A Song of Ice and Fire: A Due Delivery Recruitment

[Pureblood-Sin]

In the year 126 AC, in the reign of the Westerosi King Viserys I Targaryen, the Free Cities, once great colonies of the Valyrian Freehold, are now locked in a vicious conflict. This conflict isn’t fought on the battlefield, but in the shadows; unmarked Sellswords raid the trade caravans, working for the rivals of the caravan’s respective Free City; the aim is simple, to remove competition in the way of trade. To make matters worse, the Dothraki Khal, Bosaqo, seeks to make a name for his Khalasar; plundering goods valuable for a Khalasar, considered rogue even by the standards of the Horselords. For traders, it is a time of terror; for sellswords, it is a time of profit. Just as they are paid to raid, such individuals also earn coin for defending such caravans. For those that successfully trade at their destinations, the gold that comes from the merchants selling their wares, could potentially set up an individual for life.

In the Free City of Pentos, Voqarys Elyriyen of Lys, last of the Widowmakers Sellsword company, has accepted a contract from the Pentoshi merchant prince Salorio Makoris. Now, the Lysene, having placed posters looking for able swords for the coming job, sits silently at a table in the Arohys Qarn tavern. His purple eyes focussed on the doors, anticipating the arrival of volunteers to take the job, Voqarys hopes that whoever comes to take the job, can stick to it. Salorio is a very rich man, and is more than willing to part with his coin to those who work for him; he already has enough to spare. Sipping at his Ghiscari apricot wine, the Lysene continues his wait; whoever joins him in this venture will either grow rich…or die screaming with an arakh in their gut.​

Alright peeps, we’ve got the gist of this particular story; the rest will be revealed as you participate. Before we move onto the character sheet, here are some rules and details pertaining to matters that will determine how we function in the RP.

Playable Ethnicities*​

Essosi
• Pentoshi
• Braavosi
• Lysene
• Volantene
• Norvoshi
• Qohorik
• Myrish
• Lorathi
• Tyroshi
• Dothraki
• YiTish
• Lhazareen
• Jogos Nhai

Westerosi
• Dornishmen
• Crownlanders
• Crannogmen
• Northmen
• Reachmen
• Valemen
• Westermen
• Stormlander
• Riverlanders

*It should be noted that mixing tends to happen in the World of Ice and Fire; therefore, it is perfectly acceptable for a character to be of mixed heritage.

Rules​

Profane Language: Yes, we all know that the language in A Song of Ice and Fire tends to be somewhat coarse, but we need to tone it down here I’m afraid. Casual swearing ain’t a problem, but extremely offensive terms are severely discouraged.

Romances: If your characters are going to indulge in their carnal desires, be sure to fade to black before it gets down to the dirty.

On High-positioned/special characters and Valyrian steel weapons: For purposes of balanced RPing and maintaining the storyline of the Dance of the Dragons, a character cannot be of the Main Houses of Westeros or a Dothraki Khal/Bloodrider. However, you can play as a member of a smaller House, a Cadet branch and any Bastard sired by them. If you want to play as an Unsullied, you must state that your master freed you and why they did so. As for the matter of Valyrian steel weaponry, no character can start with these due to their rarity and the fact that such weapons are powerful. There will be an opportunity for one or two of to get their mitts on such a very pretty weapon.

On magic: Given the decline of magic in the World of Ice and Fire at this time, and given how little is known of it and how powerful it, no characters are able to use Magic. We’ll still come across such phenomena in the RP though.

Valyrian traits: The complete Valyrian look is generally reserved for pure Valyrian descendants who are of the Old Blood families of Volantis, the citizens of Lys and House Velaryon. Diluted characteristics are present throughout the Free Cities, House Celtigar and beings of mixed heritage. The general exception to this rule are the members of House Dayne, purple eyes and silver-blonde hair are common to their bloodline. It should be noted that descendants of Valyrian aristocracy tend to have eyes within shades of purple, while commoners tend to have blue eyes.

