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

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Also, though he's weak right now, I expect best Coatl would be massively onboard with our plan to try and punch Tiamat in the face to free F!Aegon. Given he has, you know, Liberation as one of his domains.

@DragonParadox would this be a reasonable assumption?
 
So, all of 'our' gods are currently death affiliated (except for best coatl). Could that be a basis for a Pantheon?
 
Snowfire said:
Excellent. There's nothing quite like having a God of Creation on the staff when building a divine honey trap.

@egoo take note of this for that Research action, please?
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am on a tour right now, have little to no time :/
Will add once I'm free.

We've yet to get Yss' price for taking part in that either.
DragonParadox said:
Another death god
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:lol:rofl::lol:rofl:

All in all, I'm very happy with her.
A decent goddess, that can profit a lot from us making a great vampire, and whose priests can help a lot in that as well.

I dare say, her and phoenixes will play off one another like nothing else.

@everyone, we're building her a Great Temple at SD.
...Orphanage central?
:V

I kinda feel bad that she doesn't have death domain in her newer religious iteration, if only to rile up R'hllorites, but whatever really.
 
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DragonParadox said:
While it would find favor with the Faceless such a pantheon would be considered rather disturbing by most people, particularly those faithful to the Lord of Light who make up most of your population.
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Well, the common ground our gods find and our public PR needn't be the same. They've got a lot of other aspects to emphasize.
 
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Canon Omake: Between the Lines
  • Threadmarks
    • Between the Lines
    ​
    Twentieth Day of the Eighth Month 293 AC
    <<<Previous Next>>>

    He stared up at the clearing rain clouds with unabated surprise, never once grown used to the idea that one of the Mage Lords of Sorcerer's Deep, having simply grown weary of more weather better suited to Braavos. The kind that expatriates from that city called 'mild by comparison', and simply swept them aside like an errant gnat, all because it might get in the way of local festivities. It helped that Investigator Baedar had the privilege of having both taken on a mage's robes in the Scholarum and the silvered badge of the Tome and Sword. Knowing the capabilities of the real Powers in this land as much as those he was charged to watch, record and sometimes question was what kept him from growing lax.

    And laxity was nowhere to be found anywhere among those on duty at this time--Baedar had been 'awake' for seventy two hours now, and when last he had slept 'normally', for want of a given word, he had only closed his eyes for four hours, having woken up in the middle of the night to help deal with the paperwork which involved a cage of Imps from some minor conjurer stupid enough to bring even the leavings of some of their foul diablery to the Deep whilst taking part in the competition. A spell that allowed him to read notes and do backdated administrative tasks that would simply pile up if they didn't work well into the night, given all of their duties were essentially doubled for the duration of the Grand Festival.

    He didn't know what amused him more, however, seeing the fool arguing all the way to the hangman's post that surely there must be some men in the Shadow Tower who made use of their services too, or that the Imps had been most accommodating in ratting out every whispered or blathered secret they could think of before being dismissed. He thought the spell meant to send them painlessly back to the Pit to report on the happenings here to be a waste, even if they hadn't spied on anything of real import. No one can claim the Princess operates upon a dearth of kindness, if, he thought, oddly misspent. After all, the little cretins would be going straight back to Hell.

    Spies were being paid well, at the very least. And truth be told something about the work made Baedar feel more alive, not that he would turn down the additional funds which invariably were invested right back into equipment bought either off the Grand Bazaar or from Braavos, all to make his job easier. Maybe he was more loyal to this Dragon King than he thought, since coming to the Deep he had made the Inquisition his life and he hadn't even been a slave freed from the yoke of wicked magisters, as the saying goes. It just seemed the most sensible decision.

    If monsters and madmen were literally on the brink of burning the world to the ground, someone had to help keep things together, and he was no man for marching or someone who could dive into ruins and dense jungle to dig out cultists in their loathsome places. And if he did nothing, well, he lived in the world, too. It was where he kept all of his things and the people he liked. Seemed rather self-defeating to do otherwise.

    It was because of his institution that one among their chief concerns were forced out into the wild-lands of the world and not the cities where they could work their evils in the first place, or at least that would logically come to follow once they were firmly established in every civilized place of note and where men bedded down packed together tightly in urban sprawl.

