Remove ads

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

Reader mode
Duesal said:
I'm very curious about how they even found out about it.
Click to expand...
Click to shrink...
We're not the only one's that can scry and while the Plane of balance was a closely guarded secret that ship has well and truly sailed.

If someone was looking for old magic shit that could do a ton of damage the irradiated hell pit covered in dragon spawn mutants and dead gods who don't have the damn decency to stay that way is a pretty good bet.
 
One Autumn Leaf said:
Polar midnight and stop his movement? He would be an icicle. Also Polar Midnight would be great for Rina when she is strong enough.
Click to expand...
Click to shrink...
Polar Midnight is a hellishly powerful spell. Thumbs up.
Evaunit02mark1 said:
We're not the only one's that can scry and while the Plane of balance was a closely guarded secret that ship has well and truly sailed.

If someone was looking for old magic shit that could do a ton of damage the irradiated hell pit covered in dragon spawn mutants and dead gods who don't have the damn decency to stay that way is a pretty good bet.
Click to expand...
Click to shrink...
True, but the Valyrian Steel Spikes weren't exactly advertised. I'm guessing they got their hands on a Valyrian soul who was tortured into spilling the beans about it.
 
Also @DragonParadox, I bet the second we got the classical reality warper spell was the second you were fixing to drop the word "demiurges" into an update like you were flexin' on us with your mastery of vocabulary skills. 😂

I KNOW YOU! That word barely gets any keyword hits when you fling it into the search engine for the thread! In point of fact, you've never used it in the entire thread, not even once, and definitely not in an update until now! 😆
 
Last edited:
Crake said:
Also @DragonParadox, I bet the second we got the classical reality warper spell was the second you were fixing to drop the word "demiurges" into an update like you were flexin' on us with your mastery of vocabulary skills. 😂

I KNOW YOU! That word barely gets any keyword hits when you fling it into the search engine for the thread! In point of fact, you've never used it in the entire thread, not even once, and definitely not in an update until now! 😆
Click to expand...
Click to shrink...
I find your use of emojis disturbing.
 
Duesal said:
Polar Midnight is a hellishly powerful spell. Thumbs up.

True, but the Valyrian Steel Spikes weren't exactly advertised. I'm guessing they got their hands on a Valyrian soul who was tortured into spilling the beans about it.
Click to expand...
Click to shrink...
We don't really know it was the spikes tho, this might have been a perfectly peaceful Valyrian Chai trading fleet.
 
It would be mildly embarrassing if it turned out the Efreeti fleet was here to recover something completely different than what we expected, such as a Glass Candle or some lava from each of the Fourteen Flames.

We'd still be completely justified in shitting all over them, of course, just for being Efreeti douchenozzles, not Efreeti planning to repurpose ancient Valyrian artifacts for nefarious purposes.
 
Duesal said:
Ha! :rofl: But in all seriousness you have a point, and we're totally interrogating all survivors on what their objective was.
Click to expand...
Click to shrink...
I presume this is before the skinning?

Do we still do that, or has the procedure changed? I know Viserys got infected with, ergh, morality, some time ago so I'm not sure what's allowed anymore when it comes to gleeful slaughter resource gathering.

And no, I don't care how many conversations we have on the subject, when someone raises a sword/claw/tentacle to me they become "potential resources" and as such they get two options, if they're useful standing upright or floating in the vats with the rest of the offal.
 
Duesal said:
Ha! :rofl: But in all seriousness you have a point, and we're totally interrogating all survivors on what their objective was.
Click to expand...
Click to shrink...
I wonder is the Sultan would hate us more for taking away one potential step on his quest to godhood, or for taking away the fleet he send to recover his favorite spice after hundreds of years of craving it.

"I am telling you, this is personal for that fucking dragon, stealing away my slaves I get it, it's just the cost of doing business on the plane of fire, the adamantine fleet? Its not like we would not have done the same.
But who in all hells sends an army into that broken, unstable, crazy God infested shithole to keep this city Valyrian-spice latte free? It's almost season! What did we do? Blend the souls of his family? This is going too far!"

I am totally also doing a "confused cat" meme the moment I get home, unless @Crake would do the honors.
 
Evaunit02mark1 said:
I presume this is before the skinning?

Do we still do that, or has the procedure changed? I know Viserys got infected with, ergh, morality, some time ago so I'm not sure what's allowed anymore when it comes to gleeful slaughter resource gathering.

And no, I don't care how many conversations we have on the subject, when someone raises a sword/claw/tentacle to me they become "potential resources" and as such they get two options, if they're useful standing upright or floating in the vats with the rest of the offal.
Click to expand...
Click to shrink...
We'll still skin a monster if it's hide is worth anything. Strangely enough, there aren't many of those.
 
Evaunit02mark1 said:
I presume this is before the skinning?

Do we still do that, or has the procedure changed? I know Viserys got infected with, ergh, morality, some time ago so I'm not sure what's allowed anymore when it comes to gleeful slaughter resource gathering.

And no, I don't care how many conversations we have on the subject, when someone raises a sword/claw/tentacle to me they become "potential resources" and as such they get two options, if they're useful standing upright or floating in the vats with the rest of the offal.
Click to expand...
Click to shrink...
Don't worry, we're still just as ruthless. None of us enjoyed the morality thing.
Deliste said:
If we capture the mage he's joining the library and we'll know exactly what was going on.
Click to expand...
Click to shrink...
Absolutely.
 
Remove ads
Omake: Magic Equals Friendship Squared: Part I
  • Threadmarks
    • Magic Equals Friendship Squared: Part I​

    "For the last time Count Redfort, yes I am quite sure those accounts are accurate, right down to the last Sovereign."

    "But how--" the reddening noble puffed his chest, only to deflate as the intense visage of the 'King' upon his throne leaned forward, his cold, violet gaze like pale glass, quickly shifting ever so skillfully to a crafted facade of abject disappointment.

    "Honestly, Roderick," the man upon the throne sighed, voice dripping faintly with pity even as murmurs drifted up from the various galleries at the informal address, "When I handed those accounts to your ancestor, Lord Galladon, he smiled at me. Did not spit upon my generosity, nor the forethought with which brokerage of such a deal was negotiated upon his behalf with his closest neighbors, for favorable terms. For he had little then, and it was meant to scale and weigh in balance the prosperity of all whom stood to benefit from it for centuries onward. He had not even brought the matter to my attention at first, you know? But I did so regardless, because he was a man deserving of the consideration. The Archonic Council of Mantarys has been nothing if not forthcoming on the matter of tithes levied to you, at the rates agreed and renegotiated no less than eleven times in the last six hundred years, have they not?" The Viserys on the throne bulled over the next words to come out of the lord's mouth, their shoulders hunching as if he wasn't a man grown if newly risen to his position with the abdication and subsequent passing of his father.

