A Sword Without a Hilt: A Song of Ice and Fire/D&D 3.5 Crossover

[DragonParadox]

Eldritch Knowledge, Simple Wisdom ​

First Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

Courage was a strange thing, Jeyne Weaver had found over the last few years. She had braved the high passes of the Mountains of the Moon, fought Wights like something out of a fireside tale, charged them and nearly died in the doing so, yet here she was looking at a door hand raised yet not daring to knock. True, it was a very fine door, polished oak and brass fittings with the mark of a stylized eye worked into the wood, a door fit for the keep of the Dragon King, fit for a Companion. Part of her was afraid that he would just look on straight over her head and sweep her aside for more important business... and part of her was scared of what she might find out about herself and her strange magic. Even now Jeyne trusted it instinctively, reaching out with her mind to see if anyone meant her ill, even though she knew she was as safe here as in any other place in all the wide world.

The door opened without a sound and before she could muster the nerve to speak, or have time to turn tail and run, Wisdom Xor fixed her with all five of his eyes. A cold sweat flashed over her, leaving Jeyne feeling shaky and light headed... she had never been this close to him in this form, the way his eyestalks wove through the air brought to mind a half remembered dream, a nightmare of being alone, unable to move or scream while alien shapes moved across the edges of her vision.

"Oh... I do apologize, is this form disconcerting?" he asked in a soft melodious voice. "I've grown used to well... people having grown used to me, but of course not everyone has been here since the beginning and you have all the reasons in the world to be wary. One moment, the transition between forms can be quite disconcerting..."

He started to turn, but before he could move fully away from the opened door Jeyne called after him: "Wait, it's alright! I shouldn't be coming into your room and expecting you to... change." That was the sort of thing one might expect to hear the virtuous maiden to say in a courtly romance should she be caught in private with her knight, some small and particularly absurd voice in the back of her mind noted. The thought almost made her burst into giggles, embarrassing herself further.

"Well alright then, come in," Wisdom Xor replied, flying backwards to usher her in, except it wasn't really backwards for him was it? All directions were the same to him. "Would you like some tea, or mayhap Summer Islands chocolate? I just found a particularly interesting blend with cinnamon yesterday..."

Before Jeyne could even tell how it had happened she was seated in a deep blue armchair so well stuffed it almost seemed to be giving one a hug with a cup of marvelous drink in hand, momentarily distracted from her reason for being here by wondering just how expensive it was. Surely she could get at least of bit of this stuff on her Scholarum pay?

"Have you heard about Volantis opening its gates to the Imperium today?" Wisdom Xor asked lightly. "I'm very curious to see some of their plays performed by Volantene actors, not only the old but the ones written since the Doom. Wisdom Teana was particularly fond of 'The Magistrate's Mask'."

It was then that Jeyne realized he would be entirely fine making smalltalk for however long it took her to get to the point of her visit. He was nice... really nice, and she had been nothing but skittish as a lamb on Maiden's Day. "I was wondering if you could tell me more about where you come from, Wisdom, about... the Far Realm. I want... I need to know what I am."

"You are Jeyne Weaver," came the firm and impossibly simple reply. "It is not the powers of the mind that define you, but the memories locked within, your likes and dislikes, your fears and your joys, but above all else it is your choices."

"Thank you, Wisdom," the young woman replied, smiling, the knot of worry in her chest loosened a little. "Still, I would like to know more, to understand. It will help me ensure that I won't ever be helpless again."

"Of course," the many-eyed mage bobbed gently in place.

OOC: I can't do a level up interlude for Xor, but I felt he deserved a little time to shine.

 

[DragonParadox]

Fortunes of the Forsaken ​

First Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

The wheel spun, the arcane seals flashed... the metal floor shifted beneath the feet of the caravan. Tilqua moved to quiet the chalk-hogs, her hand firm and sure against their stony hides, though the beasts likely weighed six times as much as she. For the first time since she had left the Oasis of the Speaking Sands she was glad for the veil that guarded her face for keeping the hogs fetid breath off her. Or maybe it was just knowing that she would be able to take it off soon and none would know or care for the deed.

Spoiler: Chalk Hog

As the beasts settled and the powers of the wheel that carried the metal chamber across the Spheres stilled, the air itself smelled different, not the well-trod dust of the Xorn hold, nor the sharp wild currents of the Dimwell Delving, it smelled of salt and water and something else she could not name. The sound of thousands upon thousands of voices rang through the steel walls. Not for the first time Tilqua wished she had been able to get her hands on a Talisman of Tongues, but sooner would she find a gold vein in limestone than expect anyone to sell her that where her grandfather could hear. The Xorn might have been willing to sell her such, but she had not been willing to wait with escape so close. Truth be told she had been just as unwilling to risk that had she been wrong in her guess and the gem-eaters would try to cast her off for her cursed blood.

All that Tilqua owned she had invested into the trio of beasts and their cargo of True Silver and Adamantine, all that was left of her father's inheritance practically torn from Sheik Manar's grasp. Hopefully she had guessed right that the dwellers in the Garden would count it precious, for there was no path for her back to the Speaking Sands. Taking a deep breath to steady herself she pushed and prodded the beasts into action under the strange blue azure sky and onto the crowded streets beyond.

It was easy to tell the merchants from the locals, for most of the latter were mortals of pure stock speaking in at least three distinct tongues, none of which Tilqua could understand, as though one was not enough.

"Name and purpose of travel," the words were not spoken, but flickered into being in her mind like a candle lit by a sorcerer's hand. Looking about she saw a bird made of flame perched beside a man grey of hair and cloak both, his features as though carved from granite. An old soldier turned guardsman, that much at least was familiar even if the sights, sounds and excitement turned her stomach over.

"Tilqua-Bint-Salaan," she replied boldly, unwrapping the veil she had been made to wear since childhood lest others see the mark of the Lost upon her cheek and know of her father's dark fate. Neither the man in grey nor the bird of fire gave any sign that they had noticed or cared for either her name or face, going through questions and instructions smoothly and efficiently to get to the next in line to pass between the worlds.

