shelbs
oswin

It is currently WINTER in WESTEROS during the year 303 AC. The new moon cycle marks a full twenty years since the Mad King was murdered, and his son King Rhaegar ascended the Iron Throne in his place. Though the year is fresh, war in the Narrow Sea has left the Free Cities of Volantis and Tyrosh in ashes, and the Long Night continues to beckon from the Northern fringes of the Seven Kingdoms. With the Queen Lyanna presumed dead, the citizens of the realms look only to each other for survival.
[x] Site's Most Wanted has been updated! Get em while they're hot!
[x] SURPRISE! Please enjoy our new skin, and let the staff know if you find any bugs! (Shelbs accidentally overwrote the old skin and posted this too soon so it's entirely possible the dumbass she forgot some things!)
[x] THE FATE OF TYRION LANNISTER HAS BEGUN! Mass thread HERE! If you play a character that has been selected as judge, please join in asap! Otherwise the thread is open to all wanting to participate!
[x] Keep an eye out for a new mini-event we have been planning! The bloodshed fun is never over!
[x] As always... we are in need of MALE characters!
 
Add Reply
New Topic
New Poll

 IT WAS THE BEST OF TIMES, WORST OF CRIMES, Open
ELINOR STARK
 Posted: Nov 15 2017, 11:41 AM
Quote
Lola is Offline
19 years old
NORTH
Stark
N/A
Winterfell
Lady



“That dress is wonderful! Oh twirl again Elizabeth!”

Victoria, the name which accompanied the shrill squeal of girlish delight, had mounted herself upon the edge of her chair in astonishment, her mouth hung aghast in childish wonder. The other, a girl of perhaps sixteen, Elinor hadn’t found herself able to care, pandered to the request with another spin.

“Do you think Ser James will like it?”
Washed in faded blue with tangents of gold frequenting each seam the girl stood a paler shade of white than the frost of Winterfell. She’d come from the Riverlands, or perhaps the Reach, maybe somewhere in the middle and hadn’t stopped speaking since the moment she’d arrived. There was to be a celebration before the call of war roused the men from their houses and summoned the knights to ride. Of course eligible bachelorettes had been shooed from their strongholds, as was the custom when gatherings of potential husbands congregated in a single convenient location. Cersei had, before she’d been able to disagree, introduced the pair to the Stark girl and since that unwanted greeting she’d been unable to escape them.

“Perhaps, but I’d worry less about the dress and more about your face.” Without even looking up from the goblet filled to the brim with blood-red wine, Elinor made her comment with a natural disregard for feeling or thought. “What an awful thing to say! Elizabeth don’t you listen, what would a Northerner know about pretty dresses anyway.” There was a sneer working itself upon the blonde girl’s lips, a judgemental scowl which burnt against Elinor’s face with such scorn that it would perhaps have caused a lesser opponent to recoil. But not the Wolf. “What I do know is unless your father has more gold than the Lannisters you’re neither pretty enough, nor are your figures fine enough to get the slightest bit of attention. I do hope you can buy your knight.. or perhaps a stablehand might take an interest. Oh, and that dress looks like you’re wearing a hand painted potato sack — with less filling.” With a complimenting scoff the girl would raise from her slouched seat, the lean muscle of her outstretched legs contracting as she’d broaden the smirk gallivanting across her mouth in sheer delight, “Do excuse me.”

It didn’t matter to the Northern girl that a frantic wheeze of panic had spilt from the other’s mouth, nor did she hold a sentiment of regard for the sudden sob which chased her heel from the room, nothing mattered but the prompt appearance of Night trailing in the wake of her footsteps. People had protested against his attendance, especially with visitors gathering in the corridors and wandering back and fourth. But Elinor had planted her heels just as firm as Cersei, which had in turn left Steffon unable to refuse her, as long as the Direwolf wasn’t taken to the main hall of course. So in her own compromise she turned from the inviting smell of roasted meat, ignored the call of promised tales from traveling men and instead - after collecting an armful of flagons from the cellar - disappeared into one of Robert’s war rooms. It was her favourite, something between the mounted boar's head protruding from the wall and the stone-carved map of Westeros appealed to her in a sense she couldn’t quite describe. Perhaps in the same way a beautiful dress might appeal to a little girl. With a jump of athletic ease the girl would haul herself upon the stone, in several steps she crossed the continent before seating herself atop Winterfell with another swig from her drink. “This might be the closest we get to home in a long time Night.” The idea caused her lips to twist, the motion fluent before a soft almost sweet sounding laugh pushed through her teeth, a sound so often stifled most wouldn’t be able to tell it belonged to her; for it was often hidden as to not be misconstrued as weakness.

PM
^
ARGELLA BARATHEON
 Posted: Nov 22 2017, 07:05 AM
Quote
oswin is Offline
19 years old
STORMLANDS [A]
House Baratheon
Baratheon
Storms end
lady



“I told your father you weren’t to travel to the Lannister wedding.” Fury, a trait almost unbeknownst to the Baratheon daughter boiled in her blood. She had long sing learned that yelling at her mother would get her nowhere. However, while the thunder had ceased from rolling across the landscape, it did not stop it from rumbling dangerously in her tones. “You said what?” Coiling her fingers tightly about the embroidery pins that were nestled within the lengths of her elegant fingers. “It is far too much for you in your fragile state,” The displeasure reflected plainly in her features, incredulous and working on reigning in her temper. Opening her mouth to argue the point, the golden haired lioness interrupted her before she could get some well poisoned words in. “And after that little stunt you pulled the other day, he could only agree.” A scoff escaped her before she could contain it.

