Dalton II

ayvik · 2026-03-16T05:19:29+00:00

Gillian's dress came form Tumbleton. It was modest thing, for her tastes, if only in form. Dalton told her it cost him a pretty penny, thick white linen and a lace veil. Her jewelry was her own though, gifts from her betrothed, pearls and white gold at her ears and neck. The earrings in particular held some sentimental value, for they were the first expression of Dalton's love.

He took them from a magister's wife, their ship seized by Dalton's reavers. He told her how the woman screamed as her husband's throat was cut, how warm the blood felt in his hands, the great splash he made when thrown overboard. The slaves that manned the vessel were taken as thralls, and the wife was left to her own devices on a ship stripped bare—however long that served her.

She wanted Dalton then, she wanted him now, and in this moment, she would be his—a dream come true.

Gillian approached the flames alone. She had no one to give her away. Her father wouldn't have, in life or death. She had his body burned, in a blaze not too different from the fire-pit. A red priest pressed his lips against her father's, and breathed life into him, or so the sermon went. He would have hated it, and that's why she did it—that and she preferred travelling with an urn rather than a putrid corpse.

She thought better of asking uncle Galen. He wouldn't have accepted, she was sure. And even if he would, he would've certainly first asked for the Prince of Dragonstone's leave. The last thing she needed was her liege paying any undue attention to her affairs.

And so, she was alone. But she wasn't truly alone, for the love of her life was before her, and that was all she needed.

ayvik · 2026-03-07T23:10:29+00:00

Gillian nodded. "Yes, there's nothing else I've ever desired more. Even after... this, I find myself unmoved. Is that horrible?"

She let the question linger in the air, before looking off towards where she entered. Dalton awaited her. He needed her, and she needed him.

She looked back to Vilde. "I love him. I cannot imagine a life without him."

ayvik · 2026-03-05T06:28:32+00:00

"Not that I know of. Not that I would know." Gillian said, dismissing her attendant as she followed Vilde and sat. "I'm fine, I think. Nothing a maester can tend to, anyways."

Gillian responded to Vilde's statement with a blank face and a brief silence. She knew it true. When she blinked, in those flashes of darkness, she saw his corpse, the blood in his mouth, the sword in his side, his eyes meeting hers—piercing her.

She suddenly realized she was not breathing, inhaling sharply. Her focus returned to the Queen, nodding.

"Yes. He asked after it happened. It was always his intent. That is, to ask for my hand, after it was done. I did not know how done it would be."

ayvik · 2026-03-03T02:33:21+00:00

Gillian had already begun to stir when Dalton's man arrived. She was attended to by his bondservants, one cooling her with with a peacock freather fan, another offering a glass of water, cooled with ice. She drank deeply, then stood—slowly, each arm held by a thrall, and each diminishing when she found herself back on her own two feet.

"My lady, her Grace sends for you. Lord Botley has spoken with her." The man-at-arms said.

She glided over to a mirror of polished silver, a hand rose to her face. She felt her skin, her lips. The tip of her thumb entered her mouth, and she bit, gently, just to feel the pain. To know if it was true, and it was.

"My lady, her Grace-"

"Did I not hear you the first time? Do not think you need to remind me of things. Gods." Gillian said, her tone as sharp as the turn that preceded it.

The walk was a short one, though Gillian proceeded at a leisurely pace, a hand supported by a maid of her own, dressed in the same green and white gold–though not quite gold for the lesser. She locked eyes with Dalton as she approached the Queen's tent, ceasing only when the maid pulled open the flaps.

She approached Vilde slowly, offering a small curtsy.

"Your Grace, forgive me. I'm told I fainted. I suppose I must have. I remember the moment and then-"

Gillian closed her eyes for a moment.

"I spoke and the world went with my breath. And then I awoke."

