Artos Snow

"Welcome to the Watch, boy." His uncle stated, as he arrived through the icy doors of the Wall on the wooden back of the slow-moving, bumping vehicle, his grey eyes trained on the people in front of him. His uncle, Lord Brandon's youngest brother, was the current High Ranger of the Black, and Artos knew that he should expect no favours simply due to his relations to Lord Brandon Stark. Honestly, that connection never did him good, for he was cast with his Dustin-married mother for the majority of his fourteen years, and during that time, his grandfather, Rodrick Ryswell had managed his upkeeping when he was in the Rills. He actually trained there for quite sometimes as a horseback rider, due to the many hills and ridges the places provided, until they moved to Barrowton, where he learned how to fight good and proper from the Master-at Arms of Barrowton, of whom Artos remembered to be a very large, and very robust man, with a great deal of skill given that he fought in the War of the Ninepenny Kings in Essos at one point in his long life.

"Ello uncle Benjen." Artos responded amiably, towards his uncle, as the rest of the boys got off the trolly. One of them was a fat obese boy, not one long for the wall, Artos would think, seeing how the cold made the boy's lips as deep as a blue as the wall itself. Artos was none too sympathetic for the boy, being in his situation at least. The Wall did not allow for weakness, and would likely kill the boy as any of the wildings would likely do. However, he was more interested in the fact that a Blackwood, with their notable dead tree insigma, was on the trolly too - given that his family had some relations to the Dreadlords through the current Lord of their house's sister was married to the current Dreadlord himself. Together, they had three children, Domeric, Lyarra, and the quiet, shy and reserved Robert, of whom spent some time at Barrowton before going off to the Riverlands to be sheltered under his uncle Tytos Blackwood. His memories of Robert was fond though, the boy wasn't very malice, and was extremely polite and well-mannered, as far as he remembered, and he loved cats and readings books - even though he had the most wicked sense of humor out of everyone he had ever met thus far. "My father sends his chummiest remarks to you, as usual. He said I was a present, on the behalf on the Seventy-Nine Sentinels of the Watch." He sighed, thinking about that tale of that one particular foolhardy Ryswell that lacked the good judgement to fulfill his Black by becoming a cowardly white-coat alongside ninety-seven former members of the Black Guard. The tale ended, of course with them running to Lord Ryswell, the gang's leader's father, for safety from the Cloak, to be taken back to the Wall by him, where they were put in holes in the ice to forever guard the Wall in death. He however, was of Stark blood, and a Stark would never their post from the wall under any circumstances

"Hmm. You know there shall always be Starks to protect the wall, no matter what." Benjen stated. "Now come along Artos, Lord-Commander Jeor shall speak to you new recruits soon enough, and you mustn't miss it." As he put on a harsh hand on Artos's shoulder, propelling the boy past the common boys, that stared at him open-eyed, as he was being escorted by the High Ranger himself. It was an honor, but truthfully, Artos did not need feel very special treatment; he may have been nobly-trained in the art of horseback riding, a trait he especially excelled at given his bloodline from his mother's side lived on a mass of hills and ridge, and was a good, but not exceptional hand at sword-fighting and dueling, though enough to be a terrible foe towards those wilding's he'd presumably be facing. Obviously, he'd be a ranger - he'd be no good a Stewart or builder - he was meant to be fighting, and wished his death to be least something of worth... Even if it was a forgotten one, at that.

"Yes, High Ranger." He responded, rather than by calling Benjen by his name, but by his title."I also know despite my rank as Lord Brandon's bastard, I mustn't expect any special treatment. Brandon himself told me so, before I arrived here." He remembered his father - he was a rather tall man, with blaring grey-coloured eyes - his eyes, to be exact, and the Dragonglass greatsword of Ice hung off of his back. The sword was the biggest fookin' greatsword he'd ever seen in his life, and he's seen a many large swords in his life, but nothing seemed to be as big as Ice was. A very strong man had to hold that sword, and Brandon carried it well, indeed. Though truthfully, he probably just carried it to see him, and to tell him bye, rather than actually to use it in battle or combat. It was purely a ceremonial sword, unless to cut off of heads though, and Brandon said he once cut one off a disobedient lesser bannerman, though Brandon did not say whom the rebellious Lord was though. His father also gave to him a direwolf pup, one of six pups found by a dead bitch in the woods; and decided he'd have the sixth one. He'd have named it Winter, given that she was an albino pup, and she had the right coloring for such a name, anyhow.

