(⎈) cross the sea to find you

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76heart
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(⎈) cross the sea to find you

Post by 76heart » Fri May 31, 2019 9:13 pm

every rose has its thorns,
and each assassin has its mark,
on which path will they embark?

will code this soon as well ahhhh once more i am sorryyyyy

and beware of mature themes again oop
somehow maybe less murdery than our other things though???

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76heart
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Location: winterfell

(➵) no one

Post by 76heart » Fri May 31, 2019 9:16 pm

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━━━━━━━━━━and  i  still━━
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Image━;━━━━━━━━━━━━
━━━━━━to  get inside━━━━
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━━━━━━━━ cuz  i'm  gonna ━
━━━make   you━━━━━━━━━━━
━━━━━;;━Image
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pandora ravyne is an interesting sort at the
age of nineteen and height of five foot one.
her father once was a maester who studied at
the citadel, until his chain was revoked for
experimenting on people, and he was forced
to return to his home in king's landing. he did
not stop his experiments however, and drew
the gaze of the king, who named him grand
measter, and gave him a seat on his small
council. he soon took a wife, and pandora
was born. when she was a bit older, her
mother hired a man to teach her the braavosi
style of fighting known as water dancing, and
how to move and think as a warrior. at the
age of fourteen, a failed experiment by her
father rendered her temporarily blind, which
only worsened things. her father had several
bastard children, but she remained his
favorite, which was why once she had
regained her sight, her mother sent her
across the sea to essos, where she would be
safe from his reach. for the first few weeks
of her time in braavos, she had no home,
and had to learn to steal if she wanted to
eat, and sometimes even find shelter for a
night's rest, until a faceless man found her,
and took her to the house of black and
white, where she began her training as a
faceless man, seeing it as a way to finally
get the revenge she craved against her
father. she had much difficulty conforming
to their rules at first, letting herself go,
leaving behind who pan was, and becoming
no one, but she managed it after two years
of many mistakes, and became a skilled
assassin, a perfect faceless man. she still
hopes to one day return and kill her father
for all he has done however, a goal that
has consumed her and made her vengeful.





























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gif © rightful owners
face claim © maisie williams
song © red - beth crowley
character © 76heart

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76heart
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Posts: 312
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(☼) sorras rosan

Post by 76heart » Fri May 31, 2019 9:18 pm

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━━━━━━━━━━━ b              u              t━━
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━━━━━━━━f  r  o  m      h  e  r━━━━━
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d  o  w  n     to  her━━━━━━━━━━━
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sorras rosan is a young man at the age of
twenty-six, and height of five foot nine who was
born in the summer island of omboru to two kind
merchants, but was sadly taken from his home
when he was small by slavers one horrible, fateful
night at sea where their boat was attacked. he was
soon sold to a man who worked for the tyrells of
westeros not long after his capture, and when he
arrived there with his master, they quickly freed
him and jailed the man who had bought him,
instantly ejecting him from their service. the family
took him in as their own, and it wasn't long before
he grew close to the daughter of the woman who
had become a new mother to him, lady victaria. as
the years went on and they both grew, they fell in
love, and he swore to protect her no matter the
cost. sorras has always been stoic in expression,
but like the love of his life, he is compassionate
with a fondness for those who have befallen
unfortunate circumstances. he is a skilled warrior
who has been training ever since he was eight,
two years after he was brought into the family of
the tyrells. he works hard, and does what he can
for them as he wants to show them that he has
earned his place, and is truly thankful for the care
and kindness they have showed him since he
arrived as a scared little boy taken from his family.
he has become fluent in the common tongue,
though still speaks with a noticeable accent, and
often speaks his mother tongue, usually in private
with victaria as a language that in highgarden, only
the two of them know.

























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gifs © rightful owners
face claim © Jacob anderson
song © devil in your eye
- mumford & sons
character © 76heart

Iris
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Posts: 198
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Loras Waters-- the bad die last

Post by Iris » Fri May 31, 2019 9:37 pm

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i. Loras Waters xxxxx ii. Male xxxxx iii. Twenty-twoxxxxx iv. 6'2 xxxxx v. Bastard of House Tyrell

