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istumpysk · 3 years ago

Text

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

AFFC: Brienne IV (Chapter 20)

Dick would oft sing as they rode along together; never a whole song, only a snatch of this and a verse of that. She suspected that he meant to charm her, to put her off her guard. Sometimes he would try to get her and Podrick to sing along with him, to no avail. The boy was too shy and tongue-tied, and Brienne did not sing.

Guys, that's not going to work for Sansa. Sort that out.

+.+.+

Did you sing for your father? Lady Stark had asked her once, at Riverrun. Did you sing for Renly? She had not, not ever, though she had wanted . . . she had wanted . . .

You could sing for Hyle?

+.+.+

When he was not singing, Nimble Dick would talk, regaling them with tales of Crackclaw Point. Every gloomy valley had its lord, he said, the lot of them united only by their mistrust of outsiders. In their veins the blood of the First Men ran dark and strong. "The Andals tried t' take Crackclaw, but we bled them in the valleys and drowned them in the bogs. Only what their sons couldn't win with swords, their pretty daughters won with kisses. They married into the houses they couldn't conquer, aye."

I'm getting major north-wilding vibes from this. Anything else?*

*Besides Aemon marrying into a daughter's house.

+.+.+

The Darklyn kings of Duskendale had tried to impose their rule on Crackclaw Point; the Mootons of Maidenpool had tried as well, and later the haughty Celtigars of Crab Isle. But the Crackclaws knew their bogs and forests as no outsider could, and if hard pressed would vanish into the caverns that honeycombed their hills.

Holy shit, I think Nimble Dick is Howland Reed.

+.+.+

"Ser Gallawho of What?" He snorted. "Never heard o' him. Why was he so bloody perfect?"

"Ser Galladon was a champion of such valor that the Maiden herself lost her heart to him. She gave him an enchanted sword as a token of her love. The Just Maid, it was called. No common sword could check her, nor any shield withstand her kiss. Ser Galladon bore the Just Maid proudly, but only thrice did he unsheathe her. He would not use the Maid against a mortal man, for she was so potent as to make any fight unfair."

Crabb thought that was hilarious. "The Perfect Knight? The Perfect Fool, he sounds like.

If there was ever a story that made you think of two people.

I don't know about swords, but I'm counting on a cloak and a lady's favor.

+.+.+

What's the point o' having some magic sword if you don't bloody well use it?"

"Honor," she said. "The point is honor."

Exactly. Thank you.

Quit bringing your Lockheed Martin F-12 Raptors to a sword fight, Daenerys.

+.+.+

That only made him laugh the louder. "Ser Clarence Crabb would have wiped his hairy arse with your Perfect Knight, m'lady. If they'd ever have met, there'd be one more bloody head sitting on the shelf at the Whispers, you ask me. 'I should have used the magic sword,' it'd be saying to all the other heads. 'I should have used the bloody sword.'"

Hang on to this, you're going to need it for later.

+.+.+

Brienne could not help but smile. "Perhaps," she allowed, "but Ser Galladon was no fool. Against a foe eight feet tall mounted on an aurochs, he might well have unsheathed the Just Maid. He used her once to slay a dragon, they say.

Me thinks the author is intentionally misleading us with stories of magic swords slaying dragons.

+.+.+

Nimble Dick was unimpressed. "Crackbones fought a dragon too, but he didn't need no magic sword. He just tied its neck in a knot, so every time it breathed fire it roasted its own arse."

This is definitely foreshadowing though.

+.+.+

"And what did Crackbones do when Aegon and his sisters came?" Brienne asked him.

"He was dead. M'lady must know that." Crabb gave her a sideways look. "Aegon sent his sister up to Crackclaw, that Visenya. The lords had heard o' Harren's end. Being no fools, they laid their swords at her feet. The queen took them as her own men, and said they'd owe no fealty to Maidenpool, Crab Isle, or Duskendale. Don't stop them bloody Celtigars from sending men to t' eastern shore to collect his taxes. If he sends enough, a few come back to him . . . elsewise, we bow only to our own lords, and the king. The true king, not Robert and his ilk." He spat. "There was Crabbs and Brunes and Boggses with Prince Rhaegar on the Trident, and in the Kingsguard too. A Hardy, a Cave, a Pyne, and three Crabbs, Clement and Rupert and Clarence the Short. Six foot tall, he was, but short compared to the real Ser Clarence. We're all good dragon men, up Crackclaw way."

