Ossinett

She remembered the strangeness of their wedding day, a dozen customs that each felt more alien than the last. With no house colours of her own, the ladies in waiting had woven a wedding wreath of desert flowers entwined with the purple roses and yellow daylillies whilst Freystorm's cooks had baked thick crusted pie. When Ser Thomelin cut the pastry with his longsword, three shy of two dozen live songbirds burst from opening and filled Freystorm's great hall with colour and so

Bill watched closely as Ser Robert’s horse kicked and snarled, torrents of icy winter breath firing from its nostrils like the flames of the dragon that crested its rider’s helm. No wonder the brute had gained such a fearsome reputation; he was a tower of black steel and fury astride a beast that towered over any other knight’s steed. The Warren knight gave a glance down at the squire beside him, some poor girl of fifteen wrapped up in the purple, navy and yellow of her knigh

Silver stained the knights lips and tongue as he spoke, flecks of liquid starlight escaping from the gaps in his teeth and the corners of his mouth. Both Ser Maynard and his stallion were barded in pink and purple, chequey fabrics with long, trailing dags that were cut to resemble moons in crescent - more mummer than mercenary in every way. When he spoke it was high pitched but stern, it seemed to Ser Cledwyn to be a failing battle to sound serious with an outfit like that. H

The sand here was warm and soft, not like the thick brown mud of home. Ser Hal walked the beach towards the high cobblestone wall, the gaudy banners of House Bing fluttering gently in the warm wind as he made his way across the sand. Ahead, palm trees bordered the crooked gatehouse - rowing boats at their feet and a pair of gibbet irons affixed to the wall beside them. In the right iron, a brightly coloured bird picked ribbons of scarlett meat from a withered corpse's forehea

Slowly the water pushed in and out of the dark corridors, in and out like the rising and falling of Gathric's breath. The candle in his hand offered little warmth in contrast with the salt water flowing around his lower legs, the icy water taking the sodden books and tapestries adrift in a dance of in and out. It was as if the corridor itself was a diaphragm to the heaving, dying lungs of Deepcairn above them. The chamber narrowed as he walked deeper, the water rising higher

To anyone else, having a son risen to the ranks of the Thronesguard would be a great honour, but to Lord Stormer it was a sign of disgrace. "A man should rule not serve!" he cried out at the news of Ser Jerrod's appointment, "It is the caitiff who plays the part of another's dog, trapsing behind and jumping at command! No son of mine will play the cur!". The old nobleman had spat loudly as he spoke, his wine-stained tunic scattering with the debris of his evening meal. House

Two towers stood high above the hilly terrain, reaching high like the spears of the riders that rode before it. Lord Declan watched as the Holton bannermen approached, winding down the twisting road that led from the dark stone gatehouse across the jagged rocks and wild streams. Two riders met him on the stone bridge, one dark, tall and brooding - bearing the sigil of a black crow emblazoned on a forest green jerkin of rough leather - and one shorter, familiar, with a fury of

The walls of Aureswind seemed to sneak through the trees as Bill and Georgina rode forward, appearing through the limbs of green and brown like a stone sunrise. The dark walls were tall and ancient, speckled with ivy, arrowslits and the fluttering banners of orange and brown. As the pair rode their horses up towards the main gatehouse, the forest floor gave way to cobblestone and the sound of the hooves beneath them alerted the birds and bannermen to their arrival. Aureswind

The branches of the weeping willow drooped low in the constant heat, their tips gently grazing the water of the moat. Mal sat in its shade, watching the mayfly and dragonfly dart the summer water, and looked high from the mound at the keep ahead of her. Behind her was carved initials into the tree's bark, she pretended not to see her sister's handywork. She could hear Reece and Cledwyn sparring beyond the castle wars, exchanging vile insults that would have them fed soap by t

"So often it is the sins of the father than wreck the life of the child", Lord Whitecliff spoke coldly: "See here with our dear Queen, surrounded by a den of wolves all but created by her father's hand." Jorren watched the ageing lord closely as he picked at a loose thread in the sleeve of his black and silver houppelande. In the cold winter air, the words bit his ears harder than any freezing wind - what did the Lord want, and why did it feel like he was being tested? King G

"House Brokenwall? Why on the Gods Green Land would someone call themselves Brokenwall? I thought houses were supposed to be strong? powerful? If my last name was Brokenwall I'd drown myself" - Ser Helena Darlynton, 710 PB House Brokenwall are a minor house of Southshire, sitting in the north eastern forests that give way to the cliffs of the Stone Coast. Their house words, "Once Broken, Now Rebuilt" reference their origins as a minor settlement during the time of Romidor The