Histories & Lore of the Invasion
Alara Caron – Bastardy
With bitter tears pouring down her face, Alara was lying on her bed. Her c… moreheek was still thumping with pain, though unlike the grief she felt, it slowly faded. Today could have been different. It should have been different! Why was she so clumsy? So stupid, so worthless? She had disappointed him once again, had ruined the entire day, it had been her fault and hers alone...
“Ryman, get over here”, the raspy voice of Jaycen sounded. Alara looked up as her eldest brother walked next to their father. Or, his father, as Jaycen was always quick to point out. She wasn't his daughter, yet he was the only father she knew.
“Gareth, you're going to stand next to him”, Jaycen barked and her second brother sluggishly walked up towards Ryman. He was half a head shorter and his lack of training showed itself, especially compared to Nightsong's heir. Ryman was their pride, the best of … [view original content]
Hello! Those of you who read FoT, or maybe even Nymeria's War, know that I like to draw characters I'm not a master artist, but the main purpose is just to give a visual image of what could the characters look like, and I can do that well enough (I guess). So, recently Stigz suggested me to try and draw some of the Invasion characers, which I happily did! The ones I drew are Davios Tallman (my own character) and Alara Caron. I hope you like 'em, I might do some more in the future
Hello! Those of you who read FoT, or maybe even Nymeria's War, know that I like to draw characters I'm not a master artist, but the main pu… morerpose is just to give a visual image of what could the characters look like, and I can do that well enough (I guess). So, recently Stigz suggested me to try and draw some of the Invasion characers, which I happily did! The ones I drew are Davios Tallman (my own character) and Alara Caron. I hope you like 'em, I might do some more in the future
Wow, this is incredible Ever since I've heard that you're going to draw these, I've been hyped, but the end result is even better than I hoped for! I love just about everything with these drawings. Obviously, I am very happy about Alara and the way she turned out is perfect. I really recognize the character I had in mind while submitting her. That cape is a particular detail I like very much and it suits her And Davios is simply amazing as well. Just like with Alara, I feel like his personality has been captured really well in this image, with the facial expression and posture. With him, I find the detail on the clothes especially nice, that tabard has to be among has to be among the best pieces of clothing you ever drew in the forum. Oh man, I literally can't stop marvelling at them. Wonderful work, thank you for drawing these
Hello! Those of you who read FoT, or maybe even Nymeria's War, know that I like to draw characters I'm not a master artist, but the main pu… morerpose is just to give a visual image of what could the characters look like, and I can do that well enough (I guess). So, recently Stigz suggested me to try and draw some of the Invasion characers, which I happily did! The ones I drew are Davios Tallman (my own character) and Alara Caron. I hope you like 'em, I might do some more in the future
Hello! Those of you who read FoT, or maybe even Nymeria's War, know that I like to draw characters I'm not a master artist, but the main pu… morerpose is just to give a visual image of what could the characters look like, and I can do that well enough (I guess). So, recently Stigz suggested me to try and draw some of the Invasion characers, which I happily did! The ones I drew are Davios Tallman (my own character) and Alara Caron. I hope you like 'em, I might do some more in the future
Alright, I promise I won't be spamming the thread constantly, but I have one more drawing for you And I think @LiquidChicagoTed, you are especially going to like this one I drew Alara again, this time with a bit different style.
Alright, I promise I won't be spamming the thread constantly, but I have one more drawing for you And I think @LiquidChicagoTed, you are especially going to like this one I drew Alara again, this time with a bit different style.
Her bedroom was quiet, with the only noise being the struggling breaths she managed to gasp into her chest. Her eyes wandered around the bright room, the soft warm breeze drifted through the open window. The sunlight peered through, shining on the portraits she had painted all her life, when there had been little else to do. She longed to get out of her bed, to peer down into the gardens she had tended to herself. Alas, she was trapped in her bed.
Her eyes drifted between each of her paintings, which showed a wide and wonderful variety of her skill. The beauty of her garden, where she had taken to her hand to portray the flowers that blossomed. She could not help but roll her eyes, to which she found they landed on a specific painting. An outdated family portrait.
For once in her past few weeks, she felt her eyes working hard and determined to identify those in the painting. She saw her father, King Waldemar, a crown of shells and rare dark green corals resting atop his head. Beside him were his two sons, Waldryn and Wyman. By Waldryn’s side was his wife Gemma, and their two children: Warmond and Wynne. Wyman stood tallest out of all in the portrait, breaching nearly eight feet. Beside the giant of a man stood a woman Wyona barely recognised, but that woman was her.
She saw a sadness in her own eyes, a sadness which she still held to this day. Yet, there was now joy and pride to overcome that sadness, as she had learnt when raising most of the Manderly children herself. Her eyes flickered across to the other women in the portrait. Lady Gemma Webber, known as the ‘Iron Spider.’ She too carried an overwhelming sadness in her eyes.
She recalled each of the individuals in the painting, counting those who were still alive to this day. Waldryn and his wife, Gemma, had passed nearly a decade ago. While her old father still lived, her older brother Wyman had not been named heir. That position had been granted to Waldryn’s son, Warmond. There had been much dispute and argument over the matter, and much unrest in the kingdom because of it. Though, it was Wyman himself who had accepted to the arrangement. Wyman was a warrior, he left the highly intellectual politics to that of his father and deceased brother. He was unfit to rule in his father’s footsteps, but a monster when it came to war.
Wyona sighed and shook her head, resting her straining eyes. They had all aged, for better or worse. King Waldemar was close to his ninetieth name day, and Wyman had reached his seventieth. Warmond was in his mid-fifties, being older than any of his uncles from the Hightower marriage. The everloving Wynne was only four years younger than Warmond, and Wyona herself was in her mid-sixties. The years had taken their toll on her, though the years had never been kind to her.
She rolled her weak head to her left, looking out the window at the bright blue sky. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky from where she lay, and the sun would surely have been beautiful on her garden this time of the day. Her eyes rolled back to the bedside table beside her, to which her eyes fell upon the beautiful Mermaid Pearls on her necklace. Only three remained, though they never lacked in their beauty as the years went by, unlike her crone-like self.
The door swung open with a mighty thud against the stone brick wall, and the giant of a man entered, followed by the panicking Water Maidens. Wyona could not help but smile at the sight of her older brother, and the looks of the panicked Water Maidens that chased after him in a hurry.
“Please, Prince Wyman!” The youngest of them wailed, attempting to grab his arms. “She needs her rest, you must come another time.” Another begged, assisting her friend. Wyman brushed them girls off of him, sending a menacing glare in their direction.
“Leave us.” He growled, though to Wyona’s surprise the girl’s remained stationary. Their eyes looked to Wyona, who returned to them with a gentle nod.
“Thank you, girls. I think I can deal with my brutish brother.” Wyona jokingly assured, wearing a mocking smile to her brother. He replied with a saddened frown, and the girls nodded and took their leave. Wyman knelt down beside his weakened sister, taking hold of her outstretched hand.
“How are you, little sister?” He asked, dearly clutching her small hand between his own large hands. She stared at them with wonder, they were the hands that had been used to kill men, and now they held onto her own. She gently shrugged her shoulders, looking back to the family portrait.
“About the same as always, I suppose.” She said gently, looking at the features of her brother in his younger stages. She looked back to him now, his chiseled face and turquoise eyes remained the same. Only now, his face was lightly covered in wrinkles, and his shoulder length hair had greyed. His face was still cleanly shaven, and his large stature still granted him the title of ‘Strong Merman.’ Though his fearful eyes were now weakened and sympathetic at the sight of his dying sister. His eyes spotted the Pearls on her bedside desk, and a glimmer of hope flickered in his eyes. Wyona shook her head.
“No.” She gently said, placing her other hand on top of his. His eyes darted back at her, pleading, begging. “You must.” He said, and she gently grasped his hand.
“Only to get sick again in another few weeks. No, I will not use them. There will be a time where others may need them.” The painful look in his eyes stabbed at her like sharpened needles, piercing her in every part of her heart she could imagine. She managed to allow herself a small, weak smile. “I can’t imagine you came here just to visit your sickened sister.” Wyona prompted, and Wyman lowered his eyes and nodded. He freed her hands and rested his own on his knees.
“Father called, there’s a council to be had. I only learnt of your suffering when I arrived.” Wyman admitted, and Wyona gently shook her head with a smile. “You knew of my suffering from when we were children. Only now, my life is coming to an end.” Wyona sighed, rubbing her hands. “Will you stay around for the funeral?” Her question clearly caught her old brother by surprise, as his eyes widened.
“Don’t say that, Wyona. You’ll be fine.” He encouraged, forcing a fake smile and offering his hand. Wyona fought hard not to shed a tear, but she smiled in return.
“You want me to live, and I respect that. Though you do not know my pain, my suffering. All things come to an end, and mine will be soon. So will you please, just please promise me that you will attend the service. I don’t imagine many others will.” His frown was heavy, though Wyona received a strong and dedicated nod in reply. Her smile was enough to thank him, and for a moment they just stared into each other’s eyes. The turquoise eyes of their father, and their mother, and the supposed Merling blood that ran through their veins. Finally, a genuine smile widened on his old lips.
“I must go, the meeting will start soon.” Wyman’s words were calm and gentle, a surprise which Wyona accepted with gratitude. She nodded with a warm smile. “We will see each other again. I promise you.” Wyman stood on his promise and nodded to her, before walking to the door and exiting, leaving the door a creak open.
Wyona sighed, resting her back against her pillow. She gazed out the window, noticing that clouds were starting to pervert her beautiful sky. Her end was coming, it was now only a matter of time. She would be outlived by her father, and her older brother. The thought of it was strange to her, though deep inside she felt ready for her fate.
She turned her eyes back to her paintings, however as her eyes slowly drifted across the room, she noticed a familiar pair of eyes staring at her through the creak of the door. Wyona smiled. Wave was the nine year old daughter to Wyona’s half brother: Wendel.
“Come in, my girl.” Wyona quietly permitted, and the nosey girl quickly rushed through the door, climbed onto her bed and fell into Wyona’s open arms. The two held the embracement tightly, before Wyona felt the wet tears of her niece staining through her thin dress. The girl pulled away, her eyes wet and her lips quivering.
“Are you dying, Auntie?” She asked, her tone trembled and there was fear in her eyes. Wyona smiled and pull her back into a hug.
“Yes, my beautiful girl.” Wyona admitted, and she felt the weeps of the young girl grow harder. “Though there is no reason to be afraid, my sweet girl.” Wyona said with a smile. “With all life, there is death, and I will go to a place where there is no pain or suffering. Though I cannot take anything with me, so I have a gift for you.” Wave pulled away, her sad wettened eyes showed a hint of curiosity.
“What is it?” She asked, wiping away the tears with her soft little hands. Wyona smiled, looking over to the Mermaid Pearls on her bedside table. Wave’s eyes widened, she was speechless. Wyona nodded, answering to her question.
“The famed Mermaid Pearls.” Wyona concluded to her answer, yet she frowned as she stared at them. “They aren’t much now are they?” She asked, sitting herself up. Wave sat on her lap, staring at them with wonder.
“Only three pearls remain. When my father, your grandfather, gave the necklace to me there were seven. I was around your age back then, and I lost one of the pearls not long after when I was playing in the castle.” Wyona admitted, wondering where that pearl was still. She sighed and shook the thought from her head. “Three have been used throughout the duration of my life to save me from illness and near death experiences. You understand that these are more than just pretty stones on a golden chain, yes?” Wyona asked assuringly, and the little girl nodded in response.
“Clever girl, but remember that each pearl may only protect you from danger once. After that, it is gone.” Wyona looked at the pearls a final time, before brushing her feeble hands through Wave’s hair. “Take them, they’re yours.” Wyona said warmly, and the curious Wave grabbed the necklace, staring at the pearls. She then looked up to her aunt, her eyes still saddened.
“Shouldn’t you use them, Auntie?” Wyona smiled and shook her head, lifting Wave off her numbing knee. She placed the little girl on the ground, though she felt the strength starting the sap from her body, and the effort had left her drained.
“I would not dare waste another one on me. In fact, I fear that one might trigger if it is kept close to me any longer. So go, find the closest and most trustworthy children you like and give them a pearl each. I understand this may sound very strange to you, but one day you will understand. You’re a clever girl, and I know you’ll make the right decisions.” Wyona smiled at the girl, holding back the weakness she truly felt. “Now go, beautiful girl. Enjoy your life, live it well.” The young girl bobbed her head, rushing to the door of Wyona’s bedroom.
“I would also ask one last thing of you, little mermaid.” Wyona requested, stopping the girl before she could leave. Her inquisitive eyes turned back to her aunt. “The next time you see your grandfather, Waldemar, tell him I love him dearly, would you?” The girl nodded her head in acknowledgement.
“Yes Auntie.” She said with the kindness in her heart, before leaving Wyona alone in her deathbed.
Wyona sighed, resting against the frame of her bed. She slowly and carefully lowered herself down onto her pillow, taking a final glance around her room. Her beautiful paintings stared at her, the fantastic scenery and wonderful wild flowers. Her family portrait. Dozens of her accomplishments hung around her room, yet still she looked dissatisfied.
“What an awful painter I must have been, if these were truly my greatest works.” Wyona acknowledged, sinking into the comfort of her bed. The final comfort, her final words, before a world of darkness engulfed her when she shut her eyes. A new life awaits. She persuaded herself, before peacefully accepting her long overdue fate.
Hey all, so as you could tell this was a one off prologue PoV, which introduces the Manderly's into the story. There will be another Manderly PoV coming up soon, but I'm going to get to writing the next part. Hope you guys enjoyed the new part, and if you haven't already seen it, then scroll up to find another of @WildlingKing 's fantastic drawings!
Wyona
Her bedroom was quiet, with the only noise being the struggling breaths she managed to gasp into her chest. Her eyes wandered aroun… mored the bright room, the soft warm breeze drifted through the open window. The sunlight peered through, shining on the portraits she had painted all her life, when there had been little else to do. She longed to get out of her bed, to peer down into the gardens she had tended to herself. Alas, she was trapped in her bed.
Her eyes drifted between each of her paintings, which showed a wide and wonderful variety of her skill. The beauty of her garden, where she had taken to her hand to portray the flowers that blossomed. She could not help but roll her eyes, to which she found they landed on a specific painting. An outdated family portrait.
For once in her past few weeks, she felt her eyes working hard and determined to identify those in the painting. She saw her father, King Waldemar, a crown of shells … [view original content]
Alright, well this vote looks to be closed. Jarden will choose Paytan, which was the choice I expected to be honest. This will have some consequences down the track, though really they all did.
Jarden
He hovered over the old man for a moment, staring into his dead grey eyes. There was a sadness in them which was pleading to end, … morealmost begging Jarden for something. Jarden simply nodded, extending his hand to the old man. The frail old hand grasped onto Jarden’s skinny hand, and the alliance was sealed with a stern nod.
“It’s settled then.” Ethon revealed, letting out a sigh of relief. He looked to his daughter, Lexia, who smiled at him. “We’ll see Wyllam again.” He reciprocated her smile, and Jarden could tell it was clearly something he did not do often. Regardless, Jarden felt a strong sense of guilt haunting him, he had agreed to a deal which he had already broken. Jarden cleared his throat.
“I guess I’ll have to get back to Robar.” Jarden announced, his voice unsteady and a trickle of sweat running down his brow. “Inform him of the alliance.” Jarden added, rubbing his hands nervously. Ethon nodded, a weak smile remained… [view original content]
Wow, that was really beautiful and sad in same part. You handled it very well and even if it's one off PoV, you can feel the fact of part being completed as good it was supposed to, giving full picture and emotional state of the character. It will be really interesting storyline I must say. Perhaps little Wave will be another, young PoV? This could be interesting.
Wyona
Her bedroom was quiet, with the only noise being the struggling breaths she managed to gasp into her chest. Her eyes wandered aroun… mored the bright room, the soft warm breeze drifted through the open window. The sunlight peered through, shining on the portraits she had painted all her life, when there had been little else to do. She longed to get out of her bed, to peer down into the gardens she had tended to herself. Alas, she was trapped in her bed.
Her eyes drifted between each of her paintings, which showed a wide and wonderful variety of her skill. The beauty of her garden, where she had taken to her hand to portray the flowers that blossomed. She could not help but roll her eyes, to which she found they landed on a specific painting. An outdated family portrait.
For once in her past few weeks, she felt her eyes working hard and determined to identify those in the painting. She saw her father, King Waldemar, a crown of shells … [view original content]
Man, this is like christmas for me Even better, because at christmas, I have never gotten two wonderful drawings of my character before XD But seriously, this is amazing. I find it incredible how you always manage to draw the characters so much like I imagine them. Alara is simply spot on. Brilliant drawing, thanks a lot
Alright, I promise I won't be spamming the thread constantly, but I have one more drawing for you And I think @LiquidChicagoTed, you are especially going to like this one I drew Alara again, this time with a bit different style.
I was not expecting a one off PoV! Oh man, that was a sad part. For such a short appearance, you managed to show Wyona's character really well and her death already made me sad. But these pearls she had given to Wave, they are probably the thing that intrigue me the most about this part, as excellent as all of it was. I am highly curious how they work and well, I am absolutely sure we haven't seen the last of them.
Wyona
Her bedroom was quiet, with the only noise being the struggling breaths she managed to gasp into her chest. Her eyes wandered aroun… mored the bright room, the soft warm breeze drifted through the open window. The sunlight peered through, shining on the portraits she had painted all her life, when there had been little else to do. She longed to get out of her bed, to peer down into the gardens she had tended to herself. Alas, she was trapped in her bed.
Her eyes drifted between each of her paintings, which showed a wide and wonderful variety of her skill. The beauty of her garden, where she had taken to her hand to portray the flowers that blossomed. She could not help but roll her eyes, to which she found they landed on a specific painting. An outdated family portrait.
For once in her past few weeks, she felt her eyes working hard and determined to identify those in the painting. She saw her father, King Waldemar, a crown of shells … [view original content]
Wyona
Her bedroom was quiet, with the only noise being the struggling breaths she managed to gasp into her chest. Her eyes wandered aroun… mored the bright room, the soft warm breeze drifted through the open window. The sunlight peered through, shining on the portraits she had painted all her life, when there had been little else to do. She longed to get out of her bed, to peer down into the gardens she had tended to herself. Alas, she was trapped in her bed.
