Ravacholaire
Serf
About Me:
Note that while I am open to pretty much anything that I listed above in terms of the setting, at the moment I am MOST interested in VTM and ASOIAF, in that order.
Writing Sample:
Gwyn figured that the Maesters would call it the "Race for King's Landing." But it was hardly that, by the time the city was even open for the taking he had already been resigned to leaving it to Aegon—there was no point in unnecessarily straining himself for a simple jewel. The crown that he was to take that day was embellished with enough gems to outshine the taking of the royal city. Aegon may very well have been allowed to sit on the throne, but he would have to relinquish that seat and limp back to Driftmark, otherwise he'd lose his head, just the same as Aenys had.
Prior to his final approach towards the city he'd made sure to clean himself. No longer could he appear as the rugged general, fresh out of battle—no, now he had to be the charismatic king, ready to take on his throne. He had to look more Jaehaerys the Conciliator than Aegon the Conquerer. The people needed a singular figure to see as their king, he couldn't allow them to harken to his brother-by-law, nor to the Last Storm of Storm's End. Having the last claimant, one Lord Gilbert Tyrell, a boy of just three years, in his entourage, in addition to his other brother-by-law, Lord Godfrey Tully, and his captive, Lord Lancel Lannister, certainly bolstered his own claim, as did having an army of twenty thousand. It was the first time a single army of that size had marched anywhere near the capital since the start of the war.
On the approach the damage to the city from the war became clear as day. The battering of flames and stones and men alike were etched in, though there was an attempt to cover it up with the hanged bodies of many-a goldcloak, and more than a few whitecloaks, among them being the former Lord Commander, Silent Ser Serwyn Toyne, and the presumed next in line, Ser Lyle Lannister. The only two absent were Ser Rhogar Velaryon and Ser Gerold Whent. Gwyn presumed at least one of them would end up on the Wall, if not both.
He looked like a king entering the capital, dressed in silver armor that was hardly suitable for any real battle, and he bore prominently at his hip his old war trophy: the sword Blackfyre. As compared to the city, the new king was to look unbroken. It wasn't as if he really needed to have some protection, he was surrounded by the Winged Knights, his own elite guard of seven, not to mention the army he commanded.
Gwyn was greeted at the closed gates, from where the bold blue banners of the only real challenge to his claim: Aegon Velaryon. The claimant from the Vale rode right up to the gate, craning his neck to look upwards, ensuring the guards above didn't knock arrows. He looked then to the gate, where Aegon himself stood, staring stern towards his cousin. Gwyn did him the service of dismounting and approaching the gate. His palm tightened around the pommel of Blackfyre upon his approach.
"So you've finally left your tower," Aegon began, slighting his brief ally. It was clear enough to Gwyn that Aegon felt cornered there. Any rebellion offered up wouldn't get anywhere, only serving to buy time for Aegon to flee with as much riches as he could. Gwyn didn't want a pirate king across the Narrow Sea, however, and so he bit his tongue at the slight.
"I've come to take the city and to call for a Great Council," Gwyn replied. "But if you stand in the way, then I'll have to put the city to siege." He stepped aside slightly to allow Aegon to see more of the army that was arrayed outside of the city walls. Still more were to come. "The city's seen enough of the war, there's no need to put it on the line for a simple matter of pride, simply to hold onto the jewel of Westeros."
"But it would be your pride that would damn it, then, wouldn't it?" Aegon said in turn. He turned his head then. "But there isn't a need for any more battles," he relented. With a raise of his hand the order was given to raise the gate. They raised slowly, slower than before anyways. Aegon stepped away, as did his own guards.
Gwyn returned to his horse and waved for his army to follow him into the city. They would parade through the streets of the capital, a mighty show of force for the falcon who hadn't dared to even approach the city at any time during the war. As soon as the gates were raised enough to pass through he spurred his horse to ride forward, slowly. There was no need to rush his conquest, and he wanted Aegon to keep pace.
