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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Born: 14 March 1996
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Alias: Corin
Age: 22
Sworn To: Targaryen
Born to: Greyjoy
Location: Pyke
Title: Noble
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Joined: 3-March 18
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Last Seen: Jul 16 2018, 06:14 PM
Local Time: Jul 18 2018, 01:02 PM
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May 4 2018, 02:10 AM

So I am going to be mostly out of contact until around the 21st of May unfortunately, so likely no responses until then, but will try and get back to you all shortly after
Mar 12 2018, 03:48 AM
This was perhaps the most nervous Rodrik had been in his life, more so than the first time he played the finger dance, more than the first voyage he took as a captain, more so than meeting his father once again. All because of a girl, well a woman in truth, not that it would be any better in the eyes of an Ironborn, if any could tell what he was feeling he would be laughed off the dock he stood upon. But Rodrik was always good at hiding his feelings, his true thoughts, his smile was plastered on his face as he waited for the ship to arrive. A ship carrying something more precious and more important to his plans than anything else he had. A ship carrying his betrothed, Myrcella Lannister.

He was dressed in fine black silk shirt, and well made cloth pants also in black, embroidered upon his shirt was the golden kraken of his house. A pair of fine leather boots and a very well made sealskin cloak completed his ensemble. All parts of his clothing were designed to not be too finely made, he was an Ironborn after all, and it would do well for his betrothed to remember it. But the well made clothes still showed that he was not the same as all the other Ironborn on these rocks. He was a different type, more green-lander than most, but yet still with a core of iron and salt.

It was not long before the ship was clearly visible, standing out amongst the collection of ships making up the Iron fleet, the Lannister sails a stark contrast to the black and gold of the Greyjoy. His heart jumped at the sight, eager to lay eyes on the beauty of Casterly Rock, and just as eager to further his goals, but on the outside he kept his mostly calm exterior, apart from the ever present smile, and his eyes scanning the ship slowly as it pulled into the dock. He strode down the dock to meet it, not hurrying but neither did he walk slowly, he wanted to be there to greet his betrothed as she stepped onto Pyke, certain that she would have at least some misgivings, the feud between the Lannisters and the Greyjoys was legendary for a reason.

He bowed low with a smile as his betrothed stepped onto the docks before looking back up as he straightened and spoke "Welcome to Pyke my lady, I trust your travel was not overly taxing? I know the seas can be rather rough in this season". His smile only widened as he took her in, the rumours were certainly true, she was an absolute vision, certainly more beautiful than the women to be found on the islands. And even when compared to the many women he had known across the narrow sea, she was something special, the Lannister look was certainly there. He gestured to the servant next to him as he spoke once more "If your men wish to stay my servant will find them suitable accommodations nearby, and the dock master will ensure that your supplies are adequately replaced" He was not certain how to act with her yet, but was hoping his concern for her families men would come across well, he doubted that even Lannister sailors would be too soon to leave the first piece of land they have been on in some time, even if that is Greyjoy land.

He stepped back slightly to allow Myrcella a greater view of the docks and of Pyke, what of it you can see from this piece of land of course, certain it was not at all as impressive as many other places she had seen, but hoping it would not be a disappointment. "If you would like my lady it would be my honour to take you to your room, I am sure you would be tired and wishing for a chance to settle in?" he tilted his head slightly as he asked, hoping she would accept so he could be in her presence for just a little longer, and secretly worrying he was making mistakes. Interacting with high born ladies was certainly not his forte, but he had some experience in more diplomatic interactions than most that could be found on Pyke.
Mar 7 2018, 05:58 AM
Rodrik was certainly not having the best time on the Iron Islands at the moment, he had given up the seastone chair to his father, expecting that likely soon he would be thrown off it. The Ironborn are a proud lot, and an old man that failed once already was not likely to last long he thought, but somehow he was still there. Seated in a position that he certainly no longer deserved, a seat that belonged to him. But for now he would wait, let his plots slowly come to fruition, hopefully the loyalty he had gained among captains and crews would stop any true idiocy from occurring.