Her eyes drifted between each of her paintings, which showed a wide and wonderful variety of her skill. The beauty of her garden, where she had taken to her hand to portray the flowers that blossomed. She could not help but roll her eyes, to which she found they landed on a specific painting. An outdated family portrait.
For once in her past few weeks, she felt her eyes working hard and determined to identify those in the painting. She saw her father, King Waldemar, a crown of shells … [view original content]
The Merman council was nothing shy of a family gathering for the most part, yet the topic of discussion was never light. The silently sat behind the driftwood table, that looked to be more a trunk of wood growing from the cold stone slabs beneath their feet. However, like many other matters, King Waldemar had assured them the table was presented to them by the Merling King.
Warmond stared at the men and women around the table, all showing a variety of emotion in their expressions. His grandfather, King Waldemar, sat at the far end of the table, his expression stern yet his powerful turquoise eyes wandering and inquisitive. The old man was approaching his ninetieth year, and rumors had already arisen that there would be a grand ball to celebrate his nameday.
Warmond sat adjacent the king, and opposite of him was a vacant stone stool. The seat belonged to Wyman, who the council were currently waiting on. Beside Warmond sat his uncle, Prince Walter of Dunstonbury. ‘The Wild Merman,’ as he was better known. Opposite him sat Warmond’s other uncle, Prince Wendel of Northmander, the Marshall of Northmarch. Finally, beside Wendel sat his younger sister Waldina, as well as Wyman’s daughter: Wylda ‘Half-Witch.’
While Walter held a heavily bored frown on his face, Warmond felt the tingling of Wendel’s cocky smirk directed at him. Warmond had been ignoring the man for the past hour, yet he now found himself looking his younger uncle in the eyes. They were brown, and somewhat menacing in their gaze. His black hair was short, yet the most prominent feature of him were his large ears, of which he bragged his Florent descent from his grandmother’s side. The two men glared each other down for a moment, until Walter groaned in boredom.
“How much longer father?” He muttered, not bothering to raise his eyes when speaking. He was slumped over the table, his cheek resting against his fist. Waldemar stared at his son with distaste, which clearly caught Walter off guard.
“That’s once.” The old man warned, simply but intimidating with his tone. Walter sighed and nodded, lowering his eyes down to the creaks in the table. Warmond still stared at the smirking Wendel, who had now turned his attention to his father.
“Why not something to begin with while we wait? An appetiser? Something to talk of at the very least.” The offer remained untouched for a short moment, yet Waldemar finally agreed. Wendel grinned, clasping his hands together. Walter raised his eyes, yet his expression still remained the same. A rare smile appeared on Waldina’s lips, and the Half-Witch remained silent.
“Walter, how fares your bastard?” Waldemar asked with a strict and emotionless tone. Walter’s frown narrowed by the question, or by the title more importantly. “Wendy is doing well.” He responded with agitated words. Waldemar nodded, turning his eyes to Wendel. “And you? You brought your daughter with you when you arrived. How is young Wave?”
Wendel straightened his posture on the stool, grinning to the question as he sent his mocking glare to Warmond. “The little beauty is as nosey as she has always been. No doubt she’s with the other children, looking for that pearl which was lost all those years ago.” Wendel chuckled in amusement, yet Waldemar paid little mind to it. Waldina sighed, shaking her head.
“Has anyone had the time to speak with Wyona? I heard the news when I arrived, but I haven’t…” The Half-Witch raised her eyes, those amethyst eyes that she had inherited from her mother. “Father made her way to her chambers once we arrived.” She quietly admitted, and Walter nodded.
“The Aunt’s time has come. I suppose that means the pearls are handed over to some of us?” Walter directed his question to Waldemar, yet Warmond was the one who responded.
“Mind your tongue, Walter.” Warmond warned, yet he received only a rolling of the man’s eyes. Wendel piped up, the excitement to thrust his cocky insults were bubbling in him. “The Iron Merman speaks!” He announced, tapping his fingers on the table. “I wonder, will father give one of the pearls to his beloved heir? Or to one of his actual sons?” The smirk on his uncle’s lips remained for the shortest moment, before Waldemar’s fist slammed against the table, drawing everyone’s attention.
“Enough!” Waldemar growled, glaring at each of the members around the table. As if to break the suspense, the Strong Merman entered the room, quickly drawing the attention of mixed eyes.
“I apologise for my absence father.” Were his first words, before his eyes quickly skimmed over the other members of the council. “Brother’s, sister’s.” He greeted, before laying his eyes on Warmond. “Nephew.” He acknowledged as he passed him. He stopped behind his daughter, resting a hand on her shoulder and pecking her cheek.
“Shall we begin?” Walter asked with a rushed tone, and Waldemar nodded, waving Wyman to his seat. “We received word from Fair Isle.” Waldemar started, running his fingers through his long white beard. “Wylla claims that the Kracken worshiper has sent a fleet to the north, claiming over an isle known as Bear Island. I see this as an opportunity to cease iron from their lands.” The suggestion was more a statement than anything else. Waldina’s eyes stared deep into the cracks in the driftwood.
“There’s more to this then we know.” She forewarned, raising her eyes from the table and looking to her father, who stared back to her with curiosity. “You’ve seen it?” He asked, though Waldina disappointed him with a shake of her head. “No, but I have a strong feeling about this.” Waldemar shook his head.
“If we based our strategies off feelings than our kingdom would have fallen long ago. With the Western Fleet, we will join the Farman’s and show the Ironmen that our Flood Devours.” Walter nodded with a grin, and Wyman showed admirance, yet there was hesitation with the remaining members. Warmond rubbed his hands, looking to his grandfather.
“We should call on our allies in the Misty Isles. We could use the ships.” Warmond suggested, and Waldemar nodded in agreement. Warmond turned his gaze to Wyman. “Could you get word to Wyvern? He will lead the fleet.” Wyman nodded, stretching out his large hands. Wendel rolled his eyes.
“As the bastard always does.” He muttered with a chuckle to conclude. Wyman shook his head. “He’s no bastard, he’s the founder of his own house.” Though Wendel was not convinced. “He’s your son, but not your wife’s son. Sounds like a bastard to me, but then again, your wife left you for her beloved sorcery.” Wyman stood up with a great haste, knocking his stool over. His turquoise eyes glared into Wendel’s amusement.
“Shall we take this outside, false faith?” Wyman threatened, and Wendel grinned and shook his head. “Ha, if we were to leave this room my beautiful face would be left as nothing but pulp. No, I think the pain of this stool is enough for me to bare today.” Wyman’s temper was on the brink. Waldemar reached out and grabbed his son’s arm.
“Sit down.” He commanded, and for a moment there was hesitation in the furious giant’s eyes. Though he submitted, he had to. Wendel’s victorious smile made Warmond’s stomach churn. “So what of us?” Wendel asked, notioning to Walter with his eyes. “Hightower has mentioned his worries for the Andal threats in the east. If they send their ships our way, it will be the Hightower’s who suffer first.” Waldemar sighed, shaking his head.
“They have little worry about at this stage, my son. If anything, the Lannister’s should be of more concern.” Waldemar stated, though Wendel shook his head. “The Lannister’s haven’t got anything on us. We hold the Reach, while they hold some insignificant lands to the west.” Waldemar smiled, tapping his fingers on his head chair. “We have the Mander. The Gardener’s have the Reach.” Wendel rolled his eyes.
“Who are we kidding? The Gardener’s are basically our vassals, since our last war. Sure, they hold the title, but we hold the power. The Reach is ours.” Wendel proudly announced, grinning. Yet it was Walter to disagree with him.
“According to my scouts, the Gardener’s are building an army.” Warmond raised an eyebrow to this, turning to his eyes to Walter. “How big?” Walter shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. “Over twenty thousand. It could be for anything, the Andal’s, the Dornish, the Stormland’s.” Walter suggested, but Warmond shook his head.
“It’s too large a threat to go unnoticed. We should look further into it.” Warmond suggest, to which Waldemar nodded. “Agreed. Walter, you will take some of your best men and meet with that old king.” Waldemar turned his powerful eyes to Wendel. “King Garth may become a problem, in which case we must discuss this with our allies. Notify our vassals, then make your way to Hightower.” Wendel nodded, though Warmond could see the disappointment and anger deep behind his eyes. Waldina spoke up.
“Father, I’d like to accompany Wyvern to Fair Isle. I believe I could be of better use there.” Waldemar turned his eyes to his youngest daughter, flicking between her dark brown eyes. “Very well.” He permitted, nodding to her. Wyman cleared his throat. “Father, I would…” The soft haste of bear footsteps against the cold damp floor echoed in the open halls. Before Wyman could say another word, the young girl ran into the room with a necklace clutched into her hands.
“Wave?” Wendel asked, somewhat surprised to see his daughter, yet also curious to what she possessed in her small hands. Warmond admitted that he was wondrous too. “Grandpa, grandpa!” Was the only answer Wendel received, as she ran to Waldemar and climbed onto his lap. She wrapped her skinny arms around her grandfather, and the old man gently embraced her in return.
“What is wrong, sweet child? What’s this?” He asked her, notioning to the golden chain the clutched tightly in her hands. She shook her head. “Auntie Wyona wanted me to tell you that she loves you very much.” She repeated as if ordered, wiping her wet eyes, she lifted the chain and revealed the three pearls. A soft smile appeared on Waldemar’s lips, yet his eyes were saddened.
“Oh, sweet girl.” He started, before Wyman stood up and left in a great hurry. Wylda ‘Half-Witch’ was next to follow, her eyes welled up in tears. Before long, Waldina rose and exited the room. Wendel arose from his stool and freed his father from Wave. “Come now, sweet child.” He begged, tugging the weeping child out of the room. Walter rose, leaving without a word.
Silence filled the room, now only Warmond and Waldemar remained. Wyona had meant a lot to Warmond in his uprising as a child, despite his parents nurturement. His father had raised him to be dutiful, preparing him for when he would soon be heir to the Coral Throne. While his mother had been ill. Wyona had played a crucial role in Warmond’s upbringing, allowing him to be partly a child throughout his never ending duties. Now with her passing, Warmond felt sorrowed, yet more remorseful that he did not shed a tear.
His arm reached out, resting on his grandfather’s old frail-looking hand. Waldemar showed a side that Warmond had seldom seen through his years of being close with the man, and he could not put a finger on what exactly it was. A weak smile appeared on the old man’s face, and for a while there was peace, until the tears dried and his stern nature returned. He stood, clenching his hands.
“It’s time we arrange a funeral.” Waldemar announced, more to himself than anyone else. Warmond nodded, before rising from his stood and exiting the room. He felt no pain, no suffering. Only acceptance.
Warmond
The Merman council was nothing shy of a family gathering for the most part, yet the topic of discussion was never light. The sile… morently sat behind the driftwood table, that looked to be more a trunk of wood growing from the cold stone slabs beneath their feet. However, like many other matters, King Waldemar had assured them the table was presented to them by the Merling King.
Warmond stared at the men and women around the table, all showing a variety of emotion in their expressions. His grandfather, King Waldemar, sat at the far end of the table, his expression stern yet his powerful turquoise eyes wandering and inquisitive. The old man was approaching his ninetieth year, and rumors had already arisen that there would be a grand ball to celebrate his nameday.
Warmond sat adjacent the king, and opposite of him was a vacant stone stool. The seat belonged to Wyman, who the council were currently waiting on. Beside Warmond sat his … [view original content]
Warmond
The Merman council was nothing shy of a family gathering for the most part, yet the topic of discussion was never light. The sile… morently sat behind the driftwood table, that looked to be more a trunk of wood growing from the cold stone slabs beneath their feet. However, like many other matters, King Waldemar had assured them the table was presented to them by the Merling King.
Warmond stared at the men and women around the table, all showing a variety of emotion in their expressions. His grandfather, King Waldemar, sat at the far end of the table, his expression stern yet his powerful turquoise eyes wandering and inquisitive. The old man was approaching his ninetieth year, and rumors had already arisen that there would be a grand ball to celebrate his nameday.
Warmond sat adjacent the king, and opposite of him was a vacant stone stool. The seat belonged to Wyman, who the council were currently waiting on. Beside Warmond sat his … [view original content]
I gotta agree with Wildling, the similar names are slightly confusing this early. The number of W's is too damn high Though I have no doubts that I'll manage to distinguish them from each other very soon, because they are all very nice characters. The part itself was also great, a really enjoyable read. The Manderly storyline is only in its very beginning, but I have a good feeling for it
Warmond
The Merman council was nothing shy of a family gathering for the most part, yet the topic of discussion was never light. The sile… morently sat behind the driftwood table, that looked to be more a trunk of wood growing from the cold stone slabs beneath their feet. However, like many other matters, King Waldemar had assured them the table was presented to them by the Merling King.
Warmond stared at the men and women around the table, all showing a variety of emotion in their expressions. His grandfather, King Waldemar, sat at the far end of the table, his expression stern yet his powerful turquoise eyes wandering and inquisitive. The old man was approaching his ninetieth year, and rumors had already arisen that there would be a grand ball to celebrate his nameday.
Warmond sat adjacent the king, and opposite of him was a vacant stone stool. The seat belonged to Wyman, who the council were currently waiting on. Beside Warmond sat his … [view original content]
Yeah, I at first complained about the names as well. Though through a lot of persuasion, and basically getting used to the names, I chose to keep them. Yeah, pretty much all the Manderly's have W names, though after a while you'll be able to distinguish between them. This I promise. I might consider posting up the family tree for the Manderly's, and making some for all the other large houses.
I gotta agree with Wildling, the similar names are slightly confusing this early. The number of W's is too damn high Though I have no doubt… mores that I'll manage to distinguish them from each other very soon, because they are all very nice characters. The part itself was also great, a really enjoyable read. The Manderly storyline is only in its very beginning, but I have a good feeling for it
Hey guys, so I went to the effort to make a family tree (which had loosely been done for me by Joriandrake) for House Manderly. It should hopefully clear some things up, as well as showing the family relations to each other. There are some things I haven't added, such as marriages, however I'll show most of that through the story. Oh and if you see an X, it's just a symbol for deceased, while the numbers are the ages of living characters Hope it helps!
A soft drift of air blew through his hair as he exited his uncle’s tent. The Lannister convoy had grown into an army of tents, each filled with more men than Tylar could be bothered to count. The protection for the eldest. Tylar thought to himself shamefully, the role he had been born into was not the role he had wanted to live, yet duty compelled him to go on.
With swift steps, Tylar made his way to his younger brother’s tent. He received admired nods from familiar faces, mostly men he had sparred with in the yards. Tylar paid them the mind he could, but most of it worked to compose an apology for his brother, or just to think of what he would say. It was him who started this, was Tylar’s initial reaction to the matter. Part of him wondered why he chose his arrogant brother over other matters of importance.
As his thoughts clouded his mind, his body clumsily bumped into someone, a woman. Tylar snapped out of his thoughts, becoming highly alert, which clearly startled the already wobbling woman. She had beautiful locks of hair, and beneath them her blushed cheeks and embarrassed smile shined. Tylar’s eyes widened, mildly astonished by such beauty. For a moment, they awkwardly remained in silence, until Tylar built up the courage to speak.
“Apologies, my lady. I should have…” The woman quickly raised her hands and shook her head with a warm smile. “The fault is mine, my prince.” She gathered herself and nodded. “Enjoy your stroll, your highness.” She left him with almost no regard, which oddly intrigued him.
“Wait.” He yelled, and the girl spun around. There he saw her bright, almost artificial, white eyes. They were clear to see in the surrounding darkness. “What’s your name?” Tylar asked hesitantly, and the girl smirked in response. “They call me the Travelling Spider.”
Waiting for no response, the girl left Tylar genuinely bewildered by her beauty in the midst of the Lannister camp, and then like that, she was gone. Tylar sighed, rubbing his hands and trying to relieve the emptiness he felt. He was dedicated to a marriage, an arranged marriage, and it was his duty to watch over his wife, yet now he felt conflicted and confused.
The thought of Gwyn patiently awaiting him back in their tent was something of uncomfort for him. The day had been confronting, and he was stressed to the core as a result. He wondered if seeking out his foolish brother was the best plan of action with his current mood, especially as he chose him over his wife. He shook the thoughts from his head, and made his way for his brother’s tent.
-
The place was a mess. Broken jars and flasks, with spilt wine staining the tent floor. Clothes were scattered around the pavilion, yet it was not Loras’ clothes which made Tylar uncomfortable. Awkwardly, he stared at the large red and gold sheets, listening to the soft whimpers and whispers that the two bodies exchanged to each other. Tylar cleared his throat.
The sheets flew up in a rush as Loras shot up, wrapping himself in the blankets to cover himself, and leaving his pleasurer bare breasted and as shocked as he. Tylar sighed and knelt down, passing the whore her clothing, which she quickly pulled tightly to her chest and waist.
“Tylar, what the fuck!” Were the first words said, and not with a welcoming tone. Tylar nodded to the girl, who quickly evaded the premises, leaving Tylar with his brother. Loras’ eyes were widened, wet with tears yet furious with shock and anger. Tylar crossed his arms.
“What the hell are you doing?” Tylar growled, staring at the incompetence of a man that stood before him. For a moment the two just glared at each other, until Tylar accepted that Loras was not going to speak. “Fine, I came to talk. Get dressed.” Tylar ordered, turning his eyes elsewhere to allow his brother privacy.
“I don’t want to talk with the likes of you.” He muttered, yet there was disgust in his tone, a touch of distaste. Tylar ignored him, shaking his head. “Then I’ll talk at you, but for god's sake get dressed!” Tylar could already feel his emotions firing up inside him, and he desperately fought against them. I came here to apologise, not make things worse, he reminded himself continuously.
Hesitantly, Loras stripped the sheets from his body and changed into his extravagantly flash clothing, consisting of a loose golden tunic with loose red pants, all of which he considered sleepwear, yet any man knew the garments cost a fortune. He sat himself down, grabbing a goblet and the remnants of a flask of dry red wine, imported from the Arbor. He clumsily poured what was left into his goblet, and sculled the fluid in one gulp. Now he turned his beautiful green eyes to Tylar’s.