“My Lady,” Both ladies focused their intense stares onto the unfortunate maidservant that stood in the entryway. Perhaps glad for the diffusion of the situation, Argella settled back into the overstuffed cushions. Attempting to convince her fingers to relinquish their grip on the now crumpled velvet. “There has been… a dispute between Lady Elizabeth and Lady Elinor. One left in quite the state.” Ducking her head quickly, “I can only imagine the culprit. Send Elizabeth my regards.” Cersei smoothed over, touching the elaborate knot on the top of her head. “You,” Addressing her daughter in the same tone, “Go and see to my future Good daughter, and smooth this over. And tell her to stop insulting my guests.”

Raising with the promise that this would not be the last she spoke of this, Argella left saying little else. The darkened edges of her skirts swirling about her, reflecting the colour of the night sky and almost shimmering with every step she took. With direction from the nearest servant, Aggie wove her way with ease through the halls she had called home for so long. It did not take her long to find the sharp tongued Stark, or to smell the wolf that followed in her footsteps. Stepping into the room, leaning against the door as it closed, not bothering to mask her entrance, or her amusement upon the sight that she came upon. “Though I am a crusader for honesty, and not one to comment when offence is taken…” Glancing to the darkened wolf that loitered nearby. “Though I would appreciate it if next time you made Elizabeth cry, I could surely be in attendance.”

Moving from the wooden door, her fingers trailing against the small mountains that outlined the Vale. “If this is your idea of a party, I’d hate to see your thoughts on a celebration.” Brushing a nutmeg strand of hair from her eyes. All the previous fury she felt did not disturb the waters of her features, pushed down and smothered. She needed time to think about it and consider her options. She could hardly do that with a Stark on the loose and terrorising inept citizens. “Is it a Northern tradition to find dark places and drink foul smelling ale while brooding and feeling sorry for themselves?” She enquirer lightly, in Argella’s own way, it was her asking if her good sister to be was alright, she clearly had something on her mind, and Argella had an ear to lend if she needed to get it off her chest. Or if not, at least she was more favourable company than the silent hound at her feet.
PMEmail
^
ELINOR STARK
 Posted: Nov 23 2017, 11:02 AM
Quote
Lola is Offline
19 years old
NORTH
Stark
N/A
Winterfell
Lady




Lounging back against the pale mound of the fake Winterfell didn’t quite do the real landscape justice. It didn’t remind her of the desolation, of the mournful silence of the North as if the forest itself held its breath with the anticipation of despair. The wind didn’t rattle the snow from the trees nor did the pine cling with indelicate fondness to the frost beneath. The wolves didn’t howl their woeful chorus nor did the emptiness taunt with an overwhelming sense of loneliness, as if the entire wood was barren of life. No. Instead it stood in almost identical comparison with the rest of the world, nothing more than an etch carved into the table. With an exasperated sigh she’d take another drink, the liquid rolling down her throat with the remaining chill from the cellar. With each gulp she felt her stomach warm, the foul burn almost comforting as it sickened her insides but brought a sense of ease to protrude between her temples. She preferred the silence to the uproar that she imagined unfolding within the great-hall, she could almost hear Robert’s robust laughter, the valiant cheers of would-be-heroes and the whimsical sigh of waiting women leaving the floor wet from their desperation.

Running her fingertips across the mound representing The Wall she’d inhale what seemed like nothing but was perhaps half a flagon, the ale washing down her throat with ease. Before she’d finished her drink the stirring of Night forced her hand to lower, the snap of her neck jolting towards the door as the wolf’s hackles bristled with the disturbance. “I don’t think you’d appreciate the summoning. You don’t like being told where to be present.” The comment came without bitterness, without the snappiness one would expect. Instead it rolled from her tongue with warm indifference, her head tilting to lean against a raised shoulder before she’d loll it back to roam the expanse of the ceiling. “She’s an ugly crier, looks like she’s stuck somewhere between a sneeze and giving birth.” The thought made her lip twitch, a cruel kind of smile tugging at the corner before it settled into something unintentionally attractive. “I’d hate to crash a party I wasn’t invited too.” Of course that wasn’t completely true, Night hadn’t been invited and she doubted Cersei had been at all surprised at the offence caused; or the fact it caused her to disinvite herself.