Aegon did decide to follow along, taking his place beside Gwyn, though on foot. Ahead of them were Aegon's guard, at their sides were the guard of Gwyn, and at their back was the army of the Vale and Riverlands. Already the smallfolk were pouring out of their homes to witness the sight, and those that did come out were greeted to treasures, food, water, wine, and reminted coins baring the face of Gwyn. The treasure and coins didn't matter so much as the food and water. Even the wealthier citizens of the city, the craftspeople, such as those cobblers in the aptly named Cobbler's Square, were out to receive the gifts of the generous Lord of the Vale. Holy men even came out, begging for the food, and offering prayers for the just and honorable lord who saved them from starvation.
The further they marched through, the more of the army split off, going to the other important streets, and gates, to keep the order in the whole capital, and to hand out their alms elsewhere. Gwyn had over prepared in his purchasing of food, even from Essos.
"It won't be the praises of the smallfolk that will earn you the crown," Aegon spoke, turning to look up at Gwyn.
"It wasn't the lords who killed all the dragons," Gwyn answered. "The lords will obey," he elaborated. "Or they'll die." His order would be absolute, unquestionable. As the Targaryen's was for a time. As far as Gwyn cared, the only mistake the last king made was killing his loyal kin.
Aegon's eyes turned to azure daggers. "Lords wouldn't want another tyrant."
"There wants don't matter, Aegon. The realm needs a tyrant. Soft kings create civil wars. Look to Viserys. Too weak he was, were I him I would've had the head of anyone who dared to defy my own word. Still, I wouldn't have named a bitch as my heir, but that is easier to remedy than a weak king, isn't it?"
The half-Targaryen turned away from the Valeman, lowering his head slightly. Not once did Gwyn even bother to look down towards him. They were halfway through the street of seeds by then, approaching the center of the city. It was a dismal sight, the guilds and markets were worn down and had the marks of the riots on their faces. Already smallfolk and craftsfolk were out in force, needing to be pushed aside by the guards that were ahead of the king. Some even mounted on top of the legs of the ruined statue of Aegon V, built by the last king to replace another statue that had been lost in a riot. This one had faced a similar fate. Gwyn would need to decide what to replace it with.
The High Septon descended from the Great Sept to see the marching lord, but Gwyn had no interest in meeting him there, nor speaking with him at that hour. If the Septon was to speak with the man who was to be the king then the Septon would have to come to the throne. The crown was not to be subjugated by any god or holy man. Without so much as a word in speech, or even a wave, he marched through the square, continuing on towards Aegon's High Hill.
"Some lords will look towards you as a claimant over me," Gwyn spoke, finally turning towards Aegon. "Should you renounce your claim to the throne before the lords, I'll place you on the small council," he offered. Aegon was a lord with a complex reputation in the realm. Aegon Turncloak many had taken to calling him, for the fact that he turned against his own uncle, a man who he was serving as Master of Ships. Still, many would be willing to look past that if he offered to take up the cause of the former loyalists, who Gwyn was already despised among, and Gwyn knew that well. If Aegon should renounce, he figured, only young Gilbert Tyrell would remain to take that claim. The loyalists wouldn't have any claimant remaining.
Aegon kept looking away. His face strained, contorted in thought. His fists balled up some. Gwyn's offer was blunt and matter of fact. He had no interest in playing around the subject of what was to be done with his chief rival. With Aegon out of the way, the only real challenge that could arise was from Lyonel Baratheon, who's only act up to then was hold Storm's End from Prince Maekar after Argilac and Orys had been slain. Gwyn also knew well that Aegon wasn't in much of a place to refuse. Neither the wealth and power of his house, nor his supporters, wouldn't matter much when he was in the clutches of Gwyn. Besides, Aegon's wife and child were in the Vale then.
"Fine," he spoke. "I'll relent, and I'll accept the appointment." He didn't speak any after that. Gwyn didn't care, he got the confirmation that he needed.
