Good Fences
First Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC
You walk through corridors filled with the sounds of eerie synchronization, and all around you the forms of the Hive, from the tiny scuttling messengers to the hulking earth-movers, recall nothing so much as the works of a particularly industrious flesh-smith. Thin bridges that seem to have been alchemically hardened arch over channels filled with water that smells of salts and bitter odors that scratch at the nose and would likely leave one less well warded against poison light-headed. Yet for all its practicality, the city is not simply a triumph of function over form.
There
is beauty here, in the delicate curves of building without brick or mortar, in the soft yellow of the ghost-lights that the eye unaided cannot see, even in the odd filigree that seems to be set around every door and every 'window', if the distinction even means anything. Flying forms make their way out of windows as readily as doors, and lines of insects scarce larger than the palm of one's hand move through grooves in the stone like a dance, a pattern the eye cannot truly contain for all it draws and inspires the mind. You glance at your guide, wondering if they would appreciate the compliment.
Likely not, you decide, seeing them glance neither left nor right and heading instead towards the main plinth that dominates the city in a way that almost recalls the Great Tree of the Deep. Here too an old power resides, one that speaks in many voices. The palace itself is a tangled warren that does not follow any intuitive plan designed by those who walk on two feet under the sun, yet you are quite certain the defenders know its paths only too well. The walls are warm to the touch, some sort of resin like the bridges perhaps, though you cannot say for certain without study which Lya looks like she would dearly wish to conduct.
"I wouldn't want to have to try to take this place by assault," Ser Richard says, using Low Valyrian rather than his usual common so as to not be overheard, not that you think it is worth hiding the thought. Mutual and very practical desire not to get into a war is perhaps the best reason to follow the diplomatic strategy you have in mind.
When you come at last to the Queen of this place, you are surprised to find her half-mortared into the wall of the palace, with delicate fleshy veins flowing into the stone in a way that brings to mind the works of the most eccentric of flesh-smiths, though she does not seem the least bit discomforted by her condition.
"What do you seek," the weight of her mind upon yours is such that the first circle of your mental protections vibrates inwardly. You have little doubt you could win a battle with her alone...and you have no doubt whatsoever that she would not be alone and you do not just mean your guide.
"Peace, a return of those who have been lost to the Hive, a parting of ways that were crossed only in blood," you send back.
"Had you not been allied with mine foes, I would have no quarrel with you and now that they are vanquished I see no reason to continue it."
"Reasonable," the queen sends back in a slightly 'softer' tone, perhaps a touch surprised. A part of you wants to make a jest about hoping she does not judge all mortals by the measure of Tywin Lannister, but you doubt it would land. Her next words send thought of humor flying from your thoughts.
"In exchange, we have no flesh to offer for your crafting so we offer the texts of blood-craft writ by those of your line. Let there be peace and no debt."
Gained Texts of Blood Magic: Mostly redundant though containing two new templates:
***
One is simply a flawed diviner's experiment, seeing either the past or the future that you would not inflict on any being wrought in your forges, but the other... the other has potential, using astral remnants to enhance beings born of the green world. Not something you would typically associate with the Freehold, but then 'typical' does not begin to encapsulate all the experiments that must have taken place over millennia of study in the arcane. As Malarys rather dryly puts it, 'a mage likely wished for a guardian for his prized topiary and that was all the good it did'.
Still, you leave the halls of the formians with a slightly better impression of them than you had entered with... not enough, however, to keep you from tearing down the gates to the Rock. You can lay down a Terminus in far more convenient places. Upon your return to the Deep it is already dark, though the ones you wish to speak to next were quite clear on the fact that they sleep no more than you do and would welcome a meeting at any hour you see fit.
What do you wish to say to the Quartheen delegation?
[] Write in
OOC: Because calling the chapter 'naked bribery' would have been a little on the nose. Not yet edited. 
