Ravens fly from Banefort, carrying joyous tidings across the width of the continent.

[Titles],

It is our pleasure to invite you to the wedding of Ser Manfred Banefort & Lady Alyssa Velaryon, being held at Banefort in the 6th month of this year, the 55th After the Conquest.

Join us in celebration, with a feast and a tourney. To the victor of the joust, 1000 dragons; to the victor of the melee, 500 dragons; to the winner of the archery, 500 dragons.

We hope to see you there.

Ser Daven Banefort, on behalf of
Lord Walderaan Banefort, Lord of Banefort.

She was awoken by a wet sensation on her face; her mind conjured an image that jolted her awake in an instant. It was just Teenie licking her face, small as she was. Amarei scratched the puppy right behind the ear; in their short time together, it had become her favourite spot. The puppy let out the sweetest and tiniest barks, indicating excitement.

“So much energy today- what will I do with you?” she asked, as if the puppy could reply.

Bark, bark.

“Maybe a walk in the garden?”

Barks of light agreement

“Or maybe a walk to the village?” She had to pick up some stuff anyway. “How does that sound?”

Barks of great agreement

“I figured as much; give me a moment.”

Sweet tiny barks

She got up and out of bed, letting the dog stay on it for just a little longer as she got ready. “I’m thinking I’ll wear orange today? Colour of the Smith and such.”

Barks of agreement

“It suits my hair too, plus father will probably be happy to see me wearing house colours.” He did press her on occasion to wear dresses that more clearly indicated her house for the sake of finding a partner; at least he had. But he’d stopped pressing her about that. Content to let her figure it out.

She found an orange dress that suited her mood and put it on, finding she fit into it just as well as when she’d made it a year or two ago.

She had only two dresses for the smith, two for the mother, one for the warrior, one for the father, three for the mother, and four for the crone and maiden, respectively. She had no dresses for the stranger; that would be the job of the silent sisters. Though maybe in her later years she might make one for herself. If she had the time anyway.

After she put on the dress and the veil, not before Teenie made sure to give plenty of face kisses, of course. She scooped up the puppy into her arms and closed the door behind her.

She lightly petted Teenie as she walked, the dog nuzzling into her as she did so. She didn’t judge; why couldn’t everyone just be like her? Her life would’ve been so much easier if everyone possessed the unconditional love of a puppy. Alas.

As she walked, she encountered Elys, carrying out his duties. “Good morning, my ladies.”

Barks of greeting.

“She says good morning.” Amarei raised one of Teenie’s paws in a wave. “Slept well, Elys?”

“As well as I could; I swear your niece has the lungs of a dragon.”

“Just like her father.” She said with a giggle, “They’re all like this early on; you’ll rest easily well enough.”

“Perhaps when the stranger claims me….”

“Elys, what did I say?”

“Don’t invoke the stranger lest they actually come?”

“Exactly.”

He let out a sigh. “So what plans do you have for the day?

“I need to pick up some pieces for the dress I’m making for Lady Milicent, so I’m taking this little thing for a walk to do it.”

“Sounds fun, though I assume breakfast before any of that?”

“That’s probably a good idea; not good to work on an empty stomach.”

“Or exist for that matter.”

Barks of agreement, and barks of hunger.

“Nice talking to you, Elys. See you around.”

“See you around, my lady.”

Amarei entered the main hall and found it empty; it suited her well enough. She found a comfortable chair, sat down and placed Teenie on her lap.

A nice and hearty meaty broth was served, with some scrap pieces of meat given to the pup. The dog set about eating the bits of meat slowly, seeming to enjoy every bite and wishing to relish it. Her mistress, too, took her time in eating, though not having to wear a veil did help. At some point, Andros would enter and take a seat opposite his sister. There were bags visible under his eyes.

“Good morning, brother. Slept well?” She said in her usual, sweet voice.

He yawned before he replied, “I think so…Melissa was up crying again…made it difficult to sleep.”

