Yes, I really like your characters. Still, I already have plenty of good characters and I think once more people see it it will have even more characters. I would request that you may make one more character and then pause for a few days until more people have the chance to create characters.
Yes, I really like your characters. Still, I already have plenty of good characters and I think once more people see it it will have even mo… morere characters. I would request that you may make one more character and then pause for a few days until more people have the chance to create characters.
Thanks for joining! I like your character, but I have one little request: The last name "Umber" is actually the name of a very powerful noble House from the North. Would you mind choosing another last name?
FYI I am determined to have near equal representation of women, so for almost all male characters I shall make a female one if necessary.
… more I won't if it equalises naturally obviously, but so far it's 7 men and 2 women and both women were written by me.
To those who disagree with this or think I'm crazy for it, you're entitled to your opinion but:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AdAce79530I
Empowerment yo. Don't want a discussion, just letting you know that yeah, this is happening.
Nah, it's more about the number of characters in general. I totally expect to get many, many characters, but I want to give them all a good amount of screen time. Maybe, in a few days you can create more character, when I have a better overview of how diverse the cast will be. There are a few more female characters already who I haven't added to the list yet (but will do so in the next minutes)
Thanks for joining! I like your character, but I have one little request: The last name "Umber" is actually the name of a very powerful noble House from the North. Would you mind choosing another last name?
Nah, it's more about the number of characters in general. I totally expect to get many, many characters, but I want to give them all a good … moreamount of screen time. Maybe, in a few days you can create more character, when I have a better overview of how diverse the cast will be. There are a few more female characters already who I haven't added to the list yet (but will do so in the next minutes)
Last Names from Braavos sound a bit different from last names from Westeros, kind off like a mix between hispanic and latin names. Examples for Braavosi last names would be Forel, Nestoris or Terys. Commoners from Westeros usually have medieval sounding names, which would be common in Braavos too. I am okay with anything you come up with
Last Names from Braavos sound a bit different from last names from Westeros, kind off like a mix between hispanic and latin names. Examples … morefor Braavosi last names would be Forel, Nestoris or Terys. Commoners from Westeros usually have medieval sounding names, which would be common in Braavos too. I am okay with anything you come up with
So far I received lots of great characters! Thank you all for joining!
I think it is time to tell you how the story will be structured: At first there will be a part. A varying number of parts will form a chapter. 3 chapters will form an Act and 3 Acts will form Book 1. Though I can't go into more detail now, I already have the general storyline for 3 books planned. Yes, it will be huge. Every part will be written from the point-of-view of one or more characters. With the exception of the prologue and possibly the epilogue, every Point-of-View character will be a user-submitted character!
I expect to have the Chapter names for Act 1 up early tomorrow. I try to finish the prologue sooner, maybe even in the next hours.
So liquid youve decided to take up the "Forum" mantle. Are you up for it? i mean people expect great things with that tittle. Especially since both Forum of the Dead and Forumlands were HUGE sucesses. Well if youre really willing to take the expectation then i think i might join
Oh damn, I didn't even thought about the implication I would give with this name. But I will try my best! And while I'm not Lee and I'm not Super, I think I am not bad. And should you submit a character for this, I would be honored
So liquid youve decided to take up the "Forum" mantle. Are you up for it? i mean people expect great things with that tittle. Especially sin… morece both Forum of the Dead and Forumlands were HUGE sucesses. Well if youre really willing to take the expectation then i think i might join
A few hours before sunrise, Maester Eaton awoke, startled by the sound of someone banging at the doors of his chamber. He shivered. Winter was still far, especially at Raylansfair, but yet it was a cold night and somehow the Maesters blanket slipped on the floor during his sleep. Eaton sat up, as quick as his old bones allowed and cringed. It was his ninth autumn. His ninth winter approached. And Eaton remembered.
Back in his youth, a lifetime ago, Eaton used to make fun of an old man, who always sat at the same spot at the stairs of the sept in his village of Stonebridge. Gisburn was his name. Gisburn Mills. But Eaton and his friends, being the cruel kids they always have been, called him Geezburn. Geezburn... Gisburn was blind, half-deaf and from what Eaton could tell, didn't even noticed the childrens mockery. Still, it was an old shame and Eaton did not even know why he remembered it now. Making fun of Geezburn was his favourite part of the day and, at least until he got to feel old age himself, one of the few fond memories from his childhood. For five years Eaton and his friends tormented the poor man. Then, one day, Gisburn did not appear on his usual spot. The stairs of the Sept were empty. Gisburn was seventyfive years old when he died, seven years younger than Eaton was now, twenty years younger than he feeled today. He had no family to bury him and no friends to mourn him, but still he could have never felt so alone as Eaton did right now.
He shuffled to the door and with every step he feeled the weight of his age pulling him down. He knew what happened, even before he opened that door. He knew it and sorrow befell him. There was only one person in Raylansfair who had a knock like this. And there was only one occasion this person would ever wake him in the middle of the night.
Eaton arrived the door as a man in his early eighties, but when he opened them he felt way over a hundred years old. The man who knocked on his door held a torch in his hand and Eaton had to narrow his eyes for a moment before examining the nightly visitor. Harris Flowers, Lord Raylans castellan stood before him, a giant of a man, built like a warrior but with the keen eyes of a scholar, green as the grasses of Reach in the summer. His long brown beard showed early signs of grey and fine wrinkles could be seen around Harris eyes. Still, the man looked like a boy compared to Eaton, who was a hunched figure, almost two feet shorter than Harris. Eaton was completely bald and there were days where he envied Harris full hair. Still, the other man was a pleasant company and Eaton held him in high regards. Usually, his eyes were full of laughter, but today Harris was deadly serious, his glance sharp as Valyrian steel. He didn't even need words. Eaton understood.
"Is anyone with him?", he asked and for a moment he was shocked over how old his voice sounded. Rough, brittle, almost like paper. Not for the first time during the last weeks, Eaton asked himself how long he had left. There were days where he almost felt the Strangers cold breath on his neck. Harris nodded.
"The boy looks after him. But he get's weaker" Harris paused a moment as his voice cracked. Eaton knew how hard this had to be for the castellan. "He... Septon Corbin already gave him the last rites..." Harris sighed and for a moment looked away. Eaton saw tears in the other mans eyes.
"He asked for you Maester. Only you", the castellan answered. Eaton had to gulp. "Did he say anything about... you know?"
Harris shook his head. "Not one word. But he will tell you. He has to tell you" Eaton nodded in agreement and stepped out of his chamber.
