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A Sword Without a Hilt: A Song of Ice and Fire/D&D 3.5 Crossover

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Part MMMDCCLXXVI: Memories among the Canals
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    • Memories among the Canals ​

    Twenty-Ninth Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC

    There is something soothing about Braavos, for you at least. Perhaps not many would agree that the frantic rush of the docks and the roar of the sea broken up by the calls of street hawkers and the high bells of the palace make a melody, but then perhaps they are not listening closely enough. To you the city sounds like it is a single thing, with the beating heart of a thousand thousand voices made, with veins of seawater and bones of stone and wood. For all the Secret City has embraced this new age perhaps most readily of all parts of the realm save one, from the nixies swimming in the waters and giving directions to passersby, to the mirror-bright spirits that now dwell beside the Moon Pool, to the shadow fey that slip from one patch of darkness to another in the dawn, it has done so in its own inimitable way.

    If Sorcerer's Deep is a sapling of the age of magic growing swift and tall, then Braavos is an ancient willow tree, fanning out its roots through the ground and its leaves through the air until all is filled with the sheer weight of its presence, subtle, but inescapable. An envoy of the Iron Bank sits on the Curia before your throne of steel beside the leader of the Scholarum which was once the Silver Eye, and of course the Sealord, bearing an arcane circlet of power almost beyond cost. In realms far off by sea, by air, and by paths far stranger, the traders of the city ply their wears and of that wealth and power much returns to Braavos upon its lagoon, like streams flowing to the sea.

    Taller rise the homes of the casa vechi longi, the aristocracy of the city, each wreathed in protective magics, with their gardens filled with the heady scent of moonflowers and the soft shadows of restful birches. Yet it is not just the great and the wealthy who benefited from the passage of the last few years, not by far.

    Drowned Town is drowned no more, but a new harbor area to service the growing trade from across the Narrow Sea and even the smell of the canals, certainly never overwhelming but unmistakable, has changed to reflect more the wild sea than the vast press of humanity, a million strong and more that waits here by the shore.

    This is not the city you had come to as a boy, nor the one Lya had been born to. It is not even the city the two of you had left on board the Wind Dancer almost three years ago. Yet there is still a poignant melancholy, a slow joy of remembrance in walking these streets. You had lost much here, your belief that gods are inscrutable and ever wise, the notion that the world was fair or that your father was a kind man. Yet you have gained so much more than that; knowledge, power, friendship and love. You look at Lya as the two of you walk side by side, not speaking aloud or in your thoughts, just taking in the sights and sounds of the city after last night's revelry of questionably melodic quality.

    Both of you wear your own faces here, though glamor hides your more mundane accoutrements and signs of sorcery, and in the teeming crowds you do not get even a second look. After all, everyone knows that the Imperator is cloaked in flowing gold and the Sage has the light of all the Spheres in her eyes. You could probably introduce yourselves by your own names and not raise more than a few eyebrows and mayhap the odd toast from the more jovial tavern-goers, but neither of you are in the mood for seeking such company again, not here. Instead, your steps lead you by meandering paths west from the Moon Pool along the shore past the Blue Lantern and the Dome, both doing brisk business in spite of the early hour.

    "The foretold end of theater at the hands of mirror magic does not seem to be getting any closer," Lya notes amused. "Maybe the seeing glass of all those wits could use a good polish."

    "I think the first step would be to learn how to divine to begin with," you reply in like tone. It had become something of a fashion in certain parts of the Deep to predict that this or that occupation or art would no longer have a place in the would with the rise of sorcery, and while some of the predictions are sensible enough, others are so hasty and so broad as to border on the parodic, informing the newly named stereotype of the Deepsman abroad.

    The two of you cross the Canal of Heroes by the Cabinetmakers Bridge, which is to say the fifth before turning back towards the Temple of the Moonsingers where you had first met.

    "Lya, is that you?" an unfamiliar voice calls out from your left as you approach the temple. A flicker of recognition crosses Lya's face as she turns to meet a young woman perhaps of age with her, her dark hair bound up in tight braids coiled around her head, her dress a modest blue grey of the sort that places her firmly, almost aggressively, in the midst of mercantile respectability. Wealthy enough to show wealth, but not enough to afford style, as the jest in one play put it.

    "Tyrina?" She asks, though more for form than need. "I thought you would stay with the temple for sure. Did you find work elsewhere?"

