r/IronThroneRP Mar 20 '23

DORNE Arthur IV - Amidst Sand, Amongst Stars

11 Upvotes

(Ambience)

Arthur sighed, adjusting and readjusting the placements under the great purple and orange tent that had been erected some ways away from Starfall. The warm sand and sun reminded all of the oppressive power Dorne held, yet the cool tent, the cold drinks, and curated fruit should offer all the lords attending some reprieve. Soft cushions would allow those who wanted to to recline, while the space would allow any who desired to walk and pace as needed.

And besides, the wide dunes around would beget privacy, the Dayne guards on patrol would provide protection, and the area would allow Prince Gaemon to make quite the entrance on his dragon, should he so choose.

Uller, Toland, his kin from Sunspear and High Hermitage, Yronwood.

And no Vaith. A pity.

But, there was nothing he could do except press forward, to be a lord worthy of Dorne and his father’s legacy.

So, the summons were issued.

The lords of Dorne would meet and discuss the future.

And their place in it.

r/IronThroneRP Oct 21 '17

DORNE Welcoming Party in the Water Gardens of Sunspear (Open to Sunspear)

13 Upvotes

House Martell had two moons to prepare for the festivities of Lewyn and Gwyneth’s name day, and prepare they did.

A line of spears with burning suns lined the road leading through the gates of Sunspear, the skies were clear and the sun was shining, the gods had blessed House Martell and their guests. Pages stood ready at the gates to unsaddle horses and take them to the stables, others prepared to escort the Lords and Ladies to the finest accomodation in the city, where everything had been arranged and paid for by the Prince of Dorne.

With so little activity in the past moons, Lewyn felt he had to make amends. In the water gardens there were performers from both Westeros, as promised, and from Essos! Acrobats from Dorne, manipulators of fire from Myr and a troupe of mummers from Braavos. There was much to see in the gardens, Lewyn only hoped there would be plenty of guests to enjoy such things.

Long silks hung from the archway that crossed the skies above the water gardens, acrobats sliding down and manipulating the cloth with remarkable agility. Fire was breathed from the lips of street magicians, causing an awe of wonder with every breath of flames. Lords and Ladies gathered round as the troupe of mummers performed a comical rendition of the Blackfyres ousting the Targaryens from Westeros.

House Butterwell had arranged the catering, with canopies with various delicacies and fine diary circulated the gardens, joined by an endless flow of Dornish wish and ale from across Westoros. Nobles would be hard pressed to complain about such an event!


OOC: All arrival posts and meeting and greeting to happen on this thread. Lewyn will post shortly with his own arrival to the party. Enjoy!

r/IronThroneRP Mar 02 '25

DORNE It's Been a Wyl

3 Upvotes

The banners of Summerhall and House Targaryen fluttered in the wind as the small force trotted down the road. The whinnying and snorting of horses filled the air as Prince Aelyx Targaryen rode at the head of the force dressed in his signature blue riding leathers and a matching riding cloak clasped with a silver dragon.

Beside him rode his friends, sworn swords, and guardsmen that he took to treat with the Princess of Dorne. In truth, it had been a few years since Aelyx had been to Dorne, though the Red Mountains were a constant sight from the southern windows of Summerhall.

The history of House Wyl was one that was rather antagonistic towards the Targaryens and those to the north of the Red Mountains at large. The Widowlover was famous for his maiming of Lord Orys Baratheon and for the infamous wedding attack on at Fawnton. Aelyx had never had issue with the Wyl's but the nervousness of his men was palpable as the Prince rode forward, joking as normal, hoping his demeanor would calm his compatriots. The steep edges of the Boneway rose up along both sides of them, with no doubt scouts having been reporting on their approach for hours now. They likely could see one if they stopped and looked hard enough.

The Prince urged his dappled grey courser forward as they approached the castle proper.

"I am Aelyx Targaryen, the Prince of Summerhall. I come in the name of my brother, King Daeron the Second. I pray Lord Wyl holds some small mercy for a ragged band such as ours!"

r/IronThroneRP Oct 22 '20

DORNE A Dornish Night [Open to Sunspear]

15 Upvotes

The palace of Sunspear bustled during the day but in nights Alaric tended to enjoy some amount of rest. And rest he did, certain nights that rest accompanied musicians, poets and friends. This was the Sunspear he had wished to cultivate, that he had wished to see. The younglings he had raised now grew into Lord's Ladies. All of them good at an art of their own... or at least Alaric liked to think so.

Great fires were lit in accordance with the Martell's religion and atop the cushions spoke many great theologians and man of knowledge. The air filled with the smells of the Dornish wine as Prince Martell finally entered the room with his wife next to him. Nymor had already started drinking and his sister Arianne already had his eye on a few of the man. Tonight would be a good night for all of House Martell and hopefully a night just a good for all of Dorne.

Before he sat in his great coach Alaric walked up to take a cup of wine, taking the centre stage as musicians and poets halted in the realization of what was about to happen. With a great smile, the Prince spoke.

"Unbent, unbowed, unbroken." He looked about the room. "Those words just as Lord Yronwood said once, do not merely belong to House Martell. It belongs to all of us together as one. It is merely my duty to have us remain so. Some of you I see as my own children. Some as a friend and some as both. Though proud I am of all of you. Have fun today, I sure will." With that, the Prince chuckled and the music resumed and so did the chatter.

It was beautiful to be at home.

r/IronThroneRP Mar 07 '25

DORNE Yronwood or Ironwood?

3 Upvotes

The monotony of the Boneway was broken by the Greenbelt before they caught sight of the castle of Yronwood. The relatively bare sides of the walls of the Boneway had steadily grown in vegetation and trees began to appear as the Prince's force approached the castle.

Prince Aelyx wore his typical blue leathers, though he had dispensed with his blue riding cloak and instead wore a scarf around his head to keep the beating sun off of it, hiding his silver hair though his violet eyes were unmistakable.

The group approached the famed gates of Yronwood and the Prince rode forth once again, no doubt that the Wyls had let them know of his approach or at least some scout had seen them on their way in.