In that moment, Harris grabbed his arm, his voice sounded sharp as a blade, just for one moment. "One more thing Eaton... Remember that you are the only one in the room... The only one who will hear his final words"
Eaton frowned as he heard this. He already suspected that Harris would made such an offer. Never before had he thought that he could ever be afraid of a man who has been his friend for thirty years.
"I won't do that Harris", he said, trying to break loose from the stronger mans grip. For a moment Harris hand around his arm felt like a vise as he pulled Eaton closer. "I trust that you'll do what is best for the House. Don't let loyalty and friendship towards a single person blind your judgement"
For a moment it seems like Harris wanted to say something else, but then the sharp glare disappeared, replaced by one of sorrow. His grip got weaker and Eaton finally broke free. "Eaton... I am sorry. It was not my intention to imply..." Harris words were merely a whisper. Eaton could tell that the man was filled with sorrow. Just like himself. But deep inside of him, Eaton felt something else. Fury. With an anger he hadn't felt for decades he looked into Harris eyes. "I always do what is best for this house!" With these words he turned around, leaving the castellan alone in the hallway.
As fast as his brittle bones allowed, Eaton walked through the hallway, stepped through the third door on his left and out on the wall and into the cold night. For a moment he paused, recovering his breath. As he looked down the wall, he saw the lights of Raylansfair at night. Below him, the city. He always loved those lights. Even though Raylansfair was nowhere close to Oldtown or Highgarden, it was still a large city and for Eaton, it would always be the most beautiful city in the Reach. He looked over to the port, with its famous lighthouse.
Next to the port was the oldest building of the city, the great archive of Raylansfair, with its countless books and scrolls, detailing the history of Westeros. According to some rumours, the archive contains hidden rooms, filled with ancient scrolls, written by Garth Greenhand, Bran the Builder and Durran Godsgrief, detailing the history of the Age of Heroes, including the Long Night. According to other rumours, ancient spells are hidden in the archive, the same spells that protected Storms End from the wrath of the gods, the same spells that build the Wall. According to some rumours, there are hidden tombs in this archive, tombs that were built by the gods themselves, tombs that whisper at night, telling secrets from the dawn of life itself. Eaton smiled at that thought. As a young man, he spent days in the archives basement, searching for ancient scrolls. Once he even found a scroll written in the strange language of the Asshai'i. When he finally managed to translate it, he found out that it was nothing more than a mere trade contract, over nine hundred years old, signed by an ancient Lord Raylan and an Asshai'i merchant with an unpronouncable name. Eaton never found ancient secrets or tombs of the gods or scrolls from the Age of Heroes. But it was a pretty thought. The Citadel in Oldtown was envious of these rumours. They gave Raylansfair a right to exist. The Raylans have always written history, for thousands of years. And history was everywhere in the city, everywhere in the kingdom, everywhere in the continent. History written by the Raylans. Countless times the Citadel tried to buy the archive and the right to write their own history. Countless times, Lord Raylan denied. In one particular case the Gardener King had to decide in this matter. It was all written, contained in the archives. Eaton studied these books and scrolls and decades ago he understood the power House Raylan wielded.
There was a book, written by Maester Rendon over four hundred years ago. It wrote of a noble house, the Bennicks of Bennicksford, who got into a fight with the Raylans. Maester Rendon wrote about this fight completely neutral. His successor, Maester Ker, on the other hand demonized the Bennicks. He made them responsible for countless atrocities, for the rape of children, cannibalism, even dark magic. Who could ever tell the truth? Who, if not the one who writes history? Today Bennicksford was an irrelevant coastal village. No one remembered the Bennicks. No one, but the books written by Maester Rendon and Maester Ker. The Raylans wrote history to their favour, they still write it. It is their duty, their privilege. And a very clever Lord Raylan could lead this house to glory. Eaton knew, Harris was right when he said that only he would hear the last words of his friend. Only he would know the name. It was up to him to name the future Lord of Raylansfair, the one who could lead the house to glory.
Eaton shivered, not only because of the cold, paid a last look to the beautiful city and continued his way over the walls to the great tower. When he was younger, the tower was full of life. The old Lord Esrick Raylan and his family lived there. Two sons, Robert and Trystane, and one daughter, Morna. Eaton still remembered the feasts Lord Esrick hosted. As a young man he once danced with Morna and lost his heart to her. Eaton remembered when she got engaged to Lord Buckley, remembered how her happy smile on that day felt like a dagger in his heart. And Eaton remembered when she died, crushed by a horse on her wedding day, not older than nineteen years. Lady Raylan died shortly after her, followed by the grieving Lord Esrick. Eaton remembered how Robert became Lord. A proud man, a strong man, ready to lead his dwindling family through all hardships. A year later Trystane Raylan was captured by the Ironborn. Eaton remembered when King Halleck Hoare, the King of the Isles and the Rivers sent Trystanes severed head to Robert. Eaton remembered how that changed the young Lord, the last of his house.
The Maester entered the tower. For the past forty years the tower was silent, almost lifeless. Lord Robert never married, never had any children. He rarely spent his days in the tower, instead he was brooding over maps, planning his vengeance on the Ironborn who killed his brother. He never went through with any plans. And now Robert Raylan, the last of his line, was about to die, a man not older than seventy years. Eaton sighed and entered the tower.
Two guards greeted him with silent nods. With shaky feet Eaton climbed the stairs up to Lord Roberts chamber. The door was open and Eaton could see the young Dairon, his assistant and eventual successor as Maester, a boy not older than eighteen years, thin, almost fragile, with short red hair and too many freckles to count. Behind him, in the large bed, laid Lord Robert, a gaunt man with pale skin, covered in sweat. His brittle, white hair and the blind eyes were enough for Eaton to see that this man had merely minutes left to live. The chamber reeked of Lord Roberts excrements ever since he got too weak to leave his bed. Even though the door to the balcony was open, it was oppresively hot in the chamber and Eaton noticed the small stove.
"Maester Eaton!", Dairon exclaimed. The boys face lit up when he saw Eaton and even Lord Robert managed to smile as he heard the familiar name. Eaton grabbed the boy by the arm. "Have you done everything I told you boy?", he asked with a stern tone. Dairon nodded "Yes Maester! I gave him everything you said and I did not gave him the Milk of the Poppy, even when he demanded“"
They both turned around as they heard another sound. Lord Roberts croaky voice was heard, almost too quiet for Eaton to hear "That boy has been very rude to an old man, dear friend. He refused to ease my pain, said I need to stay awake... I would punish him myself, but alas, I can already hear the Stranger approaching. Make sure that his behaviour gets better, Eaton..."