    Baedar's ancestors had been Volantene Old Blood and he was about as Braavosi as you can get while still looking like a silver-haired Valyrian. That tale of star-crossed lovers eloping to the Secret City was the not-so-secret talk of the Bastard Daughter a little over a century ago, and now he was just another face in the crowd. Well... maybe not just another face. Men eyed him with admiration or fear, as if his eyes were the King's eyes as he stalked through the Bazaar looking for his target. He could almost not resist laughing at times, did these people think Viserys Targaryen could gaze out mine own on a mere whim? The idea was absurd. What is to stop him from watching them as they shit or eat their breakfast from their own homes if all it takes is a silver pin to give you power over others?

    That Viserys Targaryen could probably do just that didn't really cross Baedar's mind. The King would still have to use up a spell. One could hardly call that 'on a whim'.

    After a moment Baedar realized he only felt confident about any of that because he had studied the limitations of even a sorcerer lord as powerful as the King, like the fact that he couldn't be in every place at once, no matter the fact that the Headmistress of the Shadow Tower could manage to be in most places she needed to be at the same time. Even that skill was somewhat unique to her, he heard. Men like him existed to be his eyes and ears, not act as conduits for his own. And one couldn't prevent their spies from knowing what they wanted spied upon no matter how hard they tried, only spread out the knowledge among different cells and jurisdictions. These thoughts didn't really fill him with swaggering confidence, but they made it possible to function in a world that didn't much resemble the one he had grown up in.

    Another thing that helped was that he was not wholly in either category common to the men and women of the Inquisition, either. He wasn't a thief made thief catcher, or a scholar trying very hard to be something they are not, not even merely a man with a talent for getting into places he shouldn't be. He could understand court politics as much as the heartbeat of a city's underbelly, for one could not grow up among a family of spies, the only sort of "knights" Braavosi nobles kept among their household, raised for that specific purpose, without being able to cross under and over from one sort of treacherous territory into the other. Initially, he had in fact just been another foreign spy, before immigrating in full upon making his last report to his father by the Sweetwater. He remembered the resigned smile on their face as he told them why he was leaving.

    And one benefit was not needing to dye his hair black just to be inconspicuous this far down south. A man with his features wouldn't look any more odd next to a King who sometimes slipped off into the market in breeches or hose and simple doublets. And that without any disguise or spellwork. He sometimes wondered if there were a foreign merchant who hadn't sold a curio or two to the King unaware of who's patronage they were receiving.

    Of course such knowledge of the King's habits were among the reasons he was persuaded to join the Inquisition in the first place. If someone could pick out of a crowd a man who had fooled half the world about his intentions over and over again so consistently, it was better to keep them close after all. Or that's what he imagined crossed someone's mind when Baedar's dossier crossed their desk the first time.

    These ruminations aside, unaware of the cold smile crossing his lips, he reached out to halt the movement of a woman, slight of build with raven locks and wide blue eyes. His own gaze seemed to crow proudly, fool me with that trick again. He almost dared them aloud.

    After a moment the woman smiled sheepishly and apologized, "Sorry about this, but coin's coin." Baedar paused, confused, before the glamour faded around the woman and a young man looking barely past their fifteenth year revealed themselves, proffering a crystal vial. "Glamour in a bottle. She said to tell you... ah... 'better luck next time'."

    Baedar was not amused.

    ***
    ​
    Ceria gazed at the web-way of notes pinned to the wall of her room at the Golden Hearth, connections between various movers and shakers, the fourth time they had to take everything down, because of course there were some intentional lies mixed in with the truth.

    The man part of their own investigations was a ghost, which only meant that she couldn't learn much of his personal life beyond the fact that he was highborn Braavosi nobility and immensely wealthy besides, all public information, but information about him drops off shortly after his very public duel with another noble scion of the Secret City, reappearing briefly again in any official capacity he acted in upon the King's behalf, and again in Braavos upon reestablishing his interests there, as well as the very public reconciliation between himself and that dead man's father. Well, more like coerced forgiveness, she thought, and not for a moment did Ceria believe that the Sealord could not have just forced the man to set aside the grudge or risk burying a few more children, just to cover his own ass with the Dragon King if another assassin tried to take a swing at his Shadow. After the third ended up in the Canals in as many days of his reappearance in his native home, you would think they'd finally catch on.

