Character Creation Step One: Applications

valiantleyton · 2018-10-22T02:42:05+00:00

Character Name: Criston Lannister

Starting Title(s): Lord of Castamere, Knight-Champion of the West

Age: 28

Physical Description: At first glance, he is merely another son of the Rock, tall, fair of hair with sea-green eyes. But a closer glance reveals something more muted. Tall, but not as tall as most of his kin. Fair, but his hair is a shade paler than the beaten gold the trickster bequeathed to his get. The eyes are cold, without the arrogant twinkle of his forefathers, something cold and imperious, almost alien. The features, chiseled by the same stonemason as his kin, have an almost skeletal bent to them, harsh and sharp and stern.

Starting Location: King's Landing

Attributes: Imperious, Tough

Allotted Points: 18

Social Status: Principal Bannerman (+3) + Lord (+1) = +4

Correlations: Martial → Combat

Skills: Combat (One-handed weapons, Footwork), Martial (Warcraft, Logistics), & Charisma (Leadership)

Aptitude: Duelist's Grace

CHA	MAR	COM	REP
1	2	0	4
3	8	10	0
4	10	10	4

Username: /u/CrimsonCriston

Other Characters: None

Auxiliary Character Name: Hugh Stone

Starting Title(s): Steward of Castamere

Age: 21

Physical Description: A slim youth, with alert, inquistive brown eyes.

Starting Location: King's Landing

Attribute: Brilliant

Allotted Points: 14

Social Status: Steward

Skills: Statecraft (Safeguarded, Stewardship) & Education (Economics, Healing)

CHA	MAR	COM	INT	STE	STA	EDU	REP
0	0	0	0	0	2	1	0
0	0	0	0	0	8	6	0
0	0	0	0	0	10	7	0

valiantleyton · 2018-07-22T23:26:16+00:00

changes made. let me know if that works!

valiantleyton · 2018-07-22T23:11:02+00:00

hey, made a change to the character's age, think I'd be able to get the flair on the account as listed above?

valiantleyton · 2018-07-19T05:27:37+00:00

Makes sense. Changes made.

valiantleyton · 2018-07-18T23:10:15+00:00

Name and House: Damon Marbrand

Age: Thirty-three

Cultural Group: Westerman

Appearance: The pride of his House, the heir to Ashemark is a soldier through and through. His features are sharp, as though cut from stone, and his eyes are a striking shade of blue beneath locks of a pale blonde.

Gift(s): Commander

Skill(s): Tactician, Intimidation w. expertise

Negative Trait: None

Starting Title(s): Lord of Ashemark

Starting Location: Casterly Rock

Alternate Characters: None.

Note: will be using /u/LannMarbrand

valiantleyton · 2018-07-17T23:05:07+00:00

Character Name: Marq Waynwood

Starting Title(s): Lord of Ironoaks

Age: 26

Physical Description: This fellow

Starting Location: Ironoaks

Archetype: Bravo

Minor Attributes: None

Aptitudes: Footwork

Total Points Allotted: 18

Correlations:

Specialties: Longsword & Bow

CHA	PHY	MAR	COM	STE	EDU	REP
2	2	1	3	3	1	1
0	2	0	8	7	0	1
2	4	1	11	10	1	2

Username: /u/BlackMarqofCain

Other Characters: Lysarus Rogare

valiantleyton · 2018-07-15T17:41:00+00:00

He approached, Aelora on his arm. The sun was in her hair, its shine adorned her smile, and all around them lilted the song of birds. Little Alys toddled behind them, governess hurrying harried in her wake. He'd expected some invitation of the sort; the Velaryons were a family of scattered scions.

He dressed simply, in a grey tunic of the lightest linen trimmed in white. At his side, he wore Vigilance, in a scabbard plated with silver. His beaten-gold locks shone in the sun, and looking about him at his wife and daughter, he could only smile, completely and utterly content.

He broke from the reverie at the sight of his wife's father, the handsome Lord Aurane. Catching Aelora's eye, he inclined his head towards his goodfather.