“What do you want?” He asked with boredom, sounding out each word as he asked. Tylar pulled himself a chair from Loras’ desk, easing himself down to take the stress off his aching legs. “To apologise.” Tylar admitted, more to himself than to his brother. Loras chucked, rolling his eyes.
“Why should I care for the apology of The Prince Who Ran?” He mocked, though his attention looked elsewhere, until he spotted another casket of wine on the desk beside Tylar. He pulled himself onto his knees, though standing proved to be an issue for him. Tylar sighed, staring at him with disappointment.
“I’m sorry if I’m the cause of this.” Tylar genuinely apologised, though Loras remained unfocused, his objective clear in his eyes. Tylar felt himself growing impatient, and more frustrated, despite himself repeating the words over and over in his head. “Loras!” Tylar yelled, begging for his attention for just a moment. Loras turning his gaze to Tylar, before falling to his stomach and bursting into laughter.
“I don’t care for your stupid apologies, bastard.” Loras grinned at his mockery, his eyes wandering around the tent as he aimlessly looked around. Tylar clenched his fists, but bit his tongue. “I’m not a bastard.” Tylar finally managed, and Loras rolled his eyes. “Sure you aren’t. You don’t look like us, not like father, or uncle, or me. Hell, not even like Byran. Maybe you should have taken his place, maybe then-” Tylar stood from his chair, approaching his drunk brother with closed fists. The boy backed away, raising his hands and laughing, though Tylar was done. He grasped his brother’s shirt, lifting his hand.
“Not another word.” Tylar warned, the stench of wine in his brother’s breath was sickening. Loras’ head rolled back. “Of course. You’re here to talk at me, I forgot.” Tylar felt himself conflicted with the choices he was presented, and for a moment he just stared at the drunken body he held with aggression. Finally, he released him, and as expected he hit the floor with a stupor. Tylar fell back on his arse, tucking his legs to his chest.
“What the hell is wrong with you? You make a fool of yourself, drown yourself in wine, and then cry to whores.” Tylar shook his head, confused. “Why?” For a while, Loras remained still, and for a moment Tylar thought he had concussed himself with the fall. “At least they listen.” The words were soft, and quiet, yet they stabbed at Tylar harder than any of Loras’ petty insults. “They listen…” He remarked, shaking his head. Tylar saw tears welling up in the boy’s eyes.
“Loras…” Tylar started, yet the boy shook his head, burying his head in his hands. “Father tells me he loves me, that I am his best son. He gave me his sword, his blessing. Yet he bares me nothing, and focuses only on you.” He rubbed his eyes, yet tears still streamed down his cheeks. Tylar sighed, clueless on what to say.
“I wish things were different.” Tylar admitted, it was the truth. “I wish you had it all, and I had what you have. You’re free, while I’m forced into a life I don’t even want.” Tylar sighed, rubbing his fingers as he cracked their joints. “Though I can’t change that, it’s just how it is.” Loras wiped his eyes with the back of his hands, grabbing for his empty goblet.
“Get lost.” He muttered, raising the empty cup to his lips. To his disappointment, no liquid flowed into his mouth. “Loras, come on.” Tylar begged, but the boy had turned to his anger, throwing his goblet at Tylar. His aim was affected by the wine. “GO!” He screamed, before curling himself up into a ball. Tylar stood himself up, staring at the mess his brother was in. Maybe he was right, maybe Tylar needed to give him space. Yet he dreaded the thought of abandoning his brother in his current state.
Reluctantly, Tylar turned with his intentions to leave his brother in peace, yet a thought dawned on him which had not touched his mind in a long time, and had only reemerged in this argument. Byran. The prince who truly ran away, or so it seemed.
Tylar turned his gaze back to Loras, the wet-eyed boy staring at him with a bitterness which Tylar was accustomed to. Tylar shook his head gently. “I’ve already lost one brother. I won’t lose another.” The shift in Loras’ eyes were subtle, but the bitterness had noticeably taken to a disappointed frown.
As if on queue to break the visible awkward tension, the tent flaps opened and Tylar’s brother-in-law: Tavion, entered. His yellow hair was greasy, and in need of a wash, but styled in a manner that made him presentable. He slicked his hair back, and the grease acted as a supplement for it, instead of using oils. His alert brown eyes darted around the tent, and when his eyes spotted the distressed Loras, he turned his gaze to the floor.
“Apologies, my Prince’s. Should I come back another time?” Tylar was quick to shake his head, taking a step towards the man and placing his hand on his shoulder. “Of course not. What’s the news?” Tylar knew there could be only two reasons for his appearance. A message from Gwyn, or a message from someone else. Tavion raised his eyes, flicking between Tylar’s emerald gems.
“Lawsen is asking for you. Something to do with the lion cubs we found earlier today, my Prince.” Tylar nodded, but before they could exit, Loras piped up. “Lion cubs?” He asked, or more demanded, with his entitlement. Tylar stared at his brother for a moment, recalling why they had fought in the first place. Maybe you would have known if you hadn’t have left us for dead. Tylar bit his tongue, turning his gaze back to Tovian. “Shall we?” The man nodded, and the two exited the tent, leaving Loras alone.
-
The two walked through the narrow paths of the tents in silence, partly out of respect for those who slept, and mainly because there was little to say. The two of them had never found a connection, and though there was no disregard between them, there was simply no interest.
Tylar wondered if Tovian’s silence was from Gwyn’s request. Tovian had a renowned reputation for his boastful nature, and though he was mostly civil around Tylar, it had never kept him this quiet before. Perhaps Gwyn was upset, Tylar didn’t doubt it, he had chosen Loras over her after all.
The two of them stopped outside Lawsen’s tent, waiting, though for what, they did not know. For a moment, they just stood in silence, waiting patiently, until Tovian finally spoke. “You think it’s right?” The question was blunt, and with no obvious backing, leaving Tylar confused with the question. “What is?” The man shrugged.
“This.” Tovian motioned to all of the tents around them. “We’re like a small army, and better still we’re riding for the wedding of a bastard and a low house. Shouldn’t we be focusing on more important matters? Like the Riverlands or Reach? All of this seems pointless to me.” Tovian crossed his arms. They were strong arms, though not large like a carpenter’s, though more fitting to his agile athletic build. It was undeniable that Tylar was the stronger man of the two, though in this position, Tylar felt somewhat weak to the topic. He shrugged.
“Perhaps it’s the perfect time for a wedding, with all this commotion about.” Tylar suggested, and Tovian made it quite clear that he did not understand Tylar’s viewpoint. “We’re not at war, but we’re not in a good place either. The River kings hold part of our lands, while the Manderly’s hold a strong influence on the eastern coast. We continue to focus on the negatives, perhaps it’s time to take on something lighter.” Tovian shrugged his shoulders, turning his gaze to the night sky. “Perhaps.”
The night was peaceful, beautiful in fact. The stars shone bright over the camp, the red banners of House Lannister flapped gently in the soft breeze, their sigils clear to see in the moonlight. It was a night that could captivate even the most fidgety man, and hold him in complete awe for even the shortest moment.
The surreal beauty was snatched away from them far too soon, and replaced with a squeal and a growl, like angry cats fighting each other. ‘Hey! Stop!’ Resonated from inside the tent. Tylar and Tovian exchanged worried glances, before quickly entering the tent.
The scene quickly erupted in front of them as they entered. The three lion cubs on the enclosed wooden table, Lawsen’s bloody hands clutched around the cub which reminded Tylar so much of Byran, while it pinned the cub that gave an image of Loras into a corner. The petrified cub was soiling itself, while Lawsen was holding back the perpetrator, which had clearly sunk its teeth into his hands a number of times. Tylar could see Lawsen starting to lose grip of the young cub, and without a doubt the beast would unleash on the other young animal.
In a split second, from Lawsen’s hands letting go of the animal, and Tovian rushing to the boy’s aid, Tylar watched the scene unravel, caught in the surrealism. The ‘Byran’ cub lunged itself towards the similar Loras cub, yet to Tylar’s surprise, the remaining cub intervened. The cub which reminded Tylar the most of himself, the cub which had convinced him not to slaughter them when they had murdered their mother.
In an instant, the two cubs collided, biting and clawing at each other. Tylar snapped out of his trance, rushing towards the animals and separating them with ease. The ‘Byran’ cub fought for its freedom, while Tylar’s cub seemed to submit into his grasp. However, after further inspection Tylar noticed blood on both of the animals. The deep claw marks were the most prominent, on the submissive cubs left eye.
Tylar flickered his eyes between each of the three cubs, spotting the resemblance in each of them. It was not a thought, but more an instinct. Tylar turned his gaze to Tavion, who nursed Lawsen’s wounds. He offered the aggressive cub to him.
“Take this one to my uncle, and the other to my brother.” Tylar ordered, shifting his eyes to the cub that resembled so much of himself. “What of Lawsen?” Tovian asked, reluctantly taking hold of both cubs. “I’ll take care of him. Just go, and take haste.” The man nodded, though his priorities were avoiding the claws that were eager to sink into his flesh. He quickly exited the tent, leaving Tylar with his cub, and Lawsen.
“What is it?” Lawsen asked, attending to his wounds with the cloth of his shirt. His interest was minimal, and his attention focused highly on his wounds. Tylar turned his gaze to Lawsen, releasing the cub on the floor, which quickly lapped around his feet and then darted towards Lawsen. However, not in aggression, though quite the contrary. “Oi!” Lawsen mumbled, as the cub climbed up his leg and into his arms. The teenager laughed for once, which was a sight Tylar had not seen in awhile.
“There’s something about them, Lawsen. Something divine.” Lawsen rolled his eyes, focusing entirely on the cub that climbed onto his shoulder, licking his ear. “You don’t believe that crap do you? I’ve never seen you as a zealous man, so don’t start on me now.” Tylar smirked, reaching out his hand to the cub, which gracefully climbed onto his palm.
“Guess that one is yours. What’re you gonna name him?” The question caught Tylar somewhat off guard. Perhaps there was need for a name, if what Lawsen suggested was true.
The cub showed much of the traits he did, with duty to family and leadership. He would grow strong, and for a while Tylar thought of the rocks that built up their home. The Rock. Granite was a definite suitor, but Tylar leaned towards another rock. Something that would certainly suit with his new addition of scratches. Skarn.
-
Tylar’s night had been restless, and as a consequence he was riding ahead of the vanguard with little sleep. The ride had finally started to pay off, as Silentport had come into view. Tylar turned his gaze to his uncle, Maxwell, who had rode in silence this entire way.
“When was the last time you saw Bryce?” Tylar asked, more looking to start a conversation rather than out of interest. Maxwell frowned, as if he were disappointed in the answer he were to give. “Over a year, at least.” Tylar raised his eyebrows, though there was nothing really surprising about it. Maxwell was the Master of Coin, he had been given little leisure time unless it benefitted Casterly Rock.
“It’s Warrick who I’m needing to see.” Maxwell admitted after a while, and Tylar raised an eyebrow. “Warrick Westerling?” Tylar asked, and received a brief affirming nod from his uncle. “Why?” Tylar received a side glance, and for a moment Tylar thought the man was not going to reply. Though as he was, his eye spotted something which took his train of thought, and all of his attention.
“What in the hell?” Tylar followed his uncle’s gaze, and with little effort, his eyes landed on the same sorry sight. Banefort banners, rallied outside Silentport. Tylar naturally felt his hand gravitating towards his blade, ready to shout orders. Maxwell cleared his throat, shaking his head. “Diplomacy is better than violence, Tylar. I will ride to them, see what they want.” Before Tylar could intervene, the galloping hooves of Loras’ courser caught up to them. The bitter look in his eyes as he stared out to the distance.
“There are Banefort’s!” He proclaimed, alerting anyone who was not observant enough to lift their gaze ahead of them. “Let’s go show them that a Lannister always pays their debts!” He grinned, unsheathing their ancestral blade, which he had disgraced by naming ‘Last Words.’
Tylar felt himself already disagreeing with the plan. Maxwell shook his head once again. “No. We’re not here to start a war.” Tylar observed the fiery temper building up in Loras’ cheeks. “They’re our sworn enemies! Since the dawn of fucking time! If they’re here, then they’re wanting trouble.” Loras blurted in a great effort to have it his own way, though the two men were in disagreement.
“The Banefort’s aren’t a problem. We broke their lineage centuries ago, they’re likely here for the wedding, like us.” Loras shook his head frustratedly, and Tylar knew the two would sit and argue over the matter until the Other’s rode down from the Wall. He had to make a decision, as the Prince of the Rock.
Choice 1: [Side with Maxwell] [Side with Loras]
Choice 2 (only if you chose to side with Maxwell): [Accompany Maxwell] [Rally the forces]
Man, this was an amazing part! Wonderful, really I enjoy Tylar's storyline so far, I believe it has potential to grow into one of my favourites. And to my surprise, I kind of enjoy Loras as well, even though he is such a huge jerk. He's still somewhat relatable at the core and I am surprised by this. Another thing I am amazed at are the lion cubs. I remember our talk and safe to say, you found a perfect name for Tylar's cub! That one's cool and it fits perfectly. And finally, there is one thing that caused me to reread a few parts. This woman Tylar encountered... I could swear Travelling Spider is a name that has been associated with Samira, but after rereading all of her parts, I can't seem to find it, so I am likely wrong.
[Side with Maxwell]
[Rally the forces]
It kind of pains me to side against Loras here, since I like the guy, but he's wrong here. Blind violence can't be the solution. Instead, I think a clever mix of the two can help. First, Maxwell should ride towards them, to find out what they want. At the same time, Tylar can rally the forces, to show them that this lion has very sharp claws. If he rides with him and it turns out the Baneforts have bad intentions, then they could capture the crown prince of the Rock and his uncle in one move, to keep them hostage. Now, they'd only get the uncle and would have to face a rallied army in return. I think Maxwell's diplomacy, paired with the threat of the Lannister forces behind him, could help with the negotiations.
Tylar
A soft drift of air blew through his hair as he exited his uncle’s tent. The Lannister convoy had grown into an army of tents, each… more filled with more men than Tylar could be bothered to count. The protection for the eldest. Tylar thought to himself shamefully, the role he had been born into was not the role he had wanted to live, yet duty compelled him to go on.
With swift steps, Tylar made his way to his younger brother’s tent. He received admired nods from familiar faces, mostly men he had sparred with in the yards. Tylar paid them the mind he could, but most of it worked to compose an apology for his brother, or just to think of what he would say. It was him who started this, was Tylar’s initial reaction to the matter. Part of him wondered why he chose his arrogant brother over other matters of importance.
As his thoughts clouded his mind, his body clumsily bumped into someone, a woman. Tylar snapped out of his thoughts, beco… [view original content]
That girl from the beginning intrigues me. Hope to learn more about her! Liquid though she is Samira, but Samira have blue eyes not white... it must be someone else. I guess? :-D
Tylar
A soft drift of air blew through his hair as he exited his uncle’s tent. The Lannister convoy had grown into an army of tents, each… more filled with more men than Tylar could be bothered to count. The protection for the eldest. Tylar thought to himself shamefully, the role he had been born into was not the role he had wanted to live, yet duty compelled him to go on.
With swift steps, Tylar made his way to his younger brother’s tent. He received admired nods from familiar faces, mostly men he had sparred with in the yards. Tylar paid them the mind he could, but most of it worked to compose an apology for his brother, or just to think of what he would say. It was him who started this, was Tylar’s initial reaction to the matter. Part of him wondered why he chose his arrogant brother over other matters of importance.
As his thoughts clouded his mind, his body clumsily bumped into someone, a woman. Tylar snapped out of his thoughts, beco… [view original content]
Tylar
A soft drift of air blew through his hair as he exited his uncle’s tent. The Lannister convoy had grown into an army of tents, each… more filled with more men than Tylar could be bothered to count. The protection for the eldest. Tylar thought to himself shamefully, the role he had been born into was not the role he had wanted to live, yet duty compelled him to go on.
With swift steps, Tylar made his way to his younger brother’s tent. He received admired nods from familiar faces, mostly men he had sparred with in the yards. Tylar paid them the mind he could, but most of it worked to compose an apology for his brother, or just to think of what he would say. It was him who started this, was Tylar’s initial reaction to the matter. Part of him wondered why he chose his arrogant brother over other matters of importance.
As his thoughts clouded his mind, his body clumsily bumped into someone, a woman. Tylar snapped out of his thoughts, beco… [view original content]
So after a few chats with some very inspirational people on these forums, I've come to the decision that I need to talk about a few things. So here goes. At late I've been battling with a lot which has been really slowing my planned projects here, as well as the projects at hand. While I don't think delving into each topic is necessary, as some are a bit personal, I can definitely say that school work is a high contributor which is a bloody pain in the arse.
So I'm on 'holidays' now, though why they call it that I don't understand. I've basically got close to twenty tests which I need to re-sit in two weeks, which covers the entire course for each of my four subjects I've been learning all year. Stressful. So understandably, this has thrown off my motivation for a lot of things: work, projects, the story. Fortunately I've found some inspiration from some very inspirational people here, and I'm starting to organise my life out a bit more
So (I realise I'm using that too much to start my para's XD), I've come to the simple conclusion that the story isn't going to be on the top of my priorities list. Neither are my projects. Don't get me wrong, I'm definitely going to write when I have the spare time, which should hopefully be a bit more during this 'holiday' gap I have. Though my consistent schedule will likely only start January next year. So I won't be working by schedule, so some parts may take only a few days, while others may range for weeks or months. I'm really really sorry about this, but it's currently the best I can do.
On to some more individual matters, like projects for other great stories on this wonderful forums, that have gone from fantastic ideas to seemingly everlasting burdens, I will contact you individually. I thank you all for your patience, and I hope I won't keep you waiting all too long, but as I've basically stated, nothing is set in stone. I'd also like to thank all those who have been very supportive, with me as a person, or just by helping out with the story itself. You guys are definitely a large impact on my life which I wouldn't want to throw away because of everything happening right now.
So thank you, and the next part should be a Warrick part. When that comes out, well hopefully within these next two weeks. No promises though
Thank you Stigz for sharing those information with us!