Ugh, history.

Is any of this important? This chapter is dense and it's making me nervous.

+.+.+

He shook his head, muttering, as he made a bed on a pile of hay. "I never knew such a mistrustful maid as you." Brienne curled up beneath her cloak, with Podrick yawning at her side. I was not always wary, she might have shouted down at Crabb. When I was a little girl I believed that all men were as noble as my father.

+.+.+

A maid has to be mistrustful in this world, or she will not be a maid for long, she was thinking, as the rain began to fall.

Thankfully I know another maid who no longer trusts anyone.

+.+.+

In the mêlée at Bitterbridge she had sought out her suitors and battered them one by one, Farrow and Ambrose and Bushy, Mark Mullendore and Raymond Nayland and Will the Stork. She had ridden over Harry Sawyer and broken Robin Potter's helm, giving him a nasty scar. And when the last of them had fallen, the Mother had delivered Connington to her. This time Ser Ronnet held a sword and not a rose. Every blow she dealt him was sweeter than a kiss.

Loras Tyrell had been the last to face her wroth that day. He'd never courted her, had hardly looked at her at all, but he bore three golden roses on his shield that day, and Brienne hated roses. The sight of them had given her a furious strength.

You know George R. R. Martin as well as I do. Sometimes the things that are missing are of far greater importance.

You notice she never fought Hyle Hunt?

+.+.+

She went to sleep dreaming of the fight they'd had, and of Ser Jaime fastening a rainbow cloak about her shoulders.

Something tells me Braimes think this is foreshadowing marriage.

It's foreshadowing something else.

+.+.+

"Squishers?" Brienne gave him a suspicious look.

"Monsters," Nimble Dick said, with relish. "They look like men till you get close, but their heads is too big, and they got scales where a proper man's got hair. Fish-belly white they are, with webs between their fingers. They're always damp and fishy-smelling, but behind these blubbery lips they got rows of green teeth sharp as needles. Some say the First Men killed them all, but don't you believe it. They come by night and steal bad little children, padding along on them webbed feet with a little squish-squish sound. The girls they keep to breed with, but the boys they eat, tearing at them with those sharp green teeth." He grinned at Podrick. "They'd eat you, boy. They'd eat you raw."

Look, a subspecies of the Other.

+.+.+

Dreaming of a hot meal, she gnawed on a strip of hard salt beef whilst Nimble Dick talked about the time Ser Clarence Crabb had fought the squisher king.

You tell me every story but this one? Really?

+.+.+

Brienne sat with her back to the rock, listening to the waves. Are you near the sea, Sansa? she wondered. Are you waiting at the Whispers for a ship that will never come? Who do you have with you? Passage for three, he said. Has the Imp joined you and Ser Dontos, or did you find your little sister?

My heart melts when she talks to her.

+.+.+

"That look a bloody ruin t' you?" Crabb spat. "That's the Dyre Den, where old Lord Brune keeps his seat. Road ends here, though. It's the pines for us from here on."

Lothor Brune's got First Men blood in him? I like that.

+.+.+

Sheer walls of rock, eaten away by centuries of wind and spray, hemmed them in to either side. In some places they had assumed fantastic shapes. Nimble Dick pointed out a few as they climbed. "There's an ogre's head, see?" he said, and Brienne smiled when she saw it. "And that there's a stone dragon. T'other wing fell off when my father was a boy. Above it, that's the dugs drooping down, like some hag's teats." He glanced back at her own chest.

I'm sorry, this is not an easy chapter, and I'm paranoid.

What is this? Is this anything?

+.+.+

"Ser? My lady?" said Podrick. "There's a rider."

"Where?" None of the rocks suggested a rider to her.

"On the road. Not a rock rider. A real rider. Following us. Down there." He pointed.

Aww, is someone chasing after Brienne?