But despite his confidence he was still not as happy as one could be naturally, and so he headed to the place he knew best to drown his sorrows. That place was of course the nearest place he could find the strongest drink, and perhaps someone crazy enough to play the finger dance with him. He needed a good relaxation, and there is little better than alcohol and blood for such a thing in his mind. Except perhaps good company, though that was very rare to find on Pyke these days.

He strode into the tavern quickly taking a table in the corner for himself and dropping a gold dragon on the table as the barmaid rushed over with a tankard of ale that he swept up without a word to her and drank deeply. He never was all that impressed by the drinks of the Ironborn, without the taste of the fine wines he had drunk, or the burn of many of the drinks to be found across the Narrow sea. Perfect when one simply wanted to drink away your thoughts, and very helpful in convincing you that all your ideas will work perfectly. Even if that is false.

He drank deeply but slowly, watching the crowds, studying who was there and importantly who wasn't. Which captains and crews were avoiding each other, who was close to who, watched the games of chance and games of skill, took everything he could in to store for later. Hopefully later some fool would challenge him to the finger dance once more, it has been too long since anyone had decided they were worthy. Perhaps tonight would be the night, or perhaps he would simply drink alone and learn, leaning back in his chair against the wall, one hand resting casually, axe within easy reach. It never hurt to be prepared for the unexpected to walk in the door.
Mar 6 2018, 06:13 PM
[dohtml]<div class="bbct3"><div class="bbct3a"><img src="" /></div><div class="bbct3b">
Rodrik Greyjoy
Perhaps one of the most ambitious sons of Balon Greyjoy, though certainly not the most vicious. He has sailed across the narrow sea, he has lived the life of luxury and wealth, yet he returned to the Iron Islands to ensure that one day there would still be something to return to. He has no trust in the old way to be a way the Ironborn can live anymore, knowing it does nothing but make more enemies, and is perhaps going to be the most Greenlander like ruler the Ironborn have ever seen, if his father and others don't destroy the ironborn first. Charismatic, calm, ambitious, and just enough of the Greyjoy pride for him to never back down once he has taken his stance.
Friends Any of the Ironborn that want a better, more dependable way to live, so likely not a great deal, stubborn as they are. Is trying to stop the raids along the coasts so some mainlanders may be happy with what he is doing, hopefully. Feel free to message if you think in his travels or quest to bring trade to the iron islands that he may have had a chance to make friends with any of your people.
Enemies His father, his crazy uncle, probably to some degree his brothers don't like him much. Most of the Ironborn that are too stubborn to see past the lies of the Old ways. And probably a great deal of other people, he is trying to make the Ironborn strong again, expect many people don't want to see that.
Lovers Now betrothed to Myrcella Lannister, previously probably slept with the occasional individual, is a little bit of a power whore so relationships would be unlikely as in most encounters he would be trying to see just how much control he can get over each individual. Heteroflexible but would be very very careful about anyone finding out if he slept with another male, and would definitely only accept being a top. Ironborn pride and all. Rather dominant in his previous encounters, but perhaps Myrcella will be Lannister enough to stop that.</div></div>