    You should know, he was your page as a boy and had adopted the same hangdog expression he had worn then when he knew he'd overstepped himself. "Nor has Count Swann been anything if not accommodating to your repeated agitation at his borders--honestly, Roderick, turning your own house-guard toward base saber-rattling?

    "And why I must ask, have you lowered yourself to such indignities, Lord Redfort, why not negotiate again if it vexes you so? Because ordering your fucking men," everyone in the court flinched the moment the word was out of the Emperor's mouth, for rare was a time when he had lost his distant and collected mien that deemed such paltry matters worth no more than perfunctory arbitration, but for some reason had chosen this unfortunate to make an example of. "To seize another man's assets in his own fucking Sky Port," Viserys thundered, the inner glassy purple irises now discs of molten red by this point. "It's quite frankly beneath you, my Lord."

    "We have borne that albatross about our neck for a half a millennia," he yelled, almost petulantly, unaware of the maw he sticks his hand into, "We've paid our dues! I only seek to establish my rights..." he paled, grimace instantly appearing on his face, knowing he'd said exactly the worst possible thing he could have.

    "Your rights?" The Viserys on the throne whispered dangerously, the sound carrying further than it should have in such a vast area, and you nearly rolled your eyes at the theatrics. "Have I been an unfaithful liege to you, my Lord? The arbitrator of those very rights you claim to be infringed upon? Was there some failing on my part that crept up on me, sight unseen?" The lord shook his head rapidly, raising his arms as if to ward off a ghost. "I would be remiss to ignore the plight of my leal vassals, Roderick," the Dragon Emperor said thunderously, walking forward, past the ceremonial guard, past the draconis warde and the Steel-Riven Champion, Mereth of Ten Thousand Missiles, as well as Leto, Commander of the Inner Palace, their shared expression utterly nonplussed even as Praetorians from the Imperial Fists stood in the gallery above, tensed not-so-subtly as their 'Emperor' entered within the proscribed five yard mark separating his person from the present nobility, all while court had yet to be adjourned.

    Not that, in this case, the Viserys holding court was at all subject to protocol as such, when he was currently in the midst of such theatrics. Unlike the court of ancient Yin, one such as them could suspend protocol at the drop of a hat, something you had worked for years to convince your counterpart in the east of the benefits of in matters of extreme precedent and prudence. Such as when a viable target to berate for unworthy behavior presented themselves, and it's not as though your prestige couldn't take the hit in the heart of your own power.

    You honestly found it fascinating the kind of mummery these fakes were capable of, after all this time of having to forge a direct link to counsel stand-ins on minutiae and minor decisions, while you sailed off to war, and you never would have contemplated handing over routine court sessions to one unadvised and without copious notes to review beforehand. Those who truly concerned you and who held a need for a private audience could simply request it through the right channels and the real you would find time for them regardless. No longer could you delineate hours of your day to such audiences, not when the sheer number of people near and dear to you had grown beyond all proportion and you still had concerns of family to precariously manage.

    You were not like your first namesake, who had ignored internal affairs so obvious as succession, or any other arguments which could spring from such resentment of 'rights', perceived or otherwise. You brokered no ignorance and self-delusion in your immediate children, and they had in turn given the option of exile or, shocking most of all, working out their grievances from other branches of your line, too all whom had sprung from them, either by beating the piss out of each other if needed, or by talking, but resolve them they did. No one wanted to be 'honored' with a command on the frontlines who wasn't already enlisted in the Navy or Legion, regardless.

    There were some disappointments, obviously. Which family did not? They were given ample chances to redeem themselves and they were not simply abandoned as such, but you had long since run out of tears to shed for fools who, best as you can say, might hold the singular positive quality of direct relation with someone who wasn't an utter disappointment as a person. They could throw themselves into whatever hobby or interest they pleased, turned away from matters of rule if they wished, far as you were concerned, but if that hobby or interest was sheer folly?

    It was with a mixture of serene contentment and disappointment that there was nothing more for you to do in the capital today except morbidly observe your own court from an outsider's perspective on a whim, and try not to get in the way of your spell-forged self, tempted as you were to offer suggestions from the sidelines, mighty in sorcery and knowledgeable in matters of rule in their own right... for a fake.

    If anyone knew you had a modified simulacrum pass judgement for you over even such banal matters as these without even your advisers being aware, you shudder to imagine the scandal which would soon unfold. It would almost be worth breaking up the sheer monotony, if you weren't absolutely certain your own mother would tan your hide redder than your scales for the headache you would cause her, idiocy abounding or not.

    "Well Roderick?" You could just barely hear the whispered entreatment by your false self to the Lord who you remembered trembling in his silks just from coming close enough to fill your cup at routine functions, as if you would bite his head off or immolate him at the drop of a hat. Honestly, you had more class than that. You weren't, say, Amrelath, and you did not even typically deliver disproportionate tongue lashings like Ysandrix was wont to do when a fey mood struck her... or if she were even mildly annoyed with someone. "How can I be of service to you?"

    If it were possible, Lord Roderick would have paled even further, before at once he fell to his knees, head bowed, almost seeming to shrink in on himself, seeming... smaller than he was before, shriveled, a man who you knew had stood down fiends and dark fey with mortal skill and steel undaunted, yet trembled at the thought of disappointing you. His father had died then, you can't help but think with unreasonable charity. I was all he had. You could see even from where you stood the slight shaking of his shoulders and the whispers flying throughout the court, silenced in an instant by a withering glare from the monarch stand-in.

    That Viserys leaned forward to grasp Redfort by his shoulder, and the lord almost clung to it like a lifeline as he conversed with them, perhaps by some sorcery, for neither of their lips moved, and eventually he stumbled to his feet even as the stand-in made a show of wrapping his arm around the man's shoulder, a genial expression on his face. "Let us discuss this further in private my Lord. At the moment you seem to have caught a chill... let no fel winds stir you to rash action," Viserys spoke on in a strong voice, even as somehow a mixture of terror and gratitude flooded into Lord Redfort's expression.

    "Thank you, your Majesty, I..." The Viserys beside him tightened his grip and dipped his head in a nod.

    "Go on, my Lord, we shall speak further on this matter. Soon."