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The bastard son of Luthor Tyrell and Aurane Brune, Loras' life has always been an uneven balance between the noble and the common. His father was the Lord of House Tyrell, the warden of the Reach and the King's Master of Coin, and his mother the daughter of a landed knight. Yet, though he was born to nobility, Loras was the result of a decades-long extramarital affair and as such held no title of his own. That didn't, however, mean that he grew up in any sort of significant hardship. Loras was born and raised in King's Landing, growing up in the home that Luthor had provided his beloved mistress. He saw his father often, and due to his parents, was afforded great tutors and opportunities. Through his father, Loras received the offer to squire for the heir to the reach, his half brother Willas Tyrell, and then through his mother, to squire for his uncle, Ser Robb Brune, both of which prestigious offers Loras declined. The pageantry and politics involved in nobility was never of interest to Loras. In fact, while his existence as his father's bastard was hardly a secret and as such was no stranger to the sight of powerful men and women within the city, the only person from that part of his father's life who Loras held any interest in was Pandora, the daughter of another member of the small council who grew to be Loras' closest childhood friend.

While Loras may be the son of a Tyrell, he's didn't inherit the politically ambitious nature. He was always the type who felt more comfortable around those of lower social status, of the comparative authenticity in that different lifestyle. Unfortunately, while Loras is critical of most nobility and politics, that doesn't mean Loras has ever been morally impeccable. Loras is the type who would have likely been a sellsword, had those who hired the type not been the same people who annoyed him endlessly. Generally speaking, he isn't one to look at the bigger picture, searching for the 'greater good'. While he certainly isn't the type who's looking to watch the world burn and does care about the common people in general, at least in theory, his primary concern and motivations are usually far more self-serving, more than willing to take the moral low-ground in most cases to do what he deems necessary.

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Iris
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Posts: 198
Joined: Mon May 14, 2018 12:50 pm

Victaria Tyrell-- sail among liars

Post by Iris » Fri May 31, 2019 9:38 pm

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i. Victaria Tyrellxxxxx ii. Femalexxxxxiii. Twentyxxxxxiv. 5'1xxxxxv. Lady of House Tyrell

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Born to Luthor Tyrell and Mina Redwyne, Victaria was the Lord and Lady of Highgarden's fourth born child- beating her fraternal twin Alorie in to the world by mere minutes to avoid being the youngest. The two would go on to never get along, the animosity held between them such that it would spark jokes that they had been born 'racing in to the world, quarreling before they left their mother's womb.' Even as a child, Victaria was quite intelligent, her intelligence combining with circumstance to later spark ambition that would be only fueled by her parents. Fortunately, not all ambition is ruthless in nature. While Victaria was never fond of her twin sister, there was another that Victaria always held immense fondness for ever since early childhood- Sorras, the boy who had been brought to Highgarden under terrible circumstances. It was likely in great part due to her knowing him that Victaria held quite a soft spot for children in unfortunate circumstances, going on to devote quite a bit of time to charitable efforts as she grew, with a significant emphasis on orphanages within the Reach.

Compassionate ambition remained ambition all the same, however, and did not leave her naive to the world in it's entirety. On the contrary, her mother made certain she knew it quite well- just as she knew that a woman's best weapon in the world wasn't often a sword. If she wanted to get things done, she was taught, manipulation could be the most effective way. It was something her mother stressed, and through the years, Victaria became quite talented at knowing the roles she had to play. Victaria is measured in nature, and has become quite talented at hiding her emotions, and of biting her tongue when need be. Depending on the situation and the people she is surrounded by, Victaria has a tendency to "dumb herself down", acting as if she isn't nearly as intelligent as she is. Victaria typically embraces the opportunity to be underestimated, exploiting expectations to achieve whatever outcome she is looking for whenever possible. Despite how she may seem, she holds a keen political mind.

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Iris
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Posts: 198
Joined: Mon May 14, 2018 12:50 pm

Chaos Well Concealed | I

Post by Iris » Sat Dec 26, 2020 11:58 pm

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Never one for idols, for religion or faith, Loras Waters would never have expected a false likeness to elicit any reaction, whether positive or otherwise, within himself. Yet, as with so many things he was finding of himself as of late, he would have been wrong. It was beautiful, even from a distance as it came to view over the calm waters. The bronze and stone held the giant high in the air, jutting from the land on two sides of the entrance of the lagoon, straddling the water between as a warrior would. It was proud, and fierce, its sword drawn and held high above its head and strong legs as if it was set to step off the land mass and wade in to the water and protect its host city at the first sight of provocation. The Titan of Braavos was unlike anything the young man had laid eyes on before, it was a marvel, truly, and yet for Loras as his eyes locked on to the wonder for the first time, it meant far more than that.

