Alesander Baratheon

Vorros’ Bane

### Alias

Duncan of Drumm, Vorros’ Bane, Blood Hammer, The Blue Eyed Demon, Devourer of Horses

## META

### Name on Discord

alexmbas

\*introduction start\* “Vorros’ Bane, Blood Hammer, The Blue Eyed Demon, Devourer of Horses” names designed to instil fear in your enemies; be they Dothraki, Bravosi, Volanteen even Westerosi. But no name carries as much weight as a mans own; Alesander Baratheon - a constant reminder of home, of who he was, who he is....”Baratheon”. When the name passes through someones lips images of the past flash through his mind: A black eyed bastard extinguishing the last of the Storm Kings, the Laughing Storm, a Usurper slaying the last of the Dragons.”

Alesander Baratheon left his home of Storms End on a self imposed exile after being Knighted at 14; the sins of his Father Padriac Baratheon could not be denied. He roamed Westeros for several years, engaging in small scale battles with bandits or jealous Lords; honing his skills by participating in Tournaments under the alias of “ Duncan of Drumm” until crossing The Narrow Sea where he formed a Mercenary Cavalry Company exclusively consisting of Knights he had gathered through his tour of Westeros.\*introduction end\*

\*appearance and character start\*“The Seed is Strong” - Black of hair and blue of eyes; Alesander Baratheon has all the makings of a prototypical Baratheon, towering over his peers and blessed with long, lean muscles out of a maidens fantasy.

Life as a successful Mercenary Captain has allowed luxuries few can afford; in battle Alesander dons a fine set of silver plated armour able to ward off any damage and yet allow him to still move with finesse and grace. He allows his beard and hair to grow as to inspire a more authoritative and commanding presence for his men.

Though one must also keep up appearances not only on the Battlefield but in public and especially in court. During peace time Alesander wears a fine Volanteen garb of rich purple, pumpkin and gold which brings out his piercing blue eyes; his strong features being further enhanced by his trimmed beard and clean head of hair.

Despite the power and beauty on the outside Alesander crumbles from within. An abusive family upbringing and a life spent travelling from one battlefield to the next has muddied Alesanders morals. At times he is humble, honourable and wise beyond his years yet flashes of wrath, pride, envy and lust make themselves known.\*appearance and character end\*

History

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Early History

From a young age Alesanders talents were noticed by all; fighting came to him with ease: when the boys fought as all boys do Alesander was the last standing, when they grew he grew more and when they dared he defied the odds. But for all of his natural talent nothing could prepare him for the mental warfare that his Father, Padriac Baratheon brought not only to him but to his Mother as well.

His young mind could not comprehend how a man that appeared so kind could commit such evil behind closed doors. His Mother despite all her beauty and grace was never good enough. This lead to a weak character in Alesander Baratheon who was filled with wrath and envy; though he learned well from his Father and hid in deep.

At the age of four and one Alesander was Knighted and as a celebration a small tournament was held, one in which Alesander participated in. At this point Alesander’s physicality and strength of arms were so great that even full grown men hesitated at the prospect of challenging the young Baratheon.

Before the Tourney Melee could start his father argued with a local lord, insults were thrown back and forth with Padriac storming off his hand wrapped tightly around his mothers wrist, dragging her more than guiding her - Alesander knew what would happen to her; Padriac’s anger would be directed at her for he had a “Cowards Fury.”

“Ours is the Fury” the words of House Baratheon, Alesander lived up to those words. When the dust settled Alesander had caved in a knights helm with his mace and left another paralyzed from the waist down; the former he would learn would be given the gift of mercy with the latter being bedridden for life.

“The seed IS strong” yelled a Lord who spat at his feet, Alesander knew what he meant, he was no different than his Father. He could feel the fear, taste the contempt. His body was numb save for his heart, which beat like Stag being hunted, and like a Stag he ran. He ran past the tents that housed knights and nobles, past the dirty roads filled with carts and horses. He ran past the great forests of his home the trees so strong and proud. He ran until his body felt like it was going to explode from the inside out, and then he ran some more......

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\*Sub Heading\*

Young Life

Duncan of Drumm

The days passed by like leaves in the wind for the lone Stag. Alesander found himself travelling Westeros under the guise of a mystery knight known as “Duncan of Drumm” who would travel from tournament to tournament; his true identity forever safe as no man could best Alesander with sword, mace, bow or lance.