Character Template

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Name: Voqarys ‘Vo’ Elyriyen

Age: 45

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Birthplace: The Free City of Lys

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Ethnicity: Lysene/Volantene

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Social Status: Noble

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Current Profession (prior to contract acceptance): Sellsword

Kin:
• Maloqos Elyriyen of Lys and Varaenya Noraenys of Volantis: Father and Mother, deceased
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• Maloqyn Elyriyen: Half-Brother, alive

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• Alyria Elyriyen: Half-Sister, alive

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• Naeharyon Elyriyen: Half-Brother, alive.

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• Baelarys Noraenys of Volantis: Maternal Uncle, alive

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• Varaenya Noraenys: Maternal Cousin, alive

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• Soros Valdinerys: Bastard Son

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Appearance: Born of a Lysene nobleman and an Old Blood Volantene Noblewoman, the blood of Old Valyria flows within Voqarys’ veins…and it certainly shows. The Sellsword displays many of the classic Valyrian traits such as purple eyes and long silvery blonde hair, worn in a multitude of curls and braids and a tall physique, standing at 6ft2 in height. In his youth, he was actually quite beautiful to the point of androgyny; however, life as a Sellsword and the exertions it entails has certainly taken its toll upon him. Stress and constant exposure to the sun of the Southern Free Cities, the Red Waste and the Dothraki Sea have browned his once pale skin and caused it to age noticeably. It doesn’t help that this now leathery visage is heavily scarred from a life of fighting, as well as considerably muscular. From his high cheeked, thin face hangs a braided beard that is of medium length.​

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Personality: In his youth, Voqarys was as flamboyant and arrogant as any young nobleman of Valyrian blood. Not only that, but like any Lyseni, the Sellsword was, and still is, a very amorous individual; being known to take both male and female lovers into his bed chambers. Besides from his relationship with his Half-Sister, Alyria, the relationship Voqarys had with his Half-Brothers was strained from get-go; to them, he symbolises the betrayal of their father against their dead mother, as well as one more person to split the inheritance with. Despite this, he was a happy child; very eager to taste all of the pleasures that life had to offer and possessed of much intelligence. Life had much to offer, and being of high birth, Voqarys believed that would never change.​

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In due time, at the age of 17, his parents would die of the bloody flux and the relationship between him and his brothers would turn to pure hatred. Maloqyn and Naeharyon’s murder of his then-lover Voryos did this so well. Then being forced to flee with his inheritance made Voqarys bitter, resentful and paranoid; joining the Widowmakers honed this further, knowing full well that their rivals would come for them should his brothers catch a whiff of his presence. Now 42, his once smooth demeanour has completely vanished; his mannerisms gruff and his humour dark and cruel. Ever since the death of his Paramour Solys, after having to put him down due to Greyscale, Voqarys has never been able to hold down a relationship; cycling through any man or woman for a single night’s pleasure. Furthermore, this loss would instil a great dread of the disease within Voqarys.​

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Background: The tale surrounding Voqarys Elyriyen’s birth had always been something found within the songs of the Free Cities. His father, Maloqos Elyriyen, was a very wealthy Lysene merchant of aristocratic stock; one of the few merchants to capitalise on trading with Volantis, he and his retinue travelled there. Not only did he find further opportunity in the oldest of the Free Cities, he also found love after his first wife had died; at five and thirty years of age, he laid eyes upon a beautiful woman of pure Valyrian blood like him, and she showed interest. 20 year old Varaenya Noraenys was the youngest daughter of Illyrio Noraenys, scion of a wealthy Old Blood Volantene family; he had seven daughters and only one son. Furthermore, he was of the Elephant party, Volantenes who believed that trade was the way forward for their city. Maloqos deviated from the original price for his goods; instead, he offered to slash the prices of his wares, in exchange for Varaenya’s hand in marriage. Illyrio, knowing that the Lyseni were of the purest Valyrian blood alongside the elite of Volantis’ families and interested in a considerably lower price, cared nothing for the history of the two cities and swiftly accepted the noble’s offer. Within three days, the two Valyrian descendants were married and 12 months later, she gave Maloqos and the three children from his previous marriage a new child; Voqarys Elyriyen was born in his father’s mansion in Lys, he was younger than his youngest Half-sibling by 10 years.​