    The false Viserys glared at the crowd, stunned into silence even as Lord Redfort almost sheepishly moved to regain his position beside Lord Swann, who surprisingly offered the man his own true-silver flask, shaking his head slowly and sighing. Redfort accepted it like he had swallowed a lemon, but it appeared at least the two were in fit enough a state to talk, at least. Perhaps you should actually speak to the man, instead of letting your double handle it. "Are there any among you with matters you would like to present before the Crown," that Viserys deigned to ask brazenly, having apparently discarded proper procedure for the moment in its entirety. No one stepped forward. "Let us adjourn for the nonce, then."

    You walked away with the crowd, musing to yourself on the nature of realms and stability.

    ***​

    At times you wonder, how the dream of a boy to reforge a righteous kingdom often tasted as much with the bitterness of hemlock upon the tongue, as it did sweet with the fat of truly just rule stretching across the land. Only in matters of the War was your counsel explicitly a great boon in of itself toward any effort, you at times felt. You had thought to turn the steel mechanisms of your mind toward research, to stretch a moment of greatness just an inch further for your beloved wife's sake alone, only...

    "What do you mean she's not here?" You stared at the sergeant in bemusement, even as he split his attention between yourself and barking orders at men moving equipment out of the arcane storage facility and toward the temporary planar rift held open by delicate sorcerous mechanisms.

    "She's conducting a survey of Heaven's Redoubt, your Majesty," he replied humbly.

    "That doesn't make any sense," you muse, "she could direct that from here, unless..."

    "The Rift," Mereth bit out a moment later from behind you and to your left. You nodded at her, accepting the conjecture as more than likely. "The Gates still hold?"

    "They do," you agree. "I am assured of this." You glance at the sergeant and dismiss him with a wave of your hand. He returns to his work completely unperturbed, the oddities he has witnessed here likely inuring him to the vagaries and strangeness of interacting with Royals in any manner. He collects his pay from the Crown, you muse, so perhaps he merely weighs the limits of his concern against that of his pension.

    "She'll be occupied for days," Mereth posits, then. "The procedures for entering and exiting the Redoubt demands no less."

    "I could send you..." you offer, but Mereth shakes her head, arms crossed.

    "My Lord, you have a venturesome gleam in your eye, and you've given your Champion another decade away from court. Who else will have your back?" You could see the twitch of excitement in her, you dare to call it trembling, frame. You lift a brow and she clears her throat, you wouldn't say delicately, more like a battleaxe playing at being a sewing needle. "It feels like only yesterday when you challenged an Arch-Duke to single combat and..." she began with a gleam of mischief in her eye.

    "Very well," you acquiesce, but only because it would be as to pulling teeth to put her off your trail now. You offer your arm and her true-silver clad hand smoothly takes it, transitioning from the designated transposition section to another part of the capital... no, not your solar--there.

    You gaze down at Sorcerer's Deep from atop the ancient Clocktower, twinned wing beats steadying the Fallen Angel beside you, her steel-colored feathers fluttering only briefly in the wind. You gaze upon a metropolis home to six million souls, the original harbor now covered by mountainous construction after it had been relocated a mile away out to the New Shore, the fifth of its kind as the needs for space of the city grew with its population.

    There were sections of the island given away entirely to farmland and natural retreats--and indeed, much of the capital, now a true rival for those Planar counterparts in scope and size, a realm unto itself as they say, and wonder, was entwined with nature in a way no other city was, gardens upon the roofs and green houses and trees where they could get ample sunlight. The mighty Force guns upon a battleship hovering carefully above and behind the city, where it could do no harm should it suffer catastrophic engine failure and fell, swiveled slowly, the artifice put into its work roughly equal to the equivalent effort put forth by your distant ancestors, when they held the interest to work such artifice for art and luxury's sake, not for war. Hundreds of spiraling towers climb into the sky, welcoming the nesting calls of dozens of dragons. The ship rose for low orbit already, replaced in line by several lighter cruisers and gunboats, all moving in some subtle dance at Naval Command's behest.

    "Thinking about lifting local ordinances?" Mereth mused, following your gaze to the wyrms. "Little Balerion is growing big enough to be a concern again." You were always greedy about those you counted part and parcel to your ever-expanding hoard, and giving the mind-stunted wyrm his years back when he had truly neared death again from natural course, had ultimately costed you little but time, time waiting for him to reach combat weight again, not that you used him as such anymore. What was it Darkstar had said all those years ago? Riding and trading lances with knights would make them come to understand and be at ease with you... the same held true for the Imperium's Dragonlords, apparently, one of the few factions who's favor you had to keep weighted in the balance of all things, for their vast wealth if not the danger of broken peace. Part of directing air traffic from here on the island was to remind them of where their power truly sprung, so no unnatural idiocy could overtake them if nothing else.

    You felt a pang of sorrow for the wyrm who's blood sung with the thrill of battle when you deigned to use him there, reduced to little more than a political prop... so much like yourself.

    You shake your head at Mereth's question eventually, staring down at the hustle and bustle of innumerable citizens going about their business, eyes drawn to illusionary advertisements flashing across tall buildings along the King's Highroad. "The Imperium is changing... not simply in law, oh there are threats out there. Still some use for an old man past his prime," you jest with amusement and a shared chuckle.

    "I would say you've got some silver in your hair now, except..." she trailed off, as if realizing something--not the fact that your hair has always been this shade of platinum-gold. "You stopped shaving."

    "It took centuries for this blasted thing to grow out," you grumble.

    "You could have simply used minor shape-shifting for that," she points out placidly. She knows that irritates you, as it is definitely not the same, nor was being the bearded 'wise ruler' as Jaehaerys of old part of your self image, too many wars to fight, too much to do. You often felt more like Maekar than either Jaehaerys or Maegor, regardless. Harried and annoyed at all the foes demanding your attention and forced to lavish it upon them regardless, not that they ever appreciated the sentiment.

    "Not the point anyway," she goes on, "When did I stop noticing that? I remember when you were a fresh faced despot, either too crazy to care about how insane his ambitions were or..." so ambitious he simply didn't care. "It suits you," she compliments, almost unseemly in her effusiveness, for her at any rate.

    You ignore that with a roll of your eyes, becoming contemplative again. "The House of Lords chaffs at the expanding purview upon which the House of Commons' remit grows."

    "Let them grumble," she replies, utterly merciless, "They are not as influential as they have been through the ebb and flow of years. First they were equal to the Military and to whom the apparatus concerned, and then the New Men in the private sectors, too, divided the board further. Now they are barely of any more concern to you than the least influential factors in parliamentary politics."