+.+.+

It was on her lips to ask her guide which king Lord Brune had espoused, but it made no matter any longer. Brune's sons were gone; some might not be coming back. We will have no hospitality here tonight.

Okay, but why is she learning so much about House Brune?

Help, I'm losing it, and we're not even halfway.

+.+.+

The going was much slower in the woods. Brienne prodded her mare through the green gloom, weaving in and out amongst the trees. It would be very easy to get lost here, she realized. Every way she looked appeared the same. The very air seemed grey and green and still. Pine boughs scratched against her arms and scraped noisily against her newly painted shield. The eerie stillness grated on her more with every passing hour.

[...]

"It's bad here," Podrick said. "This is a bad place."

[...]

They made camp early that night, after they came down a hill and found themselves on the edge of a glistening green bog. In the grey-green light, the ground ahead looked solid enough, but when they'd ridden out it had swallowed their horses up to their withers. They had to turn and fight their way back onto more solid footing.

If the goal is for me to be thinking about Greywater Watch, mission accomplished.

What is the purpose of this? I hate this chapter.

+.+.+

They rode through pines and bogs, under dark skies and intermittent rain, past sinkholes and caves and the ruins of ancient strongholds whose stones were blanketed in moss. Every heap of stones had a story, and Nimble Dick told them all. To hear him tell it, the men of Crackclaw Point had watered their pine trees with blood.

Are you sure it was pine trees, Nimble? Are you sure?

+.+.+

Brienne's patience soon began to fray. "How much longer?" she demanded finally. "We must have seen every tree in Crackclaw Point by now."

"Not hardly," said Crabb. "We're close now. See, the woods is thinning out. We're near the narrow sea."

This fool he promised me is like to be my own reflection in a pond, Brienne thought

Lol.

+.+.+

It may be that I will need to kill him, she told herself one night as she paced about the camp. The notion made her queasy. Her old master-at-arms had always questioned whether she was hard enough for battle. "You have a man's strength in your arms," Ser Goodwin had said to her, more than once, "but your heart is as soft as any maid's. It is one thing to train in the yard with a blunted sword in hand, and another to drive a foot of sharpened steel into a man's gut and see the light go out of his eyes."

But that's why we love you, Brienne.

+.+.+

To toughen her, Ser Goodwin used to send her to her father's butcher to slaughter lambs and suckling pigs. The piglets squealed and the lambs screamed like frightened children. By the time the butchering was done Brienne had been blind with tears, her clothes so bloody that she had given them to her maid to burn.

God, did Randyll Tarly come up with this?

+.+.+

In battle half a heartbeat is a lifetime. The man slipped out his dirk and found a chink in my friend's armor. His strength, his speed, his valor, all his hard-won skill . . . it was worth less than a mummer's fart, because he flinched from killing. Remember that, girl."

I will, she promised his shade, there in the piney wood. She sat down on a rock, took out her sword, and began to hone its edge. I will remember, and I pray I will not flinch.

Hang on to this, you're going to need it for later.

+.+.+

Brienne followed close behind him, with Podrick bringing up the rear upon his rounsey.

+.+.+

The castle was built of old, unmortared stones, no two the same. Moss grew thick in clefts between the rocks, and trees were growing up from the foundations. Most old castles had a godswood. By the look of it, the Whispers had little else.

Pine trees, Nimble? Are you sure it was pine trees? ARE YOU SURE?

+.+.+

"This fool o' yours, he's not a man to hold a grudge, is he?" he said nervously. "I mean, last night I got to thinking that he might be angry at old Nimble Dick, on account o' that map I sold him, and how I left out that the smugglers don't land here no more."

"With the gold that you've got coming, you can give him back whatever he paid you for your help." Brienne could not imagine Dontos Hollard posing a threat.

+.+.+

It did sound like whispering, though, and for a moment she could almost see the heads, sitting on their shelves and muttering to one another. "I should have used the sword" one of them was saying. "I should have used the magic sword."

"Podrick," said Brienne. "There's a sword and scabbard wrapped up in my bedroll. Bring them here to me."

'atta girl.