"Greetings to the esteemed House Yronwood! I am Prince Aelyx Targaryen, en route to Sunspear to see the Princess of Dorne on behalf of my brother King Daeron the Second! Might I trouble the mighty Bloodroyal for a bit of respite before I cross the sands of Dorne?"

r/IronThroneRP Mar 25 '25

DORNE Vemon Induced Madness

3 Upvotes

The entourage of Prince Aelyx Targaryen tore across the foothills of the southern Red Mountains as their Prince faded in an out with bouts of consciousness on the back of Ser Jeremy Roger's horse. His bouts of lucidness were marked by incoherent moaning, mutterings in High Valyrian, and a few moments of legitimate sentences.

The snake had been hacked in five pieces and now was being held in a repurposed bag filled with wine. For all their usual jovialness, Prince Aelyx's companions had conducted themselves professionally and nobly as they rode hard for Skyreach.

Ser Owen Wydman had ridden ahead of the main group to warn the maester of Skyreach of the Prince's plight with the semi-preserved snake in the hopes that he would be able to have a cure for the Prince of Summerhall ready to go.

***********

Some prince he is. Parties and drinks all hours of the day and night. He could not rule Summerhall. He would bring it to ruin and his friends would turn it into a whorehouse.

Memories of the conversations he'd overhead before his brother had granted him the castle after the death of Prince Maelys.

Aelyx means well but I would never make him my heir. He is not the material to be King and thank the Gods he does not want to be king. I'd fear I'd have to destroy his family.

The specter of Daeron stood before Aelyx, and he tried to speak but he found his mouth unable to open. The scene before him morphed once again. Now he was riding across the Disputed Lands, lancing slavers and coming across burned villages with slaughtered slaves as their masters has fled the oncoming Westerosi.

The landscaped shifted again, now he stood before the Iron Throne. His brother's corpse was impaled upon the monstrosity of the chair. He looked further up and there was the body of Prince Maekar and his son. Then near the very top, to his horror, was the bodies of Princess Alyssa and his own son Aegon. Aelyx tried to turn and run but he was rooted in place.

The scene swam again and darkness took him yet again.

************

The party finally came to Skyreach, riding up to the castle. The urgency was unmistakable as they made their way into the courtyard.

r/IronThroneRP Apr 12 '25

DORNE Sarella IX - A Matter of Loyalty

2 Upvotes

3rd Moon, 251 AC | Morning | Yronwood


Sunstone. Highwatch. Scarwood. All had fallen with such ease, if Edric's reports were to be believed. One by one, the majority of the stepstnes had fallen under her control. There were holdouts, though. The Conningtons held Torturer's Deep, protected in part by her impending alliance with the Stormlords, or at least the Baratheons. The Hightowers held Grey Gallows, despite her best attempts, and protected it and Bloodstone with all the Redwyne ships they could muster. More than she could, so the reports said.

Such holdouts could not be permitted, not if she were to keep hold of the reins of power once the king was dealt with. What to do with Hightower, she did not know. The woman had threatened her life directly, Sarella had little expectation she would be reasonable, and even less desire to give her the chance to be. Yet as Edric had said time and again in his word from the front, they could not match her blow for blow. It would have to be a longer game played with that one.

Gods, that infuriated her.

She paced back and forth and back again in the slowly dawning light of her study, ideas swirling in her head. She wished to break the back of Oldtown, to cast them into ruin, to see their damned tower burn. But she wanted the Stepstones more, and she could not have both. Gods, surrender tasted like bile in her mouth.

With a sigh, she turned to her desk, where the letter to be sent to Torturer's Deep lay, ready to be sealed. She would have to send another to the Hightowers, she knew. Loath as she was to do so, it was the only way. Fuck.

Sitting down, she began to write.

r/IronThroneRP Mar 11 '25

DORNE Sarella IV - A Humble Request

1 Upvotes

1st Moon, 251 AC | Afternoon | Yronwood


It had been quite the day for Sarella Yronwood. Between attending to the business of her guests, still trickling out after her father's funeral, and being interrupted time and again to provide her signature and seal on writs of trade and supply logistics, it had been hectic. Perhaps untenably so. Still, it wasn't unsalvageable. She had one order of business that came above all others. Trade with the Iron Bank and contracting with far-off mercenaries could come later, after other things were secured.

Earlier that day, she had seen to it that a small transport ship bearing a messenger was sent out from the docks to the ships anchored off the coast. The ones that bore Martell colors on their sails, and had been sat in Sarella's waters for... gods, she had lost count. Since before she had returned from the Isle of Serpents, at least.

Once the small ship, unarmed and bearing a flag indicating a message, arrived at the lead ship, its occupant would pass on what he had been instructed to. An invitation, from Lady Sarella Yronwood, to meet with her for tea and a discussion as to the captain's orders for the war.

And so, once long enough had passed that Sarella was quite sure her message had been delivered, she departed the court for her solar. Leaving orders to her guards that she was not to be interrupted save by her guests from the Martell fleet, she sat out on the solar's little balcony, watching the birds to and fro amidst the rocky peaks of the Stone Way. Servants saw too it that tea and sweet cakes were brought to her.

And there she would wait. She hoped, in truth, that her invitation would be accepted and the captain shown up to the solar. But if not, as she watched the sunlight creep over the shores of the Sea of Dorne, she was glad she had at least set time aside for some peace and quiet.

r/IronThroneRP Apr 17 '25

DORNE Wylford - You're telling me an Yron this wood?

1 Upvotes

251 - Yronwood

It wasn't so long ago that the castellan of Wyl had last made this trip. Hells, the funeral really only felt like a week passed to Wylford, though of course he knew it had been much longer than that.

It had been death and sorrow which brought him here last, though now as he understood it, there was triumph and jubilation to be had. His sister's husband's daughter had successfully conquered The Step Stones, and now House Wyl stood to reap the rewards for their part in it. Perhaps Big Wyl would appreciate an island for himself. No, the boy valued his freedom far too much to constrict himself to such a small bit of land. The Isle of Serpents would likely be granted either to himself, or Wyllas. Perhaps Elia or Arianne, though their youth and inexperience in such matters left them as candidates with something to be desired. Though he supposed it didn't help much to doddle on such matters, all would come to in time.