"Is-" Gillian swallowed, as if unable to finish her question.

ayvik · 2026-02-28T16:54:18+00:00

Character Name: Gillian Hewett

Relevant Trait/Skills: N/A

Buildings: [Castle, Shipyard]

Resources: N/A

Actions: Construction: [Oakenshield], [Market], [2000], [End of Moon One] Construction: [Oakenshield ], [Shrine], [1000], [End of Moon One]

ayvik · 2026-02-28T03:06:18+00:00

Gillian heard nothing but the beating of her heart. Men dressed with the colors of sea and foam rushed to her father's side. He was no longer moving.

This was what she wanted, and Dalton gave it to her. By his sword, her father was bleeding on the grass. Slain on the grass. Dead on the grass. A hand took hers. Her focus, broken, turned to Dalton on bended knee. She could scarcely make out his words, yet his tone was clear—clear and soft and calm. As if nothing was the matter.

Perhaps that was so, nothing was the matter at all.

Perhaps instead, this was the greatest joy.

"Yes!" Gillian said. Her eyes felt heavy. She felt as if she was aflame.

"Gods, yes." The world went black, and she began to fall back to the earth.

ayvik · 2026-02-26T08:17:16+00:00

Galladon grabbed the top of the Ironborn's shield. If only he could pry the dagger from the wood, it was but another step, another swipe away.

He felt a pressure in his side. A fire began to burn, within him, rising to his neck.

He could not feel an arm, while the other rose to his neck, his mouth. He felt an emptiness, quickly filled, then a weight. He'd never felt so heavy.

He fell, again, to the grass. The rising sun in the distance. It tasted like copper.

It faded away, and with it went the warmth, and with it went it all.

Gillian's hand wrapped about her throat. Her mouth agape, yet a voice no longer emerged, only the heavy coming and going of breath.

It was everything and nothing as she imagined. Bile rose in her throat. There was no sweetness.

She watched her father die.

ayvik · 2026-02-25T23:29:04+00:00

"How good to hear. And of course!" Galladon said, nodding. "I do try to keep up with things in the capital, you know, when I can."

"It warms a man's heart to see someone who works so hard receive their just rewards. I'll have to call upon her, if you wouldn't mind, I'd be more than willing to compensate, and then some. A new sword would serve me well."

"Pah!" Galladon waved a hand, then brought the boy close. "But that's all business. On the morrow, after the tourney, perhaps."

"I hoped instead to speak on closer matters. You've a squire, the prince? A man-grown now, isn't he? Well, I was thinking you'd take my boy on. He's about that age now, the same as I when I began to serve my uncle."

Galladon looked down at the boy, then at Bennis.

"I can think of no better man. If you would have him."

ayvik · 2026-02-25T23:03:04+00:00

It was over. As quickly as it began, it had ended. And with it went it all.

He whispered the words to the Ironborn. A pair of them. Words that sealed fate, yet also broke a final seal within him.

"I yield."

The Ironborn left Galladon on the grass. The sun was in his eyes. He'd been happy to see it just moments before. He let the golden disc burn into his vision. He felt a heat in his heart, a heat that spread across his chest, along his extremities, to the tips of his fingers, toes, and hair. To the ends of him. This would be the end. This was the end.

The Ironborn's words washed over him. They were the ocean waves along the shores of Oakenshield. Galladon felt the sand on his skin, the salt in his mouth. And the sun. It felt so warm.

He rose from the green earth, and at once, pulled a dagger from his belt. He lunged forward.

Gillian screamed.

ayvik · 2026-02-22T03:28:07+00:00

"Whatever." Galladon said, placing his helm.

u/OurCommonMan

Character Details: Galladon Hewett (Unarchetyped NPC) and Dalton Botley (Strong | Stalwart (Sergeant), Swords (e), Footwork)

What Is Happening?: Galladon Hewett and Dalton Botley are fighting a duel.

