Posts by DAGDA GREYJOY

[fancypost bgcolor= transparent; bordercolor= transparent; text-align: justify; font: 12pt mongolian sans]/crashes down
I'm back with a new character

[fancypost bgcolor= transparent; bordercolor= transparent; text-align: justify; font: 12pt mongolian sans]Raiders, the ironborn were called, and raiders they were. The ironman in question was named Dagda, and he had just arrived on Westeros' shore after raiding a small isle far from the coast. The picking had been small but worthwhile; the sea otter bore a heavy gold chain. He had paid the iron price for it, ripping it from the body of his foe, a large dog who tended the island peacefully and made infrequent trips to the mainland.

It wasn't often that Dagda left the Iron Islands. Yes, he was technically a member of Westeros, but he'd long viewed the rest of the kingdom as soft, as folk worth only plundering, and it therefore infuriated him that he had to bend the knee. The last Greyjoy Rebellion hadn't ended successfully, though, and he knew that the ironborn lacked the numbers to try again.

He stood still for a moment, a short figure with weathered features standing before the vast ocean, a raft besides him, and then began to climb toward the nearby path. He'd trade his newly won chain for a few good drinks and a nice meal at the nearest tavern.

[fancypost bgcolor= transparent; bordercolor= transparent; text-align: justify; font: 12pt mongolian sans]Hey, guys.

/squints
I didn't recognize you, AJ. Khal might stop by.

pax you preemptive copycat
I can't take you anywhere

ok so this makes 3 posts on dagda's account
now that verification thing will go away, right?

[fancypost bgcolor= transparent; bordercolor= transparent; text-align: justify; font: 12pt mongolian sans]Blindlove was Dagda's first view of a proper Westerosi in a long time, and the sight of her did not impress him. He remained still and silent as she headed over, standing proudly with the chain wrapped around one of his shoulders. She didn't look straight at him, and this confused him. He would have expected her to either meet his gaze steadily or look down out of submissiveness or fear, the proper things to feel when dealing with ironmen. Unsure of what to make of this, he simply ignored it. "We haven't," he agreed in his rough, proud voice. "My name is Dagda Greyjoy." He refrained from naming his raft, upon which he pirated the outer seas. These soft members of the Seven Kingdoms would neither understand nor care. "Will you show me to a tavern?"

His fierce black eyes shifted toward Oliver; he beheld the green griffin with a degree of interest. Hearing the Warden speak, his gaze turned cold. The ironborn did joke among themselves, but he was not used to being addressed so, especially by a stranger. Rather than make a fuss, though, he replied in that curious tone, "You could say that."

[fancypost bgcolor= transparent; bordercolor= transparent; text-align: justify; font: 12pt mongolian sans]Dagda Greyjoy plans to rebel against the queen of Westeros and gain freedom for the Greyjoys. To do this, though, he needs numbers, and these numbers will come in the form of the rest of the Greyjoy family.

They are all sea otters; or, at least, they have all been born as otters. They've previously lived on the Iron Islands, acting as pirates and raiding the smaller islands around them. It's entirely possible for your character to have visited mainland Westeros, of course, but it's unlikely that they would have previously set up permanent residence there.

They'll also be related to Pax's Finnbahr and Zenzan's Tessa.

Form is pretty much free-for-all. Just include . . . stuff. Yeah. Stuff.

Dagda's siblings
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Dagda's children
- Farrah
- Adeline
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Other Greyjoys
Just other random Greyjoys.
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Dagda's wife
The mother of at least some of these kids. Details can be ironed out.
- Yvette

[fancypost bgcolor= transparent; bordercolor= transparent; text-align: justify; font: 12pt mongolian sans]Lost was not a word Dagda cared to utter, but it was one that described him. He'd come to Westeros' mainland only a day ago to see how things were going in the rest of the kingdom. The ironmen, by and large, were content to remain by themselves, but lately Dagda had been chaffing under the restrictions imposed by the crown. Why, the Greyjoys weren't even an official house anymore! That was something he wanted to speak to Coriolanus about, but later, after he had figured out the way things swung here on this soft, poor land. He couldn't do that, though, until he figured out where he was.

He'd been prowling through Lannisport. It was a coastal city located to the south of Casterly Rock, and he had hoped that he'd be able to catch some fish for his dinner. Never mind catching fish, though - he was stuck between some buildings, unable to see any water. He could smell the sea, but although he'd been wandering for some time, he hadn't been able to find it.

He'd grown up wondering what Lannisport looked like; he knew that previous generations of Greyjoys had raided the city, but that had been before they'd bent the knee to the Targaryen kings of old. During the rebellions that had cropped up every so often, this had been a prime target. Perhaps if Coriolanus refused to acknowledge his request for the Greyjoys to become official this would be a target once more.

Rounding a corner, the otter found himself faced by a large stall selling perfume so strong that it drowned out the salty scent of the sea. Cursing quietly, he wheeled around.