He stared at his uncle, before he took a hand off of his shoulders and stood before Lord Commander Jeor Mormont, a rather sharp-looking elder man wearing the Bear insigma of his House. He was standing before the masses, with his hands on his sword, as he was about to make a speech. He settled down, along with the rest of the new recruits, as he watched the old Bear - the rather impressive Lord Commander, presumably do the usual speech he gave to new-commoners to the Watch's gaze.

"Welcome to the Wall, new recruits. Some of you will make it, some of you will not. But it matters not, we need all the hands we can get our hands on." Jeor stated bluntly, as he continued. "Truthfully, we're full of a bunch of old men and green boys, not like the days of old, when we got the best of the crop." He shrugged, listening more firmly to the statement in question. Maester Aemon, the old, blind man and the Maester of the Wall, appeared on the side of him, his once presumably bright eyes were dull now. He was said to be over-a hundred years old, making that quite a remarkable feet. "And some of us might be of Great Houses, but that matters nought. House loyalties do not exist in any fashion on the wall." Now that seemed to be targeted at him, mostly. He also went over how the Wall was an apolitical force, and how no man could break, and ladada, Artos knew this because he once read that the Lord Commander during the Conquest was a Hoare, and even after Aegon the Dragon burnt the Hoares in Harrenhal, he refused to marshal his men together to go against Aegon the Dragon's forces.

Once Jeor was done with his lecture for the new-commoners to the Wall, they soon got to work fighting with wooden swords. He himself was well-use to fighting with metal swords, against actual foes, like his uncle Roose Ryswell, his first trainer - he was a mighty fine hand, with a sword, and beat him into a pulp several times before he got a hang of the feeling the metal against his hand and against some cousins of Lord Dustin at Barrowton. They were better, than these clearly less superior opponents he was faced up against; and he knew it, too. It made him a little bit guilty, having a Lord's education whilst these green boys were probably just sons of farmers, or what-not, and not to mention, he had a fearsome Direwolf friend with him as company as well, not only just having his own skills and prowess in battle. He was at an unfair advantage over these country bumpkins, and they seemly knew it, for some of them looked at him with some-half faced fear on their faces.

Edric 'Ned' Stark

It was a cold, wintery day around Winterfell, as Ned and his father were sitting on two, comfortable bearskinned-covered chairs front of the hearth of Winterfell, despite the heat pump coming from underneath themselves coming from the natural hot pools underneath Winterfell's surface, it could get awfully cold. He was having some Kingslander tea, whilst his father was drinking out of a big larger of ail in his hands. It was even said to be snowing outside, ironically, given that he had just sent a Snow away to the Wall, alongside with Benjen Stark, his uncle. That Snow-Half brother of his had briefly appeared at Winterfell, alongside his stingy mother, Lady Barbrey Dustin, and Ned thought that Artos had been a rather nice person, from what he saw of him. Which wasn't much, given that he was raised away from Winterfell, but sometimes his father went to visit Barbary and Artos whilst they were still at the Rylls.

"Did you name our bastard brother after Artos the Implacable or did Barbrey Ryswell?" Ned wondered briefly - he thought it was rather a good jest, to name someone after the last wilding kingslayer, and than send him to the Wall. He was obviously was meant for greatness, much like his namesake, Ned at least hoped so - he held no ill will against Artos for his bastardy. He actually hoped he excelled there, and became one of Benjen's right-hands men, if Benjen ever arose to be Lord Commander of the Night's Watch that was.

"The woman did." Brandon snorted, taking a gulp of his large glass of ail. "Bugger that, Ned. I don't want to speak about my bastard. I have better things to worry about.. like that bloody 'civil' war as their calling it now. I'm forced to deal with a wife, your mother, whom wants me to act on it, and me myself whom don't want to involve the North in such fookery. I don't want to deal with none of those sides, not as long as I can be forced to at least." He snorted, as he sat lodged on his bear skinned chair, chugging his ail in one hand, though he didn't appear to be drunk yet, at least.

"I don't blame you, getting involved in the Iron Throne's meticulous affairs is rather unimportant to those of us that dwell in the North." And not to mention, they had no reason too. Nobody cared if the North was indifferent, because the North could get away with it as far as one was concerned, and not to mention, they've been keeping out of the Iron Throne affairs for a long while before this entire allies things came about for their southern neighbours. They had no reason to act, and act they shadn't, as they've done for countless generations beforehand. Why should they change that just because of their mother was a Tully?

