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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.
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Alias: oswin
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Age: 19
Sworn To: house stark
Born to: stark
Location: winterfell
Title: noble
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ROBB STARK

NORTH [A]

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Mar 4 2018, 06:17 AM
Iron seemed to run through his dormant blood, they had been sailing through the dark for days now. Only running on fumes and promises of knowledge of the coastline. The North had been swallowed in darkness for moons now, the winds howled loud enough to piece the drums of any ear fool enough to strive farther than the veined walls of Winterfell. The Great Hall was crowded with visitors seeking warmth, a home and any semblance of sustenance to get them through the almost endless torment. With the wolves confined to such small spaces, their howls battled against even the strongest gusts of wind. Vargo was the only constant, seated beside him, ruby eyes gleaming against the waves. Unbothered by their very predicament, snow caught in the struggles of his colourless coat as it danced leisurely on the breeze. Light started to flood through the clouds, slowly at first, as if poking a thread through the needle's eye, did the Northman raise his gaze from the waves. Flexing his fingers, it was only when he felt the joints click and weave without strain did he know that they were leaving the North behind.

Robb descended below deck to gather his things, the thought still caught within his grasp of the very meeting that had sent his sorry soul traipsing South. It was a wonder the raven had made it through the blizzard at all, they had been fortunate of a few short hours of stillness. In that time it made the white landscape almost serene, however, the Stark’s knew better than to tempt fate and the silence by stepping too far ahead of themselves. His grandfather's tolling voice still ingrained deeply within his membrane, “The Southerners forget Winter when it suits, I have more important things to concern myself with than their petty affairs.” Robb had hardly felt himself the first choice, however Brandon was loathe to leave Winterfell at this time, and Eddard was far too enveloped within the makings of the villages and support to even consider the idea. When the Warden of the North had intoned he travel South in his place, there was hardly any arguing against his reason.

Time hardly drew breath as they docked within the overcrowded harbour, sounds, scents and colours assaulted his ears before they stepped foot on land. Drawing a weary sigh through his nostrils, the Silent wolf braced himself for all the oddities and overpagentry that would surely flood his very being for the entirety of his time immersed in this realm. It would not be for naught, he reminded himself, they would have to listen of winter now. Whereas they could stow a ravens letter, they could hardly stow the six foot three and climbing Northman. The rings of silver scars, fading with time and the frost marred his hands and up to his elbows. The growth of hair that shadowed his jaw, lined with the thick curls that fell past his ears to the thick pelts that lined his broad shoulders perhaps earned the stares that followed his very set of stature through the streets.

Vargo kept close, his presence almost buzzing with angst from the confinement of the city about them. The breeze that stirred his hair was downright pleasant in comparison to the seventh hell they had been enduring. The tension that passed between the northmen about him was almost palpable. All relieved by the temperature change yet none felt right to enjoy it, knowing of the family and kin suffering the ever present onslaught at home. The southern horses were skittish, hardly affording to lose the stock at home they had travelled without, with the fleet footed and green colt beneath him appeared to be the least of his worries. Fighting against the reigns and almost shrieking as his white wolf dared to step too close, a small lad, hardly the size of a whelp appeared before the beasts, “Lord Stark!” He bleated happily, much to the bemusement of the men about him. Robb’s own amusement hardly scratched the surface of his well worn somber expression. “His grace await ye!” A pause, waiting for the approval that was not coming, one of the men’s laughter encouraged the child to action, leaping ahead and leading the way.

Jul 4 2016, 07:05 AM

They had meant to have been back by now. The thunder clouds loomed ominously on the distance. Light playing through the darkened sheets of white. Flashes of light put on a magnificent display of power, as the rest of Winterfell was only left to watch in an icy silence. It was surely the early hours of the morning by now, Robb stood as a lone, silent vigil. Artos had attempted to remain attentive with him, it had been a few hours passed when his cousin had finally slumped in his position against the stone window. He had been dragged to his mattress not long after that. Running a strained hand once more through the well worn path that adorned his skull. Travelling plans could change, it was anything one in their right mind could assume. They could have been caught in the storm as it travelled across the windswept tundra, or perhaps they camped for the night in order to avoid being caught amidst the gods when they finally decided to unleash the burden from the clouds. All made reasonable answers, yet it did not help the Silent Wolf sleep any easier.

