Of Axe and Horn
Thirty-First Day of the Tenth Month 293 AC
The agreement you come to with Lord Celtigar is not the most generous you have ever made certainly, but it is as generous as you can afford to be while secrecy is a concern. Thus you facilitate the trade of simple enchanted weapons from Everfire Dale at cost, along with signaling mirrors forged in Myr with a pair of whispering braziers to hopefully serve as the pivots of the system. For protecting fishing ships at sea you offer to mediate with the triton tribes of the Narrowed Sea, adding that perhaps a temple to the Ferryman might serve as a counter-balance to the Red Priests. "A people as often on the water as yours, my lord, would take better to worshiping a god of the sea than one of fire I would wager," you add.
"A strange thing to wager with the faith of men, but no stranger than much of what I've seen these last few years," the Red Crab agrees with a wry smile. "I look forward to meeting the envoys of these sea folk. If the tales are true it would not be the first time my House dealt with spirits from the sea."
"Indeed, I've had confirmation from other sources that those tales do not lie," you agree, leaving aside the fact that it had been from the mouth of the Merling King's own daughter during a sacrifice and consecration as she blessed Valaena alongside Theon with lore of the sea. No sense adding divine visitation to the discussion just yet. "Yet I have heard also that stories are not all that remains of those days and that legacy."
"I see Valaena's been telling tales. I don't suppose she mentioned the time she tried to sneak into the treasury to try and blow the horn to see if it would summon any Krakens?" A fond smile briefly touches his lips. "She counted about six namedays then, and curious as a basket full of cats. Still..." His tone grows more serious. "I have asked the Red Priests if the horn is enchanted and they said that it was, though they would not say more of the matter, whether because they do not like to talk of 'heathen' sorcery or simply for not knowing I could not say."
The lord closes the chest with the dead horror inside with a definitive thunk and rises to his feet to escort the three of your further into his keep. There are no windows where he leads, though plenty of doors sealed and barred, opened by the click of locks complex enough to have taken months of work from a master of the craft until at last in the light of conjured magelight you see the treasures of House Celtigar—precious silks and gilded armors, chests of sliver and golden chalices and jewels glittering like a score of bright eyes. It all looks faintly familiar in a way you cannot quite place for a moment.
Like a dragon's hoard, you realize.
This insight too you choose to keep back for the moment, looking instead around the room with the deepest sight you can conjure, looking for any trace of magic... there is far more than a trace to find. The horn glows with a deep blue light, like sunlight seen through deep waters. In physical form it is wrought of worn ivory bound in scrimshaw and filigree.
Whale bone and coral stone, you realize after a moment, though you cannot read the currents of magic that play along its edge save to say that they are disordered, broken as much as faded.
"May I?" you ask the lord. At his nod you move to run your fingers over the old workings and to it you
whisper close in the tongue of Dragons:
"Tell me your secrets true."
***
Elsewhere Elsewhen
A warrior in steel armor wrought like the scales of a great wyrm stands upon the prow of a ship, his hand bloodied and clenched tight upon the hilt of a Valyrian Steel axe as though afraid it will fly from his grip. At his feet lays a corpse, its blood slowly seeping into the ship's timbers. "Well, will any challenge me?!" the man shouts seemingly as much to the stormy heavens as the rest of the crew arrayed upon deck. "The captain is dead and we are well rid of him who had all but made slaves of freemen!"
In response a few scattered cheers rise from the onlookers, though most look on mutely towards the act of mutiny. "Where will we go, Celtigo?" one calls. "We have no lands to call our own nor safe anchorages to put us ashore. Only savages await us here."
"Savages, you say?" the warrior with the bloody axe calls. "Are they not men as any others? Do they not sail and fish, fear the storm and pray for good winds just like the men born of the Cedars or of Oros? Let us dwell here and our lines after us. Lords and princes we will be, not the servants of haughty fools." The mutineer kicks the corpse at his feet for emphasis, the grumbles fade into wary assent.
As a wraith unseen and unheard you follow the man, the warrior, into the bowels of the ship, the soft sound of the captain's blood echoing unnaturally loudly. You see him free a dark-haired woman with eyes like the shifting sea from a slave's collar and for a moment the two kiss, but this is not someone throwing themselves into the arms of a protector in desperation... there is a hint of conspiracy about their whispers. You see the horn passed to the woman, and then slowly and with great reverence she walks to where the blood of the captain is still dripping belowdecks and catches the blood, a prayer to the Ferryman upon her lips.
The vision shifts, years flow by like the passage of the tides. You see Celtigo and his bride are much older, standing upon the ramparts of a wooden keep built at the mouth of Crab Cove, you see a Dragon growing ever closer under the shadow of the storm, a harbinger of ruin and flame.
"Lord Aenar will catch him, my love," the old lord calls. "He swore a patron's oath to us just as we did a client's."
"There were two who came to avenge themselves for Naero's death. Be your lord's beast ever so mighty, he can still be in only one place to guard." The woman's voice is filled with a fey calm. "One last working..." Ignoring Celtigo's denial, she places the horn to her lips and blows a deep mournful tone.
Something dark ripples and coils in the depths and thunder rolls across the sky, lightning flashes painfully bright. The Dragon dives from on high against the command of his rider. Colossal tendrils of oily black flesh burst from the sea, wrap around it, and pull... the rider screams but he is not heard. Bones and the smoking blood of the wyrm is quenched by the sea.
As the Dragon vanishes beneath the waters the call of the horn fades and the woman, the sorceress, collapses. At first you think her dead as her husband does from his cry of anguish, but then he notices, as do you that her chest is still moving with short shallow breaths. Celtigo gathers up his sea bride into his hands and rushes into his keep, turning his back upon the sunrise lands.
***
Thirty-First Day of the Tenth Month 293 AC
You blink away the vision as the sights and sounds of the present rush back, including the sight of a predictably worried Ser Richard and a curious Lord Celtigar, not the least disturbed by the show of sorcery. "Was it of interest, Your Grace? Of use, perhaps?"
What do you reply?
[] Offer to buy the horn
-[] Write in sum
[] Pay to study the horn, but have it remain in the possession of House Celtigar
-[] Write in sum
OOC: I'm not entirely happy with how this flows and I did not even cover all the vote, but the alternative would have been to have the discussion come back around to the horn after talking about tridents and that would have been even more fractured.