Post by Lord Osric Bolton on Nov 1, 2016 21:44:05 GMT
Character's Name: Lord Osric Bolton
Character's Age: 67
Character's Nationality:Northerner
Character's Skills:
Fighting
-Weapons
--One Handed
---Swords 90
---Small Blades 45
-Armour
--Chain (30)
Leadership
-Battle
--Land
---Command 60
Political
-Persuasion
--Intimidation 60
--Charm 75
-Intrigue
--Spy Network (Only subset which cannot be raised all at once)
---The North 80*
---The Riverlands 60
Character's Personal History:
The North is a cold and harsh place; a land where only the strongest survive and weak are crushed by the cruel hands of fate. This whole atmosphere leads to a homogenization of the inhabitants of such a dismal country: large, hairy, boisterous, brutish, almost animal-like creatures rule the North. To escape this stereotype is not an easy task, it's most likely a sentence of doom; when you are a gentleman with delicate tastes, you have to make an effort to fit in among your peers. And by
that, I mean "showing them the difference between weakness and sense of style". In these cases, respect is not earned, it has to be taught; which means, sometimes, you have to make decisions you're not necessarily content about. Like cutting peoples' bits off. Alone amidst a sea of barbaric, drunken fools, stands the pillar of Northern refinement and civilization, Lord Osric Bolton.
The first and only son of Lord Ramsay II Bolton and Lady Amerei Grafton, Osric was born a very sickly child, it was unlikely that he would survive past his second birthday. His father neglected the child, he wanted to be done with the affairs as quickly as possibly so they could try for another one, hoping this time it wouldn't come with factory defects. But Lady Amerei held tightly to her child, she wouldn't let the fruit of her womb starve to death. After months of suffering and letters to neighboring Maesters, they were able to save young Osric from his afflictions. The child had refused to die, the Maesters had agreed (there hadn't been much they could have done, except alleviate the pain and wait for whatever ailment to be passed), he had grasped life with his small bony hands and never had let go.
As Osric grew, never as tall and strong as the fellows his age, his father still couldn't spare a single thought for him. Even though he tried to prove himself best in all the arts that were thought to him, Lord Ramsey would never acknowledge hiss merits. Since no other children came afterward, in his eyes, Osric would ever represent the failure of his seed. This neglect led the young Osric to spend much more time with his mother than he did with his father. A woman from a different land, Lady Amerei had only spent a small fraction of her life in the North, and in the Vale, as in it's southern counterparts, people are often distracted by things other than War, Drinking and shagging goats. She was the one who taught him how to behave in a proper Ball, how to differentiate the variety of rich wines of the continent and many other things that most northern lords would consider frivolities. In the end, Osric turned out to be much more like his mother than many would like.
Lord Ramsay died in a sudden accident while Osric was only 15, which made his ascension to Lord of the Dreadfort an abrupt affair. The men under his father's command were never very fond of him, the other youths would often call him a pansy or 'flowery southern bastard', often refusing to acknowledge his Old Men descent; House Bolton's vassals had never even seen him before, his father had refused, all through his life, to formally present him to his subjects. Osric learned through the harshest way, how cruel the gray plains of the North can be to an outsider. It didn't take him long to realize that the only way he could rule would be if he became a bit like his father. They would respect him through force, or they would suffer like every enemy of the Boltons had suffered before. He made sure that if one of those bastards even farted wrong, he would know and he would answer them appropriately. The first five years of his rule were crucial, two revolts were contained (one even before the rebel troops were raised), three minor vassals executed for treason, hundreds of peasant's fingers flayed in exchange for information and a fucking buttload of coercion. After that, no one even dared to even think about the tales of Lord Osric's taste for sweet Reach hippocras and nights of debauchery in the company fine young blackheaded boys.
The years passed and Lord Osric's eyes and ears started to expand across the frozen wastes of the North. His internal reputation had already been established, he now had to deal with a much tougher crowd: his equals, and superiors. With whom cajoling does not tend to be the best course of action. His network, though, allowed him much more than to simply blackmail people, with the knowledge he acquired, Lord Bolton was able to devise the best ways to act and talk with each of his fellow Stark bannermen. One thing, it has to be admitted, he had in his favor: The Bolton name has carried a melody of its own for a couple thousands of years. The first thing he did was to choose a wife: a very skinny miss from Karhold named Ysilla. To say he didn't enjoy her company, it would be an utter lie; at first, the young miss had been a bit apprehensive towards her new husband, the stories she'd heard about him would make her skin crawl, but soon he was able to show how enjoyable was his lifestyle. Osric had tasted both fruits, and Gods be damned, how he enjoyed those (This would later earn him the title of 'Most lascivious man of the North', but that story if for another day). But deep inside this life of hedonism, Osric harbored the dream to build a family, to be everything his bastard of a father had never been to him. Behind the hard exterior of a man who could coerce and torture with little remorse, was a very heartwarming figure, who dreamed of spending days with his grandchildren, playing and laughing before a fireplace.
