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

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DragonParadox said:
The battle is a thing of great and terrible power, such as the words of poets cannot tell and would leave singers silent at the sight, human cunning against a dragon's twisted wisdom, the wrath born of mortal sorrow against unaging malice. At last the dragon falls, but as it lies dying it laughs blood welling from its maw: "Savor thine triumph for the flickering instant of your life, for in the end it is less than dust on the wind. The day will come when my bones shall adorn the hilt of that blade, and on that day you will be naught but fading memory, your blood spent, the children of your kindred offering up the blood of their foes to the Nameless Gods of the Deep Woods, and the blood of their sons onto a dragon in willing fealty." So it seems that with the eyes of prophecy the dying monster sees you and laughs once more even as its lifeblood is spent.
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Goddamn, this chapter was so good. Its such a perfect scene and the way you retroactively apply prophecy really gets my goat. That whole time when Viserys was negotiating with Syrax I couldn't help but imagine that after all that talk of fate, in the near future @DragonParadox would let people make bad decisions, deal with the fallout, then retroactively claim that it was "Fate", and some convoluted plot from a long dead god that really screwed you! As the author you have so much power to play with "fate". I imagine that'd be quite fun. In that regard, the readers are lucky you aren't prone to troll at all.
 
Absoloot said:
Goddamn, this chapter was so good. Its such a perfect scene and the way you retroactively apply prophecy really gets my goat. That whole time when Viserys was negotiating with Syrax I couldn't help but imagine that after all that talk of fate, in the near future @DragonParadox would let people make bad decisions, deal with the fallout, then retroactively claim that it was "Fate", and some convoluted plot from a long dead god that really screwed you! As the author you have so much power to play with "fate". I imagine that'd be quite fun. In that regard, the readers are lucky you aren't prone to troll at all.
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Perhaps it is we who are the trolls. :V
 
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Canon Omake: A Steady Current to the Brave New World
  • Threadmarks
    • A Steady Current to the Brave New World

    ​
    Fifteenth Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

    Sigrun grasped blindly somewhere out from underneath the Wyvern, the arcane craft opened up for the other two mechanics to start routine maintenance while she did the more delicate work seeing as she was 'smaller'. Iurn the Stone Giant from beyond the terminus could just pick the damn thing up and set it higher, but laziness begets idleness. She scowled as she heard them laughing up there, though she'd been grumbling for hours so it likely as not wasn't just about her bad mood again. "Need this?" She felt the steel instrument drop into her hand, causing her to shift her head and raise the goggles from her face. "Rogar?"

    He had gotten taller, Sigrun noticed, after getting regular and good meals again throughout the day. Apparently they had pilots swimming up at all hours, hitting the books at night so the exercise didn't disrupt the Gods' blessing and rob them of the extra sleep. The program was so intensive that even if you could technically get away with actually sleeping that time away, nobody wanted to miss the chance to become First Seated pilots in the Fleet, or even wash out completely.

    She had complained up and down that he had insisted to go after something so difficult, wasting months hopping from job to job and even contemplating signing up with the Seven-Damned Legion of all things before she could finish beating some sense into him.

    She'd almost gotten him to try taking up handy work like her, but seeing the ridiculous grin on his face sort of made all the headaches worth it.

    "I got in," Rogar said, half-giddy. She lifted a single brow, not amused.

    He huffed a laugh, bending down to show her the letter--he'd been so damned proud about learning to read, even though she was the one who was shoving letters at him even when he couldn't stop crying about all honest work being mostly 'hands-on', never mind the fact that around here you'd be filling out paperwork for weeks if you tried passing the buck on the simplest things for so long. They even had people in prison learning their letters.

    "What'd you get into?" She gave in with a sigh, already moving the mage-light lantern closer to read the thing.

    She blinked, then almost sat up before remembering she was currently under multiple tons of hardened steel. Then she read it again, to be sure.

    "You made First Seat on a ship? A real ship, not just a combat rating?" She gawked at his good fortune. He nodded, not quite able to contain himself as he reached down and threw her into a hug, howling with laughter.

    "I stayed up for weeks stuffing my face with books and the afternoons trying not to drown, but I managed it! And you're getting a transfer out of here," he half-shouted excitedly, causing all kinds of commotion.