Once all the parchments had been inked and sealed Tilqua considered going to the baths, of which she had heard from the mouth of a passing Azer smith. This was, after all, a civilized realm, and it would not do to meet her first customers smelling like sweat and chalk-hog. But something else drew her... the sound of crashing water on stone, the great lake that bordered the city to one side.

The water foamed and roiled around the base of the pier unlike any Tilqua had seen before. "Is this even water?" she asked aloud to no one in particular, the locals seemed used to guests standing around gawking at their lake. Curious, she left the pier and found a place where the water was close enough to touch over the sandy shore. Taking a bowl from her back she dipped it in and brought it close. The water tasted salty and smelled strange, but there was nothing special about it... at least until it stilled. There in that stolen fragment of the great water Tilqua saw herself for the first time since girlhood, a face more strong than beautiful, eyes of dull gold and horns swept back from her temples. All marks of the blood of the Lost... of her father's shame.

Spoiler: Tilqua

Yet in this place the most she got was the odd weary stare one might offer to any stranger acting strangely. It was said a Crimson Dragon ruled this realm by sorcery and gave the city its name after his arts. Perhaps compared to the company he kept Tilqua's heritage was barely of note. Ultimately it mattered little. She had a trade to make, and after that another and another, wherever the winds of trade would take her.

OOC: Tilqua is a Div-blooded Tiefling, which as you can imagine is a massive stigma among other genies, but the Shaitan are not ones to deny an inheritance even under those circumstances, so she has just set herself up as a merchant.

 

[Crake]

Winding Down with the Wind​

First Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC
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Stoic as a Stormlander could be, neither of the men present was wont to sit in brooding silence, especially not when there was a mood of revelry not fifty feet away, though one among them was content with quiet conversation with the only man among them born-and-raised at court. Yet they did for they were without the usual company for good cheer and games, Thoros away on some business at the still coming-together Red Temple halfway across the city from them, and Ser Kennos of Kayce with him. Lastly of all the feminine charm of their ill-fitted lot was absent on some business herself.

Within the private hall their company was granted, only two others besides than them were yet present, one who had been unable to drink there for nearly going on a year now, another who had become a regular patron again by sheer serendipity... though could it truly be called that, when the Dragon King was at play? When he had asked Ceria what magics were barred to the young King, since she could not weave spells like some of the other mages on the island who studied sorcery in a tower hidden inside everlasting shadows, yet had access to some that none of them could hope to call upon, she had merely looked at him and said 'none' and then walked away.

That had shaken Criston more than anything else she could have said, since he had gotten used to knowing that all the monsters and mages they had faced were limited in some fashion, hamstrung by their own nature or calling.

"So," began the man with just the first beginnings of gray flecking his black beard while he nursed a tankard of ale, staring at the youngest man in the room, blue eyes sharp, "My daughter take you into her bed?"

It was with a great force of will that Criston did not spit out his ale, and poor old Ser Bonifer could not manage to avoid coughing up a third of his at the gaffe. For Denys' part, the boy sat there also brooding, if for different reasons and mooning over those love letters of his, and had barely batted an eyelash. "No, I love her like a sister," he replied with surety and grace. Uther let loose a sound half-way between a growl and a laugh.

"You've got stones, lad, and I believe you at that. So what lass has you making sad eyes over her, then?" He snatched away the letter, then recoiled quickly at the seal as if he had taken hold of a snake. "A Dornishwoman? Well, it could be worse I suppose," the older man mused. "So a cousin of that Prince Doran, then? Maybe a niece? Tricky hand, that, considering I hear tell one of the Companions of the Dragon King is a Sand Snake." He lifted a brow as Denys manfully looked ahead, lip twitching wryly.

"She's wanted to talk to me about that for a while now, but she has other concerns calling her away than my circumstances," Denys said dismissively and self-deprecatingly, that Criston finally had enough.

"Gods sake, lad. Either drop the woman like a kettle and move on with your life or man up over it already. She's a woman grown just about and no clucking hen or fragile dove." No, she's only a Princess of Dorne and the heir to a Kingdom beside, surely there had been less ambitious men hoping to sleep their way into power and influence, why Prince Daemon Targaryen had the balls to try for two dragonriders, Criston thought, scarcely able to imagine how the boy had gotten himself into that tangle. Still, he hadn't ended up poisoned over some gallantry and perfumed letters, so maybe Prince Doran didn't think much of it to begin with.

"I wasn't born for this kind of thing," Denys said sullenly. "But then I suppose I wasn't born for a lot of things, was I?" He said the last more cheerfully, a forced kind that demanded the subject be dropped. "Ser Bonifer, how goes your trials and tribulations?"

"Well enough, Ser Denys," Bonifer Hasty returned gamely, favoring the lad with a smile. "I daresay that Ser Gerold has grown to tolerate me after a fashion, and I consider Lord Mors to be a good friend." He paused, as if uncertain whether he should be offering up praise or condemnation for the last. "Lady Dirriz is as bold as she is brave." Ser Bonifer did not, on the other hand, seem to find it even slightly strange to refer to the little fairy blighter--Criston meant Dragon, of course, eyes casting shiftily about the Fey-run Inn, where secrets were coin as much as mockery might become a gambler's debt--as a 'lady' of all things.

"Ser Gerold Dayne is a dangerous man," Denys returned hesitatingly, "But a good sword at your side can help as much as battle magics at times," he continued with faint praise. Something amusing about that, Criston smirked, not thinking it was because his pretty Princess had likely mooned after the Dayne knight a time or two or three or forty times whenever his name came up, but then the Dayne did not make friends lightly, a prickly bugger a touch too quick to reach for his sword rather than honing his tongue for a rejoinder.

"Gods, if only you'd been born a Stormlander," Uther Storm growled, slamming his drink down on the table, "At least the boy sees sense, never trust a Dornishman--", he broke off, even as Criston finished for him.

"Unless it's to trap a passage or secure the whores." The two chuckled in typical Marcher fashion, even as Ser Bonifer sighed lightly and Denys rolled his eyes.

Ceria blasted through the doors like a hurricane, some subtle magic about the place letting in only a short sprig of laughter and revelry from outside the room before they shuddered closed. Criston half-rose from his seat and reached for his sword before noticing her waving him down. "What is it?" Denys asked, concerned.