"Exactly, Ned." Brandon replied blithely. "That's exactly why we didn't go attend that boring meeting in King's Landing; it's not like we were invited to it anyhow. They didn't even invite Dorne to their little tea party, or so I hear. She, your mother wanted us to attend that rather boring affair you know, to let you and your siblings meet Robin Arryn and her other nieces and nephews; I swear, we've got so many of them, that I don't think about it by this point. Not beyond your uncle Ned's children, I suppose." The fact that they both shared a mutual nickname was not lost on him at all. It was sort of a joke that he and his uncle had, when Eddard came to visit with his children and his wife from Lys. Although they (besides for his uncle Ned) complained about how cold the North was in comparison to the luxuriously hot Lys, which was pretty funny to Ned, given that they all looked like proper Starks, with the long faces and deep grey eyes.

"I doubted the Ironborn attended either. Balon Greyjoy rather hates leaving his little island of Pyke, beyond for maybe a nice pillaging of the Bear Islands and Lannisport, I suppose." He knew that his son Theon, was married to a Lannister, but it made no difference on the Lord Paramount's behaviour though. The Lord Paramount would undoubtedly break that alliance between his son and the Lions Lords, without blinking a single eye at the precautions of such a feet of dishonour. Personally, he believed the lost of two of their sons wasn't enough to make Balon Greyjoy stop doing rash thing on the mainland, at least in his father's mind. The Iron Born had been sacking his lands as of late, and he was getting awfully tired of it, and was willing to rage war against Balon to stop his illicit activities in the North.

"Oh fuck that man." Brandon said immediately, putting down his cup. "I'm going to sack him on his island real soon if he doesn't stop sending Reavers over here to murder and kidnap my people for his twisted ol' ways. He's done that to Bear Island, several times, and each time the woman had to chase them off. He's also tried to sack Lord Glover's holdings too, which makes Glover upset. Honestly, fook Balon Greyjoy. I hope his son is better than he-whom-never learns any lessons about messing with other High Lords." He snarled, clearly enraged at the prospects. Though they were running high on debt, considering they had some of their soldiers stationed on Lys. About half of men in Robert's Brave Companions were of Northerns - the other half of it Stormlanders. It was a large sum of men; eleven thousand, but at least it gave the Stormlanders and the Northerns even more cause to be friends; they were both stuck with having to deal with the exhausting debt left behind by such a feet, and the fact that they were each down about five thousand/six thousand men each for Robert's army. They also had mutual cause with those brave souls on the new county, considering they were family members; cousins, aunts, and such, ruling over the island, though it was a rather messy business. The Iron Born would love to pillage and rape them as well, but one thing stopped them from doing so; Theon Greyjoy, the heir of Pyke and of the Iron Isles.

"He kind of deserves it, dad." Ned replied humbly. "But do we have the funds to afford such an expedition? And how do we know that Theon Greyjoy, his son, wouldn't attack us for doing this deed?" He had heard of Theon's repute across the seas; he was known to some as the Shark, the great Squid, and the Audacious. But somehow, he doubted Theon would care very much, given that it wasn't much of a secret that he had a bad relationship with his father.

"I don't care what the fookin' Greyjoys think about me doing anything, Ned." He snapped. "If that pirate's son wants to give me trouble, he'll go down with 'is foolish father and uncles, for all I give a damn." Brandon took a large sip of his ail, nearly emptying it before slamming it against the under table next to him. "Get me another ail, boy." He turned towards the nervous looking boy, of whom was Brandon's fetcher boy. He was rather short, with copper hair and loose amounts of acne on his blemished skin. Ned watched as he ran with Brandon's cup to go fill it with the honey-brown substance from the nearest opened canister of beer.

"Okay, father." He responded docilely to his father's outburst. Sometimes, he felt like he had to walk on a tightrope with him, less he blow up and cause a commotion about. Ned did not want that tragedy of anger to be directed at himself though.

"Damn right, Ned." He shushed the fetcher boy off when he got the refill of the glass cup he had held previously.