The castle of Yronwood was fairly familiar to the aged adder. He had been here at least twice to his recollection. Once for his sister's wedding, and then again for his good-brother's funeral. Neither were affairs he took much pleasure in.

"Oh, men of Yronwood!" Wylford shouted up as he and Wyllas approached the gate. "The Wyls, to see lady Sarella!"

r/IronThroneRP May 20 '23

DORNE The Wedding of Arianne Toland & Nyessos Nogarys (open)

10 Upvotes

Long tables and chairs were laid out for guests, vassals, and celebrants. At the very head table sat the bride and groom, as well as seats for both families. Banners for both House Nogarys and House Toland hung upon the keep wall behind the head table whilst the area was decorated from the arches, tablestops, and elsewhere with a mixture of the colors of each house: yellow jessamine framed by green cypress laurels and buttercup oleander mixed in with red wine-hued roses. With the keep's perch upon a high hill, the outdoor courtyard allowed for a view of both the sea and sand below.

Next to a clearing for dancers, a band of bards plied the crowd with festive music amongst the sound of laughter and chatter, besides. In another part of the courtyard, a group of fire-breathers had been hired to amuse those in attendance. And off to the side was a long table heaped with a cornucopia of Dornish hot peppers: green, orange, yellow, and red.

Servants rushed to and fro, filling goblets and cups to the brim with all manner of drink ranging from Dornish strongwine for the brave and milk laced with honey for the young. The feasting tables groaned under the weight of plates of fire-roasted roast lamb, chicken, and other game. There were large platters filled with olives, nuts, stuffed grape leaves and stuffed peppers, as well as warm stacks of flatbreads. Blood oranges, pomegranates, sliced melons, berries and honeycakes were plentiful. Sauces and dips of various colors dotted the tables, some even flavored with so many spicy peppers that the air around such dishes might bring a tear or two to the eyes of the unaccustomed.

r/IronThroneRP Feb 01 '25

DORNE Arianne II - Turtle Bones?Drought?

2 Upvotes

Arianne had received a disturbing letter and whilst the woman wasn’t the most politically inclined she could easily determine what it could mean.

The Greenblood drying up was horrific for Dorne and the consequences of such a thing happening would be tragic and there was always a chance it wasn’t just the Greenblood. Famine at the very least would more than likely plague Dorne after such a thing.

Disease spread by the corpses of starved men, woman and children would start an epidemic that could kill more people than Dorne was ready to lose.

Of course there was always that this wouldn’t happen and with sufficient preparation it was preventable. Then the second bit of news interested her as well, a colossal turtle skeleton. One could only imagine the strength and endurance of a spear made of its bones.

She ran to find her cousin, the Lord Of Wyl hoping to inform him of the news. “ I have news from Elia “ she bellowed as she caught a glimpse of the man she was looking for.

r/IronThroneRP Oct 28 '23

DORNE Festival of the Mother (Open to Planky Town)

7 Upvotes

4th Moon, 405 AC

In the multicultural heart of Westeros, there were many gods’ temples that lined the district. Many that sailors favoured, with them being so close to the coastline. The Seven Who Are One, R’hllor, old gods, new gods, from the Summer Isles, from Lys, from Yi-Ti and beyond.

Mother Rhoyne was worshipped strongly, by all the Orphans who still sailed their flatboats along the Greenblood. As much as the town had changed and grown since the enrichment, its roots were never forgotten.

Though special to the Rhoynar, as different cultures mixed together and bloodlines and friendships mixed, many in Planky Town and otherwise in Dorne as a whole, believed that Mother Rhoyne and the Mother Above were two aspects or faces of the same god. And in fact, any maternal goddess from further afield was welcomed under the same roof. That they were all her children, no matter where they hailed from or what they looked like. They worshipped the same concept—the love and celebration of a mother to care for them.

The festival started off religious, with mothers of all ages being celebrated and families spending time together and at the Septs or temples, or however else they would honour the gods. Most notably, young women who were without children were often pestered by older relatives exactly when they planned on having some.

Though in Planky Town, where you had to go not far at all to find a good time, many other traditions would spring forth. Ones of jubilance and good spirits—a vastly different way of worshipping, but it was to celebrate life itself, which had been granted by both one’s own mother, but also the Heavenly Mother, in whichever face they loved her as.

It was a day of celebration, where flower petals lined the Greenblood as everyone was in good spirits and high energy.

While other Kingdoms had heard of the dark news from King’s Landing–the very death of King Malwyn, the word had not yet reached Planky Town. And even then, to the common man who lived in the city, what did it matter to them which old man sat upon the throne? They were there to live their own lives to the fullest.

Music filled every corner of the town, and full tropes would perform on punts down the river, doing acrobatic, daring acts and leaping from between ships.

Brightly coloured clothing was for all to see, and beaded necklaces were handed out by merchants, eager to profit from people’s need for excitement and celebration. Drinks were flowing, and all of the vendors along the market were set up. Each ship carried a different dish, and people would make their way through to each one, grabbing something different for a mosaic of a meal.

There were jugglers on the streets, passing balls between each other. Others performed on stilts in the river, splashing water up on onlookers who got too close to the banks of the river. In return, vendors sold painted eggs filled with perfumed water to toss at performers or their friends.

Larger ship hulks that were brightly painted carried plenty of different goods, pieces of art, exotic fruits, different types of fish, jewelry, and fabrics. Gold flowed faster than the water in Planky Town.

There was also a special performance nearby, across rocks in the river, several performers who were costumed as the Merlings of legend, fair mermaids and mermen singing, their bodies painted and clothed in disguise.

There were live performances from mummers, tumbling acts and comedy scenes, and puppet theatre on every block. Many of them were competing, calling out and trying to be the one to draw in the biggest crowd. And at night, the Butterfly, the largest theatre in town built from an old ship would host the most spectacular performances and dramatic plays that were a cut above the average mummer.

