- Location
- Germany
Too soon.
A Sword Without a Hilt: A Song of Ice and Fire/D&D 3.5 Crossover
- Thread starter DragonParadox
- Start date
-
- Tags
- a song of ice and fire a sword without a hilt d&d 3.5 dungeons & dragons 100% high octane dragon fuel ave corvidae battle action dragon diplomacy best sister bureaucromancy delicious soul-stuff dragon dreams come true dragon ta'veren greatest uncle hubris is a coward's word in defiance of gods and men mammon's folly mutually assured mage's disjunction qm murderhobo top tier coatl
Goldfish
Friendly Spider-Fish Abomination
- Location
- Formerly of the Far Realm
I think DP has said that this actually is Dany's Targaryen madness expressing itself, IIRC.
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Paradosi
Myrddin
- Location
- VV Cephei
No worries. I wasn't around much for the alignment wars, I think, so I didn't think it'd be so bad as to have given peeps some kinda quasi-PTSD.
He did? I thought that was just our guesses as to what's up?
Crake
I AM THE STORM THAT IS APPROACHING
- Location
- USA
No worries. I wasn't around much for the alignment wars, I think, so I didn't think it'd be so bad as to have given peeps some kinda quasi-PTSD.
He did? I thought that was just our guesses as to what's up?
It only stings so much because it always turns out the same, and even bringing it up tangentially risks some Nam-esque flashbacks.
- Location
- Philippines
The area covered by your minimap is where the Temple to the Merling King is located. The Arena I believe, is located on the west circle, Yss' temple being where you have placed it.
The keep is the red square, which yes, is too far away from the cliffs.
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- Location
- Brazil
So, the tomes are essentially mobiles from which you can access a specific part of a specific wikipedia? Up to their maximum bonus?
Hm, that's cool, I admit.
egoo
Totally Not Creating Problems Where None Existed
- Location
- Russia
Awww
I guess I'll have to push for making Spiderskin and Chameleon Stride items, then :/
Also, great compromise on books, @DragonParadox, had I not have been sleeping when you made it, I would have voiced full agreement with it.
Competence items are... Weird, imo.
Binding these bonuses to require an existing source of knowledge makes perfect sense, while not devaluing our library.
Okay, I'm moving the keep to the right of the city by the coast so it can be over the sea caves. But I thought the Temple of the Surging Sea was in the city by the shore (I'm not sure whats been made of the breakwater so far). Why on earth would it have been put so far up the coast from the city? that's really inconvenient for everyone except the sea dwellers visiting it, and they've got the Merling King's altar in the sea caves just for them.
And when you say west do you mean south? west is the direction the harbours pointing.
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- Location
- Brazil
Then drag the whole city closer to it so it makes sense.
The very design looks wrong, as it seems it expected for the Keep to be central to it, yet it isn't.
So feel free to come up with something new.
- Location
- United States
@Goldfish @TotallyNotEvil, any ideas on Moonsong's levelup? DP asked us to vote on it overnight.
- Location
- Chile
It's actually pretty decent, for the price. It fulfills that niche of cheap white wine that's still passable while being nice on the wallet. I occasionally party with it, mixing it with Kem or Kem Extreme 50-50 for that daylight festivities vibe (especially now that we're reaching the 18th of September!).
- Location
- Brazil
Never had their white, actually, only the red.
In other news, the oldest museum in Brazil just burned to the ground. It had its 200th anniversary this year, and held over twenty million pieces.
So there goes most of our national history, I suppose.
She gets no new spells known. Just pick up Melodic Casting as feat and there you go.
Perhaps swap Eagle's Splendor for Glitterdust or Suggestion.
Guys, I have to ask. I know you turned down my forest of Dawn trees idea. Way back but just how commercially scalable is Dawn Mead and Fruit? Because we have enough for the current legion now. But we will have to expand production once the legion expands and I want to expand the fruit production further.
How scalable would that self irrigation method be? Because with the Titan tools and the Lyre I would really like to turn a few unnamed islands between the Stepstones and the Basilist Isles into giant Dawn Tree Groves. Like the entire islands. Apart from a few out of the way areas designated as Fruit storage areas and shipping docks. Fully staffed by Leaf and Sunflower leshy. Dont even need Tier 3 heart trees at first. Just build the sites and plant the trees to get it started and add a weirwood in the center. As the immediate need arises we can sacrifice some evil codpiece or something or wait for them to grow naturally.
Heck we can even add hidden copies of the Snare and even build full on fall back shelters on all of them. With the usual obsessive scying and corruption. protections and hopefully the addition security of a ton of Good juice growing on top of it. So as to have a bunch of island have three emergency assets to be activated upon the need.
We can a call them the Kings Gardens. Thoughts?
How scalable would that self irrigation method be? Because with the Titan tools and the Lyre I would really like to turn a few unnamed islands between the Stepstones and the Basilist Isles into giant Dawn Tree Groves. Like the entire islands. Apart from a few out of the way areas designated as Fruit storage areas and shipping docks. Fully staffed by Leaf and Sunflower leshy. Dont even need Tier 3 heart trees at first. Just build the sites and plant the trees to get it started and add a weirwood in the center. As the immediate need arises we can sacrifice some evil codpiece or something or wait for them to grow naturally.