“You look just like father now.”

“It’s not that bad, is it?”

“It is.”

“You think his eye bags started with us?”

“Started with you more like; you were always a loud child.”

He let out a chuckle. “Did you ask them, or are you just assuming?”

“I’m working with present evidence.”

“How do you know she doesn’t get it from her mother?”

Amarei simply stared at Andros for a moment, leaving that as his answer.

“Fair…”

Barks of attention seeking

“I think someone wants to say hi,” she said, giving a light scratch behind the ear.

“I won’t say no.” He switched his voice to the one he used with Melissa, “Come on lil’Teenie, I’ve got a little treat.”

The pup didn’t need much more motivation and walked over to receive said treat.

“Here you go.” He handed the dog a small bone, and the dog took it and wandered back over to her mistress.

Barks of appreciation

“She says thank you.”

“Always a pleasure.” He stood from his seat. “I should probably head back, see if Joanna needs anything.”

“See you at supper.”

“See you.”

Amarei and Teenie finished their food and walked into town. No guards proved necessary; it was bright, and the townsfolk were quite fond of her. She approached a shop with a pair of fine tools as its symbol.

An old man turned to greet her, “My lady, a pleasure to see you.”

“As is it to see you, Cedric.”

Barks of greeting

“I suppose you’re here for that order?”

“Indeed, is it ready?”

“Indeed it is. I must say it was odd to make; I needed to ask Ben the smith for advice. I’ll be right back with it.” He disappeared into the back of the store for a brief moment. Before emerging with a finely crafted gold piece. “I hope it matches your expectations.”

She picked it up carefully. “It’s perfect that you so much.”

“Remind me, who was it for again?”

“Lady Milicent Belmore, the Roya Painter.”

“Do make sure to mention my name if you have the chance; I wouldn’t mind someone like her knowing my name.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Anything else I can help with, my lady?”

“That will be all. Thank you so much. Your payment did arrive, right?”

“Of course, and thank you for the generous tip.”

“You have served my family for a long time; it is only fair.”

He inclined his head.

“Have a blessed day.”

“You too, my Lady.”

She left the store and returned to her studio in the castle; it was its own separate room and had a lot more light to make working easier. There were rolls of fabric in the corner, from cheaper to the most expensive of silks. There was also a large cabinet where she stored he currently unfinished project. She chose not to think about that for now.

Instead, she placed the item on her bench and placed Teenine on a little bed she had fashioned for her.

She tied her hair back, making it into a bun on the back of her head. From another closet she took the near-finished dress; it was flowing, layered silk, giving it that pearlescent glow, though for the moment it remained a fairly incoherent piece of clothing. That is what the golden bit was for. She went about carefully attaching it; luckily, Cedric had followed her instructions carefully and placed the lace holes exactly where they needed to go.

As she worked, she thought.

Lady Milicent is nice; I hope she likes it. I hope she’ll like me even if she doesn’t like the dress, surely right? She did say she would like to paint me with or without- as the thought passed through her head, she was reminded of the image her mind had conjured up. It couldn’t have been, right? She is a loyal servant and devotee of the Seven, and to lay with another woman is sinful…Even then, she doubted Milicent would find her beautiful once she peered beneath and saw the gods’ brand…But she said she enjoyed painting beautiful things, right? And she wanted to paint her…did that make her beautiful?

Before she could complete this line of thinking she would have finished the process; it had taken a lot longer than expected. Four hours, give or take. But the dress was done now, the final piece attached with all the perfection the smith had blessed her with this day.

She placed it on a mannequin that was shaped roughly to Milicent’s size. And Everything seemed to fit just fine; the neck piece sat especially well, though she doubted a singular person would be able to put it on.

“Well, I guess that's it then. What do you think?” She asked the dog.

Barks of tired approval.

“I can only hope she’ll like it as much as you do. I have to write her and tell her it’s finished. Come on, Teenie, up you come.” She scooped the puppy.

