As the Scales Tilt
Seventeenth Day of the Third Month 293 AC
There are not many you would trust with as much of the truth as you are contemplating sharing here and now, but for all the sharp words you may once have traded when you were new come to power Ferrengo Antarion has ever been a man who weighed the facts before him in careful scales, an unfortunately rare skill in a ruler.
"You touch upon a tale as strange as it would be long in the telling, Serenity. I would not wish it to stray to
other ears," you answer, finally winding the dance of words to its end with a thrust to the heart of the matter.
"I have been told by multiple sources the protections on this chamber are quite formidable, Your Grace. However, I would certainly not begrudge you and your companion adding your own thoughts on the matter," the Sealord allows graciously, you suspect keeping back satisfaction at being able to add one more expertise to his arcane protections.
Opening your sight to the currents of sorcery you see the discrete sitting room change as night to day under your gaze: dark wooden panels carved with abstract scrollwork come alive with spells writ in golden fire, meant to
warn against attack and
mislead far-sight. The curtains rustle with fragile weaving of sorcery, meant as a subtle trap for those who would try to fly past them unseen. The merest touch of any other magic upon them would make them flare blazing white,
tearing apart glamour-spun shrouds. No petty workings these, wrought by uncertain hands, but the work of a master's art, a fortune in the making spent.
Turning your eyes to the Sealord and the First Sword at his side, you see a half-dozen coronas of arcane light flash across each of them, just as another mage might do when looking upon you and your friends, but one working stands out, a true spell, not an enchantment, a
ward of last resort reaching out from the Lord of Braavos like a barely seen heat ripple on a summer's day twisting the fabric of space around him. You shall have to congratulate Alysande and asks her quite a few questions also...
"Your wards are enviable, Serenity," Lya remarks, drawing you from your thoughts. "However, I would add my own offering to the cause of common secrecy." So saying she begins carefully spinning
mist and shadow around the chamber in measured word and gesture, keeping away all wandering eyes save those of gods.
While she works you speak at ease of less secretive matters though of no lesser import, of trade and taxation in the Disputed Lands. It's clear the Sealord has not often thought of the matter deeply, for those unhappy lands are far indeed from the Braavosi hinterlands and their produce is generally funneled with ruthless efficiency by their hegemonic cities, but once you lay down the facts in front of him he leads the discussion to some interesting avenues of development, particularly regarding river trade and the abolishing of petty tariffs in its path.
By the time Lya's work is done you realize the conversation has only strengthened your resolve to be truthful in almost every aspect regarding the conquest of Tyrosh, and even share some the reasons behind some of your other actions in Essos, such as the growing of the Great Tree of Lys.
"The tale of the second dragon begins as many such are wont to do with Valyria, in its dawn-time..." you begin in careful measured tones, with Lya interjecting from time to time to offer another perspective on matters arcane, sacred or profane. From long dead dragons to angels and fiends you speak of with scarce a pause, neither of the men before you interrupting save to question some matter that seemed unclear.
Finally when your words had run their course Ferrengo Antarion offers his thoughts on the matter: "Useful to know that those who endure in death can dwell in peace with the the living, if only for the chance to see their wretched existence ended. The Silver Eye might have some use for the knowledge."
"Amrelath's circumstances are
exceptional, Serenity," you emphasize, not wanting to be responsible for any ill-thought alliances.
"Yes, of course, I am not about to ask them to talk to everything that crawls out of a grave, but it is good to know the
option to talk exists... so many damn things out there can't be reasoned with at all." He sighs, expression grim, but resolute. "The things that you battled in Tyrosh concern me more than any other peril you revealed today, my friend. If these
daemons indeed feast on decay and despair then I fear I might have to do something that had been considered and discounted many times in the last two centuries. Pentos must be brought to heel before their mistreatment of the poor and dispossessed births a canker the world cannot bear. Braavos can no longer wait..."
"Why was it waiting to begin with, Serenity?" Lya asks, failing to keep all the frustration from her voice. "Why let that disgusting farce stand?"
The First Sword bristles slightly, but his liege seems untroubled as he explains, "Keeping the balance of power in peace and war is no easy thing. If we had driven the war to its ultimate bloody conclusion, Braavos would have found itself fighting far more than the Pentoshi, and so we waited for the magisters' own fear and folly to drive them to their doom. Few spears have they to quell unruly bondsmen."
"That's..." Lya hesitates. "I can't say that is
right, but I can accept it."
"An important distinction to make for certain," the Sealord replies seemingly in full sincerity before turning to you. "Now the world is changed. The Three Daughters no longer stand as one behind petty bickering, soon perhaps they will not stand at all. Are you willing to stand by Braavos as it enforces its ancient treaties in full, Your Grace?"
What do you reply?
[] Agree in principle
[] Try to hammer out a treaty
-[] Write in
[] Politely refuse
-[] Write in
OOC: Sorry this took so long. I had to go out unexpectedly.
