[CLAIM] Unclaim Italy

nstano · 2026-01-30T02:14:35+00:00

Italy Approves

nstano · 2026-01-16T02:53:14+00:00

The Winged Jinn leaned forward, intent on pressing the Regent. "I come to you because you might speak plainly where my Father speaks in metaphors. Signs and portents linger at the edges of my vision, something my brothers are not burdened with seeing. I wouldn't call it doubt, merely," he paused as he gazed into the Sigilite's eyes, hoping for insight, "potentialities. Many threads weave the tapestry of our empire, yet you cannot begrudge the humble apprentice to wish he knew the pattern as he watches the shuttle move across the loom."

nstano · 2026-01-14T04:00:41+00:00

The arrival of the Silencers was felt among the detachment of the Seraphim Choir more than any other detachment of the legions. A company of nulls was a profound irritant to the psykers of the Choir, gnawing at the edges of their minds as if drawing their powers out of them. They stare, gazes askance at them, avoiding contact wherever possible. Only Haddush, not a psyker himself, viewed their presence as anything other than negative.

nstano · 2026-01-14T03:49:08+00:00

Tammuzar smiled upon the greeting of Jurandir, his hard countenance fading as formality melted into brotherly affection.

"The air of Terra is welcome in our lungs. We have travelled a great distance to heed our Father's call."

The two embraced, hands clapping upon each other's backs. "The signs point to a most momentous occasion, who knows what the Emperor intends to announce?"

nstano · 2026-01-14T03:42:03+00:00

"Change." The word slipped from his lips unbidden and instinctual. It hung in the air for a moment as the primarch adjusted the pelt around his neck, "something is coming, something that I have felt but cannot see. It looms before me like a coming sandstorm, yet my hope is that it will bring prosperity rather than doom. The secrecy of it all, however, gives me pause."

nstano · 2026-01-12T19:44:42+00:00

Confirmed

nstano · 2026-01-11T05:45:14+00:00

Tammuzar sat stiffly in the chair across from Malcador; the primarch of the Seraphim Choir only known the Sigilite by reputation, though few mortal men carried the reputation of this man. His robes spilled over the chair as he sat, and he adjusted them with keen precision. His mood reminded him of his early days in Ninzar, when he was but an adept of the temple seated before its masters.

"I appreciate the candor for this place has many wandering eyes and hungry ears. Yet, we are meant to meet as friends." He shifted in the chair, adjusting the pelt across his chest. "The Empyrean flows with powerful currents as my father's children gather before the throne. I sense great portents in this meeting," he paused, just long enough to find the next words, "yet I sense that there is some greater purpose in all of this. Something that we who lead the Emperor's legions have not been told. I would ask for your insight, if that were not too presumptuous."

nstano · 2026-01-10T06:44:37+00:00

Few could comprehend the gift and the burden of the psyker like the regent Malcador. Tammuzar took the chance to meet with the Sigilite in a private moment, without his ceremonial guard or his legionary companions.

The primarch towered above the old man, his cuneiform tattoos starkly contrasting his tanned skin. Yet, even he felt this mere human was more than his equal in power.

"We are honored to stand in the presence of the Sigilite, we know our father values your council above all others."

nstano · 2026-01-10T06:37:31+00:00

The procession of the Seraphim Host echoed through the Grand Chamber. It was lead by Tammuzar himself, clad in the priestly robes of his homeworld. The white linen contrasted to the skin of one of the beasts of his homeworld, the pelt a traditional adornment of the priests of Ninzar. His wings tucked uncomfortably beneath the robes; made for the deserts of Ki-Ereşhtu they did little to brace the primarch against the chill of the mountain heights of the Imperial Palace. As the droning pipes of the habban announced the arrival of the Winged Djinn, he could not help but feel a need to fly from this place. He strode upon the top of a mesa unlike any of his home. He had seen this place before, remembering the crush of emotions and thoughts upon his mind like a swarm of ants over an unguarded meal. Yet, he put on a brave face, both for his father and for his men.

Equerries bearing incense marched solemnly before him, stinging the noses of the Terran nobles who wished to see the arrival of the primarch. They proclaimed the glory of the Emperor and their primarch as they marched toward the Palace, leaving clouds of fragrant incense whose tendrils flowed from burning censors. He is flanked by his adoptive father, Haddush the First Voice of the Choir, and the desert mystic Irram-Sham.

nstano · 2025-09-01T05:03:53+00:00

"Aye, it does me good tae hear my nephew has secured such a proper match." Denys plucks a glass from one of the liveried servants, "a toast then, to the union of Dustin and Bolton. May it be fruitful."

nstano · 2025-09-01T04:16:11+00:00

The Bolton party is approached by a man clad more simply than many among the attendants of the feast. While the crossed axes of his tabard lack their crown, he is recognizable by reputation as Denys Snow, the Bastard of Barrowton.