    "You exaggerate," barely, you admit, "But I understand your meaning. Still, even if there's no fear of civil war while most of the Red Accord holds to their oaths," you murmur over a sharp 'they better' from the Fallen confidant of yours, "That doesn't change that they are growing more desperate. It is only my love for the memory of their ancestors, or else their outstanding loyalty and dedication, which keeps me from sweeping them aside as I'm sure you would suggest, and even that alone I'm sure will end up costing me more than it gains. The man you had known back then would have eagerly exploited such a time already... years ago. He had always chaffed at the irrational notions those merely born to power but having dedicated nothing to preserve the legacy of greatness forged of their forebears deeds, should hold any sway in his vision."

    "And now?" She wonders aloud, almost softly. She doesn't go so far as to reach out and touch you, but her presence is there in a physical way, merely standing differently an intimate enough gesture you would have never imagined her doing under any circumstances back then, even in private, and now she does it here where any eyes who cared enough to pay attention to an old sorcerer and his bodyguard could see them in the light of day.

    "I wonder, with no war to fight, with no pressing concerns, with the Works continuing unabated and without further need of my input... what's the point?" You absently offer your hand again, and a moment later you find a steely grip around it, tightening not in anger but genuine concern.

    You are gone from that place.

    OOC: Forgive me Father Ao, and Lord @DragonParadox, for I have (and will continue to) sinned. Something to fill the hole in your hearts at the loss of Horde Thief.
     
    Last edited:
  • Threadmarks
    • Crake said:
    Magic Equals Friendship Squared: Part I​

    "For the last time Count Redfort, yes I am quite sure those accounts are accurate, right down to the last Sovereign."

    "But how--" the reddening noble puffed his chest, only to deflate as the intense visage of the 'King' upon his throne leaned forward, his cold, pale violet gaze like pale glass, quickly shifting ever so skillfully to a crafted facade of abject disappointment.

    "Honestly, Roderick," the man upon the throne sighed, voice dripping faintly with pity even as murmurs drifted up from the various galleries at the informal address, "When I handed those accounts to your ancestor, Lord Galladon, he smiled at me. Did not spit upon my generosity, nor the forethought with which brokerage of such a deal was negotiated upon his behalf with his closest neighbors, for favorable terms. For he had little then, and it was meant to scale and weigh in balance the prosperity of all whom stood to benefit from it for centuries onward. He had not even brought the matter to my attention at first, you know? But I did so regardless, because he was a man deserving of the consideration. The Archonic Council of Mantarys has been nothing if not forthcoming on the matter of tithes levied to you, at the rates agreed and renegotiated no less than eleven times in the last six hundred years, have they not?" The Viserys on the throne bulled over the next words to come out of the lord's mouth, their shoulders hunching as if he wasn't a man grown if newly risen to his position with the abdication and subsequent passing of his father.

    You should know, he was your page as a boy and had adopted the same hangdog expression he had worn then when he knew he'd overstepped himself. "Nor has Count Swann been anything if not accommodating to your repeated agitation at his borders--honestly, Roderick, turning your own house-guard toward base saber-rattling?

    "And why I must ask, have you lowered yourself to such indignities, Lord Redfort, why not negotiate again if it vexes you so? Because ordering your fucking men," everyone in the court flinched the moment the word was out of the Emperor's mouth, for rare was a time when he had lost his distant and collected mien that deemed such paltry matters worth no more than perfunctory arbitration, but for some reason had chosen this unfortunate to make an example of. "To seize another man's assets in his own fucking Sky Port," Viserys thundered, the inner glassy purple irises now discs of molten red by this point. "It's quite frankly beneath you, my Lord."

    "We have borne that albatross about our neck for a half a millennia," he yelled, almost petulantly, unaware of the maw he sticks his hand into, "We've paid our dues! I only seek to establish my rights..." he paled, grimace instantly appearing on his face, knowing he'd said exactly the worst possible thing he could have.

    "Your rights?" The Viserys on the throne whispered dangerously, the sound carrying further than it should have in such a vast area, and you nearly rolled your eyes at the theatrics. "Have I been an unfaithful liege to you, my Lord? The arbitrator of those very rights you claim to be infringed upon? Was there some failing on my part that crept up on me, sight unseen?" The lord shook his head rapidly, raising his arms as if to ward off a ghost. "I would be remiss to ignore the plight of my leal vassals, Roderick," the Dragon Emperor said thunderously, walking forward, past the ceremonial guard, past the draconis warde and the Steel-Riven Champion, Mereth of Ten Thousand Missiles, as well as Leto, Commander of the Inner Palace, their shared expression utterly nonplussed even as Praetorians from the Imperial Fists stood in the gallery above, tensed not-so-subtly as their 'Emperor' entered within the proscribed five yard mark separating his person from the present nobility, all while court had yet to be adjourned.

    Not that, in this case, the Viserys holding court was at all subject to protocol as such, when he was currently in the midst of such theatrics. Unlike the court of ancient Yin, one such as them could suspend protocol at the drop of a hat, something you had worked for years to convince your counterpart in the east of the benefits of in matters of extreme precedent and prudence. Such as when a viable target to berate for unworthy behavior presented themselves, and it's not as though your prestige couldn't take the hit in the heart of your own power.

    You honestly found it fascinating the kind of mummery these fakes were capable of, after all this time of having to forge a direct link to counsel stand-ins on minutiae and minor decisions, while you sailed off to war, and you never would have contemplated handing over routine court sessions to one unadvised and without copious notes to review beforehand. Those who truly concerned you and who held a need for a private audience could simply request it through the right channels and the real you would find time for them regardless. No longer could you delineate hours of your day to such audiences, not when the sheer number of people near and dear to you had grown beyond all proportion and you still had concerns of family to precariously manage.

    You were not like your first namesake, who had ignored internal affairs so obvious as succession, or any other arguments which could spring from such resentment of 'rights', perceived or otherwise. You brokered no ignorance and self-delusion in your immediate children, and they had in turn given the option of exile or, shocking most of all, working out their grievances from other branches of your line, too all whom had sprung from them, either by beating the piss out of each other if needed, or by talking, but resolve them they did. No one wanted to be 'honored' with a command on the frontlines who wasn't already enlisted in the Navy or Legion, regardless.

    There were some disappointments, obviously. Which family did not? They were given ample chances to redeem themselves and they were not simply abandoned as such, but you had long since run out of tears to shed for fools who, best as you can say, might hold the singular positive quality of direct relation with someone who wasn't an utter disappointment as a person. They could throw themselves into whatever hobby or interest they pleased, turned away from matters of rule if they wished, far as you were concerned, but if that hobby or interest was sheer folly?

    It was with a mixture of serene contentment and disappointment that there was nothing more for you to do in the capital today except morbidly observe your own court from an outsider's perspective on a whim, and try not to get in the way of your spell-forged self, tempted as you were to offer suggestions from the sidelines, mighty in sorcery and knowledgeable in matters of rule in their own right... for a fake.