    "Keep your damn voice down," she hissed, nervously glancing around the open bay. "What are you talking about?"

    "I know a few people in Personnel, and they said they were drumming up the best gear-heads for ship ratings, because they needed to be that good when working on a post that important, and told them to take a look at your file." At her look he waved her off frantically. "I didn't say anything other than that. You do the work of three regular mechanics, seeing as how those two eavesdroppers over there have yet to finish that fussing I usually see you doing while sleepwalking." He laughed at her outraged expression. "They would have moved you eventually, Sigrun! And now we can work together! Just like you planned!"

    Sigrun wanted to shake him, but settled for shout-whispering into his face, "I wanted you to be more boring and maybe learn a trade! Engineering would have been just fine! But you're going to be fighting monsters and who knows what else out there! At least in a combat rating you'd be backed up by a nearly a score of other Wyvern. Life on one of those silver ships has to be more dangerous than that!"

    His smile dimmed but didn't go away entirely. "The world is dangerous. The Dragon proved that when he rescued us from bandits back in Westeros and we counted ourselves lucky it wasn't worse given all the other horrible shite he'd been dealing with out in the Riverlands at the time. I can't be a Knight or a Legionnaire, I'm not that strong, but I'm quick and have a sure eye. I'm not good at being a pilot, Sig, I'm great. It's an opportunity to make a splash, and as more than a red stain on the ground next time some monster pops up and the King isn't there to cut it down for us."

    "You can't avoid being a stain if you're not inside the Wyvern at the time," she growled back, though she admitted you could make a fine smear inside of a cockpit if you met your death up there in the air just the same, 'cept your burial would be bloody glorious as a dragon-riding Prince going to their last clash against kindred and dying with a smile on their face.

    "Then you better be there to keep my Wyvern in one piece," he replied cheekily, ducking the blow she sent his way. She waved her tool at him menacingly. "Love you! I'll be back later! I'm celebrating with the flight!" His voice trailed off into the distance as he all but sprinted to escape her towering wrath.

    "Seem upset, yes, hm, yes..." Six of Twenty scuttled up, adjusting his multi-lensed monocle to examine her as she tied her jack back around her waist. "Could do with some tuning up."

    She sighed. "Couldn't we all?"

    ***​

    Nineteenth Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

    Uther circled around the old bear of a man, eyeing him wearily, and for his part the Darry Knight gave him a grim nod of respect. The two were sporting faded bruises from half a dozen bouts inbetween healing, as at least here in Sorcerer's Deep neither man lacked for spryness or steady sword-arms, able to train all day and drink at least half the night in the Stormlander's case. The Riverlander was more likely to enjoy a nice glass of brandy with his Lord when they could make the time, or else read a book to Princess Rhaenys as he had years ago for her young aunt.

    When that diversion would not suffice he sometimes would watch a play, I, Daemon, Raven's Cry and Justmen were some of his favorites, though he oddly appreciated some of the witticisms found in Braavosi plays and the cleverness of Volantene theater, though the latter was harder for him to untangle. "You about through then?" Darry inquired wryly, truth be told it was more persistence than heights of skill on both their part that saw them the only ones still in the sands of the less used training yard of the Old Keep, but he was at least as sharp as he was in the days of the Rebellion, perhaps better for he would not grow winded as easily anymore thanks to blessings of magic--and that final thought still startled him out of his reveries some.

    "Just... about," the bastard replied, before charging in and exchanging a furious set of blows. Darry jerked his arm, the bastard sword flying like a viper to smash into the bearded man's helmet and send him toppling into a stumble against the ropes ten feet away. As he lay there in a heap, gasping for breath, he muttered, "I'm fucking done, then."

    Willem Darry chuckled and stowed his practice blade. "This old man isn't a lump of clay anymore, you sour prune."

    "Up yours, too," Uther Storm growled, though there was laughter in his voice.

    ...​

    Twentieth Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

    Queen Rhaella gave him that smile of hers... not the kind one, the gracious one he'd remembered so fondly, those scant few moments at court where all was not overshadowed by grief or fear, loss and ruin. No, it was the sad one she held onto most when she knew there was 'just nothing to be done but to bear with it', and though they had grown rarer in these days of new found life, he was still haunted by distant memories of those times.