Vargo lay beside him, unperturbed by his comrades current state. Eyes the colour of brimstone staring unseen into the vast wilderness. Seeing the things that Robb's eyes could not. Yet every time the wolf's ears pricked, Robb had turned in haste. Asking the creature in a silent question if it were them, yet, each time so far it took a second. Ice trailing down his spine before the monolith wolf finally rested his head once more on the ground. Robb was not one to often pace, or to let his disquiet rise to the surface of his palate. Yet there were tells, the irritation and dismantlement of the fawn coloured tresses or perhaps the slight adjustment in his stance as silence wrapped it's heavy cloak around him in his station.

As a boy he could always appreciate how alive the night was. The animals that whispered through the trees, the movement of the creatures in the underbrush. Yet he was so otherworldly frustrated by the silence it was producing for him now. The sounds that the woods were giving him were not what he desired at all. Robb could not help the wander of his gaze, breaching the tops of the trees, scaling the white capped canopy. His eyes seeking the unsearchable as they peered into the distance. Imagining what his heart was longing for. He could feel the chill on his skin, yet he was promised that the temperature here was nothing compared to the ice he would feel at the Wall. Adventure lingered just beyond his grasp, yet his feet remained stationary. Robb knew it was his own selfish desire that was calling him forward, yet the hesitancy of his family that weighed him down. But soon Elinor would be gone, as Sansa had already left. Soon it would be his turn, he knew it.

A scrape of the boot drew his attention over his shoulder, catching yet another visitor that had been roaming the halls of his home. Mustering what he could of a smile in the early morning light, Robb found his voice came to him all too easily. "Lady Lyra," Mildly confused, yet none perturbed at her presence, colourless gaze wandered back out to the storm and the hunting party he had been waiting to return. "has sleep been unkind to you also?" For there was no other reason as to why she would be out of her chambers when a chill like this ran rampant through the walls. Well, no plausible reason that he could see, anyway.
May 23 2016, 06:03 AM
Fog blanketed the veil of trees that spread below, from his vantage point atop the impossibly high structure. This was what he had wanted, this was what held within his dreams and conscious. "You alright m'lord?" Tepid gaze flickered to him, if only for the moment. Beholding the out of breath ward. He had been tasked with keeping up with Lady Arriana at Winterfell, while he had boasted it was an easy task. The other lords had simply smirked behind their ales as he had set off to his duties, it was only mid day and it seemed that his sister had already given the poor lad more work than he had originally bargained for. The very sibling that stole the breath from his lungs was not exactly something one could rightly just 'prepare' for. Learning to anticipate Arriana was the same as attempting to control the weather, futile for everyone involved. THe poor lad seemed happy to be relieved of his duties.

Robb did not bother to verify him with an answer, they had long since passed the last town, and a few structures that lay between it. Weaving through woods that mapped the continent. Alongside his father they had both undergone the journey. Eddard Stark was a rock, a fortress within a churning sea that always remained steadfast. He was the only one in the entire Stark tree that had not imposed his opinion to the mystery which was his future on him. His father had stood by his statement, saying that he would not chose the future for his son. The boy did not know what the lingering sadness was that dwelt within his colourless gaze. Yet he found he could not respect his father more for it, neither were ones to talk on fickle problems that bothered the other. Silence was one thing they shared more often than not.

They rode into Castle Black, the clap of thunder was barely being held at bay by the looming clouds. The rain followed soon after, falling in torrents and rousing the mud from beneath the snow. The looming wall of ice was set out before him, workers scrambling to escape from the torrents. The skeletal bones of the castle stuck out from the ice, thin veils and colourless flags were lagged down from their newly acquired burden. Making his way to the top of the wall almost brought his heart into his throat. The chill itself was enough to burn the flesh of his skin, feeling the exposed flesh purple under the blistering touch. Perhaps oblivious to the rain, or had no way to get down without slipping in the cascade of mud that was slowly forming at the base of the foundations, Robb continued on with the man of the Nigths Watch.

Only stilling once he reached the summit, surrounded by silence and cloaked with the night, he cast his grey eyes forth. Drinking in the energy that now flowed through him, surprised that his Grandfather had permitted it. Or perhaps his own father had failed to mention it, in order to allow his son to take the long needed, deep breath that he so ached for. They were waiting here, for the prince himself. It was a foresight, for the Stark's and a member of the Royal family to make an appearance here. To show their support for the coming winter, to extend their reach for the lost Queen. Yet as Robb stood, outlined by light and swallowed by the vastness of the world behidn him. It was inevitable to deny that the long night would soon be upon them. Gods forbid that they were unprepared when it did.