Mar 3 2018, 09:43 PM
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<h1><iron>Rodrik Greyjoy</iron></h1>
<h2>22 years old. The Smiling Kraken. Iron Islands. Ben Barnes.</h2>
<h3>CORIN. 21. GMT +8. PM/Discord.</h3>
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<div class="genhead">The Smiling Kraken</div>
<div class="gensmall">The truth behind the smile</div>
The Smiling Kraken, Heir to the Iron Islands. A nickname and a title, one earned, one given, but are either a true fit? Always following me, but never a true part of me, the Iron Islands are not like the green-lands, it does not matter if you are son of the Lord Reaper, you were not guaranteed position of Lord Reaper, by law of succession you were, but the Ironborn only follow strength, those too weak to hold position often met with… unfortunate accidents. So, the title is nothing, what of the nickname? Perhaps once I did truly smile, happy and carefree, so sure of my family, my mother and my father, perhaps not. The nickname suits, I do smile often, and am known to be quite a happy person, as far as Ironborn are concerned. But that smile is simply a mask, one I have been wearing for so long, it is almost a part of me now. A life of false smiles, false titles, so many lies, but so much simple truth, and that truth… Power is all.
As a child my father was everything to me, and why would he not be? A true Ironborn in my eyes, brave, fearless, strong, a follower of the old ways, ruthless and cunning. To me he was the Drowned Gods champion. He was a hard man, not unkind, but Ironborn. He strove to make me strong. Silks, extravagant food, great gifts, these were not for me. I was given harsh words, salt, iron, blood. And I loved it all. we are Ironborn after all. Feared and respected, the rulers of the seas, all the world feared us, and our words showed such. “We do not sow”. How wrong I was, but a child believes their father and I did more than believe, I worshipped him. Until the failed rebellion that is. The Greyjoy Rebellion, as it was called, a foolish idea from the beginning, but I didn’t realise that until after. My father would never do something that would fail, not that I could imagine. But he did, he tried to bring back the old ways, tried to wear the driftwood crown once more. Full of spite, anger and misjudged power. He brought ruin to the Iron Islands, he brought death and destruction and pain, and worst of all, he destroyed the utter belief I had in him and the worship I felt for him. A rebellion and a plague, such damage brought to an already damaged and suffering land, all due to my father’s hubris. The greatest failure to my young eyes however, was not the failed rebellion, not the many Ironborn dead, not the blood shed by true Ironborn, it was that my father left. He allowed himself to be taken, he bowed to the dragons. He was weak.
So instead of the father I worshipped, I had a man who I saw only as weak; an uncle who was utterly loyal to his brother, and in my eyes just as foolish; a mother who was blind to my father’s failures; and, brothers and a sister who I never really connected with. They didn’t see our father in the same light, they didn’t worship him and then hate him as I did, they were different. My mother was very caring, but a true Ironborn, strong, determined, bold. However, we never got along as well after Balon was taken prisoner by the dragon. I wanted to learn more, to understand how the Greenlanders managed to survive without reaving and raping. This led me to my name-sake, Rodrik Harlaw, quickly we connected over our love of knowledge, our love of reading, our love of books. But where my name-sake loved these things for their own sake, there was more reason to me, I wanted the power that such knowledge could bring me.
The amount of interest I spent in books and reading of course would not go unnoticed. Many saw me as too much like a Greenlander, too soft, too weak, too much like my name-sake. I could not stand this. The disrespect, the loss of power. It made me worry, made me frightened that perhaps I was more like my father than I thought. Someone to laugh at, a failure. The idea that I could fail, that I could be weak, that I could be like my father, was terrifying to me. I had finally found my greatest fear. So, I focused harder, I had to learn to become Ironborn. Not in the way of my father, that was wrong, I had to be more. I learnt to sail, to raid, to fight. All from my uncle Victarion, still to this day considered one of the strongest captains and fighters in the Iron fleet. But his way of captaincy was not mine, I would never be like him, never a lacky like him, or such a believer in the old ways, so I turned to my name-sake. He taught me another way to captain, still not the way I wanted, perhaps a little too Greenlander. But it paved the way for me to develop my own way, a mix of the old ways and the ways of the Greenlanders.
So, I left as soon as I was old enough and had my own ship, paid for with the iron price. I played the finger dance against the captain, the first mate, and three of the crew before they even considered me. I always loved the finger dance, the risk, the skill, it was a delicious combination, and yet another path to respect and power amongst my people. So I practiced, hour after hour, developing my speed, practicing plucking weapons, coins, anything I could out of the air. With this respect I had gained, and my new ship, I sailed across the Narrow Sea. Westeros was not of interest to me, the coast around the Iron Islands suffer raids regularly. They are so used to being reaved that they have little worth taking, and a fight not worth what reward could be gained. But across the Narrow Sea? The Ironborn were not known there, only the weak pirates that preyed on the fat lazy merchants, easy pickings for an Ironborn longship.
The life across the Narrow Sea suited me perfectly. Silks, spices, exotic women, fine drink and more gold than a man could carry. It was perfect. The merchants were easy pickings and I could see how the pirates had gotten soft. I wanted to avoid such a thing, so I made sure my Ironborn got true fights, we attacked pirates too. We reaved and raped our way across the Narrow Sea, and sometimes even got rewarded for our efforts in removing the “pirate menace”. Fools that the merchantmen were. I used this to my advantage, we were combining the old ways and the Greenlanders way, the gold price and the iron, and I heard very few complaints from my crew, now one of the richest crews the Ironborn had ever seen. I grew rich, I gained the respect of my crew, and here I learnt to laugh and grin again. It hid the determination within, hid what I thought, what I wanted. From then on, my smile was once again nearly always on my face, though rarely if ever reaching my eyes. The lands across the Narrow Sea were not what I wanted though. I had learned much about captaincy, ruling, trade, charisma, plotting, and more during my time here, but I needed to return home. I needed to make sure I was not making the mistakes of my father, in a different way; I had to make sure others were not making the mistakes of my father; and, I had to take the title I have always wanted, Lord Reaper.