    "I never can thank you enough for all you've done, Ser Willem," Rhaella spoke up finally, the murmurs of the art gallery around them fading into the background haze of noise, footsteps treading across marble floors and shifting of curtains revealing paintings wrought from the hands of masters.

    "What is there to thank, Your Grace?" He replied steadily, "It was your son's cunning and guile that saw himself and his sister ride out the storm of fate and misfortune after it, and he has done more than reward any service I could have ever been named to have given unto him. I only wish that it had not been necessary, to leave you on that damned cold island, pardon my language Your Grace, not knowing if you'd be treated with respect or not after..." he choked off the thought.

    "Oddly enough," Rhaella said wryly, "I hadn't thought about that until now, but I would have never doubted Stannis Baratheon would have seen my remains treated properly. He was... unyielding, like that. No scorn from his elder brother's court could have swayed him otherwise." She trailed off. "I feel sorry for him. Viserys can still think of Rhaegar without hating him, despite all that has happened, but Stannis will have wounds left behind by both brothers, alive or dead, wherever they are, wounds that might scab over eventually, but not without help or attention few in this world would be inclined to give to him." Few other than His Grace and his sister, Willem concluded the point in his mind, and he nodded.

    They walked on for some time, the noise fading moreso now, a curtain drawn in the gallery by a mindful attendant who had determined it prudent to give the Queen and the silent guard hiding wings of steel, and one old Riverlander Knight, more privacy.

    "I am glad I was on good terms with my own brother. Jonothor and I, we were not as close as we should have been I think, but glad I am that we never grew to hate each other for the lives we chose to lead, service to the Crown having kept us close over the years..." he trailed off at her expression. "My Queen?" he said reflexively.

    Rhaella startled, looking at him in surprise at the momentary slip, unguarded expression shifting from pain to apologetic. "It was nothing, just..." she sighed. "If you had seen young Jaime... back then. Guarding my chambers and paying witness to every horror at court you can imagine. Jonothor wasn't an evil man, but to the evils oaths had sworn him to stand aside for, his heart was only stone. And I do not think that I could find it in myself to forgive him, not entirely, not after how truly senseless I realize it had all been. Viserys would not take him back were he alive, nor I believe any man who guarded Aerys..." she trailed off in disquiet.

    "I understand," Willem said grimly. "What a terrible world we lived in," he said with quiet conviction.

    "Yes," Rhaella said, both in silent agreement that they would just have to ensure this new one would be better, richer and more fulfilling, but also more kind to those without the power to protest and in fear of the mighty.
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • Great work as usual, @Crake. Where are Sigrun and Rogar from? Were they from that first village of beekeepers we saved or somewhere else?
     
    DragonParadox said:
    "Shouldn't we visit the temples first?" Ryden asked rather doubtfully, not that Davos could blame him. Lord Baratheon had charged them with, among other things, with figuring out what gods and the mages who claimed to be working miracles in their name could do. From the way he had said it you could swear he was talking about a new sort of catapult.
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    Another amazing interlude. Absolutely nailed Davos. I thinks it's hilarious how similar Stannis' perspective on Gods is to naive!Dany 'go window shopping for a God'.

    Hey! Maybe this time his top choice won't require him to burn his daughter to death!
     
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    Wow that's a wonderful character contrast @Crake, the young and the old, those who are flying free into the future and those who most deeply bear the weight of the old world. The Darry-Uther-Rhaella thread was particularly great ion how it lead us from the physical though changes blatant (magic youth) and subtle (growing cosmopolitan attitudes). Great characterization of Rhaella with regards to Stannis and Jaime both, both by their own lights dutiful but she respects one and cannot stand the thought of the other.
     
    Crake said:
    A Steady Current to the Brave New World

    ​
    Fifteenth Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

    Sigrun grasped blindly somewhere out from underneath the Wyvern, the arcane craft opened up for the other two mechanics to start routine maintenance while she did the more delicate work seeing as she was 'smaller'. Iurn the Stone Giant from beyond the terminus could just pick the damn thing up and set it higher, but laziness begets idleness. She scowled as she heard them laughing up there, though she'd been grumbling for hours so it likely as not wasn't just about her bad mood again. "Need this?" She felt the steel instrument drop into her hand, causing her to shift her head and raise the goggles from her face. "Rogar?"