Heck we can even add hidden copies of the Snare and even build full on fall back shelters on all of them. With the usual obsessive scying and corruption. protections and hopefully the addition security of a ton of Good juice growing on top of it. So as to have a bunch of island have three emergency assets to be activated upon the need.
We can a call them the Kings Gardens. Thoughts?
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- Location
- Brazil
Very. IIRC, we produce like twenty or thirty thousand fruits per month.
Canon Omake: Departed
Crake
I AM THE STORM THAT IS APPROACHING
- Location
- USA
The Trident, 283 AC
<<<Previous Next>>>
"You can smell them... the wailing of the damned about to be dragged down into their graves." Ser Morgan stared ahead for a thousand yards, the sick and the bile-stricken apparent amongst the gathering host even before the lines have crossed. Ahead of them lay the relatively calm waters of the Trident, though that was deceptive in of itself, for only the ford could be waded into without pulling a man under and away before he's even realized it. "Don't do anything heroic, lad."
Denys, squire all of five and ten, and by his own deeds and actions bearer of bloodied hands, nodded gravely, knuckles clenched white upon his horse's reins and the lance at his side, understanding now the glories and accolades of battle are not the stuff of tales, for all the gallantry and the chivalry of the Knights gathered, though the banners of the Dragon did not waver, though the courage in their hearts was still there and they were ready to do battle, for their Lords, for their King. For the Prince, Denys thought, forcing his head not to turn as the black-clad figure rode down the line.
Watching Ser Martyn get his head caved in by a morning star, a man who had just hours before dragged a rebel away from a melee outside Stony Sept amidst a hundred duels, because he had recognized him and did not wish him to perish, who had only days before comforted Denys when he spoke his fear of dying out of sight of both friends and family, had erased all preconceptions of war that he had once carried. This will be a battle for songs, he thought, I wonder what they will sing for the bitter dead?
"What if I come across him, Ser?" Denys thought with morbid curiosity, like fate would just deliver the opportunity to do something very foolish into his hands, like some kind of temptress trying to lead him astray when he should know better. The thought made him darkly amused, something he would have been aghast about only months before. "What if the Traitor is right in front of me and--"
"Lad," Ser Morgan Sunglass said, glaring at him through his close-helm, "I don't care if Robert bloody Baratheon is coming toward you with a hundred arrows and swords sticking out of his back. He would murder you." He suddenly grabbed Denys and nearly pulled him right out of his saddle, helmet clattering against his own as he breathed in his face, "Don't do anything heroic."
Denys nodded, quite rapidly, and Ser Morgan released him. "Good. You see someone you don't think that you can take, and you can't get out of the way, come at him from an angle. Stab him in the kidneys." Ser Morgan was one step from suggesting Denys should stab them in the back, but knew better than to suggest it. "Take cover behind someone with a big fu--a big sword and thick armor." The Ser cleared his throat. "I'm not losing a squire today if I can help it. Understood?"
"Yes, Ser," Denys replied stonily, staring out across the field, at thirty thousand rebel souls, all of them out for their blood, and pondered greatly who would stare back.
"I understand."
Fourth Day of the Fifth Month 293 AC
Is he brooding? Denys thought that he'd never see the day after all those comments about him mooning about in drinking dens "pining after bygone days like an old man at two and twenty". He urged his horse ahead to bring himself alongside Criston. "What's gotten into you? That's the third time you nearly led your horse off the trail." The larger man grunted dismissively, which just encouraged Denys more than aught else, urging his horse to follow as they picked up the pace. "Is this place... familiar?" Dredging up old memories had driven him to distraction more than once, after all, something he'd intentionally been setting aside with all the life or death battles in their path as of late.
"You could say that," Criston said scornfully, though to Denys' ear hiding a deeper pain, head jerking up then. "Ahead." Denys turned in his saddle to see the imposing silhouette of the Keep further away as they approached a fork. Its black basalt walls were strong, and he knew that they had held against many a mighty army in the distant past before. These were the Marches, after all, and Blackhaven guarded the southern border for longer than histories could accurately say, first for the Durrandon kings, and then the Baratheon high lords.
Blackhaven, of House Dondarrion.
"What could be familiar about that?" He wondered questioningly, but Criston didn't respond, just riding ahead. "What did I say?"
"If you're quite done eating your own boot," Ceria replied airily, pulling alongside his mount--Gale, he named them, because they were fast and flew away where they wanted to if you weren't careful--with her much more docile palfrey. "We're not too far from the pass now. We'll need to go over our preparations for the border guard when we come across them, and a story that won't make them suspicious. Like as not, this recent business with fiends and monsters has likely gotten them spooked. If we'd gone by ship..." she said in a long-suffering tone that spoke of having broached this particular subject a time or two, or twenty.
