WYNONA BLACKWOOD doesn't have a custom title currently.
Location: No Information
Born: No Information
Website: No Information
Alias: No Information
Sworn To: House Tully
Born to: House Blackwood
Location: The Riverlands
Title: Lady Blackwood
App: No Information
Shipper: No Information
Request: No Information
Joined: 8-December 17
Last Seen: Yesterday at 09:33 am
Local Time: Jan 22 2018, 03:34 AM
13 posts (0.3 per day)
( 0.13% of total forum posts )
Jan 7 2018, 12:57 PM
Tulle and silk fluttered like a furtive butterfly around Wynona’s pale skin that blended almost seamlessly with the barely beige sheets. Her window was cracked open an inch, and with the small hearth having been cold and free of fire since the previous night. She sat perched on the bed, staring at the fat flakes of frozen snow the landed without a sound on the ledge. Raventree Hall was not immune to the icy grasp of winter, but the frozen beast had only ever had a tentative hold on the castle. The snowflakes there had melted on contact, pouring swaths of melted water over the Riverlands. Her shift was devoid of any protection or warmth, but Wyn did not wear it for practicality. The thin and see-through fabric had an obvious purpose: it cupped and accented her curves, and drew the eye to everywhere it shouldn't look.
With a fire unstoked, goosebumps freckled Wyn's flesh. She trod barefoot on the stone floor, her toes curling against the freezing blocks. She reached the jewelry box and methodically searched the small heaps of silver and gold, almost all of the expensive adornments had been provided by not her family, but Rickard. A small smile danced across her bare lips as she thought of the Lord of Winterfell, her lord. She never thought she would end up in the cold halls of the Stark stronghold, much less become a paramour to the patriarch. She carefully slipped off the transparent material, which had done little to keep her warm during the night. She was grateful for the furs that were piled high upon her bed, but she still shivered as she quickly traded the light blue silk lined night slip for a thick red dress. It was wool lined but presented the image of a southern dress, and a certainly not a garment that belonged so far north. She had sewn the thicker lining on herself, permanently scarring her dress. She slipped a matching cape with satin ribbon over her shoulders, admiring her own stitching. She did not usually spend much time on such frivolities, and preferred to drown her skin in the gifts presented to her by her lord.
Slipping on a thin chain adorned lightly with crisp cut gems, Wyn started to weave her own hair. It was a habit she had developed while traveling, and one that continued due to her dislike of servants. Yes, they were a mark of nobility, but their incessant scurrying and lack of good conversation annoyed Wyn to no end. She dealt with them as often as her post commanded, but if something could be done herself that she did not deem beneath her, she would do it. She slipped quietly into the halls of the slowly waking holdfast. She was always an early riser. She had learned when she was quite young that morning was the time to get what you wanted. The lingering drowsiness of sleep made minds into dough; they were easily molded and even more easily subdued. She would often wake her parents at dawn and beg them for whatever fancy crossed her mind that day. A new necklace, a journey across the country, a small ship. Almost every day they would wave her away with a simple yes, and being of their word her parents often conceded her the gifts.
Win tried to ignore the heavy thud of her thick boots on the stone floor. She was used the the whisper of slippers in halls, but even the thick walls of Winterfell could not keep the cold out. She shivered from both heat and cold at once, the icy reality digging into her bones, but she also shivered from the memory of a fire, and the man that she lay with beside it. Another quick smile darted across her lips, so quick an unobservant man would have missed it. Wyn remembered the time she had gone to King's Landing, where everyone was observant. She had felt so at home there, with all the predators and liars. But still under the guidance of her parents, she had no choice but to depart back to the wanting passages of Raventree. She had almost thrown a child's fit when her parent's told her she was to go to an even more remote place. They were sending her as a part of her cousin's marriage delegation, though the real reason was that they could not fathom why a fertile, young, and beautiful girl with the name of those who were once kings had not found a husband. That was because she had made sure they did not hear the rumors, though those rumors could not be described as such due to their overwhelming truth. The truths spoke of her wantonness, of the men she had lured like a harpy into her bed only to cast out when they were unsatisfactory. She had even sampled some of the servants, despite her distaste for them, in order to find the one man who could sate her ever-increasing appetite. She even played around with some of the servant girls, tasting them like she did the pastries they baked. But she did not need a girl or a boy. She needed someone grown, experienced, a man or even a woman who would know just how to quench her thirst.
The memories sang in Wynona's ears, making her oblivious to the world outside. She stumbled over a sharp stone with a near-silent crash, falling into the arms of a hidden alcove. The nearest torch flickered out of sight of the stone bird's nest she had fallen into, and cast her reddened visage into darkness. Steps hit the stone, but they were not hers. Wyn held her breath, hoping that the onlooker had not seen her tumble. No lady should ever be caught up in memories such as the ones she had been.
Note: This is the dress
Dec 8 2017, 01:19 PM
<h1><river>LADY WYNONA BLACKWOOD</river></h1>
<h2>24 years old. Lady Ice. Riverlands. Elona Lebedeva.</h2>
<h3>Abby. 21. GMT -5. PM or Discord.</h3>
<div class="maincontents scroll">
<div class="gensmall">is for wellborn</div>
The Blackwooods are descended from kings, those of the First Men. They were a proud and noble family, though humbled by their allegiance to another house, the House Tully. They still held their wealth and their pride, and despite Wynona’s distance from the main branch of the family, she was still brought into the world surrounded by the finest luxuries. Feather down pillows and silk blankets cradled as she breathed her first. The Blackwoods were all old and proud, so they celebrated any coming of a line continuation.
