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

[DragonParadox]

A Tale Half Told ​

Fifteenth Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

The skin-changer stepped into the abandoned longhouse with a light and sure step, though Vee noticed she didn't look at Mance as she sat herself down on a creaky chair, tight-lipped. "What do you know about Hardhome?" she asked at last. "Not the things you've found, I mean the history..."

"You know I've some questions of my own I'd like to be asking," the Free Folk chief cut her off, trying and failing to sound cheerful, or maybe he was trying to fail at being cheerful. Vee knew she wasn't the best at reading things those sorts of things, nor did she really want to. That was how you ended up being put in charge of some pile of stones and told to shovel whatever shit the last fool to own it had piled up.

"And I'll be..." Yara broke off, finally meeting his eyes. "Well, not happy to do it, but I will give you the answers you seek, but somethings have to be told first to make sense of it all."

"You didn't seem in much of a hurry to tell us anything before Vee figured out your secret," Waymar said darkly, causing the girl so named to scowl.

You didn't corner a cat unless you wanted to get scratched, everyone knew that, Vee mentally groused.

"We know it was a Free Folk town, 'r almost was until 'round about six-hundred years ago when something bad happened," Vee interjected. "The tale goes that it was raiders 'r pirates from the east, but there's books at Castle Black that that say you could see the fire from up at the top of the Wall. That's more trouble than bandits would be willing to go through." The image of a small village on stilts gone still and dead from brigand's work flashed before her mind's eye, but she pushed it aside. The mire had already swallowed up that place and there was no sense digging it up in her head.

"Wisely said..." Yara paused, not trying to lie Vee judged, maybe thinking of how to put it all together. "Magic was waning in those days, but it wasn't gone yet so none thought it strange when the sorcerer Drokha became one of the three chiefs of Hardhome, none thought it any stranger than Grom who rose by the strength of his sword arm nor Jevild by her skill at trade. But what they all forgot about wizards is that they like to pick at the skeins of the world the way a man might pick at a scab until it stats bleeding, hoping for a taste..." A shiver went down the skin-changer's spine.

No one spoke up. Strange as it was to hear someone talk about things six-hundred years past like they'd been there, Vee and Waymar had heard stranger. At least Yara was alive to tell her tale. As for Mance, it looked like a storyteller's instincts or mayhaps a king's duty weighed more in his mind than wounded pride.

"There was trade going through Hardhome in those days, from as far away as the place where the Southern Gods have their stone grove," the woman continued.

"Oldtown," Amrelath hissed, though even he was quiet, not wanting to spook her before she finished her tale.

"Aye, that, and even further, behind the sunrise where the shadows live, Asshai," the skin-changer said the word without any hesitation, though pain shine in her eyes. "One winter when the cold was bitterest, jagged ice floated down from the north, pieces big as mountains fit to scrape the sky, then the fog rolled in, thick and heavy so you couldn't see your hand in front of your nose, almost like something'd planned it... maybe They did." The word was heavy enough to get the point across without saying. There weren't many things in the Far North with power over ice and cold winds.

Vee, Waymar, Mance, and even Amrelath just nodded grimly while only Riz'Neth stayed still as stone, unless he was saying something with mind-talk.

"A man washed up on shore, half frozen and shivering, wrapped in a cloak of red, he was strange... limbs too long, eyes too black and he had—" The words cut off in a wet gurgle. "No... that wasn't supposed to... curse." Yara clutched at her throat before collapsing off the chair, twitching all the way down.

At least that means she's still alive, Vee thought grimly as she rushed to heal her.

OOC: It looks like my dice have a sense of the dramatic when it comes to failed Wisdom rolls too, on Yara's part in this case. She thought she would not be triggering her curse.

 

[Crake]

Forgetting the Score
​

Fifth Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

"Your Honor. Most Esteemed Council. I posit before you thus, in summary, my client's proclaimed innocence twice confirmed now, with the established evidence of no prior wrongdoing and no credible claims of maleficence, and with the testimony of the witnesses who have taken the stand and twice been tested with divination and truth compelling magic against the accounts of the accused--my client's alibi remains completely solid. And I now have solid proof of his innocence. Your Honor?"

"You may approach the stand, Solicitor," the call had a less sharp edge to it than it had at the start of this trial, Elbert thought inwardly, though he did not allow the satisfaction to show on his face. "You say you have further evidence to present before the Court?"

The shock on the face of the oh-so-smug Magister Baeros was sweet as the honeyed wine that was so popular in the Deep. His plot to erase all trace of his wrongdoings by using smuggled Memory Moss was far worse than covering up a series of murders of his business rivals and even partners.

