Waters Deep and Still
Twenty Second Day of the Third Month 294 AC
In spite of Relath being drawn away unexpectedly by the discovery of subversion in his realm, the clean up of the Braavosi swamp went as well as one could hope. Those fey who agreed to abide by imperial law swore themselves to an
ancient bog nixie who had expanded upon the petty arts common to her credence unto the domain of true lesser wishcraft. Though Elwyne is what Ser Kennos colorfully calls 'a bitch in sheep's clothing', she can at least understand the virtues of accommodating those more powerful than herself, like a dragon of flesh and three more of steel, rather than try to fight them. To expand on the pastoral metaphor, she seems to understand that sheering the sheep will get you more coin in the end than trying to skin it.
Yet not all the month was taken up with the often arcane complexities of fae diplomacy, much to Mercy's disquiet. The incarnate had been swallowed by some
translucent serpentine monstrosity for which there was no name in all the tomes of the Scholarum, nor can you name it from the surprisingly precise drawing one of the nagas included in the report. That same mage had named it
tizheruk, meaning water-scale in the tongue of the serpent kin. While the beast had posed no danger to the group, its belly quickly split by Argo's axe, the existence of a wholly unknown creature not in the wastelands of Valyria or the farther coursers of the spheres, but one as close as the Braavosi hinterlands, serves as one more reminder of how magic continues to remold the world around you.
Ironically, the far more dangerous collection of seven redcaps was dealt with without fanfare, the bloody-capped sprites not having the sense to strike from ambush. Thankfully, the flesh forge can process ash. Though they found no more reagents for Verdant Vistas representatives to sell, your agents did come across a strange ever-rusting gantlet with the power to spread its curse to any object of metal it touched, the perfect weapon for the fey whose greatest bane is iron, but little help when half a dozen nagas descend upon one's court with sorcery and poisoned fang. Not that there is much sense in selling it, Ser Kennos seems to have taken a shine for the thing and you have no doubt he will put it to good use.
The Swamps Dried Complete 23/11 (Each PC granted 1d6 Progress; the Heralds Granted 2d6 together due to flight and combat power; the Nagas another 2d6)
***
Unlike the report from the Braavosi marshlands, Valaena's account of delving into the wilds of the Neck comes in the form of an exhausted girl, still smelling faintly of mulch and stagnant water in spite of all magic could do, practically collapsing into the seat across from you. "Barely saw hide or hair of any fey all month. It's like attempting to catch mist in your bare hand, trying to talk to them."
"That bad?" you prompt, recognizing the sign of someone who needed a few minuses to vent.
"Worse..." The young dragon rider shakes her head as though in disbelief. "I think the local spirits were scared of Jeyne, or some of them at least. We even took one of the green mages with us, but the locals wouldn't talk to him either for weeks because they thought he was enthralled. In the meantime, we were worrying that the shapes in the mist were preparing an ambush. It was the Ferryman's own luck we didn't end up getting into a skirmish before we found a crannogmen to vouch for us. At least with the way fey and mortal trust each other so much, there will be less chance for the sort of mess that happened in Braavos, even if both of them trust outsiders about as far as they can skip us over a bog like stones."
Scouting the Neck Progress 7/18 (Valaena and Roger granted 1d6 progress; Jeyne granted 1d3)
"What's your preliminary judgement of what the locals want, fey and mortal both?" you ask. You have worked with worse than mere suspicion.
"Safety for the winter, food in the spring, better lives for their children, and for outsiders to stop treating them like savages or freaks. Might help if you could get Walder Frey to make some gesture of repentance for all the crannogmen his kin and armsmen have killed as 'brigands'."
"Winterfell did nothing to curb this?" You can feel a frown pulling at your features. It's hard to imagine Eddard Stark ignoring the deaths of Northmen, however poor and isolationist.
"What could the Starks do? It's been going on for generations." Valaena shrugged sadly. "It's rarely many killings together, usually the word of 'frogmen' and 'mudmen' against the 'decent folk' of the Riverlands. Easy enough to paint them as bandits or poachers. There may even have been poachers. The rules about that kind of thing are less strict in the marshes where everyone is closer to the edge."
Something to keep in mind for later, though certainly not to bring up too bluntly with the proud Freys.
Argo has leveled up:
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What next?
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OOC: It was pretty close to an incident in the Neck, but your agents managed to pull through. Not yet edited. 
