Empty Visions
Twenty First Day of the Twelfth Month 293 AC
To your eyes flames gold, crimson and black dance around Dany's still form as she grants herself blessings of silvered tongue and good fortune before reaching out to stop Lord Dayne before he can rush away. "My lord, do you not think it strange that an assassin whose arrows possessed so potent a curse that my prayer almost failed to heal you would be wearing her own face? Glamour is the easiest of magics of spells to weave. Why would Lady Fowler..." she forms the name slowly as though it is wholly foreign to her, "strike from hiding and flee at once yet wear her own face for you to see?"
"Because she thought I would be dead and wanted me to know who killed me," Ser Andrew replies, mouth forming into a hard line of disdain. There is some older grudge behind this, you realize.
Have the Daynes and Fowlers been feuding recently? Doran will know and with Winter on his way carrying a message you have no doubt he will be prepared.
Dany hesitates, feigning reluctance before explaining: "Death alone would not have kept your bones from revealing what you saw."
"Allyria would not have allowed my body to be touched by such sorcery," the words are less certain than the Lord of Starfall might perhaps have wished them to be.
Dany does not comment upon the fact, turning towards the looming mass of the Sandship. "I would accompany you to the palace if you would allow me, my lord. It would be an ill thing if my goddess' blessing were squandered in a second attack."
Surprisingly Lord Dayne takes the notion that he might need protecting from the priestess of a foreign goddess with equanimity, even a small nod of respect. "Very well, I will consider the possibility that it was not Je... Lady Fowler," he says before calling for the watchers gathered around to clear the way.
Such an uncommon slip of the tongue. After sending Tyene and Waymar back to Lord Fowler to warn him of the plot you take on the seeming of a Dornish mage, the robes crisp and bright saffron yellow, but forgettable of face. Though the crowds had only somewhat thinned with Lord Dayne's departure the the people move out of your way even more readily then his, more with respect than fear in their eyes you are glad to see. Prince Doran has manged to make magic and those who use it acceptable quite well.
Hopefully present circumstances do not damage that goodwill.
Reaching for the arrow to try to feel the echo of ownership upon it all you feel is cold so terrible it burns, silence so deep it pains the mind to contemplate. If you had any doubt before you do not now. This
is the hand of the Enemy of all life, but subtler than anything you have felt from them before. When you try to read the past of the
place rather than any object, you can only pick out the empty space where they had stood upon a nearby rooftop by where the thin branches of the pomegranate had been pushed aside before suddenly springing back as the assassin fled.
Warded against divination. You bite the urge to curse aloud and rush to the rooftop. There are signs of blight and frost scarring everywhere you look, withered leaves and cracked branches, nothing the plants here would not be able to heal, but they would certainly remember what they saw. Recalling the feeling of a leshys'
whispered magic you call out to them in a soft voice to ask what had harmed them.
"Hollow one... cold... cold... empty one... cold... breathes too slow... empty one... moves too sure... stumbles."
You try to question your 'witnesses' as to the last contradiction but there is nothing more they can say, there is no intelligence to converse with only a vague understanding of the wrongness that had brushed against them.
The next news you hear makes for grimmer hearing. Tyene's words along the mind link from the Fowler townhouse.
"Jeyne Fowler vanished from her room some time in the last two hours."
What do you do next?
[] Meet with Doran and Lord Dayne
[] Look for the missing Lady Fowler
[] Write in
OOC: The plot thickens.