He had been so very careful to work through intermediaries and to guide events such that no one would ask the right questions, or those divined would lead to false and twice-tangled trails with men accused of crimes they did not recall committing in earnest. No. Because of his trade ties to foreign backers from the west and east, the fool had revealed he had committed high crimes of treason! His title and wealth might stave off the noose at the lower courts using the right patsies to take the fall and distance himself from the crimes committed, but to draw the attention of the Crown to his activities? Dos had named it sheer madness.

Elbert called it justice in poetry writ.

It was unfortunate, then, that Elbert had to use his connections to the higher officials through his friend, to get the right spell cast to help him turn over a niggling suspicion he had held onto the first he laid eyes upon the odious trade magnate in question, as they just could not keep the smug expression of triumph and vindictive pride off their face while offering simpering words of support to those wronged and giving testimony on the stand that was just a tad too confident of their own lack of involvement in such "vile affairs". Elbert felt guilt for abusing that friendship to aid in his own case such as he had, but then again he was likely allowed to even approach the spirit-kin mage because of his own usefulness at resolving unusual cases in the favor of the right party, such as the case may be. Men would lose their heads for this, plots of the merchant princes aside, men had betrayed their oaths to guard and monitor the Crown's holdings.

Lady Beryl was all too happy to help regardless, so the guilt did not linger long enough for him to hesitate at the last.

Magister Baeros kept his nose clean enough, to be sure, but rather than leading to the arrest of the proxies he used for his scheme to rule Sorcerer's Deep grey market from afar--as no sale of goods there could be said to be done without assent from the powers-that-be, he had led to his own downfall through sheer towering arrogance.

And it had been entirely undone and by a dozen private investigators or mercenary troubleshooters... who he couldn't be entirely sure weren't really agents of the Inquisition in some cases.

And one spell cast at the right time and place, asking the right question.

Elbert's client had been willing to pay for them and didn't seem the sort to have any far-reaching connections of that nature, but then again, a man could be a peasant or a prince and still remain a pawn.

***​

"What do you mean you want to remain a Solicitor?" Dos tried not to scream the words at him, the shock having made him shift through a myriad number of emotions before finally settling on 'disgusted amusement'. "You could be a Justice if you applied yourself. Hell, you're the one with connections at Court..."

"And I don't intend to abuse those connections," unless it's to cheat to acquire evidence for a case, he thought, somewhat troubled at doing something ethically questionable even if for a good cause. "Besides, we are helping people! Just like we intended when we set out to study and practice the law."

"Only because you couldn't make it as a playwright," Dos accused blandly, leaving unsaid how he could not either, shuffling through pages for his own work. "Legal counsel does pay better here, however, when you inflate your own reputation by helping out sea people and bull men and other strange folk for a song." For some reason, success at representing such minorities had garnered better optics for their practice than if he had spent time representing the merely poor or disadvantaged, Dos had remarked upon it cynically more than once. After all, the fantastic and unique had a wealth of their own and frivolous men of status would pay to be advised by 'the best' if not necessarily represented. It was worth noting that they could not rely on simple bribery and political connections to assure a case would be thrown out of court if they committed wrong-doings, these days.

"T-that aside... You have to admit, we are being paid unusually well. Court-room procedures here are very elaborate compared to anywhere else bar Braavos, even the lower courts are quite thorough." Proceedings in Braavos to represent the less affluent or those without high status were far more cursory affairs, working off established precedence but not as much jurisprudence as those found in the Deep or even Tyrosh. The other cities were adapting at varying speeds, though he did not doubt Braavos would hit the ground running.

"How goes your own 'courtship'?" Dos broke his train of thought with a lift of his eyebrow, expression that of stone.

"Non-existent as always," Elbert replied, barely blinking at the accusation by this point. "Do you think Companions are busy running all over the world fighting monsters and abolishing slavery and whatever else they get up to on an average week? Well, high officials are probably busier. They have to do their own paperwork, after all," Elbert finished with a smile, dropping the final stack of his own penmanship in the 'out' bin on his desk. There was a chiming of a bell signaling the approach of a new client. "You or I?" Elbert asked his partner in time-honored tradition to determine who would take the lead on a case.

Dos took out a coin stamped with the King's face and flipped it.

 

[DragonParadox]

Making Waves​

Fifth Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

As you ponder your first steps into the City of Splendid Waves Relath assures you that the locals would care see to your trade goods 'almost as well as if they were safe in your hoard chamber', high praise coming from a Dragon, but then the Guild Council of Vialesk will have long experience in dealing with the prolific brine wyrms in peace as much as in war.

