Character Details
Dean Ambrose
Dean Ambrose as Rotbert Snow
Name: Rotbert Snow
Aliases: Rot
Faction: The North
Organization: House Bolton
Occupation: Swornsword
Rank: Bastard
Age: Feb 20 92 (29)


Rotbert Snow, often called simply "The Rot" or "The Rotter", cuts an imposing figure, half a head taller than the average man and broad of shoulder. His dark brown hair seems knife-cut, uneven and tousled, some of it falling onto his brow. His face is pugnacious, but not unhandsome if not for a few features. His dark eyes seem empty, cold and unfeeling, as if something no longer human dwelled there, the soul inside festering. And then there are his lips: full, expressive, often curling into a sneer…and deeply scarred, criss-crossed X's of pale, dead skin around his mouth and over his lips. Someone, at some point, sewed this man's mouth shut.

He wears a sleeveless grey tunic, the Flayed Man of House Bolton clear on the left breast. More scarring shows, crawling up the back of his neck and along his shoulders and biceps, puckered flesh once rended like sausage. His arms seem quite strong, though, muscles thick and veiny. He wears heavy leather bracers on his forearms and wrists, along with fingerless gloves. He wears leather breeches, snugly fit, and knee-high boots. All of his gear seems worn, nothing new, whether it be from heavy use or age. When allowed, he's visibly armed, a warhammer hanging on his right hip and a pair of daggers sheathed in his bracers. He tends to stare down most anyone not of station, but can also be oddly respectful.


Rotbert Snow was born to the youngest daughter a member of House Bolton, a branch off the great lord's hanging tree. The girl claimed to have been raped by a Karstark man as a trading party passed through Bolton lands, but most felt the slattern had like opened her legs willing enough - or that the story was concocted to hide an indiscretion with her own father, a large man whose mother had been a Karstark. Either way, the lord of the manor was displeased, to say the least. He left the newborn to the woods and the elements and the beasts of the wild. When, three days later, one of his men found the infant intact, angry and screaming but unharmed, as if being accused by the babe's angry wails. Once the lad was weaned, he sent him to serve at the manor of the Great Lord of his house, a disposable boy to do with as he would.

His presence was barely noticed, at first. By three, he was in the scullery, scrubbing pots. By five, handling hounds and usually sleeping amongst them, flea-ridden. Of course, the children of the keep noticed him…and they noticed that no one cared about "the Rotter". He began to take beatings, a few here and there, and then more and more. He knew better than to fight back, knew laying a hand on a blooded noble, no matter what a little shite he was, would be a death sentence. So he learned to take it. But he also learned to take their satisfaction. He stopped crying out, stopped cringing, stopped giving them any satisfaction but the dull thud of flesh on flesh. And the hate, the hate they saw in his black eyes, eyes that promised someday, someday.

Forced to serve at table one night, Rotbert served visiting young knight the wrong course, after he had asked for something else. As penance, Rotbert, now a boy of twelve, was commanded to strike himself in the face, as hard as he could and that he should continue to do so until he began to cry. At first, the table laughed, although some seemed uneasy at such wanton cruelty on display. And a few of the boys shifted nervously, for they knew the Rot. After five minutes, the laughter slowed. After ten, the room grew still. After twenty minutes, blood flowing from his nose and broken lips, his eyes remained dry, but stared, staring down that young lord, who now begged him to stop, but he kept on and on. 'You have given me a command, my lord.' he said. Finally, the Lord of the Household called a cease to the exercise and sent Rot back to the servant's quarters. He would not serve at table again.

Rotbert was trained, but in odd ways. He was left as he was, but given permission to fight back. In a matter of months, he became capable of outfighting mobs of boys with his fists and feet. He got a little sword practice, but found he preferred the satisfying smack of a hammer. His pain tolerance, however, earned him another job: practice victim. Rotbert, once a month, was taken to the dungeons and discreetly tortured. He'd be wracked, burned, bled and abused. And, most of all, he was flayed. Heavy blows from the flail tore his back, his shoulders, his neck into raw meat. He wouldn't die, but it did make him cry out, far more than anything had before. And so his mouth was sewn shut for sessions, to keep from being overheard, until he learned to be silent on his own. It also stifled protest when a few of the less savory guards took advantage of the broken teenager and used his bound body for their own pleasures. Being a subject himself, though, he learned and, when the high lord learned of the indiscretions taken with the boy, he was given the guards as a gift for his eighteenth birthday. Their screams were the greatest gift.

Adult Rotbert served in a variety of ways. He dealt with bandits, handled hounds on hunts, and, most often, served as a bodyguard and food tester for visiting nobles. He learned to read and write and, allowed his own candles for the first time, discovered his affinity for the flame. Occasionally thereafter, a small hut or barn might burn down, sometimes with the body of a slender, pretty young nothing, boy or girl, inside. Accidents happen. Rotbert went from inspiring pity to inspiring fear, his dark, cold gaze difficult for even seasoned warriors to hold. Despite it all, his loyalty is unquestionable, perhaps unbreakable. Bastard or no, his blood is Bolton blood. He is the House's dagger, to be plunged where it wishes. He has no compunctions about doing what he's told. But those who try and don't have the right…to them he shows little mercy. Recently, he's beeen assigned from the keep to look after family interests…in other words, to punish disloyalty and take care of any enemies. He's good at that. He likes it. He was born for it.

RP Hooks

<These are some things that can give others cause to know about me or RP with me.>


  • Extensive scarring
  • Unashamed Bastard
  • Lover of Tales
  • High Pain Tolerance
  • Self-harming
  • Pyromaniac

IC Events

Rotbert Logs

Related Logs

Logs featuring Rotbert.

Logs that refer to Rotbert.



Mysterious Stranger - Replace Name with the actual Mush Name and then 'Mysterious Stranger' with the actual relationship type. Example: Brother or Sister. Then use this space to further define the sort of relationship your character has to this person.


<Any name here>
<Relationship> - <describe relationship>


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