adodevents

[adodevents]

                            PART TWO: THE CELEBRATION

DATE: Spring, 305 AC TIME: Just after dusk LOCATION: The Red Keep

Where there is death—grief, anguish, heartache—there is compassion, there is a people coming together, there is celebration. They gather as the sun sets, their gowns flowing and their swords sheathed for this is a party and there will be no fighting tonight. There will be no animosity, no vengeance, no conflict. The throne room has been transformed, made into something a little less intimidating, less cold, less terrifying as you enter and your eyes land upon the dragon heads staring down at you. Balerion greets them first, as tall as the Iron Throne itself—fitting, really since the very flame that coated his throat forged the royal seat. With his mouth spread wide, a candle sits between his jaw bringing to life a beast whose long since been dead, but he welcomes them all the same. A few feet further and Vhagar comes into view, the same candle in his mouth as his head floats above the crowd. Each and every dragon to have ever flown the skies above is nailed to the wall as a token, a piece of history displayed for the world to see. Conquerers, just as their riders were, brave and fearless and ghastly. A reminder of the family who took an entire nation with one breath of fire. 

Tables line the wall, pushed back toward the entrance, made specially just for this occasion, only for this party in the name of celebration. They take their seats quickly, scooping up cups of wine from servers as they wind and weave to find their friends, families, their allies. The King watches them from the dais, from the throne—his throne—sharp and cold and utterly uncomfortable if he were to be asked. A grand table has been set up before it, seats and plate settings for each member of the royal family line the table. The Prince sits closest to him, his right hand in all but name, hands rested atop his lap, pale northern skin nearly glowing in the candlelight—yet another reminder of his heritage, of his inability to blend in within his own flesh and blood. The Queen sits to his left, lips pursed into a thin line, head held high as she gazes upon the intruders, the strangers, the vultures as they proceed into her hen house. Prince Aegon sits closest to her, a greedy smile upon his lips as he slouches in chair, but Daemon’s poise is noted, his calculated grin, the placement of his gaze—a lion on the hunt for the perfect prey. The Princess sits beside her half-brother, wild blonde curls cascading down her shoulders as she smiles like the gracious host she’s known to be. Picture perfect, each and every one of them—the way a royal family should be.

And the man of the hour, the man chosen to replace a great loss, the man for which each and every guest had traveled far and wide to see sits at a table all of his own, one strategically placed to showcase his newfound importance. Ned Stark sits beside Lady Catelyn, their children, shared since the death of his brother, of her husband surround them, on display in ways a northerner could have never expected and they look as such—out of their element, like they don’t belong. And that is surely the thought on everyone’s mind as they mingle between themselves, as they sip their wine and judge the ones fortunate enough to be royal, to serve a dynasty and receive the benefits that come along with such a sacrifice. But as quick as the poisonous whispers began, they petered out as Rhaegar rose from the Iron Throne with a glass of wine in his hand. 

“Join me, please,” and every head within the throne room turns to gaze at the King.

“Today has been filled with grief—with death, but tonight,” he paused, raising his glass in the direction of Ned Stark and his family, “tonight we honor a great man.” Applause sounded almost immediately as the wolf rose from his chair, bowing his head slowly before returning back to his chair. “We may have lost Lord Arryn, but we are gaining Lord Stark and the realm will be better with his counsel.” He gives the northerner a gracious smile before bringing his cup to his lips for a small sip. 

“To Ned Stark, Hand of the King!” his voice booms throughout the room, bouncing off the banner-lined pillars and swirling through the crowd, uplifting the spirits of even the saddest noble. They drink to him. They sip their wine and gobble up their meat, suckle on their potatoes and feast in the name of peace, of prosperity, of an alliance long overdue for these are monumental times, but perhaps there’s a reason a northerner has never ventured this far south. The wolf and the dragon; shall we see who’s the greater beast?

“Let the celebration begin!”