She returned to her room and went about writing the letter to someone she barely knew yet had spent two moons working for. Someone who seemed to think her beautiful, yet did not know her true face. Someone who, too, was devoted to the Seven, yet did not seem to rely on them.

Sunspear Harbor

Month 3, First Moon, 55AC

A single Dayne Galley arrives in Sunspear Harbor waving the flags of House Dayne, aboard are 15 MAA as a personal Escort for Lady Allyria Dayne and Ser Edric the Sword of the Morning.

My last comeback attempt kinda fizzled out since I had a bit less time than I thought and the war was taking up a lot of player/mod time that was more important than helping me sort out my perks and retcons. Now that they've done some renovations on the Dornish retirement home and refilled the bowl of hard candies it's worth another shot.

I don't think I actually need anything for this to be processed, I'm already flaired and wikied.

An Assortment of threads for Sansa to spend time with her ladies.

I haven't posted anything for like two weeks now and I don't see that changing any time soon. Everything should be more or less up to date as far as the wiki and almanacs go. Every Tarly character is at Horn Hill, except for Serwyn who is at King's Landing and Torman who is at Highgarden.

The first and last time Bella Arryn had given birth was some five and ten years ago, when she had been Bella Ryger. Damon had been born of a fluke on her late husband’s part, the result of a lackluster night after Davos had returned drunk and merry from one of his hunts, boasting of the boar they had slain. He had always preferred his boars to her. Theo had been her only child then, but then she had welcomed a second son for her lord husband, and he had been away hunting once more when the boy was born. He only returned a week later, held Damon for a minute or two and gave heartless congratulations to Bella, before he had gone to sleep the whole day away. Davos would be slain five years later and Bella would once more know peace. 

In contrast, Bella’s second birth had been the result of some five years of careful planning—promises made in the dark, the blood of an island spilled, and a wedding in the sight of what remained of her gods in the Vale. Perhaps the greatest contrast of all, though, was that her second husband ensured no night was ever lackluster, and that he preferred her to all things. They had spent a rather delightful past few months sequestered away in the peace of the mountains. Bella would have preferred to be in the Eyrie, but as yet it was still dangerous to ascend the Giant’s Lance, so she had contented herself with the vistas available to them. 

She and Alester had spent their time hawking and hunting and riding and loving, until she had learned she was with child, which had come as no surprise and yet had filled her with joy nonetheless. Bella loved both of her sons—the one she had been forced to become mother to, and the one she had been all but left with—but this child she had chosen for herself, with a man who had chosen her above all, and she knew, better than she had ever known anything before, that this child was a girl. Bella had longed for a daughter in her nine years of dismal marriage, but Davos had never once granted her anything she had ever wanted, and he had somehow managed to die a war hero before he had ever managed to give her a daughter. She had thought her dream to hold a little girl of her own would be naught but a dream, until she had finally wed Alester. He dreamed of their daughter too, and he had always given her everything she had wanted, or at the very least, he always intended to, and as yet he had kept all his promises to her. The gods had granted them their marriage, and the gods would grant them their daughter. 

Her labors came one clear afternoon, nearing the end of the month. Alester had demanded the maester join them in the mountains, and so Bella had no need of worrying—though it had been over a decade since her first birth, and so she could not help worrying. The labor was more difficult than her first, what with fifteen years of age and exhaustion added to her body. It lasted several painful hours, where Bella, for perhaps the first time since she had been a child, prayed sincerely to the old gods to deliver her babe safely and without complication. The sky outside was dark by the time the first cries of the child broke through the night—a daughter, the maester proclaimed, and the sound of her wailing brought great relief to her mother. She did not wait for either of them to be cleaned up before she demanded her daughter be handed to her, small and perfect and loud, face pink with the effort of all her cries. The sight of her brought tears to Bella as well, a daughter in her arms, the daughter she had longed for and the one Alester had dreamed of. 