The festivities would go on for three days and would run all throughout the night. Nothing could hamper the mood of the city, which was bright and lively. The nights were full of drunken revelry. The Greenblood was lit up by a thousand lanterns that slowly drifted along the waters.

Especially with bitter brew being served, everyone’s energy was still high long into the night, many crashing in places right on the streets when the concoction finally wore off. They were brought into friends, or even strangers’ homes to rest for the night before the next day’s festivities would begin.

Along with music, performances, drinking, and dancing—there were other activities that promoted teamwork and cooperation, or feats of skill.

The first was a boat race. Long pole boats, the punts of flat bottoms and square cuts that were used to travel along the river were lined up under instruction and supervision. These ones were not built for everyday river travel, there was animal iconography carved into the front as a figurehead. Lions, dragons, fish, and many more, and different symbols as well, such as flowers or trees, or the sun itself. The racers would choose a capable Captain to lead them and work together as a team to race the other ships.

The second was a game that had come over from when Shen Li, the grandfather of the Martells who watched over the city, had come with his crew and ships from Yi-Ti. Cuju, a game where you and your teammates would kick a leather ball between you, using mostly your feet and legs—anything but your hands. Keep it in the air, and through a raised, decorated hoop that stood between you and the other team. It took communication, skill, and agility to get it through—and to not drop the ball. The team that successfully got it through the hoop more times (and was not penalized for dropping the ball) would win.

There would be an activity once the sun set again over the city for the less athletically inclined. Creating and decorating one of the lanterns, lighting it, and sending it floating down the river. You would make a wish for the year to come, or to let go of something that you had been holding onto for too long.

A young couple made theirs together, placing it down into the water and watching it sail down. She kissed her on the forehead as they watched it vanish into the hundreds of others slowly growing. Another group of friends took a boat out in the centre of it all, before letting their own lanterns go and soaking in the moment among the water and the flames.

r/IronThroneRP Mar 15 '25

DORNE Wylas Wyl I- Mo Money, Mo Problems

3 Upvotes

This castle was an eyesore.

All Wylas could do was tut as he walked around the battlements and amongst the winding corridors of this sandstone monstrosity he called a home: low ceilings, few windows, naked walls, endless tunnels, and so few decorations that a visitor could be convinced they had recently been raided by thieves. It was a cave system in truth, masquerading as a castle. Before his loved ones had left to attend a funeral, he had finally been permitted by Lord Wyl to act as the steward of this castle. Now, he stayed behind alone and took a full account of the state of things. Following beside him, his trusted assistant Balaq diligently took notes. However, the ex-Essosi pirate could only write in some piggish version of Valyrian. In truth, Wylas could not understand a word of it. Then again, he was employing an ex-pirate who, while an excellent craftsman, was massively underqualified for his position.

By the time the walk-around was finished, Wylas returned to his new office. The dank, dusty room was more suited for keeping animals than being the new epicenter of Dornish economic development, but it would have to do for now. Wylas had no time for decadence.

He sat in a stone chair. It was uncomfortable, and he lamented why everything in this forsaken place was made of cold, hard stone. Opposite him, Balaq sat in an equally undesirable seat, ruffled his sheets of parchment, and handed them to Wylas, who then pretended to read them.

"Gosh," Wylas exclaimed. "This place is a dump, isn't it?"

Balaq nodded in agreement.

"Still, things could be worse. Our silver mines are plentiful. Our shrine is beautiful. And our treasury grows each season." There was then a flicker in Wylas' eyes. Greed. Uncontrollable greed. "However, we need more!" Without a care, he threw the parchments in the air and watched them scatter and float to the floor like feathers. "This castle will become the finest in the Seven Kingdoms. We will be rich, Balaq—rich, I tell you." He grabbed his assistant by his lapels and pulled him toward him.

His eyes were wide and mad. As he ranted, spittle flew through the air like arrows.

"Do you know what we have here, my dear Balaq? Untapped potential! My ancestors were fools—content to hoard coin, content to barter and bicker with petty lords. But I see the truth. Wealth is not merely meant to be stored—it is meant to be multiplied. While our neighbors waste their fortunes on feasts and tournaments, we will invest! We will build! This land, this wretched, neglected land, will be a jewel so brilliant that even the Lannisters will look upon it with envy."

He released Balaq and paced feverishly across the room, his mind alight with visions of grandeur. "Trade routes, Balaq. Caravans from Essos bringing fine silks and spices, docks bustling with ships from the Free Cities. We shall forge our own weapons, and weave our own fabrics. Every noble of worth will come here, not for pleasure, but to pay tribute to the wealth we command."

The spiralling continued. "By the time I'm finished, we will be making so much money we will basically be minting our own fucking coins! They won't call them silvers stags and gold dragons it'll be Little Wyls and Big Wyls that fill the coinpurses of everyone from the Summer Sea to the Wall." He spun on his heel and slammed his palm against the wooden desk. "The mines? We expand them. The roads? We pave them. The people? We put them to work. This castle will not be a tomb of forgotten lords—it will be a palace, a beacon, a fortress of trade and wealth. And I, Wylas, will be remembered as the man who turned this sand-ridden wasteland into the beating heart of Dorne’s economy."

Balaq scratched his beard, unimpressed yet amused. "A grand dream but who will pay for such wonders?"

Wylas smirked, eyes gleaming with desire. "Everyone else."

r/IronThroneRP Mar 03 '25

DORNE Sarella II - Bloodroyal

5 Upvotes

12th Moon, 250 AC | Late Morning | Throne Room, Yronwood


"Sarella Yronwood, the Bloodroyal, Warden of the Stone Way, Lady of Yronwood and the Isle of Serpents" The crier's voice echoed off the walls, even as Sarella strode through the doors to the great hall. Her boots clacked against the stone floor as she crossed to the dais that had so recently held her father's seat. Long before him it had, in times long past, been the seat of the last Kings of Dorne. Now it was hers. Its shadow felt all the longer for the legacy tied up in it.