xxxxxxx For the entirety of his trip across the Narrow Sea, Loras' mind had continuously returned to one thought, a simple objective- no, longing, that consumed him. It was a cycle, a pattern, a draw that wouldn't cease, a question that echoed in his mind, a regret that he had come to terms with before he had even stepped foot aboard the vessel. It wasn't a regret of action- no, there was no path that he wished to be on more with every moment aboard the vessel, an incessant yearning pulling him towards the foreign city of Braavos. Rather, it was a regret of inaction, of a realization made years after it ought to have been made. Yet, for all of the regret of the timing, of the delay, there was a determination, one that molded the thought so present in his mind in to one that didn't haunt him. It could have been worse, of that much he knew. True, he knew, if his foresight had been greater, if he hadn't been so blind to it even as she herself had been blinded, then it wouldn't have taken so long for him to come to the realization that he had. Yet he couldn't change it, and he knew that, that the past was set in stone and so remarkably untouchable with anything more than a reflective eye. At least it wasn't too late, though; she was alive, as far as he knew, and she was in Braavos. Years had passed since he had last laid eyes on his closest friend, and yet his wasn't some tragic tale- of those, despite his own circumstance in life, he was all too aware.
xxxxxxx Enough time spent in Flea Bottom, the aptly named pit of King's Landing, in the streets, winding through the familiar alleys or even having an open ear in the taverns he visited could prove that much. Those who suffered such lives as the people there did wore it on their faces, in the way they moved even, all before one could assess their station in life through their material belongings. Even if they didn't, or even to the untrained eye, it was still abundantly clear; after all, people loved to talk, loved to tell their tales to those around them, to anyone who could listen- and listen Loras did, a lifetime in the city making him familiar with the reality of it and the stories that portrayed the most miserable among them. The tales of lost loves and of those fortunate enough to live to an old age recounting their greatest regrets, the decisions they had made or hadn't made or the things that they hadn't realized until it was too late, until their youth had slipped away and left their mind or body worn by time, or those that they had loved dead with their fates known only by their gods. Yes, it could have been worse, the timing could have been far worse- at least, that was what Loras focused on reminding himself during the times he felt the most frustration with himself throughout the journey. It could have been worse, it could have- and it would be over soon, as he'd find her in the foreign city. If she was there, he'd find her, and any thought otherwise didn't even cross his mind. He would find her.
xxxxxxx He had to be there, had to see her, to find his childhood friend once more. He had no regrets about his decision, at least the conclusion of it, though the timing of it he would have changed if he could. If only he could, to change that inaction, to go back... Never had he been one for regrets, normally one to look forward instead of back at his own actions, but despite himself, his nature, and his resolve, that one regret remained.
xxxxxxx The first sight of the Titan of Braavos was more than that of a marvel. It was the promise to a nearing end of a voyage, of an arrival to the ancient city, and it was one step closer to fixing that mistake, to finding her. The Titan cast a long shadow, and within it, Loras found hope. He watched intently from the deck, eyes focused even as the wind whipped at his long dark curls and viciously aided in obstructing his view, as the ship he secured passage on neared the ancient statue before finally passing under its imposing frame, sailing easily in to the lagoon. The city of Braavos laid before him, unobstructed from view, Loras hardly even noticed the outline, the sight of the city as a whole as was visible from the water. No, his thoughts were focused, they were singular, and they couldn’t give a single fuck less about the grandeur of the City of Braavos.

