It is currentlyWINTERinWESTEROSduring 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] 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!
Cooked into Theon's loaf of bread, it is only once he's broken open the food and torn out the warm stuffing does he find the small bound scroll inside. The servant girl, the same girl from always, says nothing as she delivers his platter of food to him, completely oblivious to its contents.
I am ready to come home. I have missed Pyke. I have even missed the food. Above all, I have missed my nephew. The youngest you may be, you are not the weakest. I have heard your siblings have willingly sailed shores far away from home, whereas I was forced, condemned to the seas not our own. Silly fools, they are. You are the only one that remained, a true Greyjoy. The only one I can trust.
I will need you to prepare for my return. Tell no one. No one. I hope to surprise my brothers. Tell me, what are the islands like now that Balon is once more Lord Reaper? What news is there of Rodrik? The sea carries winds and I have heard many words, but I hope perhaps you have the truth of it all. I place my faith in only you.
Look to your left. (There is a dark-skinned man sipping his own ale in the corner, playing cards with another tall, lanky fellow.) He will see to it that your words reach me on time.
No need to lie to me; nobody misses Pyke's food. Trust is a strong word. But we share blood and bone, and like calls to like.
There is not quite turmoil, but it is like an undertow in calm seas. Resentment boils just below the surface; men mutter in taverns, not quite daring to speak their words aloud. They say Balon has grown weak in his captivity; lost his calluses, grown pale. The latter are true; his hands are as soft as a Greenlander lady's, and he's been far from the sun for too long. Rodrik moves as he always does; with a purpose none but him know, and ignores those he considers beneath him. Especially, but not limited to, yours truly.
The Islands look to the strong to lead, but are finding them in short supply.