"We have gained much by making ourselves known to those in high standing among the Genies before speaking of trade," your mother adds, tactfully ignoring your first forays into otherworldly trade involving smuggling in the Bazaar of Beggars.

Still, the point is no less fair for it. This is neither a nest of thieves and killers, nor a city under the brazen boot of the line of Iblis. The masters of a trading city, even one so vast and powerful as this, would have reason to look with favor upon a trade as vast as the one you intend to make, and perhaps even desire to purchase some of these new goods themselves for the sake of personal profit.

The four of you set out swimming through the branching shell and coral tubes that make up the arteries of the Lower City past gardens of slowly rippling kelp and brightly colored sponges, akin to the tiny rooftop gardens one often sees in Tyrosh. There are jewelry shops filled with curling shells and fancifully carved bone besides clicking glass blown into shapes so delicate one would fear they would shatter in the hand. Magically hardened, you realize, gazing upon them with eyes sharper than those of flesh. You wonder how long it will take the artisans of the Deep to realize that the hardening chamber can do more than vastly strengthen simple goods to survive longer and take greater loads. Perhaps you should offer the suggestion to Lady Dorerah, no doubt there would be at least one Myrish artisan willing to try.

As the passages open into small squares, or rather small intersections for there are precious few sharp edges to be found in the wave-carved city, the crowds only grow more diverse, from water mephits 'flying' through the water in defiance of all expectations as they carry messages and news, to a shelled merchant somewhere between a crab and a turtle hawking what looks to be skewers of sweetmeats, algae and spiced fish to all who pass him by. A Tojanida, the voice of memory ever present at the back of your mind whispers, spirits of water bound in shells of flesh, forever caught between seeking sensation and dreaming the broken songs of elder days.

Spoiler: Tojanida

Judging from the stream of cheerful chatter the merchant keeps up as Breath Taker stops to buys a skewer of pale shrimp and blended algae, it is clear he is one of those who contents himself with the life he has rather than dwell upon the fractured memories of his ancestors. As you watch, a boy with pale greenish skin and hair the color of kelp snatches up a treat off the merchant's table in what you suspect he thinks is a stealthy manner, though you cannot imagine the Tojanida's ring of bright black eyes could have missed him. However, the shelled trader gives no sign of it, continuing to trade tales with Breath Taker as tiny pearl-forged coins trade hands, or claws as the case may be in this instance.

Relath catches the same byplay as you and seems faintly scandalized that anyone would just allow theft of one's property, however minor, but he keeps his peace, motioning ahead instead on the path onward and upwards.

***​

As in all cities great and small Vialesk grows grander and more stately the closer one comes to the heart of its power, shops and homes illuminated by living coral or the glint of tiny fish through kelp gardens give way to stately facades carved into the primeval stone that binds the city together, grand arches carved with arcane script and wards bright enough to seer the eye of the unwary watcher show the hand, or rather the claw, of Vialesk's erstwhile draconic masters. Though what were once the treasure chambers and residences of the Dragons' favored servants have long since given way to banks, trading houses and courthouses that mark a city that no longer answers to the whims of Brine Dragons but to a siren song far stronger, trade and wealth.

By contrast to the structures that surround it the Chamber's Sphere seems almost humble, a ring of marble that joins the Lower City to the Upper, a half-flooded amphitheater where those who prefer the water's embrace may sit upon the lower steps while air-breathing members of the Guild Council, of which there have been no small number, may take the upper seats.

Thanks to Relath's presence in his true form it does not take long to obtain a meeting with Deep Herald Anora, the woman who serves as permanent intermediary to visiting Brine Dragons too young or reclusive to be assigned their own diplomatic liaison. She greets all of you in spacious but simply appointed chambers filled with the glass-etched portraits of her predecessors with a courteous smile that you suspect veils relief that whatever Relath's troubles are he decided to come to the authorities rather than take justice upon the edge of his claws. Young Brine Dragons, you had gathered, do not have a reputation for restraint.

Spoiler: Anora

"What can I do for you, Great Lord of the Bitter Currents?" the golden-eyed Undine asks formally.

"My lord wishes to speak to you on matters of trade and affairs of state," the Dragon replies without a hint of resentment. In fact, you suspect he is rather amused at the spark of worry in the Herald's eye as she considers just what manner of being might secure the allegiance of a Dragon, even a young one. Somehow you suspect 'an even younger Dragon' does not occur to her.

