Counsel of Fear
Fourteenth Day of the Ninth Month 293 AC
Septon Alyn is neither hard to find nor warded in any meaningful manner, be it by sorcery or his lord's will. As far as Baelor Hightower is concerned the good septon has already renounced
him by choosing to serve another master over his own best interests and those of his House. So it is that you find yourself looking at the foot of his bed as the early morning light creepsin through the window.
The room is sparse, a spent candle upon the desk, around it walnut shelves polished to a soft brown, set with heavy tomes, more than you had expected. One look at the well worn spines shows them to be testimonials of saints and theological tracts. One had clearly been set down the night before in some haste.
Once you might have looked through it for answers, now you can simple ask the septon himself, in a manner of speaking. Seeing no reason to wake him you simple rest one hand upon his forehead and look into his mind.
You hear the sound of solitary pacing and feel the icy grip of fear, you glimpse hurried messages, ravens sent into the night by trembling fingers, and for a moment wonder how he had known to send them. The answers are no further than a thought away. This is Oldtown after all and Alyn had once hoped to forge himself a chain.
What did you see? The question is a command the septon's mind cannot hope to resist.
Lord Hightower's face swims before your mind's eye, blurred by the touch of fear that clings to the memory like smoke. "Tell me Alyn, what do you think of these spirits that have risen up as though from children's tales to challenge us and speak as one man to another? They cannot very well be fiends for if that were so then would the High Septon not have already ordered the burning of every Godswood and the breaking of every foreign temple?
He takes a thoughtful bite or two, chewing carefully, every motion seeming to Alyn as crushing the very moorings of his soul, but Ser Baelor does not seem to notice, speaking more to himself. "At the same time we cannot call them phantasms, the product of a weak or deranged mind for they are here and they speak to us, unless of course one were to posit that we are all deluded, but that premise is the sort of nonsense that any philosopher worth the name would scarce give any thought to. That in turn leaves the Proposition of Perwyn, that the Seven-Pointed Star is by reason of passing through the mind of man ere it was set to parchment incomplete."
The sheer weight of fear and
guilt that he has failed his lord almost makes you withdraw your probing thoughts. It seems Ser Baelor's rage goes further than a lord betrayed, they had been friends once, the septon and the Lord of Oldtown, as much as their positions allowed. Now of that friendship there is naught but heartbreak and tangled suspicions.
Sadly there is not much of
use there, the decision to contact Brother Lucan had been no planned treachery but an act of desperation, the only reason he had known who to contact with the news was a previous correspondence on theological matters, something you get a sense is not unique to Septon Alyn.
The image of the theologian corresponding with scores of godsworn across the Seven Kingdoms sits oddly with your vision of Lucan the warrior priest, but you have no reason to doubt its veracity. The man before you is hardly capable of lying. The trail grows cold.
"What did you tell Ser Garth?"
Again the answer is startlingly benign, conversations first to attest that the younger brother did not share the troubling opinions then to share his concerns with regards to the Tyrells and the Fey, practically begging him to seek out counsel with those wiser than himself. Ser Garth, overcome with doubt himself at seeing his brother's erstwhile friend and confidant in such a state arranges the journey you had seen, including his traveling companions, perhaps fearing that the Lord of Oldtown had come under some malign influence.
Through this the only note from Lucan is a simple pledge to watch over Ser Garth, accompanied with praise for remaining strong in the face of such trials. Perhaps he even means it. After all, he had sent an angel to watch over the knights.
Ser Baelor will doubtlessly be relieved to hear that you had found no trace of deeper treachery than what was already known, but for your purposes it is utterly useless. There is no spymaster to corner, no web of intrigue to unwind. With a sigh you reach out and alter the septon's memorizes, erasing all traces of your passage that not even a trace of a nightmare remains.
What do you do next?
[] Try to contact Ser Garth to see if Brother Lucan had contacted him directly
-[] Write in
[] Approach Danelle
-[] Write in
[] Try to figure out what Marwyn is doing in the City
-[] Write in
[] Infiltrate the Citadel
-[] Write in
[] Write in
OOC: By this point it seems a bit redundant to link interrogation spells, though if anyone's confused I'll add them in.