"You were suspicious about being watched or followed if we had gone north to Duskendale, or further on to Maidenpool or the Saltpans. Just keep in mind that you didn't argue very hard against my idea to ride south, either," he snipped back, before sighing, "Sorry, I--"
She shook her head, clenching at her reins. "No, it's fine. Certain things were bound to start catching up to me at any rate. And we're in more or less the same amount of trouble at any rate," she went on blithely, causing him to pause at the phrasing.
"Er... what do you mean?" She urged her horse on. "Ceria?"
She caught up with Criston, saying to him some merry quip that caused the older man to bark a harsh laugh. "Ceria!"
He heard a chuckle from behind, where their other companion, was trying to hide his struggle with his mount by feigning a leisurely canter. "What's so funny?" He did not sound indignant... he was just curious.
"She is frustrated, but also happy. That one is not content unless they, how do you men of the Sunset Lands say? 'Hold all the cards'?" Ting held back another chuckle, now apace with Denys as he slowed down. "She will worry fit for ten men in her own way. I would try not to be alarmed."
Denys knew that she had some dark secret or hidden past that she was keeping from them, like how he suspected Ceria wasn't actually her name, but for how well spoken she was that did not mean he could pry what kingdom she was born or whether she was a bastard or a noble on the run without seriously breaching propriety. And while he wasn't too concerned with appearing gallant enough around her or not, he wasn't so presumptuous to think an explanation owed to him either. "I wish she didn't keep so many secrets," he confided in the foreign man on a whim, now that he'd learned for sure they spoke well enough as any on these shores and even had a bit of uncanny wisdom in their own way. "Isn't it a hard way to live?"
"Is it any more difficult than for a man who's loyalty couldn't be more obvious forced to secret themselves to the filthiest slums, for all that only a mountain of dirt could hide what colors their blood runs when it is laid to bare?" Ting shook his head, gesturing after the woman talking animatedly--forcefully, Denys might add, since Criston would have been perfectly happy left to his own apparently dark thoughts--then sighed deeply. "To know such hardship so early in life, truly life in the West must be harrowing."
"What... well, how is life growing up in the East, then? You're from..." he gestured vaguely in the direction he knew the Narrow Sea to be, "from a thousand miles away, right?"
Ting chuckled, and shook his head. "I am from, as you Westerosi say, the 'Far East', where the Jade Sea lay. Past Great Moraq and the Cinnamon Straits, through the Jade Gates where lies Qarth, which does contest the name "Queen of Cities" alongside Volantis 'the Great'. It is likely a distance of a factor of three... perhaps more, times further than you had guessed, as I was born and lived within the eastern border province of Jinqi, once a great capital of the Golden Empire, which is now ruled by, I believe, Bu Gai of the Azure Court, known as a God Emperor of Yi Ti. Simplified, that would be the Seventeenth Azure Emperor, who now holds court in Yin."
Denys thinks he understood at least half of that, so he must be doing well, whatever "god emperor" meant since he didn't think a man could be divine and rule over mortals at the same time, or what of the Seven and their charges to Andal kings, or even the Old Gods who were more concerned with trees and tradition than anything else?
The younger man would not say he is uneducated by most standards, being given the opportunity to share a Maester's lessons after all, but what did he know of the East and its far shores? Then again, with where they were going, he also thought he should learn as much as possible. "Why did you come all the way across the bloody world, then?"
"I was exiled," Ting replied without artifice, smile abruptly falling away. "In the manner of the ever foolish youth, with bluster and recriminations and pleas of innocence upon the tongue. Worse than promises of death should I return were to be my fate," he spoke on gravely. "My name would have been stricken from the rolls of the Clan." Ting sounded forlorn as he said this.
Denys wasn't sure he understood all of that in the least, but one thing he knew is that being erased and set out of mind and sight of all your family from now until the end of the world, forgotten by all save what strangers you might meet, would be a terrible fate. He felt a pang of sympathy for the man, even as he thought of his mother who thought him lost, a dead father who might not have known if his son had lived or died or prospered in a life after he was dead and buried. "That sounds terrible," Denys said, feeling sorry for the man.
"You have a great heart," Ting said, abruptly smacking his chest with the back of his large hand, sending the younger man coughing, "Do try not to lose sight of it on the Path before you. It might carry you and those you know further than your own two feet or any wind and sail." He rode ahead then, trying to keep to his saddle while simultaneously being 'mysterious', as it were, which almost made Denys smile in bemusement. What was it, Denys thought, with everyone and keeping me on the outside looking in? He did understand that his companions... his friends, did all have their secrets and histories together, but they were together, and while beset by seemingly impossible odds at times and an air of... adventure, ahead of them, that was all that mattered. The rest could be sorted through in time.
"Let's go, Gale!"
He rode on.
The Trident, 283 AC
It was bedlam. They dove into the frightful din and churning waters, the noise fell had fallen away from his ears minutes, or maybe hours, days ago, an eternity crystallized into one moment of refined chaos, and then the lines had met. He was only concerned with keeping Ser Morgan's back in his sight, but even that grew difficult. A morning star wielded by a knight nearly took off his head. He had to fight the urge to gag when his lance instinctively found the gap between improperly fitted aventail and neck, either puncturing or simply collapsing his throat around the point, before force drove the man from his saddle.