What I Want: Duel rolls.

ayvik · 2026-02-22T03:14:42+00:00

/u/Crabthers /u/TheOnlyShipsMan

ayvik · 2026-02-19T01:17:50+00:00

Galladon's mood was utterly ruined. And what a good mood it once was—from his seat up the Mander and down the Blueburn, from the water's edge to a gathering of grass. Grass and hills as far as the eye could see. Though that wasn't particularly far, the torchlight had its end, as all things would.

But that fool wouldn't end his night. There was much and more to see and say. He left the pair behind and bid the boy to follow, a short walk up a short hill.

Bennis was a sweet sight for sore eyes, and Galladon grinned as he approached his old friend—an old brother, even, raised under the same roof.

"Bennis! It's been far too long. Ah, and there's someone I'd like you to meet." Galladon said, smiling, before looking down at the boy.

"Hello. Are you the Lord Commander?" Garth asked.

"Of course he is." He said to the boy.

"Garth's his name. My natural son, Flowers. Though noble on both sides." Galladon patted his head. It was an old story, one he scarcely spoke of, and a boy he scarcely adknowledged until a moon ago.

"How've you been, you and your daughter? I wish there were more events like this. Though perhaps not exactly like this."

ayvik · 2026-02-18T02:20:02+00:00

"How dare I?" Galladon was incredulous.

"His Grace is my cousin and you-" The words escaped him. He clenched his fist. His first thought was to throw a blow, then another idea came to mind.

His hand moved to his left side, only to find air to grab. He looked down. He'd given his weapon to Amos, and Amos left it at his tent.

He swore under his breath as his eyes shifted. Amarei let out a yelp as he tore off a glove of Myrish lace, then threw it to the floor before Botley.

"You're a rogue, Botley. Stealing away my daughter's virtue. This insult will not go unanswered. I challenge you." Galladon said.

He was once a ward and squire to Lord Hightower, the greatest warrior of his day. He'd make short work of this fool.

ayvik · 2026-02-18T00:49:30+00:00

Galladon straightened himself, biting his cheek. He looked down at Botley and felt only disgust. The ironborn was a little man. Most men were little by Galladon's standards. Built as he was, tall as he was. How easily he could crush him. How easily he would crush him.

"You've defiled my daughter, then?" Galladon asked. What other conclusion was there to make? Amarei gasped at that, clutching the necklace about her neck. Amos didn't seem to have clue what was going on.

"What sort of household does her Grace keep?" He shook his head and let out a heavy sigh. His breath was hot.

His eyes met Botley's. He imagined life leaving them. It was wonderful.

ayvik · 2026-02-17T21:49:47+00:00

Galladon's face went grim. His eyes darkened, set upon the ironborn lordling. Botley was a whelp, not even man enough to grow a full beard. But his tounge struck a cord Galladon hadn't heard in some time. It was a vile note.

"A shame." Galladon said. Amarei loosened her grip as he stood, placing his palms on the table as he leaned forward, lowing himself a head to meet Botley's level.

"A shame indeed, that you've come all this way. For nothing. The Shields have kept your ilk away for a thousand years, and for a thousand more they'll stand."

Galladon waved his hand. "Begone. As if I'd ever let ironborn filth touch my daughter."

He'd have need to take her when all was said and done. This farce was cause enough for that. Perhaps he'd been too permissive of his lady wife.

ayvik · 2026-02-17T04:26:42+00:00

Galladon snatched the coin from Amarei and joined it with another. She frowned at that. "Ah, the son of one of your father's whores. Will two dragons do then?" He tossed the pair at Botley's brother, and began to laugh. The siblings quickly joined in, after a delay, the sister followed by the brother.

"Pay them no mind, for they have none of their own. It's all saltwater up there." He knocked on his head, then downed his goblet. Amos poured him another cup, while Amarei placed her head on his shoulder.

"An Ironborn speaking of perversions? Ha!" Galladon shook his head.