"We've got work," she replied, tossing a pile of letters bound in crimson silk on top of the table and maps to go with them. There was a nervous air about her, Criston noticed, not even her daft father had missed it.

"What's wrong?" Uther asked softly, with more tact than he'd shown the boy.

"Too many plates spinning in the air," Ceria replied, holding herself close. "Things are changing so quickly." She shot a glance at Ser Bonifer, as if just noticing him there.

The lad rose from his seat and walked around the table, raising both hands, "I trust him," Denys spoke calmly, approaching her like a wounded animal and drawing her into a half-hug. "What was in the letter?" He repeated the question.

"The future," Ceria replied, holding the other document close to her chest, secrets dancing behind her stormy eyes. "And burdens from the past. Let us deal with the past first before we consider tomorrow."

"Aye," Criston agreed quietly, "Tomorrow's tomorrow, and we've got ourselves today to deal with."

 

[DragonParadox]

The Queen of Cities ​

First Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

Volantis gleams in the light of the bright southern sun like the jewel it is so often called by poets who sing its praises. The Black Walls, high and strong, stand as the bones of the past still guarding its present. The Rhoyne, like a river of silver opening up onto the sea, and the vast span of the Long Bridge binds the Old City to the New. Travelers, traders, and locals alike crowd it even on this day, or perhaps especially on this day, for if Volantis is a jewel then it is about to be affixed to a crown of Valyrian Steel. Zherys has prepared the way just as you had agreed upon. The Assembly of the Forty, that for so long tilted evenly between the Tigers and Elephants, is now firmly in the hands of the former, with the last remaining Elephant faction is more like a figure of fun and ridicule than serious political opponents of Zherys' rule. It is a common saying in Volantis these days that the Tower of the Mysterium is taller than the Archon's Palace, but 'you just can't see the top 'cause of the magic.'

Yet there is more to the change in the First Daughter than magisters in tiger-skin cloaks who bear swords at their side rather than being borne in a hathay or upon the backs of slaves. There are no more slaves in Volantis. While the marks carved in flesh may endure, the chains are gone. No more do the Unsullied guard the Great Gate, no more do men and women with flies tattooed onto their cheeks pick through the refuse of the mighty, knowing that at any moment their lives might be forfeit on a whim. There is much yet to be done, of course, in this city as in any other, but the High Speaker's ambitions have led it more than a few steps along the path you would see it tread.

"She looks beautiful," you admit to the man standing beside you on the balcony.

"I have always found her so," Zherys replies, then with a moment's flash of a smile, he adds, "At least one can see Volantis from above, unlike other cities that hide their charms behind a veil of mist."

"So you admit that Braavos has its charms," you counter, an eyebrow lightly raised in mock-surprise. "How uncommonly generous of you."

"Even a bastard daughter might be legitimized and use her craft for the betterment of her family," he counters instantly, a jest you are thankfully certain he would not have made to a Braavosi. He certainly had not objected to the notion of Braavos having a parade by the Torchbearers after the one here in Volantis, even though it is almost certain the Sealord will do his utmost to eclipse Volantene efforts, and quite likely succeed.

Ultimately, that is the point of the delay in claiming the city, to allow Zherys to get his own house in order and build up the Mysterium all to the point that its culture and connections would likely endure for generations in the Scholarum system, just as many Braavosi Inquisitors proudly wear the badge of the Silver Eye alongside the book and sword. The two cities that defined western Essos after the Doom will not simply fade into your dominion, rather they will add something of what made them great to your growing realm, and in so doing you hope make it all the stronger.

"What do you have planned for today, Wisdom?" you ask, just to be sure there have not been any last moment changes.

"The parade of the Legion first, of course, with the standards of those who took the Sorrows mixed in with those of your own legionnaires. In their armor of black and crimson, they will halt before the Great Gate as the guards ask them by whose invitation they are to enter. That is your moment to sweep in, either in your Dragon form or riding upon the Black Dread." Zherys hesitates a moment. "I would normally suggest the latter for the familiarity, but that was the dragon that your ancestor Aegon used to burn the fleets of our ancestors, so some might think ill of the comparison."

You nod thoughtfully, not yet decided on whom to call upon to accompany you or how you should fly. "That is when I might give the invitation not only to them, but to all those not of the Dragon Blood to walk the streets of the Old City freely." You had been surprised when Zherys suggested it himself, but he had clearly meant to be rid of that stricture for a while now to judge from the long list of grievances against it he aired, starting with stifling trade and ending with isolating the city's rulers from the rest of Volantis.

"Yes," he continues. "From there you may fly to the palace by whatever means suites you to offer a speech to the crowds and one to the court if you wish." Seeing your questioning look, he snorts. "I am hardly blind, Your Grace. I have seen how strenuously you avoid the more baroque protocols and how your lady mother has worked to make the court in Sorcerer's Deep more supple in that regard. If you do not wish to deal with the court, I assure you they are well in hand."

How do you perform the annexation of Volantis?

Form:

[] In Dragon Shape

[] Atop Balerion the Black Dread

Companions:

[] Alone

[] With Company
-[] Write in

Speeches:

[] Only to the crowds
-[] Write in

[] To crowd and court
-[] Write in

OOC: You can, of course, include other embellishments. The above is just to give basic structure of the vote.

 

[DragonParadox]

Uncommon Heralds ​

First Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

Lord Ardrian Celtigar had not been certain precisely what manner of help the King had meant to send to Claw Isle, though after the gifts he had given and the generous trade he had agreed for in exchange for the horn he was quite sure it was going to be worth the wait. So it was with some surprise that he greeted the news from his younger son Arthur, who had been entrusted with the magic brazier, saying that the agents of the King had arrived in Crab's Cove, that surprise only grew when he met them.

Four Westerlanders, a Bull-Man, and... Lord Celtigar glanced around the study for the furtive little blue thing, a dragon, or so she claims. Mayhap the King was trying to send a message with the nature of those he sent to defend his leal vassals, to take heart that even the Westerlands were with them. If nothing else the man who had introduced himself as Ser Roger 'Reyne' certainly had aspirations in that direction. From faded memories more than four decades old the man had a little of the look of Ser Reynard Reyne whom the Red Crab had once met and drank with 'in honor of all beasts of crimson coat'. Ser Kennos made only a little stranger showing, a knight sworn to the Red God was not as uncommon as it might once have been, and if he could wrangle the priests to help in his hunt all the better, but the women...