    If anyone knew you had a modified simulacrum pass judgement for you over even such banal matters as these without even your advisers being aware, you shudder to imagine the scandal which would soon unfold. It would almost be worth breaking up the sheer monotony, if you weren't absolutely certain your own mother would tan your hide redder than your scales for the headache you would cause her, idiocy abounding or not.

    "Well Roderick?" You could just barely hear the whispered entreatment by your false self to the Lord who you remembered trembling in his silks just from coming close enough to fill your cup at routine functions, as if you would bite his head off or immolate him at the drop of a hat. Honestly, you had more class than that. You weren't, say, Amrelath, and you did not even typically deliver disproportionate tongue lashings like Ysandrix was wont to do when a fey mood struck her... or if she were even mildly annoyed with someone. "How can I be of service to you?"

    If it were possible, Lord Roderick would have paled even further, before at once he fell to his knees, head bowed, almost seeming to shrink in on himself, seeming... smaller than he was before, shriveled, a man who you knew had stood down fiends and dark fey with mortal skill and steel undaunted, yet trembled at the thought of disappointing you. His father had died then, you can't help but think with unreasonable charity. I was all he had. You could see even from where you stood the slight shaking of his shoulders and the whispers flying throughout the court, silenced in an instant by a withering glare from the monarch stand-in.

    That Viserys leaned forward to grasp Redfort by his shoulder, and the lord almost clung to it like a lifeline as he conversed with them, perhaps by some sorcery, for neither of their lips moved, and eventually he stumbled to his feet even as the stand-in made a show of wrapping his arm around the man's shoulder, a genial expression on his face. "Let us discuss this further in private my Lord. At the moment you seem to have caught a chill... let no fel winds stir you to rash action," Viserys spoke on in a strong voice, even as somehow a mixture of terror and gratitude flooded into Lord Redfort's expression.

    "Thank you, your Majesty, I..." The Viserys beside him tightened his grip and dipped his head in a nod.

    "Go on, my Lord, we shall speak further on this matter. Soon."

    The false Viserys glared at the crowd, stunned into silence even as Lord Redfort almost sheepishly moved to regain his position beside Lord Swann, who surprisingly offered the man his own true-silver flask, shaking his head slowly and sighing. Redfort accepted it like he had swallowed a lemon, but it appeared at least the two were in fit enough a state to talk, at least. Perhaps you should actually speak to the man, instead of letting your double handle it. "Are there any among you with matters you would like to present before the Crown," that Viserys deigned to ask brazenly, having apparently discarded proper procedure for the moment in its entirety. No one stepped forward. "Let us adjourn for the nonce, then."

    You walked away with the crowd, musing to yourself on the nature of realms and stability.

    ***​

    At times you wonder how the dream of a boy to reforge a righteous kingdom often tasted as much with the bitterness of hemlock upon the tongue as it did sweet with the fat of truly just rule stretching across the land. Only in matters of the War was your counsel explicitly a great boon in of itself toward any effort, you at times felt. You had thought to turn the steel mechanisms of your mind toward research, to stretch a moment of greatness just an inch further for your beloved wife's sake alone, only...

    "What do you mean she's not here?" You stared at the sergeant in bemusement, even as he split his attention between yourself and barking orders at men moving equipment out of the arcane storage facility and toward the temporary planar rift held open by delicate sorcerous mechanisms.

    "She's conducting a survey of Heaven's Redoubt, your Majesty," he replied humbly.

    "That doesn't make any sense," you muse, "she could direct that from here, unless..."

    "The Rift," Mereth bit out a moment later from behind you and to your left. You nodded at her, accepting the conjecture as more than likely. "The Gates still hold?"

    "They do," you agree. "I am assured of this." You glance at the sergeant and dismiss him with a wave of your hand. He returns to his work completely unperturbed, the oddities he has witnessed here likely inuring him to the vagaries and strangeness of interacting with Royals in any manner. He collects his pay from the Crown, you muse, so perhaps he merely weighs the limits of his concern against that of his pension.

    "She'll be occupied for days," Mereth posits, then. "The procedures for entering and exiting the Redoubt demands no less."

    "I could send you..." you offer, but Mereth shakes her head, arms crossed.

    "My Lord, you have a venturesome glean in your eye, and you've given your Champion another decade away from court. Who else will have your back?" You could see the twitch of excitement in her, you dare to call it trembling, frame. You lift a brow and she clears her throat, you wouldn't say delicately, more like a battleaxe playing at being a sewing needle. "It feels like only yesterday when you challenged an Arch-Duke to single combat and..." she began with a gleam of mischief in her eye.

    "Very well," you acquiesce, but only because it would be as to pulling teeth to put her off your trail now. You offer your arm and her true-silver clad hand smoothly takes it, transitioning from the designated transposition section to another part of the capital... no, not your solar--there.

    You gaze down at Sorcerer's Deep from atop the ancient Clocktower, twinned wing beats steadying the Fallen Angel beside you, her steel-colored feathers fluttering only briefly in the wind. You gaze upon a metropolis home to six million souls, the original harbor now covered by mountainous construction after it had been relocated a mile away out to the New Shore, the fifth of its kind as the needs for space of the city grew with its population.

    There were sections of the island given away entirely to farmland and natural retreats--and indeed, much of the capital, now a true rival for those Planar counterparts in scope and size, a realm unto itself as they say, and wonder, was entwined with nature in a way no other city was, gardens upon the roofs and green houses and trees where they could get ample sunlight. The mighty Force guns upon a battleship hovering carefully above and behind the city, where it could do no harm should it suffer catastrophic engine failure and fell, swiveled slowly, the artifice put into its work roughly equal to the equivalent effort put forth by your distant ancestors, when they held the interest to work such artifice for art and luxury's sake, not for war. Hundreds of spiraling towers climb into the sky, welcoming the nesting calls of dozens of dragons. The ship rose for low orbit already, replaced in line by several lighter cruisers and gunboats, all moving in some subtle dance at Naval Command's behest.

    "Thinking about lifting local ordinances?" Mereth mused, following your gaze to the wyrms. "Little Balerion is growing big enough to be a concern again." You were always greedy about those you counted part and parcel to your ever-expanding hoard, and giving the mind-stunted wyrm his years back when he had truly neared death again from natural course, had ultimately costed you little but time, time waiting for him to reach combat weight again, not that you used him as such anymore. What was it Darkstar had said all those years ago? Riding and trading lances with knights would make them come to understand and be at ease with you... the same held true for the Imperium's Dragonlords, apparently, one of the few factions who's favor you had to keep weighted in the balance of all things, for their vast wealth if not the danger of broken peace. Part of directing air traffic from here on the island was to remind them of where their power truly sprung, so no unnatural idiocy could overtake them if nothing else.