Eaton gave Dairon an approving look. The boy followed his orders. He was intelligent enough to understand the importance of the situation and to understand what orders he should follow. He would make a good Maester, one day. Probably soon. "Leave us alone Dairon. Make sure no one can disturb us!", he ordered. The boy nodded and left the room, closing the heavy door behind him.
Robert gave his old friend a kind smile. "All these years, Eaton. I wasted all these years with the Ironborn scum. And for what? Halleck Hoare died in his bed, at age eighty, his son is even worse" Eaton stepped forwards and grabbed Roberts hand, gently holding it while tears flowed down his face. "I'm afraid, Eaton. When Harren Hoare attacks the Reach, he will do so by the sea. He will attack Raylansfair first", Robert said.
Eaton sighed. "Mylord, you are going to die...", he said, simply so that he could say something. So that he could fill the silence. In all his life, he never felt so powerless, not even when Morna Raylan lied on his operation table, her bones crushed by a horse, begging him to end her life. His friend, his oldest and best friend was about to die and Eaton was too old and too weak to prevent it.
Robert laughed, a terrible sound that soon became a cough. "I know you old fool. I can feel the illness. When I woke up yesterday, I was blind. Today I can hardly raise my hand... It is over, Eaton. At least for me..." He closed his eyes and panic overcame Eaton. As loud as his old voice allowed, he began to scream "Mylord! Mylord! Robert! You can't sleep now. You need to tell me..."
Robert opened his eyes again and gave him a weak smile. "And what does that matter for me? The new Lord Raylan will not be from my blood. This family is finished..." Eaton let out a frustrated groan. He knew Robert was a stubborn fool, but he was also a good man and his best friend. He loved this house, he loved this city, he loved the lights at night and he would never let this house die...
"Robert, you know that you must name your successor. Tell me and I will give you the Milk" This lightened up Lord Roberts face. "Ah yes, sweet milk. Milk of the Poppy. Fine, if you need to know. I am going to dictate you something. Write it word for word. Then put my seal on it..." Relief overcame Eaton. He grabbed a scroll and a quill and began to write. Robert started to dictate, at first in a hushed voice, but soon stronger as if these words forced their way out of him. And Eaton wrote. He wrote it word for word. Soon he realized what he was writing.
"Mylord are you sure about this?" Robert nodded. "Never before, in all my life I was more certain about something... Write, old friend. Write history..." He murmured and closed his eyes. Eaton looked at the document in his hands. Harris words came to mind. And his own
"I trust that you'll do what is best for the House"
"I always do what is best for this house..."
For a short moment he glanced at the oven, but then, in complete silence he grabbed Lord Roberts seal and put it on the document. This was it. What should he do now? In his hands, he held the doom of House Raylan. Loyalty. His next step would decide where his loyalty lied. Was he loyal to Robert Raylan, his friend? Or was he loyal to House Raylan, the house that he loved? He took a step towards the oven, still holding the document in his hand. It would be easy. No one would ever know. No one except of himself. He would be the only one who had to live with this
The sound of Robert coughing made him turn around. His friend opened his eyes "I think I don't need... the milk... old friend", he murmured, raising his hand, waving Eaton closer. He opened his mouth and Eaton almost had to put his ear on his friends mouth to be able to understand his last words.
"You are my brother... now and forever... but if you hadn't been a Maester, you could have been Lord Raylan now...", he rasped. "Morna... she always liked you, you know that? She would have been with you, if you had just asked... She would have never gotten on that horse... you should have asked her... my brother..." Robert opened his eyes widely. "I am afraid, Eaton..."
Then, only silence. Eaton closed his friends eyes and finally, maybe for the first time in his whole life, he was able to cry.
It was hours later, almost sunrise and Eaton was still crying next to Roberts dead body. He cried over his old friends death, he cried over the helplessness, he cried over the shame of what he almost did and more than that, he cried over a life never lived, a life that could have been. A knock on the door startled him.
"Come in, whoever it is...", he said. The door opened and Dairon walked in, almost too shy to look at Lord Roberts body. Eaton looked at him, his eyes reddened from crying.
"Maester... I... I am sorry", Dairon stuttered, but Eaton put it off.
"I know boy. Listen..." A quick glance to the doors of the balcony. It was almost dawn. He noticed something else. Something that worried him. And he made a bold plan. He handed Dairon the scroll. "This is not safe here. You have to bring it to Oldtown. Give it to Maester Quent and nobody else..."
Dairon looked at him, slightly confused. "Maester, do you feel alright?" Eaton shook his head. "No... but that is not the matter. We are both in grave danger, boy. This needs to reach Oldtown..."
The boy looked confused, slightly overwhelmed and Eaton could not blame him. But he took the scroll. "I will bring this to Oldtown, you can trust me Maester. I... I give you my word" In that moment he almost seemed like a man, not the boy he was. Eaton gave him a soft pat on the shoulder and a big smile.
"Good boy. Now leave. Leave as soon as possible" Dairon gulped. "May the gods be with you, old and new, Dairon. Should you succeed, you will fulfill an old mans dying wish..." Two old men's dying wishes, he corrected himself in his head. Two old men's dying wishes and the doom of a noble house.
Dairon nodded and took the scroll. "I will come back, Maester, I promise!", he exclaimed. Eaton simply looked at him. He wanted to say so many things. Things someone needed to know. Things he had to tell someone before he... He wanted to say so many things. But the only thing he managed to say was "Close the door when you go boy. And don't tell anyone!"
The boy left the room and Eaton stood up. With stiff limbs he walked to the balcony, out into the night. Below him were the lights of Raylansfair. So beautiful. Above him, the morning sky, where black became blue. It was his favourite time of the day.
"For how long have you been standing there?“, he asked.
"Long enough" The voice was soft, high-pitched, but undoubtly male. Eaton turned around. Slowly.
The man wore a cloak and Eaton could not see his face. Of course not. Why did every killer felt the need to conceal his face? It was not like these people would ever leave any survivors. The Maester noticed the dagger in the mans left hand and winced
"Will you kill the boy when you're done with me?" Eaton felt his heart beating. He was ready, but the boy... It was not fair. Slowly, the stranger shook his head. Relieve overcame Eaton. "Why should I? He is not part of the contract" A paid killer. Now that was interesting.
"But I am..." the Maester stated. The stranger nodded. "My employer said that you are a good man. You deserve a quick death" He pointed at the bed, at the dead Robert Raylan. "He on the other hand..."
Eaton winced. Now it made sense. All this time he tried to cure an illness. All this time he was wrong. "You poisoned him..." The stranger nodded again. "It was part of the contract. And it was inconspicious. A natural death. And from what I have heard about this man it was more than deserved..."