    He had gotten taller, Sigrun noticed, after getting regular and good meals again throughout the day. Apparently they had pilots swimming up at all hours, hitting the books at night so the exercise didn't disrupt the Gods' blessing and rob them of the extra sleep. The program was so intensive that even if you could technically get away with actually sleeping that time away, nobody wanted to miss the chance to become First Seated pilots in the Fleet, or even wash out completely.

    She had complained up and down that he had insisted to go after something so difficult, wasting months hopping from job to job and even contemplating signing up with the Seven-Damned Legion of all things before she could finish beating some sense into him.

    She'd almost gotten him to try taking up handy work like her, but seeing the ridiculous grin on his face sort of made all the headaches worth it.

    "I got in," Rogar said, half-giddy. She lifted a single brow, not amused.

    He huffed a laugh, bending down to show her the letter--he'd been so damned proud about learning to read, even though she was the one who was shoving letters at him even when he couldn't stop crying about all honest work being mostly 'hands-on', never mind the fact that around here you'd be filling out paperwork for weeks if you tried passing the buck on the simplest things for so long. They even had people in prison learning their letters.

    "What'd you get into?" She gave in with a sigh, already moving the mage-light lantern closer to read the thing.

    She blinked, then almost sat up before remembering she was currently under multiple tons of hardened steel. Then she read it again, to be sure.

    "You made First Seat on a ship? A real ship, not just a combat rating?" She gawked at his good fortune. He nodded, not quite able to contain himself as he reached down and threw her into a hug, howling with laughter.

    "I stayed up for weeks stuffing my face with books and the afternoons trying not to drown, but I managed it! And you're getting a transfer out of here," he half-shouted excitedly, causing all kinds of commotion.

    "Keep your damn voice down," she hissed, nervously glancing around the open bay. "What are you talking about?"

    "I know a few people in Personnel, and they said they were drumming up the best gear-heads for ship ratings, because they needed to be that good when working on a post that important, and told them to take a look at your file." At her look he waved her off frantically. "I didn't say anything other than that. You do the work of three regular mechanics, seeing as how those two eavesdroppers over there have yet to finish that fussing I usually see you doing while sleepwalking." He laughed at her outraged expression. "They would have moved you eventually, Sigrun! And now we can work together! Just like you planned!"

    Sigrun wanted to shake him, but settled for shout-whispering into his face, "I wanted you to be more boring and maybe learn a trade! Engineering would have been just fine! But you're going to be fighting monsters and who knows what else out there! At least in a combat rating you'd be backed up by a nearly a score of other Wyvern. Life on one of those silver ships has to be more dangerous than that!"

    His smile dimmed but didn't go away entirely. "The world is dangerous. The Dragon proved that when he rescued us from bandits back in Westeros and we counted ourselves lucky it wasn't worse given all the other horrible shite he'd been dealing with out in the Riverlands at the time. I can't be a Knight or a Legionnaire, I'm not that strong, but I'm quick and have a sure eye. I'm not good at being a pilot, Sig, I'm great. It's an opportunity to make a splash, and as more than a red stain on the ground next time some monster pops up and the King isn't there to cut it down for us."

    "You can't avoid being a stain if you're not inside the Wyvern at the time," she growled back, though she admitted you could make a fine smear inside of a cockpit if you met your death up there in the air just the same, 'cept your burial would be bloody glorious as a dragon-riding Prince going to their last clash against kindred and dying with a smile on their face.

    "Then you better be there to keep my Wyvern in one piece," he replied cheekily, ducking the blow she sent his way. She waved her tool at him menacingly. "Love you! I'll be back later! I'm celebrating with the flight!" His voice trailed off into the distance as he all but sprinted to escape her towering wrath.

    "Seem upset, yes, hm, yes..." Six of Twenty scuttled up, adjusting his multi-lensed monocle to examine her as she tied her jack back around her waist. "Could do with some tuning up."

    She sighed. "Couldn't we all?"