    The man had interests all over Sorcerer's Deep, most of them strategically placed in areas least visibly patrolled by either Lawmen or those among this Inquisition which did not do much patrolling outside of very public areas to begin with, or they would make poor spies. Pageantry for the visitors who only understood naked shows of power and influence. Thieves and criminals respected knives when they were hidden, and did well enough to stay away from swords when they were already drawn. So it made sense the King's spymaster had already gotten his fingers where the dirt was washed into, away from the shining streets of paved stone. Honey for the flies.

    Of the King's magic organization, one part school, one part guild and two parts elitist society, she could only say that it was a fair-handed trap. Or that's what form it took now, for those who decided to make their abilities known at any rate, subjecting themselves to all rules and regulations of the organization in exchange for the privileges accrued therein. It would be less trap and more all-encompassing prison those awakened to magic would be born into without realizing the limits imposed upon them If the Dragon got his way, and she boggled to think of a way for someone to make an honest living at being a mage if it wasn't precisely the kind of 'honest living' the King desired at the time. She was also surprised to learn there was a "general call to arms" for mages during times of 'great strife', which was very cunningly calculated seeing as how most who had initially joined at the time were freed slaves with an education of some sort, minor knights who knew how to read, or perhaps merchants daughters or sons who weren't needed for the family business, or similar to that. She supposed nobles couldn't complain, most of them had been subject to answering calls to take up arms all their lives, just not when they were baldly worth an army on their own, should one ever grow so powerful as to become an asset on a strategic level. A little more negotiation for such assistance would have been expected, but such dictates had already been written before it could become a concern.

    She could well imagine the outcry if such laws had been written during a time when magic was at its zenith, or to impose similar rules upon entire realms where mages were mostly found at the core of the elite and perhaps even soft-handed bureaucrats, if tales Ting had told her held water. Magic was just as strictly regulated in his homeland, but not looked down upon or turned aside if they held practical usage, and to be frank she could well imagine the precise ritualized format most mages called upon the Powers with to be perfectly matched to such a stratified and rigid society. If it takes forty minutes to call upon a spell that wipes a Magistrate's ass, that's still likely half as much time spent doing the whole thing by hand, which was just one among many off color jokes Ting had told her when he was still drinking.

    She paused then, thinking about her... friend, she supposed. Kindly uncle? Which was close enough to the truth. She hadn't seen him touch a glass of wine that wasn't watered down in weeks. In fact he seemed to look healthier, even somewhat thinner, no longer red-cheeked and sloppily dressed. He even had his hair up more often in that elaborate style of the Far East.

    She shook her head, remembering that meditative poise was not how she could be found relaxing. It was true that Ting could apparently just knock down literal giants with his fists and kicks these days. She was willing to accept that reality. But even he had less than half the number of spies snooping after him than she did. And Denys always gave a merry game of chase when out collecting information for her. Nearly a year ago now the security of the castle, recently renovated and expanded, had tightened like a vice. So they were learning more from the city than the household of the King.

    Now the only news out of there could only be reliably gained by drunk soldiers from the garrison. And none of them talked about what they had seen moving through confined spaces with the worthies of the city, which didn't really prove anything other than the fact that the movements of the King were incomprehensible to a layman, who near as far as she could tell had spread the rather tame in comparison stories that the King spent all of his time in his study signing edicts, stamping seals on letters and organizing accounts of all things, when he wasn't slaying monsters with fire and sword in hand. Translocation magic must be nice, Ceria griped.

    "So, your conclusion?" Criston asked, amused at her eclectic map-work of interrelated rumors and events. When had he snuck up on me?

    "Existential dread is in fashion, I hear." She didn't even wonder much more these days about whether or not the Dread Sorcerer was going to conquer the world and put it under his iron yoke for all time, as the tales go in Westeros, it was obvious he wouldn't be doing any of that. They'll chain themselves to the illusion of safety and peace all on their own, given half the chance. Why lift your finger much less constantly watch your back for sullen slaves when you could free them and gain an army of men and women willing to die for you? Willing to walk into Hell after you, so long as you lead the charge? Why are you here? It wasn't often she outright resented his presence, but Criston Storm, since she had learned more fully of his origins, reminded her of her own symied ambition and even her pride, and all the more made her resolved to not let her desires wither on the vine. I won't become old and bitter like him.