He took a step forwards, playing with the dagger in his hand, a dangerous weapon with a double-edged blade, created only for one purpose. To kill, by any means necessary.
"Now, Maester Eaton, how do you want to die?" Eaton snorted. "You are awfully civil for a paid killer"
This time it almost seemed as if the cloaked stranger gave him a smile. "Why shouldn't I? I'm going to kill you, Eaton. There is no need in being rude"
The stranger took a step forwards. Eaton glanced down. Below him, the city. The stranger followed his gaze. "That is a deep fall. Not what I would choose, but the sight is amazing. There are worse deaths" The Maester looked at his dead friend. Lord Robert had been a good man, a just man and he did not deserve this fate. "Obviously", Eaton murmured.
"What will you do if I try to fight you? What will you do if I cry for help?" The stranger shrugged. "I will kill you. Slowly. Then I will kill the boy" Eaton closed his eyes for a moment. "And if I let it happen?", he asked. For a moment it seemed as if the stranger was smiling. "The boy gets to live“"
The Maester turned around. Below him, the city. "Morna always loved this view" His voice was little more than a hushed whisper. He felt the strangers hand on his shoulder. "She had a good taste...", he said, almost as if he wanted to fill the silence with meaningless words. A single tear found it's way out of Eatons reddened eyes and rolled down his cheek. "Who hired you?", he demanded to know.
The Stranger came closer, until his mouth was next to Eatons ear. "Don't burden yourself with this, not in your time of dying, old man" Eaton felt a shove, soft but determined. He did not resist. He felt the wind on his face and he felt light, almost like a bird. The pain in his limbs was gone. Below him the city. Above him the blue morning sky. The city came closer...
So, that was the Prologue, split in two because of the length. Let me know what you think about it. Let me know about the good parts, let me know about the bad parts. And I'm sure there have to be some bad parts. Any critic can only help me in improving my writing
"Now, Maester Eaton, how do you want to die?" Eaton snorted. "You are awfully civil for a paid killer"
This time it almost seemed as if t… morehe cloaked stranger gave him a smile. "Why shouldn't I? I'm going to kill you, Eaton. There is no need in being rude"
The stranger took a step forwards. Eaton glanced down. Below him, the city. The stranger followed his gaze. "That is a deep fall. Not what I would choose, but the sight is amazing. There are worse deaths" The Maester looked at his dead friend. Lord Robert had been a good man, a just man and he did not deserve this fate. "Obviously", Eaton murmured.
"What will you do if I try to fight you? What will you do if I cry for help?" The stranger shrugged. "I will kill you. Slowly. Then I will kill the boy" Eaton closed his eyes for a moment. "And if I let it happen?", he asked. For a moment it seemed as if the stranger was smiling. "The boy gets to live“"
The Maester turned around. Below … [view original content]
"Now, Maester Eaton, how do you want to die?" Eaton snorted. "You are awfully civil for a paid killer"
This time it almost seemed as if t… morehe cloaked stranger gave him a smile. "Why shouldn't I? I'm going to kill you, Eaton. There is no need in being rude"
The stranger took a step forwards. Eaton glanced down. Below him, the city. The stranger followed his gaze. "That is a deep fall. Not what I would choose, but the sight is amazing. There are worse deaths" The Maester looked at his dead friend. Lord Robert had been a good man, a just man and he did not deserve this fate. "Obviously", Eaton murmured.
"What will you do if I try to fight you? What will you do if I cry for help?" The stranger shrugged. "I will kill you. Slowly. Then I will kill the boy" Eaton closed his eyes for a moment. "And if I let it happen?", he asked. For a moment it seemed as if the stranger was smiling. "The boy gets to live“"
The Maester turned around. Below … [view original content]
Alright, here comes a review where I'll probably sound like a huge dick. I hate doing critiques.
Most of my critiques are minor nitpicks and stuff, but I guess I'd better tell you them.
I'll start off with the good: the plot is fantastic so far. The revelation of Robert having been poisoned, and in true Game of Thrones fashion, Eaton dropped like a fly. The descriptions also very vivid.
Now for the nitpicks: I'm not really sure how I feel about the dialogue. Not the actual speaking itself, but the strange quotation marks and the fact that they are in italics. This is probably just a personal problem, and this dialogue might be in the books, but I dunno. It was very slightly distracting to me, but once again, that's probably just a personal problem with me. Second of all, minor typos. Just things like apostrophes or commas missing. No real biggie however, as everyone experiences typos, especially myself. Third of all, one sentence kind of confused me the first time I read, although I understood it immediately after. "Now, Maester Eaton, how do you want to die?“ Eaton snorted. „You are awfully civil for a paid killer“ This time it almost seemed as if the cloaked stranger gave him a smile. „Why shouldn't I? I'm going to kill you, Eaton. There is no need in being rude“
This paragraph confused me at first, as I wasn't sure if Eaton or the Stranger was talking. I finally understood after a few seconds, but my suggestion is to split the dialogue away from the others.
Overall, this part was pretty great. Good job on it, and it's especially good for the timespan you had written it in!
"Now, Maester Eaton, how do you want to die?" Eaton snorted. "You are awfully civil for a paid killer"
This time it almost seemed as if t… morehe cloaked stranger gave him a smile. "Why shouldn't I? I'm going to kill you, Eaton. There is no need in being rude"
The stranger took a step forwards. Eaton glanced down. Below him, the city. The stranger followed his gaze. "That is a deep fall. Not what I would choose, but the sight is amazing. There are worse deaths" The Maester looked at his dead friend. Lord Robert had been a good man, a just man and he did not deserve this fate. "Obviously", Eaton murmured.
"What will you do if I try to fight you? What will you do if I cry for help?" The stranger shrugged. "I will kill you. Slowly. Then I will kill the boy" Eaton closed his eyes for a moment. "And if I let it happen?", he asked. For a moment it seemed as if the stranger was smiling. "The boy gets to live“"
The Maester turned around. Below … [view original content]
10/10, bruh! Your writing talent is amazing! I'm really hooked for a story.
Btw, can I submit people who are relatives of the King? For example, it was said that Torrhen Stark has a daughter (who also married Ronnel Arryn) and a few sons but it wasn't said who exactly they were. It also wasn't said about Lonel Lannister's wife or children.
First, there are a few people I need to thank:
@InKennyWeTrust and @Domingez, for writing the two best stories on this forum. You two got… more me hooked on the forum a few months ago and without your amazing stories I would never have written one myself.