Lesser Lords used him to slaughter bandits, wage minor proxy wars or other less than honourable deeds; during these days Alesander honed his skills and saw a great many places and things yet he felt unsatisfied - he was a tool of war, yet behind the blood soaked armour there was a man, a man with blue eyes which wept in the darkness of night.

The Silver Dragon

At the age of one and seven Alesander’s life would once again change, in a Tournament held in the Riverlands near the Trident Alesander was set to face the champion of the region, a mystery Knight like himself dubbed “The Silver Dragon” for his armour was the finest silver one could have, the helm shaped like a snarling dragon. Despite days of rain and mud and lances and swords being thrown at the Knight his armour was as pristine as the day it was made.

The trumpets rang out and Alesander charged forward, his lance dipping down; aiming for the dragons head. A fitting end to the mystique of the Dragon as his forefather Robert Baratheon had slain a dragon at the Trident not far from here.

However, Alesanders world spun, he felt himself floating in darkness: sound and sight had ceased to exist. Minutes passed by like seconds and seconds like days until; like a rush of water breaking through rocks the world and all its smell and noise and sights crashed into him.

His eyes opened and like a dream there he was “The Silver Dragon” atop his horse, Alesander could see purple eyes through the slits in the dragon helm; they matched his own. As his vision cleared his could see that the Knight had a new lance and it was pointed directly at the Baratheon.

“Yield” the voice sounded cold yet beautiful at the same time. Alesander tried to move but the Knight pushed the lance closer; “Yield!”. But he would not, in a flash he grabbed the lance with both hands, slowly getting up on shaky legs. Both Knight and Horse tried to pull back but the Baratheon was too strong and soon the knight was catapulted from his horse. Duncan of Drumm turned to face his foe only to find him standing with his sword drawn, beckoning him forward.

“The Silver Dragon” was of average height yet he matched the young Knight blow for blow, pivoting when Alesander pressed him in a flurry and sliding out of his grip when they grappled. Those purple eyes gazing into Alesanders own, they never changed, the intent was clear; the armour was different - it seemed to flicker and dance as its wearer moved, the snarling Dragon snapping its teeth at Alesander; dirt and mud gracefully sliding off of it to reveal the flawless beauty underneath.

To Alesander the melee seemed to last for hours but in reality it was over before it had even started. In a flash of speed his opponent wheeled around the shaky Baratheon and grabbed his lance, hoisting it up and impaling the Baratheon through the shoulder. The darkness that had been wrapping around Alesander began to cover his vision as he willingly gave in to its embrace.

Little Valyrian

Alesander recovered from his head and shoulder wound incredibly quickly, though his pride wouldn’t be so lucky. On the seventh day of healing he made his way back onto the road. A blacksmith had fixed his helm and armour while he had been in bed.

Before he could leave the grounds a runner gave him a note, it was a request for his presence on the outskirts of town....”The Silver Dragon.” His body felt shaky again and his wound tingled but he mounted his horse and rode to meet his former...and potential foe.

To his surprise “The Silver Dragon” commanded a force of one hundred mounted Knights, all preparing to move out at his command. Alesander was guided to his Command Tent, as the flaps opened what he saw not only confirmed his suspicion but also gave him a sense of awe. “The Silver Dragon” looked nothing more than a boy of one and four, long white hair exclusive only to those of Valyrian descent, his mouth shaped in a warm yet cocky grin, and those piercing purple eyes.

Here they would talk for hours, exchanging names, stories and intentions. A friendship would be formed that would turn into a bond; a shoulder wound was a small price to pay for a friendship that a man had never known.

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Essosi Life

A Storm Gathers

Alesander was a man grown now, he was one and nine and hardened by battle and experience - Captain of the Mercenary Band known as “The Storm Clouds” a Company of Knights on Horses who’s home base was situated in the Essosi province of “Little Valyria” off the coast of Volantis. This band was different from others, each Knight had earned his entry due to a special talent or skill - the art of war, speech, intrigue or stealth, among many others. They were masters of their craft, the finest Knights Alesander and his equal partner in their venture “The Silver Dragon” had found during their travels through Westeros.

Many of their contracts led them to Qohor where they clashed with Dothraki hordes, most notably a Khal of fearsome reputation known as: Khal Vorros. The Storm Clouds would do the impossible, fighting the Dothraki in the Qohorik forests and on the open plains; Alesander was at the vanguard of the force, his Warhammer laying waste to the barbarians, yet the true reason for victory was “The Silver Dragon”, no matter the odds his intellect and belief would shine through the “Storm Clouds” and victory would be assured.