    "Work?" the just named Tyrina sniffed. "Why would I need to work when my brother called me back home. The fortunes of our family have rather changed you see..." She cuts herself off, then in a sickly sweet tone to match her expression, she continues, "Oh, I am sorry, I shouldn't mention families around you, should I? So tell me, have you found a trade... a husband?" she glances at you dubiously.

    "I work at the Scholarum in Sorcerer's Deep as a consultant," Lya replies to the first question, carefully skirting the truth, somewhat to your surprise. Then in a rush, she adds, "Listen, there is no way to glaze this with honey so I'll just say it, I'm sorry I was such a little pest when we were acolytes. You didn't deserve that... no one really did. Too much time reading moral treatises and not enough actually talking to real live people..."

    "Oh never mind that," she waves the matter away airily. "You cannot really be blamed for your circumstances, can you? I'm sure you have grown into a perfectly respectable... consultant down south." She speaks the last with an edge of disdain that turns it into something just shy of an insult. Her eyes stay on you, still expecting an answer to the husband question.

    What do you reply?

    [] Play along
    -[] Write in how

    [] Reveal yourself
    -[] Write in how

    [] Write in how

    OOC: Surprise social encounter. I did not want to make all the visit just pure nostalgia and city description so we get to see a little glimpse of Lya's past.
     
    Last edited:
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    • DragonParadox said:
    Memories among the Canals ​

    Twenty-Ninth Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC

    There is something soothing about Braavos, for you at least. Perhaps not many would agree that the frantic rush of the docks and the roar of the sea broken up by the calls of street hawkers and the high bells of the palace make a melody, but then perhaps they are not listening closely enough. To you the city sounds like it is a single thing, with the beating heart of a thousand thousand voices made, with veins of seawater and bones of stone and wood. For all the Secret City has embraced this new age perhaps most readily of all parts of the realm save one, from the nixies swimming in the waters and giving directions to passersby to the mirror-bright spirits that now dwell beside the Moon Pool, to the shadow fey that slip from one patch of darkness to another in the dawn, it has done so in its own inimitable way.

    If Sorcerer's Deep is a sapling of the age of magic growing swift and tall, then Braavos is an ancient willow tree, fanning out its roots through the ground and its leaves through the air until all is filled with the sheer weight of its presence, subtle, but inescapable. An envoy of the Iron Bank sits on the Curia before your throne of steel beside the leader of the Scholarum which was once the Silver Eye, and of course the Sealord, bearing an arcane circlet of power almost beyond cost. In realms far off by sea, by air, and by paths far stranger, the traders of the city ply their wears and of that wealth and power much returns to Braavos upon its lagoon, like streams flowing to the sea.

    Taller rise the homes of the casa vechi longi, the aristocracy of the city, each wreathed in protective magics, with their gardens filled with the heady scent of moonflowers and the soft shadows of restful birches. Yet it is not just the great and the wealthy who benefited from the passage of the last few years, not by far. Drowned town is drowned no more, but a new harbor area to service the growing trade from across the Narrow Sea and even the smell of the canals, certainly never overwhelming but unmistakable, has changed to reflect more the wild sea than the vast press of humanity, a million strong and more that waits here by the shore.

    This is not the city you had come to as a boy, nor the one Lya had been born. It is not even the city the two of you had left on board the Wind Dancer almost three years ago. Yet there is still a poignant melancholy, a slow joy of remembrance in walking these streets. You had lost much here, your belief that gods are inscrutable and ever wise, the notion that the world was fair or that your father was a kind man. Yet you have gained so much more than that, knowledge, power, friendship, and love. You look at Lya as the two of you walk side by side, not speaking aloud or in your thoughts, just taking in the sights and sounds of the city after last night's revelry of questionably melodic quality.

    Both of you wear your own faces here, though glamor hides your more mundane accoutrements and signs of sorcery, and in the teeming crowds you do not get even a second look. After all, everyone knows that the Imperator is cloaked in flowing gold and the Sage has the light of all the Spheres in her eyes. You could probably introduce yourselves by your own names and not raise more than a few eyebrows and mayhap the odd toast from the more jovial tavern-goers, but neither of you are in the mood for seeking such company again, not here. Instead, your steps lead you by meandering paths east from the Moon Pool along the shore past the Blue Lantern and the Dome, both doing brisk business in spite of the early hour.

