Dmitry Terrick


Dmitry Terrick was born the third son of Aramond Terrick and his wife, Natalya of House Hornwood. His mother died due to complications from childbirth; she'd been warned that a third pregnancy would be an ill omened one, but she was desperate for a precious daughter to round out her double helping of sons. Dmitry was a beautiful child, north-pale and dark with brilliant eyes, but he was twice-cursed: not the daughter his mother yearned for to be her prop, and the death of her in any case.

His father and brothers did not precisely blame Dmitry for his mother's death, but there was something there, a distancing. Aramond had an adventuresome spirit and was rarely home in any case, leaving his boys to be fostered out in other knightly homes throughout the Riverlands. Bielden, the heir, went to House Corbray and Dmitry rarely saw him.

Ghost-child, elusive and quiet, Dmitry was a sharp observer who it seemed might be doomed to the Maester's chain; he learned quickly and seemed fascinated by pen and ink, obscenely literate even from his youth. But his eye became apparent in the training yard even when he was only a small boy, light-fingered, long-fingered and acutely bright. With a slingshot, he killed birds from too far away. With practice bow and arrow, he did not have the strength to outshoot the older knights' sons, but what he did have was an instinct and an eye.

So he too was fetched out from the nursery's care, as a young page to Ser Elmathy of House Piper. He took to some parts of the training better than others, and Ser Elmathy had little patience for his bookish tendencies, and bullied and forced him to learn the heavier weapons to which his natural inclinations were not so strong. Tenacious, though; he was that, and an eye catcher, which as he blossomed into puberty and metamorphosed from pretty young page to handsome young squire … drew attention.

Dmitry learned to leverage his looks early, learned languages wherever he could inhale them, and rarely seemed to waste any time; every second he could claim was spent practicing, learning, and even — charming. In an early understanding of the tenuous position of a third son, unloved, whom nobody particularly wanted: excellence was necessary, but by itself, it would catch him no true future. He learned to listen to people, to what they said and didn't say, and to be who he needed to be in order to get the kind of attention he needed.

When war came, with Robert's Rebellion, he was still young: a barely-tried boy, in Ser Elmathy's service, a squire on the battlefields of the Rebellion. He drew attention at the Trident, the right kind of attention, with some derring-do, and some very fine shooting from the back of Ser Elmathy's horse, after his master was cut down in battle. He saved the lives of several men in the chaos of the fighting, and if it was an accident, he leveraged this, too; with manipulative humility, he did not yet earn his knighthood, but he certainly earned attention and became a boy to be watched.

Afterward, Dmitry studied music; he studied politics; he learned from everyone, from stewards and ladies and whores, from knights and squires. He studied people. And he studied words. Cleverness, manipulation, ambition: these are what really earned him his knighthood, on the strength of his tongue more even than his sword (or, more properly, his bow).

With the passage of years, Dmitry grew up, and showed off, and left the service of House Piper after achieving his proper title, to return to his roots in the Riverlands: to a father who has little interest in him, to cousins who barely know his name. But to his roots, nonetheless. With bright eyes, a brilliant smile, and ambition as sharp as his arrows, he comes back.


Physical Features

Dmitry is built on slender, agile lines, his musculature lean and wiry with a kind of honed, directed athleticism, less bulky than most and shorter than many. His skin is fair and clear, milky pale warmed to cream by the sun; his features are mostly angle, high-boned and stark, his thin-lipped mouth mobile and expressive. His eyebrows are likewise expressive, defined and black, over eyes a soft and melting shade of liquid brown, framed by long black eyelashes. It is not a classic beauty he carries, but for his arresting eyes.

Allies and Foes

Jerold_icon.jpg Lord Ser Jerold Terrick: Dear Uncle Jerold. I have been away so long I stand as a man on a remote isle. This is my House to which I owe loyalty, naturally, and my family to which I owe all the love blood bears. Still. I will have to earn approval here, and somehow I do not think Uncle is altogether fond of my clever tongue. Will simply have to make myself useful …
Justin_icon.jpg Lord Justin Terrick: Shows promise, my young cousin. I say young: he seems young to me, though we are agemates. He will be of great benefit to our name when he is … tempered. I am glad to see him knighted. Grow on, cous, grow on.
Jarod_icon.jpg Ser Jarod Rivers: Too much heart, cousin, too much heart for your own good. I think it might be possible for two men to be more different than he and I … emphasis on the might.
Lucienne_icon.jpg Lady Lucienne Terrick: By far the most attractive of my cousins. I suspect her of clear vision, poor dear.
Anais_icon.jpg Lady Anais Terrick: Beautiful, vivacious, forthright, passionate: a bottle of emotion and spirit blent together. Unfortunately, the blend is too fiery and not seasoned with enough reason. She does have an appreciable sense of humor.
Artur_icon.jpg Master at Arms Artur Terrick: What an obnoxious old windbag. Honestly.
Hardwicke_icon.jpg Captain of the Guard Hardwicke Blayne: A man who scowls so makes me smile. Which makes him scowl the more.
Inigo_icon.jpg Ser Inigo Vance: He has the misfortune of sharing a sense of humor with me. I hope his eyes are as clear as his wit. I do like people like me.

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