Monstrous Mirth
Fourteenth Day of the Twelfth Month 293 AC
"Is it custom in these barbarous lands to greet the envoy of one so exalted as the Peerless Heir of Iblis with such poor courtesy? Calling him a pest and a liar?" Malarys would be proud of the sneer you offer up with the words, nothing obvious, nothing gauche, but leaving nothing of your feelings in doubt. It of course helps that you truly do hold most of them in contempt for the manner in which they have chosen to rule and the allies they have chosen, though Liomond seems promising. It would be a pity to fight him before you even have a chance to make an honest offer.
For now you keep up the charade. To Silvertongue, for whom the epithet seems to apply no longer, you proclaim, "Upon you I will waste no further breath. What use is there to talk with one who has already judged them false before they have even spoken? Know that there will be
repercussions if you continue your disrespect."
To his credit, you cannot read anything in his manner, though granted you are already at a disadvantage for the fact that skin like old parchment pulled over dead bones does not make the most expressive visage.
Maelys you can read as you turn to him, the jagged blades of his armor drip with rage as much as blood and inchor. That he can keep it in check speaks of a lifetime's effort as much as the coldness of the grave, but should his pride be affronted you have no doubt this will become an even less companionable meeting. "I take it you are the leader of this group, dragon-kin?"
"I am," he rasps. "Am I to blame Liomond for not making that clear?"
The Lord of Battles seems to find the question amusing, to judge by how he tilts his head in askance. "It is custom for envoys of all sort to establish that fact for themselves so that they might report it to their lords."
Alas, Alequo appears to have found his tongue and at least a measure of his old skill with it. "Fascinating as your bluster doubtless is envoy, you are not your master and you stand here in the heart of our power,
mocking us with your veils. Unless you count yourself so mighty as to be of greater worth than all those assembled here? I would know what power you bring into this hall."
Tyene replies in your place while you regard the necromancer in cold silence. "Poor assassins we would be, entering the chamber in plan view and outnumbered besides. Perhaps not all here share your
fears." She is looking towards Liomond, but it is clear as day her words are for Maelys.
Spotted Tom reaches for his sword, with a gesture so obvious you might almost call it provocative if it were not for his furtive looks between Maelys and Silvertongue.
Before he can make any decision or the Tyroshi mage can offer a retort, Maelys starts laughing, the whispers rising to a giggling fever pitch around him. You remember something about how he had earned his title in birth not just in deed.
Was there another head somewhere among the blades? you wonder. Qyburn would be curious to discover the answer.
You quickly banish the thought. It is Maelys still, animate and full of rage that you must consider now, not whatever remains he might leave behind. "Fair is fair, Alequo, you are a...
cautious man," the last words are spoken in such a tone as to make a thousand insults spring to mind, craven and fool chief among them. "If only you would learn to let go..."
"Of his caution?" the Ebon Prince asks, speaking for the first time. His voice is surprisingly fair and untouched by the ravages of time.
"His humanity," Maelys replies with a shrug that ripples across his massive shoulders with a groan of twisting metal. "Come then, envoy, tell us your master's words. What does he pledge, what does he ask in return? Let us see if you are the liar Alequo called you or something more useful."
Could you risk trying to thread a trap through their own forces, you wonder, or should you just seek information of their strengths and weaknesses to use main assault? This is not the Fool of Lys, but it is clear the beings before you are hardly united in all things. Those cracks might serve you very well indeed.
What do you reply?
[] Try to draw the Risen Dead into a false position, the better to deal with them
-[] Write in
[] Promise them whatever you need to learn more of their strengths and weaknesses, the attack will come soon regardless
-[] Write in
[] Write in
OOC: Two Mythic surges had to be spent here. I figured that since Viserys had rested that would not be an unreasonable expense to thread the social needle. Not yet edited.
