A Call of Aid
Twenty-Seventh Day of the Twelfth Month 293 AC
Though you would not ordinarily trust an unknown gremlin to carry a message rather than play some prank upon sender and receiver both, it is clear Lord Humphrey trusts this one enough to watch his lands. Given all the tasks you have entrusted to Glyra over the years you are hardly one to judge that. Motioning to the fey you bid it bear a letter to the keep, ready for some odd request or price as fey, particularly mischief makers, are wont to make.
To your surprise none comes, the little fey snatches up the note and carries it off almost seeming eager, perhaps even relieved. "You is coming to help yes, yes?"
Before you can answer it is off, leaving you with far more questions than you had a moment ago and a good few more worries to tell the truth. "Keep watch, it takes a great deal more than it
should to make a gremlin worried."
Though you had been expecting the same petty fey to return with a reply from the lord of the keep you are surprised when a clocked figure approaches you in the dim lantern light of the tavern you had chosen to patronize. "King Viserys I presume? I received your letter, though I must apologize that I cannot host you as your status dictates."
Your eyes snap to the speaker's face. A man of middling years with a blond beard already threaded with the beginnings of silver and hair of the same color receding slightly from the forehead. One might almost mistake the man for a Lannister were it not for the sky blue eyes.
"Lord Humphrey?" you only half ask in a low whisper as Lya strengthens the wards on the room, "No apologies required. I am, after all, the reason you are
here." One could not offer many compliments to the
Ironman's End, upon the privacy one can have here in the absence of much custom, upon the wit of its name also, though one must wonder if the Ironborn in question had perished poisoned by the tavern's fare.
The man smiles, conceding the point, but the expression is fleeting. "I know about the Court of Stars and what they plan and I mislike it, better to trust the Faith or the Crown than a cabal of deathless spirits who know nothing of ministering to men's souls or their bodies. If only
that be the most urgent troubles of my day."
It is not hard to guess what he might mean, not here with the scent of salt and sea heavy in the air. "Deep Ones?"
"Aye, it's always
them isn't it." Anger and sorrow mingle in his tone and upon his face you can read a silent litany of loss. "I've already sent word to Greyshield, Lord Brandon and Sister Danelle will be here soon, but they told me that you are skilled in sorcery and an enemy of the
things in the sea, and to trust you as I would trust them in such matters..."
You had expected something like that after your last meeting, but it is still gratifying to hear. All the more hope that you can work with them not against them when the time comes. "What happened, my lord?"
"There have been strange happenings in the town for the past month, though not the sort that a lord would usually notice. Merchants packing up and leaving without warning, husbands sailing away from their wives, children running away to sea, all things that happen you understand, but too many for so brief a span of time. I fear they may be...
called somewhere, perhaps even without their knowing. One of my daughter's companions..." he trails off, then curses into his beard. "Fuck, this is no time for that. Your Grace, do I have your word that you will not reveal what is being said here in confidence save to guard against the Deep Ones?"
"You have it," you reply firmly.
The Lord of Oakenshield sighs. "My daughter had an...
inappropriate connection to a young man living in town. When last they met he was unnaturally speaking to her of dreams, of
something calling to him over the western ocean or under it, of the need to find it, a
song of some kind. She tried to restrain him, recognizing the unnatural influence, but he died before she could do anything."
"How?" Lya asks urgently, a thousand possibilities flashing behind her eyes.
"Drowning from what my maester was able to tell, but the strangest part was that as far as he could tell the men had drowned weeks previously, his insides were half-rotten," the lord replied. "As you can imagine I entreated the local water fey to perform some divinations, fearing the worst, and that is when I found the pattern of people leaving unexpectedly, mostly to sea, though some just seem to vanish altogether."
"I see..."
What is dead may never die, but rises again harder, stronger, the words of the old Ironborn prayer echo ominously in your thoughts. What were the Deep Ones planning? "I will help you untangle these threads, my lord, and then we will speak of oaths."
Lord Humphrey Oakenshield breathes a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Your Grace. I ask only that you be careful in your investigations. This could start a panic, another one really. After the first night raid three years ago and before Lord Brandon came to Greyshield things were... bad."
What do you do next?
[] Speak to Lord Humphrey's daughter
-[] Write in
[] The Elder Brain is warded against foresight and farsight, but not all its plans are, perform your own divinations
-[] Write in
[] Bring Dany here and investigate the Dreamlands
[] Write in
OOC: Apparently my dice wanted a break from diplomacing too. The background rolls were certainly on the interesting side.