    "The boy wants to sign us up for the upcoming competition. All four of us."

    She turned around, an exaggerated smile lighting up her feature, "Ah, yes. Bloodsport! He really knows what warms a woman's heart." She pouted at his lack of reaction. "He didn't think to talk to us all about it first?"

    "We're talking about it," Criston pointed out. "Are you actually learning anything worth mentioning?"

    Ceria didn't react for a few moments. Criston repeated the question, more annoyed than angered.

    "It's amusing to send him out to dodge Dragon's Men through the city?" She tried, earning a snort from the Knight for her effort.

    "Come on, all this wool gathering will get us nowhere. It's time to get our names out there."

    Or at least make people wonder who we were if we later vanish, she thought. The thought of even proving a minor inconvenience to those monumentally more powerful than her should they prove hostile warmed her heart like nothing else could. And for that alone she would reward Denys with a reprieve from her little game with the city's spy network.

    Confusing petty mages and sneaks was easier than fooling the shadows around you veiling truth from fiction. Better to read truth through experience than between the lines of a written page.
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • lockingbane said:
    Hmmmm, I can see her having a place in the step stones... We should build her a temple, or at least a shrine.

    We could use a more "Charity based" god.
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    Agreed her and her people also helped us out when we were far weaker then we are now. If were going to kiss the ass of the seven and the red god who haven't done jack shit for us, or work against us. Then we should do just as much if not more for a Goddess who went out of her way to help us.
     
    She's a closeted paranoiac and suspects anyone with that much power has a few dozen skeletons in their closet*.

    No problems taking orders, especially if it leads to rewards, influence or further power down the line.

    It takes a bit for her to trust, though luckily it's along the lines of "risked his neck for mine, so now I owe them" Totally Not Tsundere About It.

    *And is she really wrong about that?
     
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    Crake said:
    She's a closeted paranoiac and suspects anyone with that much power has a few dozen skeletons in their closet*.

    No problems taking orders, especially if it leads to rewards, influence or further power down the line.

    It takes a bit for her to trust, though luckily it's along the lines of "risked his neck for mine, so now I owe them" Totally Not Tsundere About It.

    *And is she really wrong about that?
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    Actually, the trophy room and skull rack together are... I think at over 100 exponats by now.
     
    Crake said:
    She's a closeted paranoiac and suspects anyone with that much power has a few dozen skeletons in their closet*.

    No problems taking orders, especially if it leads to rewards, influence or further power down the line.

    It takes a bit for her to trust, though luckily it's along the lines of "risked his neck for mine, so now I owe them" Totally Not Tsundere About It.

    *And is she really wrong about that?
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    In her defense we literally do have a few dozen skeletons. But they aren't in our closet and we boldly display them in our trophy room. One of these days we need to broadcast our trophy room to the imperium.

    Damn azel got it literally seconds before me.
     
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    Very nice omake @Crake.:)

    I love the way Ceria reflects not just on the city she sees around her but on the winder implications of the political system in comparison to others and the way magic fits into the world. The hints of Yi Ti are also going to be useful down the line.Probably the thing I liked best about her PoVs her analyses of Garin which is pretty much spot on. She would do very well in Braavos I think.

    Baedar paints an interesting picture of the inquisition too, with the various backgrounds and the way they line up
     
    Vote closed.
    Adhoc vote count started by Goldfish on Feb 27, 2019 at 5:17 AM, finished with 167 posts and 13 votes.
    • [X] Plan Things We Agree Are Awesome
      -[X] Next turn, let him help expanding the new university of SD. The courses on economics are nearly ready to start and we would like to add courses for the fine arts and engineering. (Cost 300 Favor?)
      -[X] After that, ask for help with creating a primary education plan (Cost 300 Favor)
      --[X] He should talk with Teana, Malarys, Alinor and Garin about this, as they all have a vested interest in imparting core skills into the future recruits for their respective organizations.
      -[X] 50/100 points towards Zathir doing something nice that will, in some small way help Sandor Clegane.
    Click to expand...
     