    ***​

    Nineteenth Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

    Uther circled around the old bear of a man, eyeing him wearily, and for his part the Darry Knight gave him a grim nod of respect. The two were sporting faded bruises from half a dozen bouts inbetween healing, as at least here in Sorcerer's Deep neither man lacked for spryness or steady sword-arms, able to train all day and drink at least half the night in the Stormlander's case. The Riverlander was more likely to enjoy a nice glass of brandy with his Lord when they could make the time, or else read a book to Princess Rhaenys as he had years ago for her young aunt.

    When that diversion would not suffice he sometimes would watch a play, I, Daemon, Raven's Cry and Justmen were some of his favorites, though he oddly appreciated some of the witticisms found in Braavosi plays and the cleverness of Volantene theater, though the latter was harder for him to untangle. "You about through then?" Darry inquired wryly, truth be told it was more persistence than heights of skill on both their part that saw them the only ones still in the sands of the less used training yard of the Old Keep, but he was at least as sharp as he was in the days of the Rebellion, perhaps better for he would not grow winded as easily anymore thanks to blessings of magic--and that final thought still startled him out of his reveries some.

    "Just... about," the bastard replied, before charging in and exchanging a furious set of blows. Darry jerked his arm, the bastard sword flying like a viper to smash into the bearded man's helmet and send him toppling into a stumble against the ropes ten feet away. As he lay there in a heap, gasping for breath, he muttered, "I'm fucking done, then."

    Willem Darry chuckled and stowed his practice blade. "This old man isn't a lump of clay anymore, you sour prune."

    "Up yours, too," Uther Storm growled, though there was laughter in his voice.

    ...​

    Twentieth Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

    Queen Rhaella gave him that smile of hers... not the kind one, the gracious one he'd remembered so fondly, those scant few moments at court where all was not overshadowed by grief or fear, loss and ruin. No, it was the sad one she held onto most when she knew there was 'just nothing to be done but to bear with it', and though they had grown rarer in these days of new found life, he was still haunted by distant memories of those days.

    "I never can thank you enough for all you've done, Ser Willem," Rhaella spoke up finally, the murmurs of the art gallery around them fading into the background haze of noise, footsteps treading across marble floors and shifting of curtains revealing paintings from the wrought hands of masters.

    "What is there to thank, Your Grace?" He replied steadily, "It was your son's cunning and guile that saw himself and his sister ride out the storm of fate and misfortune after it, and he has done more than reward any service I could have ever been named to have given unto him. I only wish that it had not been necessary, to leave you on that damned cold island, pardon my language Your Grace, not knowing if you'd be treated with respect or not after..." he choked off the thought.

    "Oddly enough," Rhaella said wryly, "I hadn't thought about that until now, but I would have never doubted Stannis Baratheon would have seen my remains treated properly. He was... unyielding, like that. No scorn from his elder brother's court could have swayed him otherwise." She trailed off. "I feel sorry for him. Viserys can still think of Rhaegar without hating him, despite all that has happened, but Stannis will have wounds left behind by both brothers, alive or dead, wherever they are, wounds that might scab over eventually, but not without help or attention few in this world would be inclined to give to him." Few other than His Grace and his sister, Willem concluded the point in his mind, and he nodded.

    They walked on for some time, the noise fading moreso now, a curtain drawn in the gallery by a mindful attendant who had determined it prudent to give the Queen and the silent guard hiding wings of steel, and one old Riverlander Knight, more privacy.

    "I am glad I was on good terms with my own brother. Jonothor and I, we were not as close as we should have been I think, but glad I am that we never grew to hate each other for the lives we chose to lead, service to the Crown having kept us close over the years..." he trailed off at her expression. "My Queen?" he said reflexively.

    Rhaella startled, looking at him in surprise at the momentary slip, unguarded expression shifting from pain to apologetic. "It was nothing, just..." she sighed. "If you had seen young Jaime... back then. Guarding my chambers and paying witness to every horror at court you can imagine. Jonothor wasn't an evil man, but to the evils oaths had sworn him to stand aside for, his heart was only stone. And I do not think that I could find it in myself to forgive him, not entirely, not after how truly senseless I realize it had all been. Viserys would not take him back were he alive, nor I believe any man who guarded Aerys..." she trailed off in disquiet.

    "I understand," Willem said grimly. "What a terrible world we lived in," he said with quiet conviction.