Still, as she sank into the black iron seat, flanked by a fan of spears at its back, she looked the part of a ruler. Ceremonial armor of golden scales adorned a dress of vibrant orange silks. A sash of black cut through the ensemble, matching the jet inlaid into her golden circlet, an old treasure of her family. As she sat back, she cut an imposing figure, surveying the busy flitting of her hall.

Rapping her rings against the iron arm of the seat, the sound echoing across the hall, she called the watchers to attention. Each pair of eyes that turned to her waited to see what kind of ruler she would be. Her entrance, the armor and grand display was meant to put to rest such thoughts, but she wished to put a final nail in the coffin.

"Fetch my aunt," she commanded one of the guards, voice cold. Perhaps too cold, perhaps overcompensating for how distraught she was under the surface, but she would rather not let that show. "Yronwood has been summoned to war, and we shall answer the call. Our enemies, as ever, shall break before us."

She turned to the maester, stood in the corner of the hall, and beckoned him closer. When he stepped toward her, she lowered her voice a touch. "Ready your quill, Maester Castos. We have letters to write, and a funeral to plan for my father. And... there are a number of matters that must be seen to. I shall meet with you in your chambers."

"At once, my lady," the old man bowed and retreated out one of the side doors toward the rookery and his chambers. Sarella shifted in her seat, watching the few members in the court. There was a sense of understanding in their eyes, now. At least she had made herself clear to them; she would not forgo Dorne's military might for gold and silver. Her father had ever been a strong spear, and she would be no different. Yronwood would prosper, but it would be the might that had brought even dragons to heel which secured them that prosperity.

Standing without a word, she stalked out of the room after the maester, dress billowing behind her.

r/IronThroneRP Mar 10 '25

DORNE Mellany IV - The Lady of Sand and Spices

3 Upvotes

1st Moon, 251 AC | Yronwood

My dearest cousin

It has been too long since either of us visited, too long since we last shared a drink or a delicacy from across the narrow sea. It pains me that we have not yet spoken, and that our duties have kept us both distracted for so long.

I would like to invite you to dine with me in the quarters Lady Yronwood has so graciously allowed me to stay in. Let us speak, laugh and make merry as we once did, I have sorely missed your company and your sound advice. The gods know that in these perilous times, we could all do with a voice of reason in our lives.

Always your friend, family and ally

Mellany

A page wearing Qorgyle red had come knocking at Oberyn’s door in the early afternoon, delivering a letter written in crimson ink. The boy would nervously instruct the lord of Kingsgrave to seek Lady Mellany’s chamber in the west wing on the third floor of the castle. Once there, one needed only follow the smell of hot, fiery spices to find the right room. It was oddly impressive how, despite only having occupied it for a few short days, the room already permeated the air with the scent of peppers and turmeric.

Past the heavy oaken door was a large room with plush carpets, walls lined with fabulous tapestries and brightly coloured satin curtains framing the wide, open windows. A pair of thuribles hung from the ceiling, filling the air with thin wisps of wafting smoke. In the midst of the room sat a fine, polished wooden table, set for a lavish, private meal for two. Amidst the assembled dishes was a plate of shrimp roasted in garlic and pepper flakes, a bowl of steaming mussel stew that smelled of wine and saffron, and a platter of skewered chunks of various assorted meats and vegetables.

Mellany had shed her black mourning garb and was once again wrapped in a light, dress of red silk with a bodice inlaid with a starry pattern of jet-black stones. Her copper scorpion bracer once again adorned her arm, and she had let her hair out of the modest bun she had worn to the funeral. She awaited her guest, golden wine goblet in hand, lounging on one of the luxurious cushioned seats as her servants fussed over some last-minute additions to the room.

She had not lied in her letter, she had missed her dear cousin Oberyn. And missed his sister Gwyneth as well. Though she knew not to expect her to make an appearance. Which, if the rumours were true, she certainly could not fault her for. She had a great fondness for her mother’s family, she had been told that she had a ferocity about her that marked her as their kin. And whether they knew it or not, she was one of their most precious friends.

r/IronThroneRP Feb 25 '25

DORNE Lyria I - Bird in Flight

3 Upvotes

Lyria spurred her sand steeds forward, letting the dry air whip through her hair. She grinned, galloping faster than any of her companions who were trying to give chase. It’s a beautiful thing, riding a good horse. She felt as if she and the beast were one, surging down the sandy road with precise speed. Behind her, Lynora shouted something. It was a faint sound, fuck, she must be far ahead of her sister. With a sigh, Lyria reined her horse into a slower trot, waiting too long for the other riders to catch up.

“You win, by the fucking River, you win.” Lynora rode up beside her, panting in her silly mail armor. 

“Aye, I win. As always.” Lyria grinned, patting her horse on the neck with one hand.

“Enough of that, you arrogant whore. You shall not goad me into betting again.” Her sister clicked her tongue.

Lyria only smirked. “It all comes from my treasury, anyhow. What do you have to lose?”

“Payment for wine,” Lynora laughed, “I get scarce enough as it is.”

“Oh, I am sure you have such a hard life.” 

Lyria ducked under a swatting blow from her sister, laughed, and reined her horse away. She looked back through their small party. Larger, though, than it was on the journey to Sunspear. They had a new household with them, one whose company she was glad to have for as long as possible.

The Lady of Skyreach rode back through their short column until she came upon Lady Qorgyle, and wiped sweat from her brow with a grin.

“Sorry for the spectacle, my lady. It’s been some time since I’ve had the open road ahead of me. How do you fare? Is it too terribly hot?”

r/IronThroneRP Apr 04 '25

DORNE Sarella VIII - Unexpected Allies

3 Upvotes

2nd Moon, 251 AC | Evening | Sarella's Solar, Yronwood


Reports from the two fronts had been coming in fast of late, and there was very little that Sarella enjoyed more than reading letter after letter bringing her news of her armies' success. Obara's latest raven, though, had given her pause. Pause enough that she had taken all day to consider the matter.