I left my life of luxury and the power I had gained. With my small fleet of ships in tow to carry my wealth, my books, all the wonderful and weird things I had taken or found in my travels. I headed home, to the salt, iron, rock and blood that is within me, that calls to me to bring back the power, fear, respect of the Ironborn. I knew in my heart that this would be a true test of me, would I rise up and change the Ironborn, combine the iron price and gold price in their hearts and minds, bring the Iron Islands into the next stage of their evolution? Or would I fail as so many have before me? Become too ambitious, too determined, too overconfident, and bring about only pain, death and destruction as so many before? I would be walking a razors edge from the second I stepped onto the rocks that are my home, but I must.
For my people, for my family, and for me. So many plots and plans were already coursing through my mind. Plans of trade, of marriage, of how to bring the Ironborn to think more like Greenlanders, but also of how to ensure they did not think me weak, think me betraying the old ways, think me a fool. I must build up the iron fleet, establish trade, reinstate our position of masters of the seas, and perhaps in time, Master of Ships. But these things would not come easy. There is no trust between the rest of Westeros and the Iron Islands, and trust must be found, for us to survive, and even thrive. We must change, I must change, I will not be my father.
There was little acceptance to be found on Pyke of course, the Ironborn are a sour lot, prone to taking offence at most things. The heir to the Seastone chair leaving when his father was in captivity, his uncle exiled and his younger brother being… well Donel. That is reason enough to be, unimpressed, to say the least, his family being one of the least accepting of his travel and escape. So he set his mind, his wealth and his rather natural charisma to changing the minds of his people, worrying less about his family, they never would be as close as most, it was not worthwhile of his time to try. So he instead worked to remind his people that he was, despite the silks, the fine drinks, the gold, the riches, that he was still an Ironborn. Appearing on their shores with a small fleet of ships taken mostly from pirates and laden with treasure never hurt such a thing. But so much more must be done, and so he quickly got to work, meeting with captains, starting so many of his plots and plans, designing the future he saw for the islands.
There were many hard times during the following years, many situations that made me rethink my plans, my convictions, my life. But none more than the day I finally sat upon the Seastone chair, that day was one of the hardest of my life, that moment scaring me and exciting me at the same time, what would I do with this power? Would I fall to its lure and fail like so many before me? Would I resist the power and become to weak to hold onto my rightful seat? What would happen when my father finally returned to Pyke? So many questions and worries, and no time to truly focus on them, I had other plans to implement, plans of trade, of marriage, of power. I began writing, more ravens sent from Pyke than had been in perhaps more than a decade, flying to so much of Westeros, and beyond across the Narrow sea. Offers of trade to every possible trading partner, offers of escorts for merchants, offers of free passage for trade, for a fee of course.
With trade beginning, my fleet expanding to help “protect” such endeavours and of course more vessels to undertake such work. I needed more allies, on the Iron Islands and beyond, and so I made sure to interact once more with my family, learning once again who they were. My brothers seemed to be rather, unsuitable for most of the plans I had developed, but my sister, there was a true jewel. A true Ironborn, but one with a brain, a rare find, especially it seemed among my family, smart, cunning, determined, beautiful in her own way. She was perfect, a strong captain, but one who knew the need for change, and my sister, the perfect person to captain the new Iron Fleet. But first the obstacle of my father would need to be removed, now that he was to return, upon me collecting him. A voyage I was looking forward to in some ways, and quite displeased with in others, but it would give me an opportunity, one I would try not to squander.
That opportunity was for marriage, I needed a strong wife, and a good marriage to further my plans, enhance my standing, and help me gain power in the snake pit that is Westeros. Before I left to retrieve my father, I sent a longship, one of my finest with a calm captain. He delivered a proposal to the Lannisters, one of the richest and strongest families of Westeros, and a family with intense dislike of the Greyjoy’s as the Greyjoy’s had of them. Hopefully this proposal would allow a bridge to form between our two great houses, but if it was rejected, well then, another plan would become more necessary. But luckily for me, the proposal was accepted, and my betrothal to Myrcella Lannister was announced. Plans were coming to fruition, ones that despite my fathers return, or perhaps due to it, would place me and the Iron Islands in a place we deserved.
Meetings with my father, and his return to Pyke were interesting, and dictated the need for some changes to plots already underway but caused little true damage to me or my position. He can sit the Seastone Chair, for now. So few find him still worthy of the honour, and despite his attempts, even his family do not trust him or his schemes. But he continues to attempt to gain control, not realising the simple facts of the game he plays, he has lost, no matter that he still thinks he is playing, he has not been a player of this great game since that first defeat, there is no second round, no second chance, now he is a piece, who shouts that he is still playing. Soon perhaps that shouting will need to be silenced, it is a distraction, but I will not be a kinslayer. I will not allow my name to be sullied in such a way, the Iron Islands however have never been a safe place, and that was before the winter came, before the ice and the cold. Before my father grew old. It doesn’t take much for old men to die here, most have the decency to “go fishing” and never return. But he was never a decent man, was he? Just a power-hungry fool, still living on past glories.