He fended off a Knight's arming sword frantically moments later, before Ser Morgan rode in like an avenging spirit and shattered every bone in their chest with a swing of their flail. The Knight he swore to himself he would follow to the end reaped a bloody harvest, letting no man ahorse come within feet of him for minutes.
He was lost to the rhythm of battle, at times not even sure where he stood in relation to his own side, sometimes only the bloodied tabard keeping loyalists from turning their blades upon him, their eyes wild, adrenaline coursing through his body in response to each close call. A loud cry drove his attention sharply ahead of him, as Ser Morgan had been driven from his horse by a great big man with wild hair, some Northman though whether he was a Lord or not Denys couldn't say, slashing away with forceful blows. Morgan sliced through their mount's leg, toppling it, but not before the huge man smashed a knee into their temple as they leaped free, sending him into the waters.
For a heart-wrenching moment he thought he would turn to finish the Ser, but a man at arms in Targaryen colors took his attention away, and Denys frantically moved ahead of the melee.
"Ser!" Denys struggled to bear aloft their weight, barely getting their head out of the flow lest he drown, shaking him over and over. "Ser! Get up!" Damn all the Gods, Denys thought unthinkingly, he wasn't even sure if Ser Morgan was still alive or not, or if he'd been brained, but he refused to just let him get washed away with the current either. He'd lost track of his horse, and they were in the middle of frenzied fighting. "Someone!" he called, panic in his voice, "Anyone, help! Help!"
There was a frantic din a moment ago, before a horn blared, blared again. A retreat? Who..?
"The Prince is dead! The Prince is dead! Fall back! Fall back!"
"OURS IS THE FURY!"
"THE NORTH!"
"WINTER IS COMING, YOU DOGS!"
"OURS IS--"
"Retreat!"
Denys felt his heart sink.
Fourth Day of the Fifth Month 293 AC
Criston threw another log into the fire, back turned as he stoked the flames. Denys wondered when he had grown so quiet. Thinking to check before making camp, he looked at the man's wineskin and noticed it was emptied. He had a spare secreted away in his saddlebags that he didn't think anyone knew of, but Denys had found it. That was empty too. He wasn't sure what to make of the man right now... his father had known him since he was lad apparently, fought with him during the War of the Ninepenny Kings on the Stepstones, and he had drifted in and out of Denys' life since he'd been born. He remembered sometimes asking after stories from him, and for training and all that other nonsense he'd been so concerned with in his youth, and he'd been much happier then.
The war changed everyone who lived through it, it seemed.
"Criston... my father..." Denys wasn't sure where to approach the man's dark mood, so he thought maybe a different angle would suit.
"He didn't say no parting words to me, lad. Told you before," the man grunted, staring into the flames. "Gods cursed me with you, though. Can't get you off my back, can I?"
Denys smiled. Criston cursed.
"Now's neither the time or place for stories," Criston eventually settled on. "Suffice to say even a bastard like me has a skeleton or two. The sooner we're out of sight of Blackhaven, the better."
"But why?" As with Ceria, Denys had always vaguely guessed that Criston wasn't just a friend from the war, a fellow commoner who hadn't ever had the chance to be Knighted. Actually, if Criston ever had the opportunity to fight seriously he thought it would be easy for the man to earn the right, his father probably would have done it. That was his right as an anointed Knight, after all. Still, Criston might have been less of a mystery than the other two. One was a foreigner, and the other a woman, after all.
A part of Denys, the hateful and vindictive part, and he knew it was beneath him, would have happily received the same honor from the man over the Usurper's like, had he only a choice between the two, because as foul mouthed as the man was, he was still, almost, sort of, like family. Distant family, maybe.
"Sometimes, people don't make the right choices. Or sometimes the bloody Gods don't even care what choices you make. So long as you know that a spot of blind luck could dash you to bits out of nowhere, they'll be happy. Let's just say the former Lord Dondarrion and I parted on less than amiable terms," he said, still hiding an old sucking wound, but refusing to shed light on it.
"Doesn't Lord Beric rule there now?" From what he heard of the Lord, they were a gallant man, and true enough, if a bit young. Though Denys was hardly much older.
"Aye," Criston breathed softly. "Better this way, maybe." He stared in the direction the Keep had been, before they stopped to make camp and the light had died down.
Denys knew better than to press his luck when he got like that. He hoped everyone else knew better, too.
Denys stared for a thousand yards, out at the carrion field that had become the ford ahead of them. It ran red with the blood of the slain. Eventually someone had pulled him into a tent to have his few wounds treated. A swaying Ser Morgan had found him, then, and--he learned--had been the one to vouch for his good conduct, though personally Denys thought acting like something had broken inside of him had made the Rebels more weary than what banner he fought under.
"Ser," Denys stood up, shocked to see him standing so soon. "Are we escaping?" He whispered that, unsure if there was anyone listening in, but over the moans of the dying he couldn't be sure.