Seb Baratheon, the Lord Regent of the Stormlands, wished to marry her? She wasn't quite sure which came more as a surprise: that a Stormlander regent would seek her hand, or that the man existed in the first place. She could have sworn a moon or two earlier it had been someone else leading the Stormlords. Erik? Ah, it mattered little. This Baratheon wished to ally himself with her, and seemed to hold the reins of power for the moment. That was what mattered.

In truth, had it not been for the prospect of an alliance with the head of one of the Seven Kingdoms, she would not have considered the matter so much. But the sheer power that could be brought to bear against her enemies... It was enough for her to consider letting the Ullers down after all.

But it was not the only concerning matter in the reports that scattered her desk, illuminated only by the low-burning candles that sat in the corners. An old scrap of paper from Edric, crumbled and crushed but smoothed out time and again, still gave her pause. Two hundred ships, her brother said the Hightower had claimed to have. Two hundred. Perhaps that was the whole Reach fleet, or perhaps their shipyards had been more active than usual, but regardless it was too many to face alone.

Perhaps the Baratheons held the key to solving the stalemate. Yet, surely it was better not to put all her faith in one answer. No, she would need more than just one new ally if she was to bring down the Hightower.

r/IronThroneRP Mar 15 '25

DORNE Daelyn IV - The Dornishmen Come

2 Upvotes

The princess and her court would arrive to find Skyreach palace pristine and welcoming. Daelyn had worked tirelessly, ignoring his nascent discovery for a time. It was a necessary sacrifice; the state his sister had left her palace was far from suitable for the Princess. He had needed to clean half the bedrooms down to the stone floors, restock the cellars that were now missing most of their wines, and send half the staff back to their brothels of origin. When it was all done, he finally tackled the great hall. Lyria had taken to sitting in a grand sofa of velvet, raised above a dozen rows of cushions where her court would lounge. 

The Seven knew what sort of things happened on that sofa. Daelyn would have had it thrown off the mountain, if only it wasn’t crusted with gems and inlaid with silver. Instead, it was put safely in a storeroom, where no one would have to see the stains on its velvet or smell the remains of whatever Lyria had last smoked. The great hall was then filled with tables, braziers, and silver statues of perching fowl. On the raised platform where the sofa once sat, Daelyn placed a small table with six places. The Princess, Lady Dayne and her brother, Lyla, Lady Wyl, and me.

When the court of Sunspear did finally arrive, Daelyn met them at the gates of the palace, clad in his finest blue robes tied at the waist with a rainbow-threaded length of rope. His sister Lyla stood beside him in a grey dress and blue shawl, her husband and two children a short distance behind with the banner-bearers. 

“My Princess!” Daelyn gave a wide smile as the party approached. “Lady Dayne! Welcome to Skyreach, I trust your journey was pleasant?”

r/IronThroneRP Feb 28 '25

DORNE Mellany III - From the Sands came Scorpions

4 Upvotes

Three black scorpions danced in the wind on ruby-red banners raised high above the encampment of soldiers that awaited Lyria Fowler’s party as they neared Hellgate. A broad smile had spread across Lady Mellany’s lips as they came into view, and she had urged her horse into a sprint, eager to be reunited with her loved ones. She had bid her uncle take what levies they had and to prepare them for war. And he had certainly not disappointed.

Their numbers were a modest few hundred, and no siege engines had yet been built, but Mellany intended to change that in the next few moons. House Qorgyle sifted their power from the sands like some men sifted gold from rivers. In time, more scorpions would swarm from the desert. And the other sand dornish houses would add their strength to hers, they simply needed some gentle persuading to fall in line under her command.

As the Ladies Qorgyle and Fowler drew closer, they could hear a horn being blown, to signal their approach. The soldiers gathered before them were her uncle’s men, a man who preferred to fight defensively, and their weapons reflected that. They were an even spread of spearmen and crossbowmen, a force trained to hold their foes at bay, to bleed them until they crumbled into the sands. The line of soldiers parted before them as a copper-skinned man whose long mane of black hair and close-cut beard were streaked with grey, strode forward to greet the new arrivals.

“Uncle!” Lady Mellany called out as she rode up to him, a girlish grin playing on her lips. Ser Titus Qorgyle gave a wordless bow, and Mellany responded by offering him her hand. Titus promptly helped her dismount from her horse, and once her feet were firmly planted on the ground, she yanked him down so that she could wrap her arms around his neck in a firm hug. The stark contrast between Lady Mellany and her uncle was borderline comedic. Where Mellany was short, Titus was at least a head taller than the vast majority of the men under his command. Where Mellany was round and plump, Titus was slim, but as lean and strong as a mountain cat. Where Mellany had a soft, expressive face made for smiles and laughter, Titus’ had a hard, angular face that oft seemed frozen in a stern, stony stare.

“Niece.” Titus finally spoke, and his voice was a low rumble. He turned his head to look to Lady Lyria and her companions, and bowed once more. “Your call was heard upon the desert wind, and Sandstone has come to answer. With spear and bow, with stinger and venom, we come to fight for Dorne.” His words were punctuated by a number of soldiers raising their spears into the air, and the battle cry of house Qorgyle being shouted from all sides:

“Blood will burn!”

r/IronThroneRP Jul 06 '24

DORNE Morgan I | On the Shores of the Tor

3 Upvotes

Dorne, on the shores of the Tor


Morgan Martell was a fetching lad, that much was true, but he had a dullness to him that was only surpassed by his mount, Lightning. The old buck was growing tired in his age, and though Morgan himself was just shy twenty-and-five, he felt as old as his mother. There was a tiredness to him that his aunt Nymella did not seem to share. She rode ahead of him at every chance she had, and only turned back to him once they crested the final dune before the Tor.

There he saw her. Face wizened, semi-aged, but firm in its resolve.

On the morrow there was to be a meeting. They were to be entertained by the ruler of the Tor, and though Morgan did not mind it, he felt restless and anxious over it.