Free City Courtiers

Life wasn’t full of battle, many days were spent in court at various cities across Essos, the Company indulged and enjoyed their unblemished victories. Some Knights of the band married minor nobles Daughters, securing power for themselves. Many times Alesander was offered the hand of a Noble Woman only to deny it. “The Silver Dragon” himself seemed to have his eyes set on one thing, a young noble woman from an incredibly wealthy family in little Valyria, when his purple eyes caught sight of her they were like a bird of prey. His ambition would be sated.

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A Man Grown

The Burned Dragon

Years passed by and the prestige of the Company grew with each passing month. They were loved by all and hated with a burning desire by few, however these few were powerful and cunning; threatened by the Company they struck out with a deal to Khal Vorros. They would supplement the Khal’s army in return for the capture of “The Silver Dragon” and the destruction of the Company.

On that fateful day the Nobles of Little Valyria under the guise of support troops for the “Storm Clouds” surrounded their former allies, while the Dothraki horde led by Vorros overwhelmed the Company.

“The Silver Dragon” was captured by the Nobles while Alesander Baratheon rallied what was left of the Company and cut through the enemy lines, retreating into the forests of Qohork.

Months went by as Alesander and the remainder of his Company attempted multiple rescues of their companion. Battles that should have been won were lost and morale dropped significantly.

It was until a year later on the shores of Little Valyria did they regroup with “The Silver Dragon” once more. The nobles threw him to his broken and battered company, dubbing him “The burnt Dragon.” The sight of their comrade crushed whatever morale they had left. His armour was charred and dented, removing it would prove fatal as it was fused to his body, and his once piercing purple eyes seemed dead and sullen.

The Red Priest

The Company struck out to Volantis in search of something that would bring their leader back to health; there they found a Zealous Red Priest who spent a month alone with “The Silver Dragon” all he asked for was to not be disturbed and for fifty live sacrifices to be burnt daily outside the temple. The band roamed the country side, finding suitable sacrifices for the Red Priest.

On the final day the Red Priest and “The Silver Dragon” stepped out of the Temple; the purple eyes gazing out into the distance with a burning desire. “Vorros” was all that was said.

Weeks passed as the Company searched for the Khal in Qohork’s forests. Every day sacrifices were burnt for the Red Priest, many Knights adopted the Priests beliefs and became fiercely fanatical, burning survivors of battles alive. Only a small portion of the Company including Alesander defied these orders, mutiny seemed likely as “The Silver Dragon” kept to himself in his war tent, keeping company with only the Red Priest; behind closed doors devilish sounds could be heard at night and demons seemed to dance in the darkness.

Vorros’ Bane

After months of searching they found Khal Vorros, his warriors returning from a successful pillage of the country side. They struck deep and hard into the Warriors, despite being outnumbered they fought with a fury that seemed otherworldly; fatigue never came, the skin warded off fatal blows, fear was erased.

Alesander himself found Khal Vorros on the battlefield, they wheeled about on their horses until finally Alesander flung himself from his horse with such force that when the two rivals landed on the ground Vorros’ ribs had been cracked. Alesander mounted the Khal and proceeded to cave his face in with his fists and even his own head until nothing was left.

When the slaughter was over those that had denied Rhllor seemed baffled and disoriented, those that had aligned themselves with Red Priest seemed to look on with delight. “The Silver Dragon” looked on as his men burned the survivors, the bodies and the spoils of war; he spoke for the first time in months: “Little Valyria.”

“The Storm Clouds” moved onward, save for Alesander and a score of men; they could not follow that path. Yet as the days passed visions of fire haunted Alesanders dreams, he knew what he had to do.

The Blue Eyed Demon

Arriving on the shores of Little Valyria was like walking into a realm from the Seven Hells itself; the ground was covered in charred bodies and flame. There had been a battle here, through the smoke and flames Alesander recognized the sigils of the traitorous Nobles slowly being enveloped in flame.

Pressing inland they found “The Silver Prince” and his Red Priest as well as what remained of “The Storm Clouds.” They had burned the Nobles and were now beginning to sacrifice what was left of the Nobles in this region, Nobles who had helped them, who’s daughters had married their Knights.

Both sides knew what the other was here for, both knew what had to be done. Upon the rock land of Little Valyria Alesander struck down his former brother in arms, as his own Battle Brothers struck down their own in return; fire consumed them all and as he watched “The Silver Dragons” life slowly fade away he thought he could hear laughter coming from the fire around him.

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