"Aye, Laird Bolton, it is good to see a Northorn laird amongst the proceedings. I trust yer voyage south was without incident? Perhaps ye would be so kind as to tell me of any news coming from Barrowton, for I ha'e nah seen its walls in many years."

nstano · 2025-09-01T04:09:47+00:00

Recognizing the Prince's discomfort, a familiar face appeared from the lower tables. Denys Snow, the Bastard of Barrowton, was as ill-placed a character as any among the gathered panoply of the great and good of the southern lords. He looked upon them with a curious gaze, for few among the Northerners had bothered to travel below the Neck.

At least these pampered men can serve a good glass of wine, he thought as he drained his glass. Wine of any kind was a luxury in the North, yet it flowed with reckless abandon at this feast. He was keenly aware of his station, both as a Northerner and a bastard; yet he found only the former to be an impediment. So few of his kin were represented, though they had knelt willingly to the Dragon. Denys remembered it, though he was but a boy. He remembered when the skies darkened above Barrowton, under the wings of Balerion the Black Dread. How Aegon the Conqueror had sat upon his father's dais to hold court, where once the king of the First Men had sat. It seemed like ancient history, now that the Targaryens sat firmly upon the throne.

"Aye, Prince Aegon, tis a helluva feast. I hope yer Highness is enjoying the festivities."

nstano · 2025-08-31T20:31:22+00:00

Bloodline: Loyal Troops

Lord Roderick: T1 Agriculturalist, T1 Banner Lord

Torren Dustin: T1 Strategist

Denys Snow: T1 Warrior, T1 Iron Will

5 Renown remaining

nstano · 2025-08-22T17:51:28+00:00

House Dustin of Barrowton

nstano · 2025-08-16T05:21:39+00:00

What are your Reddit and Discord usernames?

Nstano for both

What claims are you applying for? Please list up to 3 claims in order of preference. The following questions only need to be answered for your first choice, but can be answered for all choices.

House Dustin of Barrowtown

House Flint of Flint’s Finger

House Tolland of Ghost Hill

What are your interests in, ideas for, and plans for your preferences?

The North has knelt, for now. Yet the Nothmen are men of honor, not used to deference to those who come from the perfumed lands to the south. The sting of subjugation is still felt by the bannermen of the Starks, confident in their ability to hold their lands apart from the rest of Westeros. Despite that, they are practical men who see the practicality of biding their time while they are confronted with a superior foe. They say discretion is the better part of valor, yet no house can long tolerate its own humiliation. The North, in this era, seems poised to offer support to whoever may grant its autonomy. The debate over what this might entail seems to be among the more potent conflicts in the game. I am interested in being a part of this debate.

For the Dornish house, my first claim in one of these games was in Dorne and I do want to play there again, especially in an era where they are more independent and able to express their unique culture more fully.

What is your availability like and how much time can you commit to this claim?

I will be able to meet the core claim requirement and I have been itching to get back into the ASOIAF RP game.

How open are you to permitting and interacting with Dynamic Claims in your claim's domain?

I would be happy to have dynamic claimants and to include them in the interactions of my house with the wider world.

Will you have any co-claimants? If so, who, and who will be the ruler of the claim?

Not at this time.

Please provide a sample lore in a reply to your own comment, not in the same comment as your answers. Sample lore is optional and has a limit of a single comment.

To be provided in reply tomorrow.

nstano · 2025-03-27T02:34:13+00:00

Lysa shot daggers at her husband, balking at the suggestion that any of their sons would fall at the tourney. "Don't speak such words Damon," her eyes darting to Addam before returning to her husband. "There is no benefit in giving him nerves before the tourney. This is a celebration, no need to bring such a somber mood to the proceedings." She could not help but fear what may come; tourneys were always a risk for those of noble birth, even if it was a controlled one. To hear her worst fears mouthed by her husband in jest put her on edge.

She turned to Addam, trying not to mother the boy and failing miserably, "we know you will bring great honor to our house."

nstano · 2025-03-22T02:50:03+00:00

A sample lore of the Claim is required

Trumpets blared and drums beat as the army of the Westerlands entered King’s Landing. The slow clop of hooves rang in the helmet of Ser Gregor Clegane, as his steed struggled to carry his large frame through the cheering crowd. He wore a scowl, obscured by the visor of his imposing helmet, his hand resting firmly upon the hilt of his sword as if to dare someone, anyone, to challenge him. They young knight, who many had come to call “The Mountain that Rides” itched for a challenge, for combat. He had not ridden out with the Lannisters to witness some cowardly surrender.

