#dragonfire.starter

[wyldwolves]

FOR: open to all in king's landing.

LOCATION: the training yard of the Red keep

A sister married and a battle fought but while superficial wounds and savagely tender brushes with death would fade soon enough - Elia wasn't foolish to the game. She had played it once before and it had failed to kill her and it would fail again and she would watch Obella thrive in an environment suited to her unique gifts. Elia would twist and contort in her beautiful shadows watching sunlight slip from her eyes to be the shadow and the elder sister who by no choice of her own was sword. shield, fangs, teeth and the pit viper coiled and ready to strike still full of poison. She was a result but Elia had learned to embrace it - to conceal it in a face that could launch ships and destroy weaker beings with a smile and wink.

Cracking a neck, the woman who had once been called the sun herself and still was the heavenly body breathed in deeply. Let her at another field of battle, at a worthy challenge to spend pent up energy- something to feel alive. She had scars. Her own beautiful marks for how many times death had failed to catch her. They never seemed to mar her figure and maybe even the god of death marveled at how she wore them. Flipping  a knife in the air briefly before leaning back against a fence in the training yard - Elia questioned the Targaryens ability to protect her, Obella, that was. Dragons were dragons but even dragons could be killed - the sun always burned. "What a honeymoon for my sister, marry a dragon and plunge headfirst into a war. No better time to train while enemies lick their wounds. They aren't going to stay idle long themselves" the Martell sun breathed. One more fluid flip of her blade and Elia landed it firmly in the head of a dummy.

[prodixal]

open starter. location: Halls of the Red Keep

"I have been put in a time-out." he states, sitting on the stairs leading up to a ridiculous number of bedchambers, bathrooms, libraries, and what seemed to be an endless maze of rooms that served no purpose. Red Keep was an architectural marvel, and there were times he understood why so many lost their lives to keep it, to gain it, to own it. As a child, running around its many halls and its cold walls felt like a dream. But children grow out of childish wonders, and reality sets in and one begins to see a cage for what it really is. Tonight, the only thing Varyn could find within these walls to offer even an atom of comfort, was memories he had left behind, all those years ago. And comfort was what he needed, as he searched for a moment of solitude to clear his drunken mind. "My family fears all the wine might cause me to say something unbecoming of a Lord." a scoff. "Now that would be something, wouldn't it? I - myself - fear these festivities are in desperate need of a bit of scandal -- all this tension in the air with not a single incident is making for a rather dull affair." he takes another sip of the wine and then looks at the other as if seeing them for the first time. "Oh, forgive me, am I in your way?"

[fyrebrandd]

open starter: king's landing residents location: the red keep.

her limbs ached with the weight of the day.

the flight from green fork had been long, the air sharp against her skin, but she had hardly noticed. her mind had been elsewhere—on the wounded strapped to grey ghost’s back, on the dead they could not save, on the cries that had long since settled into the marrow of her bones.

she had not rested. there had been no time. again and again, she had taken to the skies, her dragon’s wings beating against the wind as she ferried men from battlefield to home, from life to death. her gown was stiff with dried blood, some of it hers, most of it not. her hands, too, were stained, though she had long since stopped trying to scrub them clean. the mud from the riverlands clung to her skin, her hair, settling into the creases of her exhaustion.

when she finally landed, finally let herself breathe, she did not trust her voice to say anything of worth.

“water.” her throat was raw, her lips cracked from wind and wear. a small thing to ask, when her body felt like it might crumble beneath her. she did not care who heard her, who answered—only that they did.

[bloodycrxwnn]

Open starter for anyone at Driftmark

It was strange being here, on the other side of this war. There had never been any doubts, that house Blackwood would support house Targaryen in the war against the Velaryons, but herself on the other hand, obviously had doubts of where her loyalties lie. Although, there was one thing that she knew for sure, she trusted Monterys, she was loyal to him and her happiness was with the man who was now carrying the title of Prince. There was still a hood on her head, doing her best to keep her identity hidden as she walked near the harbour. There were so many ships there, it was obvious that the Velaryons had the advantage when it came to the sea, mostly with having the support of the Greyjoys. She paused, looking out at the sea for a moment, enjoying the nice morning breeze when she heard footsteps approaching.

