╰ ┈ [ calahan skogman, 27 , cisgender male , he/his ] in the time of dragons , wulfrik karstark is entering the game of thrones . said to be playful + adaptable , we can only hope that is the case as regrettably they are also well known to be crude + devious. when asked about them , people are always reminded of laughter at a funeral, bloody teeth hidden behind a smile, and an out-stretched hand when least expected . though they are the brother of the ruling lord of karhold , their true loyalties lie with house karstark and rumour has it that if given the choice they would support their family above all else . those of us in the shadows wish them luck and can only hope they will survive what is to come . ── casper , 28 , cst , she/her .
mbti: estp -- extroverted, observant, thinking, and prospecting.
enneagram: the enthusiast.
moral alignment: chaotic good.
character inspiration: han solo (star wars), guy gardner (dc comics), michaelangelo (teenage mutant ninja turtles), johnny storm (marvel comics), charlie kelly (it’s always sunny), ryuji sakamoto (persona 5), harwin strong.
III. 𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘
faceclaim: calahan skogman.
hair color: dirty blonde.
eye color: blue.
height: 6'4''.
build: lean brick shit house.
distinguishing characteristic(s): insists on something with fur even in the heat, scar at the left corner of his bottom lip and through his left brow from training with his siblings, smaller scattered on torso.
four of six - “and somehow, the gods blessed me with you, my easiest birth. where have you found yourself now?” often said in jest by his mother when she was made aware of just what wulfrik had done. the fourth son to torrhen karstark, wulfrik did not feel or perhaps respect, the weight of tradition that a ruling family ought to. what he did feel was his father’s withering stare, what he can remember of it given he was so young, and his mother’s tired but loving smile. he holds onto the latter more.
wolf of karhold - for better or worse, wulfrik took advantage of the lack of expectation given his position of birth from a very young age. while he did not expect to ever rule, from a boy to a man, gods be damned if his howl was never heard from karhold, to winterfell, to even bear island. karhold was never quiet on account of him and he never spent long inside any four walls, quick to shed any formalities of lord and shift into something else. and if at the end of the day he was bloody with a story or two to share with his siblings, then it was a good day.
cry wolf - something he understands well is that those outside of the north expect brutal and biting natures from those that find comfort in ice. anytime he and his skin tragically find themselves south, he plays into that and tells tall-tales of what can be found in the woods in the north on the darkest days. contrary to this, he is a well-read and insightful man, not unaware of the games at play around him. whether he cares about them is the question.
blood and wine - wulfrik found himself at home where wine and blood easily flow. skirmishes, taverns, and even though their pageantry is lost on him, tournaments. he prefers a contest of wills on a field, not across tables or addled by arbitrary favors and rulings. he is a mostly good-natured and jovial, if a little crass, but can quickly shift when the wind changes, especially when his family is involved. he is the ‘fuck around and find out’ party karstark brother.
brother mine - there are few things in the realm that wulfrik takes seriously. his family is among them. he is quick to be at cayn’s side, quick to correct any insult thrown his family’s way. he already has and would kill again for his family. he takes the responsibility of an older brother to his brother and sister to heart, just as he does the irresponsibility of a younger brother to his older brothers. he would put himself before any arrow and any sword if it meant protecting them. as much as he pesters and makes light of cayn’s position, he loves him wholeheartedly and silently looks up to him. he owes cayn a great deal.
do you want to build a snowman* - anytime the idea of a proposal or marriage was so much as whispered in the walls of karhold, wulfrik would construct a snowman and present it as anyone’s betrothed. it’s a tradition he has held from a very young age and one that his father heartily disapproved of from what he can remember.
VI. 𝗪𝗔𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗗 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗡𝗘𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡𝗦
book club - it’s a little known secret that wulfrik enjoys the written word as much as he enjoys sharp steel. this is someone that knows his secret and they indulge on swapping stories.
bad blood - all here for a friendship that turned sour and whenever they’re in a shared space, it’s volatile. wulf can be very petty and this relationship gets the whole of that.
running with the wolves - someone that is as adventurous and perhaps reckless as wulfrik is. they don’t know fear and have made a friendship of chasing after an adrenaline high.
wherever i may roam - as soon as he was of age, wulfrik took to traveling where and when he could. he could have easily found himself in the halls of any family, either as a welcome guest or a nuisance.
begrudging respect - this could be someone that he often engages in duels with, either physical or otherwise, and there’s a respect between them that has been built over the years.