    Crake said:
    Between the Lines
    ​
    The Twentieth Day of the Eighth Month 293 AC
    <<<Previous

    He stared up at the clearing rain clouds with unabated surprise, never once grown used to the idea that one of the Mage Lords of Sorcerer's Deep, having simply grown weary of more weather better suited to Braavos. The kind that expatriates from that city called 'mild by comparison', and simply swept them aside like an errant gnat, all because it might get in the way of local festivities. It helped that Investigator Baedar had the privilege of having both taken on a mage's robes in the Scholarum and the silvered badge of the Tome and Sword. Knowing the capabilities of the real Powers in this land as much as those he was charged to watch, record and sometimes question was what kept him from growing lax.

    And laxity was nowhere to be found anywhere among those on duty at this time--Baedar had been 'awake' for seventy two hours now, and when last he had slept 'normally', for want of a given word, he had only closed his eyes for four hours, having woken up in the middle of the night to help deal with the paperwork which involved in a cage of Imps from some minor conjurer stupid enough to bring even the leavings of some of their foul diablery to the Deep whilst taking part in the competition. A spell that allowed him to read notes and do backdated administrative tasks that would simply pile up if they didn't work well into the night, given all of their duties were essentially doubled for the duration of the Grand Festival.

    He didn't know what amused him more, however, seeing the fool arguing all the way to the hangman's post that surely there must be some men in the Shadow Tower who made use of their services too, or that the Imps had been most accommodating in ratting out every whispered or blathered secret they could think of before being dismissed. He thought the spell meant to send them painlessly back to the Pit to report on the happenings here to be a waste, even if they hadn't spied on anything of real import. No one can claim the Princess operates upon a dearth of kindness, if, he thought, oddly misspent. After all, the little cretins would be going straight back to Hell.

    Spies were being paid well, at the very least. And truth be told something about the work made Baedar feel more alive, not that he would turn down the additional funds which invariably were invested right back into equipment bought either off the Grand Bazaar or from Braavos, all to make his job easier. Maybe he was more loyal to this Dragon King than he thought, since coming to the Deep he had made the Inquisition his life and he hadn't even been a slave freed from the yoke of wicked magisters, as the saying goes. It just seemed the most sensible decision.

    If monsters and madmen were literally on the brink of burning the world to the ground, someone had to help keep things together, and he was no man for marching or someone who could dive into ruins and dense jungle to dig out cultists in their loathsome places. And if he did nothing, well, he lived in the world, too. It was where he kept all of his things and the people he liked. Seemed rather self-defeating to do otherwise.

    It was because of his institution that one among their chief concerns were forced out into the wild-lands of the world and not the cities where they could work their evils in the first place, or at least that would logically come to follow once they were firmly established in every civilized place of note and where men bedded down packed together tightly in urban sprawl.

    Baedar's ancestors had been Volantene Old Blood and he was about as Braavosi as you can get while still looking like a silver-haired Valyrian. That tale of star-crossed lovers eloping to the Secret City was the not-so-secret talk of the Bastard Daughter a little over a century ago, and now he was just another face in the crowd. Well... maybe not just another face. Men eyed him with admiration or fear, as if his eyes were the King's eyes as he stalked through the Bazaar looking for his target. He could almost not resist laughing at times, did these people think Viserys Targaryen could gaze out mine own on a mere whim? The idea was absurd. What is to stop him from watching them as they shit or eat their breakfast from their own homes if all it takes is a silver pin to give you power over others?

    That Viserys Targaryen could probably do just that didn't really cross Baedar's mind. The King would still have to use up a spell. One could hardly call that 'on a whim'.

    After a moment Baedar realized he only felt confident about any of that because he had studied the limitations of even a sorcerer lord as powerful as the King, like the fact that he couldn't be in every place at once, no matter the fact that the Headmistress of the Shadow Tower could manage to be in most places she needed to be at the same time. Even that skill was somewhat unique to her, he heard. Men like him existed to be his eyes and ears, not act as conduits for his own. And one couldn't prevent their spies from knowing what they wanted spied upon no matter how hard they tried, only spread out the knowledge among different cells and jurisdictions. These thoughts didn't really fill him with swaggering confidence, but they made it possible to function in a world that didn't much resemble the one he had grown up in.