    "Yes," Rhaella said, both in silent agreement that they would just have to ensure this new one would be better, richer and more fulfilling, but also more kind to those without the power to protest and in fear of the mighty.
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    Damn, dude, that's some good stuff right there. Of the three perspectives, I think I like Sigrun's the most, given the subject matter and hints at continued world building, but all three were great.

    Neat to see more of Willem Darry, too.
     
    MTB said:
    Does that already include (because I'm to lazy to check for myself the persistomancy) Owl's Insight?
    //
    [X] Crake
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    I completely forgot about that one, despite having Lya make scrolls of it for our Divine casters to use. :oops:

    @egoo, if Viserys were to Blood Wish or Miracle an Owl's Insight spell, he could increase his Wisdom by +10, which would increase his Will save bonus by +5.
     
    Vote closed.
    Adhoc vote count started by DragonParadox on Nov 18, 2019 at 5:45 AM, finished with 56 posts and 16 votes.
    • [X] "Tell me honestly my Lord, was my reputation half a year ago so sterling as to make audiences such as this even half so lightly weighed? And even now the work of months has only eased the slander levied against me since the day I learned to weave more than a cantrip together, when my chief concerns were 'what horror will next come to kill or destroy all that I cherish'? Not thoughts of conquest or matters of state."
      -[X] Shake your head sadly. "Foresight is an advantage sadly that both I and the Lannisters possess, for the reasoning I would outline now reveals my motivations seven months ago which as it always is in such matters, seem at opposite ends."
      -[X] "I have taken time to give softly spoken counsel to those who were inclined to hear it, so that they might share it on with Lords who were less inclined to gossip, by letter or by their own diverging interests, or else spread the information through other means, as I'm sure you're already aware. Yet it was not just fear of retribution which might have made an appearance on Westerosi soil ill-advised, but sheer abounding ignorance of the world and what is out there for man to discover, both the good and the ill."
      -[X] Passionately, you say, "Lord Roote, while my actions across the Riverlands kicked up a storm of recrimination, that lies faceted the underlying panic in any action I take publicly. I cannot so much as breathe in a public setting without it being reported back by the Master of Whispers, were I inclined to make such an appearance rather than wear a glamour that is. To say nothing of how stepping foot in King's Landing is all it would take to launch an armed rebellion without uttering a word. They hate the Lannisters there, and in the Riverlands the resentment is not much lesser."
      -[X] Conceding this, you nod, "So then, ill-advised I spoke, and yet how else could I begin to erode the influence of my enemies, that I might begin working against the forces that truly endanger Westeros, the myriad horrors I've described in writ and exposed in deed? Believe me if you will my Lord, but I did not conjure sedition carelessly in these lands, rather say it was the natural course of the river flow."
      -[X] "It is cause enough for them to punish those least deserving of it before an orderly transition of power can take place. Divination led Tywin to swiftly accuse you of incompetence and Hoster Tully to throw you to lions braying like sheep, and that was without your part in the matter being partially shrouded to future-sight by merely speaking to me."
      -[X] "Better to have honestly said that you had no idea of my intentions at the time, not when there is already armed conflict here in the underbrush."
      -[X] "Still, I apologize if I gave the impression I did not trust you to settle matters in the end, with all the pieces set in place and all the knowledge of the situation at hand. I saw a problem which could have turned into a danger, and as was often the case in my own realm I sought to swiftly fix it. I realize I do not yet in truth hold rule over these lands, but I still feel responsible for aiding the people who have been denied the means and methods to do so themselves."
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    DragonParadox said:
    Wow that's a wonderful character contrast @Crake, the young and the old, those who are flying free into the future and those who most deeply bear the weight of the old world. The Darry-Uther-Rhaella thread was particularly great ion how it lead us from the physical though changes blatant (magic youth) and subtle (growing cosmopolitan attitudes). Great characterization of Rhaella with regards to Stannis and Jaime both, both by their own lights dutiful but she respects one and cannot stand the thought of the other.
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    Actually it was more pitying of Jaime since it was obvious he was young and horrified by what he witnessed, but to Ser Jonothor it was old hat and 'his duty to bear', completely divorcing from it how much harm it did to the people he 'wasn't sworn to protect' by any oath other than Knighthood itself, which no one on the Kingsguard thought to question except the youngest one there.
     