[crcwninferncs]

The gilded gates of the Red Keep loomed larger than Xaerys Velaryon remembered, though it was not their imposing structure that made his steps falter. The strain of the short dragon ride had settled into his limbs like lead, each movement a reminder of the illness he could neither name nor escape. The young lord trailed behind his family, his limp more pronounced than usual as he ascended the grand stone steps leading to the keep. The murmurs of courtiers and servants flitted through the air, yet Xaerys heard none of it. The ache in his legs radiated upward, twisting his expression into a fleeting grimace before he smoothed it away. He knew better than to let weakness show here, where even the walls seemed to harbor secrets. Reaching the final step, he paused to catch his breath, clutching the bannister with one hand while the other hung loosely at his side. The others—his father, siblings, and an entourage of attendants—moved ahead, their laughter and conversation fading into the distance. Xaerys had no interest in keeping pace with them, not today. As he leaned heavily against the cool stone, a familiar figure emerged in the bustling courtyard beyond the entryway. It took a moment for Xaerys to place the face—a fellow noble whose name danced on the edge of memory. Relief flooded his features despite the weariness etched into his frame. He straightened as best he could, favoring his aching leg as he hobbled toward them. “Do you know where the maester might be?” Xaerys’ voice was steady, but his tone carried an unmistakable undercurrent of strain. His hair, usually immaculate, clung to his forehead, and his eyes betrayed the pain he tried so desperately to hide. “I could use his expertise before I collapse in some cursed hallway.” The faintest smirk tugged at his lips, an attempt to mask vulnerability with humor, though the effort cost him.

[iceforveins]

open starter: driftmark residents location: high tide

the halls of high tide had never felt so hollow.

the salt-laden air carried the scent of the sea, as it always had, but tonight it mingled with the iron tang of blood and the stifling weight of smoke from the pyres still burning. corwyn velaryon was dead. the battle at green fork was won—if such ruin could be called victory—but the cost had been steep, and the taste of it bitter on edric stark’s tongue.

he sat on his wheelchair at the edge of the great hall, the firelight casting long shadows across the stone. the air was thick with the murmur of voices, hushed but urgent, nobles and knights alike whispering of what was to come.

edrik had no answers—only exhaustion, only the dull ache of wounds yet to heal, and the knowledge that the war had not ended with corwyn’s death. it had only begun anew.

his grey eyes flicked across the room, seeking—what, he was not certain. a familiar face. a voice of reason. another survivor of green fork. or perhaps simply a distraction from the weight pressing against his ribs.

“have you come to speak of the dead?” his voice was low, rough from war and wear. “or of what comes after them?”

[prodixal]

location: somewhere in the Red Keep open to all.

"Oh, yeah, no sorry, apologies..." he says, somewhat sarcastically, somewhat hopeful the other would not see it that way. "I've no intention of attending this traitor get-together, I do wish the rest of you the best of luck with it, however."

[wyldwolves]

FOR: open to all in king's landing.

LOCATION: an ambiguous location ( eden couldn't pick )

His skin itched, longed for action and yet it had been his duty to remain here to watch and remain a guard to the lives of those in the landing, to the family he swore his sword to. To the targaryen. He knew while the inaction of the scene had killed him softly he built himself up as he build his house into greatness. Brick by brick. It was not done overnight and his ambitions were large desirous to be a lord greater one day than his father's father was. It was his only reason for not swearing the white knowing if it were for him alone he would've been part of the queensguard and one of its greatest members. The practical and ambitious being packed though he rolled up his sleeves. "The gods have favored us despite the losses I am told of. We should never forget their sacrifice. Good soldiers the lot of them unfortunate to have lost many friends."