"Lad," Ser Morgan said wearily, "sit down." Denys sat. There was so much to think about, with the Prince being dead, and the rebels still licking their wounds from the fight, they had to get out of here, make back for the city to join its defense. So long as the Capital held then there was a chance to rally, another field battle, the Dornish and Reach could regroup with what loyalists yet remained--Morgan hadn't said a word, just stared ahead, eyes boring through his skull. "You saved my life," he eventually put forth. Denys nodded. "That was foolish. I ought to put the strap to your backside. But," he breathed out, "that'll come later." Denys really wasn't sure if he was eager to deal with that 'later', because...
They stared at each other for minutes, before the man breathed out a final sigh.
"Your father's dead, lad. Took a stray arrow. One in a thousand chance."
Denys had laughed later, despite himself. He really, really did not know what Ser Morgan had been expecting from him. What else could he have done?
You don't kneel to murderers and traitors, after all.
Of course he ran away.
<<<Previous Next>>>
"You can smell them... the wailing of the damned about to be dragged down into their graves." Ser Morgan stared ahead for a thousand yards, the sick and the bile-stricken apparent amongst the gathering host even before the lines have crossed. Ahead of them lay the relatively calm waters of the Trident, though that was deceptive in of itself, for only the ford could be waded into without pulling a man under and away before he's even realized it. "Don't do anything heroic, lad."
Denys, squire all of five and ten, and by his own deeds and actions bearer of bloodied hands, nodded gravely, knuckles clenched white upon his horse's reins and the lance at his side, understanding now the glories and accolades of battle are not the stuff of tales, for all the gallantry and the chivalry of the Knights gathered, though the banners of the Dragon did not waver, though the courage in their hearts was still there and they were ready to do battle, for their Lords, for their King. For the Prince, Denys thought, forcing his head not to turn as the black-clad figure rode down the line.
Watching Ser Martyn get his head caved in by a morning star, a man who had just hours before dragged a rebel away from a melee outside Stony Sept amidst a hundred duels, because he had recognized him and did not wish him to perish, who had only days before comforted Denys when he spoke his fear of dying out of sight of both friends and family, had erased all preconceptions of war that he had once carried. This will be a battle for songs, he thought, I wonder what they will sing for the bitter dead?
"What if I come across him, Ser?" Denys thought with morbid curiosity, like fate would just deliver the opportunity to do something very foolish into his hands, like some kind of temptress trying to lead him astray when he should know better. The thought made him darkly amused, something he would have been aghast about only months before. "What if the Traitor is right in front of me and--"
"Lad," Ser Morgan Sunglass said, glaring at him through his close-helm, "I don't care if Robert bloody Baratheon is coming toward you with a hundred arrows and swords sticking out of his back. He would murder you." He suddenly grabbed Denys and nearly pulled him right out of his saddle, helmet clattering against his own as he breathed in his face, "Don't do anything heroic."
Denys nodded, quite rapidly, and Ser Morgan released him. "Good. You see someone you don't think that you can take, and you can't get out of the way, come at him from an angle. Stab him in the kidneys." Ser Morgan was one step from suggesting Denys should stab them in the back, but knew better than to suggest it. "Take cover behind someone with a big fu--a big sword and thick armor." The Ser cleared his throat. "I'm not losing a squire today if I can help it. Understood?"
"Yes, Ser," Denys replied stonily, staring out across the field, at thirty thousand rebel souls, all of them out for their blood, and pondered greatly who would stare back.
"I understand."
***
Fourth Day of the Fifth Month 293 AC
Is he brooding? Denys thought that he'd never see the day after all those comments about him mooning about in drinking dens "pining after bygone days like an old man at two and twenty". He urged his horse ahead to bring himself alongside Criston. "What's gotten into you? That's the third time you nearly led your horse off the trail." The larger man grunted dismissively, which just encouraged Denys more than aught else, urging his horse to follow as they picked up the pace. "Is this place... familiar?" Dredging up old memories had driven him to distraction more than once, after all, something he'd intentionally been setting aside with all the life or death battles in their path as of late.
"You could say that," Criston said scornfully, though to Denys' ear hiding a deeper pain, head jerking up then. "Ahead." Denys turned in his saddle to see the imposing silhouette of the Keep further away as they approached a fork. Its black basalt walls were strong, and he knew that they had held against many a mighty army in the distant past before. These were the Marches, after all, and Blackhaven guarded the southern border for longer than histories could accurately say, first for the Durrandon kings, and then the Baratheon high lords.
Blackhaven, of House Dondarrion.
"What could be familiar about that?" He wondered questioningly, but Criston didn't respond, just riding ahead. "What did I say?"
"If you're quite done eating your own boot," Ceria replied airily, pulling alongside his mount--Gale, he named them, because they were fast and flew away where they wanted to if you weren't careful--with her much more docile palfrey. "We're not too far from the pass now. We'll need to go over our preparations for the border guard when we come across them, and a story that won't make them suspicious. Like as not, this recent business with fiends and monsters has likely gotten them spooked. If we'd gone by ship..." she said in a long-suffering tone that spoke of having broached this particular subject a time or two, or twenty.
