Twice Kindled Lights
Twelfth Day of the Ninth Month 294 AC
A boy with wings of shadow landed on a balcony outside a third story florist's window. This being Sorcerer's Deep, the man inside did not run, nor did he reach for a weapon, he just motioned to the unexpected but not unwelcome visitor.
"No thanks," Maelor signed through the glass.
"Just here for the view." The fellow was a retired Inquisition agent, well... mostly retired, in either case, the sort you could count on to know to talk with his hands.
It was a really nice view from up here, from the great dome of the Temple of Unity to the ever taller towers of City Hall, where the lights burned almost as bright and almost as constant as the palace. They had actually lit up the Baths with a sort of sea green color that reminded him of a brine dragon's scales, not that he was in any hurry to point out the similarity. For all Maelor liked a sharp jest, he knew when to keep it sheathed and most dragons of his acquaintance had skin as thin paper when it came to words as their scales were thick against swords. Well, all dragons save one and he had almost not made it back home today.
If he was being honest, Maelor did not know what to make of the fact that Viserys, Richard, and Garin had almost landed in the Brass Bastard's pot trying to steal some magic stones while he had barely done anything. It had been Lya who had spelled the wizard to blow up the supply cupboard and it had been Dany who had plotted out their escape. He had been around for 'local knowledge', which meant he could mostly recognize the enemy by their uniform and tell a free officer from a slave soldier. It was not that he wanted to be in deadly peril...
Yeah, you do, a small sly voice that sounded more than a bit like Glyra noted at the back of his mind.
Well, alright, he did miss it, the flash of danger, the need to think fast and lie smooth, but that was not all that had driven him onto this perch like a roosting heron. Being the reserve's reserve on heists like this left him feeling itchy-palmed and restless, but he was more than aware he wasn't quite skilled enough a spell-weaver to be on the first line in that heist.
I guess I could go barrow diving, sweep up some more corpses before Winter comes. The thought was about as enticing as taking up a position shoveling the shit out of King's Landing. Someone had to do it, of course, but it sure as hell did not have to be Maelor of Mantarys.
Maybe I'll head for the Sea of Fire, the boy thought. He did still want a city of his own to administer, and he had liked the Brass City. Well, he had liked parts of it, not the slavery or the man-eating giants patrolling the streets, or the people getting lashed to corpses and the threat of having his soul melted down for pennies, nor the bits where the Sultan was in charge basically. But now that they had those wards, they could make a go at taking and keeping some part of the Realm of Fire. Hells, maybe he could take one of those Salamander Princedoms and get them into some semblance of order.
"I'm starting to sound like Viserys, aren't I?" he murmured to himself. Looking out over the lights and life of Sorcerer's Deep, a city unlike any other in the world, he knew that was a pretty damn good thing to sound like.
OOC: Maelor is feeling a bit at odds ends now that things have settled down and he has had a few months to unwind. Far from urgent of course, but something you guys might want to keep in mind going forward.