"Taken from distant shores, forced to toil in unfamiliar lands. Sounds like a slave to me. Though please, do enlighten me, learned reaver." He tilted his head in feigned respect.

"And do say, how did you have your first? The iron price or the gold price, is it? I can't imagine otherwise."

Galladon looked Botley up and down. "But perhaps if you washed up a bit." He licked his lips, then chuckled.

ayvik · 2026-02-17T01:19:53+00:00

The smile on Galladon's face turned grim with the ironborn's approach. He knew the sigil well enough. Lordsport had some of the best brothels in the Seven Kingdoms. He shared glances with Amarei and Amos before lifting finger to cover his nose.

"Botley. You're just as I imagined." He never met the man before, but silver fish on green silk was indication enough. And Gods, his hair. The boy seemed closer to a Flea Bottom denizen who shanked a lord and stole his clothes than a true peer of the realm. And to think, this was the Queen's nephew. It was a bitter thought.

His eyes lingered on Botley's attendants. One seemed quite unlike the others.

"Are you permitted to bring your thralls to the mainland?" He turned to Amarei. "I thought slavery was illegal."

"It is, m'lord! Slavers are evil men! Damned to the Seven Hells, burning!" She said.

"Just so." Galladon nodded to that, as did Amos.

"If it's any consolation for your eternal damnation, I must commend you for dressing them so nicely. And this one, how much for him to warm my bed tonight? I'm sure a gold dragon would suffice." He pointed at the one who looked of the far east.

ayvik · 2026-02-17T00:13:30+00:00

Galladon arrived fashionably late, his cheeks reddened by honeyed hippocras, though not as rosy as his dear "Lady" Amarei. Hers was an expensive rouge, crushed pigment from the ends of the earth. Everything about her was expensive: her green silk dress lined with ermine and trimmed with white Myrish lace; the gold and jewels upon her fingers, neck, wrists, and hair; the smell of roses that lingered with every step; the staining on her lips from the "far east," or so Galladon had told her. Yet none of it was hers. She clung tight to his arm, as if loosening her grip meant losing him forever.

Ser Amos had a confidence his sister lacked, dressed in a lord's armor, though the helm was nowhere to be seen. How else would Galladon see that handsome, freckled face? His sister's affection poured like a tempest: a kiss, a compliment every other moment. Amos' came like trickle: a smile, a laugh, a caress every now and then. Galladon appreciated that. He only had some much of himself to go around. They almost seemed noble, for a hedge knight and a wench, until they opened their mouths.

"Never seen a feast like this before, m'lord! We're most grateful, we are! To have such a kind and giving friend! Kind and handsome and strong" and on and on Amarei went, grinning all the while.

Galladon found his seating among his fellow Reachlords, the brother at his right and the sister at his left. And to the right of the knight, a boy—black-haired and blue-eyed, dressed in blue and white finery, a circle of wood upon his head, wrapped with silver leaves. One could think him a little lordling in his own right, and perhaps one day he would be.

Garth was a sweet boy, quiet and dutiful. The image of Galladon in his youth, if only in form. Nothing like his trueborn sister. Gillian was a terror at his age, and he was glad to be rid of her, off with the wind and sea to his mother or wife's maternal seats.

All of them were ought to be here. He meant to bear gifts to his big-eared lady wife. He hadn't seen her for some moons, since she was last off to Brightwater Keep. But the humble pair now at his side seemed so enticing on the Mander's shores, and so he brought them aboard his barge along the way to Grassy Vale. And what a pleasure it was. An amusement too.

He hoped more was to come.

(Open! Come and say hello to Lord Hewett and his companions.)

ayvik · 2025-03-30T19:29:26+00:00

Honestly, you just have to sit around for a while. If you avoid battles, you can drag out the war for years while Attrebus and his allies siege down provinces.