I would like to say, that I and for sure other readers totally understand your decision, since we all know how life can be. Sometimes you simply cannot be a superman or superwoman, doing many things at once, haha! Therefore please don't stress yourself and take time you need for organizing your life in the way that will fits your schedule and preferences, prioritising things which are at most urgency first.
We - or at least I will be here, waiting for another parts being posted whenever you will be in the mood or have time for posting/writing them.
Cmon people, who is with me? Who will be waiting? Show your support to this awesome person and writer! :-)
Hey guys,
So after a few chats with some very inspirational people on these forums, I've come to the decision that I need to talk about a… more few things. So here goes. At late I've been battling with a lot which has been really slowing my planned projects here, as well as the projects at hand. While I don't think delving into each topic is necessary, as some are a bit personal, I can definitely say that school work is a high contributor which is a bloody pain in the arse.
So I'm on 'holidays' now, though why they call it that I don't understand. I've basically got close to twenty tests which I need to re-sit in two weeks, which covers the entire course for each of my four subjects I've been learning all year. Stressful. So understandably, this has thrown off my motivation for a lot of things: work, projects, the story. Fortunately I've found some inspiration from some very inspirational people here, and I'm starting to organise my life out … [view original content]
I think Mathea already neatly summarized the thoughts all of us should have here. Your decision is understandable and whatever comes, you have my support!
While I don't know all of it, your school work alone would already be enough to fully understand your decision. Rearranging your priorities here sounds necessary, so don't beat yourself over it. I know how it feels when fantastic ideas turn to burdens and that can be the death of any creativity. If your ideas for FoT are among these burdens, then you know you can always contact me and I understand whatever decision you will take here.
And well, I am glad to hear that you don't plan to drop the story or the forums entirely. Your work here is highly inspirational for me and without a doubt among the best things I have read here. I speak the truth here. I will eagerly look forward for every future part, no matter how long it'll take. And well, January is not too far away, a mere three months. I hope that until then, all the things that currently trouble you have been sorted out. Your life, your personal well-being, that should always take the top priority, which goes without saying.
So, I look forward for the future. First however, I will definitely support you here. Take your time, get everything back into an order you are comfortable with and be assured that we all understand you and will not lose interest in you or your wonderful story here
Hey guys,
So after a few chats with some very inspirational people on these forums, I've come to the decision that I need to talk about a… more few things. So here goes. At late I've been battling with a lot which has been really slowing my planned projects here, as well as the projects at hand. While I don't think delving into each topic is necessary, as some are a bit personal, I can definitely say that school work is a high contributor which is a bloody pain in the arse.
So I'm on 'holidays' now, though why they call it that I don't understand. I've basically got close to twenty tests which I need to re-sit in two weeks, which covers the entire course for each of my four subjects I've been learning all year. Stressful. So understandably, this has thrown off my motivation for a lot of things: work, projects, the story. Fortunately I've found some inspiration from some very inspirational people here, and I'm starting to organise my life out … [view original content]
Thank you Stigz for sharing those information with us!
I would like to say, that I and for sure other readers totally understand your dec… moreision, since we all know how life can be. Sometimes you simply cannot be a superman or superwoman, doing many things at once, haha! Therefore please don't stress yourself and take time you need for organizing your life in the way that will fits your schedule and preferences, prioritising things which are at most urgency first.
We - or at least I will be here, waiting for another parts being posted whenever you will be in the mood or have time for posting/writing them.
Cmon people, who is with me? Who will be waiting? Show your support to this awesome person and writer! :-)
I will have to agree with the others on this one. Having Maxwell use diplomacy while Tylar gathers a prepared Lannister army is the seemingly best compromise here. By the way, great job with the characters, they are just as imagined. Great Part!
Tylar
A soft drift of air blew through his hair as he exited his uncle’s tent. The Lannister convoy had grown into an army of tents, each… more filled with more men than Tylar could be bothered to count. The protection for the eldest. Tylar thought to himself shamefully, the role he had been born into was not the role he had wanted to live, yet duty compelled him to go on.
With swift steps, Tylar made his way to his younger brother’s tent. He received admired nods from familiar faces, mostly men he had sparred with in the yards. Tylar paid them the mind he could, but most of it worked to compose an apology for his brother, or just to think of what he would say. It was him who started this, was Tylar’s initial reaction to the matter. Part of him wondered why he chose his arrogant brother over other matters of importance.
As his thoughts clouded his mind, his body clumsily bumped into someone, a woman. Tylar snapped out of his thoughts, beco… [view original content]
Everything I can say has been summed up already but I will also say don't stress! I certainly enjoy your writing and I know I'll continue to read your story regardless of how long it takes and I am sure everyone agrees with me. Take care of your studies along with whatever else going on in your life first and come back to it whenever you feel is the right time
Hey guys,
So after a few chats with some very inspirational people on these forums, I've come to the decision that I need to talk about a… more few things. So here goes. At late I've been battling with a lot which has been really slowing my planned projects here, as well as the projects at hand. While I don't think delving into each topic is necessary, as some are a bit personal, I can definitely say that school work is a high contributor which is a bloody pain in the arse.
So I'm on 'holidays' now, though why they call it that I don't understand. I've basically got close to twenty tests which I need to re-sit in two weeks, which covers the entire course for each of my four subjects I've been learning all year. Stressful. So understandably, this has thrown off my motivation for a lot of things: work, projects, the story. Fortunately I've found some inspiration from some very inspirational people here, and I'm starting to organise my life out … [view original content]
Hey all, just thought I'd give you an update. I'm still alive!! Though there was really no doubt there
I'm still highly stressful with my overload of work and studies, but I'm slowly battling through, and fortunately I've gotten a few assignments done which is certainly a relief. Though while I could continue to vent all my life issues, I believe there is a sub-thread on this forum purely designed for that, and considering this thread is for the Invasion, I figure I better put up something, Invasion related. The new part, which goes to Warrick Westerling.
Firstly, I'll be closing the vote which I forgot to close, but I'll give you a small recap on Warrick before I post his part So, last we saw of Warrick (wow, over 70 pages ago!), he was riding to Silentport, the seat of the newly founded House Lantell, to attend the wedding of his close friend: Bryce Lantell. While encountering problems with his brother Mericus, he trusted him with the protection of his son while he went of the reunite with his old friend. However, being separated with unexpected visitors, Warrick's eye fell on a mysterious boy carrying a bloody scaling knife. It was at this point that Mericus found Warrick and informed him that Lady Emilee Yew, the betrothed to Lord Bryce Lantell, wished to speak with him, and Mericus also wished to speak with him too. You lot chose to pursue this hooded mysterious boy, rather than to comply with Mericus, and that is where this new part begins!
Warrick wrenched his arm away from Mericus’ grip, and through natural reaction, he pushed the perpetrator to the ground. The man fell clumsily, but his showed distraught and disappointment when he gazed back at him. Warrick could have sworn the man he called his brother was ready to tear up, but he remained dry eyed.
“Don’t you dare touch me.” Warrick muttered, turning his attention to where he last saw the hooded child who cautiously creeped through the alleys. He was not there. Warrick growled, turning his attention back to Mericus. “Don’t follow me.” He warned, unsheathing Honour from his back, and pursuing the alleyway he had last seen the boy.
The stripping painted walls were damp, and salty from the harbour. Warrick took quick silent steps, a trait seemingly rare for bigger men like himself, yet heard nothing but the sounds of the markets in this distance.
The surroundings had grown darker as Warrick approached deeper alleyways, located between old fishing sheds and market stores. The lighting was dim, though the gaps between the buildings poured in what little sunlight there was from the day. Warrick was beginning to think this alley was of little benefit, until he heard it. A giggle, from a child. Yet it was familiar, it was a laugh he had known for years.
Warrick quickened his pace, not worrying about the echoes that his shoes left on the gravel ground. The alley started to grow darker, pulling Warrick into the inky black realm as he further inquired the noises. In the distance, he saw shadows. Two boys. His heartbeat raced. One held a knife over the other, according to the dancing flames that produced the image. Warrick broke into a sprint.
Reaching the fire, Warrick found the hooded boy with the bloody scaling knife, kneeling down and attending to some fresh fillets. Beside him, Willem. Warrick approached his son with heavy steps, sheathing Honour onto his back and snatching his son from the ground as he passed. “Hey!” He yelled, clearly caught off guard by the whole matter. “Get behind me.” Warrick ordered, turning his attention back to the hooded boy, who now had his attention. He slowly raised his hands, somewhat confused.
“Mister, I’m…” The boy was at a loss for words, not that he would need any with Warrick around. “What were you doing with my son?” Warrick barked, his tone intimidating to say the least. The boy shook his head clumsily, clearly confused and definitely terrified by the brute interrogating him. Warrick took to this advantage.
Closing his fists, Warrick approached the boy with slow heavy steps. “I asked you a question.” Warrick remarked, and he could have sworn the boy was soiling himself. “Warrick.” An all too familiar voice called, and surely enough, beside Willem, stood Mericus. Warrick scowled at him. “What did I say!” Warrick boomed, turning his back on the boy as he approached Mericus with angry steps.
As he did, the soft but quick steps of the boy quickly raced down the alley, retreating back into the darkness and out of Warrick’s sight. Warrick’s lip quivered, he looked into the eyes of his brother with bitterness. Were it not for his son’s presence, his attitude to the matter may have been different, though instead he simply stormed passed his brother, searching for another exit.
“Warrick!” Mericus yelled, begging for his attention. Warrick turned his gaze, coming to the realisation that this was his fault. “You left him unguarded, this is your fault.” Warrick muttered, approaching his brother. “He could have been killed!” Mericus raised an eyebrow, clearly doubting Warrick’s rationale.
“The boy was a fish scaler, likely the son of a fisherman. There’s no harm there.” Mericus blurted, though Warrick quickly shut out his opinion with a shake of his head. “You know nothing, Mericus. Get the…” Warrick held his tongue, feeling the eyes of his son watching him. “Just go.” He muttered, “and don’t let him out of your sight.” Warrick warned, now turning his eyes to Willem. “I will speak with you later.”
The two left him alone in the dark, an all too familiar setting that Warrick had encountered more than once. For a moment, he simply stared in the dancing flames, the odd beauty of the fire encapturing him. He listened for the soft footsteps of the boy, awaiting for his return, yet for a while he heard nothing but the crackling flames in the small fireplace. His eyes lowered to the slowly rotting fish by the side of the fire, likely the meal that the boy was about to prep for himself. Warrick scowled at the fillets, before nudging them into the burning coals with the edge of his boot. Dissatisfied, he turned and left the alleyway.
-
He found her staring at the variety of jewels presented on one of the merchant stalls, surrounded by her gossiping handmaidens. Lady Emilee, her beauty still unmatched by many of the women in the Westerlands, all but that of Princess Gwynovire Lannister, which Warrick had only met on a few brief occasions.
Emilee’s hair was light brown, and braided at the back with bangs on her fringe. Her hazel eyes alert and aware, darting towards Warrick as he approached her. What followed next was a warm and welcoming smile, and without any words said, the two embraced out of respect and honour. Warrick had fought alongside her father, Lord Davis, during the Battle at the Border. During their time in war, Warrick had learned more about Davis than he imagined even his wife to know, and through that he had gained respect for both him, and his family - seemingly the same had applied from their end.
After a short moment, the two released from their embracement, and Emilee turned her eyes to her handmaidens. They were young girls, likely in the younger end of their teen years, and the gossip that came from their mouth was expected from their age and status. Emilee’s warm smile passed onto them, at which the handmaidens caught and hushed almost instantly.
“Girl’s, if you would please allow me some time with my dear friend here.” She started, yet they had already gotten the message. They bowed, then turned and left, gossiping and giggling to whatever they spoke of. Warrick sighed, crossing his arms. “Apologies for keeping you waiting, my lady.” Warrick began, though Emilee waved off the topic with a simple hand gesture.
“You have not kept me waiting, and undoubtedly there was rationale for your absence. Curious, where is your brother?” She asked, darting her eyes around the market. Warrick let out a heavy breath, scratching the back of his head. “He’s gone to get my son settled in.” At least, it was what Warrick hoped Mericus was doing, yet he honestly had no trust in the man. Emilee graciously nodded, turning her eyes to another stall, this time selling a variety of soft silks and garments.
“And how is your son? Willem, wasn’t it?” Warrick nodded, though he admitted he had little to do with his son as of late, and with the recent encounter he wondered how his son felt about him. Part of him did not care. I am his father, not his friend. Words which he had been told to remember, yet words he found difficult to live by. Warrick shrugged, letting out a sigh. “Honestly, I wish I knew. I’m not cut out for this sort of work, Em.” Emilee turned her gaze back to Warrick, raising her eyebrow. “Something the mighty Enforcer cannot do? Shock horror!” She mocked, giggling to herself, though Warrick only rolled his eyes and allowed a weak smile. “So what will you do?” She finally asked, running her soft hands through the variety of silks a merchant presented to her. Warrick sighed, wondering the same thing.
“Mericus thinks I should ward the boy.” Warrick bluntly stated, and Emilee smiled, still having her eyes locked on the silks. “Though you do not want that.” She more claimed, rather than asked. Warrick nodded. “No.” He admitted.
“Then what do you want?” It was a question which Warrick had asked himself many times before, and honestly it was something he could not answer yet. He shrugged, trying to put together the pieces. “I’m off duty, Em. I have time to spend with my family, I don’t want to simply send the boy off elsewhere. Yet I’m confronted with the simple reality that I’m not cut out to be a father. I don’t get the enjoyment of raising a child like other men I have seen. It’s… Just not me.” Emilee gave a brief side glance to Warrick, followed by a slow yet confident nod.
“Perhaps you do not need to send him far. What of your brothers? Who are those you trust with him, when you are not around?” Another question which Warrick struggled to answer, though one answer was definite to him. “Not with Mericus.” He said with defiance, and Emilee simply smirked. “Yet, ironically, that’s where he is now.” Warrick frowned, yet nodded. “So not Mericus, but what of the others?”
“Mark has his own family to bring up, and the gods know where Hank is. The only men I trust are the Lannister’s, and your betrothed.” Emilee sighed, clearing trying to seek options for a solution, though she was as stuck with it as Warrick was. “Well, Willem is always welcome to Silentport. No doubt Bryce and I will have young children of our own soon enough, if you want Willem to be with us…” Warrick shook his head, but smiled in a thankful gesture.
“Your concern is appreciated, my lady. Though I doubt we’re here to talk of my issues.” Emilee’s eyes stared into Warrick’s for a moment, searching for something which Warrick did not know of. After a while, she gave up. “It’s about Bryce. You’ve known him the longest, and I guess I had a few questions.” Warrick raised an eyebrow, but nodded all the same. “Ask away, my lady.” She smiled, yet there was sadness in her weak smile.
“He’s a great man, Warrick. I know that. He’s witty and sarcastic, he’s always lightening the mood on anything that attempts to dampen it. Yet…” She stumbled on her words, something clearly bothering her. “Whenever I talk to him about the children we will have, or my feelings in general. He just… Shuts off. Why?” Warrick could see the tears welling up in her eyes, with a mix of frustration and hopelessness. “Does it mean he doesn’t love me?” She managed, before Warrick to her in his arms. Her tears wetting his cloth shirt. Warrick shook his head, holding her close.
“I’m sure he loves you, don’t worry about that. He just needs time to adapt, that’s all.” Emilee freed herself from Warrick’s grip, looking at him with wet eyes. “But why? Why does he shy away at the matters I deem important?” Warrick breathed out a heavy sigh, knowing the exact answer to her question. He shook his head, not knowing where to start.
“The war, Em. It took its toll on all of us.” Warrick turned his gaze around the market, fortunately not many eyes were watching them. However the market guards were quickly heading for the main gates. “When the Battle at the Border was won, we continued on into the Riverland’s. We did… Brutal and horrible things.” Warrick sighed, thinking back onto the dreadful things that had happened. “When we reached the Mudd Fort, Tybolt had ordered that we put an end to the Riverland kingdom. We killed them, massacred the families. While Bryce led at the front of armies, I was smashing in the heads of the Mudd heirs, and when I presented that to Tybolt… The war left its toll on all of us. Everyone knew what I did, what I became, and I think Bryce fears what he could lose because of that.” Emilee stared at Warrick with a mix of emotions, more bad than good.
The tension seemed to ease as the crowd chatter grew louder, and seemingly more panicked. Guards passed through with their hands secured around their weapons. Emilee grabbed the attention of one of the guards, curious about all the commotion. “The Banefort’s, my lady. A mass of them are outside the gates, as well as an army of Lannister’s.” The guard quickly explained, before joining his comrades towards the main gate. Emilee turned her attention to Warrick, her eyes starting to dry and her face hardened.
“I will return to the Great Hall. You should go check out all the fuss, see if it’s of any real threat.” She turned and started walking against the battling crowd, all eager to see the show. She turned for a moment, her eyes staring at the ground beneath her. “Thank you.” With those final words, she left him in the buzzing market, surrounded with more activity than he was accustomed too.
He sighed, turning his gaze to the flowing end of the crowd, all heading for the main gates. He took a few steps and began to follow them, but something was holding him back, an urge. Something’s not right. He admitted to himself, perhaps it was just his paranoia, the war truly had taken its toll on him. Yet still, the mass diversion of eyes towards the main of the city, the suspicious child somewhere in the city, still roaming. Lady Emilee returning back to the Great Hall alone, without a guard. Warrick shook his head, perhaps it was just nothing. Besides, the Lantell guards may have need for a seasoned battle commander, which Warrick certainly was.
[Head to the main gates] [Follow your suspicions had head to the Great Hall]
Warrick
Warrick wrenched his arm away from Mericus’ grip, and through natural reaction, he pushed the perpetrator to the ground. The man … morefell clumsily, but his showed distraught and disappointment when he gazed back at him. Warrick could have sworn the man he called his brother was ready to tear up, but he remained dry eyed.
“Don’t you dare touch me.” Warrick muttered, turning his attention to where he last saw the hooded child who cautiously creeped through the alleys. He was not there. Warrick growled, turning his attention back to Mericus. “Don’t follow me.” He warned, unsheathing Honour from his back, and pursuing the alleyway he had last seen the boy.