“It’s a requirement, if you don’t they send you to the Wall.” There was a hint of amusement in her voice, just enough to be detectable, as if a distant ringing bell drowned out beneath the thunder of a drum. She was right though, Elinor had come with all the intention of feeling sorry for herself, brooding in silence and staring angrily into the dark. It was after-all an unbreakable tradition. Pushing up against her hands, she’d steady herself so that her limbs hung lightly from the table top and her back arched to lounge against the map. Meanwhile her chest thrust skyward as her chin tilted upwards in order to guzzle another drink, the weight gathering at the forefront of her head as she steadied her gaze to fix upon the doe’s misleadingly warm features. “Were you sent to tell me off? To punish me for my crimes?” With a wryly grin she’d toss her hair across her shoulder and bring a hand to her forehead to emphasise the dramatics, her theatrical tone causing Night to twist in a burst of restlessness. “Here, take a drink, you can’t be enjoying yourself, you wouldn’t have come otherwise, you’d have just ignored whoever sent you.” Motioning to the collection of stolen flagons she’d raise her steel stare to match the girl’s caramel brown, their shine almost gold under the flash of particular lighting; she’d noticed it many a time unbeknown to herself. “Or you can leave me to mope, I only hope I look as good as Robb while doing so.”

PM
^
ARGELLA BARATHEON
 Posted: Feb 21 2018, 06:06 AM
Quote
oswin is Offline
19 years old
STORMLANDS [A]
House Baratheon
Baratheon
Storms end
lady



Argella was hardly ever one to consider sympathy, she was aware of the emotion, could see it when it was dashed across others features like waves upon the sand. However, it did not matter how hard she tried - which truly was not too hard - Aggie could not relate. Not when one wept open and ugly, or when one was passed with such misfortune it disfigured their features permanently. It was just the bizarre concept of attempting to put herself in their place, for they were not her and never would be. And why would she lower herself to be anyone else? Although, as her emerald gaze inspected the darkly shrouded room, something twisted in the fine muscle that was strung in the bones confines of her chest. Not bothering to think too hard on it, the thought was brushed of as if it were merely water on a ducks back.

An amused chuckle clicked across her tongue, the depths of her humour gleaming in the ivy colour of her gaze at how well her good sister to be knew her. “I could make an acception to the rule.” The light notes of her tone rang across the abandoned war chambers. “The description sounds as her face does, so I am hard pressed to find a falsely in it.” An indelicate scoff rolled across her tongue, idly eyeing the pitch wolf that was sprawled so leisurely amongst the war pieces, as was its master. “As future lady of the Stormlands there is no party not opened to you, or you would know, if you bothered to answer any of the invitations.” Bemused as Elinor’s self exclusion. There were a thousand ladies falling over themselves to get the Lady Stark’s attention, it was such a shame that they were all god awful bores. The lengths of her mahogany tresses spilling over her shoulder in tight curls as she turned away to inspect a tapestry. Each spiral designed with as much intricate care as an artist would dedicate to their work.

“How boreish.” Coral lips remarked dryly, finding no interest in the likings of the cold, much less a wall that was made out of considerably more ice materials than she cared to think on. Fingers wrapping about the lengths of her skirts, Argella made the few short steps to lounge in her father's great chair, the scent of him engulfed her in a warm in an embrace that caught her by surprise, or perhaps it was the sight of Elinor almost inhaling the musky contents. “I would make a rather resplendent enforcer.” Argella mused, irises glowing playfully in the barely lit room. Ignoring the question entirely, there was no use denying it. The keen eyed wolf had guessed what had been left unsaid between them. The barely contained amusement glittering from the high planes of her cheekbones to the corners of her lips at the other woman’s display of theatrics.

Delicate fingers seemed almost out of place against the scarred and battled flagon. Cradling it against her palm, the liquid felt almost hot. Hardly one to shy away from a challenge, the lacklustre enthusiasm within Argella hardly showed as she breathed in the fumes. Rolling the taste about on her tongue, Aggie fought a frown. Sure that swamp water would have tasted better, “I have yet to develop my father's skill for ignorance with my mother.” It was not for a lack of trying, she was not one to give up either. It seemed that she would have to continue with her endeavour until something stuck. “What kind of good sister would I be to let you alone to your misery?” The doe’s tone was almost taunting, with an emphasis hovering over the two words of good and sister, unsure as to why. She had never had an aversion to it now, if anything Argella was sure that Elinor was one of the only women who could handle her brother. Perhaps it was just the ale talking.

“So what is it, then? The thing that is so burdensome?” Moving her torso forward, unthinkingly taking a swig at the chalice in her hand before the bitter sensation rolling across her tongue reminded her of her own aversion to it. “Your sword not sharp enough? The men too weak to fight against? A kink in your armour?” Argella was surely amusing herself more with these guesses than Elinor, she did not have a delicate way about her. It was arguable that Aggie did not have a subtle bone in her body. Now, fueled with drink and a dark room, it was hardly a reason for her to refrain. Tilting her head to the side, a waterfall of her tresses spilling across her narrow shoulders as Argella considered Elinor. Constructing her own fable in her mind, and waiting for the she-wolf to correct her, or her let insatiable imagination roam for longer.

