A Genial Guest
Twenty-Fourth Day of the Eighth Month 293 AC
Though you could certainly do with an ally against the Deep Ones, you have no intention of simply opening wide the gates of the world to yet another power bent on meddling. So it is with great care that you pen your letter to one of the smaller fortress monasteries of the Githzerai, one known for an interest in trade and a patient approach to battling their ancient foes. From hand to hand it passes and on the sky-born currents onto the edge of formless limbo where dwell the those you would ally with.
Exploratory Letter to the Githzerai sent
As the festival carries on and the joust grows nearer, you receive word that another guest of some importance had found himself onto your shores, one you had been expecting—Horas Redwyne, a man slain and restored by fey magic, a twin made three months younger by sorcery, and an exile by reason of his condition. Given his age and heritage you had expected to find him either in an tavern or the jousting ring, perhaps the stands of the Circle of Battle if he did not feel it beneath him to indulge in such foreign 'plebeian' entertainment. Instead you find him in a park... or you suppose technically it would be in the godswood, but the bench he had chosen is about as far from the Heart Tree as one can get, a place favored by bird watchers Vee had told you in passing this morning when you had brought it up.
Horas himself is a brown-haired young man, fortunate enough to be able to grow a proper beard in spite of his young age, with an open face and smiling green eyes that miss nothing of passersby. His dress is plain but well made traveling clothes, such as the scion of a reasonably wealthy merchant might wear when trying to blend into a crowd.
Still, there seems to be a sort of melancholy about him, not seen or heard but felt that seems to ward away anyone from taking the other side of the plain marble bench. Curious, you look deeper, but the second sight reveals no otherworldly power upon him, be it blessing or curse to account for it.
As you and Waymar approach a calpina buzzes by on some errand known only to it. Horas flinches but does not look away. He seems fascinated and repulsed all at once.
"I hope he isn't the sort to hate all magic like a fool," Waymar whispers. From the faint smile with which he says the words the irony is not lost on your friend. He who had once been so fearful of his own powers is contemplating taking on knights to ride magical steeds through the sky. By all appearances Horas would fit the mold Waymar is seeking quite well. He rides skillfully, and is courteous and soft-spoken with not a word against him in any of the reports that passed your desk.
The Reacher knight does not notice either of you until your shadow falls over his knees, though when it does he raise his head with a polished smile. "Good morn, my lords. I would offer my name but I am afraid it'd do more harm than good, a most mysterious mystery knight I am..."
From the way his words trail off it is clear he sees the humor in a tourney with more blank shields and crests in which most of the aforementioned knights hardly try to hide their names, but just as with his expression there is something darker hidden beneath the humor, a pain at being unable to speak his name in full and see it recognized you would wager. One does not lead a life as heir to one of the Reach's premier houses without having some pride in the fact, yet there is no easy road home for him, nothing so simple as scraping the paint off a shield.
"Viserys Targaryen," you introduce yourself. As he starts to rise you wave the gesture off. "No need. I do not have my throne with me. Rather hard to drag it along unless I put on wheels you see."
That earns a startled laugh. "Most kings just carry it around until it twists their backs if my aunt is to be believed."
"Olenna Tyrell is wise in many ways," you agree
. Though it remains to be seen if she will be wise about the most important, you add silently to yourself.
Waymar introduces himself in turn before taking a seat as Winter, who had been resting on his shoulder, takes off among the trees. Horas follows the snow-white raven with curious eyes, though he swallows his questions.
What do you say to Horas Redwyne?
[] Write In
OOC: Not the most exciting update, but you rolled high enough to intuit a lot of Horas' motivations by cold reading at least.