+.+.+

Soldier pines were everywhere, drawn up in solemn ranks. In their midst was a pale stranger; a slender young weirwood with a trunk as white as a cloistered maid. Dark red leaves sprouted from its reaching branches.

She found Sansa!

Are they slender when they haven't been fed?

+.+.+

She knew that nose. She knew those eyes. Pyg, his friends had called him.

Everything seemed to happen in a heartbeat. A second man slipped over the lip of the well, making no more noise than a snake might make slithering across a pile of wet leaves. He wore an iron halfhelm wrapped in stained red silk, and had a short, thick throwing spear in hand. Brienne knew him too. From behind her came a rustling as a head poked down through the red leaves. Crabb was standing underneath the weirwood. He looked up and saw the face. "Here," he called to Brienne. "It's your fool."

"Dick," she called urgently, "to me."

Shagwell dropped from the weirwood, braying laughter.

Time to pay some debts!

+.+.+

"Leave him be," said Brienne.

"DON'T!" shrieked Dick, lifting bloody hands to shield his head. Shagwell whirled the spiked ball once around his head and brought it down in the middle of Crabb's face. There was a sickening crunch. In the silence that followed, Brienne could hear the sound of her own heart.

Nooooo!!

+.+.+

Passage for three, Brienne remembered. "There are only three of you."

Timeon shrugged. "We all went our own ways, after we left Harrenhal. Urswyck and his lot rode south for Oldtown.

That can't be good.

+.+.+

"Sandor Clegane?" said Brienne. "What do you mean?"

"He's the one that's got the Stark girl. The way I hear it, she was making for Riverrun, and he stole her. Damned dog."

Riverrun, thought Brienne. She was making for Riverrun. For her uncles. "How do you know?"

"Had it from one of Beric's bunch. The lightning lord is looking for her too. He's sent his men all up and down the Trident, sniffing after her. We chanced on three of them after Harrenhal, and winkled the tale from one before he died."

WRONG TURN, WRONG TURN.

Don't go near Beric's bunch!

+.+.+

What's your choice?"

"This." Brienne threw herself toward Pyg.

He jerked his broken blade up to protect his face, but as he went high she went low. Oathkeeper bit through leather, wool, skin, and muscle, into the sellsword's thigh.

[...]

The morningstar was whirling. Choose one, Brienne told herself. Choose one and kill him quickly. Then a stone came out of nowhere, and hit Shagwell in the head. Brienne did not hesitate. She flew at Timeon.

She did not flinch. She did not hesitate. 🥺

+.+.+

As he [Shagwell] staggered to his feet, another stone slammed him in the ear. Podrick had climbed the fallen wall and was standing amongst the ivy glowering, a fresh rock in his hand. "I told you I could fight!" he shouted down.

Pod. ❤️

+.+.+

Brienne lowered Oathkeeper. "Dig a grave. There, beneath the weirwood." She pointed with her blade.

"I have no spade."

"You have two hands." One more than you left Jaime.

"Why bother? Leave them for the crows."

"Timeon and Pyg can feed the crows. Nimble Dick will have a grave. He was a Crabb. This is his place."

. . .

Um.

Can we pick another location?

Can we bury the bloody dead man under any other tree?

I don't think it was pine trees, is what I'm saying.

+.+.+

Brienne sheathed Oathkeeper, gathered up Dick Crabb, and carried him to the hole. His face was hard to look on. "I'm sorry that I never trusted you. I don't know how to do that anymore."

+.+.+

She heard his ragged breathing half a heartbeat before Podrick cried out his warning. Shagwell had a jagged chunk of rock clutched in one hand. Brienne had her dagger up her sleeve.

A dagger will beat a rock almost every time.

ha HA, get it??

+.+.+

"Laugh," she repeated, grabbing his throat with one hand and stabbing at his belly with the other. "Laugh!" She kept saying it, over and over, until her hand was red up to the wrist and the stink of the fool's dying was like to choke her. But Shagwell never laughed. The sobs that Brienne heard were all her own. When she realized that, she threw down her knife and shuddered.

Don't forget Brienne's got a bit of both Stark sisters inside her.