PMEmail
^
ELINOR STARK
 Posted: Feb 22 2018, 02:32 PM
Quote
Lola is Offline
19 years old
NORTH
Stark
N/A
Winterfell
Lady



Surprise probed at her thoughts the moment a single chuckle from the Baratheon drama queen tempted a smile to cross her pouted mouth, a smile which she of course isolated behind her teeth and swallowed long before it could make an appearance. There was just something endearing about the sound, a faint infectious rumble; a unique violation to the ears. “Shame she lacks brains and a tolerable face.. perhaps she’ll be pleasurable enough in bed to compensate, but I do doubt that.” The very idea of the pretentious brat being able to prosper in any manner was rather offensive, some people just deserved to fester in some miserable circumstance that Elinor didn’t have the time to imagine. With a reserved expression the Stark girl withheld her judgement on the comment, twisting it against her teeth with the promise of spitting it straight back out. What pleasure could she find in communicating with people who deemed her as nothing more than a nuisance, a whirlwind from the North uncouth and too much trouble. They’d flatter her in conversation, vomit some vulgar subspecies of laughter, offer her gossip in return for a moment of recognition. They’d adorn themselves in beautiful gowns to compensate for their colourless thoughts, they’d weave a thread of inspiring lies wholeheartedly believing them to be truths. It all seemed a rather painful experience that she was able to avoid without too much fuss.

“Why would I bother? We both know they’re not worth the effort. They’ll assume I’m just too uncultured to realise the politics of the South and make up excuses for my absence without me having to so much as speak a word.” She knew fine-well it wasn’t the right attitude to express towards those looking to House Baratheon for leadership, even Cersei was smart enough to polish her exterior, disguising whatever rot devoured her from the inside. At least the soldiers admired her, it helped that Steffon encouraged her hunger for battle now they’d reached an agreement of sorts. She was twice the warrior half his men were - even when lacking half the strength. The Stormlands had a surprising amount of brutish men, perhaps if they hadn’t grown soft in the summer ales and withered within their delicate surroundings they’d have stood a darker skinned reflection of those North of the neck. Without interruption the she-wolf might have pondered the musing a little longer, but instead the indelicate snark of Ella’s tone lured her head to twist and the sharp silver-blue of her gaze to narrow on the familiar pout reaching across the girl’s mouth. “You mean a wall of ice and thousands of starved men dressed in black isn’t an exciting concept?” There was sarcasm in her tone and yet it didn’t quite change, it maintained an almost delicate hum, smothered somewhere beneath another gulp from the flagon.

Like a weightless spectre the silhouette of her good-sister seemed to float across her vision, as if her feet didn’t bare weight and instead all movement fell to the bounce in her hair; a veil of warm oak about her neck. The more she found herself watching the more she felt tempted to drink, as if her mouth continued to lose its moisture and demanded to be replenished. Of course the ale brought no relief, but it did take the edge off her uncertain thoughts. It amused her how small the doe appeared in the throne built for a man of admirable stature, the structure itself could swallow her whole and yet she flourished in its midst; appeared as if she belonged there poised in the centre. “You, an enforcer?” Each word came in a separate drawl, as if the wolf considered them in seriousness, mulling over the idea in quiet reflection. She could see it, Argella had no qualms in making demands, in barking orders at all those that bore the misfortune of stumbling into her path when her temper wasn’t quite in good-standing. She wore authority like a cloak tailored to consume each inch of her being, it radiated in controlled bursts from her pores, sometimes predictable and sometimes explosive. Yet she’d never found herself obliged to listen to those demands, instead she noticed something attractive in the manner in which she held herself, something intriguing, something which found her feeling somewhat inclined to be in her presence, to trample those boundaries and observe the following outbursts with… was it excitement?

“The Stormlands would become vacant, you’d punish people for burning bread, for pinching the thread from one of your dresses. A Tyrant!” She’d exclaim it in faux horror, her mouth widening into a well defined ‘o’ before smoothing outwards into a rather demure smirk. “A reign of terror.” The quip was meant as nothing more than a tease despite a distinct spark melting into the pale expanse of her stare, a sentiment of humour or something else, something unspoken. Observing her future sister attempt to stomach the taste reminded her of a child being offered their first taste of wine, the pressure of pretending to be indifferent to the sharp after-taste mounting on their shoulders in an unspoken burden. In a moment, one the Stark was certain the Doe herself was unaware of, a ghost of a frown caught her forehead and brought Elinor’s lips to break into a thin applauding gesture. “You can develop it now, there’s no time like the present.” Good sister. The word lingered a lot longer than she could recall, like a stagnant stench persistent on ruining the atmosphere. She’d never heard it before, the heaviness in the word, like a bind, an enforced promise, a whispered oath. It brought her nerves to twitch in opposition despite her mind being incapable of working out the sudden aversion to the tone, as if it held a deeper meaning, one she’d never considered.

“A shit one indeed.” Obscenities had never phased her, in-fact the pattern of her tongue when forming the word was almost attractive, when infused with the alluring curve of her smile it could almost be deemed inoffensive. With sudden enthusiasm she’d push herself from the map, the quake causing a carved stag somewhere in the Stormlands to topple as her feet reunited with the ground. “It would bore you to sleep” The retort came with an edge, a pointed bite smoothed with a tempting grin - one that could lure a man into a false sense of self. Taking another drink, for her throat called for the relief of a current to banish the drought, she’d step forwards, the space between them diminishing as she’d listen to each fable her sister-to-be wove. “All true.” She chimed in agreement, each statement being something she’d complain about in other circumstances, but not what had driven her to sulk that night. With an elegant step, strange when compared to her usual brashness, the She-wolf of Winterfell invited herself to lounge across her good sister, the firm swell of her bum thrown to settle against the doe’s lap while she’d drape the length of her legs across the throne’s arm. “But let’s not talk about that, you’d just upset me further. Tell me Argella Baratheon why you aren’t up there being flattered by every bachelor in the seven kingdoms”