"You were suspicious about being watched or followed if we had gone north to Duskendale, or further on to Maidenpool or the Saltpans. Just keep in mind that you didn't argue very hard against my idea to ride south, either," he snipped back, before sighing, "Sorry, I--"
She shook her head, clenching at her reins. "No, it's fine. Certain things were bound to start catching up to me at any rate. And we're in more or less the same amount of trouble at any rate," she went on blithely, causing him to pause at the phrasing.
"Er... what do you mean?" She urged her horse on. "Ceria?"
She caught up with Criston, saying to him some merry quip that caused the older man to bark a harsh laugh. "Ceria!"
He heard a chuckle from behind, where their other companion, was trying to hide his struggle with his mount by feigning a leisurely canter. "What's so funny?" He did not sound indignant... he was just curious.
"She is frustrated, but also happy. That one is not content unless they, how do you men of the Sunset Lands say? 'Hold all the cards'?" Ting held back another chuckle, now apace with Denys as he slowed down. "She will worry fit for ten men in her own way. I would try not to be alarmed."
Denys knew that she had some dark secret or hidden past that she was keeping from them, like how he suspected Ceria wasn't actually her name, but for how well spoken she was that did not mean he could pry what kingdom she was born or whether she was a bastard or a noble on the run without seriously breaching propriety. And while he wasn't too concerned with appearing gallant enough around her or not, he wasn't so presumptuous to think an explanation owed to him either. "I wish she didn't keep so many secrets," he confided in the foreign man on a whim, now that he'd learned for sure they spoke well enough as any on these shores and even had a bit of uncanny wisdom in their own way. "Isn't it a hard way to live?"
"Is it any more difficult than for a man who's loyalty couldn't be more obvious forced to secret themselves to the filthiest slums, for all that only a mountain of dirt could hide what colors their blood runs when it is laid to bare?" Ting shook his head, gesturing after the woman talking animatedly--forcefully, Denys might add, since Criston would have been perfectly happy left to his own apparently dark thoughts--then sighed deeply. "To know such hardship so early in life, truly life in the West must be harrowing."
"What... well, how is life growing up in the East, then? You're from..." he gestured vaguely in the direction he knew the Narrow Sea to be, "from a thousand miles away, right?"
Ting chuckled, and shook his head. "I am from, as you Westerosi say, the 'Far East', where the Jade Sea lay. Past Great Moraq and the Cinnamon Straits, through the Jade Gates where lies Qarth, which does contest the name "Queen of Cities" alongside Volantis 'the Great'. It is likely a distance of a factor of three... perhaps more, times further than you had guessed, as I was born and lived within the eastern border province of Jinqi, once a great capital of the Golden Empire, which is now ruled by, I believe, Bu Gai of the Azure Court, known as a God Emperor of Yi Ti. Simplified, that would be the Seventeenth Azure Emperor, who now holds court in Yin."
Denys thinks he understood at least half of that, so he must be doing well, whatever "god emperor" meant since he didn't think a man could be divine and rule over mortals at the same time, or what of the Seven and their charges to Andal kings, or even the Old Gods who were more concerned with trees and tradition than anything else?
The younger man would not say he is uneducated by most standards, being given the opportunity to share a Maester's lessons after all, but what did he know of the East and its far shores? Then again, with where they were going, he also thought he should learn as much as possible. "Why did you come all the way across the bloody world, then?"
"I was exiled," Ting replied without artifice, smile abruptly falling away. "In the manner of the ever foolish youth, with bluster and recriminations and pleas of innocence upon the tongue. Worse than promises of death should I return were to be my fate," he spoke on gravely. "My name would have been stricken from the rolls of the Clan." Ting sounded forlorn as he said this.
Denys wasn't sure he understood all of that in the least, but one thing he knew is that being erased and set out of mind and sight of all your family from now until the end of the world, forgotten by all save what strangers you might meet, would be a terrible fate. He felt a pang of sympathy for the man, even as he thought of his mother who thought him lost, a dead father who might not have known if his son had lived or died or prospered in a life after he was dead and buried. "That sounds terrible," Denys said, feeling sorry for the man.
"You have a great heart," Ting said, abruptly smacking his chest with the back of his large hand, sending the younger man coughing, "Do try not to lose sight of it on the Path before you. It might carry you and those you know further than your own two feet or any wind and sail." He rode ahead then, trying to keep to his saddle while simultaneously being 'mysterious', as it were, which almost made Denys smile in bemusement. What was it, Denys thought, with everyone and keeping me on the outside looking in? He did understand that his companions... his friends, did all have their secrets and histories together, but they were together, and while beset by seemingly impossible odds at times and an air of... adventure, ahead of them, that was all that mattered. The rest could be sorted through in time.
"Let's go, Gale!"
He rode on.