    Inserted tally
    Adhoc vote count started by DragonParadox on Nov 18, 2019 at 5:45 AM, finished with 56 posts and 16 votes.
    • [X] "Tell me honestly my Lord, was my reputation half a year ago so sterling as to make audiences such as this even half so lightly weighed? And even now the work of months has only eased the slander levied against me since the day I learned to weave more than a cantrip together, when my chief concerns were 'what horror will next come to kill or destroy all that I cherish'? Not thoughts of conquest or matters of state."
      -[X] Shake your head sadly. "Foresight is an advantage sadly that both I and the Lannisters possess, for the reasoning I would outline now reveals my motivations seven months ago which as it always is in such matters, seem at opposite ends."
      -[X] "I have taken time to give softly spoken counsel to those who were inclined to hear it, so that they might share it on with Lords who were less inclined to gossip, by letter or by their own diverging interests, or else spread the information through other means, as I'm sure you're already aware. Yet it was not just fear of retribution which might have made an appearance on Westerosi soil ill-advised, but sheer abounding ignorance of the world and what is out there for man to discover, both the good and the ill."
      -[X] Passionately, you say, "Lord Roote, while my actions across the Riverlands kicked up a storm of recrimination, that lies faceted the underlying panic in any action I take publicly. I cannot so much as breathe in a public setting without it being reported back by the Master of Whispers, were I inclined to make such an appearance rather than wear a glamour that is. To say nothing of how stepping foot in King's Landing is all it would take to launch an armed rebellion without uttering a word. They hate the Lannisters there, and in the Riverlands the resentment is not much lesser."
      -[X] Conceding this, you nod, "So then, ill-advised I spoke, and yet how else could I begin to erode the influence of my enemies, that I might begin working against the forces that truly endanger Westeros, the myriad horrors I've described in writ and exposed in deed? Believe me if you will my Lord, but I did not conjure sedition carelessly in these lands, rather say it was the natural course of the river flow."
      -[X] "It is cause enough for them to punish those least deserving of it before an orderly transition of power can take place. Divination led Tywin to swiftly accuse you of incompetence and Hoster Tully to throw you to lions braying like sheep, and that was without your part in the matter being partially shrouded to future-sight by merely speaking to me."
      -[X] "Better to have honestly said that you had no idea of my intentions at the time, not when there is already armed conflict here in the underbrush."
      -[X] "Still, I apologize if I gave the impression I did not trust you to settle matters in the end, with all the pieces set in place and all the knowledge of the situation at hand. I saw a problem which could have turned into a danger, and as was often the case in my own realm I sought to swiftly fix it. I realize I do not yet in truth hold rule over these lands, but I still feel responsible for aiding the people who have been denied the means and methods to do so themselves."
    Click to expand...
     
    Part MMMCLXXX: Old Hunts and Cold Trails
  • Threadmarks
    • Old Hunts and Cold Trails ​

    Twentieth Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

    "Tell me honestly, my lord, was my reputation half a year ago so sterling as to make audiences such as this even half so lightly weighed?" you ask in turn, a flash of old resentment going through you. "Even now the work of months has only eased the slander levied against me since the day I learned to weave more than a cantrip together and my foremost concern was the protection of kith and kin from all manner of horror."

    Lord Roote listens intently, a scowl darkening his features: "You must think very little of me, Your Grace, to think that I would judge from tales on the wind when offered aid. Setton Martyn recounted how you dealt with the fey for no other reasons than because someone had to and you had the skill. Yet it seems to me that you thought yourself alone in that, and every lord in Westeros the sort to bend his ear to whatever lies the Lannisters were spewing." It seems that the Butcher of Casterly Rock had annoyed Chester Roote far more than you had assumed, for better or for worse.

    "Not at all, my lord," you are quick to amend, only a half truth, though followed by a sturdier one. "Foresight is an advantage sadly that both I and the Lannisters possess, for the reasoning I would outline now reveals my motivations seven months ago which as it always is in such matters, seem at opposite ends."

    "It does not seem to me that the Lannisters can boast much foresight, be it by wizard's spell or simple sense, else they would not stand where they are now, with their backs to a precipice, trying to seem bold," the lord of Harroway replies, though seeming a touch more mollified.