PM
^
ARGELLA BARATHEON
 Posted: Apr 3 2018, 08:16 AM
Quote
oswin is Offline
19 years old
STORMLANDS [A]
House Baratheon
Baratheon
Storms end
lady



Here, in the dim lighting Argella found her comrades sapphire gaze glowed. In the low flickers of light, the colours caught is if it were metal glinting off of the waning light if turned the correct way. Where her brother found delight in weapons and all things boorish, Ella had never considered the sight beautiful until now. Oddly captivated by the steel that lined her hues, her mind already bored of the conversation about Elizabeth, surmising that there could hardly be any pleasure to be find in her entire body, and not even a half wit man could find it. Argella’s scoff said as much in response to the daughter of Winterfell’s statement, letting the lengths of her fingers drum idly across her knee to a beat that only she could hear, ensnared in her own thoughts, if only briefly.

The iron doe refrained from rolling her eyes, a great testament to her will. “You can hardly hide behind your excuses forever. While they are all as boring as horseshit, Steffon cannot do this on his own.” And how would they appear? When it was only her brother to greet and welcome the guests? And while Steffon was adept in the battlefield, smalltalk and mingling he was not. Neither come to think of it, was the Lady Stark. “I am not going to be about forever to clean up both of your messes.” The light hearted jest rumbled on her tongue, heavier than she had intended. The thought of leaving and being locked away in a drafty roost was worse than any torture that her mother could conjure. Dismissing the noxious cloud before it cemented itself too deeply into her lungs.

“You, an enforcer?” Entertainment flickered plainly across the Baratheon’s brow, emerald eyes glowing in an odd mirth as they attempted to glean what the lady Stark was thinking. “Surely it is not too odd of a idea to believe.” Argella had been commanding men, and women alike since she had first been able to draw breath. Yet her comrade across from her held a different commanding presence altogether, it was one that was worn and dealt with through battle and strength. Whereas Argella’s was through terror and tierney, not that she minded, Ella despised repeating herself and this way she oft did not have to. “A loss of their hand would surely teach them not to be so careless in the future.” Dancing along to the charade that was being woven in time before her, forested hues could see it now. Effervescent and glowing in the dim light of the room, a future she could not have, as her fate was not to be left here in the land of her birth. Which was another depressing matter in its own realm that her insatiable mind kept circling back too. Odd, considering she had gone months without the daunting thought of it shadowing her doorway. “Reign of Terror or Firm hand?” Full lips quirking without amusement, it was not a true question, one that rang bells and lacking conviction.

“You yourself appear to be developing a hearty resolve,” The fawn coloured doe noted, a brow raised theatrically. “Is it out of spite or intent that you act?” Rather hoping her good sister to be had a plan, and was not just riling her mother for the sake of it. For little got by Cersei Baratheon without her knowledge, and those who wronged her often wound up dead. Argella was sure that if she were not family her insolence would have been doused long ago, was it concern that was beginning to sprout in her gut? For someone else other than her? Surely it was just her stomach revolting from the foul ale, as an emotion like this had never possessed her before, not without her having something to gain, at least.

Silenced as Argella observed the wolf’s sudden movement, drawing a deep breath through her nostrils to calm the sudden pounce of her heart, she thankfully remained still. Her spine still posed against the back of the throne like chair that threatened to swallow her at any given moment. “It could hardly be as dull as the conversations outside.” Ella challenged with a fox smile, morphing her expression from one of demirity to mischievousness. The silent breath of air that escaped her from the weight that almost encased her thighs entirely. Warmth spread like tendrils across her lap, embracing her in a way that the fabric of her gown never could. While being flattered was entirely alluring, there had been nothing not said to her before. How many nights had she spent, highlighted in powder and surrounded by gems and gowns that glittered as she moved through the throng of admirers that sought her hand and favours. Soon, the great hall that she so loved had turned into a gilded cage, one for her to be poked and prodded at. While Argella enjoyed being admired, it had long since passed to keep her entertained. Now, the doe was bored, and dangerous things often followed when she dwelt in boredoms waters for too long. “Because I have heard it all before, they tire me with their repetition.” Inclining her head slightly, daring to move closer with a wicked gleam coating her gaze. There was nothing that any could say in the rooms above that could garner her interest, so what did that say about her seeking Elinor out in favour of candied words and sweet lies. “And what do you, Elinor Stark intend to do with my time while you have it?” The gauntlet had been thrown down between them, the very game twirling through the mist of her expression. One that could surely lead to their demise.

