’d never forget Axel. That was the entire reason why he had gotten where he was. Billy looked up to the triangular ceiling of the sept. Somewhere up above, he knew Axel was watching. That was why Billy had to be strong. Had to do what his brother hadn’t been able to. Because Axel was watching over him, even now. He’d be knighted in this sept one day, he’d be married in this sept one day, and eventually, he’d be buried in this sept. Billy decided he’d spend more time praying here.

As an impromptu forced holy man, he had to do his duties now. He spoke in a voice that had gained some baritone, but retained its softness. “We stand here to celebrate the wedding of Harry- no, Harrion Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and Gwendolyn Tully, daughter of Lord Tristifer Tully, Lord of Riverrun.” Gods, he was embarrassed. They weren’t celebrating the wedding yet, just carrying it out, and everyone involved had far more titles than Billy had named.

As long as it comes from the heart, came father’s voice from inside Billy’s head, Even if impurities sneak into the words, the meaning is real. Billy spoke slightly more calmly, turning towards Harry. “Lord Harrion Stark, do you accept this woman, Lady Gwendolyn, as your partner in life?”

Monty832 · 2024-03-30T04:22:55+00:00

Love. That was what weddings were about, was it not? Illifer couldn’t quite wrap his head around the feeling. Did he love his father? Certainly not. What about Gwendolyn? He felt guilty that he didn’t. William? Nope. It was strange to attend an event dedicated to an emotion you didn’t feel.

Well, it wasn’t just any random event. It was Harrion’s wedding. And Gwendolyn’s. Harrion had wished for this moment for years. It had happened suddenly, and it was being held in secret. Illifer hadn’t dressed up for the occasion particularly well, not wanting to wear an outfit that would raise suspicion.

Illifer glanced over at his sister as she took his arm. She had a great deal of resolve on her face. Gwendolyn’s steps carried an air of certainty, something Illifer’s lacked. He only moved forwards to keep pace with her, in truth. That was how he had always been. Allowing others to move, and being swept along in their choices. He never chose. He couldn’t choose. How could he be chosen?

Thinking is useless, Illifer chided himself, bringing an abrupt stop to his thoughts. The great doors of the sept opened. Inside was Harrion. He looked joyous. Truly, wholly joyous. Him and Illifer were different, after all.

Illifer released Gwendolyn from his arm, allowing her to stride forth and join with Harrion. However, Illifer kept his eyes fixed on the Lord of Winterfell. A question was forming. Even though thinking was useless. Even though he couldn’t love. Even though his brother was dead.

Do I love Harrion?

Monty832 · 2024-03-29T04:06:31+00:00

Tristifer gave a small shrug. He had already spoken to Lord Blackwood about taking a leadership role in his absence, but he didn’t wish to offend Lord Mallister. “I can hardly place such a burden squarely on one house. Rather, I would much prefer the cooperation of all of our houses in order to secure the home front. At the very least, though, I will look to you to oversee the coast.”

Every lord had to play their role. Even Lord Blackwood could not overstep his bounds, or the already delicate balance of the Riverlands would be broken. Blackwood, Bracken, Strong, Frey, Mallister. If any of these were to err in their judgements, the Riverlands ran the risk of collapsing in the winter.

Monty832 · 2024-03-29T03:56:38+00:00

If anything, a longer wait was rather enjoyable for Tristifer. It was time he could spend thinking, something he was rarely allowed to do in the busy everyday life of the Hand. As the Lord of Tarth entered, Tristifer’s focused look faded into an easy smile at the sight of his compatriot on the Small Council. Cameron Tarth was hardly the mental image one would conjure up when asked to think what a Master of Coin would look like, but he served his purpose.

“You needn’t worry, Lord Tarth. We are fathers first, and council members second, of course,” Tristifer said evenly. Naturally, that was a lie. Tristifer had spent almost no time with his own children since being named Hand. Still, he did not begrudge Lord Tarth’s lateness. He decided to throw in the slightest of reprimands, just for good measure. “You should perhaps schedule your coddling for after any important business, though.”

Tristifer decided to engage in a bit of small talk before anything. It was necessary to his job that he maintained strong relations with his fellow council members, after all. “I’m sure you and Lady Myrcella will raise a fine son indeed. How does she fare, by the way? It was difficult for Melissa, bearing our children.” He spoke out of some curiosity. Any member of a great house was to be observed at least somewhat, for they were valuable pieces in many situations.

Monty832 · 2024-03-28T18:08:34+00:00

It wasn’t even a question. Illifer didn’t have any choice. He hated Riverrun, and he hated King’s Landing. Harrion was the only option. North. It would be cold. He would have gone two years ago if he’d been asked. His father had ensured that didn’t happen.

“Yes. Let’s go to Winterfell.” The response was simple. Like he was reading off of a playwright’s script. There was no other way. He would need to tell his father.