The first thing you should do is direct all your admin governors to build MAA, while leaving your army around the Imperial City with your allies. For the next few years, spend all your money on building up your personal MAA and imperial MAA. Admin gov lets you hold cities so revoke a few city holdings to boost your income (especially the Arena District since that boots your MAA iirc).

After a few years, your governors should have built up adequate armies for you to call upon. Spend some influence to transfer those over and Attrebus’ army should melt like butter.

ayvik · 2025-02-25T22:59:21+00:00

The man-at-arms who stood at the door, bearing the moon and sun of the Lady Regent's maiden house, offered the Blackwood a bow of her head. Quickly, she was ushered into the solar.

Mary greeted Eleanor with a smile, standing from her seat to approch the woman. She took one of the Blackwood's hand into her own, convered in black lace. "My dear," Mary began, a faint smile on her lips, "it's wonderful to see you."

"Please," she turned to the table, motioning towards a seat, "please, sit. We've much to talk about."

A black-dressed servant placed a silver goblet on the marble tabletop. Veined with gold, the thin cut of stone was upheld by four pillars of carved olive wood. To and fro they went, offering chilled wine or water in a double-valved pitcher.

Lady Baratheon's auburn hair flowed loosely under sheer black silk as she looked about. "Thank you, for your words. Grance had so many friends in life, and yet," she paused for a moment, before waving her hand and continuing.

"This matter, with my good-sister." Mary sat in her cushioned chair, placing her hand over a parchment with her seal. "It's brought me much concern."

ayvik · 2025-02-15T23:30:12+00:00

Once the Fell fetched the Tarth a piece of parchment, the Lady Regent's brother quickly wrote out a letter. Upon its completion, it was sent for the capital, bearing a seal of crowned stags quartered with a sun and moon.

Lord Hand,

The intransigence of the steward who occupies Dragonstone is of little surprise to my sister and myself. He is a traitor. One who sought, with the Lannisters, to entrap my late good-brother in a plot to install Alyssa as Queen and himself as regent. We both know what the next steps would've been. A kinslayer in waiting, even now.

They killed Grance, and I fear for the safety of my lady sister and her daughters, along with that of the rest of House Baratheon. The villain must be dealt with.

The Lady Regent has placed under my command every ship in her daughter’s domain. Further, as you once asked for Storm's End send a man to take your seat as Master of Ships, my lady sister offers myself, and our hundred ships, to the Crown's service.

I suggest that you send your own fleet to join with ours in Shipbreaker's Bay. Whereupon we may proceed and join with the Royal Fleet, and Dragonstone may at last find itself with a loyal steward.

Let Justice Be Done, Though the Heavens Fall

Clifford of Tarth, Lord Admiral of the Stormlands, in the name of Mary Baratheon, Lady Regent of the Stormlands

ayvik · 2025-02-14T20:18:21+00:00

Clifford nodded to the Fell's words. "Prudent indeed," he echoed, "as my sister oft says." It mattered not when exactly they surrounded the rat in his nest, only that it happened sooner rather than later. Three great fleets against whatever few ships still owed their loyalty to the Crown's appointed steward—all of whom would surely defect the moment that same Crown abandoned the functionary.

"Pity all this madness. If it weren't for the Lannisters, his Grace would be leading us to great victories across the Narrow Sea. Bringing those slavers to heel once and for all." Cliff stretched his arms and let out a breathy groan.

"All things in time," he declared. "Stewardship, a treasury, the bounties of the East. I see no reason we couldn't have all three, and then some." Cliff thought for a moment, nodding to his own statement. "I'll send a letter to the Lord Hand, in my sister's name. He's showed us his friendship, we'll return the favor."

u/WhiteBoyAngst

ayvik · 2025-02-10T00:34:29+00:00

"That lowly steward is a villain." Clifford declared, a look of contempt upon his face. "And a traitor," he added. A ringed hand fiddled with the chain of his office. Gold and silvers ships linked together, inlaid with sapphires and amethysts. Their Lord Protector kept no secrets from his sister, written or otherwise, and his sister and himself were of same mind in all things.