general ideas! - flings, enemies to friends or otherwise, someone that believes in the bullshit he says about the north, childhood friends, sparring pals, drinking buddies, tavern brawl partners.
aster bowed deeply to the other man, thrusting his arms out dramatically so that his coat flared out as well. if he could wear something like this every day of his life, he would die a happy man. “ lord aster tyrell of highgarden, third son to the name, and all that pompous nonsense,” he declared, popping back up with a grin. “ and you are one of the stark lads, right? i’ve heard of you from your sister, dilara.” at the question, the man let out a very exaggerated sigh, resting his chin on his hand. “ my night is actually going terrible…” his eyes flicked to the pouch on wulf’s hip. “ i have yet to taste a delicious tart.”
.
In answer to Aster Tyrell’s flourish and bow, Wulfrik grunted inelegantly and nodded. As close as he would be getting to a bow that evening. But then matched Aster’s grin with one of his own. “Ah, not a Stark lad, but a Karstark lad,” he corrected with a hand raised above his head, palm down. “Easy mistake. Further north. Dilara Stark, wonderful as she is, is no sister of mine.”
Wulfrik was acutely aware of the weight the stolen tarts held. Worth more than a handful of gold dragons, they were. He followed the line that Aster’s eyes cut toward the pouch.
“Terrible to hear that,” he said slowly. Surrender would not come so easy. “They’re going missing rather quickly, aren’t they? Who allowed such tragedy to befall this wedding?”
" quick question . " the man said , taking a seat across the table from his younger brother . lips holding firm to a devious smirk . " exactly how much ale do i need to feed you to make a fool of yourself ? " a brief pause held the conversation , intrigue alight behind brown eyes . " hypothetically , of course . "
.
“The night is young, we can always find out,” Wulfrik answered with a grin as he tapped his finger against the cup already on the table. Already prepared for his brother to join him, he slid another across the table. “Looking at this room though, another fool might make it a crowd. Had your fill of the fun already? Or, hear me out, do we need to make our own? This wedding is much too...southern.”
Storming away from his wife had left Mateo with the option of simply staring at the wedding festivites blankly as he determined whether or not he should leave for their rooms. He doubted she would be there, all too sure that she would be drinking somewhere to ease her aches, and yet he did not wish to go there. Perhaps in fear she would be there, and another fight would begin anew. Or perhaps in fear of her not, his only companion the silence he created for himself. The glass of wine was not going to be drunk until whoever this was asked for it. His hand claimed it while looking at the young man in front of him. “Yes, I am.” He was acutely aware that he should not have this drink, it would further sour his mood, and yet the glass rose to his mouth to take a sip. “I’m sure you are capable of finding another drink somewhere in this large hall, full of drinks.”
.
A look of disbelief settled across Wulfrik’s face as the man, previously uninterested in the wine, suddenly was. Then he laughed and conceded with a small nod, a flash of his palms to his sides. The man was correct, he certainly could find another glass, but this small interaction made that glass the most interesting glass in the entire room. If only for the man’s clear annoyance and that Wulfrik was in a jesting mood. Had been the moment he stepped through the great doors. An apology could be made later.
“Aye, I could, but that drink caught my eye from across the room,” he sighed as he rubbed at his chin. Made a show of looking melancholic as he searched this man’s face. Hells, he looked so damn familiar. What was--? Ah, he found it. Like father, like son, neither seemed to want anything to do with the celebrations. “Is it good at least? I’m sure you would know, Lord Marbrand. Is it one of yours then?”
“Hey stranger,” was the greeting Shivani gave Wulfrik after coming up beside him. It’d only been three years since she last saw the second youngest Kharstark. They used to get along pretty well and could get into quite a bit of trouble together. She’d missed him a little during her travels. But she’d never say it out loud, especially when she wasn’t sure who she could trust at the moment. “Have you been causing much trouble without me?”
.
“Stranger?” Wulfrik’s head whipped around at Shivani Bolton’s voice. Thank the Old Gods, another friend in King’s Landing, though his joyous expression cut itself off at the head. Brow raised in question, the corner of his mouth followed with it as he loosely folded his arms and leaned back. Observed her with a comically suspicious leer. “Ah, attempts have been made but never has been quite the same. It took a wedding of all things to draw you back out then?”