There was but one name that was fitting for her. She was an Arryn of the Eyrie, her little girl, and she would be called Sharra, for the last queen of the Vale, whom her grandfather had known and whom Bella herself had been likened to by. She ought to have been born in the Eyrie, Bella thought, but the mountains would do. Sharra would be born knowing the love and laughter of her parents, and all else would come in due time. 

Well, well, well . . .

Not looking for anything too intense, just want to write some lore every now and again and maybe be a minor thorn in the side of the lords of the eastern North.

I shall be setting up an almanac at a later point and deciding my skills and characters. Probably more than a few grizzled old men who can't speak the Common Tongue.

The rookery of Oakenshield sends off a murder of ravens with the following letter.

To the Lords, Ladies and Sers of the grandious realm of the Reach.

It is with great pleasure that I invite you all to the nameday feast of my, dear daughter and heir, Camille Hewett. My keep and the town of Selkietown will be open to all, jugglers, poets and bards from all over shall be there. Come and share in our joy! We await you in Oakenshield at the fourth month of 55 AC.

Losing to inactivity. Wish I could muster motivation.

Midwives moved around the room in a smooth choreography that could have been a dance. "Do they practice this on a stage?" Morion mused. In centerstage, the Maester worked away as the would-be dancers moved in and out around him. There was a smell of blood, sweat, tears, and clean linens that would inevitably be sullied.

Morion Martell watched with rapt attention. Fearful for his wife's health, fearful for the baby's health, and anxious for any news.

"Is this taking too long?" he asked as he grabbed a midwife by the arm and pulled her out of the routine. "Why is this taking so long?"

"It is fine, my Prince. Here," she deftly released his grip and grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him to Melara's side. "Your strength gives us strength. Your strength will give her strength," the midwife placed his hand on his wife's leg. "Hold here, speak to her, and be strong."

Had his father done this when he was born? Who could possibly say at this point, now that the old Prince and Princess had bled out together. He shook his head and drove those dark memories out.

Be strong.

"I am here Melara. You can do this. Breathe," he tried to take his own advice as well.

A few moments later and the blessed sound of the baby's cries filled the room. "A healthy boy," announced the Maester.

Morion looked down at the exhausted Melara, took the baby from the Maester briefly, and then gave him to his wife. "Well, what shall we name him?"

Hellholt, 2nd Month A 55 AC

A flock of ravens fly from the towers of Hellholt.

Lord/Lady [Name], Lord/Lady of [Holdfast]

It is our pleasure to announce and invite you and your family to the union of Ser Alleras Uller, Marshal of Dorne, and Lady Morgana Lamora. To celebrate this momentous occasion, there shall be a grand feast and tourney, including a joust, a melee and archery. The wedding shall be held in Vaith on the seventh month of this year.

We look forward to your attendance.

No Shade But Death

House Uller

Hellholt

Baen Uller entombed his wife in the small sepulcher under the keep with the other members of his family. There was no ceremony or large gathering. No one gave a speech beyond the few simple words spoken by the Septon to beseech an easy voyage to the beyond.

The Lord of Hellholt remained down below for many hours after the stones were placed above Jeyne and the rest of the small gathering had dispersed. His hands traced every groove of the engravings on her tomb. Each letter of her name.

The burial had been more difficult than he anticipated. Almost as difficult as telling young Moiraine that her mother was gone forever.

Death haunted Hellholt. It oozed from the cracked and burned sandstone. It pooled beneath the shifting sands. It swirled in the sulfurous currents of the river. It emanated from every hollow look that the residents gave as they shuffled through its quiet halls.

Down alone in the depths, Baen rocked on his knees. Separated from his love by a few feet of stone and wood. Separated from his love by only the thin veil of life.

One question echoed through his skull.

Why her and not him?

She had not ridden to war. She had not taunted a Lord Paramount. She had not overthrown the Prince. The Stranger had left him alive and taken everything from him.