Say one thing about Lord Osric, say he is a man of stamina; this marriage resulted in seven little pests with the cold Bolton eyes (had he not also been fond of the make figure, there might have been a couple more walking this earth). As they grew, Osric tried to treat them all as he's have liked to have been treated by his father. Love was a rare commodity in the North, but the Lord of the Dreadfort made sure none of his brood would go without. But, of course, even though parents try not to admit he had his favorite, his precious little flower: *Name to be inserted*. His firstborn, a raven haired youth with the gentleness of a spring breeze. *The day she married into the House of Stark was one of his the most melancholic of his life. But he knew it would be for the greater good, and the children, his grandchildren, that would come out that union would soon return the joy of losing his previous jewel.
After 52 years in power, not much has changed in the Dreadfort; Osric enjoyed the castle's imposing creepy aura. He occasionally still throws some special feasts, for only the most intimate of his circle; but most of the time, Osric spends with his wife, Ysilla, and his fair, muscular and lean (aka Sexy As Fuck)boytoy paramour, Denyo Locke. From his weirwood seat, he pays close attention to news from all across the Realm; his eyes see far, and his ears hear attentively. The North is his playground, it had always been.
Character's Physical Description:
Bolton Genealogy
{Lord Ramsay II Bolton}, b.310 d.359 (accident)
+his wife, Lady Dowager Amerei Bolton (nee Grafton), b.319
--their only son, Lord Osric Bolton, Lord of The Dreadfort, b. 344
++his wife, Lady Ysilla Bolton (nee Karstark), b. 350
---their first daughter XXX Stark (nee Bolton), b.
---their first daughter XXX Stark (nee Bolton), b.364
+++her husband, {Lord YYYY Stark}, b. ZZZZ d. ZZZZ
----their son, Lord Rickard Stark, b. ZZZZ
---their first son and heir, Gerold Bolton, b.365
+++his wife, Marcelle Bolton (nee Umber), b. 370
----their first son, Lothar Bolton, b.386
----their second son, Tymothy Bolton, b.388
----their daughter, Victaria Bolton, b.391
---their second son, Rycherd Bolton, b. 368
---their third, Jon Bolton, a member of the Night’s Watch, b.370
---their last son, “Slow” Silvester Bolton, b. 375
Character's Age: 67
Character's Nationality:Northerner
Character's Skills:
Fighting
-Weapons
--One Handed
---Swords 90
---Small Blades 45
-Armour
--Chain (30)
Leadership
-Battle
--Land
---Command 60
Political
-Persuasion
--Intimidation 60
--Charm 75
-Intrigue
--Spy Network (Only subset which cannot be raised all at once)
---The North 80*
---The Riverlands 60
Character's Personal History:
The North is a cold and harsh place; a land where only the strongest survive and weak are crushed by the cruel hands of fate. This whole atmosphere leads to a homogenization of the inhabitants of such a dismal country: large, hairy, boisterous, brutish, almost animal-like creatures rule the North. To escape this stereotype is not an easy task, it's most likely a sentence of doom; when you are a gentleman with delicate tastes, you have to make an effort to fit in among your peers. And by
that, I mean "showing them the difference between weakness and sense of style". In these cases, respect is not earned, it has to be taught; which means, sometimes, you have to make decisions you're not necessarily content about. Like cutting peoples' bits off. Alone amidst a sea of barbaric, drunken fools, stands the pillar of Northern refinement and civilization, Lord Osric Bolton.
The first and only son of Lord Ramsay II Bolton and Lady Amerei Grafton, Osric was born a very sickly child, it was unlikely that he would survive past his second birthday. His father neglected the child, he wanted to be done with the affairs as quickly as possibly so they could try for another one, hoping this time it wouldn't come with factory defects. But Lady Amerei held tightly to her child, she wouldn't let the fruit of her womb starve to death. After months of suffering and letters to neighboring Maesters, they were able to save young Osric from his afflictions. The child had refused to die, the Maesters had agreed (there hadn't been much they could have done, except alleviate the pain and wait for whatever ailment to be passed), he had grasped life with his small bony hands and never had let go.