Ah, the women... Ardrian had known all sorts of women in his long years, from demure ladies who would burst into tears if their dress got splashed with mud to flinty eyed she-wolves who would stab you quick with steel-sharp words, and he'd known some who pretended to be the former but were the latter just the same, but he couldn't quite place the two golden-haired sorceresses at first glance. They seemed flustered by his greetings, though the older of the two less than the younger, but when he got to asking what they could actually do with their sorcery they settled right down again.

"I can heal harm to body and mind, ward against fire, frost and enchantment, grant good luck in battle, and sand-speak like the braziers have been enchanted to do," Leila Goldhammer said. "I've a few true battle spells, too, though that is not where I am most skilled. I can also speak or read any tongue for a little while at least, even that of... Those Below, and I have learned something of them as well."

"My magic is more limited in scope," the younger one, Jeyne, half-whispered. "I can feel when enemies are near, even if they are hiding or veiled by magic, and when I do I can deal with them."

Right up until the last five words Lord Celtigar had not been sure if he should let her go out to fight of find something safe for her to do with her magic so she didn't get killed on his watch, but that last part... there was hate there, not the way you might hate a monster you heard in a story or read about in a book neither. She deserved her chance at 'spearing squids', as his armsmen had come to call it.

"Father, mayhap I could accompany our guests to help them find a incurious host down in the village," Arthur interjected. With a apologetic smile he added, "Alas that we cannot host you in the keep. Such dedication to King and people deserves to be recognized, not skulking in the shadows."

What was the boy playing at? Nothing he had said was untrue, but the tone had been... ah. The Lord of Claw Isle shook his head, struggling to hide a smile as he noticed his son eyeing the younger sorceress with a gleam in his eye. Best take him aside later and make it clear that these weren't smallfolk lasses to woo into bed without a thought. A wizard was a useful vassal to have, as useful as a household knight if not more so, and Lord Celtigar knew he would not take well to his knights taking leave of their duties for months for the sake of a babe and he could not imagine the Dragon King taking it any better. For that matter they might even expect a marriage. Would that even be that bad?

The old lord deliberately shook the thought away, that was less putting the cart before the oxen and more sending it rolling down the hill without a care while the oxen were three pastures over. Still, he would have a talk with the boy. Ardrian remembered what it was like being nine-and-ten and a new-made knight, and deep thought was not one of his biggest concerns those days.

OOC: I figured that Viserys would want to send the team to Claw Isle as soon as he could because it's the promise of aid to a loyal vassal. Not only is it in character but it sends a powerful message to have help show up the very next day.

 

[DragonParadox]

A Watcher's Duty ​

First Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

Before coming to Sorcerer's Deep, Ser Alliser Thorne had only played the Wandering Crow once. A year after he'd taken the black he could not bear the sight of the Wall and the gallows' bait upon it and headed south, not far, only to the Barrowtown and back. That was when he had learned that a Crow takes his perch with him wherever he goes. Men wonder and whisper of how you might have sinned and drunks in taverns ask for tales of wildlings and bloodshed, the only ones besides the whores who dare get close. Since then Alliser kept to the latter over the former, the ale was hardly any cheaper than a whore's company and at least one does not usually leave a brothel with head-splitting pain.

Yet it was not one of the houses of vice and delight arranged after the Essosi manner that Ser Alliser found himself leaving that evening. He was standing outside the Gilded Mask, a new built theater like practically the whole city. He had rather enjoyed the play. It had been years since he had done so last, but he found much to his surprise that he had enjoyed the evening's show more than the half-remembered night in King's Landing. The knight was not used to the present living up to the golden glow of memory, not like this. Better swords to fight monsters with, better warmth to ward off the northern chill, a better King he couldn't serve, all these Alliser Thorne had grown accustomed to, but a better night at the theater was not something he had expected to have.

A man pushed past Alliser, a merchant from his silver-buttoned coat, he did not look back even for an instant, so urgent was the clink of silver that called him. Anger flared, though quickly doused by a question he had never before considered: 'Would you rather be distrusted or ignored?'

In Sorcerer's Deep a black cloak weighed no more than any other color, for what was a Brother of the Night's Watch besides a Bull-Man, a Phoenix, or an Angel? He had learned their names each and everyone, the books by which he studied an easier reading than the ones the maester had given him as a boy, yet the more he stayed and the more he learned the knight began to wonder if his order even had a place in this new world. Could not the King march men in the red-and-black cloaks of his Legion? The joy of the day spilled from him like wine from a broken goblet. It was one thing to sacrifice kith, kin and land for the sake of guarding the realm, but quite another to do so for the sake of nothing more than putting off the executioner's sword.

He did not know what streets he walked, what turns he made to find himself in the small square by the gently bubbling fountain, but as he looked around with a warrior's instincts rooted deeper than the present turmoil he was surprised to see a giant armored in polished steel sitting on a bench looking into the fountain. No, not a giant, an Angel of the same kindred as the Lord of Mantarys, the knight realized with no small measure of awe, yet as he started to move away to give the spirit a chance to think in peace Alliser caught a glimpse of the face beneath the heavy helm and saw there something far worse than mere irritation at the trespass, he saw sorrows all too familiar.

Without a word the knight sat on the bench next to the steel-garbed angel and handed out his wine flask, there were still a few mouthfuls left.

"A gift of poison kindly meant, thank you," came the soft reply as the Angel looked at the flask as though he had never seen its like before. "I would have to indulge far more deeply to forget."

Were this any other speaking to him Alliser knew he would be angry, but the pain in the words was too deep for that. Instead he merely asked: "To forget what?"

"A duty abandoned and comrades I could not bear to inflict my presence upon any further." The words were barely more than a sigh. "They still believed, still had hope, and I no longer did."