Dinner is served immediately following the King’s speech. Troves of wine line the cups of the most respected nobles throughout Westeros as they dance and mingle and celebrate the appointment of Lord Eddard Stark. 

RHAELLA TARGARYEN keeps close to her family, wine in hand as she seeks out her son KING RHAEGAR, offering him kind words and approval of his great speech.

LORAS TYRELL is seen mingling throughout the crowd, dancing here and here with ladies of the court until finally settling into a deep conversation with none other than TORRHEN STARK.

THE HOUND, with a grimace on his face—his disdain for such events prevalent in each step he takes—keeps to the edges of the throne room, tucked away from the excitement as he glowers at WILLAS TYRELL.

SANSA STARK looks a dream tonight, dressed from head to toe in a gown of her own making, a talent she seems hellbent on sharing with every other lady in waiting, most notably SHIERA LANNISTER. 

QUEEN CERSEI peels herself away from the King as quickly as possible, wine practically sewn into the palm of her hand, the cup leaving her lips for only a few moments throughout the night, eyes narrowed upon her son AEGON TARGARYEN as he approaches.

ALYSANDRA ARRYN, perhaps the most bereaved of the evening besides the King, finds herself deep in conversation with the somewhat soft spoken KYRA LANNISTER, the looks of a budding friendship arising between the two, though looks can be quite deceiving.

ASHA GREYJOY, usually an outsider to such events finds herself in the company of the rambunctious SERENA STARK, but perhaps the two will find common ground for the ocean which they love so much is large enough for the both of them.

JOANNA LANNISTER with a coy smile upon her lips, she holds the young rose delicately between her fingers, careful not to prick her finger as MARGAERY TYRELL offers her friendship.

RENLY BARATHEON, sips generously at his wine as he keeps a close eye on the one who matters most to him, but from a distance, of course, taking MELARA LANNISTER up on her offer for company as a welcome distraction. 

KIYANA, the infamous Braavosi sellsword and new personal guard to the King’s own sister keeps to herself for the most part, choosing silence over conversation, though she seems quite interested in what CLETUS YRONWOOD has to say.

JYNESSA BLACKMONT finds comfort in the wise words of OLENNA TYRELL, a genius in her own renown, as the two browse the crowds and exchange pleasantries before diving into more meaningful matters.

DAENERYS TARGARYEN finds herself accompanied by her only niece RHAENA TARGARYEN, the two catching up on lost time for they have not seen each other in years. 

NYMELLA TOLAND, by far the furthest traveller for the occasion, finds herself on the receiving end of the sliver-tongued LITTLEFINGER, a man she’s never met but finds quite intriguing. 

SUMMARY: Who doesn’t love a good party? We certainly do! We hope you’ve enjoyed the conclusion of our first event. Feel free to continue your past threads as there are no expiration dates on events and multiple threads are highly encouraged! Listed above you will find each and every character paired together for our second task: the option to write out these interactions! These are just jumping off points and you are free to take your thread in whatever direction you and your partner see fit, but if you do choose to participate, please tag your thread with #adodtask*. You may also continue any threads from the previous event as there is no expiration on events and you are free to participate in past threads as well if agreed upon between players!

The party began at around 7 PM and will continue until around 12 AM in game, but feel free to also create threads days after the party or even include your character’s travel plans back to their home. Threads at House specific castles throughout Westeros may also begin now and we welcome letter writing between characters as threads as well! During this event, there will be many, many locations available to your characters, so feel free to explore the Red Keep as much as you wish within your threads. You can find a detailed location map here. If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to message the main!

We hope you’ve enjoyed the first event!

*(any members who are unable to complete their task with their assigned partner, are free to message any admin and we will be happy to take the place of an absent player)

[adodevents]

                                   PART ONE: THE FUNERAL

Dear head of House,

You have been invited to memorialize Lord Jon Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, Warden of the East and Hand of the King. We are saddened greatly by the loss of Lord Arryn and request you and your House’s attendance in commemorating his life and service. The Royal Family invites you to King’s Landing where room and board shall be given to all who attend. 