When finally they reached the foot of the hill, he looked up only to ascend up the hill. The Red Keep looked in its full splendor, despite the war. It had been untouched, having the whole city to take any damage for it. The castle was completely open to him, not an enemy stood in sight. He looked north for a moment, towards his homeland.
If you're interested, feel free to reach out!
- My name is Alex, I'm 20, and I live in the EST (eastern US/Canada/UTC-5) timezone.
- I've been roleplaying on and off for about 10 years, although I only really got into the hobby about 4 years ago. I've been writing for about the same time.
- I'm history major philosophy minor undergrad! Outside of my passion for history, I'm into, of course, political philosophy, sociology, and in non-academic terms, I love to read and write (of course), and to play games (TTRPGs and video games). I also do theater!
- Because I'm a student (who works, sometimes), my availability changes wildly. I do generally try and stick to reply at least once a day.
- I also have a history of mental and physical illness that can take a pretty heavy toll on my energy, so there can be times when I just can't force myself to write. I do try and be candid about everything, but I can't make strict promises in that regard.
- I exclusively write in third person, past tense.
- I am more than comfortable with dark themes and smut, and in the case of smut enjoy it being woven into the plot.
- I am a pretty literate writer, going anywhere from 200-1000, with the typical reply being on the lower end of that range. I do generally try and match my partner, though.
- I am fine writing male, female, nonbinary, etc characters, of most any sexuality.
- I enjoy doing larger casts, whether it be an ensemble, or a main pair with a large supporting cast, or it can even become a generation story.
- I don't use faceclaims usually, but I can be persuaded to.
- I do not really enjoy writing against or as canon characters, and even further I far more enjoy AUs if it's in an existing world, excluding TTRPGs like VTM.
- I love to worldbuild!
- All characters must be 18+, including in settings that traditionally feature minor protagonists. Background characters may be younger, but they cannot be a focus, and cannot be sexualized, or subjected to explicit violence.
-
• High Fantasy
• Low Fantasy
• Mythology
• The World of Ice and Fire
• Middle Earth
• Avatar the Last Airbender
• Dragon Ball
• Gothic
• Vampires
• World of Darkness (Vampire: the Masquerade)
• Post Apocalyptic
• Wuxia/Chinese Fantasy
• Historical (Cowboys, Mafia, Pirates, Medievel, Vikings, Mythology, Samurai)
• Wasteland
• Alternative Historical
• Wasteland
• Mad Max
• Romance
• War
• Sci-Fi
• Adventure
• Martial Arts -
• Romance
• Star crossed lovers
• Political marriage
• Defiance of political marriage
• Forbidden Romance
• Obsession
• Soulmates
• Adventure
• Political Intrigue
• Religion
• Power Struggles
• Revolutions
• Wars
• Combat -
• Casual nudity
• Body worship (whole body, including breasts, ass, feet)
• Footplay (licking, sucking, footjobs, not smelling, and they have to be clean, also exclusively feminine feet)
• Smaller feet
• Possessiveness (huge fan in both directions!)
• Romance (and passion)
• Manhandling
• Height difference
• Outercourse
• Outdoor sex
• Light bondage
• Size queens
• Cock shock
• Oral
• Orgasm control
• Clothes ripping
• Marking (hickies especially)
• Lingerie
• Switching
• Role reversal
• Facesetting
• Teasing
• Cuddling
• Larger chests (D+)
• Larger asses
• Fit characters -
• Hyper (anything)
• Non/dub-con
• Age gaps (more than 3 years)
• Humiliation
• Male footplay
• Animals
• Near-incest
• Gore (blood is fine)
• Multiple partners (cheating, harem)
• Bathroom play
• Focus on odors (passing references is fine)
• Abuse
Note that while I am open to pretty much anything that I listed above in terms of the setting, at the moment I am MOST interested in VTM and ASOIAF, in that order.