Wynona’s mother never returned to her true self after the birth, so Wynona was raised almost solely by her septas. They taught her everything a lady might need to know, including complex stitching patterns, that, to Wynona, seemed fairly redundant. She had servants to make her clothes, so why should she stoop to decorating them? Winona still behaved like a lady, but certainly not the meek kind. She was beloved by all the lords and ladies that filled Raventree Hall at any given point. She learned how to make them think of her as an angel, while the lordlings she played with all feared her. She could get almost anything she wanted, from anyone. If she was hungry, moments later a tart would appear. If any of the other children were caught trying to snack, the cooks and servants would hit their hands away with stitches.
<div class="gensmall">is for yearning</div>
Wynona's one true wish was to be spirited away to King's Landing, to try her hand at the games teh court played there. She knew she would excel at them, as she already had most of the castle in her pocket by four-and-ten years. She did not belong in a castle with old men wistful about bygone days and battles whose outcomes no longer mattered. Even at that tender age, she wanted a lord husband that could fill her life with endless ladies to gossip with.
Her older cousins whispered to her about their marriages when they came back to visit, and the lives they had at other castles and their lords and knights. But that is not what interested Wynona. Her mother had told her what it was like to become a woman, and Wyn had already flowered. But this new step that her cousins spoke of sounded much more exciting. The one time her septa caught her speaking of such matters, she was forced to recite a purity pledge the entire day. Wyn's septa infuriated her, and she couldn't even understand why she had one in the first place. After her two septas had dwindled to one, Wyn's father told her of the conflict between their old gods and the septa's new.
<div class="gensmall">is for narcissistic</div>
Wyn always knew she was a pretty girl. Even at age 7, she would lord her luscious hair over the stringy locks of servant's girls. It didn't help to change her ego that they were forced to compliment her. The Blackwoods were not a house necessarily known for beauty, but Wyn looked nothing like the rest of her family with their dark hair. Her mother was a Lannister cousin of Lannisport, and had blessed her with fair looks and locks alike. The Blackwoods did not hide away in their castle, but they were also not the most welcoming of lords. So when a boy the same age as Wyn came to Raventree Hall when she was near six-and-ten, she wasted no time snaring him in her grasps.
The boy was one of many Freys, and numbered among the most comely of his house, though he would not be considered beautiful by many. Still, there were things that Wyn yearned to try, and armed with her cousins' advice and the knowledge of her beauty, Wyn set to find a private alcove they could hide in after a particularly boisterous feast. He was her first kiss, though his groping hands went further than she would have liked. She felt no magical princess-like spark, and she got nothing out of the experience. The activity was beneath her,
and left her with a slightly bitter taste in her mouth.
<div class="gensmall">is for ostentatious</div>
When Wyn was told it was time she was found a husband, her heart starting pounding in her chest. She did not expect to be married to the heir of some great house, but she was still certain that she would find a comely husband related to some great name. Her father decided to send her with an envoy destined for the north to arrange the Blackwoods heir's marriage. While Wyn had no use in negotiations, sometimes a pretty face could soften hearts their way, and have her scout for possible lordling husbands would not be detrimental.
Wyn packed all her best gowns and jewelry for the trip, determined to turn heads. She was three-and-twenty and had already turned down countless suitors. Many were not comely enough for her, it came from small houses, or were only knights. Wyn would not settle, so she bundled up for the trip north and prayed to the old gods and new to find a man with power, wealth, looks and a name. She would not settle for less.
<div class="gensmall">is for new</div>
As the Blackwood company approached Winterfell, Wyn's nerves started to bunch. The castle was awe-inspiring, and even the history hating girl could not help but think of the kings who had held court at Winterfell. A feast was held the night of their arrival to celebrate the proposed union between the North and the Riverlands. As Wyn raised her glass, her eyes were drawn to the high table with the contingency of Starks. Her eyes skipped over the family, until one figure caught her eye.
<p>Wyn didn't know how what happened next happened, but it did. Over and over and over again. She found a home in Winterfell, though winning the staff over was harder. They felt they were betraying their lady by loving her. She still has not won all of them over, not yet. But she brings an air of spring to the wintery stronghold, though she can not say she brought life to the house, since it was already there.
<div class="gensmall">is for alternative</div>
She did not get what she came for. She won no husband, claimed no title. She was practically an old maid, unmarried at 24. Her life was not what she expected. It was not peaceful, or quiet, or without hate. And while gifts were not uncommon, she did not sit at her lord's right hand in the place occupied by a wife. And she had heard the stories about Rickard, and his endless cycle of paramours. She would sometime worry about being cast aside, having lost any chance of finding a husband. She would toy with her hair, and wonder how all her aspirations crumbled before a grandfather. How her dreams fell away and she woke to a different, but not worse, reality. She would stare at the chest of jewels and think about what she would give to be called <i>Lady Stark</i>. She would not say she held no envy or animosity towards Lyarra, but she knew that her dreams, like the past ones, would not come true. They would not endure in the harsh light of day.
<img src="https://cdnw.nickpic.host/oVK4Jn.png" class="appimage">