    You felt a pang of sorrow for the wyrm who's blood sung with the thrill of battle when you deigned to use him there, reduced to little more than a political prop... so much like yourself.

    You shake your head at Mereth's question eventually, staring down at the hustle and bustle of innumerable citizens going about their business, eyes drawn to illusionary advertisements flashing across tall buildings along the King's Highroad. "The Imperium is changing... not simply in law, oh there are threats out there. Still some use for an old man past his prime," you jest with amusement and a shared chuckle.

    "I would say you've got some silver in your hair now, except..." she trailed off, as if realizing something--not the fact that your hair has always been this shade of platinum-gold. "You stopped shaving."

    "It took centuries for this blasted thing to grow out," you grumble.

    "You could have simply used minor shape-shifting for that," she points out placidly. She knows that irritates you, as it is definitely not the same, nor was being the bearded 'wise ruler' as Jaehaerys of old part of your self image, too many wars to fight, too much to do. You often felt more like Maekar than either Jaehaerys or Maegor, regardless. Harried and annoyed at all the foes demanding your attention and forced to lavish it upon them regardless, not that they ever appreciated the sentiment.

    "Not the point anyway," she goes on, "When did I stop noticing that? I remember when you were a fresh faced despot, either too crazy to care about how insane his ambitions were or..." so ambitious he simply didn't care. "It suits you," she compliments, almost unseemly in her effusiveness, for her at any rate.

    You ignore that with a roll of your eyes, becoming contemplative again. "The House of Lords chaffs at the expanding purview upon which the House of Commons' remit grows."

    "Let them grumble," she replies, utterly merciless, "They are not as influential as they have been through the ebb and flow of years. First they were equal to the Military and to whom the apparatus concerned, and then the New Men in the private sectors, too, divided the board further. Now they are barely of any more concern to you than the least influential factors in parliamentary politics."

    "You exaggerate," barely, you admit, "But I understand your meaning. Still, even if there's no fear of civil war while most of the Red Accord holds to their oaths," you murmur over a sharp 'they better' from the Fallen confidant of yours, "That doesn't change that they are growing more desperate. It is only my love for the memory of their ancestors, or else their outstanding loyalty and dedication, which keeps me from sweeping them aside as I'm sure you would suggest, and even that alone I'm sure will end up costing me more than it gains. The man you had known back then would have eagerly exploited such a time already... years ago. He had always chaffed at the irrational notions those merely born to power but having dedicated nothing to preserve the legacy of greatness forged of their forebears deeds, should hold any sway in his vision."

    "And now?" She wonders aloud, almost softly. She doesn't go so far as to reach out and touch you, but her presence is there in a physical way, merely standing differently an intimate enough gesture you would have never imagined her doing under any circumstances back then, even in private, and now she does it here where any eyes who cared enough to pay attention to an old sorcerer and his bodyguard could see them in the light of day.

    "I wonder, with no war to fight, with no pressing concerns, with the Works continuing unabated and without further need of my input... what's the point?" You absently offer your hand again, and a moment later you find a steely grip around it, tightening not in anger but genuine concern.

    You are gone from that place.

    OOC: Forgive me Father Ao, and Lord @DragonParadox, for I have (and will continue to) sinned. Something to fill the hole in your hearts at the loss of Horde Thief.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Oddly melancholy I think, but an excellent read.
     
    Crake said:
    Magic Equals Friendship Squared: Part I​

    "For the last time Count Redfort, yes I am quite sure those accounts are accurate, right down to the last Sovereign."

    "But how--" the reddening noble puffed his chest, only to deflate as the intense visage of the 'King' upon his throne leaned forward, his cold, pale violet gaze like pale glass, quickly shifting ever so skillfully to a crafted facade of abject disappointment.

    "Honestly, Roderick," the man upon the throne sighed, voice dripping faintly with pity even as murmurs drifted up from the various galleries at the informal address, "When I handed those accounts to your ancestor, Lord Galladon, he smiled at me. Did not spit upon my generosity, nor the forethought with which brokerage of such a deal was negotiated upon his behalf with his closest neighbors, for favorable terms. For he had little then, and it was meant to scale and weigh in balance the prosperity of all whom stood to benefit from it for centuries onward. He had not even brought the matter to my attention at first, you know? But I did so regardless, because he was a man deserving of the consideration. The Archonic Council of Mantarys has been nothing if not forthcoming on the matter of tithes levied to you, at the rates agreed and renegotiated no less than eleven times in the last six hundred years, have they not?" The Viserys on the throne bulled over the next words to come out of the lord's mouth, their shoulders hunching as if he wasn't a man grown if newly risen to his position with the abdication and subsequent passing of his father.

    You should know, he was your page as a boy and had adopted the same hangdog expression he had worn then when he knew he'd overstepped himself. "Nor has Count Swann been anything if not accommodating to your repeated agitation at his borders--honestly, Roderick, turning your own house-guard toward base saber-rattling?

    "And why I must ask, have you lowered yourself to such indignities, Lord Redfort, why not negotiate again if it vexes you so? Because ordering your fucking men," everyone in the court flinched the moment the word was out of the Emperor's mouth, for rare was a time when he had lost his distant and collected mien that deemed such paltry matters worth no more than perfunctory arbitration, but for some reason had chosen this unfortunate to make an example of. "To seize another man's assets in his own fucking Sky Port," Viserys thundered, the inner glassy purple irises now discs of molten red by this point. "It's quite frankly beneath you, my Lord."

    "We have borne that albatross about our neck for a half a millennia," he yelled, almost petulantly, unaware of the maw he sticks his hand into, "We've paid our dues! I only seek to establish my rights..." he paled, grimace instantly appearing on his face, knowing he'd said exactly the worst possible thing he could have.

    "Your rights?" The Viserys on the throne whispered dangerously, the sound carrying further than it should have in such a vast area, and you nearly rolled your eyes at the theatrics. "Have I been an unfaithful liege to you, my Lord? The arbitrator of those very rights you claim to be infringed upon? Was there some failing on my part that crept up on me, sight unseen?" The lord shook his head rapidly, raising his arms as if to ward off a ghost. "I would be remiss to ignore the plight of my leal vassals, Roderick," the Dragon Emperor said thunderously, walking forward, past the ceremonial guard, past the draconis warde and the Steel-Riven Champion, Mereth of Ten Thousand Missiles, as well as Leto, Commander of the Inner Palace, their shared expression utterly nonplussed even as Praetorians from the Imperial Fists stood in the gallery above, tensed not-so-subtly as their 'Emperor' entered within the proscribed five yard mark separating his person from the present nobility, all while court had yet to be adjourned.