The mood of the celebration seemed to be shifting and Wulfrik could sense it like a northern wind. The crack of his laughter quieted and the frenetic pace he held throughout the hall slowed. Now was the time settle, to observe, and to listen. And who better to find his moment of quiet beside than Malina Bolton, as gracious as ever? His grin broadened as he collapsed in the empty seat beside her, a flurry of furs and a slight splash of ale upon the table.
“Lady Bolton,” he called as he ungraciously settled his elbows on the table and let loose a heavy breath. “What a lighthouse you are. It’s getting restless out there.”
The murmur of unease didn’t deter his smile but it did level it. There was no need for appearances with Malina. His eyes narrowed as he shot a look over his shoulder to watch.
westeros is foreign to him , the south of the country even more so . the heat here is different then in lys , less warm but more stifling in a sense . emerald hues scan the crowds , briefly coming across the bride - surrounded by guests . he smiles just a bit before a bit of fur catches his attention . “ your fur is glorious . pieces like this are hard to come by in my home so forgive me for the bother . ”
.
“Glorious indeed, my new friend.” Wulfrik had vainly been waiting for the moment that someone had something to say about his furs other than that they were impractical in a place such as King’s Landing. Let it be impractical. Let them know where he called home, where he answered to. “Aye, this is a special one. We hunted each other for three days. You bond with a creature like this after so long. ‘Tis an honor to have them here with me.”
His hand dropped from the ends of the fur and he cocked his head. At the word bother, he waved his hand dismissively.
“Ah, no bother to be found in an honest statement,” he laughed. “Where do you call home then?”
“These tarts are shit, aren’t they?” The gasp of insult that filled the air next to him was worth it. Enough to draw them away from him so he could slip a handful into a pouch at his hip. Task accomplished. The journey home would be filled with more than prodding questions at just what the hell was going on with Cayn and Aurore. Wulfrik felt eyes on him and glanced up to meet them head on.
“...Shit enough to share with others and spread the word,” he said quickly, then couldn’t keep a laugh from spilling out. He eyed the other man. “Ah. You’re from the place with the flowers, the gardens--Highgarden, that’s the one--aren’t you? How’s the night finding you?”
Good behavior was something that Wulfrik had briefly considered at the door, then never again as the night continued on. It wasn’t his wedding. He was comfortable as he was, bouncing back and forth between the walls to remind everyone it was a celebration. If only for the sake of those with too many eyes and ears on them. A pause from his self-appointed duty led him to a table with few near it. He intensely eyed an unspoken for glass of wine.
“Are you going to have that?” His gaze flickered up to very serious man beside it. A very serious, familiar man. He looked like a friend of his. Then he laughed, held onto that thought. “Aye, perhaps you need it. I can find another. Unless...?”
With a good deal of ale in him and his finest furs around his shoulders, Wulfrik felt light as a feather. Though his steps and laughter was anything but. Everyone seemed too tightly wound, too on edge over something. Was this what it was like in the south? So he opted to blur his vision just enough to ignore the edge but certainly not his friends.
“Brynden Marbrand, my friend, why the hell are you idling?” His voice was a thunderclap across the table he stood in front of. A judgmental hand on his hip and a grin on his face, he cocked his head at his quiet friend. “‘Tis a wedding, not a funeral, though it quickly could be given the gossip. So. Come on, there’s drinks to be had. Have you had any? Come, come, I’ll get you something.”
the karstark lord has adjusted his attire to match his northern attitude while being conscious of southern temperaments. winter's sun out, guns out, and wolf teeth on display.
The spare sword Wulfrik had been given by the sparring grounds attendant felt like an unbalanced insult in his hand but he did not fault the boy for it. Swords in King’s Landing were crafted differently, he figured. He weighed it in both hands, his left favored over the right, then rolled his shoulders once satisfied. It would do and he told the wide-eyed boy as much. Just as he made ready to deliver the King’s Justice to a strawman, he paused as his eyes caught flash of familiar movement. Squinted across the field and through the bodies of others that made ready to do the same.