***
The Trident, 283 AC
It was bedlam. They dove into the frightful din and churning waters, the noise fell had fallen away from his ears minutes, or maybe hours, days ago, an eternity crystallized into one moment of refined chaos, and then the lines had met. He was only concerned with keeping Ser Morgan's back in his sight, but even that grew difficult. A morning star wielded by a knight nearly took off his head. He had to fight the urge to gag when his lance instinctively found the gap between improperly fitted aventail and neck, either puncturing or simply collapsing his throat around the point, before force drove the man from his saddle.
He fended off a Knight's arming sword frantically moments later, before Ser Morgan rode in like an avenging spirit and shattered every bone in their chest with a swing of their flail. The Knight he swore to himself he would follow to the end reaped a bloody harvest, letting no man ahorse come within feet of him for minutes.
He was lost to the rhythm of battle, at times not even sure where he stood in relation to his own side, sometimes only the bloodied tabard keeping loyalists from turning their blades upon him, their eyes wild, adrenaline coursing through his body in response to each close call. A loud cry drove his attention sharply ahead of him, as Ser Morgan had been driven from his horse by a great big man with wild hair, some Northman though whether he was a Lord or not Denys couldn't say, slashing away with forceful blows. Morgan sliced through their mount's leg, toppling it, but not before the huge man smashed a knee into their temple as they leaped free, sending him into the waters.
For a heart-wrenching moment he thought he would turn to finish the Ser, but a man at arms in Targaryen colors took his attention away, and Denys frantically moved ahead of the melee.
"Ser!" Denys struggled to bear aloft their weight, barely getting their head out of the flow lest he drown, shaking him over and over. "Ser! Get up!" Damn all the Gods, Denys thought unthinkingly, he wasn't even sure if Ser Morgan was still alive or not, or if he'd been brained, but he refused to just let him get washed away with the current either. He'd lost track of his horse, and they were in the middle of frenzied fighting. "Someone!" he called, panic in his voice, "Anyone, help! Help!"
There was a frantic din a moment ago, before a horn blared, blared again. A retreat? Who..?
"The Prince is dead! The Prince is dead! Fall back! Fall back!"
"OURS IS THE FURY!"
"THE NORTH!"
"WINTER IS COMING, YOU DOGS!"
"OURS IS--"
"Retreat!"
Denys felt his heart sink.
***
Fourth Day of the Fifth Month 293 AC
Criston threw another log into the fire, back turned as he stoked the flames. Denys wondered when he had grown so quiet. Thinking to check before making camp, he looked at the man's wineskin and noticed it was emptied. He had a spare secreted away in his saddlebags that he didn't think anyone knew of, but Denys had found it. That was empty too. He wasn't sure what to make of the man right now... his father had known him since he was lad apparently, fought with him during the War of the Ninepenny Kings on the Stepstones, and he had drifted in and out of Denys' life since he'd been born. He remembered sometimes asking after stories from him, and for training and all that other nonsense he'd been so concerned with in his youth, and he'd been much happier then.
The war changed everyone who lived through it, it seemed.
"Criston... my father..." Denys wasn't sure where to approach the man's dark mood, so he thought maybe a different angle would suit.
"He didn't say no parting words to me, lad. Told you before," the man grunted, staring into the flames. "Gods cursed me with you, though. Can't get you off my back, can I?"
Denys smiled. Criston cursed.
"Now's neither the time or place for stories," Criston eventually settled on. "Suffice to say even a bastard like me has a skeleton or two. The sooner we're out of sight of Blackhaven, the better."
"But why?" As with Ceria, Denys had always vaguely guessed that Criston wasn't just a friend from the war, a fellow commoner who hadn't ever had the chance to be Knighted. Actually, if Criston ever had the opportunity to fight seriously he thought it would be easy for the man to earn the right, his father probably would have done it. That was his right as an anointed Knight, after all. Still, Criston might have been less of a mystery than the other two. One was a foreigner, and the other a woman, after all.
A part of Denys, the hateful and vindictive part, and he knew it was beneath him, would have happily received the same honor from the man over the Usurper's like, had he only a choice between the two, because as foul mouthed as the man was, he was still, almost, sort of, like family. Distant family, maybe.
"Sometimes, people don't make the right choices. Or sometimes the bloody Gods don't even care what choices you make. So long as you know that a spot of blind luck could dash you to bits out of nowhere, they'll be happy. Let's just say the former Lord Dondarrion and I parted on less than amiable terms," he said, still hiding an old sucking wound, but refusing to shed light on it.
"Doesn't Lord Beric rule there now?" From what he heard of the Lord, they were a gallant man, and true enough, if a bit young. Though Denys was hardly much older.
"Aye," Criston breathed softly. "Better this way, maybe." He stared in the direction the Keep had been, before they stopped to make camp and the light had died down.
Denys knew better than to press his luck when he got like that. He hoped everyone else knew better, too.
***
The Trident, 283 AC
Denys stared for a thousand yards, out at the carrion field that had become the ford ahead of them. It ran red with the blood of the slain. Eventually someone had pulled him into a tent to have his few wounds treated. A swaying Ser Morgan had found him, then, and--he learned--had been the one to vouch for his good conduct, though personally Denys thought acting like something had broken inside of him had made the Rebels more weary than what banner he fought under.