    "The foretold end of theater at the hands of mirror magic does not seem to be getting any closer," Lya notes amused. "Maybe the seeing glass of all those wits could use a good polish."

    "I think the first step would be to learn how to divine to begin with," you reply in like tone. It had become something of a fashion in certain parts of the Deep to predict that this or that occupation or art would no longer have a place in the wold with the rise of sorcery, and while some of the predictions are sensible enough, others are so hasty and so broad as to border on the parodic, informing the newly named stereotype of the Deepsman abroad.

    The two of you cross the Canal of Heroes by the Cabinetmakers Bridge, which is to say the fifth before turning back towards the Temple of the Moonsingers where you had first met.

    "Lya, is that you?" an unfamiliar voice calls out from your left as you approach the temple. A flicker of recognition crosses Lya's face as she turns to meet a young woman perhaps of an age with her, her dark hair bound up in tight braids coiled around her head, her dress a modest blue grey of the sort that places her firmly, almost aggressively in the midst of mercantile respectability. Wealthy enough to show wealth, but not enough to afford style, as the jest in one play put it.

    "Tyrina?" She asks, though more for form than need. "I thought you would stay with the temple for sure. Did you find work elsewhere?"

    "Work?" the just named Tyrina sniffed. "Why would I need to work when my brother called me back home. The fortunes of our family have rather changed you see..." She cuts herself off, then in a sickly sweet tone to match her expression, she continues, "Oh, I am sorry, I shouldn't mention families around you, should I? So tell me, have you found a trade... a husband?" she glances at your dubiously.

    "I work at the Scholarum in Sorcerer's Deep as a consultant," Lya replies to the first question, carefully skirting the truth, somewhat to your surprise. Then in a rush, she adds, "Listen, there is no way to glaze this with honey so I'll just say it, I'm sorry I was such a little pest when we were acolytes. You didn't deserve that... no one really did. Too much time reading moral treatises and not enough actually talking to real live people..."

    "Oh never mind that," she waves the matter away airily. "You cannot really be blamed for your circumstances, can you? I'm sure you have grown into a perfectly respectable... consultant down south." She speaks the last with an edge of disdain that turns it into something just shy of an insult. Her eyes stay on you, still expecting an answer to the husband question.

    What do you reply?

    [] Play along
    -[] Write in how

    [] Reveal yourself
    -[] Write in how

    [] Write in how

    OOC: Surprise social encounter. I did not want to make all the visit just pure nostalgia and city description so we get to see a little glimpse of Lya's past. Not yet edited.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Here's an edited version of the chapter, DP.

    Oh shit, woman. This is not a battle you want to fight. You cannot come empty handed and unarmed to a battle of wits...
     
    We could just do nothing, you know.

    Let her live a happy little life and never realise what almost happened.
    If this were about Viserys, well he's petty enough to make this hurt, but Lya is of a slightly less pettyful nature, so she can just let it slide.

    [X] Play Along
    -[X] Viserys introduces himself as another functionary of the state, not letting anything exceptional show
    -[X] Life goes on and unless she does recognise Lya on Mirror some day the random woman we just met will never know
     
    Artemis1992 said:
    We could just do nothing, you know.

    Let her live a happy little life and never realise what almost happened.
    If this were about Viserys, well he's petty enough to make this hurt, but Lya is of a slightly less pettyful nature, so she can just let it slide.

    [X] Play Along
    -[X] Viserys introduces himself as another functionary of the state, not letting anything exceptional show
    -[X] Life goes on and unless she does recognise Lya on Mirror some day the random woman we just met will never know
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    That's so understated that it's downright disappointing. I'm not saying we should go full Young Master and shout "you are courting death!" before utterly obliterating her and her entire family, but...
     
    [X] Play Along
    -[X] Viserys introduces himself as another functionary of the state, not letting anything exceptional show
    -[X] Life goes on and unless she does recognise Lya on Mirror some day the random woman we just met will never know
     
    It's not that I want us to transform into our True Dragon form right here in the middle of the street, use a glamor to make it seem like Lya is wearing a chainmail battle bikini, unleash a blast of flame breath into the air while Lya climbs onto our back, then lift off and fly away without saying a word, but it would be amazing...

    /may or may not listen to Power Metal all day in his office
     
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