+.+.+

Podrick helped her lower Nimble Dick into his hole. By the time they were done the moon was rising. Brienne rubbed the dirt from her hands and tossed two dragons down into the grave.

"Why did you do that, my lady? Ser?" asked Pod.

"It was the reward I promised him for finding me the fool."

Oh, that's perfect. Sandor Clegane robs corpses, while Brienne of Tarth pays them.

When George R. R Martin says he loves every single character, what he means is that he loves every single character except the Hound.

+.+.+

Laughter sounded from behind them. She ripped Oathkeeper from her sheath and whirled, expecting more Bloody Mummers . . . but it was only Hyle Hunt atop the crumbling wall, his legs crossed. "If there are brothels down in hell, the wretch will thank you," the knight called down. "Elsewise, that's a waste of good gold."

"I keep my promises. What are you doing here?"

"Lord Randyll bid me follow you. If by some freak's chance you stumbled onto Sansa Stark, he told me to bring her back to Maidenpool. Have no fear, I was commanded not to harm you."

Hyle! Fancy meeting you here.

He's so full of shit. He wanted to help her.

"You spoke of the Stinking Goose, my lady," said Ser Hyle. "If you want me to show you—"

"Go back to your gate."

A look of annoyance flashed across his face. A plain face, not an honest one. "If that's your wish." - Brienne III, AFFC

My ass Lord Randyll bid him. He went to Randyll Tarly, I know it.

+.+.+

"About the girl, I meant. The Lady Sansa."

Brienne thought a moment. "She was making for Riverrun, if Timeon told it true. Somewhere along the way she was taken by the Hound. If I find him . . ."

". . . he'll kill you."

"Or I'll kill him," she said stubbornly.

✨ foreshadowing ✨

kind of.

+.+.+

"Will you help me cover up poor Crabb, ser?"

"No true knight could refuse such beauty." Ser Hyle climbed down from the wall. Together, they shoved the dirt on top of Nimble Dick as the moon rose higher in the sky, and down below the ground the heads of forgotten kings whispered secrets.

You know what I think? I think Hyle Hunt's got a bit of a crush.

Final thoughts:

Are the Braimes at all concerned about Hyle Hunt?

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #affc #brienne iv

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hiddenhalfbreed · 8 years ago

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A new start

@prince-crackbones

The hybrid had just teamed up with the Prince, Lotor. She never thought she'd see herself on the side of the Galra ever again. But things changed, people changed. And someone had to make a move to maybe change things to the better. She hoped this all would turn out well.

Shira tapped down the halls of the warship. Sge didn't know what she had to do, so it'd be best to look for the Prince. And almost as if it was her lucky day, he stood in the hallway as she walked by, and approached him. "Prince Lotor... it's a pleasure to see you again."

#prince-crackbones #vld rp #starter #i hope this is okay D:#i tend to write it all very serious

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munsontm · 2 years ago

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@morturi liked THIS for the bard.

"So, here's a crumb of advice from your resident super senior." He'd spun on his heel to stop before the morbid-looking princess while tieless with his jacket and shirt askew, ever the model Nevermore student. "Old Madam Crackbones will fail your ass if you do your book report on anything by H.P. Lovecraft. It's some weird personal vendetta, I heard." Eddie shrugged, eyes wide and wild. "Anyway, I do Lovecraft every year, which drives her nuts. But it's fully entertaining. Especially when I told her that I was working on summoning Cthulu."

#morturi #nevermore eddie 4 u #hope that's okay

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sleepingfancies · 1 year ago

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WAIT its been a bit since u rbbed that post but what character of yours goes by a different name than they have before?? if its not spoilers of course.. . .. im curious 👀

Mortimer Crackbone from my WIP Deathbringers! ^-^ That was a name he chose for himself when he was about ~10 years old. He's gone by it ever since, and the circumstances of his choosing it have meant that no one's questioned that that's his actual name. There's only one other living person (prior to the story) who knows his original birth name.

#anonymous #answered #wip: deathbringers #my wip #technically vidar as well but that's extenuating fey circumstances KGBDSGB #mortimer is the only one who himself chose a different name and abandoned the one his parents gave him

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creativerogues · 6 years ago

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So, How We Gonna Resurrect This Bard?