I still have hope, more hope than the Watch's had in a long time and still I railed that the people did not know my sacrifice, the knight's earlier doubts seemed so small and petty it was all he could do not to curse himself for a fool aloud. "Did you then leave your duty and your comrades to do nothing, or change one duty for another?" he asked bluntly, for he had never been a man skilled in soft and pleasing words.

"I swore to the Dragon, to help raise his realm and fight his foes." The armored warrior paused a long moment. "They are foes worth fighting."

"To foes worth fighting, then." Alister tipped his flask lightly as though in a toast than drank it all down.

The Angel nodded and turned again to look at the fountain, his pain a little less, his eyes seeing the world a little more.

OOC: And here is our friend the Fallen Shield Archon. He has not had much screen time before.

 

[DragonParadox]

Seeking New Glories ​

First Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

Where before you had flown unseen you now arrive in the sight of all, flying out of the morning sun scales alight with its fire and the wind beneath your wings, and should any sorcerers care to look just as bright with magics of fortune and foresight. You do not come alone—your mother, Lady Saenena and Nettles fly at your side, mighty Balerion the Black Dread dwarfing all of you with his bulk, near enough to make it clear that you had mastered the ancient dragon returned from death but far enough removed that none but those who already hold a grudge against you could take it as an insult to Volantis. You wonder how many of those below would notice Varys perched upon Balerion's head, like a fly upon an elephant yet directing his every move.

Beneath your wings the Legion marches, old soldiers and new marching together down the streets of Volantis the Great where never has a conqueror's foot had trod. The people cheer, why would they not? The lot of most has changed for the better since that fateful day when magic came into the world. For all the tales of horrors in the shadows, of monsters and demons, change had brought an end to slavery, more land under the plow and more trade with distant lands.

Bright petals and thrown rice for good fortune is thrown before the tread of the legionnaires and silvery trumpets herald your arrival at the palace from where you are to speak to the people. The very moment your foot touches the stone you change shape while Lya manifests beside you looking admirably composed though you can see the nervousness sparking in her eyes.

You squeeze her hand in reassurance and offer a smile before turning to the crowd: "Citizens, I offer greetings to you. Some of you may know me for my deeds, and some of you might have come to experience my works first hand already. It is to you that this day is a triumph to, for it is back to the first page in the annals of our forefathers when Western Essos stood as one."

Leaving aside the notorious facetiousness of the colonies and the disinclination of the Dragonlords to bring them to heel under all but the most extreme circumstances, but then this is a speech meant to inspire not a historian's lecture, you think, looking over the crowd, from merchants in colorful robes to hathay drivers unclothed from the waist up. All had been invited here into the heart of the Old City at Zherys' command.

"And it is as one body that we march into the future, into the winds of change. It is not merely sifting through the ruins of the past that we might gain glory, for just as the common adage goes that we must learn from history in order avoid its mistakes, one must look to the future where dreams not yet envisioned might reach the light of day," you continue, for Volantis could use many such lessons and you suspect not all of them will be delivered with as gentle a hand as this speech. Then again, seeing as you would have to deliver them upon the more obstructionist of the Old Blood, you suspect most of those below would cheer regardless.

"Networks of roads forged by sorcery even now take shape across the continent, straight and wide to bind the realm together, trade is stronger today among signatories of this accord than it has been for centuries. Never before have we had this opportunity for prosperity and peace secured with common bonds of friendship and good fortune, as much as the protections of strong armies and mighty guardians in the dragons above." So saying you motion to the sky and send word through a spell of silent speech that that binds you to each of the riders. Such acts of grace and skill are seen this day as had once filled the skies over Old Valyria or the Day of the Dance, the dragons themselves imbued with arcane grace and forethought in every motion.

"But not all is as it seems," you add amidst the cheers that follow, your tone of caution though not quite so foreboding. "These mechanisms of an empire, this artifice of war is not merely for welding Essos together as Aegon of old might have dreamed of Westeros. We are a people besieged not by our own ambitions but by darker things, the pitiless baleful gaze of aberrant ilk lurking beneath the waves, the restless dead haunting the plains and steppes, the cold blowing of the Northern Wind, the ancient sins of our forefathers and more, inexorable in its march to bring an end to our way of lives. And if they should stand unopposed, civilization as we know it would end as surely as the Freehold of old."

To your right Lya shifts somewhat uneasily, for though she knows well the game you play, to stoke fear and then transmute it into determination, she has never seen it quite this close. Zherys by contrast looks on with a faintly approving expression, a smile of triumph seemingly moments away from manifesting, though he never allows himself the indulgence.

"But we are not defenseless before the night, nor are we without our defiance. We shout it into the distance before the contempt of pitiless gods and monsters." You pause a long moment as the roar of the crowd seems to shake the very stones of the palace. Almost you feel as though even the ancient Black Walls themselves would shift. These are not a people unused to oratory, not shy about demonstrating their support. At last the great din settles to a rumble like distant thunder waiting to be called and so you speak again. "We are the firmament of the earth, reforged as iron is to steel. We are the burning flame to ward off the darkness that encroaches upon us from all quarters. We are first rays of the sun on the horizon. We are all marching together, for no one man alone is responsible for our survival. Only together can our deeds committed here and now serve to overcome these trials presented before us."

"I say to you all, whatever your calling and whatever your deeds, we are at a turning point today," you say truth in every syllable for all this is a speech. "This is the pivot upon which history will remember that when we came under attack from those without, rather than turning upon each other like a pack of hyenas as the sons of Ghiscar have, we will have stood together. Thus we shall have the dawn of a new day."

That is not the end of it of course, all your Companions make at least a brief appearance to be seen and sometimes to speak before the crowd, save Ser Richard who bluntly told you that he would rather be fighting demons in the sewers again and Rina who is obviously unready to make an appearance before so many.

Two are the speeches that capture the attention of the listeners the most, first your mother speaking as a daughter of Valyria born to foreign lands and one reborn from magic into a world transformed. Her words seems to resonate across the crowds as little else could, for she speaks as one who was first bewildered and wary of a world transformed but then found her footing and discovered to her joy that it was in a place far fairer than fate had once ordained. The second is Lya, for though she speaks mostly by spell-gifted skill her words are ones the people of New Volantis and those not of the Old Blood had long hoped to hear, she speaks of magic born of more than blood, of the power of knowledge diligently sought, of the worth of every thinking and feeling mind and heart. Magic the people of Volantis had learned from Zherys was the new seat of power and from Lya's words they learn of the Scholarum, that they too might ascend to it.