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As is expected of a person born of the aristocracy of Lys and Volantis, Voqarys was raised within the confines of his father’s household; flushed with wealth, much of the boy’s desires were easily sated. Beautiful toys, and as he grew older, beautiful people, were all his to buy. However, his entry into the family wasn’t exactly well received. Alyria, the second child, welcomed the arrival of her brother; the two of them shared a loving relationship. However, his Half-Brothers, Maloqyn and Naeharyon felt both cheated and betrayed; cheated in that their inheritance would be further split with another, betrayed in that their father remarried so soon after their own mother’s death. Yet while he was alive, they could do nothing to their brother; such was their hatred, they referred to their stepmother as a “Volantene Whore” when her back was turned. As the boy grew into an adolescent, he would begin to experiment with a multitude of lovers whilst his siblings went on to be married to either Lysene or Volantene nobles. Voqarys would find that he himself preferred an even balance of loving both men and women; something that made him very popular in the brothels of Lys. In time, he would find himself involved in romantic relationship with a commoner named Voryos. However these happy days would soon end when Maloqos and Varaenya contracted the bloody flux and succumbed to it. With them, the protection that Voqarys had from his Half-Brothers died also. No sooner had his parents’ bodies been put to the torch, Maloqyn and Naeharyon put their plan into action and moved to murder their younger brother. That night, they stole into Voqarys’ chambers and put a dagger into the neck of the sleeping young man. Yet when they rolled his body over, the being they slew had blue eyes, not the purple of highborn Lysene. This man was a commoner, and it was their brother’s lover who they killed. To make matters worse, their intended target walked in on them, and saw that they slew Voryos; spurred by adrenaline, Voqarys fled his family’s mansion and stole into the poorer sections of Lys. He knew that he couldn’t board a ship to Volantis; his brothers knew that he had family there and that would be the first place he would turn to. Instead, taking all of the gold he had inherited from his parents, the exiled nobleman took a ship to Pentos and then proceeded to wander. In all this mess, in that moment Voqarys began to break down and weep in the forest of Qohor; he never had the chance to properly mourn his parents, and now his lover was gone too. In due time, he would find himself in Qohor itself and from there, would purchase his weapons and armour with the gold he had left from his voyage. From a blacksmith, he would acquire his bronze lamellar, gauntlets and boots; from the market, he would acquire his steel arakh. A relic from the attempted Dothraki invasion of Qohor in the past, the weapon was still in perfect condition…and Voqarys, having been trained as a swordsman since a young age, took to the weapon like a natural. In due time, he would come across the Widowmakers; a Sellsword company who were looking for new recruits. Given that no one else had shown interest, the Sellswords took the Lysene-Volantene into their fold.​

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Years went by, the Widowmakers carried out their bloody work from as far as the Dothraki Sea in the East to even Westeros across the Narrow Sea; they defended traders, took on rival companies and handed in bounties on those who’ve been marked. In due time, Voqarys would engage in carnal relationships with many men and women, siring a single bastard in the town of Selhorys; but he would truly find that his heart belonged to a fellow Widowmaker, Sorys of Braavos. A beautiful man with dusky skin and golden eyes, Sorys loved Voqarys, and he in turn loved Sorys. No longer did they just fight for money, they fought for each other; with their accumulated wealth, they would lavish much upon each other. For the first time in years, the highborn felt happy; this life could do no wrong for him. That would change the moment they entered the Sorrows along the river Rhoyne. 17 years after abandoning his home in Lys, Voqarys and the Widowmakers would come into contact with the Stone Men; damned souls who were doomed by Greyscale. Their boat was swiftly swamped by the diseased beings and were swept into the Rhoyne. The Lysene-Volantene would wake up on the shores of the river, a few hours after the incident; his Braavosi paramour alongside him, yet no other Widowmaker was within sight. At first, Voqarys was overjoyed; he and Sorys had survived. Yet that wasn’t to last; as he moved in to kiss his beloved on the neck, that was when he saw it. The dried cracked skin that flaked away from the neck; he knew that Sorys now felt the kiss of greyscale, yet he truly didn’t want to. The Braavosi knew this, and then begged Voqarys to end his life before he became an agonised husk…before he became one of the Stone Men. Knowing full well his beloved was doomed, the highborn reluctantly complied; stabbing his arakh into the heart that he knew belonged to him by all rights. After he burned Sorys’ body, he would wander Essos in a daze for the next 15 years, taking the odd job that was offered to him; each night, he would be tormented by a twisted parody of his lost love, completely wrapped in the diseased confines of greyscale. Eventually, fate would call Voqarys to Pentos; and a job that would make him confront the ghosts of the past.​