As Osric grew, never as tall and strong as the fellows his age, his father still couldn't spare a single thought for him. Even though he tried to prove himself best in all the arts that were thought to him, Lord Ramsey would never acknowledge hiss merits. Since no other children came afterward, in his eyes, Osric would ever represent the failure of his seed. This neglect led the young Osric to spend much more time with his mother than he did with his father. A woman from a different land, Lady Amerei had only spent a small fraction of her life in the North, and in the Vale, as in it's southern counterparts, people are often distracted by things other than War, Drinking and shagging goats. She was the one who taught him how to behave in a proper Ball, how to differentiate the variety of rich wines of the continent and many other things that most northern lords would consider frivolities. In the end, Osric turned out to be much more like his mother than many would like.
Lord Ramsay died in a sudden accident while Osric was only 15, which made his ascension to Lord of the Dreadfort an abrupt affair. The men under his father's command were never very fond of him, the other youths would often call him a pansy or 'flowery southern bastard', often refusing to acknowledge his Old Men descent; House Bolton's vassals had never even seen him before, his father had refused, all through his life, to formally present him to his subjects. Osric learned through the harshest way, how cruel the gray plains of the North can be to an outsider. It didn't take him long to realize that the only way he could rule would be if he became a bit like his father. They would respect him through force, or they would suffer like every enemy of the Boltons had suffered before. He made sure that if one of those bastards even farted wrong, he would know and he would answer them appropriately. The first five years of his rule were crucial, two revolts were contained (one even before the rebel troops were raised), three minor vassals executed for treason, hundreds of peasant's fingers flayed in exchange for information and a fucking buttload of coercion. After that, no one even dared to even think about the tales of Lord Osric's taste for sweet Reach hippocras and nights of debauchery in the company fine young blackheaded boys.
The years passed and Lord Osric's eyes and ears started to expand across the frozen wastes of the North. His internal reputation had already been established, he now had to deal with a much tougher crowd: his equals, and superiors. With whom cajoling does not tend to be the best course of action. His network, though, allowed him much more than to simply blackmail people, with the knowledge he acquired, Lord Bolton was able to devise the best ways to act and talk with each of his fellow Stark bannermen. One thing, it has to be admitted, he had in his favor: The Bolton name has carried a melody of its own for a couple thousands of years. The first thing he did was to choose a wife: a very skinny miss from Karhold named Ysilla. To say he didn't enjoy her company, it would be an utter lie; at first, the young miss had been a bit apprehensive towards her new husband, the stories she'd heard about him would make her skin crawl, but soon he was able to show how enjoyable was his lifestyle. Osric had tasted both fruits, and Gods be damned, how he enjoyed those (This would later earn him the title of 'Most lascivious man of the North', but that story if for another day). But deep inside this life of hedonism, Osric harbored the dream to build a family, to be everything his bastard of a father had never been to him. Behind the hard exterior of a man who could coerce and torture with little remorse, was a very heartwarming figure, who dreamed of spending days with his grandchildren, playing and laughing before a fireplace.
Say one thing about Lord Osric, say he is a man of stamina; this marriage resulted in seven little pests with the cold Bolton eyes (had he not also been fond of the make figure, there might have been a couple more walking this earth). As they grew, Osric tried to treat them all as he's have liked to have been treated by his father. Love was a rare commodity in the North, but the Lord of the Dreadfort made sure none of his brood would go without. But, of course, even though parents try not to admit he had his favorite, his precious little flower: *Name to be inserted*. His firstborn, a raven haired youth with the gentleness of a spring breeze. *The day she married into the House of Stark was one of his the most melancholic of his life. But he knew it would be for the greater good, and the children, his grandchildren, that would come out that union would soon return the joy of losing his previous jewel.
After 52 years in power, not much has changed in the Dreadfort; Osric enjoyed the castle's imposing creepy aura. He occasionally still throws some special feasts, for only the most intimate of his circle; but most of the time, Osric spends with his wife, Ysilla, and his fair, muscular and lean (aka Sexy As Fuck)
Character's Physical Description:
Bolton Genealogy
{Lord Ramsay II Bolton}, b.310 d.359 (accident)
+his wife, Lady Dowager Amerei Bolton (nee Grafton), b.319
--their only son, Lord Osric Bolton, Lord of The Dreadfort, b. 344
++his wife, Lady Ysilla Bolton (nee Karstark), b. 350
---their first daughter XXX Stark (nee Bolton), b.
---their first daughter XXX Stark (nee Bolton), b.364
+++her husband, {Lord YYYY Stark}, b. ZZZZ d. ZZZZ
----their son, Lord Rickard Stark, b. ZZZZ
---their first son and heir, Gerold Bolton, b.365
+++his wife, Marcelle Bolton (nee Umber), b. 370
----their first son, Lothar Bolton, b.386
----their second son, Tymothy Bolton, b.388
----their daughter, Victaria Bolton, b.391
---their second son, Rycherd Bolton, b. 368
---their third, Jon Bolton, a member of the Night’s Watch, b.370
---their last son, “Slow” Silvester Bolton, b. 375
