Lady of the Silver Tower
Sixth Day of the First Month 293 AC
As you enter the halls of House Ajhar for the first time, past an archway wrought in the semblance of leafy golden branches with sapphire 'dewdrops', you are momentarily dazzled by the sheer show of wealth and sorcery both. In this one place there is enough wealth to buy... no, the mind boggles at that measure, enough wealth to
cripple the flow of goods across the breath of the Narrow Sea by devaluation of currency... and yet it does not have the air of a treasure-trove, or a dragon's hoard. Rather than lamps set to daze in with the glitter of gold, silver, and gems, there are torch sconces holding artfully carved pieces of aromatic wood that burn eternally, filling the air of the foyer with a pleasantly balanced scent.
The man who greets you is a genie-blood of perhaps middling years, though age is a hard thing to read among the spirit touched. His clothes are unrelieved black save for the silvery neckcloth and badge above his heart showing the seal of the House: a sapphire scorpion pierced of a silver sword.
"We welcome travelers beneath roof and warding," he greets you with an air of long familiar formality.
Finding yourself at last in need of introductions you are struck by indecision uncommon to your nature. On the one hand to claim that you are merely a merchant would be a rather weighty deception, for all that it is made by omission, and there might be great rewards from naming the kingdom you rule as lying within the fabled Realm of Balance. Yet those are words you
cannot unsay and to utter them here, beneath the ever-shifting skies of the Opaline Vault, will have consequences far beyond sharing them with the likes of Sher and Aberi. The secret slips like sand between you fingers... How much time might one more deception be worth, and will it be worth the price?
"Viserys Targaryen, Lord of Flame and Sky," you say, allowing nothing of your inner turmoil to show in voice or bearing.
The majordomo's eyes widen slightly at hearing the title which was borne by the ancient crimson dragons of yore. You wonder, do any of the cunning wyrms endure to this day, in places far beyond the world under the sun?
"Daenerys Targaryen," your sister says softly but firmly. "Called Stormborn for the hour of my birth, and Dreamweaver for my foremost skill."
Malarys speaks next, offering not his full name, but instead merely the city of his birth and an allusion to his skill at law. Ser Richard by contrast has no such hesitation, trusting in his own resiliency against sorcery to ward him against any subtle manipulations
Maelor shows his usual reticence to be made much of, though he does append Shadowborn to his name in lieu of any grander heritage.
Perhaps to help draw attention from her closest friend, or perhaps simply because however changed she still enjoys attention, Glyra takes her true shape and introduces herself grandly: "Glyra, Greatest Gremlin in the World... Worlds." After a short pause she adds, "Probably the nicest one, too."
Alas her words do little to quiet the deep suspicion in the servant's eyes.
"She's pact-bound to me," Dany says with shortly, with perhaps a hint of unhappiness heard in her voice. In such a place as this she may as well have said 'she is my slave.'
Unsurprisingly Tyene makes no mention of her noble heritage, which would raise troublesome questions and simply names herself a healer and herbalist, something any cautious merchant would contract on a journey through the wild places of the Dimwell Delving.
At last Waymar rounds off the introductions as 'Waymar of House Royce.' Once he might have been tempted to boast of his victories, but the journeys that lead him to those same victories have taught him the virtue of patience.
The servant, who introduces himself as Orok, Chamberlain of the Sapphire Halls, leads you through halls and chambers filled with the showpieces of a rich and vivid history, portraits and sculptures, broken weapons taken from foes, and even illusory images of great triumphs and honors, until you come at last to winding platinum ramp that coils like a serpent upwards into the tower. At a word from your guide it shifts to stairs such as those without the shaitan's power to glide through stone and metal might use.
At the top of the stairs in a small drawing room with wide windows open to the spectacle of lights you find your host seated at a round table carved from some manner of dark fire-wood, rarer by far than gold or gems you imagine given the current relations between the Peerless Empire and the Brazen Throne.
Lady Zanira Ajhar looks of course as ageless as every genie you have ever seen, but her sheer presence hangs upon the room like a shadow glimpsed from the corner of the eye in spite of the fact that she is adorned by little more than rare feathers bound into her midnight-black hair. "Be welcome and rest easy travelers from distant realms," she greets you. "Know that for the aid you brought my daughter you shall ever find shelter within my home so long as you keep to the laws and customs of the realm."
From a mortal you might have taken some offense at the last, but given the nature of the Shaitan it is only expected that she clearly lays down the conditions of any contract, even an unwritten one. "Great is our joy to know ourselves so warmly welcome," you answer graciously.
Her smile has an air of long practice, the satisfaction in her eyes is true just the same. "Good, know that this is but a part of your recompense, though I must admit a quandary. You claim to be merchants yet skillfully fight with sword and spell alike, and certainly your arms and company do not bespeak of any common calling..." Here she glances at Glyra, likely wondering either how one might 'tame' a gremlin or why anyone would wish to so. "So tell me, what would you have? Gold and gems that brightly glitter? Arms to pierce your foes, or armor to ward their blows? Or perhaps rare texts and spells might be of greater interest...?"
The lady trails off, watching you carefully. The offer is sincere you know, for such is the nature of her kin, but it is also a test. Ask for too little and you might be discounted as foolish, too much and she would count you greedy.
What do you reply?
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OOC: Lady Zanira promised her daughter that she is not going to pry into your origins so she has to get your measure some other way.