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Equipment ​

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• Steel Dothraki arakh​

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• Bronze lamellar, gauntlets and boots​

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• Various knives​

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• Bastard sword, lucked from a slain Westerosi knight in Tyrosh​

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• Round, wooden shield with inlaid steel​

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• A golden dragon medallion, a gift he gave to Sorys.​

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Languages Spoken​

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• High Valyrian​

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• Bastard Valyrian (Lyseni, Volantene, Pentoshi, Ghiscari and Qohorik dialects)​

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• Common Tongue​

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• Small bits of Dothraki​

 

[Tristar]

"They're under the impression I kill for the thrill of the kill. I just like to think that I'm the piece on the board responsible for making sure both parties are at an equal footing- I don't scorn any gold, but I don't take hits on a whim either. People often tell me, "The gods'll wroth is upon you and thou shall die a fiery death.", but if there's gods, I've yet to see them setting a level playing field. Who gives a shit 'bout the nature of your birth if all you ever do is sit on your arse and be drunk off someone's sweat and blood? King, man, whore, what's the difference? One gold coin less."
-Rehnar Sand-

Name: Rehnar Sand
Age: 32
Birthplace: Dorne
Ethnicity: Dornish
Social Status: None.
Current Profession (Prior to Contract.): Freelance Assassin-for-hire

Kin:
-Estar Sand ( Biological Father; Deceased.)
-Lyona Saen ( Mother; Deceased.)
-Titus Saen ( Foster Father; Deceased.)
-Ayndar Saen ( Step Brother- Alive.)
-Ysene (Yee-sen) Saen (Step Sister; Deceased.)

Appearance: Rehnar is first and foremost a bastard child of the Dornish sands and his overpowering jawlines and stern gaze hides what faint beauty his roguish face was given at birth. A chaperon hides his wispy brown hair though his jaw is covered with the fine grains of a stubble, kept in place with constant grooming. Standing at roughly 5' 11" feet with a toned figure and slim waist, his body is deceptive to the viper-like reaction speeds it hides and his fingers, deft and nimble as they toy around with the seams of his clothing. The heavy chain around his neck is a souvenir of Old Town, the color of iron, lead and silver standing out from the pale copper links that bear no signs of the fine forging of the first three. Brown eyes give no reflection of the inner self and his face is locked in a stern, but firm gaze in its resting position but like his voice it changes on situation where needed.

Personality: One expects a Dornish bastard, if one holds true to the old midwives tales, to be fiery and full of lust, of dashing demeanor with the thrill of an adventurer. Well, Rehnar certainly has the thrill of adventure, but none of the famed Dornish traits. Asexual, the freelancer rare indulges in sensual experiences but often takes in a pitcher of cold mead before his missions- whether to numb the fear or to suppress the guilt, one can never truly know. Indeed, out of combat the assassin drinks but plain water and feasts on what a poor peasant may eat for dinner- the gold he earns are not for his splendor or luxury but spent on necessities and more ingredients for his numerous chemical concoctions and potent cocktails- it's rumored that he carries a small vial of the milk of the poppy and uses it only in times of great duress. Socially, Rehnar does not ward off company and enjoys conversations as much as any man may. He tends to be calm where lesser men may quake in fear, and rarely raises his voice in ire- what emotions he shows seem to be forced and rather grim at that. Though one can rarely see a man without his quirks- truly, his favoured method of delivering a kill involves the deliverance of a decapitated head as proof of the kill, even without being prompted to. Some say he is cruel, but can be better defined as amoral whose ends justify the means to a mission. He is shrewd and calculating but not entirely without a sense of conscience either- though like his emotions they rarely surface as legitimate intentions and often has an ulterior motive behind it.

