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fated for: open to all .
location: the feast , the third day of celebrations .
time was cyclical — this much was obvious to erena. for three passes of the sun, the same tableau had played out within the red keep. each day, there was the illusion of celebration. races, competition, rivalry, victories and losses. at night, they feasted. the repetitiveness grated on erena's disposition. sleep evaded her — or rather, she evaded sleep. without leave to wander the castle as she did the dreadfort, the nights were long and heaved with the mass of her own thoughts. her mood was abysmal, and her pallor worse. she prods at a piece of fish with the tip of a knife. “all this enjoyment is rather perverse, don't you think?” she questions, leaving the knife stuck in the meat, “knowing that the end of it looms.”
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fated for: pihla , @soothsaver .
location: the godswood , at dusk .
the air in the godswood was thick and viscous. the pink muslin of erena's gown — cut in a style popular in the north and made of fabrics designed to maintain warmth, not alleviate it — is stuck to the small of her back with perspiration. crouched at the base of the weirwood tree, time slides past her through the southern heat, languid and continuous. fingers of one hand splayed in the moss that grows up between its roots, she feels the fluttering of a flock of birds high above, their wings palpating like a racing heart. she longs for the dreadfort — for its familiarity, for its high ceilings that resemble a ribcage, for the wide berth that its staff gave her, for the feeling of being truly, completely alone. “you are not so subtle,” erena prompts, turning reluctantly from the gods to face the unknown. she had felt the wildling's approach — she'd felt the woman's presence the second the stark retinue had arrived in the red keep. it was something primal, a scent that clung to the inside of erena's nostrils, an awareness that never quite faded. now, she is an animal backed into a corner, encased within the brick wall surrounding the wood just as the old gods were.
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“you would not help me yourself, brother?” the question is framed by an easy, closed - lipped smile that signals his jest. in truth, the word brother feels foreign in victarion's mouth. when the call to king's landing had come, it had not been the prospect of the whole of the realm's nobles gathered in one place that saw apprehension bloom in the youngest greyjoy's chest. instead, it was the thought of reuniting with his brother that fulfilled that role. it had been many years, and though victarion would claim he'd spent them well if asked — he wishes in this moment that he and yu - jun could turn and walk backwards in time, shedding the years they'd accumulated apart until they were home together once more — back in pyke, at a time before maegor had called for wards. as it was, victarion can't be entirely sure he would have recognized his brother had he not been clad in the black and gold of house greyjoy.
starter: open || time: during day 1 evening feasts
as the guests begin to arrive for the second day festivities, yu-jun listened as they talked about what happen the day before and he wondered how they were going to last the next few days. the knight was in full force as the castle fills with those from all over the kingdom, friends and foes a like. dressed in his house colors, deciding it was best to not wear his knight clothes, the young greyjoy walked through the halls, making sure everything was okay. with this many people coming to the castle, there was bound to be some issue, big or small and it he knew he might have to help. spotting someone coming into the keep, he nods a curious hello. "good morrow, the feast for today should begin shortly. do you need help? i can call someone to help."
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victarion was no stranger to revelry. in the iron islands, it looked nothing as it did at present — fine silks, pastries daintily decorated with things that didn't quite look edible, and sweet wines that only left the drinker thirsty for more that they could not have without bringing shame upon the good name of their house. on pyke, celebration was unbridled and without many other words fitting enough to describe it. the times that he had visited lys with his mother, occasions were marked with dancing, with rooms draped in fine fabrics and filled with clouds of perfumed smoke. it was languid, relaxed, indulgent. tonight, in the red keep, it seemed obvious that there were many who wished to be anywhere else. he nods solemnly in response to the princess's question. " if i allow myself the indulgence, your keep's supply will be drained in mere moments, princess, " he insists with a single shake of his head, an easy smile pasted on his features.
open starter / with anyone (up to 6 different muns) on day one, during the evening's feast.
her heart pounds as the hall grows in number, the realization of the crowds of people among them setting in. she can feel her face grow warm and though what she desires most is to flee into the shadows, rhaenyra is frozen - if by her own choice or not stands unclear. eyes dart in desperation for a familiar face but sight eludes her. as if suddenly awoken from a deep slumber, she gasps and moves across the room. her attention is caught by none, finally pausing near a cupbearer who offers a drink. she accepts, holding the goblet tight in her hands before taking a sip. " oh, that's good, " rhaenyra mumbles to herself with a smile. from where she's looking at the floor, she spots a shoe beside her and peers up at them. " greetings, hello. have you had one of these yet ? " her hand lifts the goblet before clutching the cup back to her chest. " you should try them - i hear the wine is arbor gold. " her favorite, of course.
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( greyjoy d + josh heuston, cis man, he/him. ) │ could that really be victarion greyjoy, the lord of pyke entering the keep ? king’s landing is sure to benefit from the twenty seven year old’s ability to be ambitious but beware, whispers also say they have been known to be irresolute. their loyalty belongs to house greyjoy, and they oppose the ruling of house targaryen throughout westeros.
google doc , pinterest , playlist
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( bolton b + alicia von rittberg, cis woman, she/her. ) │ could that really be erena bolton, the lady of the dreadfort entering the keep ? king’s landing is sure to benefit from the twenty six year old’s ability to be devoted but beware, whispers also say they have been known to be cryptic. their loyalty belongs to house bolton, and they are indifferent to the ruling of house targaryen throughout westeros.
google doc , pinterest , playlist
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alicia von rittberg as elizabeth tudor on becoming elizabeth : what can not be cured ( 2022 ).
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#N1GHTCALL ⋆ a dependent roleplay blog featuring lady erena bolton , daughter of the dreadfort & lord victarion greyjoy , the leech penned by paige — @ ikeaslut on discord — for heirshq. this blog may contain mature content. dni if you are not affiliated with the group.
OUR BLADES ARE SHARP: introduction , pinterest , playlist
WE DO NOT SOW: introduction , pinterest , playlist
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