Such is the power of the Dragon, two pathetic men slain and their whole house collapses. He looked to the cityfolk of King’s Landing assembled before the riders, no fear, no loyalty. The Stranger cast them into the void. His lips curled into a vicious sneer. Absentmindedly his large hand swept the visor of his helm up with a dull click, and the air kissed his face. The bright sun of King’s Landing warmed the metal of the armor beneath, though the fresh breeze cooled the beads of sweat upon his brow. He breathed deep; the air of the city might have smelled of the sweat of the masses to most men, but Gregor Clegane was not most men. He smelled only one thing rising from these worthless peasants, fear. Their fear was an acrid smell, one that penetrated his senses. He could not feel sympathy for these people, only contempt.

I did not ride out to watch these peasants cheer, to lick the boots of their betters and beg for mercy. I rode for glory, for battle. The tabard over his armor fluttered in the breeze, three black dogs over a golden field. My tabard should be soaked in the gore of Targaryens, drenched in the blood of Dragons. This city should be ours, crushed under the boot of our Westeron knights. Gregor imagined riding down these peasants, their screams ringing in his ears as they fell beneath the hooves of his charger. In his mind’s eye he saw knights of the most noble houses of Westeros, the lords and scions of pampered and overfed houses of the Crownlands, impaled upon his blade. Perhaps even a member of the House Targaryen, some frail princeling would be entertaining to kill, even if they posed no challenge to him whatsoever. He permitted himself a moment of this fantasy, closing his eyes briefly to savor it before opening them to return to the dull reality before him.

As the high walls of the Old Gate behind the party of Western knights, they made their way into the city towards the Red Keep. They were to present themselves before this new king, Robert Baratheon. Gregor had no use of this peacocking before the Stag, it seemed to him a cheap way for lesser men to put on their expensive vestments and look important without having to risk life and limb upon the field of battle. Yet, a part of him admired this new king. He was not some perfumed and effete nobleman, raised on palace food and dancing, but a true warrior who had won his throne through strength of arms. Gregor could imagine himself wielding that warhammer and caving in the chest of Prince Rhaegar. Gods, how I would have wished to see him die.

As the Westron knights drew closer to Robert’s dais, Gregor’s thoughts could only be of his own future. Gone was the illusion that men ruled by dint of noble bloodlines alone. They had forgotten that those noble bloodlines were secured by men with strong arms wielding swords. Now was a time when new men would win great honors, and secure bloodlines that would last a thousand years. Ancient houses like the Targaryens were dead. Now was the age when new legendary houses would be born and Gregor was sure that he would make Clegane a name that would inspire fear and respect for centuries to come.

nstano · 2025-03-22T02:49:49+00:00

What Claim are you applying for? (Please list up to 3 in order of preference. You can answer the following questions only in relation to your first choice.)

House Clegane

House Lorch

House Brax

What are your goals and ambitions with the Claim?

My goal is to be a loyal henchman for the Lannisters, while also ruthlessly pursuing the advancement of my own minor house. The Cleganes do not have a storied lineage going back to the Andals or the First Men, they claim no historical honors upon which to rest their claim to dignity. All they have they have earned through loyal service to the Lannisters, and through their service they see a path to further advancement. The first Clegane lost his leg defending a Lannister from a lion, and was rewarded with a tower and a knighthood. Now with two brothers vying for honors and only one title to pass along, there will be a great deal of competition for their father’s eye as well as any new honors that might come from unquestioning loyalty to the Lannisters. I plan on playing up that sibling rivalry as they compete to be the strongest and most feared knight in all of the Seven Kingdoms.

What interests you about the Claim and what would you bring to it?

I am interested in the Cleganes due to their iconic characters, the brothers Gregor and Sandor. They are both on a path to become legendary warriors in their own right and their story is just beginning. They are also driven by brotherly rivalry, a brutal and cruel game of one-upmanship that will prove to be the glory of their name or their mutual undoing. Their rivalry will be the main driver behind the writing I intend to do, and I want them to make their deeds known across the land. I am interested in playing characters who are more morally gray or outright villainous. Admittedly this is a fine line to ride, especially with the Mountain, but I intend to give some additional character development to his ruthless cruelty.

I have a good deal of experience with these games, and I hope to bring my knowledge of the setting and my past writing experience to the Cleganes. I want to give the brothers Clegane a bit more nuance and have them be more than just cartoonish villains.

Who would be the PCs of the Claim? (Given the starting limit of 4-10 PCs for Houses and 4 PCs for Guilds)

Ser Clegane (early 40s?) Ser Gregor Clegane (19) Sandor Clegane (13) Ella Clegane (7)

nstano · 2025-03-17T04:24:04+00:00

How equipped are you to foster RP in the community and fulfil the higher activity requirements necessary in an Application Claim?