    Another thing that helped was that he was not wholly in either category common to the men and women of the Inquisition, either. He wasn't a thief made thief catcher, or a scholar trying very hard to be something they are not, not even merely a man with a talent for getting into places he shouldn't be. He could understand court politics as much as the heartbeat of a city's underbelly, for one could not grow up among a family of spies, the only sort of "knights" Braavosi nobles kept among their household, raised for that specific purpose, without being able to cross under and over from one sort of treacherous territory into the other. Initially, he had in fact just been another foreign spy, before immigrating in full upon making his last report to his father by the Sweetwater. He remembered the resigned smile on their face as he told them why he was leaving.

    And one benefit was not needing to dye his hair black just to be inconspicuous this far down south. A man with his features wouldn't look any more odd next to a King who sometimes slipped off into the market in breeches or hose and simple doublets. And that without any disguise or spellwork. He sometimes wondered if there were a foreign merchant who hadn't sold a curio or two to the King unaware of who's patronage they were receiving.

    Of course such knowledge of the King's habits were among the reasons he was persuaded to join the Inquisition in the first place. If someone could pick out of a crowd a man who had fooled half the world about his intentions over and over again so consistently, it was better to keep them close after all. Or that's what he imagined crossed someone's mind when Baedar's dossier crossed their desk the first time.

    These ruminations aside, unaware of the cold smile crossing his lips, he reached out to halt the movement of a woman, slight of build with raven locks and wide blue eyes. His own gaze seemed to crow proudly, fool me with that trick again. He almost dared them aloud.

    After a moment the woman smiled sheepishly and apologized, "Sorry about this, but coin's coin." Baedar paused, confused, before the glamour faded around the woman and a young man looking barely past their fifteenth year revealed themselves, proffering a crystal vial. "Glamour in a bottle. She said to tell you... ah... 'better luck next time'."

    Baedar was not amused.

    ***
    ​
    Ceria gazed at the web-way of notes pinned to the wall of her room at the Golden Hearth, connections between various movers and shakers, the fourth time they had to take everything down, because of course there were some intentional lies mixed in with the truth.

    The man part of their own investigations was a ghost, which only meant that she couldn't learn much of his personal life beyond the fact that he was highborn Braavosi nobility and immensely wealthy besides, all public information, but information about him drops off shortly after his very public duel with another noble scion of the Secret City, reappearing briefly again in any official capacity he acted in upon the King's behalf, and again in Braavos upon reestablishing his interests there, as well as the very public reconciliation between himself and that dead man's father. Well, more like coerced forgiveness, she thought, and not for a moment did Ceria believe that the Sealord could not have just forced the man to set aside the grudge or risk burying a few more children, just to cover his own ass with the Dragon King if another assassin tried to take a swing at his Shadow. After the third ended up in the Canals in as many days of his reappearance in his native home, you would think they'd finally catch on.

    The man had interests all over Sorcerer's Deep, most of them strategically placed in areas least visibly patrolled by either Lawmen or those among this Inquisition which did not do much patrolling outside of very public areas to begin with, or they would make poor spies. Pageantry for the visitors who only understood naked shows of power and influence. Thieves and criminals respected knives when they were hidden, and did well enough to stay away from swords when they were already drawn. So it made sense the King's spymaster had already gotten his fingers where the dirt was washed into, away from the shining streets of paved stone. Honey for the flies.

    Of the King's magic organization, one part school, one part guild and two parts elitist society, she could only say that it was a fair-handed trap. Or that's what form it took now, for those who decided to make their abilities known at any rate, subjecting themselves to all rules and regulations of the organization in exchange for the privileges accrued therein. It would be less trap and more all-encompassing prison those awakened to magic would be born into without realizing the limits imposed upon them If the Dragon got his way, and she boggled to think of a way for someone to make an honest living at being a mage if it wasn't precisely the kind of 'honest living' the King desired at the time. She was also surprised to learn there was a "general call to arms" for mages during times of 'great strife', which was very cunningly calculated seeing as how most who had initially joined at the time were freed slaves with an education of some sort, minor knights who knew how to read, or perhaps merchants daughters or sons who weren't needed for the family business, or similar to that. She supposed nobles couldn't complain, most of them had been subject to answering calls to take up arms all their lives, just not when they were baldly worth an army on their own, should one ever grow so powerful as to become an asset on a strategic level. A little more negotiation for such assistance would have been expected, but such dictates had already been written before it could become a concern.