As the sun begins to dip from its zenith the time comes to address the court, the nobles of the Forty Families and the assembly if one wishes to be exacting, but in all actuality they might as well be the court of King Zherys, now graciously swearing to a higher overlord.

***​

"Thank the gods armor is a good enough fit for the occasion," Waymar whispers in Common as you step up into the Speaker's Voice in the Assembly Hall. "If looks could pierce flesh or poison blood..." He motions to where the remaining Elephants are standing huddled together among a sea of empty seats. Zherys had used various bureaucratic means to refuse to appoint heirs to the seats left empty in the wake of the failed coup which had left the Assembly powerless in the face of the Archon's ambitions.

"I have armor too, and mine doesn't show so they won't think to aim for my head," Tyene jests in response.

How do you address the court?

[] Write in

OOC: I know the speech has already been voted on but if I worked that in this would probably be a three-thousand word update, and in any case this is your chance to add in thoughts about what to do about Volantene institutions, as that would be best spoken of here.

 

[DragonParadox]

Sealed In Blood ​

First Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

"Sons and Daughters of Valyria, I have no doubt you have your own means to have heard the promises and warnings given to the masses outside these hallowed halls," you begin addressing the gathered magisters in what may well be the last session of the Volantene assembly of the Forty. Still, these men and women will not lose their influence overnight, nor will their gold evaporate from their vaults. You truly hope they are listening for as in Myr, in Tyrosh, and even in Lys the way forward will be clearer the more of the highborn realize it is wiser not to lay themselves across the road to the future as stumbling blocks. "So I will dispense with both, as what I speak implores you to simply pay witness to the unvarnished truth. Let this be the first counsel of many I take up with you. You deserve no less than that for you have chosen with forethought the better path for your kin."

There is no grumbling in response, not truly, but you catch a few among the Tigers in their crimson shrouded seats bite their tongue against some response. That too is wisdom of a sort you suppose.

"Out there, the common man, barring the few with the talent, will, and ambition to rise above their current status, have little need to do more than live their lives to the fullest extent to which they are obliged as citizens of a new realm, to reap all the benefits of being united under one banner," you continue, adding a dollop of flattery to make the bitterness go down easier.

A few sit straighter, pride stiffening their spines. Time will tell how well it can be yoked to duty, but if those hopes should prove false you have no doubts that you can find others to step into their shoes. "A realm where the rule of law is the order of the day, where the stern hand of justice guards men and women's livelihoods and ensures the common betterment of all, highborn or low, for when their rulers prosper so too those who follow them are able to."

A single silvery peel rises from a bell set in an ivory frame. The Voice of Peace, the speaker for the Elephants would have words with you it seems. Though Zherys' ally who speaks for the Tigers is ready to strike his own bell and thereby formally silence his peer you subtly wave off the offer. You are not one so silence dissent merely for existing.

"You say law, Kaelos, but whose law will it be? The Law of barbarians from beyond the Sunset Sea where they choose their kings by how hard they can swing a hammer? The Law of Braavos where the rowdy mob yaps at their supposed betters?"

A look at Zherys shows the Archon of Volantis nod ever so slightly, though your minds are not bound together by magic you can practically hear him say: 'Yes I propped him there for being an fool, all the better to manipulate.'

"My laws," you answer firmly. "I can provide you with a copy once we are done here."

The answer prompts a few nervous laughs as the Voice of Peace sinks slowly back into his seat under your gaze, sweating hard enough to stain the collar of his amethyst robes. Once he is seated again you continue: "Let me be open and honest, for we of all people cannot afford self-delusion. Not any longer. We are facing a new age with all its wonders, and its terrors."

"All I have done for the past four years was deliberate, calculated, yes, sometimes even ruthless. But it was also done with the minimum amount of bloodshed, lost lives, and guaranteed stability throughout Western Essos in the long-term," you continue, shifting your gaze to the room at large. "The current state of affairs was not won without that bloodshed, but you will find, and I hope eventually make peace with the knowledge, that it was a mercy for slavery to die a quiet death. It could have been so much worse, after all, seeing as how Fiends had been plotting for centuries to exploit that arrow in their quiver and use the chaos to reap a bloody harvest."

"Wisdom, is this true?" one young man among the Tigers calls out, shocked, all protocol forgotten, at least until Zherys fixes him with his own displeased stare.

"It is unwise, Xaelor, to question either the sincerity or the knowledge of the King," the High Speaker notes dryly. Then with a weary sigh of the sort you imagine he would give to a foolish apprentice if he had the time for it he adds, "Yes, it is entirely true. Hate and fear breed the influence of Fiends, and slavery has sowed a great harvest of both, the slave's hate and the master's fear, despair and distain twined to open a path for the darkest of spirits. We might have held them off for a time by skill and good fortune, but they are both endless and eternal. While the wound remained open it was inevitable that it would fester."

The young man... boy really, he is only a few years older than you, swallows and offers an apology, going so far as to suggest removing himself from your presence if you so desire.

"Be at ease, my lord," you reply, deliberately avoiding the word for master. "I take no offense at honest questions, nor am I in such a hurry that a moment's interruption would drive me to anger. In truth I need your help, all of you. There is much yet to be done beyond the walls of Volantis. Slavery lives on in some parts of the continent. Our work will never be done until it is at an end, our safety will never be guaranteed from the guile and scheming of Asmodeus or his ilk if we do not strike off the last collar and melt down the last chain."

You speak of Hell then, not as a priest might of the corruption of the soul and the torments of the unworthy, but as a foe to be vanquished, as one who can be vanquished. "That is just one among a host of threats I have worked against. That will alone could grant me the strength to deny this foe his unwarranted tithe, they have not had free reign of this Plane because of it. He tried to yoke chains onto our ancestors, and too many of them snapped their own collar on for temporal glory and influence in a world uncaring. To that I say this: 'Go to Hell', all Nine of them, and stay there."