PMEmail
^
ELINOR STARK
 Posted: Apr 18 2018, 11:35 AM
Quote
Lola is Offline
19 years old
NORTH
Stark
N/A
Winterfell
Lady




Alone. Wasn’t that the destination of all men? The circumstance people could fight their entire life to avoid but conclude their existence in isolation all the same. If one was to devote a certain matter of thought to the idea of Elinor Stark becoming the ideal partner to oversee the rulership of a household it would evolve into an imagining of jest. She wasn’t fit to flitter through clusters of fickle friendships, to partake in fake laughter and ingest the poison cast aside from wagging tongues and subtle smiles. Her namesake had propelled her into a position befitting a woman of tact, a woman despite her dislike akin to Cersei Lannister. A woman like Argella or perhaps Sansa at a monumental leap. But not the wolf-pup accustomed to nothing more than wild fancies and overcome with a stigma to be or not to be the deceased Queen. She was designed to stand amongst her Northern brethren, to advise Robb perhaps, to test and question the methods of her brothers. Not one ounce of her had been polished to a position of court, but alas that wasn’t for her to declare; even though she no doubt would in the private seclusion of Steffon’s companionship. “Perhaps I can. We might all be dead soon and then we’ll have nothing to concern ourselves with now will we.” Tossing her head aside she’d cast her hair into a limitless cascade across her shoulder, the coal cast twisting against her neck to illuminate the pale complexion of her moon like skin, “But you’re right — he can’t do it alone. But how much help can I be? I’m not like your mother and I’m not like you. You might not have noticed but I’m not great at making useful acquaintances.” Or acquaintances at all for that matter, discounting stablehands and blacksmiths.

“No, you’ll be locked up in some bird-cage with an arrogant man-child.” Was that bitterness? She could taste it, the sour sentiment flocking to her tongue at the thought. She hadn’t felt jealous of a lot of things in life, perhaps Artos for his sharp wit, or Brandon for his strength and craftsmanship. But this was something else. The feeling started in the back of her throat, an intricate burn which spasmed between her ribs and ignited a sense of unforgiving frustration she couldn’t quite comprehend. It took a moment to settle herself, to withdraw the sudden compression flattening her mouth into a rather aggravated sneer. After a moment it disappeared altogether, the cold incisions disfiguring her forehead flattening as she’d expel a wavering breath, “Not at all, I could see you quite vividly dismembering men for their incompetence.” As the conversation changed she felt a false sense of calm return, the third gulp from her flagon aiding in the diversion of thought as she pushed the idea of Argella’s future from the forefront of her consideration. “And if they failed to learn would it be their head?” A genuine curiousness overcame her features, the idle raise of single brow rather radiant as it extended the pale sphere of her tentative gaze.

“We all need a firm hand at times.” The musing came aloud, the notion rather suggestive as she’d taste each word as it came from her loosening tongue. It seemed an inappropriate comment for a pair of high-birth, but she didn’t much care for obscene frigidness. “Spite, intent, what does it matter. Your brother is the barrier between myself and your mother, no matter what resolve I take she’ll never see me fit for this position and she’s quite right.. but I have to admit there’s nothing more amusing than her having to stomach it.” In other circumstances perhaps Cersei Lannister would have discarded her a long time ago, found some arrangement to return her to Winterfell, or cast her out. But she supposed the whole ordeal with Tyrion Lannister and her cast aside niece in proposition for the Rock were more important matters of concern; at least while Steffon appeared content and safe. “I wonder if she looks at me and sees my sister..” The musing came in a soft-spoken whisper, the tone if elsewhere would have been marred in the wind, but in the quaint silence between them rang like the sweet introduction of a song.


With the distance between them demolished, Elinor found herself rather overcome with a tension she couldn’t quite explain. It was a feeling that quickened her heart, the incessant thud hot against her chest as it thundered with the urgent throng of a war-call. She could have counted each thrash if she’d been able to devote a moment of attention to the sound. Instead she found her concentration drawn to the ample curve of the doe’s chest, the slight bronze of her fair skin, the incline of her slender neck underlining the sharp cut that shaped her delicate cheek. Had she noticed that smell before? An aroma so quaint it reminded her with fondness of the air just before the storm, the moment where it thickened, a strange indescribable allure. “Bored of the compliments? Is it one hundred men who have said that your mouth reminds them of that moment between sleep and awake, a ghost of a dream so perfect that they could not be real. Has it been one thousand that have compared your eyes to starlight, told you that just a single smile could light the darkest night for a thousand winters to come?” A look of amusement dangled against her mouth, the sharp shape puckering into a rather delicate pout, a somewhat puzzling softness which didn’t quite suit the immaculate strength often represented on their harsh alignment. Without much contemplation she’d raise a single hand, the indelicate touch rather commanding as it smoothed against the height of her Baratheon cheek edging into the border of her hair, “Do they tell you they’d do anything for you?” Unbeknown to herself the sound of her voice lowered into a hushed breath, the warmth of the exhale smoothing between them in a wavering cloud. “That very much depends on how long you intend to give me it.” As the sentence came, with the promise of bad intentions and tragic beginnings, Elinor found herself incapable of resisting the urge to bring her mouth that little bit closer, the sudden swell of her lips hanging over the other with what might have been the greatest surge of anticipation she’d felt in a lifetime. Powerless yet overcome with control.