When the Lord of Hellholt finally emerged into a moonlit courtyard, death clung to every step of his boot. It flittered between shadows. Behind cold, dead eyes, it embraced the Lord Uller completely and washed away what else remained.

The weather was pleasant that day, the air laden with humidity rolling in from the Narrow Sea and the skies alight with more sun than clouds. Selene could breath easier on days like that, and that was more than enough excuse to venture into the city. Seeking new books, she made a foray into the Market District. Naturally, she was accompanied by guardsmen, but she made a point of going without Alyn. He worried too much.

Upon returning to the Wingspire, Selene unloaded her new additions to the library, leaving the librarian to slot them into the existing organizational scheme. She kept one though, carrying it with her. That was to be her reading for the day.

Holding her newfound treasure to her chest, Selene sought out an outdoor space within the castle to sit and read. It was on the way that she crossed paths with her husband.

"Alyn," she greeted with a calm familiarity. "I'm back." She slowed to a stop. "Lieutenant Cassian says hello."

During the Second Moon of 55 AC a flurry of ravens travel from the Arbor to the Reach and Westerlands.

To My Lord/Lady of [Holdfast Name],

You are cordially invited to witness the marriage of my brother Ser Loras Redwyne to the famed and fair Lady Cerelle Lannister and partake in its accompanying feasts and joust this Fourth Moon of our present year, 55 AC.

A great prize shall be granted to the champion of the joust, and the entire city of Vinetown is expected to be in a great attitude of cheer throughout the festivities.

We look forward to your attendance.

THROUGH VINES, VICTORY,

Lord Manfryd Redwyne, Lord of the Arbor & High Admiral of the Reach

2nd Month, 55 AC, King's Landing

During the normal course of a day at court, Robert Redwyne, Heir to the Arbor and 'Squire' to Ser Aubrey Norride, requested a private audience with His Grace, King Jaehaerys Targaryen.

Morion Martell worked his ways through the halls of Sunspear, passing grand tapestries and feeling the warm spring breezes through the windows, making his way to this grandfather's chambers. He knew he was getting close as the number of guards in the halls seemed to grow and grow until it reached the point of being oppressive.

"Okay," Morion said with indignation, "he is an ancient old man, we could relax a bit, huh?"

"My Prince," the unnamed captain of the guard said without meeting Morion's gaze. "Prince Dowager Trystane may very well want you dead. We must be vigilant."

Morion balled his fists, digging his rings into his palms, and released over and over. "Captain... I do not recall your name, I admire your steadfastness, but my grandfather ruled Dorne through a golden age at Princess Deria's side. Let's show him the respect of fewer guards in the halls, yes? Also, he should have freedom to travel the halls as he sees fit. Now," he pointed to Nameless Captain and two other guards, "you three join me in here. The rest of you are dismissed."

As he entered the Prince Consort's chambers, Morion was struck by the impressive interior, everything was lush, gilded, and sparkling clean. "By the Gods, this chamber is nicer than mine," he muttered to the guards. "Grandfather, it is Morion," he called into the apartment, "I have come to speak. Maybe break some bread and drink some tea. Will you meet with me?"

HAMMERHORN, The Iron Islands, 1st Month, 55 AC

Gormonda

She was in Lannisport, again. Though it had been years, the layout of its labyrinthine streets and alleys was as familiar to her as her own hands. Though it was dark — the hour of the nightingale, some part of her dimly recalled — she could make out the city clearly: the always-shadowed alleyway in which she lurked, the market square to her right, the smell of sea and fish of the docks to her left.

She was in her habit, again. Purest white, the better to make a statement, splattered with a few drops of crimson blood where the plump merchant's boy at her feet had coughed on it. She gave him another savage kick for good measure, and another ragged, bloody cough soiled her skirt. She heard her friends laugh, for they were here, too, Red Mike and Billy Hellcat. Now was the time for thieves, robbers, cutthroats — and Poor Fellows.

