Children of Dragons
Twenty-Seventh Day of the Eighth Month 293 AC
A bow of dragon bone and daggers of spellsteel you hand out along with coin enough to match the coffers of even a minor lord, each warrior by turn accepting the gift graciously, some stating their desire to serve you at once, others content to wait for the festival's end where you will be awarding land for oaths of fealty. Ser Balon is not among the former ranks, though that is not wholly surprising. He is not a sellsword living by blade and bow but the second son of a noteworthy noble House of the Stormlands. Still, you have no fear of 'Black Balon' taking his prizes and sailing off, not when he is this close to a lordship of his own.
The summer islander, Kojja Mo, might be one to sail off, though it would be on her own ship and only for as long as the winds of trade and fortune bear her you suspect. The Deep makes for an anchorage like no other, a marketplace unmatched in the wealth and splendor of otherworldly goods flowing from the Terminus.
So, making careful note of every face, every keen-eyed gaze for the world is in need of champions bearing bows no less than those with blades or magic, you take your leave of the Circle.
"I want a full report on the Qartheen," you send to Varys.
"Some magical transmutation touched him for all no power lingers near him now. Tell the Commissar to be careful who he sends along too, he might react unpredictably if he realizes what is happening..." You briefly consider offering the man healing then and there as you had done to Ser Philip Foote, but then decide the odds that he would refuse, perhaps virulently so, are too great. Dany can make the offer in private, once his background has been verified.
As Varys flies off mock-grumbling about feeling like a 'messenger buzzard' you glance at the small arcane clock, made as proof of concept for the new tower. Still early enough to get plenty of work done today...
***
The report on New Lys'os, marked non-urgent and thus often shuffled down the pile of parchments that has taken up permanent residence on your desk like the nest of some odd scholarly avian, nonetheless makes for a very interesting, if at times saddening, reading. The local beasts seem to be shunning the fortress after several assaults by large mutated creatures failed to do more than give the Erinyes the chance for a spot of target practice. However, the concentration of life, and you suspect the presence of the heart tree, in the poisoned lands had drawn the ire of the dead and damned. No less than five ash-shrouded
specters had slipped through the walls to attack the legionnaires stationed there, slaying over a dozen before the verdant wolves and mages were able to lay them to rest at last.
Gained 10 lbs of magical ash (faint necromancy aura) being used to aid Lys'os research
Unfortunate as the losses have been, they were not at least in vain. Studies into the nature of the curse that afflicted the land have been going much swifter than you might have expected. Flesh and sinew was torn and shredded, soil measured and weighed, and the warping influences on things alive and dead studied. The first conclusion reached is that the 'Old Blood' could easily survive in any realm strongly touched by the heat of the Eternal Furnace, such as say the Plane of Molten Skies, an interesting detail but not precisely one easily used under present circumstances.
It is the second discovery that interests you more for it offers hope for the people of the borderlands. One of the researchers theorizes that those afflicted with the 'Lingering Doom', as it has come to be called, are caught halfway in some transformation of the flesh and mind and that a talisman could be crafted for them to complete the process. As theories go it is rather thin, however, something about it calls out to memories of old, to dreams and the knowledge they hold.
Dragons are creatures of magic, of ever-shifting power the children of Tiamat. When two breeds meet they might give rise to eggs of any other that ever was, and even eggs already laid could change if the place in which they were set was inimical to the unborn slumbering within, the afflicted have the blood of dragons working upon them slowly like a blind sculptor with unsteady hands.... generation upon generation. They are obviously not becoming dragons, that takes a longer and far more arduous path, but you suspect they are growing ever closer to being dragon-kin, their curse perhaps nothing more than the fires of that transformation demanding to be stoked.
Of course the theory is not perfect, for other living things of the waste perish if taken beyond their borders, but in those cases it seems to be more a case of wasting away like a sailor living for too long on naught but hardtack and less the immolation of flesh that the tales of the Old Blood warn against for those who stray too far. Even if your guess is true, however, there is yet a long way between identifying the problem and forging a solution.
On an odder note it seems some of the local fey, petty
fire spirits akin to gremlins, have come in peace before the gates of the fortress, offering to serve as guides into the surrounding countryside and even to trade. You can only remember encountering their like once before and that was when you battled the Bright One's court, but much has changed since then. You are certainly not opposed to their aid, though you applaud Commander Gorgious' caution in not taking any bargain immediately and instead calling for a 'fey wrangler'. Glyra will serve nicely there, though perhaps not alone. As it would be the task of several weeks if not more you decide to leave the matter aside for the moment and allow her to enjoy the festival for now...
The thought breaks off as you hear soft foot falls in the corridor and the door to your study creeks hesitantly open to admit Rhaenys. "Umm... Uncle Viserys, I mean, Your Grace..." she begins.
"There is no need to call me that unless you would rather be called 'Your Highness' rather than your name," you tell the girl with a smile.
The girl shakes her head firmly: "No, that's fine. I was wondering if you could take me and mama to Sunspear? Tyene's busy talking to some merchant and Dany's out healing folk, so..."
"Of course I will take you," you reply at once. You could do with a chance to speak to Doran about the matter of Oberyn's new lands and his daughters' legitimization.
How do you address the Prince of Dorne?
[] Just bring up the matter of House Sandviper
[] Also share news about your recent doings
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OOC: The rolls for New Lys'os ranged from 'pretty good' (only one fatal attack) to excellent (research progress). Also since I know you guys are going to ask the mutated animals where not worth tossing into the flesh-forge, they either burst into flames or rotted upon death since they were highly unstable.