Dec 18 2015, 08:53 PM
They had meant to have been back by now. The thunder clouds loomed ominously on the distance. Light playing through the darkened sheets of white. Flashes of light put on a magnificent display of power, as the rest of Winterfell was only left to watch in an icy silence. It was surely the early hours of the morning by now, Robb stood as a lone, silent vigil. Artos had attempted to remain attentive with him, it had been a few hours passed when his cousin had finally slumped in his position against the stone window. He had been dragged to his mattress not long after that. Running a strained hand once more through the well worn path that adorned his skull. Travelling plans could change, it was anything one in their right mind could assume. They could have been caught in the storm as it travelled across the windswept tundra, or perhaps they camped for the night in order to avoid being caught amidst the gods when they finally decided to unleash the burden from the clouds. All made reasonable answers, yet it did not help the Silent Wolf sleep any easier.

Vargo lay beside him, unperturbed by his comrades current state. Eyes the colour of brimstone staring unseen into the vast wilderness. Seeing the things that Robb's eyes could not. Yet every time the wolf's ears pricked, Robb had turned in haste. Asking the creature in a silent question if it were them, yet, each time so far it took a second. Ice trailing down his spine before the monolith wolf finally rested his head once more on the ground. Robb was not one to often pace, or to let his disquiet rise to the surface of his palate. Yet there were tells, the irritation and dismantlement of the fawn coloured tresses or perhaps the slight adjustment in his stance as silence wrapped it's heavy cloak around him in his station.

As a boy he could always appreciate how alive the night was. The animals that whispered through the trees, the movement of the creatures in the underbrush. Yet he was so otherworldly frustrated by the silence it was producing for him now. The sounds that the woods were giving him were not what he desired at all. Robb could not help the wander of his gaze, breeching the tops of the trees, scaling the white capped canopy. His eyes seeking the unsearchable as they peered into the distance. Imagining what his heart was longing for. He could feel the chill on his skin, yet he was promised that the temperature here was nothing compared to the ice he would feel at the Wall. Adventure lingered just beyond his grasp, yet his feet remained stationary. Robb knew it was his own selfish desire that was calling him forward, yet the hesitancy of his family that weighed him down. But soon Elinor would be gone, as Sansa had already left. Soon it would be his turn, he knew it.

A peel of sound scraped off the forest floor. From his position in the great hall, over the clap of the distant thunder. Robb was sure of what he had heard. The soles of his boots seemingly picking up the thought before he had timed to process it. The furs that clad his shoulders ruffled in the weighted breeze. Striding unafraid into the depths of darkness, the pale light that was cast from the torches beside him was enough to paint the picture he had long been waiting to behold. "Nor!" The bass in his tones easily commanding his presence above the distant storm. "A fool would have assumed you would be persuaded to wait out the storm." A rare beam of pride that only surface on odd occasions came to play across his bearded lips. "I presume I know you better than that." For no one commanded Elinor Stark but herself.

Dec 18 2015, 02:41 AM
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<h1><north>Robb Torrhen Stark</north></h1>
<h2>16 years old. Lord. North. Lasse Hansen.</h2>
<h3>Oswin. 20. GMT+10. AIM/PM.</h3>
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<div style="text-align:justify; font-family: segoe ui; font-size:10px; width:200px; background-color: #fff"><b>ALPHA.</b></div>
<p>
Feeble fingers clutched the waning material with all the frail strength they could muster. The scent of comfort tainted your senses, it held you tighter than any blanket could. Their incoherent chattering made more sense to their ears than it ever did to yours. The only serenity that could be found was when you were thrust into the untried arms of your father. His unsure hands held your skull awkwardly and your body loosely, there was a brief moment where he was left staring all of his uncertainties in its quailing and wheezing face, before he slowly pulled your minuscule form to his chest.
<P>
Out there, the air was always sharp and strong. Sometimes a breeze could reach right through you and chill you to the core. Where the mountains were vast, you were small. Where the rivers wound and curved you remained flat as a bedrock. But where they crumbled under the weight of the elements, you remained steadfast and sturdy.
<P>
You were never the loud child, you did not bay for attention or scamper for praise. You enjoyed your own company more than you did the rest of your siblings, save for the other half that made you whole. You found a kindred spirit in your cousin Elinor, she was cut from the same cloth that you had been. It only made sense for her to be the foundation of who you were beginning to be as a person.