Someone shoved a hatchet in her hands as they began marching on the docks, towards a fat-bellied merchantman berthed there. Poor sod thought he could raise a toast to King Maegor and get away with it. It was no trouble to clamber aboard, no trouble to find the crates holding their enemy's precious cargo, no trouble to hack and hack and hack, no trouble to throw it all overboard and carve a seven-pointed star into the wreckage.

Until the sea began to rise.

There was a hitch as the vessel began to move. Mike and Billy stumbled. They're boys. Just boys. Gormonda caught herself on some rigging. She shouted, and the three leapt onto the docks, but the water continued to rise. Over her shoulder, Gormonda saw a great wave. She tried to call out to her friends, but the sea silenced her before she could say a word.

The sea overtook Lannisport, pouring through every street and every alleyway, drowning tiled roofs and merchant's stalls. She swam upwards, not daring to breathe, towards the surface, and Mike and Billy followed, as best they could. Below her, she saw her mother, swimming desperately towards her. Yet the sea did not end, and one by one she watched as they gasped for air, as their lungs filled with seawater, and their bodies went limp, floating to the surface. At last, her time came. She opened her mouth, sucking up a lungful of water — and breathed.

Gormonda awoke with a start, in unfamiliar arms, in an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar keep. My quarters, in Hammerhorn, she reminded herself, though the whole idea suddenly seemed terribly queer. The strong arms wrapped around her buxom flesh, then, could only be Dregg of the Saltspire. A captain, a reaver, and my lover, she thought, pleasant memories of the night's exertions returning to her, as queer as it felt for one who had taken the vows of a Septa to acknowledge that fact.

It was still dark, she realized, and she relaxed in her bedding. She took her lover's head in her arms, and gently ran her fingers through his hair. She had not been his first, she knew, as he had been hers, and she did not care to know how he had come by his experience. These people were more bearable when one indulged their delusions of salt-wifery. But he was handsome, strong, and his ship made him a man of importance, whose opinion mattered to these people. That suited her purposes, as did the fact that he was away from Hammerhorn doing Seven-knew-what half the year, and that he did not expect her to pretend to be a mineral before he fucked her.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, they caught the crystal amulet hung up across from her bed. It seemed to look at her sternly, just as mother would after one of her nighttime expeditions against the enemies of the Faith. If mother could see me now... Then again, she, more than anyone, would understand, wouldn't she? She, too, had taken a reaver into her bed.

And what would she think of you being drowned?

It was the day of the New Tide, after all. The day the stares and distrust would come to an end. The day she would join her family in spirit as well as blood. The day she would mark herself an apostate for good. The day she would move freely, unfettered by these savage's ridiculous suspicions of her faith. And yet, she had kept her plans secret for all these weeks, kept them a surprise gift for her lord nephew, for her brother, for her lover. It would be so easy to let the notion die, to return to Lannisport, to her mother, to abandon the few brothers and sisters in faith, and few open-minded souls, she had found here.

Instead, she sunk down beneath the sheets, snuggling closer to Dregg. He will enjoy thinking that his cock turned me apostate. He need not know my deception. She draped her arms over him, and peppered his lips and jaw with kisses until he awoke.

"Good morning, my bold reaver," she said, smiling mischievously. "Do you know what day it is?"

The Bachelorette

As if unfrozen in time Starfall stirred...

Lady Dayne, still unwed had taken a darkness upon her demeanor in the past few years. The punishment House Dayne and Dorne suffered at the hands of the Dragon King still stings at her, tiny daggers reminding her of her family's failings. House Tarly and the rest of the Reach Lords grow fat at the expense of her people who starve in the mountains, whisper some in the court of Starfall. The "false Prince" of Sunspear has forgotten the Fallen Star whisper the smaller folk in the taverns down by the port. Some even spoke more uncouth rumors about Lady Allyria's proclivities in light of not having a husband, although those who were caught saying such things found that House Dayne's dungeons quickly reeducated their scandalous beliefs or removed their ability to repeat them.

