Spider's Brew
Twenty Third Day of the First Month 294 AC
Taking one last
look into the past of the solar itself offers no more answers than you had already gotten, not that you truly expect anything different given the disquieting amount of competence the assassin had shown.
Almost as skilled as the Chosen of the Stranger... You shake the thought away. Quite apart from the Seven having little cause to trouble Monford, who is still devoted to them if not particularly religious, you do not see them working with Cersei Lannister of all people.
You watch with the eyes of mind and memory as a single black-gloved hand emerges from the floor to deliver the poisoned parchment right into the pile of letters. It would have been impossible to place it so well by touch alone. He must have used some manner of far-sight to see into the room without walking in.
There is still the poison itself. As Tyene handed it back to you, crossing the span of almost ten thousand leagues as if it were nothing, you try to
spy upon its history.
Ghost grass swaying in the wind, its blades cutting the cold air passing through it, its root drinking in what little life there was in the ash-lands as a vampire sups from mortal veins.
Silver dust mined in places deeper than the deepest mortal pit then sifted through ever finer nets, each marked with runes of death and endings, until it has turned black as night.
The tears of the dying, sorrowing, and resigned distilled into one.
You try to see the hands that mixed them, the mind that brewed the deadly venom, but there is only emptiness and silence. Yet even silence can have a timber, even emptiness a taste, and you have tasted its kind before.
***
For the fifth time you cross the threshold of the the House of Black and White, as Tyene briefly takes your place playing the part of Lord Velaryon. Though you do not arrive wearing your own face, the glamor is one known to the assassins and soon enough you find yourself in the inner chambers meeting the chillingly placid high priest, his eyes like pools of still venom staring back at you. Bluntly but without haste, you recount all you have seen and learned of the assassin lurking near Driftmark, presenting your sample of poison at the last.
The priest of the Many-Faced God glances at the vial once, absentmindedly, then a second more intense scrutiny just as silent. You feel the pulse of sorcery in the air but for the first time in years you cannot recognize it, as veiled as the one who cast it. Finally he speaks, "This is akin to a poison some of our own might brew, but transformed. There is the power of the Deep Earth in this."
"Shaitan?" you guess, recalling your meeting with Tylar of the Lakes in the Opaline Vault, perhaps even that mage you left for the Peerless Empire to deal with, though it seems surprising that one mage of Manatarys could have escaped the attentions of investigators that have played the game of spies and subversion among the Broken spheres.
"No," the assassin replies. "The Dark Below, the Spider's Kin of which you have twin apostates in your service." There might perhaps have been a note of unease behind the eternally even voice.
Personally, you think this might be worth a bit more worry than that. "Someone is using
drow poisons against my vassals?" Had you been in any other place you would not even have uttered the word, but here you can practically feel the walls drinking in your words so that no secret may escape the chamber.
"The hand that brewed the poison need not be the one that coated it onto the blade," the says. "There are darker markets than those you have traveled to, Dragon King, places where the Children of Ruin ply their trade openly, where withered souls and age old sorrows are traded like gold and silver in the bazaars of Braavos."
"The poison used Ghost Grass," you point out tightly. "Accursed as it may be, it still needs the light of day to grow."
"Then there is trade to carry it into the depths," the grand-master replies softly. A moment's pause passes, just long enough to be counted a hesitation. "We could send some of the servants of the Many-Faced God to hunt down this troublesome shadow, the binding of souls through a needle's tip is no small thing."
Do you accept the offer of the Faceless Men to send some of their assassins to Driftmark to protect Monford in exchange for access to any information, poisons, or enchantments gathered?
[] Yes, it would allow you to leave in a few days time without leaving the keep considerably weakened if no solution has been found until then
[] No, you suspect Lord Velaryon would be deeply troubled at being guarded by assassins of such dark repute
[] Write in
OOC: Good call on asking the Faceless. Having your own order of assassins with encyclopedic knowledge of all things murderous can at times get you knowledge even the dragon dreams can't quite provide. Not yet edited.