Background: Born by lust from a wandering bard that paid visit to his parents during their wedding, Rehnar was firstborn of the duo's lackluster marriage which at first seemed to be what sparked a tighter bond. When the father however eventually found out the differences in his son's features, his rage was terrible to behold that it was a surprise that he had not killed Rehnar off as a child. Yet his mother had successfully pleaded instead to send the child off to Oldtown as she had grown to care for him as her own. Her pleading spared Rehnar of his young life at the tender age of 13 months, but doomed future merchant lords on the shores of Lys.
At a young age his lecturers often noted his quiet demeanor and reserved nature and often tried to engage him in conversation- yet for the most part he seemed unwilling to bond with anyone else as if he knew the truth behind the composed story of his parents drowning in a shipwreck. His studies were mediocre at best, though he was always was fascinated with poisons and venoms of the world- as soon as he was old enough to forge his own chains, Rehnar began his trials behind the various intricacies of alchemy and poisons, medicine, even dabbling into politics here and there. It was during those hours he kept his teachers entertained and even flustered with questions on the nature of the court, pestering them on the issue of kings and power and the welfare of citizens. His teachers would later on commented on his dissatisfaction with the methods governance of those in power. This would later prove to be the catalyst for his sudden disappearance from the Order of Maester's at the age of 17, with nothing as much as a note on his bed. It was as if he had not even existed, save for his records.
Several years later and the first sign of Rehnar was through the assassination of a merchant prince who was sailing through Lys- authorities were left with the decapitated body that was later tested to be found positive for a type of poison that inflicted a severe case of diarrhea. The body in question was found in the merchant's private privy room. During the time where Rehnar would have been 20 years old, several more reports of sudden deaths cropped up with various methods of assassination used but ended with an ultimatum of a beheaded corpse and a litter of other dead bodies which would've served as convenient witnesses to the event. Rumors began to circulate until a image could be pieced- passer-bys would always mentioned that they noticed a very talk and bulky man around the vicinity, either as a lowly porter to a blind monk- Rehnar soon gained fame as the Beheader, Decapitator though in truth his much personal favourite, the Coinslayer after his high profile assassination on a merchant off the coast of Lys.
In the end however, his fame was what caused his downfall- during a particular attempt he was subdued and captured but not without a fight. After leaving several more still bodies in the sands, he was thrown in jail to await his public execution. Determined not to die like a common man, Rehnar swallowed a concoction to still his body akin to a corpse, a small vial hidden inside of one his false tooth- the magistrates fell into a rage at the sight of his dead body and had his body dragged off to the cemetery outside of the city walls to be buried. By the time the concoction wore off, Rehnar was well out of the city walls and accompanied only by a lone grave digger and two guards who were busy entertaining themselves over a game of dice. Escape was but a simple silencing of the peasant and the permanent removal of two distracted guards.

The legend of Rehnar the Coinslayer lives on, even as a dead man on the run from Lysene Merchants. Now rumors are that his familiar has been spotted somewhere in the Free City of Pentos, certainly breathing and alive- for what motivations, none can say though whatever it is, pray that Rehnar is well and truly dead.

Equipment:
1. Steel bastard sword, nicked off a dead merchant's bodyguard.
2. Padded armor with underlying chainmail, elbow guards and iron greaves.
3. 1 iron dagger.
4. 4 steel throwing knives.
5. Several vials of a variety of poisons, ranging to minor inconveniences to absolute lethal. Contained within a lockbox
6. Medicinal herbs, a single vial of the milk of the poppy.
7. Medallion; snake head engraved upon it. Clipped to the belt.

Languages Spoken:
-Common Tongue
-Lysene
-Broken Valyrian.
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[Necris]

Name:Errik Snow (True Name Ashwood)
Age:31
Birthplace:The North
Ethnicity:Northman

Social Status:None
Current Profession (Prior to Contract.): Free Sword

Kin:
Asha Snow - Claimed Mother a servant of the Ashwoods
Lady Elena Ashwood - True mother
Lord Duncan Ashwood - True Father

Appearance: Tall and sleek with dirty blond hair, he is handsome yet possesses a cocky grin, his body is toned and well developed from a life time of training for warfare within the confines of castle life as a young noble.