The door busts open, swinging on its hinges, the metal handles slamming against the wall of the church as those that stand within turn to face the disturbance.

There, astride two steeds crafted from dark and shadow, sit a raggedy young wild-man, still covered in a layer of fresh wet soil and his veins still burning a cursed purple-green as the poisons of a green dragons breath continued to spread...

And atop the other phantasmal steed sits a tortle with blistered skin and watery eyes. He spoke through wheezing breath, his voice amplified as purple-blue sparks of arcane energy shoot and fizzle from his throat.

"We seek aid. Priest... Holy Man... Anyone...!" The Tortle spoke through coughs and splutters.

The steeds soon dissipated as the dismounted... And you almost didn't notice the haggard aaracokra man with withered feathers standing with a decayed body in his hands...

The three walked in, tired and desperate, and take a stand within the church at its entrance, blocking your leave.

"Please." The wild-man spoke for the first time, his voice rough and strained, his breathing heavy...

"He's been dead for four days, maybe five." The wild-man spoke again as he looked down at the body, the decay obvious and the stench almost burning to the nostrils, but none of the three seemed to care nor notice...

"We can pay." The old tortle spoke as a desperate attempt to sway your thoughts and give the group favor...

"We'll find a way to pay..." The wild-man spoke under a whisper, the Bird-Man carrying the corpse remaining silent, simply looking around the room.

The one of the holymen walks over, and despite the situation, knows these are not men of money, power or status.

"I'm sorry for your loss, my brethren-" The Priest uttered until he was interrupted by the Bird-Man.

"We don't want you pity." He spoke with a strain, his withered feathers hanging from the wings between his shoulders...

The Aaracokra looked up, taking his eyes off the corpse of his Friend. He'd taken so much time trying to stay alive that he almost forgot about the Friend that fell along the way.

He spoke again, his eyes barely containing a rage that could've burned hotter than the poison still in his lungs...

"You will f*cking fix him..."

So, here's the dealio. I wanted to do some World-building and DM Prep for my Players next session, which I've entitled "The Fixer-Upper" because I love to title each session and the Players are still in the process of fixing the colossal f**k-up that they caused...

And with the Players hopefully resurrecting Foot, and dispelling the magic that's held Whinny the Rogue, I thought that since the last call to action to create some Thieves worked so well, a call to action again might yield some fun results!

So what's the request?

Well, if the Players want to resurrect their Tabaxi Bard Friend, they're going to need someone that can do that: A Cleric, a Paladin, a Necromancer even?

So, I thought I'd ask the Community once again to create their own NPCs for my Campaign, since I loved the Characters made last time and I'd love to see more!

But to give you all a head start in Character Creation, let's tell you what I have on the lands of Valdor, the place the Party is currently adventuring through.

Valdor is the Country that lies east of Carthisia, over the Himmelblas Mountain Range that almost splits the Continent in two.

Individuals native to Valdor (known as Valdorians) have dusky brown skin and dark brown or black hair, having dark brown eyes.

Valdorians number many in the Silver Charge Mercenary Company of the Himmelblas Mountain Range, but far less than the numbers of Minotaurs, Goliaths and Orcs that live within the mountains on the west of Valdor's Borders.

Valdor is known for it’s many Mercenary Companies: The Shadow Hand, The Readied Blades, Brothers of the Mask, and The Slayers’ Band to name just a few.

Knights of the Knife, Gentleman of the Shade, Berespan’s Bravos, The Long Knives. They're the more of the famous Sell-sword Mercenary Companies.

The Three Biggest Mercenary Companies in Valdor are:

The Crackbone Company: A Company of ~20 Members, mainly Half-Orcs and Mountains Dwarves from Unter & Vuul to the north-west of Valdor, with Goliaths, Minotaurs and some Humans...

The Skull-Smoked-Frogs: A Company of 17 Members. Lead by a Female Tabaxi by the name of Owl on the Stone Shore. Her lieutenants are a Green Grung by the name of Osakwe, and a Kenku by the name of Dog Sneeze (’Sneeze’ for short).