    Not that, in this case, the Viserys holding court was at all subject to protocol as such, when he was currently in the midst of such theatrics. Unlike the court of ancient Yin, one such as them could suspend protocol at the drop of a hat, something you had worked for years to convince your counterpart in the east of the benefits of in matters of extreme precedent and prudence. Such as when a viable target to berate for unworthy behavior presented themselves, and it's not as though your prestige couldn't take the hit in the heart of your own power.

    You honestly found it fascinating the kind of mummery these fakes were capable of, after all this time of having to forge a direct link to counsel stand-ins on minutiae and minor decisions, while you sailed off to war, and you never would have contemplated handing over routine court sessions to one unadvised and without copious notes to review beforehand. Those who truly concerned you and who held a need for a private audience could simply request it through the right channels and the real you would find time for them regardless. No longer could you delineate hours of your day to such audiences, not when the sheer number of people near and dear to you had grown beyond all proportion and you still had concerns of family to precariously manage.

    You were not like your first namesake, who had ignored internal affairs so obvious as succession, or any other arguments which could spring from such resentment of 'rights', perceived or otherwise. You brokered no ignorance and self-delusion in your immediate children, and they had in turn given the option of exile or, shocking most of all, working out their grievances from other branches of your line, too all whom had sprung from them, either by beating the piss out of each other if needed, or by talking, but resolve them they did. No one wanted to be 'honored' with a command on the frontlines who wasn't already enlisted in the Navy or Legion, regardless.

    There were some disappointments, obviously. Which family did not? They were given ample chances to redeem themselves and they were not simply abandoned as such, but you had long since run out of tears to shed for fools who, best as you can say, might hold the singular positive quality of direct relation with someone who wasn't an utter disappointment as a person. They could throw themselves into whatever hobby or interest they pleased, turned away from matters of rule if they wished, far as you were concerned, but if that hobby or interest was sheer folly?

    It was with a mixture of serene contentment and disappointment that there was nothing more for you to do in the capital today except morbidly observe your own court from an outsider's perspective on a whim, and try not to get in the way of your spell-forged self, tempted as you were to offer suggestions from the sidelines, mighty in sorcery and knowledgeable in matters of rule in their own right... for a fake.

    If anyone knew you had a modified simulacrum pass judgement for you over even such banal matters as these without even your advisers being aware, you shudder to imagine the scandal which would soon unfold. It would almost be worth breaking up the sheer monotony, if you weren't absolutely certain your own mother would tan your hide redder than your scales for the headache you would cause her, idiocy abounding or not.

    "Well Roderick?" You could just barely hear the whispered entreatment by your false self to the Lord who you remembered trembling in his silks just from coming close enough to fill your cup at routine functions, as if you would bite his head off or immolate him at the drop of a hat. Honestly, you had more class than that. You weren't, say, Amrelath, and you did not even typically deliver disproportionate tongue lashings like Ysandrix was wont to do when a fey mood struck her... or if she were even mildly annoyed with someone. "How can I be of service to you?"

    If it were possible, Lord Roderick would have paled even further, before at once he fell to his knees, head bowed, almost seeming to shrink in on himself, seeming... smaller than he was before, shriveled, a man who you knew had stood down fiends and dark fey with mortal skill and steel undaunted, yet trembled at the thought of disappointing you. His father had died then, you can't help but think with unreasonable charity. I was all he had. You could see even from where you stood the slight shaking of his shoulders and the whispers flying throughout the court, silenced in an instant by a withering glare from the monarch stand-in.

    That Viserys leaned forward to grasp Redfort by his shoulder, and the lord almost clung to it like a lifeline as he conversed with them, perhaps by some sorcery, for neither of their lips moved, and eventually he stumbled to his feet even as the stand-in made a show of wrapping his arm around the man's shoulder, a genial expression on his face. "Let us discuss this further in private my Lord. At the moment you seem to have caught a chill... let no fel winds stir you to rash action," Viserys spoke on in a strong voice, even as somehow a mixture of terror and gratitude flooded into Lord Redfort's expression.

    "Thank you, your Majesty, I..." The Viserys beside him tightened his grip and dipped his head in a nod.

    "Go on, my Lord, we shall speak further on this matter. Soon."

    The false Viserys glared at the crowd, stunned into silence even as Lord Redfort almost sheepishly moved to regain his position beside Lord Swann, who surprisingly offered the man his own true-silver flask, shaking his head slowly and sighing. Redfort accepted it like he had swallowed a lemon, but it appeared at least the two were in fit enough a state to talk, at least. Perhaps you should actually speak to the man, instead of letting your double handle it. "Are there any among you with matters you would like to present before the Crown," that Viserys deigned to ask brazenly, having apparently discarded proper procedure for the moment in its entirety. No one stepped forward. "Let us adjourn for the nonce, then."

    You walked away with the crowd, musing to yourself on the nature of realms and stability.

    ***​

    At times you wonder how the dream of a boy to reforge a righteous kingdom often tasted as much with the bitterness of hemlock upon the tongue as it did sweet with the fat of truly just rule stretching across the land. Only in matters of the War was your counsel explicitly a great boon in of itself toward any effort, you at times felt. You had thought to turn the steel mechanisms of your mind toward research, to stretch a moment of greatness just an inch further for your beloved wife's sake alone, only...

    "What do you mean she's not here?" You stared at the sergeant in bemusement, even as he split his attention between yourself and barking orders at men moving equipment out of the arcane storage facility and toward the temporary planar rift held open by delicate sorcerous mechanisms.

    "She's conducting a survey of Heaven's Redoubt, your Majesty," he replied humbly.

    "That doesn't make any sense," you muse, "she could direct that from here, unless..."

    "The Rift," Mereth bit out a moment later from behind you and to your left. You nodded at her, accepting the conjecture as more than likely. "The Gates still hold?"

    "They do," you agree. "I am assured of this." You glance at the sergeant and dismiss him with a wave of your hand. He returns to his work completely unperturbed, the oddities he has witnessed here likely inuring him to the vagaries and strangeness of interacting with Royals in any manner. He collects his pay from the Crown, you muse, so perhaps he merely weighs the limits of his concern against that of his pension.

    "She'll be occupied for days," Mereth posits, then. "The procedures for entering and exiting the Redoubt demands no less."

    "I could send you..." you offer, but Mereth shakes her head, arms crossed.

