⚔ Ser Artys Grafton
♛ 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓 ♛ — SER ARTYS GRAFTON the HEDGE KNIGHT from AMARANTH. tales of this 34 year old CIS MALE tell of their BOLD and FREE-SPIRTED nature, but beware, for they are also UNCOUTH and VOLATILE. the gossips whisper they use HE/HIM pronouns and look strangely like MICHIEL HUISMAN. but i’ve also heard they bring images of A WOLFISH SMILE OVER A BLOODSTAINED AXE, FADED LEATHER PAULDRONS AND CHIPPED IRON SWORDS, AND SLURRED, DRUNKEN CURSE WORDS IN A SMOKY DIM TAVERN to mind. how will their story unfold?
Content Warning: Death, Fire, and general angst
i. ( house grafton ) House Grafton was only minor nobility. A small speck of paint on the vast canvas of Elyria. They served a lord, who served another lord, who served another lord, who served the Lord of Amaranth, who then served the King. Artys knew that he would never marry a Princess, nor was it very likely that he would ever have land of his own right. What he could do, however, was master the sword. He could learn how to command armies. He could protect his family and kill his enemies. His father, Ser Elys, taught him to fight. Elys served their lord and had the honor of being the master-at-arms, and it was generally expected that Artys would grow up one day to take his place.
ii. ( wanderlust ) Though his family name did not hold the prestige of other, greater dynasties, Artys was still a nobleman, and he grew up in relative comfort-- at least compared to the commoners. Such privilege coupled with the dangerous ambitions of a talented adolescent boy led to a curiosity and desire for something new that he found difficult to quench. On his twentieth nameday, he was knighted and known onward as Ser Artys. It quieted him for a time. He served under his father in the household guard until such a time came that the feeling returned, and this time he could not bring himself to say no. He bid goodbye to his father, his lord, mother and sister too, and set his sights on Amaranth’s open country.
iii. ( first loves ) Ser Artys knew great happiness during those years. He was a cocky, surefire lad who was too stubborn for his own good, but he knew love and he knew kindness. Willas was a man with sandy brown hair and long slender fingers that one day reached for Artys’ hand, that touched him all over, on the inside and out. Ser Artys found employment in the service of Willas’ father, a merchant and member of one of Kingsport’s trading guilds. It was here that a new family blossomed. One, two... then five, then six years went by. They never married, but Willas and Artys found love. It was a passionate and heady rarity. A tale for the bards.
iv. ( twin sister ) Save for Willas, the person that Artys loved most was his twin sister, Anyah. It was a bright morning in Kingsport when a messenger brought a letter from her. Brother, she’d written, and then she asked if she might come to see him, to meet the man who’d captured his heart, and to see the city for herself, in all of its smell and splendor. She came by ship. He would never forget the way she looked riding into port, the pink shade of her skirts-- which she later informed him that it was her favorite dress, and the way the wind blew chaos in her curls. Willas loved her, Anyah loved him, and Artys loved the both of them.
v. ( the sickness ) He didn’t even know there was a sickness going around, until he found himself feverish and sweating, too dizzy to lace up his own boots. It was a delirious breed. His dreams were filled with strange creatures and sounds that made him toss and turn in the night. Willas became sick shortly after, joining Artys on his sickbed. They were lying right next to each other when Willas gasped out his life’s breath for the final time. It was during the middle of the night, and Artys did not even notice. When he opened his eyes the next morning, it was with a scream. Willas was found by his father. In his grief and his pain, he cast Artys and Anyah from his home.
vi. ( the shipwreck ) Artys was still fighting the fever when he and his sister boarded a ship back home, to Amaranth and their father. They were caught in an autumn storm, a great grey beast that spawned waves as tall as any castle he’d ever seen. The merchant’s vessel they were on carried pitch and oil, and somehow in the chaos, fire was unleashed throughout the cargo hold. It was an accidental massacre. When the fire stopped, the ship sank into the water, bringing ghosts and the last treasure of his life down with it. His sister died during the horror of it all. Artys would have died too, if it weren’t for the smugglers that found him, hoisting him onto a dingy that they used to see what the commotion was. They helped to nurse his body back to health, but at that point there was little to be done about his soul.
vii. ( the sadness ) Willas was gone. Anyah was gone. He returned home tired and weary, resigned to his lot in life and wishing that his sister had never left to come see him at all. He expected to return home to his parents, to deliver them with awful news that nobody would ever want to hear. But they were dead too. Another sickness, a different one, took his mother. His father died heroically, protecting a greater and more powerful lord, but that was small comfort to Ser Artys, who had lost it all. That greater and more powerful lord, in his gratitude and generosity, took Artys into his service. A gift to the son of his savior, in a way. It was everything he wanted as a boy, what he had left his home to find. Bitterness took root in him, and a general disdain for the happier things in life. It twisted him up inside to see others in their joy. There was so much anger in him these days, rage and resentment. He focused on his work. On the protecting, the killing, the advanced interrogation. He lost himself in booze on some nights, lovers the other. He fought in wars, and reveled in the blood staining his hands, his heart, his sword.