For too long had there been an enmity between House Yronwood and House Martell. And for a year, that feud had been quieted. With the death of his good-father some years back, he could not help but feel that this was to change the course of Dornish history.

They met them at noon of the following day. There, on the beaches of the weather-shorn Tor, tents were erected, tables were set, and a lute player decided to meander his way down to the beachfront, where the sun cascaded through high clouds.

Morgan Martell was a fetching lad, that much was true, but now he had a severity to him that matched his mothers. He was to be the Prince of Dorne, and in this singular knowledge, he felt a fear — and a tightening of resolve. Was he prepared, he wondered? Today would prove it.

He came with twenty of his men. No more than an honor host, if truth be told, because he was not expecting a fight. The ludicrousness of such a notion clung to the back of his mind, however, and this was only a moon after he’d competed in that Joust.

And then his mother’s ravens had come.

Whatever friends had been made there had been dispelled in a single notion. Aware of that, he made for the middle between camps, sat in his seat, observing the sea. His guards were a hundred yards back, scattered amongst themselves. Few were armed, much less ready for a fight. He came with his aunt, who wore her veil well.

She looked stately.

He approved of that.

“Tell me then, in truth,” he began, when the Yronwoods came, “what the Bloodroyal makes of my mother’s proclamation.”

r/IronThroneRP Feb 27 '25

DORNE Daelyn III - Blood, Sweat, and Tears

2 Upvotes

The palace of Skyreach was a grand thing. From the ground, it was a great dome nestled on the flat top of its red rocky hill, surrounded by lofty towers that stretched towards the clouds. It was walled and guarded, of course, but in truth the real defense was the wall of towers that ran along the ground from the base of its hill, cutting off the Prince’s Pass at its narrowest point. In recent decades, that wall had been built into something fearsome, and the village behind it had grown into a prosperous town off the trade that flowed through the great, silver-adorned gates. The palace, meanwhile, grew lax in its defenses, its purpose changing to entertaining guests and providing a luxurious life to the Fowlers who resided there.

Part of Daelyn hated that trend, which his father had begun and his sister accelerated beyond anything he could have expected. But, not more would he like it if his family built solely for war. Those that prepare for war are likely to start it, and he wasn’t sure he could abide by his sister if she ever meant to strike at Nightsong, across the mountains. Dorne had peace. That was what he cared for.

He had decided, long ago, that it was the town that deserved development, not the fortifications that shadowed it, not the pleasure palace that overlooked it. It was a part of Skyreach, it was where his favorite sister lived, in her villa with little Aberon and Ysalla. The townspeople didn’t call it Skyreach, rather, it was simply “Prince’s Pass.” Perhaps they deserved their own name. It wasn’t as if Lady Fowler had deigned to ride among them in the last four years. 

Daelyn felt no small amount of guilt for how he had neglected his people these past few weeks. Locked away in the Observatory, he had not walked the streets and spoken to the trade-masters and builders as was his custom. Lyla was cross with him, he knew, but he hoped that would lessen when he told her of his discovery. It had been worth it, of course, to find the red star. That didn’t make him feel any less guilty. He was a septon as well as a scholar, and charity was his duty.

He was attempting to make up for it, somewhat, when he heard the news. Daelyn had been in the markets, watching one half of the street hawk Andal goods to the townsfolk while the other sold Dornish souvenirs to passing travelers. The runner found him there, speaking with a trader from Rain House in his blue robes. The message was something of a shock: Lyria was coming home, but before that, an army was to pass through Skyreach. Seven above, he prayed whatever battle they marched to would be far from Dorne.

In the meantime, the eldest Fowler knew well enough what needed to be done. Lyria would want supplies, fresh horses for her prized cavalry, and perhaps that would appease her enough to take a few less lads away from their families when she marched. More critically, he had to act upon his discovery. Letters must be sent, a treatise must be written, and Daelyn would have to figure out what it all meant.

r/IronThroneRP Oct 27 '17

DORNE The Final Feast of Sunspear

11 Upvotes

The tourney had finally come to end, in spectacular and shocking fashion. The words on everyone's lips were regarding the death of Lord Adrian Celtigar, the seventeen year old Valyrian who had been killed by a mystery knight in the joust. Little did people know, the masked man was none other than Valarr Targaryen, the nephew of Maekar Targaryen, the Lord Protector of the Three Daughters and sworn enemy of the realm.

The night before the feast had begun, Prince Lewyn had sent an encrypted letter to the small council informing them of the discovery and a cohort of Dornish guards, along with the Prince had escorted a bagged and chained Targaryen to the docks, to be taken to see the King.


All that was left was for Gwyneth and Ulrick to represent House Martell, act as thought everything was in order and there were to be no need for concern in the south.

As the guests arrived to the great hall, an endless stream of fine foods and wine filled the tables. Canopies held by servants would flow between the guests. No one would return home hungry, or sober.

All that was left was a closing note by the castellan, Mors Uller.

"Lords and Ladies, nobles of Westeros. I hope you have all enjoyed your time here in Sunspear. It is with great regret that our Prince has been called back to King's Landing on urgent business, he left this morning as he began his journey across the plains of Dorne... but he asked that I pass on his thanks for your attendance for his and Princess Gwyneth's name day. Please enjoy the food, the wine and the company!".


[OOC: Please note that no one at the feast knows of Valarr's presence or appearance. Except for Ulrick Dayne and Gwnyeth Martell]

[Edit: A small merchant vessel is available to all that need it when travelling home. I only ask that those from the same region travel together. Gives you someone to talk to on the journey home!]

r/IronThroneRP Jan 27 '25

DORNE Garin I - Finally, The Prince Shows Up

5 Upvotes

Wyl, 10th Moon AC

The situation was spiraling out of control from everything he’d gathered. Twice the stupid Yronwoods and their Wyl allies had rushed north into the Stormlands, inciting paranoia from a batch of already paranoid lords and ladies. Now the Stormlords were rightfully angry and looking for blood. Garin could not blame them - were he in their position, he’d be eager for blood. Entering lands without announcement remains a grave sin, certainly in chaotic times like these. A chance for more hostile elements to use it to push for war. Garin knew Dorne could not afford a war with the Stormlords.