“Theodore Baratheon, is that you?” He unceremoniously, perhaps dangerously, crossed along the field with a wide grin on his face. “Aye, it is!” He laughed, both in relief and joy. Someone he knew. Someone he liked, at that. A rare find in the capital. “Am I glad to see you, here of all damned places. How are you, friend? Tell me everything.”
settling into the capital would not happen for lord karstark . no matter his amusement with the lords and ladies of the court and his affinity for toying with them , he was uncomfortable . he had never set foot on land anywhere south of riverrun . no matter his distaste for the man , his father’s words echoed through his mind . supplying daily reminders that despite the niceties , southerners were not to be trusted . nonetheless , he had a part to play . to pretend to enjoy the festivities and keep his bitter distaste within the confines of his own mouth . thus , 𝐂𝐀𝐘𝐍 found himself perusing the paths of the street of flour .
his consumption of the recently purchased lemon cake was halted , gaze settling on wulfrik . blank stare met his words , amusement lingering on his plain face . “ i think you’re right . i believe i saw some players leading a mutt to the stage that seemed to resemble you , brother . perhaps in honor of your arrival . ” the man smirked , hand clapping the younger brother’s back . “ are you enjoying the south ? ”
.
“And what a fine mutt he must be,” Wulfrik said with a whistle, the very image of pride. “And yours? I’m sure they found the finest flea-bitten cloak for it.” The laughter in his tone dwindled, his eyes sharp as he surveyed the rows before them. His voice lowered as he inclined his head, unfolded his arms to settle a hand on his belt. “I hope they took some fingers to liven up the performance.”
At Cayn’s question, he hummed low in consideration. Fiddled with one of the ragged ends of the fur strung about his shoulders. The capital was filled with familiar faces, he did not loathe that. But he loathed how the capital could change them when shadows fell and the festivities ceased.
“Between taking it or leaving it, you already know the answer,” he said with a grunt as he began to walk. He grinned at his brother. “But it is good to see some of our friends here, equally as miserable. Are you?”
As Aurore walked along the shore of Blackwater Bay, the peaceful quiet of the evening was ruined by the rather angry barking of a seal. She was all too familiar with the temper of certain sea animals, and her first inclination was to leave the creature be…had it not been for the familiar voice calling out for help. The sound of the grown man’s desperate pleas were absolute music to her ears, and she wasted no time in jogging towards the source with a grin on her face.
Soon enough she was faced with a scene she would treasure for years to come. Wulfrik Karstark. One angry seal cornering him on a rock that jut out from the spray of the ocean. A large pool of water separating them from the shore. She savored the picture it made before cupping her hands around her mouth. “Fair maiden!” she called out, already more than willing to milk this for all it was worth. “Are you in distress? Might I be of service? Does this foul dragon threaten your maidenhood?” She was thankful there was no one around to hear her teases that were wholly inappropriate for noble ears.
.
Wulfrik Karstark did not like the ocean. Scorned the very thing and if he found himself on a ship, he stress slept until land was once more in reach. It was something he enjoyed looking at, from a distance atop the Grey Cliffs. As it was meant to be.
Wulfrik Karstark after four glasses of a fine Dornish red loved the ocean. Kings Landing was too warm for him but the ocean was just cold enough that if he closed his eyes, it felt like the north. Until the sand disappeared from under his feet and he drifted home. Or towards the closest rock that the ocean pulled him toward. A rock already occupied by someone he could not shout off. The hoarseness of his voice had said as much. Sea spray in his eyes, he squinted towards the shoreline. Thank the Old Gods, someone had heard him.
“Rory,” he called out, his northern tone a thankful drawl. That little fear in him faded. “Aye, they wish to be wed and did not take kindly to my refusal. We’ve only just met!” Better to laugh than consider where he was. Made sluggish by the red in him, he skittered around the rock like a lethargic spider in furs.
“If someone of the highest moral fiber offered aid," he said loudly. “I would be thankful. Might even share some of my red, wherever it went off to.”
closed to: @ccstaway
where: king’s landing markets
If Wulfrik were to spend longer than necessary in King’s Landing for a wedding of all things, he would make the most of it. Make merriment for himself as the days slipped into nights. The journey had been spent preparing his tallest tales, cleaning his finest furs that he insisted on never parting with no matter the warmth. He would rob King’s Landing of taking his life by submitting to heatstroke first and there was humor to be found there, those his siblings insisted there was not.
It was on the third or perhaps fourth day, he wasn’t quite sure, that he sidled up to his oldest brother on the outskirts of the marketplace. He pushed back his hair and eyed the rows of merchants. The games of childhood that he often neglected with his need to run. His expression softened and then he grinned, looked at his brother from the corner of his eye as he folded his arms.
“I had a funny thought this morning,” he began, voice underlined with a tone of laughter. “Do you think they get dogs to play the North in those plays of theirs? If so, should we meet them?”