With the amount of relief he felt as his boots found the steady dock, one could be forgiven for thinking that he had never before been aboard a ship, never felt the way the vessel swayed in open water. It wasn't as if it was a new experience for him though- truly, it really wasn't, as he had traveled by ship with his mother numerous times throughout his youth in King's Landing to her family's seat at the Brownhollow at Crackclaw Point, and even more recently than that, to attend his uncle's wedding there less than a year ago. It wasn’t that it was a new experience that he was so eager to get away from, or even the ships rather lackluster company. After all, it could never have been said by anyone with the knowledge to truly speak of such things that Loras found himself unacquainted with those types- the type of people, almost exclusively men really, who had inhabited the ship with him for the length of the journey. He had been born and raised in King's Landing, a place that wasn't often thought of kindly by even those who had spent their entire lifetime in the limits of the crowded city. It wasn't as if he had grown up in the Red Keep, a castle built so many generations before by the Targaryens who had once ruled over the city as they ruled over the Seven Kingdoms until they their reign was ended by a great house who had sworn their swords to them before turning the swords of their men against the then-ruling house. No, he had been a privileged bastard, one of the most privileged in Westeros if he had to wager, but he knew the true city all the same, and those who he had been stuck beside were hardly a shock from what he was already familiar with.
xxxxxxx No, it wasn’t that he was fleeing the ship, but he felt relief all the same, his thoughts ever singular. Finally, he could begin. Where he could start, he wasn’t certain, but he wasn’t about to waste time before beginning his search. With just a single bag hanging from one shoulder against his back, a light traveler if there ever was one, his mind began to work out what his plan of action would be even as he weaved through others at the dock, his eyes scanning the nearby buildings. Well, he had been given instructions on the location of the home he would be using during his stay in the cities. That was a place to start. If he could just locate the landmarks, get his bearings, and drop off his bag, he could begin. His dark hazel eyes darted for any markers or signs visible from the street as he walked, but he didn’t even make it past the third building before his eyes landed on a sight that made him stop in his tracks, even if only for a moment.
xxxxxxx “Pandora?” He couldn’t see her face, not her full face at least, as the woman ahead of him was walking in the same direction as he was, and it had been years since he had seen her last, there was no way it could have been. Not like that, not through a crowd of others, but he was so certain, and as others walked, as he could spot a peek of the woman again, he thought it had to be her. It had been years, but he knew her. He...
xxxxxxx Had he gone mad? After all, what were the odds that it was actually her? How many people congregated to call the ancient city of Braavos home, and how many more used it as a temporary residence, a place to lie their head at night as they were passing through for trade or travel to the other cities of Essos? Loras wasn't sure, his familiarity with the city limited in the kindest of senses, and yet he knew there had to have at least been hundreds of thousands of inhabitants. The odds that he had found the one person who was known to him, the person he had came to Braavos to see once more, after only moments on the peer after having arrived seemed impossible, as if it had to have been a trick of his mind, allowing him to see precisely what he wanted most in that moment. Such an event wasn't something that Loras had ever been familiar with, the only time he thought himself possible of teetering on the edge of the sort of state of mind he expected was necessary for such a slip being when he was drunk, and yet he had never been that drunk, not even close.
xxxxxxx Loras knew that this was not that. Despite himself, he felt a surge of excitement, of urgency coarse through him. Then, as soon as a trace of a smile flickered across his face, his eyes widened in realization. Shit, she was still moving. Loras hardly had to will himself to move again, his body springing forward in a quick bid to catch up with her. “Pandora!” His voice was louder this time as he called to her in hopes that she would hear him, dodging others in the way successfully, managing to forcefully shoulder check only one man who turned in to Loras’ path at an unfortunate time. The name felt unfamiliar to his tongue, a string of fond childish nicknames far more common for him to use, but such things could wait.


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It was the end to a long journey, the longest of her twenty years, and yet Victaria Tyrell had the distinct feeling that it wasn’t done at all. No, they had made it there, arrived from the west to the east to join the rest of those gathering, but that wasn’t the end of it. The fun of it all, if that was what it could be considered by any right, the adventure, had likely just begun. It was something she anticipated before she had even left the Reach, before a single bag had been prepared, but now that she had arrived, it was was more than just a thought.