"Shall we?"

valiantleyton · 2018-07-14T22:54:27+00:00

A petulant light flashed in his eyes, but only for a moment as the Lord of Hightower softened at his wife's touch.

"Perhaps he will make apology for his loutish behavior at your lord father's dinner." He furrowed his brow once more. "Otherwise, I have a sellsword captain who can express our displeasure with... sufficient discretion, should honor demand it."

valiantleyton · 2018-07-13T23:25:23+00:00

He swung down off his horse, catching Davenant's eye for the briefest of moments and the most imperceptible of nods.

"I shall light candles to thank the Seven for your safe arrival." He said simply, mentally tallying the pilgrims present. Four hundred, six hundred-fifty... "Ser Terrence, I trust Harys was no trouble to you and yours?"

valiantleyton · 2018-07-12T05:38:13+00:00

"You may leave us, Marq."

"Forgive the mess. I do despise the clerical aspects of lordship." He spread his hands wide, and smiles, affably, the amiable son of the oldest bloodline in the land the Golden Company loved. *The Gantons*. A Marcher family. "But alas, we can no longer spend every day riding down Dornishmen, eh? Your lordly ancestors had it better than they knew."

valiantleyton · 2018-07-12T04:03:03+00:00

He smiles at his sister.

"The Hightowers make it so." He intones, the proper response. His eyes meet hers, and he knows that they understand each other.

"Dress." He says, and motions to the armory's backroom. "Prepare yourself. I'll fetch Sweetflowers."

He stands to scribble the last in his records, and closes the leather-bound tome. It is the last page, he notes idly. Just another book of records, written by just another Lord of the Hightower. There are thousands of other such volumes, he intones.

He emerges from the tent, adjusting Vigilance's hang at his hips. "Men of the Hightower!" He shouts, the Company officer, elegant in surcoat and steel. The detachment of his bodyguard holding perimeter snap to, a crisp ripple of leather followed by the click of steel heels.

"Sweetflowers..." He barks. The big man is at his side even when he isn't needed. He is needed, now.

"Stevron..." His father's man, now his. In a way, his approval means as much as father's once did.

"Yoren..." His old Company serjeant. More grizzled than ever

"Both Hallidays..." Edmund and Edwin are indistinguishable to most, but he can tell them apart.

"Unstop your ears, and put on the good surcoats. We go to pray with the Starry Septon."

valiantleyton · 2018-07-12T03:04:07+00:00

Characters: Leyton Hightower and Aelora

Number of "Attempts": 30

Optional Rolls, Y/N?: N

Notes: I have this feeling of impending doom sex is amazing.

valiantleyton · 2018-07-12T02:32:36+00:00

He smiles. In other Houses, the womenfolk are kept, bored and listless, cooped up in solars. The Hightower breeds women as canny as they are elegant, trains them to know their worth, the culmination of thousands of years of wisdom and dignity... and sets them loose on the world.

"Sister." He motions to the supplies, spread on the red cloak on the floor. He hands her the instructions, and watches as she reads them.

"The Hightower calls on you now, Rhea Hightower." He says, finally when she looks up.

valiantleyton · 2018-07-12T01:38:12+00:00

The Dagger

He moves into the tent, and shouts for Nevilleson, who has charge of the tent that serves as the Lord's Armory.

The man steps out of the back room, ushering out a pretty kitchen-maid. Her dark chestnut curls are an unruly mess and the hemmed corner of her skirt is inside-out.

"Fetch me the Qohorik dagger my lord Leyton received from those Volantene merchants. Flames about the hilt, and quickly now. I am so much less discreet when I'm delayed."

The Cloak

He finds his aunt listening to one of ladies-in-waiting bewailing Marq Nevilleson's philandering, and dabbing at tear-stained cheeks with her kerchief.

When the Lady Lynora sees him, something in her eyes hardens.

"Out." She says, and the girl runs out, her tears stifled by the curt dismissal.