Writing Sample:
Gwyn figured that the Maesters would call it the "Race for King's Landing." But it was hardly that, by the time the city was even open for the taking he had already been resigned to leaving it to Aegon—there was no point in unnecessarily straining himself for a simple jewel. The crown that he was to take that day was embellished with enough gems to outshine the taking of the royal city. Aegon may very well have been allowed to sit on the throne, but he would have to relinquish that seat and limp back to Driftmark, otherwise he'd lose his head, just the same as Aenys had.
Prior to his final approach towards the city he'd made sure to clean himself. No longer could he appear as the rugged general, fresh out of battle—no, now he had to be the charismatic king, ready to take on his throne. He had to look more Jaehaerys the Conciliator than Aegon the Conquerer. The people needed a singular figure to see as their king, he couldn't allow them to harken to his brother-by-law, nor to the Last Storm of Storm's End. Having the last claimant, one Lord Gilbert Tyrell, a boy of just three years, in his entourage, in addition to his other brother-by-law, Lord Godfrey Tully, and his captive, Lord Lancel Lannister, certainly bolstered his own claim, as did having an army of twenty thousand. It was the first time a single army of that size had marched anywhere near the capital since the start of the war.
On the approach the damage to the city from the war became clear as day. The battering of flames and stones and men alike were etched in, though there was an attempt to cover it up with the hanged bodies of many-a goldcloak, and more than a few whitecloaks, among them being the former Lord Commander, Silent Ser Serwyn Toyne, and the presumed next in line, Ser Lyle Lannister. The only two absent were Ser Rhogar Velaryon and Ser Gerold Whent. Gwyn presumed at least one of them would end up on the Wall, if not both.
He looked like a king entering the capital, dressed in silver armor that was hardly suitable for any real battle, and he bore prominently at his hip his old war trophy: the sword Blackfyre. As compared to the city, the new king was to look unbroken. It wasn't as if he really needed to have some protection, he was surrounded by the Winged Knights, his own elite guard of seven, not to mention the army he commanded.
Gwyn was greeted at the closed gates, from where the bold blue banners of the only real challenge to his claim: Aegon Velaryon. The claimant from the Vale rode right up to the gate, craning his neck to look upwards, ensuring the guards above didn't knock arrows. He looked then to the gate, where Aegon himself stood, staring stern towards his cousin. Gwyn did him the service of dismounting and approaching the gate. His palm tightened around the pommel of Blackfyre upon his approach.
"So you've finally left your tower," Aegon began, slighting his brief ally. It was clear enough to Gwyn that Aegon felt cornered there. Any rebellion offered up wouldn't get anywhere, only serving to buy time for Aegon to flee with as much riches as he could. Gwyn didn't want a pirate king across the Narrow Sea, however, and so he bit his tongue at the slight.
"I've come to take the city and to call for a Great Council," Gwyn replied. "But if you stand in the way, then I'll have to put the city to siege." He stepped aside slightly to allow Aegon to see more of the army that was arrayed outside of the city walls. Still more were to come. "The city's seen enough of the war, there's no need to put it on the line for a simple matter of pride, simply to hold onto the jewel of Westeros."
"But it would be your pride that would damn it, then, wouldn't it?" Aegon said in turn. He turned his head then. "But there isn't a need for any more battles," he relented. With a raise of his hand the order was given to raise the gate. They raised slowly, slower than before anyways. Aegon stepped away, as did his own guards.
Gwyn returned to his horse and waved for his army to follow him into the city. They would parade through the streets of the capital, a mighty show of force for the falcon who hadn't dared to even approach the city at any time during the war. As soon as the gates were raised enough to pass through he spurred his horse to ride forward, slowly. There was no need to rush his conquest, and he wanted Aegon to keep pace.