xxxxxxx The air felt different in Storm's End. Perhaps it was just her, a figment of her imagination caused by being so far from home, the furthest she had ever been, but Victaria could have sworn there was something physically different about the air, something entirely unlike High Garden. It made sense, really, from a geographical prospective, and yet there was something more to it she was sure, even if she was scarcely prone to believing in such things. It was against the sea, giving the air a humidity that she wasn't accustomed to. Yes, that must have been it, surely. It was something she would have otherwise enjoyed, she was certain, if the conditions had been right for it. To feel the air so near to the sea was pleasant on it's own, after all, and while it was something that she had only experienced a few times when the chance to go down the Ocean Road or to visit the Mander was presented to her, she had always enjoyed it. It was a lovely experience, and dusk spent looking out at the Sunset Sea was unlike nearly anything else she had ever seen. Even better than the sunsets were how every moment spent in the vicinity of open water would remind her of the man she adored more than anything in the world, and in the instances that they were separated for any short length of time, made it feel as if in some small way the Summer Isles native was always there. Perhaps not as much as every flower she look upon reminded her of him given their times in the garden that she treasured above any other, but in it's own significant way, it reminded her all the same.
xxxxxxxYet, the humidity seemed different to her at Storm's End, so completely opposite the beautiful memories and fond associations she had with the shore of the west coast of Westeros. It felt tainted, almost, a feeling she couldn’t quite place, and yet that she felt nonetheless, even if every part of her reasonable mind wanted to shove such thoughts off, to expel their very essence from her mind as nonsense. Yet, she couldn’t, and as she stared at her reflection before her, her only company in the room she had been assigned, with the morning sun faintly gracing the space and leaving a dull display of shadow, the feeling remained. An ever-present reminder of how different it felt, how ominous the damned castle felt, and just how little she wanted to be there.
xxxxxxx It wasn’t just the air. Something about it didn’t feel right to her, but it was hardly the only reason for her apprehension at the entire affair. What was it to be, truly? Ceremonies and oaths forged by unreliable and scheming old men? A trip to King’s Landing, to meet the Lannisters after having mingled among other houses? To see her own father there, after half a year of his absence in her life following his latest visit to the Highgarden, which had only served as a brief reprieve from his duties upon the king’s small council? What, even, before then? There would be contests of ‘good fun’, of men who lacked wits finding pleasure in hitting each other with their sticks, or even lances. They were the same men she was certain she’d hear much of during the events, the same men her mother had long warned her to be likely to get belligerently drunk during the festivities and make their presence known. Half of the men, lords and knights of distinguished houses throughout the kingdoms, and likely the worst half, would presumably be entirely too present beyond even the rest. She imagined they would be the ones her sister would take to her bed during the time they remained among them. Well, that was assuming she already hadn’t found a way at some point before they even arrived. Just another perk of being present for the festivities: knowing already that she would need to deal with the insufferable dimwit and her inevitable liaisons with those among them. She could only hope that Alorie would use discretion, that there wouldn’t be any messes of her doing that would be left to those within the family of sufficient intelligence and restraint to clean up. Of course, having an entire lifetime’s experience of the girl from womb to present, Victaria knew better than to expect too much of her.
xxxxxxx With a soft sigh, Victaria diverted her eyes from her reflection, her hands moving from her loose blonde curls after she secured a small portion back to keep from her face. They swiftly moved behind her, to pull once more at the thick material that covered her frame. It was a delicate sort of balancing act, to find the right hold from behind herself without assistance. It was one which she was accustomed to, one that had gotten easier over the years, yet never one that had gotten easy. After all, Victaria always tended to get ready by herself whenever possible. It wasn't as if she had any sort of problem accepting assistance when needed, she thought such a thing foolish. For her, rather, it was merely a matter of privacy. The availability for privacy was something she valued greatly, that she was near always searching for the reasonable opportunity for.
xxxxxxx It wasn’t even as if she inherently simply enjoyed being by herself, or sought that out, as it was so seldom the case. Instead, she sought out the chance for genuineness, of time spent freely with her love without false pretense that they so often needed to maintain. Privacy, to have as few eager eyes around her as possible, was the safest way to maintain that, to savor that time and her sanity along with it. It was worth it, without question, even if some tasks or dresses made the lack of help in attendance more burdensome than others. Naturally, the one she had chosen for her first day among the unfamiliar lords and ladies in attendance at Storm’s End was just such. It was a fuller sort of dress than the normal wear of the Reach. The dresses of the Reach tended to have less fabric to cover the body than some of the more modest designs of other regions within Westeros, their southernmost neighbor excluded, and though Victaria was certainly the more modest in nature of the Lord of Highgarden’s twin daughters, she certainly wasn’t beyond enjoying such fashions upon occasion, though those occasions tended to be more private. For her time in the Stormlands and the Crownlands alike, however, she had chosen to bring with her fashions that were more appropriate to the regions, if not even the regions further to the north. For the climate, yes, and to avoid attention to herself in ways unwanted for the duration of the trip.
xxxxxxx "Sorras, my love?" Her eyes flickered from her reflection to the door, then back to her image as she called to the man she knew to be outside the room in a familiar tongue, one that she had learned as just a child exchanging vocabulary with an older boy from a foreign land. A boy she loved at once, even as a child, and who she valued above all others. It was a language she never found use for outside of their conversations, but it was still dear to her as everything connected to him was, and even beyond that she had always been grateful for in a different sense, as it gave the two a way of speaking that was private no matter where they were, a way to procure a sense of privacy even if they were in a crowded room. At least, that was her experience in Highgarden. It would be her fortune for it to remain that way. “Darling, could I trouble you for a moment? I'm having...difficulty.” She finished the last word with a quiet huff as she tried to get ahold of the soft fabric ties, the stiffer fabric of her long crimson sleeves restricting the movement of her arms. Perhaps predictably, the attempt was an easy failure, the fabric that hung from the back of her dress falling unlaced from her hands. Victaria’s head tilted back, her eyes moving to the ceiling in irritation with herself before straightening once more as her hands returned to fumbling futilely with her dress.



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