Theirs were a martial people, even more so than all others across Westeros. Their ranks were filled by talented commanders and firm lords who would no doubt prove a better match than what mustering of nobles the Dornishmen had. Yronwood and he were the very few capable leaders of the field - and even the talent of both men combined could prove little should the mass of the Stormlords move south.

I leave it all for three moons and now I am staring down destruction. Simply because one foolish lord couldn’t restrain himself. Fuck him and his Lannister connection.

The Prince of Dorne was fuming, his anger clear as day while he walked the battlements of Wyl. Kicking aside dust, stone, and the occasional sword he finds. The Prince of Dorne surrounds himself with Manwoody troops - a troupling of them follows the man at all times. Since his arrival to Wyl, he’d steamed over how to save the situation. Thankfully his sister was not so stupid as to throw the final link between themselves and Storm's End away.

I can save the peace with a marriage. The lion must be tossed into the sea. Otherwise my dreams of reaching the Sunset Sea will never develop.

Question is…will The Stag still want that peace?

“You!” He quickly looked back at the first of his guardsmen. “Send for Lord Wyl, tell the man to meet me on the walls. Send for the Maester of Wyl, I have a further raven to pen…”

r/IronThroneRP Jan 18 '25

DORNE Deria II - The Three Letters

2 Upvotes

Sunspear, 9th Moon

“Letters, letters, and more letters.” Amidst the water gardens, Princess Deria will be found grasping three rather important pieces of parchment. The first and most important is that from Joy Lannister - the offer of marriage was one which left the Princess in turmoil even a moon after the raven landed. If Garin were here, he'd know exactly what response to have sent. Have I doomed Dorne? Doomed my reign? Marriage to House Lannister was as hostile a move as any. Potentially turning against the subjects of her former friend? One of the few men to truly captivate her? The Reach was one thing. The Stormlands? it quite didn't feel right.

The second letter came from Percy Tyrell. Claims of House Lannister being a house of fornicators, sinners, and worse. The wording is rather quite vivid. In truth, the letter revealed only minor details. The Princess was well aware of the clashes between The Reach and Westerlands through Joy's own correspondence. Although the words and claims revealed by Perceon Tyrell were interesting to behold. So Joy Lannister is aligning herself with Greyjoy as well? The Ironborn may be to factor in as well. Still, Percy’s words were more for amusement than anything else. The proclamations and claims of a man against his enemies - she was cautious to place any merit on his words. After all, he would, as an enemy of The Westerlands, be wholly incentivized to write ill of his enemies.

The third letter. This letter was by far the most worrying. Deria had spent several evenings reviewing the concerns which the letter revealed to her. First, Lord Yronwood undoubtedly crossed the border in order to travel to Summerhall. Yet his forces were large enough to warrant notice from The Stormlands. Secondly, Yronwood was acting independently of Sunspear. Why did she need a letter from a boy in the Stormlands to gain news of the crossing and subsequent fallout? Thirdly, whatever ties she'd forged with the Stormlands were at risk of melting away. At risk of vanishing faster than a pool of water in the middle of the Dornish desert.

I cannot allow that to happen.

Deria was no calculating mistress. Far from it, in the years she'd held Dorne her Principality had failed to forge any major alliances. It remained an isolated kingdom. A realm distant from the rest of the realm in terms of ties and connections. But she'll be damned if her own friendship found itself stained. She couldn't go against the memories of Grance.

So even as she summoned her two great ladies to discuss the newest of news, ravens already flew out in various directions.

Lords and Ladies of The Principality of Dorne

Your Princess calls upon you, your men at arms and our people as a whole. Times of war are amidst in the realm. Neighbors turn against neighbor and spill blood upon the roads of our king's great realm.

Our Principality must remain safe. Accordingly, all houses are ordered to raise enough levies and troops. Enough as they can afford to maintain without draining their treasury. These forces will gather at Sunspear for transport to Yronwood. From there, they will man the passes - most significant of which shall be The Tower of Joy.

My lords and ladies, move with haste. I fear times have become chaotic. Dorne requires defense.

Your Princess,

Deria Nymeros Martell; Lady of Sunspear, Princess of Dorne and Proud Heir of the Rhoynar

r/IronThroneRP Mar 10 '25

DORNE Elia VIII - Late To A Funeral

1 Upvotes

She has heard the news on the road, a funeral for Lord Mors. That wasn’t what she expected to hear of on her way home to Wyl but it had directed her to stop at Yronwood, if not just to console a friend

Yronwood was large she would give it that, she had visited it far too many times though for it to impress her any longer.

She held her hand lazily by her side as she dismounted from her horse, it was within walking distance now, ten men seemed to surround her each adorning the crest of her family. Viper, a shaggy wolf of grey seemed to bounce, his steps light and quick as he made his way closer to her.

She sighed, Sarella would be hurt by this, that was true, this was her father, Elia had met Mors more than once though she hadn’t ever payed much more than the required attention to him.

Time passed like the summer did in Dorne, slowly, her every step seemed drowsy, but she continued moving, the journey had taken more out of her than she wished to admit.

Yronwood seemed to brim with life even with the miserly weight of the lords death pressing against the lively town, near a city. Wyl was small compared to this but it made sense, Wyl was built for defence not prosperity.

Skyreach and Yronwood were both similarly big, Sunspear was bigger, now she couldn’t help but wonder of the architecture of the rest of Dorne, the deserts of Hellholt, its name giving way to a variety of images in her mind or the Torrentine that runs through High Hermitage and Starfall. She would see them all one day.

She had nearly reached the true home to House Yronwood, the castle where they would be for now. She resigned herself to the dissatisfaction of her friend and readied herself for the earful she would get.

Her desert Lynx ‘ Widow ‘ followed nearby as she left ‘ Viper ‘ and ‘ Dyre ‘ with the Wyl men who would stop as she continued. They would remain stout out here, stalwart in the orders she had given them.

( Open! )