The stripping painted walls were damp, and salty from the harbour. Warrick took quick silent steps, a trait seemingly rare for bigger men like himself, yet heard nothing but the sounds of the markets in this distance.
The surroundings had grown darker as Warrick approached deepe… [view original content]
Hey guys, thought I'd also release a short part I wrote which goes to Nathan. Last we saw of him, he was travelling with the Red Priestess, Ryvani of Asshai, and had arrived at Saltpans. Ryvani had asked of Nathan to burn down the Sept, to which he hesitantly followed, in the process slaying the Septon there. However, when being confronted by a mercy pleading septa, he was left conflicted. You chose to spare her, and that's where this next part starts off.
He lowered his radiating blade, staring into the eyes of the woman before him. Tears streamed down her eyes, her hands trembling as she desperately tried to cover her face. Nathan sighed, turning his gaze to the septon he had slaughtered, and the tapestries which were now beginning to burn.
“R’hllor have mercy.” Nathan remarked a final time, in silence, to no one in particular. He turned his gaze to the young septa, extending his hand. “Up.” He commanded, and the girl willingly accepted his hand.
The sept was nothing more but a burning shrine by the time Nathan and the girl had escaped. Commoners and guards had gathered with a collective of water buckets, all in attempt to save the holy building of their false religion.
The onlookers barely noticed Nathan and his escapee companion as they passed through the building crowds, making it easy to pass through unnoticed. Nathan spotted a number of guards, yet their attention was heavily focused on the crumbling ruins of the sept, that Nathan felt unthreatened by their presence.
Nathan pulled his seemingly willing captive out of the mass crowd with ease, ducking into the first dark corridor he could find. He bent down, catching his breath. The stench of smoke in his clothing was nothing in comparison to what had attempted to creep into his chest. A few coughs was enough to clear it out, yet he wasn’t feeling the best with it all.
Regaining his breath, it took Nathan a moment to recall he had company with him. Her bright blue eyes stared at him with a fearful gaze, yet there was something else… Reverence? No, surely not. Nathan shook his head, trying his best to clear it, yet the same gaze still remained. He frowned, reaching his hand out and spinning her around, he observed her starting to shake.
“You’re a brave girl, submitting to me. I think she’s going to like you.” Nathan spoke coldly, but admirably so. Her gaze shifted to confusion, as he had expected. “She? Who’s-” Her words were cut off with a solid clunk, as Nathan’s clenched fist met the back of her head, instantly concussing her. It’s easier this way.
Her body fell limp in his arms, she was heavier than she looked, likely because of all the robes her false faith forced her to wear. Nathan sighed, gazing at her natural beauty. Any sick man who captured a girl would seize this kind of opportunity, yet not Nathan. It never seemed to interest him, not that he was into men, just the ideology of forcing nature. Yet, wasn’t that what he was here to do? He sighed, lifting her up and slinging her over his shoulder.
-
Ryvani greeted him with mixed emotions, those which were evident were interest and confusion, her eyes fixed on the prize he carried aboard the vessel. Without any contact, Nathan placed the limp body on the dark floorboards, turning his eyes to the Red woman. “Who’s this?” She asked, her tone riddled with a mixture of curiosity, interest, and distaste. Nathan turned her eyes back to the girl, shrugging.
“A converter.” He stated, not knowing what else to call her. “You wanted to convert the town, she’ll do it.” A smirk appeared on Ryvani’s mischievous lips, her eyes gazing through the girl, through everything. “She’ll come with us.” Ryvani finally revealed, still staring into the oblivion. Nathan raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Ryvani broke out of her trance, turning her gaze to Nathan. She had that look which made him feel inferior to her, that look which prickled the back of his neck. “I need to train her, don’t I?” Ryvani asked mockingly, in answer to what she perceived as Nathan’s dumb question. Nathan’s eyebrow’s furrowed in confusion. “Train? What, can’t you just cast the power of the Lord’s light on her? You did it with me.” Ryvani rolled her eyes, walking to the edge of the ship.
“It’s not that simple, Ember. She’ll come with us.” Nathan shook his head with frustration, crossing his arms. “Woman, you change your mind like you change your…” He stumbled on his words, staring at the red gown he seldom saw her out of. “Nevermind.” She paid him no mind to his words, from the looks of it. His eyes shifted, meeting her gaze as she turned and stared down at him.
“Our time is done here, we’re restocked and the crew are eager to leave.” Nathan chuckled and rolled his eyes. “As you Asshai’I always are. Where to, Red woman?” To his surprise, the shrugged, which was something uncharacteristic in her nature.
“I have a few ideas, but the Lord has not presented me with a clear path.” She admitted, and Nathan smirked. “Typical.” He received a menacing glare. “We should head to Cracklaw Point, where there are followers of the ‘Faith of Seas.’ I’d wish to convert these people first, however I know your hatred lies with the Old gods. Perhaps the Darklyn’s would suit you better?” Nathan shrugged, the names meant nothing to him. His ambitions rested in the Riverland’s, to destroy all the Old gods’ followers. “What is your choice, my Flame?” [Head to Cracklaw Point] [Head to Duskendale] [Suggest heading to the Riverlands]
Nathan
He lowered his radiating blade, staring into the eyes of the woman before him. Tears streamed down her eyes, her hands trembling a… mores she desperately tried to cover her face. Nathan sighed, turning his gaze to the septon he had slaughtered, and the tapestries which were now beginning to burn.
“R’hllor have mercy.” Nathan remarked a final time, in silence, to no one in particular. He turned his gaze to the young septa, extending his hand. “Up.” He commanded, and the girl willingly accepted his hand.
The sept was nothing more but a burning shrine by the time Nathan and the girl had escaped. Commoners and guards had gathered with a collective of water buckets, all in attempt to save the holy building of their false religion.
The onlookers barely noticed Nathan and his escapee companion as they passed through the building crowds, making it easy to pass through unnoticed. Nathan spotted a number of guards, yet their attention was … [view original content]
Oh yes, new parts! This is great and I am very happy that you finished it actually in such a short time. It's impressive, because the part itself was also really well-written
[Follow your suspicions had head to the Great Hall]
Well... the thing is that Warrick's suspicions might not always be true, as the scene with his son showed. He seems paranoid, but at the same time, paranoia is not always a bad thing. I doubt the Banefort's will try anyting with a Lannister army in their back, but even if they do, Warrick can always head to the main gates once it is clear that his help is needed there. For now, he should make sure that Emilee is alright. It's better to be safe than sorry.
Warrick
Warrick wrenched his arm away from Mericus’ grip, and through natural reaction, he pushed the perpetrator to the ground. The man … morefell clumsily, but his showed distraught and disappointment when he gazed back at him. Warrick could have sworn the man he called his brother was ready to tear up, but he remained dry eyed.
“Don’t you dare touch me.” Warrick muttered, turning his attention to where he last saw the hooded child who cautiously creeped through the alleys. He was not there. Warrick growled, turning his attention back to Mericus. “Don’t follow me.” He warned, unsheathing Honour from his back, and pursuing the alleyway he had last seen the boy.
The stripping painted walls were damp, and salty from the harbour. Warrick took quick silent steps, a trait seemingly rare for bigger men like himself, yet heard nothing but the sounds of the markets in this distance.
The surroundings had grown darker as Warrick approached deepe… [view original content]
Man, two parts at once, this is great! You're spoiling us with awesomeness
[Suggest heading to the Riverlands]
I see this as the choice Nathan wants to make. He said it himself, destroying the faith of the Old Gods is his ambition and as much as I disagree with this, I see it as logical for him to choose them over Duskendale and Crackclaw Point, which he isn't even interested in.
Nathan
He lowered his radiating blade, staring into the eyes of the woman before him. Tears streamed down her eyes, her hands trembling a… mores she desperately tried to cover her face. Nathan sighed, turning his gaze to the septon he had slaughtered, and the tapestries which were now beginning to burn.
“R’hllor have mercy.” Nathan remarked a final time, in silence, to no one in particular. He turned his gaze to the young septa, extending his hand. “Up.” He commanded, and the girl willingly accepted his hand.
The sept was nothing more but a burning shrine by the time Nathan and the girl had escaped. Commoners and guards had gathered with a collective of water buckets, all in attempt to save the holy building of their false religion.
The onlookers barely noticed Nathan and his escapee companion as they passed through the building crowds, making it easy to pass through unnoticed. Nathan spotted a number of guards, yet their attention was … [view original content]
Comments
This was awesome!
Hello! Those of you who read FoT, or maybe even Nymeria's War, know that I like to draw characters
I'm not a master artist, but the main purpose is just to give a visual image of what could the characters look like, and I can do that well enough (I guess). So, recently Stigz suggested me to try and draw some of the Invasion characers, which I happily did! The ones I drew are Davios Tallman (my own character) and Alara Caron. I hope you like 'em, I might do some more in the future 
These are truly great! I thank you for taking on my suggestion, and I'm super excited to see more in the future
Wow, this is incredible
Ever since I've heard that you're going to draw these, I've been hyped, but the end result is even better than I hoped for! I love just about everything with these drawings. Obviously, I am very happy about Alara and the way she turned out is perfect. I really recognize the character I had in mind while submitting her. That cape is a particular detail I like very much and it suits her 
And Davios is simply amazing as well. Just like with Alara, I feel like his personality has been captured really well in this image, with the facial expression and posture. With him, I find the detail on the clothes especially nice, that tabard has to be among has to be among the best pieces of clothing you ever drew in the forum. Oh man, I literally can't stop marvelling at them. Wonderful work, thank you for drawing these 
Cool! Glad to see your drawings here :-) Goob job with them!
Alright, I promise I won't be spamming the thread constantly, but I have one more drawing for you
And I think @LiquidChicagoTed, you are especially going to like this one 
I drew Alara again, this time with a bit different style.
Man, this is great! As I've praised earlier, I just can't exaggerate how amazing these drawings really are. Thank you once again!
Wyona
Her bedroom was quiet, with the only noise being the struggling breaths she managed to gasp into her chest. Her eyes wandered around the bright room, the soft warm breeze drifted through the open window. The sunlight peered through, shining on the portraits she had painted all her life, when there had been little else to do. She longed to get out of her bed, to peer down into the gardens she had tended to herself. Alas, she was trapped in her bed.
Her eyes drifted between each of her paintings, which showed a wide and wonderful variety of her skill. The beauty of her garden, where she had taken to her hand to portray the flowers that blossomed. She could not help but roll her eyes, to which she found they landed on a specific painting. An outdated family portrait.
For once in her past few weeks, she felt her eyes working hard and determined to identify those in the painting. She saw her father, King Waldemar, a crown of shells and rare dark green corals resting atop his head. Beside him were his two sons, Waldryn and Wyman. By Waldryn’s side was his wife Gemma, and their two children: Warmond and Wynne. Wyman stood tallest out of all in the portrait, breaching nearly eight feet. Beside the giant of a man stood a woman Wyona barely recognised, but that woman was her.
She saw a sadness in her own eyes, a sadness which she still held to this day. Yet, there was now joy and pride to overcome that sadness, as she had learnt when raising most of the Manderly children herself. Her eyes flickered across to the other women in the portrait. Lady Gemma Webber, known as the ‘Iron Spider.’ She too carried an overwhelming sadness in her eyes.
She recalled each of the individuals in the painting, counting those who were still alive to this day. Waldryn and his wife, Gemma, had passed nearly a decade ago. While her old father still lived, her older brother Wyman had not been named heir. That position had been granted to Waldryn’s son, Warmond. There had been much dispute and argument over the matter, and much unrest in the kingdom because of it. Though, it was Wyman himself who had accepted to the arrangement. Wyman was a warrior, he left the highly intellectual politics to that of his father and deceased brother. He was unfit to rule in his father’s footsteps, but a monster when it came to war.
Wyona sighed and shook her head, resting her straining eyes. They had all aged, for better or worse. King Waldemar was close to his ninetieth name day, and Wyman had reached his seventieth. Warmond was in his mid-fifties, being older than any of his uncles from the Hightower marriage. The everloving Wynne was only four years younger than Warmond, and Wyona herself was in her mid-sixties. The years had taken their toll on her, though the years had never been kind to her.
She rolled her weak head to her left, looking out the window at the bright blue sky. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky from where she lay, and the sun would surely have been beautiful on her garden this time of the day. Her eyes rolled back to the bedside table beside her, to which her eyes fell upon the beautiful Mermaid Pearls on her necklace. Only three remained, though they never lacked in their beauty as the years went by, unlike her crone-like self.
The door swung open with a mighty thud against the stone brick wall, and the giant of a man entered, followed by the panicking Water Maidens. Wyona could not help but smile at the sight of her older brother, and the looks of the panicked Water Maidens that chased after him in a hurry.
“Please, Prince Wyman!” The youngest of them wailed, attempting to grab his arms. “She needs her rest, you must come another time.” Another begged, assisting her friend. Wyman brushed them girls off of him, sending a menacing glare in their direction.
“Leave us.” He growled, though to Wyona’s surprise the girl’s remained stationary. Their eyes looked to Wyona, who returned to them with a gentle nod.
“Thank you, girls. I think I can deal with my brutish brother.” Wyona jokingly assured, wearing a mocking smile to her brother. He replied with a saddened frown, and the girls nodded and took their leave. Wyman knelt down beside his weakened sister, taking hold of her outstretched hand.
“How are you, little sister?” He asked, dearly clutching her small hand between his own large hands. She stared at them with wonder, they were the hands that had been used to kill men, and now they held onto her own. She gently shrugged her shoulders, looking back to the family portrait.
“About the same as always, I suppose.” She said gently, looking at the features of her brother in his younger stages. She looked back to him now, his chiseled face and turquoise eyes remained the same. Only now, his face was lightly covered in wrinkles, and his shoulder length hair had greyed. His face was still cleanly shaven, and his large stature still granted him the title of ‘Strong Merman.’ Though his fearful eyes were now weakened and sympathetic at the sight of his dying sister. His eyes spotted the Pearls on her bedside desk, and a glimmer of hope flickered in his eyes. Wyona shook her head.
“No.” She gently said, placing her other hand on top of his. His eyes darted back at her, pleading, begging. “You must.” He said, and she gently grasped his hand.
“Only to get sick again in another few weeks. No, I will not use them. There will be a time where others may need them.” The painful look in his eyes stabbed at her like sharpened needles, piercing her in every part of her heart she could imagine. She managed to allow herself a small, weak smile. “I can’t imagine you came here just to visit your sickened sister.” Wyona prompted, and Wyman lowered his eyes and nodded. He freed her hands and rested his own on his knees.
“Father called, there’s a council to be had. I only learnt of your suffering when I arrived.” Wyman admitted, and Wyona gently shook her head with a smile. “You knew of my suffering from when we were children. Only now, my life is coming to an end.” Wyona sighed, rubbing her hands. “Will you stay around for the funeral?” Her question clearly caught her old brother by surprise, as his eyes widened.
“Don’t say that, Wyona. You’ll be fine.” He encouraged, forcing a fake smile and offering his hand. Wyona fought hard not to shed a tear, but she smiled in return.
“You want me to live, and I respect that. Though you do not know my pain, my suffering. All things come to an end, and mine will be soon. So will you please, just please promise me that you will attend the service. I don’t imagine many others will.” His frown was heavy, though Wyona received a strong and dedicated nod in reply. Her smile was enough to thank him, and for a moment they just stared into each other’s eyes. The turquoise eyes of their father, and their mother, and the supposed Merling blood that ran through their veins. Finally, a genuine smile widened on his old lips.
“I must go, the meeting will start soon.” Wyman’s words were calm and gentle, a surprise which Wyona accepted with gratitude. She nodded with a warm smile. “We will see each other again. I promise you.” Wyman stood on his promise and nodded to her, before walking to the door and exiting, leaving the door a creak open.
Wyona sighed, resting her back against her pillow. She gazed out the window, noticing that clouds were starting to pervert her beautiful sky. Her end was coming, it was now only a matter of time. She would be outlived by her father, and her older brother. The thought of it was strange to her, though deep inside she felt ready for her fate.
She turned her eyes back to her paintings, however as her eyes slowly drifted across the room, she noticed a familiar pair of eyes staring at her through the creak of the door. Wyona smiled. Wave was the nine year old daughter to Wyona’s half brother: Wendel.
“Come in, my girl.” Wyona quietly permitted, and the nosey girl quickly rushed through the door, climbed onto her bed and fell into Wyona’s open arms. The two held the embracement tightly, before Wyona felt the wet tears of her niece staining through her thin dress. The girl pulled away, her eyes wet and her lips quivering.
“Are you dying, Auntie?” She asked, her tone trembled and there was fear in her eyes. Wyona smiled and pull her back into a hug.
“Yes, my beautiful girl.” Wyona admitted, and she felt the weeps of the young girl grow harder. “Though there is no reason to be afraid, my sweet girl.” Wyona said with a smile. “With all life, there is death, and I will go to a place where there is no pain or suffering. Though I cannot take anything with me, so I have a gift for you.” Wave pulled away, her sad wettened eyes showed a hint of curiosity.
“What is it?” She asked, wiping away the tears with her soft little hands. Wyona smiled, looking over to the Mermaid Pearls on her bedside table. Wave’s eyes widened, she was speechless. Wyona nodded, answering to her question.
“The famed Mermaid Pearls.” Wyona concluded to her answer, yet she frowned as she stared at them. “They aren’t much now are they?” She asked, sitting herself up. Wave sat on her lap, staring at them with wonder.
“Only three pearls remain. When my father, your grandfather, gave the necklace to me there were seven. I was around your age back then, and I lost one of the pearls not long after when I was playing in the castle.” Wyona admitted, wondering where that pearl was still. She sighed and shook the thought from her head. “Three have been used throughout the duration of my life to save me from illness and near death experiences. You understand that these are more than just pretty stones on a golden chain, yes?” Wyona asked assuringly, and the little girl nodded in response.
“Clever girl, but remember that each pearl may only protect you from danger once. After that, it is gone.” Wyona looked at the pearls a final time, before brushing her feeble hands through Wave’s hair. “Take them, they’re yours.” Wyona said warmly, and the curious Wave grabbed the necklace, staring at the pearls. She then looked up to her aunt, her eyes still saddened.