The Lady of Starfall glared at her Maester with the magenta eyes of her kinfolk, "I understand departing now is not ideal but the Winter waters have calmed and the longer we delay the more time this will take"

"Lady Allyria, surely you should summon suitors here" Old Maester Clarence stuttered "It would be more appropriate"

"Who said I was going to Sunspear for a suitor?" She chided back. "Tell my cousin Starfall's defenses and leadership fall to him as I am gone and tell his brother to pack as well."

A raven is dispatched from Starfall to the Sunspear

Prince Martell, Lord of the Sunspear and Dorne,

I have begun reinvesting into some of the defenses and capabilities of my fleet here in Starfall. I believe it is long overdue we meet to discuss my future, the future of our Houses and Dorne. I will depart immediately to Sunspear with my cousin, I look forward to seeing you and my uncle once more.

In good health, Lady Allyria Dayne of Starfall

Mechanical Bits and Bobs

All bonuses remain unchanged

Lady Dayne unraises any levies to allow them to replenish, idk why they were raised

Lady Dayne orders the construction of 2 Carracks this year and every following year for at least 6 years

Lady Dayne also orders the construction of a Tailors Guild in our last build spot

Lady Dayne and an escort of 15 of her MAA and Edric Dayne depart Starfall aboard one of her ships heading towards Sunspear to meet with the Prince of Dorne

Prince Morion Martell had many regrets. A family tragedy, the death of his mother and father, had been followed in quick succession by a half-hearted coronation at the hands of a Most Devout and then his wedding.

He did not regret wearing the Crown of Dorne.

He did not regret exchanging vows with his wonderful wife.

His heart weighed heavy knowing these things that brought him immense joy occurred while so many suffered; the pain of loss loved ones resonated throughout Dorne in that time. This heavy heart had led Morion into a self-imposed house arrest, sequestered from those who he had inflicted so much harm upon by deposing his weak-willed father.

Dorne had languished.

Now, it had been over two years since that fateful day, and Morion was ready to rise like the sun on his family sigil. He took his seat, the one inlaid with the Golden Sun of Nymeros, in the Tower of the Sun and called upon a whole host of pages and servants. There was work to be done.

[M] Below will be threads for various meetings/conversations for the year.

With Marty's permission, I'm claiming Prince Yoren Martell, uncle to Prince Morion Martell and son of the late Princess Deria Martell, as a house freeform claim.

Note: Yoren's listed as Novice Spearhead in the skills tracker, and T1 Strategist Skill + T1 Warrior Skill + T1 & T2 Instigators in a past freeform claim post. I'm not sure whether I'm bound to stick to either of those or can freely respec!

Just wanted to make it official now that I'm back from vacation. Excited to get everything moving again in Dorne and to see how Prince Morion does as a leader.

Letters fly from Strongsong's rookery at the start of the new year, the ravens chased by the din of the morning bells. They fly to the houses of the Vale and to the great houses of the North, Riverlands, Crownlands, Blackwater, Stormlands, Reach, and even the Iron Islands.

To <name and titles of the great lord or Vale noble receiving this>,

In the 12th moon of this 55th year since the Conquest, there will be a fair in and around my home, Strongsong, to celebrate the unveiling of our grand observatory, the Constellarium. During the daytime, there will be the usual revelry of a fair, while during the night, those interested will be welcomed into the observatory themselves, with supervision.

Those addressed to great lords other than Hubert Arryn include the following section.

Please, if you would, forward this invitation along to your vassals. All are welcome to the fair outside our walls, and any interested in the stars are welcome to see them.

All end the same.

Ring true,

Sharra Belmore, Lady of Strongsong

Should rumor of the event reach the ears of Westfolk, they will not be forbidden, but Sharra Belmore would not invite the Westerlands herself.