@TheKingOfWalkers, for being the first person who really made me consider writing my own Fanfiction
@Gustav_Kenny and @Raging_Blades, for writing the first Game of Thrones fanfiction on this forum. While I don't know if mine will be as great as yours, you sure managed to inspire me
And finally @You, for reading this and hopefully reading the story too
I wish you the best of luck with your work. Makes me almost wish that I made my work a forum adventure, and not an actual text adventure... But alas, may you continue on your path my friend!
Please show respect on these forums. You seem more mature than K0t0 up there, so I ask you to not deliberately come into threads you don't like just to talk about how you don't like them.
First, there are a few people I need to thank:
@InKennyWeTrust and @Domingez, for writing the two best stories on this forum. You two got… more me hooked on the forum a few months ago and without your amazing stories I would never have written one myself.
@TheKingOfWalkers, for being the first person who really made me consider writing my own Fanfiction
@Gustav_Kenny and @Raging_Blades, for writing the first Game of Thrones fanfiction on this forum. While I don't know if mine will be as great as yours, you sure managed to inspire me
And finally @You, for reading this and hopefully reading the story too
Please show respect on these forums. You seem more mature than K0t0 up there, so I ask you to not deliberately come into threads you don't like just to talk about how you don't like them.
Sorry, if I realized that yo were just apparently "joking" then Inwouldnt have made another comment back to you. Your comment came off as rude, so I responded in return. Now as you resort to personal insults, it's becoming obvious you're trying to just make me angry for no other reason then because you can.
Why do you have to revert back to victim mentality? I was being sarcastic with you, that was unnecessary.
Relax, you take this way too seriously. You fanfictioners...
A milksop is a person who is indecisive and lacks courage. And before you rush to the defense of SivD1, I was quoting the game and it was in completely lighthearted nature.
Sorry, if I realized that yo were just apparently "joking" then Inwouldnt have made another comment back to you. Your comment came off as ru… morede, so I responded in return. Now as you resort to personal insults, it's becoming obvious you're trying to just make me angry for no other reason then because you can.
And seriously, what the hell is a milksop?
Keep calm, it's just banter.
A milksop is a person who is indecisive and lacks courage. And before you rush to the defense of SivD1, I was quoting the game and it was in completely lighthearted nature.
Comments
Yes, I really like your characters. Still, I already have plenty of good characters and I think once more people see it it will have even more characters. I would request that you may make one more character and then pause for a few days until more people have the chance to create characters.
Do you really think in the next few days it will change from there being 8 men and 2 women written to roughly 8 women and 2 men?
Thanks for joining! I like your character, but I have one little request: The last name "Umber" is actually the name of a very powerful noble House from the North. Would you mind choosing another last name?
It should be four female characters now, as I have just submitted one.
Nah, it's more about the number of characters in general. I totally expect to get many, many characters, but I want to give them all a good amount of screen time. Maybe, in a few days you can create more character, when I have a better overview of how diverse the cast will be. There are a few more female characters already who I haven't added to the list yet (but will do so in the next minutes)
Sure... I don't know what to change it to, what would be a commoner's last name?
Awesome.
Ok cool. Well for now I'll make one more.
Last Names from Braavos sound a bit different from last names from Westeros, kind off like a mix between hispanic and latin names. Examples for Braavosi last names would be Forel, Nestoris or Terys. Commoners from Westeros usually have medieval sounding names, which would be common in Braavos too. I am okay with anything you come up with
I like Terys, I think I'll go with that.
Made a character!!!!!!!!!!
So far I received lots of great characters! Thank you all for joining!
I think it is time to tell you how the story will be structured: At first there will be a part. A varying number of parts will form a chapter. 3 chapters will form an Act and 3 Acts will form Book 1. Though I can't go into more detail now, I already have the general storyline for 3 books planned. Yes, it will be huge. Every part will be written from the point-of-view of one or more characters. With the exception of the prologue and possibly the epilogue, every Point-of-View character will be a user-submitted character!
I expect to have the Chapter names for Act 1 up early tomorrow. I try to finish the prologue sooner, maybe even in the next hours.
I made one.
So liquid youve decided to take up the "Forum" mantle. Are you up for it? i mean people expect great things with that tittle. Especially since both Forum of the Dead and Forumlands were HUGE sucesses. Well if youre really willing to take the expectation then i think i might join
Oh damn, I didn't even thought about the implication I would give with this name. But I will try my best! And while I'm not Lee and I'm not Super, I think I am not bad. And should you submit a character for this, I would be honored
Forum of Thrones, Book I
Prologue: Below him, the City
Eaton
A few hours before sunrise, Maester Eaton awoke, startled by the sound of someone banging at the doors of his chamber. He shivered. Winter was still far, especially at Raylansfair, but yet it was a cold night and somehow the Maesters blanket slipped on the floor during his sleep. Eaton sat up, as quick as his old bones allowed and cringed. It was his ninth autumn. His ninth winter approached. And Eaton remembered.
Back in his youth, a lifetime ago, Eaton used to make fun of an old man, who always sat at the same spot at the stairs of the sept in his village of Stonebridge. Gisburn was his name. Gisburn Mills. But Eaton and his friends, being the cruel kids they always have been, called him Geezburn. Geezburn... Gisburn was blind, half-deaf and from what Eaton could tell, didn't even noticed the childrens mockery. Still, it was an old shame and Eaton did not even know why he remembered it now. Making fun of Geezburn was his favourite part of the day and, at least until he got to feel old age himself, one of the few fond memories from his childhood. For five years Eaton and his friends tormented the poor man. Then, one day, Gisburn did not appear on his usual spot. The stairs of the Sept were empty. Gisburn was seventyfive years old when he died, seven years younger than Eaton was now, twenty years younger than he feeled today. He had no family to bury him and no friends to mourn him, but still he could have never felt so alone as Eaton did right now.
He shuffled to the door and with every step he feeled the weight of his age pulling him down. He knew what happened, even before he opened that door. He knew it and sorrow befell him. There was only one person in Raylansfair who had a knock like this. And there was only one occasion this person would ever wake him in the middle of the night.
Eaton arrived the door as a man in his early eighties, but when he opened them he felt way over a hundred years old. The man who knocked on his door held a torch in his hand and Eaton had to narrow his eyes for a moment before examining the nightly visitor. Harris Flowers, Lord Raylans castellan stood before him, a giant of a man, built like a warrior but with the keen eyes of a scholar, green as the grasses of Reach in the summer. His long brown beard showed early signs of grey and fine wrinkles could be seen around Harris eyes. Still, the man looked like a boy compared to Eaton, who was a hunched figure, almost two feet shorter than Harris. Eaton was completely bald and there were days where he envied Harris full hair. Still, the other man was a pleasant company and Eaton held him in high regards. Usually, his eyes were full of laughter, but today Harris was deadly serious, his glance sharp as Valyrian steel. He didn't even need words. Eaton understood.