Seven in Scarlet: A Company of just seven members, known for wearing only scarlet red clothing. Some say that the majority of these Members are in fact former Red Dagger Assassins who became disloyal to the Emperor of the Desert Kingdom of Rassurmurait to the South.

And that's pretty much it.

The only real "locations" to speak of are a Volcano to the far, far south that used to be a Red Dragon's Lair centuries ago, and the City of Bluemite, which used to be a small city run by a Free Noble House before said Red Dragon burned the town down to ash.

So, this is my written permission (within reason!), given to you, to create a Town, City, Location or whatever you need to suit the "Bard resurrecting" Character's Backstory.

Maybe they lived near the Volcano, maybe they're not even from Valdor! Who knows!?

But, just like last time, I'll give a template to help everyone get started, but think about why this Character, whoever they are, would want to help the Party, and would they resurrect the Bard for nothing, for a favour, in the name of a God...?

Anyways, here's the Template to get y'all started:

Name: Race: Class: Subclass: Appearance: Personality: History: Motivation: Something Cool:

And remember, not all spells that can resurrect someone are specifically for Clerics. You're Character could be a Necromancer, a Paladin, a Cleric serving a Good God or even an Evil God.

Transmuters, Bards, Sorcerers: A lot of people can Raise Dead...

But anyhow, GO FORTH, create NPCs in Valdor and who knows, maybe the Party will gain some new allies (or enemies) in their Quest to defeat the Verdant Death that is Greshan himself...

#dnd #DnD 5e #creativerogues #campaign ideas #d&d campaign

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tallisstark · 5 years ago

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the courts offer bread and salt to TALLIS STARK of HOUSE STARK. many say that the TWENTY FOUR year old PRINCESS of THE NORTHERN KINGDOM is known to be DARING and LIGHTHEARTED, though ill tongues whisper that she is RECKLESS and UNFORGIVING. when her name is uttered , one is reminded of a thrown knife meeting its target, the smell of well-worn riding leathers, dark hair in elaborate braids. may she blessed and protected in this war of crowns. (fc: Anya Taylor Joy)

Hi all!! I’m Shay. I was in this RP briefly before, but I don’t expect anybody to remember me at all. I am excited to see this back in the tags and can’t wait to get started writing with you all. Under the cut is some more information about Tallis, though I have kept things fairly vague so as not to contradict anything her family may have already written, so this may be altered later. If you’d like to plot, please do drop me a message or like this and I’ll come to you!

Updated 09/02/2020

Tallis is the daughter of King Brandon Stark and Queen Betha, nee Mooton, one of four children. As well as her siblings, she has three cousins on her mother’s side - the Mooton sisters. She loves her family dearly, and is proud of her lineage.

From the moment she had been born, Tallis Stark was the apple of her father's eye. A lesser man than King Brandon Stark might have been disappointed that the child was a girl, but not he. She had been born early, smaller than most, with skin thin as paper and eyes too big for her head. She came into the world in the dead of a Winter, and few but King Brandon expected her to survive, until they heard her cry. Nothing with a shriek that loud could ever be weak.

She was a noisy baby, her wails heard all through Winterfell. Even when she was content, she yelled and gurgled and made herself known. They should have realised that was an omen of things to come, for Tallis Stark had a will as unyielding as valyrian steel, and would never learn to be silent.

Shrieking babe became wild toddler, wild toddler became feral child. She grew slowly, always dwarfed by others her age, with bones as fragile as a fledgling bird, but Tallis Stark was no bird. She was every inch a direwolf, a true child of the North. Her father delighted in her, and the pair of them were close, rarely away from each other's sides. He celebrated in her passion, his fire of the frost, he called it, and turned a blind eye to her behaviour, amused by antics that only grew bolder over time.

Queen Betha was not so amused. She despaired over her daughter at times, wringing hands in frustration, knowing not how to turn her wild, willful child into a respectable, Northern lady. She tried to arrange many a plot to foster Tallis, with her family in Maidenpool, to The Vale, the south, but King Brandon would not allow it. He would have missed her too greatly, and in any case, it was only he who had any degree of control over her. He rarely put his foot down, but when he did, she listened.