PM
^
ARGELLA BARATHEON
 Posted: Jul 10 2018, 07:50 AM
Quote
oswin is Offline
19 years old
STORMLANDS [A]
House Baratheon
Baratheon
Storms end
lady



Rolling her emerald eyes at the wolfs exaggeration - and people said she was the dramatic one - ha! “You will be more use than you know.” Narrowing her forested gaze into the clear colours of the woman before her. “Elinor, I expected more from you. Surely you know there is more to a woman than just the cunt between her legs.” Idly flicking some unseen flint off the edge of her skirt as she crossed her ankles. “If you see yourself as such then why should anyone treat you differently?” Argella had every confidence in who she was, and would not accept being addressed in another manner. It was not oft that she offered advice for others - for she simply did not care for it. Though she had believed that Elinor had known her worth, Cersei had never allowed Argella to believe she was worth any less than she was.

“Steffon does not need you for your social graces.” He was charming enough as it were without it. He needed a strong woman to stand beside him, one that was capable of handling him and sure enough to divide him from the path that their father had taken before them and one she was certain their mother had steered him towards. Argella loved her brothers with what she could of her selfish heart, and the thought of him being trapped within the same endless torment that her parents were in was enough to give the muscle within her chest a worrying shake. “He needs an equal and a good knock on the head.” She surmised, if not eerily, unsure how they had come to speak about her brother at such lengths and not entirely enjoying it.

“I am in no need of reminding.” Argella scoffed indecently, a delicate curl forming at the end of her button nose. The thought of her future with a man as loathsome as her betrothed were entirely indecent. Since the incident of her being stolen away like some cattle for auction, Argella had been largely relieved that her father had forbade her from travelling anywhere. Which had at once put her betrothal on pause. The rotors in the great scheme of things still turned, but the cog that was her wedding had fallen to the side, largely forgotten about while there were larger spindles to pursue. Though it could not be forever, so in the interim, Ella was enjoying what she could while she had it. Including the pisswater she continued to pour down her throat, though she would hardly call it enjoyment.

Raising a darkened brow, her emerald gaze peered to the wolf across from her, crossing her ankles with a serious expression. “I do not give second chances.” While her tone was light, the bite behind her words revealed the truth. One did not disappoint the Iron Doe twice, or at all, if they could manage it. Perhaps now was the time to notice the distaste that coated her comrades features, was it anger at her own situation? Is that how Elinor felt about being brought here? While Steffon could be highly insufferable at times, he was not the worst out there. Though it was through a sisterly lease that she saw him and nothing else, she was not sure how else to perceive him. Refraining from rolling her eyes, “You agreeing with my lady mother? That is a day I never thought I would see.” The conversation quickly took a sharp turn in a direction that Ella was not too sure of - buried emotions and hurt - “It is hard to say what goes through my mother's mind. But I would hardly say she would agree to wed her son to anyone left than worthy.” Avoiding her gaze now, and sorely wishing for a change of subject. Argella despised talking about feelings, acknowledging them was enough to tighten her throat and make her tongue feel heavy in her mouth. She much rather preferred a passing nod to any sort of emotional feelings on the way to hightailing it as far away as she could. Lest she find herself in situations like this where someone asked something of her she could not give.

The Baratheon stilled down to her bones, every muscle and nerve ending twitched, coiled as though ready to strike and trembling from the restraints that had been chained to them. The delicate lengths of her fingers knotting within the skirts that rested upon her leg, only stirring from the intrusion into their depths and finding a new perch upon the tepid thighs of another that rested above her lap. While her image had been a subject that had been broached often, and flowing with compliments - Argella could still not help but be enticed with each word that rolled from Elinor’s tongue. While the words were in mockery, Ella’s heart shaped lips opened slightly in surprise, a slow exhale escaping her. “That and more,” Her sultry words promised, ivy gaze gleaming in the lowlight. Refusing to give an inch in the game that the pair were playing. Even as Elinor’s palm traced her cheek, could she feel the blood that burned beneath her very touch? “Their promises are nought but wind and ego.” Lannister gaze taunting, daring the wolf to show her why the other men could not. Always known for playing with fire, it was time that she coaxed the flames into something that was a bit more lively than sitting room embers. With her eyes trained on the misty hues before her, drinking in the aromas that engulfed her being. Not bothering to validate her statement with a verbal answer, Ella decided to close the distance between their lips instead. Her fingers moving about Elinor's wasp like waist to further draw the wolf into her lap, tongue tasting the stale ale that lingered on her plush mouth, and her heart roaring encouragement in her ears. Unthinking of the consequences and thrilled by the act.

PMEmail
^
ELINOR STARK
 Posted: Jul 11 2018, 11:15 AM
Quote
Lola is Offline
19 years old
NORTH
Stark
N/A
Winterfell
Lady




“A well placed pawn.” She almost mewed the phrase, purring it between her teeth with more dismissal than resentment. What a polished trinket she’d be, with ties to the North, blood in the crown and a rational mind she spent more time than not ignoring. “More to some women, not all.” The retaliation came with a sweeping generalisation, her tongue curling in spite as she considered those who found no power beyond what throbbed between their thighs, a loaded canon extinguishable when mishandled. Argella was right of course. She spent a lot of time being right. But to admit to her own belittlement wasn’t part of her agenda and so with reared arrogance she’d twist her mouth into a passing grimace before waving the question aside with an avid exhale frosted in an exaggerated puff through each nostril. In truth Winterfell’s Princess couldn’t quite understand her own reflection, uncertain of the woman who starred back. In fact she felt restless in her worn skin, far more comfortable beneath a mound of fur with a mind enveloped in the simplicities of feral impulses. Not that, that was a conversation she could announce.

