Woe to the Vanquished
Twenty-Seventh Day of the Second Month 293 AC
Gazing upon the piteous scene you find yourself weighing practicality against compassion and even the tales that might be told of this day, distasteful as that might be to consider at such a time as this. Of all sorcery healing is the one most readily accepted, yet your power is not truly meant for such a thing, and to spread tales to the contrary may do more harm than good. "Use the elixirs," you command. "Remember to let them drink it all. Interrupting will only make them lose their virtues entirely."
As several of the legionaries still fortunate enough to posses potions rush to aid the servants most in need of it you notice a few of them staring at the ground as though admonished, the ones who
had tried to stretch out the potions, as one would any other ration. Though you do not blame them you suspect their officers would have quite a lot to say on the matter once the battle was out and none of it pleasant to hear.
All but three of those lain upon the floor, save the three for which nothing more could be done, rise shakily to their feet. They heap praise upon the men and woman who healed them and upon you in equal measure, though there is fear yet in their eyes at your inhuman form.
Holding back a sigh, you instruct all those present, "Find some out-of-the-way room and barricade yourselves inside. The streets outside shan't be much safer than the corridors I fear."
That gets you quite a few nods, no doubt thinking that you mean the threat of a invading army set to looting and rapine. You do not see fit to frighten them further by explaining that fiends and worse are loose in Tyrosh this night.
***
After burning your way through several makeshift barricades, slaying or routing a few more contingents of Unsullied, you finally find yourself in the wing of the palace your guide tells you houses the chambers of most highborn courtiers, including the Archon's family. No sooner had you taken your first steps down the long vaulted corridor that you hear the terrified scream of a child echoing from up ahead.
Thoughts of another sack, another massacre fill your mind. "Be wary of traps," you call to the red-cloaked captain. Without another word you proceed to utterly ignore your own advice, laying a blessing of swiftness upon both yourself and Ser Richard. The two of you race ahead through the empty hall, likely to the shock of the legionaries following behind at a more reasonable pace.
You catch sight of a boy who can count perhaps eight namedays, his sliver hair and fine though torn clothes marking him as someone of high station, running from a pair of guardsmen, short spears already glistening with blood.
The boy stops, wide-eyed at the sight of you and trying to say something about surrender between sobs. You also catch the name Taelreon, the House of the current Archon of Tyrosh. Meanwhile the murderous sons of bitches who are chasing him smirk, as though expecting a reward, like hounds that had driven a rabbit at bay before their new master. It takes scarce a moment to realize the treachery that must have gone on here, one that is ultimately in your favor, though it turns your stomach to think in those terms.
What do you do?
[] Kill the traitors try to save any of the boy's family that might yet be alive
[] Demand that the guards explain themselves
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OOC: Normally there would be an option to thank the traitors or even let them kill the boy, but this hits too close to home for Viserys after resurrecting Elia and Rhaenys a few weeks ago.