Laughter breaks the shocked silence, they had not all been caught unprepared by the substance of your words, not even half of them you would judge, but few had not expected you to speak so freely of it.

"With your aid, my lords and ladies, so he shall," you finish no louder than before, but with the full conviction of your path amplified by the spells that still shroud you. "Each time the Lord of Nessus' hand slips to take the fraying edges of our kindred into his midst, we shall slap it away."

They cheer now, the Tigers with conviction, the last of the Elephants more with fear, though whether it is fear of you or of devils is more than you can guess. Once the hall is quiet again you continue: "Yet for all that, for all those victories, for much of that time, I was an object of mockery and scorn. I have clawed back the respect and prestige of my line, each step of which was necessary to even be able to make these statements before this assembly, because even that much is necessary, to ensure your ears are listening and your eyes remain wide open."

The lanterns above sway gently, though no hand moves it. The shadows dance through the halls of power as though seeking new seats.

"I did not take up the Jewel of Volantis into my crown to lay more triumphs upon that name as my forefathers have with other realms. Aegon spurned the open hand of Volantis because he had a vision all of his own, and likely found the thought of a rival uncontested too burdensome to stomach. In this I think he erred. I have always been of the mind that the Conqueror ruled with too light a hand, that his ambitions were not as grand as history implies, or his work might not have been nearly undone a dozen times in three centuries," you speak your mind once more in measured careful tones and look about you for any who would contest the words, yet there are none here and now at least.

After a moment's heavy silence you add: "I will not cow my prospective vassals with vulgar displays of power until they all fall in line and then forget the scheming and the resentment that might foster. There will be no more room for corruption, for infighting and undercutting each other because we cannot afford it. We cannot. We are faced with the threat of annihilation. It is time to accept this fact, for we are responsible, together, for staving it off. Any man or woman among you with the stomach for it, remain, or else leave advisers in these halls who can guide you along the path we all must take, to even have a legacy to leave to our descendants in the first place."

None rise and none leave of course, that much is ingrained into any who would stand upon these seats, but is it more than that, you wonder. Time alone will tell. "Lord Naethyreon, I have given you a full accounting of our task. You were the first to recognize that it was an effort that could not be undertaken alone. For that, I thank you, and reward you," you proclaim.

Zherys comes to stand beside you then kneels, proffering his left hand palm outstretched without a single flinch he cuts a long shallow line in the flesh with a jeweled athame and proclaims: "My blood is yours, my lord."

"It shall be well guarded," you reply, sealing the wound with a spell. "You who have taken counsel with me and called me to the city as Volantis did Aegon were not mistaken this time. I will see this city rise taller and grander than at any point before in history, and you will be there by my side every step of the way. Now it is your burden to prepare this august body for the days ahead, for the wars we must fight and for the calamities we must face. In the fullness of time, as with the citizens we have guarded and guided along arduous paths, we too as they, shall reap the rewards of safety and succor for all, as we shall be of that body, to enjoy that peace which we have wrought."

Raising your voice for the first time since you had entered the chamber you proclaim at last. "Then, in its place, Volantis will stand a testament, as one with the will to see it through!"

The room erupts into cheers, if not wholly sincere then as close as could be hoped and perhaps closer than the ones doing the cheering might have expected.

It is not over so swiftly of course, there are rituals to enact and formalities to satisfy before you can be named Archon of Volantis in full and then hand the dignity back to Zherys, though bound in stronger ties than Valyria of old had kept. Still, once the task is done your business in Volantis is far from done. The manse that you had found burning on your first visit to the city is still engulfed in the flames of Ymeri's sorcery, though sealed. It is only fitting that if finally be snuffed out.

How do you deal with the manse?

[] Try to divine something of it
-[] Write in how

[] Seek out any Fey loyal to Ymeri that may have slipped into the city to interrogate

[] Write in

OOC: Apparently I underestimated how big this update would have to be. Fitting for Volantis, really.

 

[DragonParadox]

Of Leaf and Scale ​

Second Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

"Reva, did you hear what they are saying about the King?" Liset asked along the wooded path, dress flaring and rippling behind her yet somehow not getting caught on either weed or bramble. Whether it was foresight guarding their steps or the will of the Old Gods moving that which would trip them from their path not even the Singers for whom the skill came as naturally as breathing could tell for certain.

"Lis... we are here to talk to the beasts and trees, not carry every rumor in the city with us," Reva replied from the lofty seniority of being the elder by half an hour as well as the more literal height of the branch she was perched upon. "I'm sure whatever the King's done now can wait at least a little while longer..."

"Volantis has knelt," the younger twin cut her off, still a little breathless from her run. "The King and Dowager Queen Rhaella, Lady Saenena, and ah... Lady Nettles." She paused a moment at the persistent strangeness of a Dragonlord named after a weed. "Anyway, they sky-danced above the city, then the King gave some speeches like he always does and now Volantis is a part of the Imperium, the High Speaker swore it. Maybe we could..."

"No," Reva snapped, dropping down to the ground with practiced ease. "They tossed us out like a rotten tooth. We are not going back there..."

"When we are Dragonlords?" Liset sent silently along their bond as she came to place a hand on her sister's shoulder. "Proper ones I mean, with dragons that can hold us?"

Reva gave a sort of mental stutter that could not really be described in words, disdain at the idea of returning to Volantis tripping into sharp-edged glee at the thought of how their distant kin, who neither knew nor cared about their fate, would react to seeing them returned upon the wings of dragons. "That would be... good," Where the feeling ended and the words began neither sister knew nor cared. "How is your egg?"

It had been nearly seven months since they had received their eggs, seven months of slowly turning the eggs in the hearth then burying them in sand, of pressing bloody hands upon the surface of the eggs to summon the beast within by the subtle call of their heritage that spanned the ages. Lord Vanor had said that they were close, but that he could not name the day nor the hour when the eggs would finally break.

'I've never known of one of our blood to possess magic quite as you do, nor the favor of the Dreaming Gods,' he had said, and though he had clearly not meant it as a rebuke the twins had still slept uneasily that night. What did it mean for them to serve the Secret Gods of the Deep Woods who sought not worship but drank deep of Fiends' blood?