    "I have taken time to give softly spoken counsel to those who were inclined to hear it, so that they might share it on with lords who were less inclined to gossip, by letter or by their own diverging interests, or else spread the information through other means, as I'm sure you're already aware," you press on. "Yet it was not just fear of retribution which might have made an appearance on Westerosi soil ill-advised, but sheer abounding ignorance of the world and what is out there for man to discover, both the good and the ill."

    "Aye... for good or ill." To your surprise the knight's gaze slips to Rina again, some inner struggle clear upon his face, though in the end silence wins out yet again.

    "Is something the matter, my lord?" Rina asks in the silence that follows, meeting his eyes squarely, though her voice holds concern not challenge. Taking a deep breath she adds: "If you have seen something that might incline you to distrust me for how I appear, know that I am willing to recount my tale in full and let you judge for yourself. "

    Lord Roote's prodigious can do little to hide his flush. "Nothing I've seen with my own eyes," he says shortly, unwilling to repeat hearsay perhaps after having made so much of not being one to trust it.

    "There's worth in keeping an ear open, if not bending your head to every tale," Ser Richard interjects unexpectedly in his aid.

    At first only a deep sigh answers him as the Lord of Harroway sets his thoughts in order. "My father was an avid hunter in his youth, he was born a second son and so he traveled far in search of an interesting quarry. He hunted lizard-lions in the Neck, tigers on the Orange Shore and even desert wolves at the edge of the red sands, and of all of them he would speak of freely and with passion, but of his last journey before uncle Steffon's death he would say nothing, though he brought with him one of his most impressive trophies." Steel gauntlets clink against mammoth tusks.

    "He traveled beyond the Wall?" you ask, pieces falling in place. You could well guess what the elder Lord Roote might have encountered in those lands that would leave him grim and silent.

    "He told me the story on his death bed and perhaps he would not have shared it even then if it hadn't been for trying to convince me to... burn his body." He shakes his head. "Before magic and snarks started growing under every rock like mushrooms I was content to let it lie, but now...." he trails off looking at Rina again. "I confess, my lady, that I do not know how to say this without giving insult and can only beg pardons before I begin."

    For her part Rina looks at first startled, then genuinely touched. "No apologies are needed for honest concern, but I thank you for the consideration just the same."

    "The Wildlings tell many dark tales of the long dark winters when the wind blows off the ice," the rhythm of Lord Roote's voice changes slightly, you suspect because he is recounting his father's tale word for word. "They speak of savage hunters that drive dead and rotting beasts before them to slay all clean beasts and add to their ghastly host, driving men to turn to eating the flesh of their kin, of ghostly pipes calling in the night for those who boasted too loudly of the joy in the birth of a child only to then find the cradle empty."

    He moves across the room to a small dusty cabinet with two heavy brass locks and undoes each in turn, though he does not open it. "Mayhap these are just tales, but the Wildlings also tell of beautiful women pale as corpses with eyes of ice who come upon men who allow themselves to be overcome with lust in the wilds, and they sap their lives with frozen kisses, spill their blood with iron-hard claws. Father swore to me by the Father's Law and the Warrior's Sword that such a one came for him, but when he wouldn't embrace her she did not try to kill him with claws but with..." the doors of the cabinet open with a creak to reveal there lying among pieces of scrimshawed bone and an old hunting hold glints of uncanny blue, a dagger of ever-ice. "That."

    Turning back to face you he adds. "I tried to ask the fey about it but they wouldn't give me a straight answer, so now I'm asking you, what are they? I can guess at the name right enough, but knowing the word 'wolf' doesn't prepare you for the beast."

    What do you do?

    [] Let Rina explain

    [] Explain yourself
    -[] Write in

    OOC: I could not fit in the full explanation from Viserys this time, but I will make use of it once you guys get past explaining the Others.
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • [X] Allow Rina to help you explain some of the details about her circumstances as it is her story to tell. Provide whatever information about the threat that would seem prudent.
    -[X] "I intend on holding a larger summit on this matter, among other things, after all is said and done. After everything else that needs to be done, really. I'm not short on threats to combat or obstacles to overcome."
     
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