"Is anyone with him?", he asked and for a moment he was shocked over how old his voice sounded. Rough, brittle, almost like paper. Not for the first time during the last weeks, Eaton asked himself how long he had left. There were days where he almost felt the Strangers cold breath on his neck. Harris nodded.
"The boy looks after him. But he get's weaker" Harris paused a moment as his voice cracked. Eaton knew how hard this had to be for the castellan. "He... Septon Corbin already gave him the last rites..." Harris sighed and for a moment looked away. Eaton saw tears in the other mans eyes.
"He asked for you Maester. Only you", the castellan answered. Eaton had to gulp. "Did he say anything about... you know?"
Harris shook his head. "Not one word. But he will tell you. He has to tell you" Eaton nodded in agreement and stepped out of his chamber.
In that moment, Harris grabbed his arm, his voice sounded sharp as a blade, just for one moment. "One more thing Eaton... Remember that you are the only one in the room... The only one who will hear his final words"
Eaton frowned as he heard this. He already suspected that Harris would made such an offer. Never before had he thought that he could ever be afraid of a man who has been his friend for thirty years.
"I won't do that Harris", he said, trying to break loose from the stronger mans grip. For a moment Harris hand around his arm felt like a vise as he pulled Eaton closer. "I trust that you'll do what is best for the House. Don't let loyalty and friendship towards a single person blind your judgement"
For a moment it seems like Harris wanted to say something else, but then the sharp glare disappeared, replaced by one of sorrow. His grip got weaker and Eaton finally broke free. "Eaton... I am sorry. It was not my intention to imply..." Harris words were merely a whisper. Eaton could tell that the man was filled with sorrow. Just like himself. But deep inside of him, Eaton felt something else. Fury. With an anger he hadn't felt for decades he looked into Harris eyes. "I always do what is best for this house!" With these words he turned around, leaving the castellan alone in the hallway.
As fast as his brittle bones allowed, Eaton walked through the hallway, stepped through the third door on his left and out on the wall and into the cold night. For a moment he paused, recovering his breath. As he looked down the wall, he saw the lights of Raylansfair at night. Below him, the city. He always loved those lights. Even though Raylansfair was nowhere close to Oldtown or Highgarden, it was still a large city and for Eaton, it would always be the most beautiful city in the Reach. He looked over to the port, with its famous lighthouse.
Next to the port was the oldest building of the city, the great archive of Raylansfair, with its countless books and scrolls, detailing the history of Westeros. According to some rumours, the archive contains hidden rooms, filled with ancient scrolls, written by Garth Greenhand, Bran the Builder and Durran Godsgrief, detailing the history of the Age of Heroes, including the Long Night. According to other rumours, ancient spells are hidden in the archive, the same spells that protected Storms End from the wrath of the gods, the same spells that build the Wall. According to some rumours, there are hidden tombs in this archive, tombs that were built by the gods themselves, tombs that whisper at night, telling secrets from the dawn of life itself. Eaton smiled at that thought. As a young man, he spent days in the archives basement, searching for ancient scrolls. Once he even found a scroll written in the strange language of the Asshai'i. When he finally managed to translate it, he found out that it was nothing more than a mere trade contract, over nine hundred years old, signed by an ancient Lord Raylan and an Asshai'i merchant with an unpronouncable name. Eaton never found ancient secrets or tombs of the gods or scrolls from the Age of Heroes. But it was a pretty thought. The Citadel in Oldtown was envious of these rumours. They gave Raylansfair a right to exist. The Raylans have always written history, for thousands of years. And history was everywhere in the city, everywhere in the kingdom, everywhere in the continent. History written by the Raylans. Countless times the Citadel tried to buy the archive and the right to write their own history. Countless times, Lord Raylan denied. In one particular case the Gardener King had to decide in this matter. It was all written, contained in the archives. Eaton studied these books and scrolls and decades ago he understood the power House Raylan wielded.
There was a book, written by Maester Rendon over four hundred years ago. It wrote of a noble house, the Bennicks of Bennicksford, who got into a fight with the Raylans. Maester Rendon wrote about this fight completely neutral. His successor, Maester Ker, on the other hand demonized the Bennicks. He made them responsible for countless atrocities, for the rape of children, cannibalism, even dark magic. Who could ever tell the truth? Who, if not the one who writes history? Today Bennicksford was an irrelevant coastal village. No one remembered the Bennicks. No one, but the books written by Maester Rendon and Maester Ker. The Raylans wrote history to their favour, they still write it. It is their duty, their privilege. And a very clever Lord Raylan could lead this house to glory. Eaton knew, Harris was right when he said that only he would hear the last words of his friend. Only he would know the name. It was up to him to name the future Lord of Raylansfair, the one who could lead the house to glory.
Eaton shivered, not only because of the cold, paid a last look to the beautiful city and continued his way over the walls to the great tower. When he was younger, the tower was full of life. The old Lord Esrick Raylan and his family lived there. Two sons, Robert and Trystane, and one daughter, Morna. Eaton still remembered the feasts Lord Esrick hosted. As a young man he once danced with Morna and lost his heart to her. Eaton remembered when she got engaged to Lord Buckley, remembered how her happy smile on that day felt like a dagger in his heart. And Eaton remembered when she died, crushed by a horse on her wedding day, not older than nineteen years. Lady Raylan died shortly after her, followed by the grieving Lord Esrick. Eaton remembered how Robert became Lord. A proud man, a strong man, ready to lead his dwindling family through all hardships. A year later Trystane Raylan was captured by the Ironborn. Eaton remembered when King Halleck Hoare, the King of the Isles and the Rivers sent Trystanes severed head to Robert. Eaton remembered how that changed the young Lord, the last of his house.
The Maester entered the tower. For the past forty years the tower was silent, almost lifeless. Lord Robert never married, never had any children. He rarely spent his days in the tower, instead he was brooding over maps, planning his vengeance on the Ironborn who killed his brother. He never went through with any plans. And now Robert Raylan, the last of his line, was about to die, a man not older than seventy years. Eaton sighed and entered the tower.
Two guards greeted him with silent nods. With shaky feet Eaton climbed the stairs up to Lord Roberts chamber. The door was open and Eaton could see the young Dairon, his assistant and eventual successor as Maester, a boy not older than eighteen years, thin, almost fragile, with short red hair and too many freckles to count. Behind him, in the large bed, laid Lord Robert, a gaunt man with pale skin, covered in sweat. His brittle, white hair and the blind eyes were enough for Eaton to see that this man had merely minutes left to live. The chamber reeked of Lord Roberts excrements ever since he got too weak to leave his bed. Even though the door to the balcony was open, it was oppresively hot in the chamber and Eaton noticed the small stove.
