A Call in the Dark
Sixteenth Day of the Twelfth Month 293 AC
Myles Toyne, called the Blackheart, did not have the look of the long dead Ser Terrence Toyne, jug-eared, with a big nose and a crooked jaw that is owed at least in part to an old break healing badly from the look of it, he seems at first glance an ineffective puppet for Connington to rule the company without revealing the dead lord of Griffin's Roost. Then you meet his eyes, they are not any more exceptional then the rest of him, muddy brown and a little red from blows the the head healing magic had not quite mended perfectly, but he does not flinch from your appraisal. This man is no tool and he did not escape the doom of the Golden Company by accident.
"I would ask you to carry a message to one of your former associates, an offer of... conditional clemency," you explain. "What is your relationship with the dragon Lizzirth?" you fully intend to look into the man's mind on the matter to confirm what he tells you, but it would be far more convenient if he were sincere, even if the answer is not what you hope it would be. Red Rolly thought of him as an 'ink fingered clerk' and your realm could always use men with those skills even if you would likely never trust him with any truly powerful position.
"Hardly knew her, Your Grace," the man shrugs, earning a glare from Ser Richard. He has enough trouble hearing Westerosi lords who swore to the Usurper use the honorific, much less sellswords who have thrown their lot in with age old dynastic rivals and dark powers. "Dragons are dangerous ain't they? And a young dragon... well. Children are spiteful little shits and the humans ones don't have claws that cut through bone or breath that melts steel."
A fair point, even if rather undermined by not knowing that much about the way dragons age. "So she would have little reason to trust or distrust you?"
"Begging Your Grace's pardons, but I'm just a man with a bit of magic gild ain't I?" the sellsword asks. "Take that off and you could make what you like of me, say or do whatever you pleased."
You see no reason to keep the disgust off your face. It is not that you had not used compulsion before, but the sort of consistent domination he is describing reeks of Tywin Lannister's idiocy with the Golden Shields. "Willing oathsworn vassals are far more preferable to enchanted thralls."
"Be that as it may, Your Grace, you found me Under the Shadow, not that I wasn't minded to get out of there as soon as I could once I'd been certain you lost my trail. There's plenty 'round there who wouldn't sniff at using me to trap a dragon if they thought they had a chance."
At that you can only bite back a sigh. The only way you can think of to assure the young dragon that you are not controlling Blackheart would be to remove your own protections against divination and it will be a cold day in the City of Brass before you do that. "It only costs a few marks to try..." you drop a sending stone in his hand.
As the stone shatters to dust in his hand the sellsword shakes his head. "No answer, she doesn't trust it."
What do you do next?
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OOC: Really short, but unfortunately there's not much lese I could tie in with this without it feeling jarring