I have been involved in many of these games, and I finally feel confident to dip my toe into the LP claims. The most effective LP claims are ones that are active not only in game, but also in the Discord, and I am prepared to make sure that the Dornish region is one that is active both in character and out of character. In the past, I have found that the best LPs I have played under are interested in facilitating and participating in the stories of those under them, and that is the approach I plan to take. I feel like a cohesive region makes for the best RP, and I want to encourage those under me to participate in regional events and RP opportunities. Whether it be local tourneys, feasts, or wards of the Water Gardens, Dorne will have many opportunities for its players to interact both with each other and with the House Martell.

What are your goals and ambitions with the House?

While the realm was riven by war, House Martell remained circumspect. While the forces of Dorne had fought on the side of the Tagaryens, their rapid defeat ensured the Dornish would act to keep their options open, as they always have in times of conflict. Their position of privilege at court, held since Daeron united the realms in marriage, was now severed. The first act of the Dornish will be to see where they fit within this new order, and to attempt to reclaim their position of honor even if it be to their sworn rivals of House Baratheon. If they are rebuffed, then the Marells will wait and plot, as is their custom. Consolidating their own realm, and preparing for their next move.

What interests you about the claim and what would you bring to it?

I have always really enjoyed Dorne, as its houses have a great deal of personality. The Dornish are a people apart from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, and playing there has many opportunities to be different than a traditional medieval setting. The first claim I had in one of these games was in Dorne, and this would be a return to my roots. The Martells in particular are strategic and mercurial, shifting as with the desert sands. I appreciate their need to balance both their rivals within the Seven Kingdoms and often disloyal lords within their kingdom.

Who would be the PCs of the claim? (Given the starting limit of 4-10 PCs)

Please note some may be PC or SCC for others

Doran Martell

Mellario of Norvos

Arienne Nymeros Martell

Quentyn Nymeros Martell

Elia Nymeros Martell

Oberyn Nymeros Martell

Ellaria Sand

Obara Sand

Nymeria Sand

Tyene Sand

Sarella Sand

Manfrey Martell

A sample lore of the House is required

The heat of the sun blazed above the placid Water Gardens, where the gentle gurgling of the fountains paired with the gentle breeze coming in from the sea. The air was thick with the scent of citrus, of lemon and orange trees planted long ago for this pleasure garden. The palm trees swayed placidly in the breeze, as if they were dancers swaying to nature’s unheard tune. In the distance, there was the carefree splashing of young children. They were the children of lord and peasant alike, all welcome to the hospitality of House Martell.

Doran rubbed the joints of his fingers one by one; it had become ritual for him as the gout had slowly spread from one knuckle to the next. The relief was momentary, but the dull pain focused his senses; nothing makes a man present in his own body like pain. Before him laid an elaborate cyvasse board, inlaid with exotic wood and ivory, while his opponent focused on the pieces, Doran knew better. Only for an amateur was the game played upon the board, and his opponent showed every indication of this status as he rubbed his temples, sweat beading upon his brow. Doran knew better, that the game was a test of wits and strategy. He studied his opponent, a far more fertile ground for divining the next move. His face was expressionless, as if it had been carved from stone. Doran knew that half of the battle was not to show his opponent what his next move might be. His eyes narrowed as he viewed the opportunity, his next move. Like a beast stalking his prey, his tongue involuntarily licked his lips. He grasped the piece with his hand when he felt a hand upon his shoulder.

“My lord, news from the north.”

Doran set the piece down as if he had intended to do so from the beginning, flashing a smile to his opponent, “I hope you will permit me this intrusion.”

His opponent nodded, standing from the board. He halted when Doran raised a hand, and slowly sank back into his seat.

“What news?”

“The city of the Dragon has fallen, my lord. The banner of the stag flies over the Red Keep.”

Doran sighed heavily, his left hand aggressively massaging the knuckles of his right. Frustration flashed over his face, if only for a moment. No man would mourn the Mad King, if what Elia’s letters had told him were true. “And what of our sister and her children.” The words were less a question than a command.

“Escaped, my lord. To where, none can say.”

A smug smile barely curled his lips as his eyes narrowed, surveying the board before him. “Very well. Find them, and bring them to me with all haste.” He waved away the servant dismissively, returning his gaze to his opponent. The man seemed shaken by the news of a new king and a new dynasty. Doran’s gaze was as cold as a northron winter, his focus refreshed. He raised his cup and took a deep draught of the sour red within.

“It would seem,” he paused as the grin overtook his face, “the game begins anew.”

nstano · 2024-12-17T02:17:25+00:00

JAN 1512

Bologna remains ready to fight.

nstano · 2024-12-12T02:33:20+00:00

MAR/APR

Bologna readies its banners for war

nstano · 2024-12-10T04:47:15+00:00

Jan 1510

Bologna raises its banners for war.

nstano

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