"Maester Eaton!", Dairon exclaimed. The boys face lit up when he saw Eaton and even Lord Robert managed to smile as he heard the familiar name. Eaton grabbed the boy by the arm. "Have you done everything I told you boy?", he asked with a stern tone. Dairon nodded "Yes Maester! I gave him everything you said and I did not gave him the Milk of the Poppy, even when he demanded“"
They both turned around as they heard another sound. Lord Roberts croaky voice was heard, almost too quiet for Eaton to hear "That boy has been very rude to an old man, dear friend. He refused to ease my pain, said I need to stay awake... I would punish him myself, but alas, I can already hear the Stranger approaching. Make sure that his behaviour gets better, Eaton..."
Eaton gave Dairon an approving look. The boy followed his orders. He was intelligent enough to understand the importance of the situation and to understand what orders he should follow. He would make a good Maester, one day. Probably soon. "Leave us alone Dairon. Make sure no one can disturb us!", he ordered. The boy nodded and left the room, closing the heavy door behind him.
Robert gave his old friend a kind smile. "All these years, Eaton. I wasted all these years with the Ironborn scum. And for what? Halleck Hoare died in his bed, at age eighty, his son is even worse" Eaton stepped forwards and grabbed Roberts hand, gently holding it while tears flowed down his face. "I'm afraid, Eaton. When Harren Hoare attacks the Reach, he will do so by the sea. He will attack Raylansfair first", Robert said.
Eaton sighed. "Mylord, you are going to die...", he said, simply so that he could say something. So that he could fill the silence. In all his life, he never felt so powerless, not even when Morna Raylan lied on his operation table, her bones crushed by a horse, begging him to end her life. His friend, his oldest and best friend was about to die and Eaton was too old and too weak to prevent it.
Robert laughed, a terrible sound that soon became a cough. "I know you old fool. I can feel the illness. When I woke up yesterday, I was blind. Today I can hardly raise my hand... It is over, Eaton. At least for me..." He closed his eyes and panic overcame Eaton. As loud as his old voice allowed, he began to scream "Mylord! Mylord! Robert! You can't sleep now. You need to tell me..."
Robert opened his eyes again and gave him a weak smile. "And what does that matter for me? The new Lord Raylan will not be from my blood. This family is finished..." Eaton let out a frustrated groan. He knew Robert was a stubborn fool, but he was also a good man and his best friend. He loved this house, he loved this city, he loved the lights at night and he would never let this house die...
"Robert, you know that you must name your successor. Tell me and I will give you the Milk" This lightened up Lord Roberts face. "Ah yes, sweet milk. Milk of the Poppy. Fine, if you need to know. I am going to dictate you something. Write it word for word. Then put my seal on it..." Relief overcame Eaton. He grabbed a scroll and a quill and began to write. Robert started to dictate, at first in a hushed voice, but soon stronger as if these words forced their way out of him. And Eaton wrote. He wrote it word for word. Soon he realized what he was writing.
"Mylord are you sure about this?" Robert nodded. "Never before, in all my life I was more certain about something... Write, old friend. Write history..." He murmured and closed his eyes. Eaton looked at the document in his hands. Harris words came to mind. And his own
"I trust that you'll do what is best for the House"
"I always do what is best for this house..."
For a short moment he glanced at the oven, but then, in complete silence he grabbed Lord Roberts seal and put it on the document. This was it. What should he do now? In his hands, he held the doom of House Raylan. Loyalty. His next step would decide where his loyalty lied. Was he loyal to Robert Raylan, his friend? Or was he loyal to House Raylan, the house that he loved? He took a step towards the oven, still holding the document in his hand. It would be easy. No one would ever know. No one except of himself. He would be the only one who had to live with this
The sound of Robert coughing made him turn around. His friend opened his eyes "I think I don't need... the milk... old friend", he murmured, raising his hand, waving Eaton closer. He opened his mouth and Eaton almost had to put his ear on his friends mouth to be able to understand his last words.
"You are my brother... now and forever... but if you hadn't been a Maester, you could have been Lord Raylan now...", he rasped. "Morna... she always liked you, you know that? She would have been with you, if you had just asked... She would have never gotten on that horse... you should have asked her... my brother..." Robert opened his eyes widely. "I am afraid, Eaton..."
Then, only silence. Eaton closed his friends eyes and finally, maybe for the first time in his whole life, he was able to cry.
It was hours later, almost sunrise and Eaton was still crying next to Roberts dead body. He cried over his old friends death, he cried over the helplessness, he cried over the shame of what he almost did and more than that, he cried over a life never lived, a life that could have been. A knock on the door startled him.
"Come in, whoever it is...", he said. The door opened and Dairon walked in, almost too shy to look at Lord Roberts body. Eaton looked at him, his eyes reddened from crying.
"Maester... I... I am sorry", Dairon stuttered, but Eaton put it off.
"I know boy. Listen..." A quick glance to the doors of the balcony. It was almost dawn. He noticed something else. Something that worried him. And he made a bold plan. He handed Dairon the scroll. "This is not safe here. You have to bring it to Oldtown. Give it to Maester Quent and nobody else..."
Dairon looked at him, slightly confused. "Maester, do you feel alright?" Eaton shook his head. "No... but that is not the matter. We are both in grave danger, boy. This needs to reach Oldtown..."
The boy looked confused, slightly overwhelmed and Eaton could not blame him. But he took the scroll. "I will bring this to Oldtown, you can trust me Maester. I... I give you my word" In that moment he almost seemed like a man, not the boy he was. Eaton gave him a soft pat on the shoulder and a big smile.
"Good boy. Now leave. Leave as soon as possible" Dairon gulped. "May the gods be with you, old and new, Dairon. Should you succeed, you will fulfill an old mans dying wish..." Two old men's dying wishes, he corrected himself in his head. Two old men's dying wishes and the doom of a noble house.
Dairon nodded and took the scroll. "I will come back, Maester, I promise!", he exclaimed. Eaton simply looked at him. He wanted to say so many things. Things someone needed to know. Things he had to tell someone before he... He wanted to say so many things. But the only thing he managed to say was "Close the door when you go boy. And don't tell anyone!"
The boy left the room and Eaton stood up. With stiff limbs he walked to the balcony, out into the night. Below him were the lights of Raylansfair. So beautiful. Above him, the morning sky, where black became blue. It was his favourite time of the day.
"For how long have you been standing there?“, he asked.