“Shouldn’t you use them, Auntie?” Wyona smiled and shook her head, lifting Wave off her numbing knee. She placed the little girl on the ground, though she felt the strength starting the sap from her body, and the effort had left her drained.
“I would not dare waste another one on me. In fact, I fear that one might trigger if it is kept close to me any longer. So go, find the closest and most trustworthy children you like and give them a pearl each. I understand this may sound very strange to you, but one day you will understand. You’re a clever girl, and I know you’ll make the right decisions.” Wyona smiled at the girl, holding back the weakness she truly felt. “Now go, beautiful girl. Enjoy your life, live it well.” The young girl bobbed her head, rushing to the door of Wyona’s bedroom.
“I would also ask one last thing of you, little mermaid.” Wyona requested, stopping the girl before she could leave. Her inquisitive eyes turned back to her aunt. “The next time you see your grandfather, Waldemar, tell him I love him dearly, would you?” The girl nodded her head in acknowledgement.
“Yes Auntie.” She said with the kindness in her heart, before leaving Wyona alone in her deathbed.
Wyona sighed, resting against the frame of her bed. She slowly and carefully lowered herself down onto her pillow, taking a final glance around her room. Her beautiful paintings stared at her, the fantastic scenery and wonderful wild flowers. Her family portrait. Dozens of her accomplishments hung around her room, yet still she looked dissatisfied.
“What an awful painter I must have been, if these were truly my greatest works.” Wyona acknowledged, sinking into the comfort of her bed. The final comfort, her final words, before a world of darkness engulfed her when she shut her eyes. A new life awaits. She persuaded herself, before peacefully accepting her long overdue fate.
No decision.
Hey all, so as you could tell this was a one off prologue PoV, which introduces the Manderly's into the story. There will be another Manderly PoV coming up soon, but I'm going to get to writing the next part. Hope you guys enjoyed the new part, and if you haven't already seen it, then scroll up to find another of @WildlingKing 's fantastic drawings!
Alright, well this vote looks to be closed. Jarden will choose Paytan, which was the choice I expected to be honest. This will have some consequences down the track, though really they all did.
Wow, that was really beautiful and sad in same part. You handled it very well and even if it's one off PoV, you can feel the fact of part being completed as good it was supposed to, giving full picture and emotional state of the character. It will be really interesting storyline I must say. Perhaps little Wave will be another, young PoV? This could be interesting.
Good job, Stigz :-)
Man, this is like christmas for me
Even better, because at christmas, I have never gotten two wonderful drawings of my character before XD But seriously, this is amazing. I find it incredible how you always manage to draw the characters so much like I imagine them. Alara is simply spot on. Brilliant drawing, thanks a lot 
I was not expecting a one off PoV! Oh man, that was a sad part. For such a short appearance, you managed to show Wyona's character really well and her death already made me sad. But these pearls she had given to Wave, they are probably the thing that intrigue me the most about this part, as excellent as all of it was. I am highly curious how they work and well, I am absolutely sure we haven't seen the last of them.
A great one off
Like Liquid, I'm very curious to see what exactly will be the role of these pearls in the long run.
Warmond
The Merman council was nothing shy of a family gathering for the most part, yet the topic of discussion was never light. The silently sat behind the driftwood table, that looked to be more a trunk of wood growing from the cold stone slabs beneath their feet. However, like many other matters, King Waldemar had assured them the table was presented to them by the Merling King.
Warmond stared at the men and women around the table, all showing a variety of emotion in their expressions. His grandfather, King Waldemar, sat at the far end of the table, his expression stern yet his powerful turquoise eyes wandering and inquisitive. The old man was approaching his ninetieth year, and rumors had already arisen that there would be a grand ball to celebrate his nameday.
Warmond sat adjacent the king, and opposite of him was a vacant stone stool. The seat belonged to Wyman, who the council were currently waiting on. Beside Warmond sat his uncle, Prince Walter of Dunstonbury. ‘The Wild Merman,’ as he was better known. Opposite him sat Warmond’s other uncle, Prince Wendel of Northmander, the Marshall of Northmarch. Finally, beside Wendel sat his younger sister Waldina, as well as Wyman’s daughter: Wylda ‘Half-Witch.’
While Walter held a heavily bored frown on his face, Warmond felt the tingling of Wendel’s cocky smirk directed at him. Warmond had been ignoring the man for the past hour, yet he now found himself looking his younger uncle in the eyes. They were brown, and somewhat menacing in their gaze. His black hair was short, yet the most prominent feature of him were his large ears, of which he bragged his Florent descent from his grandmother’s side. The two men glared each other down for a moment, until Walter groaned in boredom.
“How much longer father?” He muttered, not bothering to raise his eyes when speaking. He was slumped over the table, his cheek resting against his fist. Waldemar stared at his son with distaste, which clearly caught Walter off guard.
“That’s once.” The old man warned, simply but intimidating with his tone. Walter sighed and nodded, lowering his eyes down to the creaks in the table. Warmond still stared at the smirking Wendel, who had now turned his attention to his father.
“Why not something to begin with while we wait? An appetiser? Something to talk of at the very least.” The offer remained untouched for a short moment, yet Waldemar finally agreed. Wendel grinned, clasping his hands together. Walter raised his eyes, yet his expression still remained the same. A rare smile appeared on Waldina’s lips, and the Half-Witch remained silent.
“Walter, how fares your bastard?” Waldemar asked with a strict and emotionless tone. Walter’s frown narrowed by the question, or by the title more importantly. “Wendy is doing well.” He responded with agitated words. Waldemar nodded, turning his eyes to Wendel. “And you? You brought your daughter with you when you arrived. How is young Wave?”
Wendel straightened his posture on the stool, grinning to the question as he sent his mocking glare to Warmond. “The little beauty is as nosey as she has always been. No doubt she’s with the other children, looking for that pearl which was lost all those years ago.” Wendel chuckled in amusement, yet Waldemar paid little mind to it. Waldina sighed, shaking her head.
“Has anyone had the time to speak with Wyona? I heard the news when I arrived, but I haven’t…” The Half-Witch raised her eyes, those amethyst eyes that she had inherited from her mother. “Father made her way to her chambers once we arrived.” She quietly admitted, and Walter nodded.
“The Aunt’s time has come. I suppose that means the pearls are handed over to some of us?” Walter directed his question to Waldemar, yet Warmond was the one who responded.
“Mind your tongue, Walter.” Warmond warned, yet he received only a rolling of the man’s eyes. Wendel piped up, the excitement to thrust his cocky insults were bubbling in him. “The Iron Merman speaks!” He announced, tapping his fingers on the table. “I wonder, will father give one of the pearls to his beloved heir? Or to one of his actual sons?” The smirk on his uncle’s lips remained for the shortest moment, before Waldemar’s fist slammed against the table, drawing everyone’s attention.
“Enough!” Waldemar growled, glaring at each of the members around the table. As if to break the suspense, the Strong Merman entered the room, quickly drawing the attention of mixed eyes.
“I apologise for my absence father.” Were his first words, before his eyes quickly skimmed over the other members of the council. “Brother’s, sister’s.” He greeted, before laying his eyes on Warmond. “Nephew.” He acknowledged as he passed him. He stopped behind his daughter, resting a hand on her shoulder and pecking her cheek.
“Shall we begin?” Walter asked with a rushed tone, and Waldemar nodded, waving Wyman to his seat. “We received word from Fair Isle.” Waldemar started, running his fingers through his long white beard. “Wylla claims that the Kracken worshiper has sent a fleet to the north, claiming over an isle known as Bear Island. I see this as an opportunity to cease iron from their lands.” The suggestion was more a statement than anything else. Waldina’s eyes stared deep into the cracks in the driftwood.
“There’s more to this then we know.” She forewarned, raising her eyes from the table and looking to her father, who stared back to her with curiosity. “You’ve seen it?” He asked, though Waldina disappointed him with a shake of her head. “No, but I have a strong feeling about this.” Waldemar shook his head.
“If we based our strategies off feelings than our kingdom would have fallen long ago. With the Western Fleet, we will join the Farman’s and show the Ironmen that our Flood Devours.” Walter nodded with a grin, and Wyman showed admirance, yet there was hesitation with the remaining members. Warmond rubbed his hands, looking to his grandfather.
“We should call on our allies in the Misty Isles. We could use the ships.” Warmond suggested, and Waldemar nodded in agreement. Warmond turned his gaze to Wyman. “Could you get word to Wyvern? He will lead the fleet.” Wyman nodded, stretching out his large hands. Wendel rolled his eyes.
“As the bastard always does.” He muttered with a chuckle to conclude. Wyman shook his head. “He’s no bastard, he’s the founder of his own house.” Though Wendel was not convinced. “He’s your son, but not your wife’s son. Sounds like a bastard to me, but then again, your wife left you for her beloved sorcery.” Wyman stood up with a great haste, knocking his stool over. His turquoise eyes glared into Wendel’s amusement.
“Shall we take this outside, false faith?” Wyman threatened, and Wendel grinned and shook his head. “Ha, if we were to leave this room my beautiful face would be left as nothing but pulp. No, I think the pain of this stool is enough for me to bare today.” Wyman’s temper was on the brink. Waldemar reached out and grabbed his son’s arm.
“Sit down.” He commanded, and for a moment there was hesitation in the furious giant’s eyes. Though he submitted, he had to. Wendel’s victorious smile made Warmond’s stomach churn. “So what of us?” Wendel asked, notioning to Walter with his eyes. “Hightower has mentioned his worries for the Andal threats in the east. If they send their ships our way, it will be the Hightower’s who suffer first.” Waldemar sighed, shaking his head.
“They have little worry about at this stage, my son. If anything, the Lannister’s should be of more concern.” Waldemar stated, though Wendel shook his head. “The Lannister’s haven’t got anything on us. We hold the Reach, while they hold some insignificant lands to the west.” Waldemar smiled, tapping his fingers on his head chair. “We have the Mander. The Gardener’s have the Reach.” Wendel rolled his eyes.
“Who are we kidding? The Gardener’s are basically our vassals, since our last war. Sure, they hold the title, but we hold the power. The Reach is ours.” Wendel proudly announced, grinning. Yet it was Walter to disagree with him.
“According to my scouts, the Gardener’s are building an army.” Warmond raised an eyebrow to this, turning to his eyes to Walter. “How big?” Walter shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. “Over twenty thousand. It could be for anything, the Andal’s, the Dornish, the Stormland’s.” Walter suggested, but Warmond shook his head.
“It’s too large a threat to go unnoticed. We should look further into it.” Warmond suggest, to which Waldemar nodded. “Agreed. Walter, you will take some of your best men and meet with that old king.” Waldemar turned his powerful eyes to Wendel. “King Garth may become a problem, in which case we must discuss this with our allies. Notify our vassals, then make your way to Hightower.” Wendel nodded, though Warmond could see the disappointment and anger deep behind his eyes. Waldina spoke up.
“Father, I’d like to accompany Wyvern to Fair Isle. I believe I could be of better use there.” Waldemar turned his eyes to his youngest daughter, flicking between her dark brown eyes. “Very well.” He permitted, nodding to her. Wyman cleared his throat. “Father, I would…” The soft haste of bear footsteps against the cold damp floor echoed in the open halls. Before Wyman could say another word, the young girl ran into the room with a necklace clutched into her hands.
“Wave?” Wendel asked, somewhat surprised to see his daughter, yet also curious to what she possessed in her small hands. Warmond admitted that he was wondrous too. “Grandpa, grandpa!” Was the only answer Wendel received, as she ran to Waldemar and climbed onto his lap. She wrapped her skinny arms around her grandfather, and the old man gently embraced her in return.
“What is wrong, sweet child? What’s this?” He asked her, notioning to the golden chain the clutched tightly in her hands. She shook her head. “Auntie Wyona wanted me to tell you that she loves you very much.” She repeated as if ordered, wiping her wet eyes, she lifted the chain and revealed the three pearls. A soft smile appeared on Waldemar’s lips, yet his eyes were saddened.
“Oh, sweet girl.” He started, before Wyman stood up and left in a great hurry. Wylda ‘Half-Witch’ was next to follow, her eyes welled up in tears. Before long, Waldina rose and exited the room. Wendel arose from his stool and freed his father from Wave. “Come now, sweet child.” He begged, tugging the weeping child out of the room. Walter rose, leaving without a word.
Silence filled the room, now only Warmond and Waldemar remained. Wyona had meant a lot to Warmond in his uprising as a child, despite his parents nurturement. His father had raised him to be dutiful, preparing him for when he would soon be heir to the Coral Throne. While his mother had been ill. Wyona had played a crucial role in Warmond’s upbringing, allowing him to be partly a child throughout his never ending duties. Now with her passing, Warmond felt sorrowed, yet more remorseful that he did not shed a tear.
His arm reached out, resting on his grandfather’s old frail-looking hand. Waldemar showed a side that Warmond had seldom seen through his years of being close with the man, and he could not put a finger on what exactly it was. A weak smile appeared on the old man’s face, and for a while there was peace, until the tears dried and his stern nature returned. He stood, clenching his hands.
“It’s time we arrange a funeral.” Waldemar announced, more to himself than anyone else. Warmond nodded, before rising from his stood and exiting the room. He felt no pain, no suffering. Only acceptance.
No decision.
Nicely written part.
Who's part will be next?
Tylar, when I get the time to write again
Hope you will find it soon, not only for writing but also for yourself.
So many W's XD Oh well, I guess I'll learn to separate them all from each other in time
Oh, but great part anyway!
I gotta agree with Wildling, the similar names are slightly confusing this early. The number of W's is too damn high
Though I have no doubts that I'll manage to distinguish them from each other very soon, because they are all very nice characters. The part itself was also great, a really enjoyable read. The Manderly storyline is only in its very beginning, but I have a good feeling for it 
Yeah, I at first complained about the names as well. Though through a lot of persuasion, and basically getting used to the names, I chose to keep them. Yeah, pretty much all the Manderly's have W names, though after a while you'll be able to distinguish between them. This I promise. I might consider posting up the family tree for the Manderly's, and making some for all the other large houses.
Hey guys, so I went to the effort to make a family tree (which had loosely been done for me by Joriandrake) for House Manderly. It should hopefully clear some things up, as well as showing the family relations to each other. There are some things I haven't added, such as marriages, however I'll show most of that through the story. Oh and if you see an X, it's just a symbol for deceased, while the numbers are the ages of living characters
Hope it helps! 
Tylar
A soft drift of air blew through his hair as he exited his uncle’s tent. The Lannister convoy had grown into an army of tents, each filled with more men than Tylar could be bothered to count. The protection for the eldest. Tylar thought to himself shamefully, the role he had been born into was not the role he had wanted to live, yet duty compelled him to go on.
With swift steps, Tylar made his way to his younger brother’s tent. He received admired nods from familiar faces, mostly men he had sparred with in the yards. Tylar paid them the mind he could, but most of it worked to compose an apology for his brother, or just to think of what he would say. It was him who started this, was Tylar’s initial reaction to the matter. Part of him wondered why he chose his arrogant brother over other matters of importance.
As his thoughts clouded his mind, his body clumsily bumped into someone, a woman. Tylar snapped out of his thoughts, becoming highly alert, which clearly startled the already wobbling woman. She had beautiful locks of hair, and beneath them her blushed cheeks and embarrassed smile shined. Tylar’s eyes widened, mildly astonished by such beauty. For a moment, they awkwardly remained in silence, until Tylar built up the courage to speak.
“Apologies, my lady. I should have…” The woman quickly raised her hands and shook her head with a warm smile. “The fault is mine, my prince.” She gathered herself and nodded. “Enjoy your stroll, your highness.” She left him with almost no regard, which oddly intrigued him.
“Wait.” He yelled, and the girl spun around. There he saw her bright, almost artificial, white eyes. They were clear to see in the surrounding darkness. “What’s your name?” Tylar asked hesitantly, and the girl smirked in response. “They call me the Travelling Spider.”
Waiting for no response, the girl left Tylar genuinely bewildered by her beauty in the midst of the Lannister camp, and then like that, she was gone. Tylar sighed, rubbing his hands and trying to relieve the emptiness he felt. He was dedicated to a marriage, an arranged marriage, and it was his duty to watch over his wife, yet now he felt conflicted and confused.
The thought of Gwyn patiently awaiting him back in their tent was something of uncomfort for him. The day had been confronting, and he was stressed to the core as a result. He wondered if seeking out his foolish brother was the best plan of action with his current mood, especially as he chose him over his wife. He shook the thoughts from his head, and made his way for his brother’s tent.
-
The place was a mess. Broken jars and flasks, with spilt wine staining the tent floor. Clothes were scattered around the pavilion, yet it was not Loras’ clothes which made Tylar uncomfortable. Awkwardly, he stared at the large red and gold sheets, listening to the soft whimpers and whispers that the two bodies exchanged to each other. Tylar cleared his throat.
The sheets flew up in a rush as Loras shot up, wrapping himself in the blankets to cover himself, and leaving his pleasurer bare breasted and as shocked as he. Tylar sighed and knelt down, passing the whore her clothing, which she quickly pulled tightly to her chest and waist.
“Tylar, what the fuck!” Were the first words said, and not with a welcoming tone. Tylar nodded to the girl, who quickly evaded the premises, leaving Tylar with his brother. Loras’ eyes were widened, wet with tears yet furious with shock and anger. Tylar crossed his arms.
“What the hell are you doing?” Tylar growled, staring at the incompetence of a man that stood before him. For a moment the two just glared at each other, until Tylar accepted that Loras was not going to speak. “Fine, I came to talk. Get dressed.” Tylar ordered, turning his eyes elsewhere to allow his brother privacy.
“I don’t want to talk with the likes of you.” He muttered, yet there was disgust in his tone, a touch of distaste. Tylar ignored him, shaking his head. “Then I’ll talk at you, but for god's sake get dressed!” Tylar could already feel his emotions firing up inside him, and he desperately fought against them. I came here to apologise, not make things worse, he reminded himself continuously.