    She could well imagine the outcry if such laws had been written during a time when magic was at its zenith, or to impose similar rules upon entire realms where mages were mostly found at the core of the elite and perhaps even soft-handed bureaucrats, if tales Ting had told her held water. Magic was just as strictly regulated in his homeland, but not looked down upon or turned aside if they held practical usage, and to be frank she could well imagine the precise ritualized format most mages called upon the Powers with to be perfectly matched to such a stratified and rigid society. If it takes forty minutes to call upon a spell that wipes a Magistrate's ass, that's still likely half as much time spent doing the whole thing by hand, which was just one among many off color jokes Ting had told her when he was still drinking.

    She paused then, thinking about her... friend, she supposed. Kindly uncle? Which was close enough to the truth. She hadn't seen him touch a glass of wine that wasn't watered down in weeks. In fact he seemed to look healthier, even somewhat thinner, no longer red-cheeked and sloppily dressed. He even had his hair up more often in that elaborate style of the Far East.

    She shook her head, remembering that meditative poise was not how she could be found relaxing. It was true that Ting could apparently just knock down literal giants with his fists and kicks these days. She was willing to accept that reality. But even he had less than half the number of spies snooping after him than she did. And Denys always gave a merry game of chase when out collecting information for her. Nearly a year ago now the security of the castle, recently renovated and expanded, had tightened like a vice. So they were learning more from the city than the household of the King.

    Now the only news out of there could only be reliably gained by drunk soldiers from the garrison. And none of them talked about what they had seen moving through confined spaces with the worthies of the city, which didn't really prove anything other than the fact that the movements of the King were incomprehensible to a layman, who near as far as she could tell had spread the rather tame in comparison stories that the King spent all of his time in his study signing edicts, stamping seals on letters and organizing accounts of all things, when he wasn't slaying monsters with fire and sword in hand. Translocation magic must be nice, Ceria griped.

    "So, your conclusion?" Criston asked, amused at her eclectic map-work of interrelated rumors and events. When had he snuck up on me?

    "Existential dread is in fashion, I hear." She didn't even wonder much more these days about whether or not the Dread Sorcerer was going to conquer the world and put it under his iron yoke for all time, as the tales go in Westeros, it was obvious he wouldn't be doing any of that. They'll chain themselves to the illusion of safety and peace all on their own, given half the chance. Why lift your finger much less constantly watch your back for sullen slaves when you could free them and gain an army of men and women willing to die for you? Willing to walk into Hell after you, so long as you lead the charge? Why are you here? It wasn't often she outright resented his presence, but Criston Storm, since she had learned more fully of his origins, reminded her of her own symied ambition and even her pride, and all the more made her resolved to not let her desires wither on the vine. I won't become old and bitter like him.

    "The boy wants to sign us up for the upcoming competition. All four of us."

    She turned around, an exaggerated smile lighting up her feature, "Ah, yes. Bloodsport! He really knows what warms a woman's heart." She pouted at his lack of reaction. "He didn't think to talk to us all about it first?"

    "We're talking about it," Criston pointed out. "Are you actually learning anything worth mentioning?"

    Ceria didn't react for a few moments. Criston repeated the question, more annoyed than angered.

    "It's amusing to send him out to dodge Dragon's Men through the city?" She tried, earning a snort from the Knight for her effort.

    "Come on, all this wool gathering will get us nowhere. It's time to get our names out there."

    Or at least make people wonder who we were if we later vanish, she thought. The thought of even proving a minor inconvenience to those monumentally more powerful than her should they prove hostile warmed her heart like nothing else could. And for that alone she would reward Denys with a reprieve from her little game with the city's spy network.

    Confusing petty mages and sneaks was easier than fooling the shadows around you veiling truth from fiction. Better to read truth through experience than between the lines of a written page.
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    Two great character pieces, Crake.

    Ceria is entertaining, of course, but now I want to read about Baedar, International Mage of Mystery. :cool:
     
    Azel said:
    I've just counted and it's 119 trophies and skulls in our possession, ranging from low-level fey to epic level avatars.
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    there's also an untold number of other skulls.
    Snek people took those of their ancestors with them.
    And we took a huge-ass pile of wildling skulls that laid under Ymeri's tree after eating it, if I'm not wrong.

    These two are just off the top of my head, as well.

    We will have our skull throne soon.
     
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