"We can hardly be any stranger Dragonlords than the King," Reva replied, obviously following her sister's deeper thought. "Imagine a dragon in the shape of a man riding atop a bigger dragon with a little dragon curled around his shoulders."

"That does not make him strange, just more er... dragon-y," the younger twin said, valiantly trying to keep back a giggle at the image that brought it to mind.

"That is not even a real word," Reva scoffed.

"Yes it is, I just said it so there..." One playful push later Reva was sitting in the grass while her sister launched herself into the woods in a unexpected game of tag. They chased each other through the woods for a good long while, thoughts of trees and dragons gone from their mind for the moment at least.

OOC: Not a lot happening, which is partly why I chose the interlude, no mechanics to mess up from writing late.

 

[DragonParadox]

Sorcerer's Parlor, Seer's Garden ​

Second Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

Both the Mysterium and the Red Priests had been most diligent in working against Fey of the Ashen Court. For the Mysterium it was a matter of pride to cleave their own awakening to power away from the whims of a cruel and fickle goddess, and for the servants of R'hllor it was stamping out heresy, the sort all of them could agree on. It is little wonder then that there are few Fire Fey in Volantis, and those that are present are well hidden. Few is not none, however, and no hiding hole is deep enough to guard against your magics and Teana's careful searching. You question stones and they whisper back tales they had heard unknowing, you listen to the flow of sap through veins of wood and in that sound read their fears. Where had the fire gone, the flighty swift embers?

Three sets of eyes from shadow spun peer through darkened corners, places familiar indeed to one who had once aided in the first rise of the Mysterium. "You still haven't cleared out Horronno's Square," the Headmistress of the Scholarum says absently, looking through the eyes of one of her shades rather than upon the lavish parlor you were gathered in.

"Better to keep all the rats in one easily found basket than upend it over the city in the hopes that the handful you catch would make a difference," Zherys shrugs, though from the momentary tightening of his lips you can see the comment had stung somehow. An old argument perhaps. You had brought Teana here for the very skills and knowledge of the city she was now making use of, but that same history could cut both ways. Hopefully, the edge would be dulled by the work you do here towards a common cause.

"This is, ah... excellent tea, Wisdom," Rina interjects to break the lingering silence. "I've never drank the like."

Zherys' expression shifts swiftly from surprise to interest, though the look was so swift you doubt Rina caught it. His actual response is impeccably courteous, of course. "Qohorik White Tea is in short supply these days as a result of the troubles in the city and the disruptions to trade, but the ability to span the continent by sorcery can cover a multitude of sins." A man who takes his tea even more seriously than you anticipated, you realize, recalling how he had confessed feeling ill at ease working by mage lantern because of how thrifty he had learned to be with magic in his youth.

"What else have you heard from Qohor, or seen of it?" you ask, intrigued. Maelor's report two months ago had revealed the bare bones of the conflict but no more, and with so many more urgent concerns you had decided to leave the City of the Black Goat to its own devices.

"The Qohorik have neither starved nor been eaten by that monstrosity they credulously call a god, so I suppose one must count them fortunate," Zherys snorts. "To answer the obvious question, I am not precisely certain just what the Black Goat is, but if there is one rule that served a sorcerer well in the days before the Awakening, it is to beware of Powers bearing over-generous gifts. The spirits that could still affect the physical world in tangible ways, not just by dream and portent, were extraordinarily rare in those days and almost universally of a rapacious disposition so that they might sustain that connection."

"So this Black Goat had wizards or demons at its call, then?" asks Ser Richard. The further question of how best to kill them is unspoken but not unheard.

"I only experienced a direct visitation from such a being once. There was something crawling inside a high priest of their god... or what might have once been a priest. I have my doubts whether he was still alive and not merely a flesh puppet for the creature," the High Speaker's voice is clinical as ever, though you can see a glimpse of old disquiet in his eyes.

"What were you trying to do at the time, Wisdom?" you prompt, trying to guess what might have nested in the priest's flesh. Unfortunately the possibilities were too many for aught but wild guesses.

"Recovery of the knowledge of forging Valyrian Steel from their vaults, in what I later realized must have been a planned ambush," he continued his account. "Fortuitously, the event was not without its uses. It was then and there that I obtained the map for the Flesh-Forge I shared with you, Your Grace."

"And the, er... monster?" Rina asks tentatively.

"I doused its host in alchemical oils and set it alight," Zherys replies simply, drawing a look of somewhat reluctant approval from Ser Richard. "Alas, I moved in too much haste and did not think to sweep up the ash as I would have done in later years."

"I found one, a Sprite living in an old forge," Teana interjects, cutting off the tale.

***​

The Fey you happen upon is neither particularly mighty nor swift in flight, a lesser spirit barely brighter than a spark. Instead she turns to you and asks for quarter, vowing to share all she knows so long as you agree to guard her from Ymeri's wrath. "Sworn to live in Her Service, I am. Not sworn to die in it, and against such as you I could only perish," she proclaims.

You share a look with Zherys. There is a slyness to the words, something the faerie spirit does not wish to share and he too feels it. "How easily you surrender your vows," you say lightly, though you doubt the tone can deceive anyone with Ser Richard reaching for his sword.

"Alright, alright, no need to be gruff as a goat," the delicate head shakes with an almost insect-like motion. "None who served Her by oath could pass through the wards of the Bright God, but we who were freed and sent through to trade knowledge and favor of our own accord were exempt. Of course, the Queen dared not free any spirit too mighty for the task, we were to watch and wait, to see the flaws in the ward of faith and sorcery, in the hearts of men divided, but none tasked me to fight a Dragon and so I shall not. Follow, if it pleases thee..."

Somewhat amused by the spirit's boldness, you do as she asks and follow her out into an overgrown garden, where fire blooms from a tangle of thorns and in that fire shadows move.

Spoiler: Former Servant of Ymeri

"A Flameseer I am, and much have I seen. Tell me then what would you know?" the Fey asks as her fingers dance through the shimmering air.

What do you reply?

[] Write in

OOC: You guys wanted rumors, I know this is not quite a recent event even but I figured some information about Qohor delivered organically would be worth showing.