Hesitantly, Loras stripped the sheets from his body and changed into his extravagantly flash clothing, consisting of a loose golden tunic with loose red pants, all of which he considered sleepwear, yet any man knew the garments cost a fortune. He sat himself down, grabbing a goblet and the remnants of a flask of dry red wine, imported from the Arbor. He clumsily poured what was left into his goblet, and sculled the fluid in one gulp. Now he turned his beautiful green eyes to Tylar’s.
“What do you want?” He asked with boredom, sounding out each word as he asked. Tylar pulled himself a chair from Loras’ desk, easing himself down to take the stress off his aching legs. “To apologise.” Tylar admitted, more to himself than to his brother. Loras chucked, rolling his eyes.
“Why should I care for the apology of The Prince Who Ran?” He mocked, though his attention looked elsewhere, until he spotted another casket of wine on the desk beside Tylar. He pulled himself onto his knees, though standing proved to be an issue for him. Tylar sighed, staring at him with disappointment.
“I’m sorry if I’m the cause of this.” Tylar genuinely apologised, though Loras remained unfocused, his objective clear in his eyes. Tylar felt himself growing impatient, and more frustrated, despite himself repeating the words over and over in his head. “Loras!” Tylar yelled, begging for his attention for just a moment. Loras turning his gaze to Tylar, before falling to his stomach and bursting into laughter.
“I don’t care for your stupid apologies, bastard.” Loras grinned at his mockery, his eyes wandering around the tent as he aimlessly looked around. Tylar clenched his fists, but bit his tongue. “I’m not a bastard.” Tylar finally managed, and Loras rolled his eyes. “Sure you aren’t. You don’t look like us, not like father, or uncle, or me. Hell, not even like Byran. Maybe you should have taken his place, maybe then-” Tylar stood from his chair, approaching his drunk brother with closed fists. The boy backed away, raising his hands and laughing, though Tylar was done. He grasped his brother’s shirt, lifting his hand.
“Not another word.” Tylar warned, the stench of wine in his brother’s breath was sickening. Loras’ head rolled back. “Of course. You’re here to talk at me, I forgot.” Tylar felt himself conflicted with the choices he was presented, and for a moment he just stared at the drunken body he held with aggression. Finally, he released him, and as expected he hit the floor with a stupor. Tylar fell back on his arse, tucking his legs to his chest.
“What the hell is wrong with you? You make a fool of yourself, drown yourself in wine, and then cry to whores.” Tylar shook his head, confused. “Why?” For a while, Loras remained still, and for a moment Tylar thought he had concussed himself with the fall. “At least they listen.” The words were soft, and quiet, yet they stabbed at Tylar harder than any of Loras’ petty insults. “They listen…” He remarked, shaking his head. Tylar saw tears welling up in the boy’s eyes.
“Loras…” Tylar started, yet the boy shook his head, burying his head in his hands. “Father tells me he loves me, that I am his best son. He gave me his sword, his blessing. Yet he bares me nothing, and focuses only on you.” He rubbed his eyes, yet tears still streamed down his cheeks. Tylar sighed, clueless on what to say.
“I wish things were different.” Tylar admitted, it was the truth. “I wish you had it all, and I had what you have. You’re free, while I’m forced into a life I don’t even want.” Tylar sighed, rubbing his fingers as he cracked their joints. “Though I can’t change that, it’s just how it is.” Loras wiped his eyes with the back of his hands, grabbing for his empty goblet.
“Get lost.” He muttered, raising the empty cup to his lips. To his disappointment, no liquid flowed into his mouth. “Loras, come on.” Tylar begged, but the boy had turned to his anger, throwing his goblet at Tylar. His aim was affected by the wine. “GO!” He screamed, before curling himself up into a ball. Tylar stood himself up, staring at the mess his brother was in. Maybe he was right, maybe Tylar needed to give him space. Yet he dreaded the thought of abandoning his brother in his current state.
Reluctantly, Tylar turned with his intentions to leave his brother in peace, yet a thought dawned on him which had not touched his mind in a long time, and had only reemerged in this argument. Byran. The prince who truly ran away, or so it seemed.
Tylar turned his gaze back to Loras, the wet-eyed boy staring at him with a bitterness which Tylar was accustomed to. Tylar shook his head gently. “I’ve already lost one brother. I won’t lose another.” The shift in Loras’ eyes were subtle, but the bitterness had noticeably taken to a disappointed frown.
As if on queue to break the visible awkward tension, the tent flaps opened and Tylar’s brother-in-law: Tavion, entered. His yellow hair was greasy, and in need of a wash, but styled in a manner that made him presentable. He slicked his hair back, and the grease acted as a supplement for it, instead of using oils. His alert brown eyes darted around the tent, and when his eyes spotted the distressed Loras, he turned his gaze to the floor.
“Apologies, my Prince’s. Should I come back another time?” Tylar was quick to shake his head, taking a step towards the man and placing his hand on his shoulder. “Of course not. What’s the news?” Tylar knew there could be only two reasons for his appearance. A message from Gwyn, or a message from someone else. Tavion raised his eyes, flicking between Tylar’s emerald gems.
“Lawsen is asking for you. Something to do with the lion cubs we found earlier today, my Prince.” Tylar nodded, but before they could exit, Loras piped up. “Lion cubs?” He asked, or more demanded, with his entitlement. Tylar stared at his brother for a moment, recalling why they had fought in the first place. Maybe you would have known if you hadn’t have left us for dead. Tylar bit his tongue, turning his gaze back to Tovian. “Shall we?” The man nodded, and the two exited the tent, leaving Loras alone.
-
The two walked through the narrow paths of the tents in silence, partly out of respect for those who slept, and mainly because there was little to say. The two of them had never found a connection, and though there was no disregard between them, there was simply no interest.
Tylar wondered if Tovian’s silence was from Gwyn’s request. Tovian had a renowned reputation for his boastful nature, and though he was mostly civil around Tylar, it had never kept him this quiet before. Perhaps Gwyn was upset, Tylar didn’t doubt it, he had chosen Loras over her after all.
The two of them stopped outside Lawsen’s tent, waiting, though for what, they did not know. For a moment, they just stood in silence, waiting patiently, until Tovian finally spoke. “You think it’s right?” The question was blunt, and with no obvious backing, leaving Tylar confused with the question. “What is?” The man shrugged.
“This.” Tovian motioned to all of the tents around them. “We’re like a small army, and better still we’re riding for the wedding of a bastard and a low house. Shouldn’t we be focusing on more important matters? Like the Riverlands or Reach? All of this seems pointless to me.” Tovian crossed his arms. They were strong arms, though not large like a carpenter’s, though more fitting to his agile athletic build. It was undeniable that Tylar was the stronger man of the two, though in this position, Tylar felt somewhat weak to the topic. He shrugged.
“Perhaps it’s the perfect time for a wedding, with all this commotion about.” Tylar suggested, and Tovian made it quite clear that he did not understand Tylar’s viewpoint. “We’re not at war, but we’re not in a good place either. The River kings hold part of our lands, while the Manderly’s hold a strong influence on the eastern coast. We continue to focus on the negatives, perhaps it’s time to take on something lighter.” Tovian shrugged his shoulders, turning his gaze to the night sky. “Perhaps.”
The night was peaceful, beautiful in fact. The stars shone bright over the camp, the red banners of House Lannister flapped gently in the soft breeze, their sigils clear to see in the moonlight. It was a night that could captivate even the most fidgety man, and hold him in complete awe for even the shortest moment.
The surreal beauty was snatched away from them far too soon, and replaced with a squeal and a growl, like angry cats fighting each other. ‘Hey! Stop!’ Resonated from inside the tent. Tylar and Tovian exchanged worried glances, before quickly entering the tent.
The scene quickly erupted in front of them as they entered. The three lion cubs on the enclosed wooden table, Lawsen’s bloody hands clutched around the cub which reminded Tylar so much of Byran, while it pinned the cub that gave an image of Loras into a corner. The petrified cub was soiling itself, while Lawsen was holding back the perpetrator, which had clearly sunk its teeth into his hands a number of times. Tylar could see Lawsen starting to lose grip of the young cub, and without a doubt the beast would unleash on the other young animal.
In a split second, from Lawsen’s hands letting go of the animal, and Tovian rushing to the boy’s aid, Tylar watched the scene unravel, caught in the surrealism. The ‘Byran’ cub lunged itself towards the similar Loras cub, yet to Tylar’s surprise, the remaining cub intervened. The cub which reminded Tylar the most of himself, the cub which had convinced him not to slaughter them when they had murdered their mother.
In an instant, the two cubs collided, biting and clawing at each other. Tylar snapped out of his trance, rushing towards the animals and separating them with ease. The ‘Byran’ cub fought for its freedom, while Tylar’s cub seemed to submit into his grasp. However, after further inspection Tylar noticed blood on both of the animals. The deep claw marks were the most prominent, on the submissive cubs left eye.
Tylar flickered his eyes between each of the three cubs, spotting the resemblance in each of them. It was not a thought, but more an instinct. Tylar turned his gaze to Tavion, who nursed Lawsen’s wounds. He offered the aggressive cub to him.
“Take this one to my uncle, and the other to my brother.” Tylar ordered, shifting his eyes to the cub that resembled so much of himself. “What of Lawsen?” Tovian asked, reluctantly taking hold of both cubs. “I’ll take care of him. Just go, and take haste.” The man nodded, though his priorities were avoiding the claws that were eager to sink into his flesh. He quickly exited the tent, leaving Tylar with his cub, and Lawsen.
“What is it?” Lawsen asked, attending to his wounds with the cloth of his shirt. His interest was minimal, and his attention focused highly on his wounds. Tylar turned his gaze to Lawsen, releasing the cub on the floor, which quickly lapped around his feet and then darted towards Lawsen. However, not in aggression, though quite the contrary. “Oi!” Lawsen mumbled, as the cub climbed up his leg and into his arms. The teenager laughed for once, which was a sight Tylar had not seen in awhile.
“There’s something about them, Lawsen. Something divine.” Lawsen rolled his eyes, focusing entirely on the cub that climbed onto his shoulder, licking his ear. “You don’t believe that crap do you? I’ve never seen you as a zealous man, so don’t start on me now.” Tylar smirked, reaching out his hand to the cub, which gracefully climbed onto his palm.
“Guess that one is yours. What’re you gonna name him?” The question caught Tylar somewhat off guard. Perhaps there was need for a name, if what Lawsen suggested was true.
The cub showed much of the traits he did, with duty to family and leadership. He would grow strong, and for a while Tylar thought of the rocks that built up their home. The Rock. Granite was a definite suitor, but Tylar leaned towards another rock. Something that would certainly suit with his new addition of scratches. Skarn.
-
Tylar’s night had been restless, and as a consequence he was riding ahead of the vanguard with little sleep. The ride had finally started to pay off, as Silentport had come into view. Tylar turned his gaze to his uncle, Maxwell, who had rode in silence this entire way.
“When was the last time you saw Bryce?” Tylar asked, more looking to start a conversation rather than out of interest. Maxwell frowned, as if he were disappointed in the answer he were to give. “Over a year, at least.” Tylar raised his eyebrows, though there was nothing really surprising about it. Maxwell was the Master of Coin, he had been given little leisure time unless it benefitted Casterly Rock.
“It’s Warrick who I’m needing to see.” Maxwell admitted after a while, and Tylar raised an eyebrow. “Warrick Westerling?” Tylar asked, and received a brief affirming nod from his uncle. “Why?” Tylar received a side glance, and for a moment Tylar thought the man was not going to reply. Though as he was, his eye spotted something which took his train of thought, and all of his attention.
“What in the hell?” Tylar followed his uncle’s gaze, and with little effort, his eyes landed on the same sorry sight. Banefort banners, rallied outside Silentport. Tylar naturally felt his hand gravitating towards his blade, ready to shout orders. Maxwell cleared his throat, shaking his head. “Diplomacy is better than violence, Tylar. I will ride to them, see what they want.” Before Tylar could intervene, the galloping hooves of Loras’ courser caught up to them. The bitter look in his eyes as he stared out to the distance.
“There are Banefort’s!” He proclaimed, alerting anyone who was not observant enough to lift their gaze ahead of them. “Let’s go show them that a Lannister always pays their debts!” He grinned, unsheathing their ancestral blade, which he had disgraced by naming ‘Last Words.’
Tylar felt himself already disagreeing with the plan. Maxwell shook his head once again. “No. We’re not here to start a war.” Tylar observed the fiery temper building up in Loras’ cheeks. “They’re our sworn enemies! Since the dawn of fucking time! If they’re here, then they’re wanting trouble.” Loras blurted in a great effort to have it his own way, though the two men were in disagreement.
“The Banefort’s aren’t a problem. We broke their lineage centuries ago, they’re likely here for the wedding, like us.” Loras shook his head frustratedly, and Tylar knew the two would sit and argue over the matter until the Other’s rode down from the Wall. He had to make a decision, as the Prince of the Rock.
Choice 1: [Side with Maxwell] [Side with Loras]
Choice 2 (only if you chose to side with Maxwell): [Accompany Maxwell] [Rally the forces]
Man, this was an amazing part! Wonderful, really
I enjoy Tylar's storyline so far, I believe it has potential to grow into one of my favourites. And to my surprise, I kind of enjoy Loras as well, even though he is such a huge jerk. He's still somewhat relatable at the core and I am surprised by this. Another thing I am amazed at are the lion cubs. I remember our talk and safe to say, you found a perfect name for Tylar's cub! That one's cool and it fits perfectly. And finally, there is one thing that caused me to reread a few parts. This woman Tylar encountered... I could swear Travelling Spider is a name that has been associated with Samira, but after rereading all of her parts, I can't seem to find it, so I am likely wrong.
[Side with Maxwell]
[Rally the forces]
It kind of pains me to side against Loras here, since I like the guy, but he's wrong here. Blind violence can't be the solution. Instead, I think a clever mix of the two can help. First, Maxwell should ride towards them, to find out what they want. At the same time, Tylar can rally the forces, to show them that this lion has very sharp claws. If he rides with him and it turns out the Baneforts have bad intentions, then they could capture the crown prince of the Rock and his uncle in one move, to keep them hostage. Now, they'd only get the uncle and would have to face a rallied army in return. I think Maxwell's diplomacy, paired with the threat of the Lannister forces behind him, could help with the negotiations.
That girl from the beginning intrigues me. Hope to learn more about her! Liquid though she is Samira, but Samira have blue eyes not white... it must be someone else. I guess? :-D
And those cubs are so adorable, haha!
[Side with Maxwell]
[Rally the forces]
[Side with Maxwell]
[Rally the forces]
Hey guys,
So after a few chats with some very inspirational people on these forums, I've come to the decision that I need to talk about a few things. So here goes. At late I've been battling with a lot which has been really slowing my planned projects here, as well as the projects at hand. While I don't think delving into each topic is necessary, as some are a bit personal, I can definitely say that school work is a high contributor which is a bloody pain in the arse.
So I'm on 'holidays' now, though why they call it that I don't understand. I've basically got close to twenty tests which I need to re-sit in two weeks, which covers the entire course for each of my four subjects I've been learning all year. Stressful. So understandably, this has thrown off my motivation for a lot of things: work, projects, the story. Fortunately I've found some inspiration from some very inspirational people here, and I'm starting to organise my life out a bit more
So (I realise I'm using that too much to start my para's XD), I've come to the simple conclusion that the story isn't going to be on the top of my priorities list. Neither are my projects. Don't get me wrong, I'm definitely going to write when I have the spare time, which should hopefully be a bit more during this 'holiday' gap I have. Though my consistent schedule will likely only start January next year. So I won't be working by schedule, so some parts may take only a few days, while others may range for weeks or months. I'm really really sorry about this, but it's currently the best I can do.
On to some more individual matters, like projects for other great stories on this wonderful forums, that have gone from fantastic ideas to seemingly everlasting burdens, I will contact you individually. I thank you all for your patience, and I hope I won't keep you waiting all too long, but as I've basically stated, nothing is set in stone. I'd also like to thank all those who have been very supportive, with me as a person, or just by helping out with the story itself. You guys are definitely a large impact on my life which I wouldn't want to throw away because of everything happening right now.
So thank you, and the next part should be a Warrick part. When that comes out, well hopefully within these next two weeks. No promises though
Thank you Stigz for sharing those information with us!
I would like to say, that I and for sure other readers totally understand your decision, since we all know how life can be. Sometimes you simply cannot be a superman or superwoman, doing many things at once, haha! Therefore please don't stress yourself and take time you need for organizing your life in the way that will fits your schedule and preferences, prioritising things which are at most urgency first.
We - or at least I will be here, waiting for another parts being posted whenever you will be in the mood or have time for posting/writing them.
Cmon people, who is with me? Who will be waiting? Show your support to this awesome person and writer! :-)
I think Mathea already neatly summarized the thoughts all of us should have here. Your decision is understandable and whatever comes, you have my support!
While I don't know all of it, your school work alone would already be enough to fully understand your decision. Rearranging your priorities here sounds necessary, so don't beat yourself over it. I know how it feels when fantastic ideas turn to burdens and that can be the death of any creativity. If your ideas for FoT are among these burdens, then you know you can always contact me and I understand whatever decision you will take here.
And well, I am glad to hear that you don't plan to drop the story or the forums entirely. Your work here is highly inspirational for me and without a doubt among the best things I have read here. I speak the truth here. I will eagerly look forward for every future part, no matter how long it'll take. And well, January is not too far away, a mere three months. I hope that until then, all the things that currently trouble you have been sorted out. Your life, your personal well-being, that should always take the top priority, which goes without saying.
So, I look forward for the future. First however, I will definitely support you here. Take your time, get everything back into an order you are comfortable with and be assured that we all understand you and will not lose interest in you or your wonderful story here
Haha, yeah, I'm with you Mathea
All the support to you, Stigz. It goes without saying that there are more important things in life than these stories
[Side with Maxwell] [Rally the forces]
I will have to agree with the others on this one. Having Maxwell use diplomacy while Tylar gathers a prepared Lannister army is the seemingly best compromise here. By the way, great job with the characters, they are just as imagined. Great Part!