    "My Lord, you have a venturesome glean in your eye, and you've given your Champion another decade away from court. Who else will have your back?" You could see the twitch of excitement in her, you dare to call it trembling, frame. You lift a brow and she clears her throat, you wouldn't say delicately, more like a battleaxe playing at being a sewing needle. "It feels like only yesterday when you challenged an Arch-Duke to single combat and..." she began with a gleam of mischief in her eye.

    "Very well," you acquiesce, but only because it would be as to pulling teeth to put her off your trail now. You offer your arm and her true-silver clad hand smoothly takes it, transitioning from the designated transposition section to another part of the capital... no, not your solar--there.

    You gaze down at Sorcerer's Deep from atop the ancient Clocktower, twinned wing beats steadying the Fallen Angel beside you, her steel-colored feathers fluttering only briefly in the wind. You gaze upon a metropolis home to six million souls, the original harbor now covered by mountainous construction after it had been relocated a mile away out to the New Shore, the fifth of its kind as the needs for space of the city grew with its population.

    There were sections of the island given away entirely to farmland and natural retreats--and indeed, much of the capital, now a true rival for those Planar counterparts in scope and size, a realm unto itself as they say, and wonder, was entwined with nature in a way no other city was, gardens upon the roofs and green houses and trees where they could get ample sunlight. The mighty Force guns upon a battleship hovering carefully above and behind the city, where it could do no harm should it suffer catastrophic engine failure and fell, swiveled slowly, the artifice put into its work roughly equal to the equivalent effort put forth by your distant ancestors, when they held the interest to work such artifice for art and luxury's sake, not for war. Hundreds of spiraling towers climb into the sky, welcoming the nesting calls of dozens of dragons. The ship rose for low orbit already, replaced in line by several lighter cruisers and gunboats, all moving in some subtle dance at Naval Command's behest.

    "Thinking about lifting local ordinances?" Mereth mused, following your gaze to the wyrms. "Little Balerion is growing big enough to be a concern again." You were always greedy about those you counted part and parcel to your ever-expanding hoard, and giving the mind-stunted wyrm his years back when he had truly neared death again from natural course, had ultimately costed you little but time, time waiting for him to reach combat weight again, not that you used him as such anymore. What was it Darkstar had said all those years ago? Riding and trading lances with knights would make them come to understand and be at ease with you... the same held true for the Imperium's Dragonlords, apparently, one of the few factions who's favor you had to keep weighted in the balance of all things, for their vast wealth if not the danger of broken peace. Part of directing air traffic from here on the island was to remind them of where their power truly sprung, so no unnatural idiocy could overtake them if nothing else.

    You felt a pang of sorrow for the wyrm who's blood sung with the thrill of battle when you deigned to use him there, reduced to little more than a political prop... so much like yourself.

    You shake your head at Mereth's question eventually, staring down at the hustle and bustle of innumerable citizens going about their business, eyes drawn to illusionary advertisements flashing across tall buildings along the King's Highroad. "The Imperium is changing... not simply in law, oh there are threats out there. Still some use for an old man past his prime," you jest with amusement and a shared chuckle.

    "I would say you've got some silver in your hair now, except..." she trailed off, as if realizing something--not the fact that your hair has always been this shade of platinum-gold. "You stopped shaving."

    "It took centuries for this blasted thing to grow out," you grumble.

    "You could have simply used minor shape-shifting for that," she points out placidly. She knows that irritates you, as it is definitely not the same, nor was being the bearded 'wise ruler' as Jaehaerys of old part of your self image, too many wars to fight, too much to do. You often felt more like Maekar than either Jaehaerys or Maegor, regardless. Harried and annoyed at all the foes demanding your attention and forced to lavish it upon them regardless, not that they ever appreciated the sentiment.

    "Not the point anyway," she goes on, "When did I stop noticing that? I remember when you were a fresh faced despot, either too crazy to care about how insane his ambitions were or..." so ambitious he simply didn't care. "It suits you," she compliments, almost unseemly in her effusiveness, for her at any rate.

    You ignore that with a roll of your eyes, becoming contemplative again. "The House of Lords chaffs at the expanding purview upon which the House of Commons' remit grows."

    "Let them grumble," she replies, utterly merciless, "They are not as influential as they have been through the ebb and flow of years. First they were equal to the Military and to whom the apparatus concerned, and then the New Men in the private sectors, too, divided the board further. Now they are barely of any more concern to you than the least influential factors in parliamentary politics."

    "You exaggerate," barely, you admit, "But I understand your meaning. Still, even if there's no fear of civil war while most of the Red Accord holds to their oaths," you murmur over a sharp 'they better' from the Fallen confidant of yours, "That doesn't change that they are growing more desperate. It is only my love for the memory of their ancestors, or else their outstanding loyalty and dedication, which keeps me from sweeping them aside as I'm sure you would suggest, and even that alone I'm sure will end up costing me more than it gains. The man you had known back then would have eagerly exploited such a time already... years ago. He had always chaffed at the irrational notions those merely born to power but having dedicated nothing to preserve the legacy of greatness forged of their forebears deeds, should hold any sway in his vision."

    "And now?" She wonders aloud, almost softly. She doesn't go so far as to reach out and touch you, but her presence is there in a physical way, merely standing differently an intimate enough gesture you would have never imagined her doing under any circumstances back then, even in private, and now she does it here where any eyes who cared enough to pay attention to an old sorcerer and his bodyguard could see them in the light of day.

    "I wonder, with no war to fight, with no pressing concerns, with the Works continuing unabated and without further need of my input... what's the point?" You absently offer your hand again, and a moment later you find a steely grip around it, tightening not in anger but genuine concern.

    You are gone from that place.

    OOC: Forgive me Father Ao, and Lord @DragonParadox, for I have (and will continue to) sinned. Something to fill the hole in your hearts at the loss of Horde Thief.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Heavy stuff, dude. You packed a lot of future history into one chapter, not to mention teasers that I'm super curious about.

    Looking forward to seeing what comes next.
     
    @Crake, back at it again with his verbose Omakes.

    Seriously though, that does makes me thinking. 'What would happen then?'

    When we ruled as the true Sovereign over the Prime Material; when we subjugated every supernatural threat to be aught but names filling the Larder; when we destroy hell and craft legendary items out of the remains of the Nine Dukes; when we claimed the Heavens, Elysium, and Mount Celsestia.

    —what then?

    We have done all we could, fight all we could, gained all we could.

    —and for what?

    Hm, I can't speak for anyone on that matter, but such days have not come before us yet. Thus, I say we just say: "Fuck it, I'm going to enjoy this as much as I can."

    And smile forlornly, as we grow old and watched as our descendants grow strong and mighty.
     
    Reader mode
    You must login or register to reply here.
    Remove ads
    Back
    Top