To anybody who worked in Winterfell, Tallis Stark was the bane of their existence. She terrorised the servants, the gardeners, the cooks, the squires. Nobody was safe from her unique brand of mischief, and though some were as fond of her as her father was, others would curse her name to delighted laughs from the royal brat.

She was always quick-witted, sharp and bright, but she didn't shine academically. Perhaps she could of, if she had put her mind to it, and she could recite the houses, their sigils and banners from memory. She liked history, but some of the more basic skills were lost to her. She struggled to read, and her penmanship is dreadful, her maths even worse. Eventually, she gave up trying. She grew good at listening and remembering, learning the stories of legend by ear and mimicking them perfectly. She could sew when she concentrated, but cared little for it, and never tried.

Where she did excel was in all things physical. She was small, but with that she was lithe and nimble, and she moved with a fluid grace that one would not expect from a girl with so much chaos in her soul. She could dance better than anyone, and rode a horse like she was half-centaur. She can hunt, she can climb, and she is fast, and of that she is most proud.

It was perhaps her boisterous nature that led her to seek out the company of the various boys if Winterfell, be they wards or the sons of visiting lords who made regular appearances. There was Eliar Umber, with whom she rode and played and made wishful plans to set off into Westeros in the search of glorious adventure. There was Aeron Greyjoy, who had recognised her warrior's spirit and placed a sword in her hand and an idea in her heart. And there was Rodrik Forrester. Since he had arrived at Winterfell as a ward, Tallis took great delight in his company.

Most believed Tallis would calm as she grew, and one day make a wonderful wife and mother. They are still waiting for this day to come. As she has got older, Tallis has only become more hedonistic. She does as she pleases with little regard for what it may mean for other people. She’s a drinker, and a gambler, and intensely passionate in her relationships with others. She has trained hard at weaponry, can throw a knife with great accuracy at 100 paces and has grown skilled with a sword. She fights with two now, light, but sharp blades clutched in either hand. Though she has never tasted battle, she is good, more than capable of holding her own. She knows that, though strong for her size, she cannot win a fight on strength and force alone, and so relies on her agility and speed to win, a tactic that serves her well.

The fire in her can be a beautiful thing, warm and bright and leaving her humming with an energy that comes from deep within her, a passion and a zest for life that can't be touched. She makes a warm and loving friend, but behind that is a danger. She can scorch hot enough to burn, and is prone to jealousy and quick to anger. The temper of Tallis Stark is legendary, and once you have fallen out of your favour, she will hold a grudge that she may never relinquish, her stubborn nature leaving her unforgiving, even long after she has forgotten why she was ever angry.

She is an animal lover, particularly dogs, birds and horses. She has a collection of birds of prey she is particularly proud of, and is usually in the company of a large, black and white dog. Originally named Kermit, as he grew gigantically big, she lovingly nicknamed him Crackbones after one of her favourite stories of old.

Tallis is adventurous by nature. She can be incredibly charming and affable when it suits her, and would never intentionally harm somebody without cause, however, she is selfish, even more so as a result of her hedonistic ways, and can often cause unintended hurt to others as a result.

Tallis is proud to be a Stark. For that reason, she doesn’t think she will ever intentionally seek a marriage. She wants to retain her name and her status, and if that means remaining unmarried, then so be it. There was one she would have given it all up for, but it wasn't to be and over time she lost hope.

At the core of it, she's a girl Who doesn't truly know what she wants. To travel, certainly, and see the world beyond The North, but to stay a woman of Winterfell. She longs to wander, but knows she will always return home, even as she resents being stuck behind stone walls. She isn't one for castle life, would be an awful wife and a worse mother. She loved once, and he was the only man she would ever consider marrying, but he was given to another and her heart was broken.

Now, she's struggling to find her place, hurting from the loss of her dear father, but knows it's at her brother's side. She harbours dreams of serving as a Northern ambassador, or even as a Kingsguard, anything to give her purpose and open up a part of a world she can only imagine.

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