[fancypost bgcolor= transparent; bordercolor= transparent; text-align: justify; font: 12pt mongolian sans]The king was calling to a member of his house. Coriolanus seemed pretty calm, so Dagda assumed it wasn't to chew out the dog. Perhaps he'd be given a lordship. This was something the Greyjoy wanted to witness; if it was important, he'd sail back to the Iron Islands that very afternoon to share the news. Seeing how things stood in the rest of Westeros was part of the reason he was here; you couldn't hope to succeed against someone unless you knew them.

[fancypost bgcolor= transparent; bordercolor= transparent; text-align: justify; font: 12pt mongolian sans]This was the king? Slow as news came to the Iron Islands, Dagda knew that Coriolanus Lannister was the name of the Hand who had risen to power, but he looked nothing like what he had expected. The eight legged horse did not impress him.

Ser? The title almost made him laugh. The ironmen were not knights. Who needed knighthood when he was a king? Aboard his ship, an ironborn captain was a king. There was no higher authority than him except for that of the Drowned God, and the Drowned God rarely had reason to disagree with his followers. Why would He? He had created the ironborn to loot and pillage, and that was the aim of every captain.

Brushing past the group, he continued to walk up the rocky shore. "We attend our own affairs," he told Coriolanus. They didn't need the rest of Westeros. Dagda was of mind to break away from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms and conquer this wide green land. Pausing, he looked at Corio, amusement momentarily shining in his black eyes. How were things on the Islands? It was a harsh land, but a harsh land bred harsh character. "The Islands are flowering with greenery," he told him, such an obvious lie as to not even be a lie. There was little enough greenery on the Iron Islands; they lived on fish, that flowers. "Does the king take an interest in our affairs again?" The Westerosi kings, to Dagda's mind, paid little attention to them unless they became too rowdy, and then he minded them long enough to punish them.

Oliver had a bar, huh? And who was this Oliver? A member of the group swarming him, apparently. Dagda grunted, briefly glancing at the female. He looked up at Exodus - another horse, but this one without four extra legs - and nodded before continuing his march. If Oliver didn't speak up, maybe he'd just stumble into a tavern; this lot would certainly look better if he was roaring drunk.

[fancypost bgcolor= transparent; bordercolor= transparent; text-align: justify; font: 12pt mongolian sans]Dangling the chain in front of Oliver, Dagda asked, "This'll do in place of coin?" Easy come, easy go. He could plunder another island home if he wanted something to decorate himself with. He didn't like the customs followed here, and where they could manage it at home, the ironborn followed the old way, but while he was on these shores, seeing if the time was ripe for a rebellion, he would follow the laws. Regarding how good a bar the Verdant was, the sea otter simply said, "We'll see."

[fancypost bgcolor= transparent; bordercolor= transparent; text-align: justify; font: 12pt mongolian sans]The bow was a coward's weapon, or so it was said on the Iron Islands. Dagda himself thought that there was something to be said for killing from a distance, even if it was cowardly, but he wasn't going to break with tradition. Unlike the other houses, the Greyjoys had endured by sticking to their customs, by refusing to fully integrate with the rest of Westeros. The Dornishmen had done something similar, and now they were free from the crown, under their own leadership. Dagda envied them that. Swaggering toward the group, the sea otter demanded, "This is what you use to kill?"

[fancypost bgcolor= transparent; bordercolor= transparent; text-align: justify; font: 12pt mongolian sans]bump & added stuff

[fancypost bgcolor= transparent; bordercolor= transparent; text-align: justify; font: 12pt mongolian sans]The sun rose over the small northern pond where Dagda had decided to spend the night. The sky was striking, pink and yellow and blue, and reflected in the still waters of the pond. The water here was fresh, different than the salty seawater that he was used to, but he hadn't had too much trouble drifting off to sleep. The light came gradually, too gradually to wake him; any early risers would be able to see the Greyjoy lying on his back in the water, tangled in seaweed, sleeping peacefully.

sleeping sea otters are cute

[fancypost bgcolor= transparent; bordercolor= transparent; text-align: justify; font: 12pt mongolian sans]Dagda had been ambling along near the Red Keep, listening to the various conversation going on, when a pale serval burst forward, screeching for her mother and uncle. Slightly curious, he stilled, listening with a proud smirk on his face. It soon became apparent that the Targaryen women - the serval's apparent mother - was teaching her child of the Seven, the gods these green landers worshiped. The ironborn themselves served the Drowned God, the true god, the one who had created them from the sea to rape and burn and pillage. Their way might be looked down on by the other Westerosi, but the ironborn were just being godly, fulfilling their purpose.

The sea otter didn't interrupt the lesson, but he did turn his black gaze toward Diana and Harley, awaiting their reactions.

[fancypost bgcolor= transparent; bordercolor= transparent; text-align: justify; font: 12pt mongolian sans]Stolen - what had this griffin heard about the ironborn? Dagda could not hold back a chuckle. Flipping the chain neatly onto his shoulder, he declared, "Nothing I have is not lawfully mine." It was true too, in a way. It was the ironmen's way to raid and reave. They'd been doing it since the Drowned God made them. What baubles he had he'd won fairly, by stripping them from the corpses of their previous owners. That wasn't thievery. Leastwise, he didn't see it as thievery. Flashing a toothy grin up at Oliver, he asked, "And now you'll take me to this place of yours?"