Personality: Errik carries the noble bearing of a true born noble yet rejects his name at every turn going to length to distance himself from that part of his life, he is honourable yet hard when needed, he likes to celebrate especially with drink and it often leads to trouble.

Background: Errik is the first born child of the noble house of house Ashwood yet his father always put to must pressure on him, to become a great swords man, a great leader, a great everything, Errik struggled to live in the shadow of his father's expectations and while he excelled at many subjects it was never enough, only his skill with the bow impressed but the bow is a commoners weapon and unbecoming of a noble save for hunting and sport. When he came of age his fathers expectations grew even more and he was taken south to find a wealthy bride to bring prosperity to the family seat, entered into tourneys as often as he was able he refined his fighting prowess but longed for the freedom of choice he never had under his father's watchful eyes, and often found himself sneaking away to indulge in drink in taverns and tents surrounding the tourney fields, it was during this time that he started to earn himself a reputation as a trouble maker and was often instigated in brawls started more often than not when people accused him of cheating them out of money with his bow skills.

This behaviour enraged his father and after one such incident he declared that he would not have a son who behaved is such a manner, this argument led to Errik leaving his father's tent taking his belongings and striking out on his own.

He quickly found employ within a mercenary company with his bow skills and eventually found his way across the Narrow Sea to Essos where he has found gainful employ as a skilled archer and swordsman.

Equipment:
1. Castle Forged Bastard Sword.
2. Iron Wood Longbow.
3. Long Knife.
4.Quiver - 24 arrows
5. Leather padded coat of plates
6. Sleeping Roll and travel pack
7.Ring bearing family crest worn around his neck.

Languages Spoken:
-Common Tongue
-Broken Valyrian.
-Bravossi
-Pentosi​

 

[Pureblood-Sin]

Alrighty, we need at least one more; then we can get this pavilion on the road.

 

[VVVVVV]

I'll play. Give me a minute or so to get everything sorted out.

 

[Tristar]

Excellent! :D

 

[Eccles]

"It is said amongst the Braavosi that the night belongs to bravos and courtesans. When night falls, good citizens of Braavos retreat indoors, closing shutters and barring doors. Bravos swagger through Braavos in their parti-colored finery, looking to pick fights and prove their skills."

Name: Alerio
Age: 20
Birthplace: Braavos
Ethnicity: Braavosi/Crownlander
Social Status: Bravo.
Current Profession (Prior to Contract.): Why, none.

Kin:
- Aella Mermeia (mother) deceased.
- unknown Crownlander (father) fate unknown.

Appearance: A soft strawberry blond beard completes the contrast between a besmutched suntanned face and clear adventurous blue eyes. Alerio is young and judging from the ragged state of his fancy dress clearly looking for the quick rush, though he tends to hide the latter by enveloping himself into his thick red cloak.

Personality: Alerio is a typical bastard like so many others in the Free City of Braavos, a son of a courtesan who thinks himself too high and mighty for a mere job as a fisherman yet is not well enough educated to get anything else. Unemployment and vanity makes him one of the Bravos who dare challenge others of ill-luck and ill-repute to fight an ill-fated duel over trivial matters like the names of their favourite courtesans. Courtesans, I might add, with whom they cannot ever hope to afford even a hasty kiss on the cheek. It is a life of sleeping long hours into the afternoon, of an almost exclusive consumation of wine until the common bursting of the liver and the daily rush of gutting a friend who due to the red-ish cloud of alcohol momentarily seemed his greatest foe. Even now, exiled from the city of Braavos for acts committed after an excess of drink, Alerio seems unable to leave the vane and prideful nature of a Bravos behind.

Background:

Equipment:
1. A slender sword, edged and balanced for the thrust
2. A flamboyant red cloak of sturdy fiber, usable to parry

Languages Spoken:
-Common Tongue
-Braavosi
-Broken Valyrian.

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