"Ser," Denys stood up, shocked to see him standing so soon. "Are we escaping?" He whispered that, unsure if there was anyone listening in, but over the moans of the dying he couldn't be sure.
"Lad," Ser Morgan said wearily, "sit down." Denys sat. There was so much to think about, with the Prince being dead, and the rebels still licking their wounds from the fight, they had to get out of here, make back for the city to join its defense. So long as the Capital held then there was a chance to rally, another field battle, the Dornish and Reach could regroup with what loyalists yet remained--Morgan hadn't said a word, just stared ahead, eyes boring through his skull. "You saved my life," he eventually put forth. Denys nodded. "That was foolish. I ought to put the strap to your backside. But," he breathed out, "that'll come later." Denys really wasn't sure if he was eager to deal with that 'later', because...
They stared at each other for minutes, before the man breathed out a final sigh.
"Your father's dead, lad. Took a stray arrow. One in a thousand chance."
Denys had laughed later, despite himself. He really, really did not know what Ser Morgan had been expecting from him. What else could he have done?
You don't kneel to murderers and traitors, after all.
Of course he ran away.
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I know and that's great. But I figure that's like one fruit a week and a bottle a month as rations for the legion at their current size. With maybe a reserve not to mention the commercial sales. That's not a standard Legionnaire ration. Especially not when we get the number in the ten thousands.
We are gonna need dedicated production plantations and brewing centers locally as the empire expands...Or we can make a few dozen secluded Island sanctuaries dedicated to their production and get porting stations to distribute the product. With protections and secondary sources to protect against sabotage and enemy blockaded. Afterall, The Dawn Mead must Flow!
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- Location
- United States
I'm pretty sure we're fine with what we've got. Check my info post on the subject, every single month we get 29,250 Dawn Fruits. And these don't rot, so we can stockpile indefinitely.
More than that, there are dozens of other Heart Trees that take priority. Weren't you the one who was trying to get a Heart Trees in all the minor cities too?
Yes. See my post about my worries about the scaling issue for the supply. And I dont want hearts tree sacrifices dedicated to this. But see how the Archons have fruit producing trees already without the need for Heart Tree plant growth. I am talking The Island style hidden paradises with natural rate plantations. Decentralizing production while simultaneously octupling the rate of supply growth. With dedicated Fiend Apocalypse bunkers and hidden troop regrouping centers underneath. Maybe even a few research labs and general Lairs.
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All this is just because I had a though. We know only outsiders can be near the trees for long periods without the trees being damaged by their presence. But do they have to be Neutral or Good outsiders? Because we are gonna get a lot of new LE Native Outsiders soon and sticking them in Keeps on deserted islands full of Dawn trees guard and manage on their off time might be doable. Would they object to being given Wardensjip of Dawn tree plantations if there weren't any archons botching at them? Or would it be nicely familiar without being irritating?
And Yes, I am talking about Knighting Erinyes and giving them Dawn tmTree Plantations in the Basilist Isles as their Holdfasts. They have teleport at will and you weren't expecting me to put them in charge of regular people were you? They can try bossing around Leshy gardening.
It will either be great therapy or it will motivate them to go out and murder a bunch of enemies more. Either way it breaks any habits of intrigue and politics they may have. Any Erinyes that tries their hand st power grabs gets put in charge of a Holy Fruit plantation populated by Plantpeople.
And Yes, I am talking about Knighting Erinyes and giving them Dawn tmTree Plantations in the Basilist Isles as their Holdfasts. They have teleport at will and you weren't expecting me to put them in charge of regular people were you? They can try bossing around Leshy gardening.
It will either be great therapy or it will motivate them to go out and murder a bunch of enemies more. Either way it breaks any habits of intrigue and politics they may have. Any Erinyes that tries their hand st power grabs gets put in charge of a Holy Fruit plantation populated by Plantpeople.
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- Location
- Chile
Actually, I'm visiting Ushuaia in a few weeks, mostly as a supply port as we're sailing south to witness the melting of the glaciers and whatever friendly fauna peeks up to say high. Pretty excited for it!
Slightly related: Been thinking of Buenos Aires lately. I'm on an USA music course at Uni and the discussion drifted to city wide musical vibes. We talked about the why's of Santiago itself not having a coherent musical vibe, comparing it to Buenos Aires and Tango... the culture of that city is on a whole different level!
Richard's flight item has been forgotten about since prehistory!
Crake
I AM THE STORM THAT IS APPROACHING
- Location
- USA
Their loyalty is pretty easily bought, guys, and you want to piss all over that?
Give them a worthy cause to fight for, give them glory and honor, and they will diligently do as they're told.
We should think of fewer ways to punish, since that reeks of Baator, and more ways to motivate. Which... also reeks of Baator. But hey, you gotta flay the bad from the good, amirite?
Give them a worthy cause to fight for, give them glory and honor, and they will diligently do as they're told.
We should think of fewer ways to punish, since that reeks of Baator, and more ways to motivate. Which... also reeks of Baator. But hey, you gotta flay the bad from the good, amirite?