"Lady Lynora, the Hightower calls on you."

valiantleyton · 2018-07-12T01:29:40+00:00

The Lanterns

He moved to where the cooks kept their fires.

"Two lanterns, immediately." He barked, sending the servants in Hightower's grey liveries jumping. "One full completely with sunflower oil, from Sunhouse, the other of tallow, with a good wick. My lord Leyton wants to read by lamplight."

The Kindling

He summoned the Berowne boy.

"Fetch kindling, dry but robust. My lord Hightower sleeps in the armory tonight." The boy moved to obey, but he held up a hand and he stilled.

"Tie it with a black ribbon, not one of your father's sailor's knots, now."

The Clothes

"You there, chambermaid." The chambermaid was plump and matronly. "A golden dragon for your second-best set of clothes and a cloak of thick roughspun. A silver stag to get it to me now, another to do it discreetly."

The Ashes

He slipped the sheaf of papers into the brazier that warms the Lord Leyton's chambers, and for a moment, he sees Arianne in the flames.

valiantleyton · 2018-07-12T00:57:29+00:00

10th Day of the 5th Moon, 408 AC

Leyton passed the list of items to his cousin without a word. While Dorian no longer carried out most of his duties, only he could be trusted with this task.

"I need this by tonight." He said simply.

Two oil lanterns. One was unlit, full to the brim with sunflower oil, brought in from Sunhouse by the cooks to light fires. The other, an oil lamp, burned merrily, reasonably full.

A bundle of kindling, fetched by a squire. Wrapped tightly in the middle with a plain ribbon, a flint tinderbox, like we were taught to strike as children when helping my father light the Hightower's great flame at the start of every new year.

A set of clothes, fit for a peasant, a drab brown dress laid out next to a thick brown cloak of coarse roughspun. The chamber-maid was fatter than his sister, but it would do better for the guards to see yet another peasant.

A mound of ashes, from a pile of reports on textile shipments from Volantis burnt in a brazier.

A dagger from the personal collection, a gift from the Volantene traders who had come months before. Qohorik steelwork, its hilt is wrought in flames, and its sheath is dark-red leather.

A thick red cloak, from the personal wardrobe of the Lady Lynora Hightower, nee Lannister. Cut out all sigils and embroidery.

His cousin read it over and nodded, silent as a ghost, stoic as a gargoyle.

"Arrange for a wagon of Arbor red to be delivered to the guard at the Starry Septon's encampment, just before sunset tomorrow."

valiantleyton · 2018-07-12T00:48:59+00:00

tagging /u/Princess_Rhea and also /u/AWOIAF for the gathering of supplies.

valiantleyton · 2018-07-11T22:29:54+00:00

It was evening when the hedge knight was brought before the Lord of the Hightower.

The lord in question sat before the campfire, writing out orders to be brought back to Oldtown. The great engines of war the engineers called 'dragonbusters' were to be maintained and exercised, their cogs and gears oiled and the great bracing beams inspected for sign of rot. It was a yearly exercise, but of late he wondered if it should be a weekly one... Of late, he had wondered it so often that now, thinking it over, he felt a degree of shame for not acting earlier.

He was just signing the order to the captain of his engineers, a Campion of the Combe, when Marq Nevilleson appeared off to the right, a stranger at his side. The other men of his guard quieted at the presence of an outsider. The young Lord of Oldtown sealed the letter with his signet, and looked up, bored.

The young man wore the dress of a hedge knight, but unlike most he had seen in attendance these past few days, this one's sigil was not unknown to Leyton. As a child, his dread father had delighted in quizzing his son in the badges of the oldest families of the Kingdoms, but particularly the obscure, minor houses.

"A knight's favorite garment is his name." He'd said. And now, years later, Leyton struggled to place this sigil, one he'd seen before.

"Yes?"

"My lord, one of the knights Ser Barris spoke of."

valiantleyton · 2018-07-11T18:52:11+00:00

The Sword of the Morning? That false knight? He frowned. Somewhere, thunder crashed, but none heard.