Theon Greyjoy

"You mean to tell me, mate, that my father intends to invade the North? Is he that much of a fookin' idiot? He'd have better luck with plundering Lannisport than doing that folly." He was speaking to his good-brother, Aleksander Boltley. Theon considered him to be a rather sufficient commander, at the very least - enough that he could join his armada of ships if he ever choice too. But somehow, he doubted that Aleksander would consider such a course of action, given that he was only loyal to his uncle, Victorian. He said this, whilst walking on the balcony in Lys, overlooking the lovely, beautiful coastal city - with various Gibbet's basking in the summer heat as it befell them, and he could hear the sobbings of the upstuck nobles stuck inside of them. In all honesty, they deserved their fate, for they were the unfortunate nobles that Lyanna had caught trying to escape the city with slaves to the Stepstones or the other free cities, and Oberyn only offered a solution for that problem, whilst he caught them barehanded with his ships, the Storm-Catchers as he liked to affectionately call his armada of ships he had with him.

"It's what I tried to convey this to Victorian as well, but he wouldn't listen to me." Boltely muttered. "I'm a good Iron Islander, but I refuse to get meself nor my children killed, attacking the idle beast that is Lord Brandon Stark. He could get our arses kicked so hard, that even Black Haren could see it in his grave under the waves. I'd rather not be caught up In that business, so I asked Victorian if I could go meet up with the heir to the Iron Isles, seeing as your my good brother."

"My foster father once said that a man that never learns his lessons will be the man that finds himself dead sooner rather than later." Theon found that quote from the Lion Lord to be sufficient enough to explain his father's transactions as-of late. In all honesty, if he died, than all the better; he wished for the Iron isles to be a prosperous place, not the slimey shite hole that it was currently. With their alliance with the Lannisters, he could successfully defeat those old traditions back into the sea, where they rightfully belonged.

"I never thought I'd agree with what a Lannister says, but I guess for Asha's sake I have too." He snickered.

"I never thought I'd marry one, but alas, here I am." Theon decided not to smile at the remark at his sister, even if he was her husband. "Nevertheless, thank you for the information, Lord Botley. I'll be sure to put it this to good use..." Theon was deciding what he'd do about his father. For starters, he couldn't allow him to attack Lannisport, given that his wife, the ever-so beautiful Lady Eileen was there alongside their children. His first son, Quellon was his jewel of his existence and he'd never let them down, nor Lord Lannister for that matter. They were his family, more so than the Greyjoys, of whom had been he'd had met had thus far have been rather disappointing, beyond Asha and her good-husband; Asha was brave and stubborn; at least in his eyes and was as fierce as any Dornish woman he'd ever met, and this was upon his first encounter with Asha too.

"Your welcome, my Lord Greyjoy. I'm only trying to do what's right by Asha, even if she protests against it and tries to throw me into the ocean for 'being' too overprotective of her being." Botley laughed, joviality, before mockily bowing before him, with something dastardly in his deep brown eyes. "I'll be sure to keep in touch with you, mate. Excluding If Victorian decides to recall me back to the Iron Isles." He sighed, clearly dissatisfied by that idea.

Theon didn't remark on his sister, and simply looked at the city. Since Lyanna took it over, it had grown - with a many nobles from many places in Westeros coming from far and wide to this unpresented land-grad that had not been seen since the Andals own conquest of Westeros. It was quite something indeed, even though there was clues of a rebellion happening in the darkest edges of the city, where the whores lived from Swann palace all the way to the dingiest pub imaginable. Lyanna had been attempting to subdue the supposed rebellion she was warned about by their trusted Spymaster, Oberyn Martell, but honestly, he could care less about that. He only had concerns about the rather large fleet coming from the combined efforts of the Free Cities; they were said to be powerful enough to rid the Ironborn off of the Stepstones (which was the event that led to Lord Quellon becoming deceased, as he valiantly held back the ships from taking their port, to falling in grace when they destroyed his ship, with himself on it). So thus, he was rather worried about this.

He sent away Boltely with a flicker of his hand, as he contemplated on what to do next about that particular situation brewing next to them. On one hand, they had walls around the city and could use the ol' oil and flame trick if needed to keep them away the fleet invading them, but on the other, they'd butcher the local life if they did that deed and they needed the fish to keep them alfoat on the island. For there was a certain danger, lurking in the deep tropical woods of Lys; which was full of poisons, and other various creatures that could murder one if needed. So the fish were their only source of food, beyond the agricultural elements the island somewhat indulged in, given that they had numerous other sources of food on the island.