Ossinett

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

Garrick stood on the sand, his hand raised to block the afternoon sun as it beat down hard on the damp, brown sand. The screech of the dragon in the distance broke through the crashing of the waves, the rising steam of water boiling at its breath painted the horizon with a misty whitewash. The castle stood ahead of them, the low tide gently lapping at stone pathway that cut across the strand as if all the chaos of the siege was irrelevant to it. He supposed it was, to nature

"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

The Freystorm Rebellion is one of the most recent military and political conflicts in Cornay, led by the self-styled “Lord of Dragons”...