Lyre and Learning
Twelfth Day of the Ninth Month 293 AC
Where fiends and beasts are no more your purpose remains, the Conclave of the Faith, the fulcrum upon which millions of hearts might turn. Though you had been tempted to 'politely' approach Lucan caution wins out over curiosity and a desire to gloat. You remember well the deva's words and do not wish to test the man even in the midst of the city. While you would be well-served making him seem mad you would not sacrifice your word given to Lord Hightower for the cause, particularly as the man has personal troubles of his own to deal with.
Ser Garth is not answering any letters. Perhaps the ravens have simply been blown off course, or mayhap for some darker reason, yet the Lord of Oldtown dares not leave his seat with the Conclave so close. Still, if nothing else, he has regained a sister. Lady Lynesse, Lynesse
Hightower again as of today with Jorah's oath to the Watch, has grown more daring under her brother's watch, more willing to speak her mind in the open. Only time will tell if she ultimately decides to remain in Oldtown or return to Sorcerer's Deep, though with news of the Academy of Fine Arts opening on schedule next month, gathering the best and brightest minds of your fledgling empire, you suspect leaving will win out in the end.
Establish University in Sorcerer's Deep (Economy, Engineering, Fine Arts, etc.) progress 19 + 40 = 69/61 (Complete)
In the meantime however your attention is drawn to a far more exclusive, though in its own way perhaps no less exalted, institution.
The Golden Lyre is a association with an ancient and storied tradition in Oldtown, a gentleman's club after the Essosi manner catering to the intellectual elite of the city, from scholarly nobles too high in the succession, or too attached to worldly matters to forge a chain, to poets and painters seeking recognition, to wealthy merchants looking to rub shoulders with both. Not precisely the place you had expected to find a man like Most Devout Ollidor, who is known for a rather loose interpretation of holy vows as much as his political acumen, but if he
has been visiting brothels it was with utmost discretion.
Thankfully for poetry recitals like the one taking place today the flame-carved ebony doors are open to more than members of the club, if such visitors make it past the inspection of the doorman of course. Though you had expected to pay a bribe you and Ser Richard are instead ushered through with naught but a peacebond to the hilt of your swords after a long look that you suspect sees more than flesh. Thankfully both of you are warded against simple uses of the Second Sight, though the experience is enough to make you cautious about using magic within the confines of the club.
Within paintings of the Seven Holy Works of Hugor and the Journeys of Lomas Longstrider peer down from the ceiling while rich Qohorik tapestries cover the walls. Dark-liveried servants walk purposefully about, carrying trays of refreshments and messages festooned with ribbons. From the sound of things the members are not above a spot of drinking and merrymaking behind closed doors.
You find Most Devout Ollidor at the recital, a fluted glass of Arbor Gold in one hand as he listens to the dramatic poetry declaimed by a young fresh-faced poet.
Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven.
But why do we let our faithful friends, the associates
and partners in our loss lie astonished in the oblivious
pool, and not call them to share with us their part of this unhappy mansion?
Perhaps once more we may rally arms to learn what may yet be regained in Heaven,
or what more lost in Hell.
The Sorrows of the Fallen, an odd poem for a septon to be to be smiling upon, adapted from the Seven-Pointed Star but certainly not of it, the work of the Lame Poet Avrid adapts the tale of man's fall to temptation more in the style of Valyrian Epics, and while no one has gone so far as to call the text heretical, it is certainly frowned upon by many of the more severe priests for presenting the Adversary, a figure you suspect may be itself an echo of Asmodeus, Lord of the Ninth, into a light of tragic heroism. Fortunately there does not seem to be any actual infernal interference in the text, just the hand of a poet with theological aspirations, though after reading it through Mereth found, somewhat to her surprise, that she enjoyed it. You wonder what Septon Ollidor would say if you told him he shares his taste for literature with an actual fallen angel.
Seeing the man better warded than even the Lannister agent you had met in the Opaline Vault, six auras, of which two of middling strength, you do not reach into the man's mind with magic, instead addressing him directly in High Valyrian, faintly accented with a Volantene accent, as one who has been long away from the place of his birth and used the tongue of art and culture often: "Strange to see such a one as you here Holy One, strange but encouraging, eh?"
"I forgot my bag of ash and sackcloth," the impeccably dressed septon replies in dry humor. "I would address the circumstance of your presence, but I have not yet had the pleasure of your acquaintance."
"Laer of Volantis," you reply, the name of your new mask quick upon the tongue. "A traveler and scholar new come to your fair city." You pause a moment. "The young man does not recite his own work?"
"He will in a few minutes, but it is custom to first set the theme of the recital with a well known work," he explains graciously.
"And that theme is
faith?" you raise an eyebrow. "A bold choice under the circumstances."
"Or taking advantage of the times," Ollidor shrugs. "Far be it from a man of the cloth to say the people are too concerned with the state of their souls, but I do wish some of them were less strident."
"I have heard that the Flame Keeper of Volantis is a man much of a mind with you, counseling moderation, a mark of wisdom says I," you offer praise and a test all in one to see how far his tolerance extends.
The septon nods, accepting the words without hesitation. "And one who has to keep the peace with the city's sorcerers from what I hear."
And so you speak of Benerro and his doings, nothing secret, nothing that might mark you as having even met the man, but enough to make it clear the similarities are greater than would first appear, for while the septon before you is far less pious than the venerable Red Priest he is no less a man concerned with peace and stability. At one point he goes as far as saying: "Wine when drunk to excessiveness can turn men into beasts. Should we then swear all the winemakers into the service of the Seven?"
Where before you had been certain from his reputation that Ollidor is loyal to Tywin Lannister, if only by virtue of the gold weighing down his pockets, but the more you learn of him the clearer it becomes that he is a traditionalist because tradition promises peace, the zeal of the High Septon, much less Brother Lucan, grates upon his ears.
Of the doings of Sorcerer's Deep you ask but a little, not wishing to let your mask slip, but from what you can intuit of what Ollidor fears the most, both for his own safety and for the stability of the realm, is that you would fly upon a cloud of ruin like Maegor, set to avenge the Old Gods upon the New. You wonder how and when he had learned of the Old Gods wrath, or perhaps he had simply guessed.
How do you seek to influence Most Devout Ollidor?
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OOC: Brain Spider would have been too risky, so I just made a throw-away identity to talk to this guy in. I also took the chance to flesh out the Faith a little more in the background including, a expy of Paradise Lost and some hints of what Hugor was supposed to have done. He was more Moses crossed with Hercules in my vision than a Christ-like figure.