Everything I can say has been summed up already but I will also say don't stress! I certainly enjoy your writing and I know I'll continue to read your story regardless of how long it takes and I am sure everyone agrees with me. Take care of your studies along with whatever else going on in your life first and come back to it whenever you feel is the right time
Hey all, just thought I'd give you an update. I'm still alive!! Though there was really no doubt there
I'm still highly stressful with my overload of work and studies, but I'm slowly battling through, and fortunately I've gotten a few assignments done which is certainly a relief. Though while I could continue to vent all my life issues, I believe there is a sub-thread on this forum purely designed for that, and considering this thread is for the Invasion, I figure I better put up something, Invasion related. The new part, which goes to Warrick Westerling.
Firstly, I'll be closing the vote which I forgot to close, but I'll give you a small recap on Warrick before I post his part
So, last we saw of Warrick (wow, over 70 pages ago!), he was riding to Silentport, the seat of the newly founded House Lantell, to attend the wedding of his close friend: Bryce Lantell. While encountering problems with his brother Mericus, he trusted him with the protection of his son while he went of the reunite with his old friend. However, being separated with unexpected visitors, Warrick's eye fell on a mysterious boy carrying a bloody scaling knife. It was at this point that Mericus found Warrick and informed him that Lady Emilee Yew, the betrothed to Lord Bryce Lantell, wished to speak with him, and Mericus also wished to speak with him too. You lot chose to pursue this hooded mysterious boy, rather than to comply with Mericus, and that is where this new part begins!
Warrick
Warrick wrenched his arm away from Mericus’ grip, and through natural reaction, he pushed the perpetrator to the ground. The man fell clumsily, but his showed distraught and disappointment when he gazed back at him. Warrick could have sworn the man he called his brother was ready to tear up, but he remained dry eyed.
“Don’t you dare touch me.” Warrick muttered, turning his attention to where he last saw the hooded child who cautiously creeped through the alleys. He was not there. Warrick growled, turning his attention back to Mericus. “Don’t follow me.” He warned, unsheathing Honour from his back, and pursuing the alleyway he had last seen the boy.
The stripping painted walls were damp, and salty from the harbour. Warrick took quick silent steps, a trait seemingly rare for bigger men like himself, yet heard nothing but the sounds of the markets in this distance.
The surroundings had grown darker as Warrick approached deeper alleyways, located between old fishing sheds and market stores. The lighting was dim, though the gaps between the buildings poured in what little sunlight there was from the day. Warrick was beginning to think this alley was of little benefit, until he heard it. A giggle, from a child. Yet it was familiar, it was a laugh he had known for years.
Warrick quickened his pace, not worrying about the echoes that his shoes left on the gravel ground. The alley started to grow darker, pulling Warrick into the inky black realm as he further inquired the noises. In the distance, he saw shadows. Two boys. His heartbeat raced. One held a knife over the other, according to the dancing flames that produced the image. Warrick broke into a sprint.
Reaching the fire, Warrick found the hooded boy with the bloody scaling knife, kneeling down and attending to some fresh fillets. Beside him, Willem. Warrick approached his son with heavy steps, sheathing Honour onto his back and snatching his son from the ground as he passed. “Hey!” He yelled, clearly caught off guard by the whole matter. “Get behind me.” Warrick ordered, turning his attention back to the hooded boy, who now had his attention. He slowly raised his hands, somewhat confused.
“Mister, I’m…” The boy was at a loss for words, not that he would need any with Warrick around. “What were you doing with my son?” Warrick barked, his tone intimidating to say the least. The boy shook his head clumsily, clearly confused and definitely terrified by the brute interrogating him. Warrick took to this advantage.
Closing his fists, Warrick approached the boy with slow heavy steps. “I asked you a question.” Warrick remarked, and he could have sworn the boy was soiling himself. “Warrick.” An all too familiar voice called, and surely enough, beside Willem, stood Mericus. Warrick scowled at him. “What did I say!” Warrick boomed, turning his back on the boy as he approached Mericus with angry steps.
As he did, the soft but quick steps of the boy quickly raced down the alley, retreating back into the darkness and out of Warrick’s sight. Warrick’s lip quivered, he looked into the eyes of his brother with bitterness. Were it not for his son’s presence, his attitude to the matter may have been different, though instead he simply stormed passed his brother, searching for another exit.
“Warrick!” Mericus yelled, begging for his attention. Warrick turned his gaze, coming to the realisation that this was his fault. “You left him unguarded, this is your fault.” Warrick muttered, approaching his brother. “He could have been killed!” Mericus raised an eyebrow, clearly doubting Warrick’s rationale.
“The boy was a fish scaler, likely the son of a fisherman. There’s no harm there.” Mericus blurted, though Warrick quickly shut out his opinion with a shake of his head. “You know nothing, Mericus. Get the…” Warrick held his tongue, feeling the eyes of his son watching him. “Just go.” He muttered, “and don’t let him out of your sight.” Warrick warned, now turning his eyes to Willem. “I will speak with you later.”
The two left him alone in the dark, an all too familiar setting that Warrick had encountered more than once. For a moment, he simply stared in the dancing flames, the odd beauty of the fire encapturing him. He listened for the soft footsteps of the boy, awaiting for his return, yet for a while he heard nothing but the crackling flames in the small fireplace. His eyes lowered to the slowly rotting fish by the side of the fire, likely the meal that the boy was about to prep for himself. Warrick scowled at the fillets, before nudging them into the burning coals with the edge of his boot. Dissatisfied, he turned and left the alleyway.
-
He found her staring at the variety of jewels presented on one of the merchant stalls, surrounded by her gossiping handmaidens. Lady Emilee, her beauty still unmatched by many of the women in the Westerlands, all but that of Princess Gwynovire Lannister, which Warrick had only met on a few brief occasions.
Emilee’s hair was light brown, and braided at the back with bangs on her fringe. Her hazel eyes alert and aware, darting towards Warrick as he approached her. What followed next was a warm and welcoming smile, and without any words said, the two embraced out of respect and honour. Warrick had fought alongside her father, Lord Davis, during the Battle at the Border. During their time in war, Warrick had learned more about Davis than he imagined even his wife to know, and through that he had gained respect for both him, and his family - seemingly the same had applied from their end.
After a short moment, the two released from their embracement, and Emilee turned her eyes to her handmaidens. They were young girls, likely in the younger end of their teen years, and the gossip that came from their mouth was expected from their age and status. Emilee’s warm smile passed onto them, at which the handmaidens caught and hushed almost instantly.
“Girl’s, if you would please allow me some time with my dear friend here.” She started, yet they had already gotten the message. They bowed, then turned and left, gossiping and giggling to whatever they spoke of. Warrick sighed, crossing his arms. “Apologies for keeping you waiting, my lady.” Warrick began, though Emilee waved off the topic with a simple hand gesture.
“You have not kept me waiting, and undoubtedly there was rationale for your absence. Curious, where is your brother?” She asked, darting her eyes around the market. Warrick let out a heavy breath, scratching the back of his head. “He’s gone to get my son settled in.” At least, it was what Warrick hoped Mericus was doing, yet he honestly had no trust in the man. Emilee graciously nodded, turning her eyes to another stall, this time selling a variety of soft silks and garments.
“And how is your son? Willem, wasn’t it?” Warrick nodded, though he admitted he had little to do with his son as of late, and with the recent encounter he wondered how his son felt about him. Part of him did not care. I am his father, not his friend. Words which he had been told to remember, yet words he found difficult to live by. Warrick shrugged, letting out a sigh. “Honestly, I wish I knew. I’m not cut out for this sort of work, Em.” Emilee turned her gaze back to Warrick, raising her eyebrow. “Something the mighty Enforcer cannot do? Shock horror!” She mocked, giggling to herself, though Warrick only rolled his eyes and allowed a weak smile. “So what will you do?” She finally asked, running her soft hands through the variety of silks a merchant presented to her. Warrick sighed, wondering the same thing.
“Mericus thinks I should ward the boy.” Warrick bluntly stated, and Emilee smiled, still having her eyes locked on the silks. “Though you do not want that.” She more claimed, rather than asked. Warrick nodded. “No.” He admitted.
“Then what do you want?” It was a question which Warrick had asked himself many times before, and honestly it was something he could not answer yet. He shrugged, trying to put together the pieces. “I’m off duty, Em. I have time to spend with my family, I don’t want to simply send the boy off elsewhere. Yet I’m confronted with the simple reality that I’m not cut out to be a father. I don’t get the enjoyment of raising a child like other men I have seen. It’s… Just not me.” Emilee gave a brief side glance to Warrick, followed by a slow yet confident nod.
“Perhaps you do not need to send him far. What of your brothers? Who are those you trust with him, when you are not around?” Another question which Warrick struggled to answer, though one answer was definite to him. “Not with Mericus.” He said with defiance, and Emilee simply smirked. “Yet, ironically, that’s where he is now.” Warrick frowned, yet nodded. “So not Mericus, but what of the others?”
“Mark has his own family to bring up, and the gods know where Hank is. The only men I trust are the Lannister’s, and your betrothed.” Emilee sighed, clearing trying to seek options for a solution, though she was as stuck with it as Warrick was. “Well, Willem is always welcome to Silentport. No doubt Bryce and I will have young children of our own soon enough, if you want Willem to be with us…” Warrick shook his head, but smiled in a thankful gesture.
“Your concern is appreciated, my lady. Though I doubt we’re here to talk of my issues.” Emilee’s eyes stared into Warrick’s for a moment, searching for something which Warrick did not know of. After a while, she gave up. “It’s about Bryce. You’ve known him the longest, and I guess I had a few questions.” Warrick raised an eyebrow, but nodded all the same. “Ask away, my lady.” She smiled, yet there was sadness in her weak smile.
“He’s a great man, Warrick. I know that. He’s witty and sarcastic, he’s always lightening the mood on anything that attempts to dampen it. Yet…” She stumbled on her words, something clearly bothering her. “Whenever I talk to him about the children we will have, or my feelings in general. He just… Shuts off. Why?” Warrick could see the tears welling up in her eyes, with a mix of frustration and hopelessness. “Does it mean he doesn’t love me?” She managed, before Warrick to her in his arms. Her tears wetting his cloth shirt. Warrick shook his head, holding her close.
“I’m sure he loves you, don’t worry about that. He just needs time to adapt, that’s all.” Emilee freed herself from Warrick’s grip, looking at him with wet eyes. “But why? Why does he shy away at the matters I deem important?” Warrick breathed out a heavy sigh, knowing the exact answer to her question. He shook his head, not knowing where to start.
“The war, Em. It took its toll on all of us.” Warrick turned his gaze around the market, fortunately not many eyes were watching them. However the market guards were quickly heading for the main gates. “When the Battle at the Border was won, we continued on into the Riverland’s. We did… Brutal and horrible things.” Warrick sighed, thinking back onto the dreadful things that had happened. “When we reached the Mudd Fort, Tybolt had ordered that we put an end to the Riverland kingdom. We killed them, massacred the families. While Bryce led at the front of armies, I was smashing in the heads of the Mudd heirs, and when I presented that to Tybolt… The war left its toll on all of us. Everyone knew what I did, what I became, and I think Bryce fears what he could lose because of that.” Emilee stared at Warrick with a mix of emotions, more bad than good.
The tension seemed to ease as the crowd chatter grew louder, and seemingly more panicked. Guards passed through with their hands secured around their weapons. Emilee grabbed the attention of one of the guards, curious about all the commotion. “The Banefort’s, my lady. A mass of them are outside the gates, as well as an army of Lannister’s.” The guard quickly explained, before joining his comrades towards the main gate. Emilee turned her attention to Warrick, her eyes starting to dry and her face hardened.
“I will return to the Great Hall. You should go check out all the fuss, see if it’s of any real threat.” She turned and started walking against the battling crowd, all eager to see the show. She turned for a moment, her eyes staring at the ground beneath her. “Thank you.” With those final words, she left him in the buzzing market, surrounded with more activity than he was accustomed too.
He sighed, turning his gaze to the flowing end of the crowd, all heading for the main gates. He took a few steps and began to follow them, but something was holding him back, an urge. Something’s not right. He admitted to himself, perhaps it was just his paranoia, the war truly had taken its toll on him. Yet still, the mass diversion of eyes towards the main of the city, the suspicious child somewhere in the city, still roaming. Lady Emilee returning back to the Great Hall alone, without a guard. Warrick shook his head, perhaps it was just nothing. Besides, the Lantell guards may have need for a seasoned battle commander, which Warrick certainly was.
[Head to the main gates] [Follow your suspicions had head to the Great Hall]
[Follow your suspicions had head to the Great Hall]
That was interesting and complex part. I think we should follow the suspicion, perhaps Emilee is in danger all by herself out there.
Hey guys, thought I'd also release a short part I wrote which goes to Nathan. Last we saw of him, he was travelling with the Red Priestess, Ryvani of Asshai, and had arrived at Saltpans. Ryvani had asked of Nathan to burn down the Sept, to which he hesitantly followed, in the process slaying the Septon there. However, when being confronted by a mercy pleading septa, he was left conflicted. You chose to spare her, and that's where this next part starts off.
Nathan
He lowered his radiating blade, staring into the eyes of the woman before him. Tears streamed down her eyes, her hands trembling as she desperately tried to cover her face. Nathan sighed, turning his gaze to the septon he had slaughtered, and the tapestries which were now beginning to burn.
“R’hllor have mercy.” Nathan remarked a final time, in silence, to no one in particular. He turned his gaze to the young septa, extending his hand. “Up.” He commanded, and the girl willingly accepted his hand.
The sept was nothing more but a burning shrine by the time Nathan and the girl had escaped. Commoners and guards had gathered with a collective of water buckets, all in attempt to save the holy building of their false religion.
The onlookers barely noticed Nathan and his escapee companion as they passed through the building crowds, making it easy to pass through unnoticed. Nathan spotted a number of guards, yet their attention was heavily focused on the crumbling ruins of the sept, that Nathan felt unthreatened by their presence.
Nathan pulled his seemingly willing captive out of the mass crowd with ease, ducking into the first dark corridor he could find. He bent down, catching his breath. The stench of smoke in his clothing was nothing in comparison to what had attempted to creep into his chest. A few coughs was enough to clear it out, yet he wasn’t feeling the best with it all.
Regaining his breath, it took Nathan a moment to recall he had company with him. Her bright blue eyes stared at him with a fearful gaze, yet there was something else… Reverence? No, surely not. Nathan shook his head, trying his best to clear it, yet the same gaze still remained. He frowned, reaching his hand out and spinning her around, he observed her starting to shake.
“You’re a brave girl, submitting to me. I think she’s going to like you.” Nathan spoke coldly, but admirably so. Her gaze shifted to confusion, as he had expected. “She? Who’s-” Her words were cut off with a solid clunk, as Nathan’s clenched fist met the back of her head, instantly concussing her. It’s easier this way.
Her body fell limp in his arms, she was heavier than she looked, likely because of all the robes her false faith forced her to wear. Nathan sighed, gazing at her natural beauty. Any sick man who captured a girl would seize this kind of opportunity, yet not Nathan. It never seemed to interest him, not that he was into men, just the ideology of forcing nature. Yet, wasn’t that what he was here to do? He sighed, lifting her up and slinging her over his shoulder.
-
Ryvani greeted him with mixed emotions, those which were evident were interest and confusion, her eyes fixed on the prize he carried aboard the vessel. Without any contact, Nathan placed the limp body on the dark floorboards, turning his eyes to the Red woman. “Who’s this?” She asked, her tone riddled with a mixture of curiosity, interest, and distaste. Nathan turned her eyes back to the girl, shrugging.
“A converter.” He stated, not knowing what else to call her. “You wanted to convert the town, she’ll do it.” A smirk appeared on Ryvani’s mischievous lips, her eyes gazing through the girl, through everything. “She’ll come with us.” Ryvani finally revealed, still staring into the oblivion. Nathan raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Ryvani broke out of her trance, turning her gaze to Nathan. She had that look which made him feel inferior to her, that look which prickled the back of his neck. “I need to train her, don’t I?” Ryvani asked mockingly, in answer to what she perceived as Nathan’s dumb question. Nathan’s eyebrow’s furrowed in confusion. “Train? What, can’t you just cast the power of the Lord’s light on her? You did it with me.” Ryvani rolled her eyes, walking to the edge of the ship.
“It’s not that simple, Ember. She’ll come with us.” Nathan shook his head with frustration, crossing his arms. “Woman, you change your mind like you change your…” He stumbled on his words, staring at the red gown he seldom saw her out of. “Nevermind.” She paid him no mind to his words, from the looks of it. His eyes shifted, meeting her gaze as she turned and stared down at him.
“Our time is done here, we’re restocked and the crew are eager to leave.” Nathan chuckled and rolled his eyes. “As you Asshai’I always are. Where to, Red woman?” To his surprise, the shrugged, which was something uncharacteristic in her nature.
“I have a few ideas, but the Lord has not presented me with a clear path.” She admitted, and Nathan smirked. “Typical.” He received a menacing glare. “We should head to Cracklaw Point, where there are followers of the ‘Faith of Seas.’ I’d wish to convert these people first, however I know your hatred lies with the Old gods. Perhaps the Darklyn’s would suit you better?” Nathan shrugged, the names meant nothing to him. His ambitions rested in the Riverland’s, to destroy all the Old gods’ followers. “What is your choice, my Flame?”
[Head to Cracklaw Point] [Head to Duskendale] [Suggest heading to the Riverlands]
[Suggest heading to the Riverlands]
Because why not? Let's go when we wants, not where she wants to go.
Two parts the same day... wow! Missed that a lot.
Oh yes, new parts! This is great and I am very happy that you finished it actually in such a short time. It's impressive, because the part itself was also really well-written
[Follow your suspicions had head to the Great Hall]
Well... the thing is that Warrick's suspicions might not always be true, as the scene with his son showed. He seems paranoid, but at the same time, paranoia is not always a bad thing. I doubt the Banefort's will try anyting with a Lannister army in their back, but even if they do, Warrick can always head to the main gates once it is clear that his help is needed there. For now, he should make sure that Emilee is alright. It's better to be safe than sorry.
Man, two parts at once, this is great! You're spoiling us with awesomeness
[Suggest heading to the Riverlands]
I see this as the choice Nathan wants to make. He said it himself, destroying the faith of the Old Gods is his ambition and as much as I disagree with this, I see it as logical for him to choose them over Duskendale and Crackclaw Point, which he isn't even interested in.