Ihniel Fyr



Stands at a tall 6’3, of a large muscular build, well covered in scars. Pale blonde and red hair, and Light green eyes clouded with a milky film. He is a master swordsman, tactical genius, and manipulator. Closing on his thirties. He has recently chose to wear the more traditional Dornish armor, favouring his speed over the defense of Heavy Plate.. Recently, after defeating a fell opponent in combat in defense of the Queen, he was rewarded the man’s Valyrian Bastard Sword, which he wields proudly. Cynical, brutal, and known for evil deeds. A kind heart, but quick to snap into a vicious, bloodthirsty rage.


Lord Ihniel Fyr is a famed Sellsword hailing from the Dornish lands. Never has he lost a battle, but he has suffered many a wound. He has a strong fear of needles, for whatever reason. Obtained his lordship from the traitor Lord Eddard Stark.

In his travels he met his love, whose name he never shares. His most prized possession was a Valyrian blade gifted to him by her, engraved with the words “None shall fall as long as I stand”. It was lost in a battle against an Unsullied force, the likes of which he now despises passionately. Recently, he has decided to serve the Hand of the Queen, one Wolfgang Locke. Due to his loyal nature, he will most likely die in service to this man, hoping to find his lost blade.

He has recently opened up more, though, revealing his past to Wolfgang, and Daeron. They have become his close friends, in his mind, and he would do anything to protect them. There is suspect that he is infatuated with a Septa, though there is no proof of this. He also was recently promoted to the title of Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks, and leads a rather massive army, hoping to defend from a potential war with unknown enemies gathering on the horizon.

In a desperate attempt to further his uses in the defense of the Lord Hand, he underwent a secret ritual, making him impervious to the likes of magical fire. He knew not the cost, however. His eyes are flecked with red, a milky shade covering the once lively green of them. His hair, lackluster and grayed, only streaks of his once glorious blonde remains. Age set upon him, the price for such deeds.

Recently, Ihniel has been rather preoccupied with preparations for the upcoming war. As well as the training and organization of his forces. He aims to win, and to win quickly, his mission to protect those he holds close to his heart ever present in his mind. Though, he finds himself wishing that Wolfgang would pay more heed to his words.

It has been years. Reports of the Prince’s death have rang true to his friends and loved ones. Everyone has come to believe the tale. Yet among King’s Landing a whispering spreads, the rumor of a man roaming the streets, seeking information. They say he bears a Royal Sigil, and a face no one could deny.

Ihniel Fyr

Winter is Coming Ihnielthefaithful