Following the service held in the Great Sept of Baelor, a celebration of King Rhaegar’s reign of peace will commence where Lord Eddard Stark will accept the honor of becoming the realm’s new Hand of the King. Please send a raven with your acceptance and expected arrival date. 

Regards, Grand Maester Pycelle

DATE: Spring, 305 AC TIME: Early morning LOCATION: Great Sept of Baelor

The air was putrid, the smell of death coated the walls of the Great Sept, and despite the amount of flowers—the daisies that draped from the ceiling, the roses encompassed the bier, the irises that lined the pews—decay hung in the air, as foul and rancid as the idea of burying a loyal servant of the realm. But all good things must eventually come to an end, and as one generation says their goodbyes, a new generation, young and as enthusiastic as they are inexperienced, is ushered in. 

No longer the realm known for its madness, its cruelty, Westeros had become a beacon of hope throughout the known world. King Rhaegar issued in the reign of peace with the help of none other than Jon Arryn. With him by his side, with him acting as a firm, guiding voice and working as quite the thought-provoking muse, Lord Arryn served as Hand of the King. And together the two ruled—protected the Seven Kingdoms with far more grace than those who came before them and received far more respect as a result. 

Be the man you yourself would follow, one of Jon’s many wise phrases repeated over and over within the clouded mind of the King as he approached the lectern, his speech—the eulogy of the man who taught him everything he knew—remained crumpled into oblivion within his shaking palm, and the body of the man known as more of a father to the sovereign than Aerys could have ever hoped to be lay in the middle of the room, displayed for all to see, for all to pay their respects. Though the hushed voices and soft laughing brought a rather disconcerting look upon the grieving Rhaegar, he grinned as best he could. And regardless of the bile creeping up his throat, bore from pure disgust as he watched them—those that sit in their pews like gods, donned in the finest of silks, decorated in the rarest of golds, their eyes peering down the slope of their tilted noses, lips puckered as they gaze disapprovingly upon the smallfolk—a King never reveals his thoughts, never openly judges harshly, only governs peacefully. 

Ned Stark, honorary guest of King Rhaegar, sat to the right, back just a few feet in the very chair the deceased once sat in, while the High Septon sat to the left, his hands folded neatly atop his lap as his head dips forward once, twice, three times as sleep overtakes the servant of the Seven if but only for a moment. But as soon as his chin hits his chest for the fourth time, his head snaps up and he jolts back awake with a grumble. With an exasperated sigh, Grand Maester Pycelle turned his head around, using his elbow to nudge the man in the ribs. Lord Stark took note of this, shifting in his chair and turning his head to hide the very inappropriate albeit small smile upon his face, though he caught the glance of Arya by chance and she giggled in unison with him across the room, forcing a gasp from Sansa who whacked the arm of her sister lightly and scolded her under her breath.

And with the clearing of his throat, the people rose from their seats in anticipation as a hush fell over the crowd and the King finally spoke.

“Good morning,” the King’s voice boomed throughout the Sept, loud and commanding, only to be matched by that of bells tolling exactly three times. Loud, but effective enough to serve as a warning to quiet the conversations and focus all attention onto the Protector of the Realm. 

“Good morning, Your Majesty,“ they all reply in unison which brings a faint smile to his tired features and calms his grief-induced nerves if only for a moment.

“Let me be the first to welcome you all,” he gestures up to the balcony—to his family, Cersei and his children behind him, his guests to the left and the right, his small folk to the rear. “We couldn’t be more grateful to celebrate the life of a man I was proud to call mentor—to call friend,” he paused, arms raising to rest atop the wooden podium. Knuckles turning white as he gripped the sides, he leaned forward. “Jon Arryn put the realm before all else. He put duty and honor before emotions and pride. He served the Seven Kingdoms with more tenacity than I have ever seen. And his loss is one felt throughout Westeros—throughout the world.”