<div style="text-align:justify; font-family: segoe ui; font-size:10px; width:200px; background-color: #fff"><b>BETA.</b></div>
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<P>
They asked why you called him Vargo, the lumbering breast with flames trapped inside. You had simply shrugged, as if the matter were as obvious as the changing of the seasons. "Because he was the first." You did not know how you knew this, but you did. Out of his siblings he was the biggest, and though you had never asked him, you felt as though he did not need to tell you. You had just known.
<p>
You were always alongside him, the snowy white creature with eyes the colour of brimstone. Perhaps even when he did not want you to be. But you were as stubborn as worn leather. Once your teeth had sunken into something you rarely, if ever refused to relinquish. You had a compass in your chest that easily steered you through life, you saw what was right and what was wrong in monotone black and white. It was easy to agree, easy to learn, and easy to find a path. Until of course colour seeped into your vision, the deep matted reds and yellows. They shaded the lines, adding more detail and context to the image. Shadows appeared that you had not noticed before, and the line between you and childhood seemed to only become more defined with each gaining stroke.
<P>
They say that a man who laughs too loudly has something to prove. While you had always been steadfast and determined, as had your laugh always been a touch too soft for this statement to ring true. It was a trait of the being born to the second born son, you knew. You did not want to rule Winterfell, it was not your destiny. All you had wanted was to step out of the gathering shadows. The Stark boy, the spare to the heir. With no destiny set before you, no future to uphold. No work to keep your hands busy. No, you were just another number. Confined to the snowy depths of your home, you never voiced your misery. You were a solider. You quietly accepted your role and you were trying to fit yourself into.
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<div style="text-align:justify; font-family: segoe ui; font-size:10px; width:200px; background-color: #fff"><b>GAMMA.</b></div>
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<p>
You never fought for your voice to be heard. Or struggled for the limelight in your family. Your two younger siblings voices always overshadowed yours, and you were content with that. To be the spectator in the play that was your life. You loved to watch things unfold, and unravel. Your home is always filled with disquiet and the chorus of voices are almost always ones of love. Your parents say good things don’t come easily. But you aren’t so sure, what you have is great. But you were beginning to have the sense about you that,it was time to ask for more.
<P>
Though you did not get to consider it for long. You stand in the door frame to the world before you, the scent of winter wearing into your membrane as you will inspiration to come, but the constant burning of your eyes refuse you once again. The amber light of the fire still flickers in the pit of Winterfells yard, its diminishing fingers reaching towards the sky. Everything was in its place, guards at their station, Arriana where she shouldn't be and you standing to the side. Idly watching as the world changed around you.
<p>
Your sky coloured gaze then lifted over the guarded walls. Across the tops of the skeletal trees, towards the sloping and rolling white capped mountains. Unable to be seen from here, you thought of you uncle Benjen. How he had been in the same predicament as you. He had found his purpose, clad in black and among unblooded brothers. Is that what the future could hold for you?

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<div style="text-align:justify; font-family: segoe ui; font-size:10px; width:200px; background-color: #fff"><b>DELTA.</b></div>
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<P>
Yet you had let slip to Elinor your ideas once, and you have regretted it since. She was as ferocious as her wolf, and never let you forget, even for a moment of her opinion. She was rallying her army behind a war cry. As much as you loved your princess of Winterfell, you could stand a little less of her insistence. She hopes to wear you down over time, you are not quite sure her methods will stick yet.
<P>
You two were not usually ones to fight, the pair that had been inseparable since youth, even before the storm that brought you your wolves and showed you your mortality. Your two wolves were mirror reflections of each of your souls. Elinor had a future ahead of her, while you were sanctioned to the same monotonous life that you had always lead. You toyed with the idea of swordplay for a living, though your hand was sufficient, you knew your grandfather would not entertain the idea of his grandson being a sell sword.
<P>
So you wait your days out. Feeling each slow growth of bone and muscle in your flesh. Your mind turning slowly over the decision you had to make of your future - before your family inevitably made it for you. You had always done what it took to make others happy, it was a simple thing that ensured your own happiness. As it may be you had conditioned yourself to behave this way. Something that your parents had instilled in you early in life. However, mayhap it was finally time that you took that step forward. Elinor would inevitably leave, to be married to some far off place. While your grandfather had ensured that Sansa had remained close, Elinor was not likely to be quite so agreeable. So you lingered for the chance to spend more time with your beloved aunt, knowing that once she left, there would be little left anchoring you at Winterfell. Then, perhaps, it would finally be time for you to leave the den and find your own pack. That was where the true journey would begin.

<P>
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