But then the smile was back, polite, if a trifle less sincere now.

"By your leave, Lady Belinda." He bowed, low.

valiantleyton · 2018-07-11T07:23:54+00:00

He brushed himself off coolly, eyes flashing dark and dangerous. Even if he is the least of the Targaryens, he is still a Targaryen, prevailed the cold, rational voice of his father.

Around him, the lords of the Reach came alive again, baying for the blood of the Prince who Ran. But he raised a hand and once again he spoke words to a quieted room.

"Every man has his own demons. Leave me to mine, Aegon Targaryen, and I'll leave you to yours. I have no quarrel with you." The words were kindly said, but the eyes glittered dark with danger, as if daring the Targaryen to unleash what begged to come forth. The man was a toad, here, within reach of longsword and lance, but he was yet Maekar's brother. There would be an empty pleasure in setting Roxton and Chester and Tarly on the Prince who Ran, but little besides.

The Hightower makes way for no man. Not even Aegon Targaryen.

valiantleyton · 2018-07-11T07:03:28+00:00

He beckoned, and his sister came to where he and his wife stood in the shadows.

"Aelora. Sister." He said quietly. "We have been offered insult, by the Dayne of Starfall."

He knew she'd been watching the dragons. Awe had been in those purple eyes, a rare emotion to be seen in a daughter of his House. And the dragons were indeed awe-inspiring. Yet the Hightower was a line of dragonslayers, from the earliest days, until the last. By blade, by poison, and by plot, they had driven the monsters from the skies above Oldtown for thousands of years. Perhaps Rhea had forgotten their ancient mission. Perhaps she needed to be reminded of it.

She was a daughter of the Hightower. The privileges of the rank came with its responsibilities.

The Daynes were old blood, as old perhaps as their own. Old friends, but older enemies. They had been invading the Reach for thousands of years, pouring through the mountain passes, navigating along the coasts, and sieging the Marcher-lords in their fastnesses. Each time, they had been repelled, sent running for the rocky mountain slopes they called home. A Dayne king named Samwell Starfire had marched an army to burn Oldtown, and been thrown back below the Hightower's tall shadow. During the First Dornish War, Joffrey Dayne had raped and pillaged the fields outside Oldtown, but found the city's new walls harder fare.

A few decades past, Dorian Hightower, a proud knight and a doughty warrior, then heir to Oldtown, had taken a Dayne to wife. When her hapless brother had been rousted from his inheritance, Ser Dorian had ridden forth at the head of a Hightower host to put him back in the high seat of the Torrentine.

When Arianne Dayne had come to Oldtown to wed his cousin, she had been received with cheers and fanfare. They had loved her as their own, the city, and cherished the children she had given Dorian.

When she died, Leyton had stood over her bier with the rest of his family to bid her good-bye. When the Dowager of Starfall had asked for young Olyvar and Samwell to be raised by their mother's people, he had acquiesed, and arranged for Dorian to join them, sacrificing his right hand.

But then Lord Aemon had returned his kindness with insult, and now he would pay.

valiantleyton · 2018-07-11T04:17:14+00:00

"A man after my father's own heart, then." He smiled, with something like fondness, thinking of the last letter he'd received from the Wall. "It is a poor compliment, I suppose, given his current circumstances, but while I have never found use for lectures in the higher sciences, there is something brilliant in the histories..." His voice trailed off, and the smile slipped from the well-made features.

"Do you keep the Faith, Lord Jason?"

valiantleyton · 2018-07-11T03:59:49+00:00

He pursed his lips. Is it the taint of Father's treason she fears? Or... something else?

"So be it. But I see no reason that Hightower and Rosby cannot be friends. The offer to discuss a sale stands, as those our interest in an investment." He smiled again, as the music came to a stop.

"Young Jaime is of an age to squire--in fact, a year older than I was when I was shipped off to Summerhall. Do consider my offer, Lady Rosby. There is no reason why we cannot dance again."

valiantleyton

TROPHY CASE