[fancypost bgcolor= transparent; bordercolor= transparent; text-align: justify; font: 12pt mongolian sans]Dagda found himself face to face with Blindlove. He remembered the Hand from their previous brief encounter; it came as more surprise to him that she would recognize his scent, especially as masked by the perfumes as it was. Tall as he carried himself, he thought she'd have more on her mind than a single Greyjoy, rare as his family were on mainland Westeros. He regarded her with hard eyes as she spoke, her manner cheerful as a maid's. She didn't realize that to an ironman, a green-lander like herself was considered less than a fellow ironman; if she were taken to the Iron Islands, the best she could hope for would be to serve as a salt wife to an ironborn captain. Of course, that could not happen - the laws of Westeros kept his brothers from taking captives from among the Westerosi.

Barely a minute passed before he was again greeted. Dagda squinted up at Elyse. "Hello," he offered the pair, refraining from adding any formalities. He disliked paying homage to these green-landers, and from what he'd seen of Blindlove, she wouldn't demand it. The Targaryen woman might be a lady, he didn't truly know, but he saw her as another broad.

A fine day? He glanced toward the sky. It was clear, with no sign of a coming storm. A fine day to sail. "Could be," he agreed. "A better day if we were by the harbor. Is that too rough a place for ladies like yourselves?" His tone bore a trace of mockery, although his expression was sincere.

[fancypost bgcolor= transparent; bordercolor= transparent; text-align: justify; font: 12pt mongolian sans]Dagda trained his gaze on the Lion King, mouth twisted thoughtfully. What a funny thing to do, this mass introduction. Nevertheless, he had arrived, and leaned against the wall with a tankard of mead. After a number of others had spoken, the sea otter raised his voice. "I'm Dagda Greyjoy of the Iron Islands, captain of the Iron Dragon." His ship was his pride. He'd taken a smaller craft here from the Iron Islands, and he wondered how she was faring back home, in the paws of his mate. If he returned to find that she'd been destroyed in his absence, whether through a raid gone wrong or bad steering, he would drown the otter he'd left in charge; that fate would be only because ironborn could not shed the blood of other ironborn. If they could, he'd skin his mate.

// Hey! I'm Pounce. I'm a big history nerd and a fan of the Discworld series and GoT/ASOIAF. I've been playing on and off in Westeros ever since it was founded here. Mmm, I'm pretty boring except for the fact that I've gone to the moon twice and killed a lion. I spend most of my free time either online, reading, or playing sports and I know nothing, but you're welcome to pm me anyway.

[fancypost bgcolor= transparent; bordercolor= transparent; width=75px; text-align: justify; font: 12pt mongolian sans]With the Red Keep so open for visitors (or perhaps it was just because he was seen as an envoy from the ironborn? Dagda had no idea), Dagda had of course stopped by. He had disliked the castle from the moment he'd first set eyes upon on it, and the interior impressed him no more than the exterior had.

The sea captain was heading toward Coriolanus' office; he had a small matter he wanted to ask the Lion King about. As he neared, however, he saw Coriolanus stumbling against the cool stone wall and Exodus rush toward him. The curly haired Baratheon seemed about to call for a maester. Dagda held back a snort. Some of the ironborn respected maesters, and although they had their uses, he couldn't respect a man who willingly made himself a thrall. Taking quick steps, he joined the two men but offered no words of help. The expression on his face said only that he was holding back a comment they probably wouldn't want to hear.

[fancypost bgcolor= transparent; bordercolor= transparent; width=75px; text-align: justify; font: 12pt mongolian sans]Dagda had never actually seen a peach before much less eaten one. The one crop the Iron Islands grew well was hard men and women. The Greyjoy was not one of those invited by Jaehaerys to pick fruit, or perhaps he was but couldn't easily read the dragon's script. He'd come anyway, following his nose, and now stood by the entrance to the orchard wearing an expression of confusion.

[fancypost bgcolor= transparent; bordercolor= transparent; width=75px; text-align: justify; font: 12pt mongolian sans]Dagda stilled as Oliver mulled over his words. If the Warden took him to the Verdant, and he didn't doubt that he would, Dagda didn't want to have walked out of the way. He hoped this club wouldn't be too far; although he'd known that he'd have to move away from the sea if he intended to go anywhere and do anything, the thought still bothered him. He was used to smelling salty air and hearing the lapping of waves; giving that up for a long period wasn't appealing. Once Oliver agreed to take him, the otter seemed content to follow him silently.

// are you up for an open thread in the verdant?

[fancypost bgcolor= transparent; bordercolor= transparent; width=75px; text-align: justify; font: 12pt mongolian sans]Dagda grunted. It was as much as he'd expected. His gaze flickered toward the other members of the group as Oliver explained where he'd come by his skill, and he asked, "Where was that island?" It wasn't one of the Iron Islands; of that he could be sure, both because he would have heard of a stranger who washed up on their shores and because no one on the isles would have much skill with a bow.