Nobles from the West nod in unison with those from the East, heads bobbing in a wave as they hang on every word from their King. And though there are a few—those with their eyes on certain goals, solo aspirations of those who would sacrifice the Kingdom and all its people, simply calling the loss collateral damage—who remain still, showing no acknowledgement of a great man’s service nor a better man’s reign, Rhaegar’s chest swells with pride those who openly show their support, those who profess their love for their King. 

Lord Baelish stands with his back to the wall, one foot hiked up against the stone with his arms crossed over his chest. The hint of a smirk played across his lips, as if a secret hung on the tip of his tongue, but he dare not speak, only to turn his head ever-so-slightly to lock eyes with Lord Varys. The spider, silent and just as deadly as ever, stood diagonal from Littlefinger, a sellsword to his right with brows furrowed. The two share a whisper and the mercenary snickered as quietly as he could proving even grown men can behave as inappropriately as children.

The Queen remained seated upon the dais behind the lectern, arms resting gracefully within her lap, lips pursed and eyes narrowed upon her beloved. Her children surround her. Ever the worshiping Daemon stood on her right, one of his hands resting upon her shoulder, Aegon to her left, stood with his arms secured behind his back, his head bowed. Rhaena sat to her left, quiet as a mouse with eyes drawn carefully onto her father as he spoke. And Jon, no more the Queen’s blood than the smallfolk that surround them, sat hunched in his seat to the right of Cersei, elbows resting lazily against the arms of the chair, black wisps of Stark curls falling into his eyes. “Sit up straight,” she cursed, tone harsh and ravenous in its intent, head snapping toward him and he did as he was told without a second thought.

“Let us pray to the Mother and ask her for her mercy,” he gestured toward her statue, four times as tall as any man within the room and more beautiful than any other point of the star. “May she guide Lord Arryn into the sweet afterlife to feast for eternity in the Father’s golden hall and enjoy the rest of his days in peace.”

And with that, the King rounded the podium and strode toward the bier in the middle of the Sept. With hands braced against the edge, he leaned forward and though his lips visibly moved, his words were kept private between that of two servants, two colleagues, two friends—one filled with grief, mourning a great loss, one revered by many in the midst of a holy ascension. 

From his lips to the Father’s ears. 

“Father Above,” the High Septon began and the King took a few steps back, bowing his head in prayer,  “judge Lord Jon Arryn justly and may you guide him into your home.”

SUMMARY: Welcome A Dream of Dragon’s opening plot drop! We’re so excited to begin this story with you all. As you can see, this celebration starts off quite sad as our citizens, especially King Rhaegar who’s affected the most by this tragedy, mourn the loss of Lord Arryn. This will be a two-part event with the first half beginning at the funeral service. Feel free to begin interactions within the Great Sept of Baelor where threads may be played out between (around) 9 AM and (around) 2 PM in game. (Times are difficult since there is no current system for telling time nor keeping track of days or dates, so we’ll give you this info in the Summary of all events.)

ALL characters have been invited to the funeral whether it be highborns who were written to in advance, sellswords who were hired as guards or lowborns from within the city who are welcome to pay their respects as well. The actual ceremony will last about two hours, but characters may pay their respects at the bier (coffin atop the altar), visit the chapel to pray, explore the front steps, take in the view on the terrace, venture down to the tombs or remain within the main room. 

Please keep your interactions within these perimeters and timeframe unless past interactions are agreed upon between players! Tag your starters for this event with #adodstarter if they are open and make sure to tag the event in some form on your posts. Additionally, this begins regular activity checks! And as a reminder and per our guidelines, if you are inactive for 5 days, you will be put on an activity check. If your activity does not improve within 48 hours or we receive no message from you, you will be removed and your role reopened. 

We hope you enjoy this opening event! Interactions may begin now.