"Long enough" The voice was soft, high-pitched, but undoubtly male. Eaton turned around. Slowly.
The man wore a cloak and Eaton could not see his face. Of course not. Why did every killer felt the need to conceal his face? It was not like these people would ever leave any survivors. The Maester noticed the dagger in the mans left hand and winced
"Will you kill the boy when you're done with me?" Eaton felt his heart beating. He was ready, but the boy... It was not fair. Slowly, the stranger shook his head. Relieve overcame Eaton. "Why should I? He is not part of the contract" A paid killer. Now that was interesting.
"But I am..." the Maester stated. The stranger nodded. "My employer said that you are a good man. You deserve a quick death" He pointed at the bed, at the dead Robert Raylan. "He on the other hand..."
Eaton winced. Now it made sense. All this time he tried to cure an illness. All this time he was wrong. "You poisoned him..." The stranger nodded again. "It was part of the contract. And it was inconspicious. A natural death. And from what I have heard about this man it was more than deserved..."
He took a step forwards, playing with the dagger in his hand, a dangerous weapon with a double-edged blade, created only for one purpose. To kill, by any means necessary.
"Now, Maester Eaton, how do you want to die?" Eaton snorted. "You are awfully civil for a paid killer"
This time it almost seemed as if the cloaked stranger gave him a smile. "Why shouldn't I? I'm going to kill you, Eaton. There is no need in being rude"
The stranger took a step forwards. Eaton glanced down. Below him, the city. The stranger followed his gaze. "That is a deep fall. Not what I would choose, but the sight is amazing. There are worse deaths" The Maester looked at his dead friend. Lord Robert had been a good man, a just man and he did not deserve this fate. "Obviously", Eaton murmured.
"What will you do if I try to fight you? What will you do if I cry for help?" The stranger shrugged. "I will kill you. Slowly. Then I will kill the boy" Eaton closed his eyes for a moment. "And if I let it happen?", he asked. For a moment it seemed as if the stranger was smiling. "The boy gets to live“"
The Maester turned around. Below him, the city. "Morna always loved this view" His voice was little more than a hushed whisper. He felt the strangers hand on his shoulder. "She had a good taste...", he said, almost as if he wanted to fill the silence with meaningless words. A single tear found it's way out of Eatons reddened eyes and rolled down his cheek. "Who hired you?", he demanded to know.
The Stranger came closer, until his mouth was next to Eatons ear. "Don't burden yourself with this, not in your time of dying, old man" Eaton felt a shove, soft but determined. He did not resist. He felt the wind on his face and he felt light, almost like a bird. The pain in his limbs was gone. Below him the city. Above him the blue morning sky. The city came closer...
So, that was the Prologue, split in two because of the length. Let me know what you think about it. Let me know about the good parts, let me know about the bad parts. And I'm sure there have to be some bad parts. Any critic can only help me in improving my writing
Your writing is amazing. I love the flow your writing has to it, you also have a really good plot! You're also a really fast typer.
This was a amazing opening! Amazing!
Just.... THIS IS THE BEST EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Alright, here comes a review where I'll probably sound like a huge dick. I hate doing critiques.
Most of my critiques are minor nitpicks and stuff, but I guess I'd better tell you them.
I'll start off with the good: the plot is fantastic so far. The revelation of Robert having been poisoned, and in true Game of Thrones fashion, Eaton dropped like a fly. The descriptions also very vivid.
Now for the nitpicks: I'm not really sure how I feel about the dialogue. Not the actual speaking itself, but the strange quotation marks and the fact that they are in italics. This is probably just a personal problem, and this dialogue might be in the books, but I dunno. It was very slightly distracting to me, but once again, that's probably just a personal problem with me. Second of all, minor typos. Just things like apostrophes or commas missing. No real biggie however, as everyone experiences typos, especially myself. Third of all, one sentence kind of confused me the first time I read, although I understood it immediately after. "Now, Maester Eaton, how do you want to die?“ Eaton snorted. „You are awfully civil for a paid killer“ This time it almost seemed as if the cloaked stranger gave him a smile. „Why shouldn't I? I'm going to kill you, Eaton. There is no need in being rude“
This paragraph confused me at first, as I wasn't sure if Eaton or the Stranger was talking. I finally understood after a few seconds, but my suggestion is to split the dialogue away from the others.
Overall, this part was pretty great. Good job on it, and it's especially good for the timespan you had written it in!
I'm sorry I'm an asshole. ;(
10/10, bruh! Your writing talent is amazing! I'm really hooked for a story.
Btw, can I submit people who are relatives of the King? For example, it was said that Torrhen Stark has a daughter (who also married Ronnel Arryn) and a few sons but it wasn't said who exactly they were. It also wasn't said about Lonel Lannister's wife or children.
If it's not allowed, I'll create a minor house.
Thanks
I'm sure this will be great.
[removed]
I wish you the best of luck with your work. Makes me almost wish that I made my work a forum adventure, and not an actual text adventure... But alas, may you continue on your path my friend!
So, you could have gone with any insult that you had wanted, you could have gone with "shitheads" or "asswipes" or "fucktards" or even "nerds."
But you go with dweebs.
Out of every insult ever.
You pick dweebs.
Ingenious.
I have to say you're literally the most mature person I've seen on this forum, thank you for that amazing contribution.
This. Threads like these...
Ah, so after hating on my work, you then move on to others... Very mature of you, I see you respect others quite wonderfully.
You're a milksop.
I don't know what that is... But it doesn't sound very nice...
Please show respect on these forums. You seem more mature than K0t0 up there, so I ask you to not deliberately come into threads you don't like just to talk about how you don't like them.
Thank you so much! You were the best commenter and viewer for my fanfic and I'm very thankful to you for inspiring me to work better.
Btw, I asked you a question on Page 3. Check it out.
More mature than K0t0? Well, isn't that the compliment of the century.
Why do you have to respond with a snarky comment? I was being very calm with you, that was unnecessary.
Why do you have to revert back to victim mentality? I was being sarcastic with you, that was unnecessary.
Relax, you take this way too seriously. You fanfictioners...
Sorry, if I realized that yo were just apparently "joking" then Inwouldnt have made another comment back to you. Your comment came off as rude, so I responded in return. Now as you resort to personal insults, it's becoming obvious you're trying to just make me angry for no other reason then because you can.
And seriously, what the hell is a milksop?
Keep calm, it's just banter.
A milksop is a person who is indecisive and lacks courage. And before you rush to the defense of SivD1, I was quoting the game and it was in completely lighthearted nature.
In that case, sorry for getting worked up about it.
No worries. I'll leave you to your fanfics and I promise to never mess with you lot again.