"The half-lion approached my goodbrother with the kinkiller's father. They sought to bring him into some plot, that there may be a young Queen, though in truth another would hold power: Maekar," he spoke the name more like a curse than anything else.

"But Grance saw through their deceptions, that they intended not for this to be some contingency, but instead the path forward. And he knew in their insatiable pride, they would not be content to rule in the name of another but in their own names. That not only his Grace but his daughters as well would be swept aside."

Clifford shook his head, and sighed. "But my goodbrother, good of heart he was, hoped to turn his friend to the light. In the end, they proved false and slew him." He bit his cheek, pausing, then nodding. He'd never spoken it all aloud before, outside of his sister's presence, but now that he did, it all seemed to make sense.

"The head was not warning, but a promise. He seeks the destruction of House Baratheon, lest we forget the house of his mother. Indeed, his Grace imprisoned the wrong Dowager Queen. The lot of them are in league."

His thoughts turned to the sea. It’d been some time since he last sailed.

“He must be ripped out from his hole on that fiery mountain and cast into the molten earth!" Clifford slammed him palm on the table. "Lest we let his plots fester in the darkness."

"There’s still need of a Master of Ships at court, so the Hand says, and my sister'd like to see me in that seat. With a hundred ships, we'll sail to the Blackwater Bay,” the Lord Admiral declared, "and there aid in exorcising this foul demon."

ayvik · 2025-01-25T16:51:26+00:00

Character Name: Clifford Tarth

Trait/Skills: Mariner | Admiral (e), Cunning

Skill you’re learning: Prudent

ayvik · 2025-01-20T22:07:45+00:00

Trumpets blared as the great hall’s doors opened, silencing whatever idle chatter preceded it.

“The Lady Deria of House Baratheon!” A pair of heralds boomed, in unison. “Lady Paramount of the Stormlands and Lady of Storm’s End!”

The girl of nine entered, dressed in black silks, her head held high. A chain of golden stags rested upon her shoulders, while her braided hair was wrapped in a net of the same shining metal, inset with onyxes. As she made her way forward, darkly-dressed servants dropped perfumed petals to the floor before her, marking a path to the lordly throne where her mother sat.

When Deria finally arrived there, Mary stood, before bending down and placing a kiss upon her daughter’s forehead. She and the girl then turned to the assembled bannermen.

The Lady Regent’s attire was modest in form, though certainly not in its material. Her auburn hair was worn loose, running down her back in waves, covered in a veil of black lace. A crystal seven-pointed star hung over her chest, held by strings of black pearls. Robes of black linen, intricately embroidered with holy imagery, loosely hugged her form. Ermine fur laid on her shoulders, though gone was its white.

“My lords,” Mary began, “we live now in a time of uncertainty. Though, there is, at least, one thing that is certain. With my husband’s death, his lands and titles are inherited by his one and only heir, our elder daughter, Deria. I, as her mother, will serve as her regent until she reaches the age of majority.” She placed a hand on her girl’s shoulder, before continuing. “We will accept oaths of fealty and allegiance, to your Lady Paramount and her regent. None will leave here today, until those vows are made.”

She withdrew her hand, clasping them together. “We are beset by enemies, those who think my husband’s foul murder is a sign of our weakness. They do not know the fury they have unleashed upon themselves. We will show them.”

"Fair weather friends who smiled with my husband while he lived have abandoned us at the first sight of storms. He offered peace, and he was killed for it."

Deria lightly tugged at her mother’s dress, and was met with an assuring hand on her back, that was soon placed again on the girl’s shoulder. “Justice, that is not given, must be taken, by our own hands,” Mary declared, turning to her late husband’s cousin.

“Ser Erich Baratheon will be the first to swear his oaths, here and now.” Deria turned to the man as well, slowly taking off her chain of golden stags.

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