<img src="" class="appimage">

Rodrik stared across the deck of his ship as he eased his way towards Pyke, such a disappointing place after so long across the Narrow Sea, surrounded by silks, exotic women, and fine art. Now he was back to this place of salt, cold, iron and the sea, his home. His almost ever present smile stayed upon his face the whole time since the first sign of the Iron Islands was spotted, appearing to be so very happy that he is finally back home to his family, inwardly he was contemplating how to best bring about his wishes and wants on this pile of rocks and salt.

Here he was again at the place from which so many failed rebellions, foolish attempts to return to the old ways, and beginnings of pain and loss were born. Ironborn pain, Ironborn loss, something he was determined to change. He would bring about great changes to the Iron Islands, even if he had to drag those who did not wish it kicking and screaming to the new ways, or lifeless and silent,
he was not much fussed which.

Rodrik looked to his first mate, a trusted Ironborn, as much as one can be of course, raised in a world where power comes to those who take it."Bring us in, it is time for us to step once again on our homeland, I am going below, silk and leather would be better for my return than silk alone" a grin splitting his face as he gave his order. He moved quickly below, replacing his current silk shirt with a simple one of black, a leather breastplate, the symbol of his family's Kraken embedded on the front, was buckled over the top of his silk shirt, rarely worn when not in battle, but it was important to give the men who have not seen him for so long a reminder that despite his almost green-lander ways, iron was within him, his blood salt as much as the next man.

Rodrik returned on deck shortly before his first mate began to pull in sails and prepare to dock under the power of oars and their own momentum. Staring out at the Ironborn around the docks, watching this ship, unseen for many moons, return to their port, low in the water, heavy with loot, and the captured ships following behind, bringing more of the wealth he had gathered. He could feel the judgement, the admiration, the almost hostile stares he was receiving as his ship docked. But this he was used to, growing up around these men, and living the life of a pirate lord, if not in name, certainly in reputation and skill, so he disembarked his long-ship and strode along the dock, with determination in his eyes, and a smile on his face.
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