Aegon did decide to follow along, taking his place beside Gwyn, though on foot. Ahead of them were Aegon's guard, at their sides were the guard of Gwyn, and at their back was the army of the Vale and Riverlands. Already the smallfolk were pouring out of their homes to witness the sight, and those that did come out were greeted to treasures, food, water, wine, and reminted coins baring the face of Gwyn. The treasure and coins didn't matter so much as the food and water. Even the wealthier citizens of the city, the craftspeople, such as those cobblers in the aptly named Cobbler's Square, were out to receive the gifts of the generous Lord of the Vale. Holy men even came out, begging for the food, and offering prayers for the just and honorable lord who saved them from starvation.
The further they marched through, the more of the army split off, going to the other important streets, and gates, to keep the order in the whole capital, and to hand out their alms elsewhere. Gwyn had over prepared in his purchasing of food, even from Essos.
"It won't be the praises of the smallfolk that will earn you the crown," Aegon spoke, turning to look up at Gwyn.
"It wasn't the lords who killed all the dragons," Gwyn answered. "The lords will obey," he elaborated. "Or they'll die." His order would be absolute, unquestionable. As the Targaryen's was for a time. As far as Gwyn cared, the only mistake the last king made was killing his loyal kin.
Aegon's eyes turned to azure daggers. "Lords wouldn't want another tyrant."
"There wants don't matter, Aegon. The realm needs a tyrant. Soft kings create civil wars. Look to Viserys. Too weak he was, were I him I would've had the head of anyone who dared to defy my own word. Still, I wouldn't have named a bitch as my heir, but that is easier to remedy than a weak king, isn't it?"
The half-Targaryen turned away from the Valeman, lowering his head slightly. Not once did Gwyn even bother to look down towards him. They were halfway through the street of seeds by then, approaching the center of the city. It was a dismal sight, the guilds and markets were worn down and had the marks of the riots on their faces. Already smallfolk and craftsfolk were out in force, needing to be pushed aside by the guards that were ahead of the king. Some even mounted on top of the legs of the ruined statue of Aegon V, built by the last king to replace another statue that had been lost in a riot. This one had faced a similar fate. Gwyn would need to decide what to replace it with.
The High Septon descended from the Great Sept to see the marching lord, but Gwyn had no interest in meeting him there, nor speaking with him at that hour. If the Septon was to speak with the man who was to be the king then the Septon would have to come to the throne. The crown was not to be subjugated by any god or holy man. Without so much as a word in speech, or even a wave, he marched through the square, continuing on towards Aegon's High Hill.
"Some lords will look towards you as a claimant over me," Gwyn spoke, finally turning towards Aegon. "Should you renounce your claim to the throne before the lords, I'll place you on the small council," he offered. Aegon was a lord with a complex reputation in the realm. Aegon Turncloak many had taken to calling him, for the fact that he turned against his own uncle, a man who he was serving as Master of Ships. Still, many would be willing to look past that if he offered to take up the cause of the former loyalists, who Gwyn was already despised among, and Gwyn knew that well. If Aegon should renounce, he figured, only young Gilbert Tyrell would remain to take that claim. The loyalists wouldn't have any claimant remaining.
Aegon kept looking away. His face strained, contorted in thought. His fists balled up some. Gwyn's offer was blunt and matter of fact. He had no interest in playing around the subject of what was to be done with his chief rival. With Aegon out of the way, the only real challenge that could arise was from Lyonel Baratheon, who's only act up to then was hold Storm's End from Prince Maekar after Argilac and Orys had been slain. Gwyn also knew well that Aegon wasn't in much of a place to refuse. Neither the wealth and power of his house, nor his supporters, wouldn't matter much when he was in the clutches of Gwyn. Besides, Aegon's wife and child were in the Vale then.
"Fine," he spoke. "I'll relent, and I'll accept the appointment." He didn't speak any after that. Gwyn didn't care, he got the confirmation that he needed.
When finally they reached the foot of the hill, he looked up only to ascend up the hill. The Red Keep looked in its full splendor, despite the war. It had been untouched, having the whole city to take any damage for it. The castle was completely open to him, not an enemy stood in sight. He looked north for a moment, towards his homeland.
If you're interested, feel free to reach out!
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