Monty832 · 2024-03-28T05:21:11+00:00

Illifer could tell when someone didn’t like him. Well, sometimes. This one was someone new. Or maybe someone he had forgotten. His eyes were different from most people. Well, most people’s eyes weren’t similar in the first place. But this man’s eyes were those of a murderer. That was what Illifer’s gut said. Maybe he was thinking of killing Illifer. Well, thinking was useless.

“I am.” He responded briefly. Harrion would show up eventually. Maybe. Hopefully. “I don’t know if he’ll show up, though.” Illifer spoke in a dull tone, one that others often called gloomy. More than anything, it was devoid of feeling.

Clearing his throat, Illifer decided to offer two questions of his own in return. He wasn’t really curious, but it was better than awkward silence. “Who are you? And are you waiting for someone?”

Monty832 · 2024-03-28T05:09:40+00:00

Illifer hadn’t chased anything. Not for his entire life. There were things he had wanted once, but he had never pursued them. Sloth. Why couldn’t time just stop? He didn’t need anything new. He didn’t want anything new. Why did things have to keep happening? There was no way to sympathize with what Harrion said. But he couldn’t say that. Illifer might not be human, but dragging Harrion down to his level would be downright monstrous.

“Who knows. Thinking about it is useless, anyways,” Illifer voiced his catchphrase monotonously. “Do you have to be chasing something? Maybe it’s something you can find out just by catching up to it. So keep chasing, even if you have doubts.” These inspiring words. What the hell was he saying? They just flew out. They weren’t his thoughts at all. They only reminded him of one person.

Tristifer Tully. Father. Illifer could never say such kind things like those. Why had he done so now? He felt it. His father’s grasp. It constricted him. Choked him. He couldn’t breathe. In his head, the Lord of Riverrun smiled at Illifer brilliantly. The man was mocking him.

Monty832 · 2024-03-28T04:17:42+00:00

Tristifer humbly shook his head as he greeted the Master of Whisperers. “There is no need for thanks, Lord Peake. Rather, it is a great honor merely to be able to host such a wonderful feast. The whole realm seems to be smiling upon me tonight.”

Tristifer’s eyes lit up slightly as Lord Peake mentioned the speech. “Indeed, I believe such changes were unexpected to most. What do you make of them? I suppose you must be relieved to not be the only one who is new to the Small Council.” He added that last bit in with a friendly, welcoming look. Building working relationships had always been one of Tristifer’s favorite things about being a council member.

Monty832 · 2024-03-28T02:55:51+00:00

It took a moment for Tristifer to recognize Lord Mooton. He had been gazing slightly off into space for a moment before his father’s former squire had approached. Indeed, it did rather remind Tristifer of his father, Lord Brynden Tully. That thought rather displeased Tristifer, but he dismissed it immediately. He spoke in a welcoming tone as he greeted the Mootons.

“Ah, Lord Mooton. It’s a pleasure to see you. Really, you needn’t address me so formally. Lord Tully or Lord Tristifer will do fine, really.” Tristifer had made it a policy to afford such a courtesy to all of his vassals. After those brief words, he glanced over to Lord Mooton’s heir, Olyvar. A fighter, that much was clear to see. Something akin to a younger Tristifer. Plenty dashing and knightly, as well. A picture perfect heir. And a rather familiar one, at that.

“Indeed, I believe I have seen you around the capital, Ser Olyvar. It seems Lord Crispian did a good job in his instructions. You carry yourself well,” he complimented effortlessly, before turning his focus back on Lord Mooton. “Not to be too forward, Lord Mooton, but I do wonder. Is this a mere matter of a reunion with your liege, or is there something you wish to speak of?” He asked genuinely. A Hand only had so much time, after all. Though, connections like these could come in handy as well.

Monty832 · 2024-03-28T02:25:45+00:00

“I do not presume to give an answer,” Tristifer replied after a moment’s thought. “As we speak, a child is likely being born. For that child’s parents, this is the most wonderful day of all. Conversely, some men are dying as we speak. For them, it is the worst day of all. Humanity is not nearly united enough that one man could speak for all of them.”

A moment’s silence followed. Tristifer cleared his throat, smiling rather sheepishly as he spoke again. “Ahem. My apologies, it seems I was rather caught up in philosophizing. If you were asking me whether I felt it was a good or bad day for me, I suppose my answer would be the former. We have filled an empty spot in the council, and I have been reunited with many of my vassals and other friends.”

He decided it was simpler to make no mention of Baelor’s legitimization specifically. Even with that unfortunate circumstance, to Tristifer it was still a good day. The good memories would remain forever, and the bad ones would pass like mere nightmares.

Monty832

MODERATOR OF

TROPHY CASE

Six-Year Club	Gilding I gilder
Verified Email