No, Steffon didn’t need a likeable bride with an enviable social circle, he needed a composed equal with a balanced temperament who could compensate his speech in thought. For a life-time she’d been considered a hot-headed whirlwind as wild as the Winter which complimented her existence from the carved ice of her white-skin to the unpredictable calm before the cold. But she wasn’t quite the same menace who’d raced Robb through the undergrowth, who’d dangled from the turrets and bloodied an adolescent Steffon's nose. Instead she’d become contemplative, careful almost in her motions with a growing restlessness and unhidden temper which instead of boiling cooled to a sub-zero chill. Again her mouth began to formulate some semblance of a response but she found herself swallowing the sound, unwilling to further the conversation when it revolved around her betrothed as if his name dampened the air, an unwanted reminder of the world rolling on beyond their conversation.

“We could always have Night eat him…” It was a joke of course, but the idea was as tempting as it sounded. Could anyone prove the fire-haired bird met his fate to a Direwolf? The Lord liked to hunt, would it not be fitting for him to fall victim to an unpreventable an ill-fated animal attack. It was a morbid thought, selfish and deviant, a thought she couldn’t quite control as if it birthed itself into life in the back of her mind and spread with a jealousness she couldn’t comprehend. There was no reason for her to cast herself to such a dark alluring place, and yet when her mind imagined the doe perched before her under the Arryn heir she found her stomach churning until her entire being threatened to convulse in repulsion.

“You do not give first chances.” She almost hummed the fact in sheer amusement, if she’d been another girl she might have grinned some eccentric beaming smile, but instead she offered a provocative smirk; the line sharp as it printed with unnerving precision against her cheek. “I’d never admit such a thing, even under torture.” Lifting a well angled brow the look would offer something of a challenge, her mind wandering against her will to unfold the scenario within the secret of her imaginings. Argella attempting to get something out of her — a thought that could have been harmless so keen to turn inappropriate under the guise of her hearts sudden leap. But then her voice lulled her back, dismissing the fogged desire of ropes and whispers. Emotions had never been a digestible talking point for her sister-to-be, before she’d fathomed a response the wolf could sense the discomfort, the unease, the iron-wall falling behind her teeth like an unwavering dam. The Stark found no desire to press forward, it wasn’t a topic she wished to dissect, uncertain herself on the reason she’d found herself voicing the question. Perhaps Cersei would spend her existence caught between the past and the present, passing a ghost again and again until time erased the traces of Lyanna from her youthful cheeks. But that didn’t matter. Not to them. Not now.


The lack of distance obliterated whatever thoughts had possessed her moments ago. No longer did Cersei linger in her conscious nor could she recall whatever manic thoughts had stirred behind her lashes like snippets of catastrophic conversation in her silent distaste towards Argella’s future husband. Instead her mind tightened, narrowed and squeezed until nothing but the figure of the girl before her could materialise in a vision of focus. Nothing but the tempting flush of her darkening lips, which appeared to thicken and call her forwards. Sin… Wasn’t that what they’d call it? Betrayal. Madness. To look upon another woman and find herself overcome with lust, with a desire so consuming she felt it like a second layer of skin convulsing atop the first as if struck by lightening. “Unsatisfying and tiring.” She’d muse in nothing more than a gravelled whisper, the words drifting between them like some unanswered question destined to float between lies and secrets. Unsurprised and encouraged, the taste of the girl’s intruding tongue would provoke her own to press forwards where it could tangle between full lips and hot broken breaths. Driven under a surge of passion she’d find her spare hand grasping at fabric, raw desire reaching for the waistline beneath as if the touch itself would bring some relief to the sudden swell writhing within her stomach like a growing heat straining beneath the surface. Her other had extended itself to grasp the chair’s broad back, seeking to support her weight as she’d press forwards in a gentle rock, smothering the space between them for a fleeting moment before allowing it to return, forcing herself to tolerate the anticipation of the distance. What would people think? Could someone not intrude upon their meeting at any moment? Stumble across the ungodly sight? Robert himself. The idea made it all the more exciting, all the more euphoric and although in her mind she was aware that the act itself should have felt wrong it didn’t go unnoticed that her cunt puckered beneath a growing dampness overcome with an incessant intolerable throb.
PM
^
1 User(s) are reading this topic (1 Guests and 0 Anonymous Users)
0 Members:

Topic Options
Add Reply
New Topic
New Poll


 


 

Latest Shouts In The Shoutbox -- View The Shoutbox · Rules Collapse  


ACTA Age of Heroes Break the Wheel: a Season 8 GOT AU >
Candyland Couture RPG-D


☣ SKINNED BY WALKERBAIT ☣
TOGGLE CBOX BY KISMET
CFS SCRIPT BY BLACK
TEMPLATES BY NICOLE
BANNER BY KARA THRACE
HOVER BANNER & SUBBOARD CSS BY NIALL HORAN
SITE CUSTOMIZATION, CANONS AND GRAPHICS BY SHELBS & OSWIN OF ATEAO

CHATTER
*JOIN OUR DISCORD, TOO!*