How do you address Herald Anora?

[] Write in

OOC: This will of course impact your trade.

 

[DragonParadox]

An Ordered Realm ​

Fifth Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

The crown upon your head is certainly a mark of kingship, but not one that would be recognized so far from home, and so you shift, your True Dragon form uncoiling in the chamber you imagine was built for just such a transformation. After assuring yourself that neither limbs, wings nor tail can brush against something you do not mean them to, you proclaim simply: "Greetings, my lady. I am Viserys Targaryen, King in the Realm of Balance, recently discovered by the wider Spheres, and in turn discovering them. I am here to deal with matters of trade, though I hope to also bind new ties of fellowship to your fair city."

To her credit Lady Anora does not shift from her seat, as you would expect of one who willingly converses with not only Brine Dragons, but unknown Dragons, many of them come to seek redress for some issue or another. Still, her eyes widen at the sight of you, her left hand twitching ever so slightly as it lays flat on the desk, the gesture of a sorceress reaching for her magic, if only for an instant. Is she strong enough to fight a dragon turned foe, you wonder, or merely to flee?

Curious, you look as deeply as your magic allows... and see nothing at all. While there is a theoretical possibility that someone was told to negotiate with Dragons with no ward or enchantment you very much suspect that the city which once fought a successful rebellion against the dominion of Dragons has warded her very well indeed.

"The Dragon King who hosted the Conclave of Sky and Stone?" the Undine mage half-asks. "An honor to meet you, Great One." You catch a moment's hesitation before the word 'Great'. She had likely reached for one of the many draconic words for 'elder' before changing her mind as she could not guess your age. Perhaps to cover the perceived lapse she continues in a formal register. "And it shall doubtlessly be our pleasure to host your business. What manner of trade shall you grace out in the glitter of the ever-mirror?"

Allowing an honest smile to touch your lips you give a brief accounting of the goods you have brought with you, though without going into such detail as to give her or any she might share the knowledge with a chance to profit from it, such gifts are not handed as a courtesy.

"The spices, silks and feycraft are likely to be in much demand..." The sorceress' smile fades slightly as she considers her next words. "Alas that so regal a form as you bear now may serve those profits ill."

"In what way?" your mother interjects to the slight bewilderment of the lady, though not near as much as she had shown when you had made the introductions.

"Beings of flame are rare in Vialesk, and those that do choose to dwell here do so near the Glass Forge, rarely emerging into the city at large for their own comfort," the sorceress continues more firmly now that she did not feel she had to pass her concerns through the filter of directly addressing a Dragon. "The presence of one so mighty as your... er, son, abroad in his true form would be surely unusual and might cause uncertain trepidation in the populace, which could adversely affect trade."

"Hmm... troublesome," you interject, taking on human form once more. "What do you suggest?"

The simple practicality of the question seems to have taken the Herald momentarily aback, but she rallies quickly. "If you were to make a very public show of your enmity to the Efreeti somehow, though without going to far as to hint your presence might draw the ire of the Brazen Throne upon the city, that would likely still the concerns of those who have seen one too many Oil and Ash Plays."

Relath snorts in amusement as much as in understanding. "Such plays usually set in the City of Brass, thinly disguised if the playwright is of particularly timid disposition. The subject matter almost always includes some Efreeti's harem and astonishingly improbable romantic entanglements whereby the sea-born hero outwits the dreadful Efreeti and all his hosts."

You nod in understanding. Braavosi playwrights have been known to churn out those sorts of plays about the Volantenes and doubtlessly would still for many years to come, no matter that the two cities had been united under one crown. "And on the matter of diplomatic relations?"

"An embassy can be procured either here near the Chamber's Sphere, or besides the Glass Forge, should your servants be more comfortable where they might remain mostly dry. The law of Vialesk permits at most a dozen envoys for each Dragon, without dispensation from the Guild Council. Will that be sufficient?"

What do you reply?

[] Yes, that is more than enough for a beginning

[] No, you wish for greater representation, perhaps an extension to Astral Currents offices as well, and the chance to appear before the leaders of Vialesk is welcome

[] Write in

OOC: Not the most exciting update, unfortunately. Hopefully the cultural details prove worthwhile.

 

[DragonParadox]

A Dragon at Play ​

Fifth Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

Ysandrix was bored, an intolerable state of affairs to be sure and one she would usually remedy by seeking out Daenerys to talk to of all the strange happenings of this world that the dreams did not yet envelop. Alas, the young Dragon of many colored scales was busy, busy trying to twist the Dragon Queen's power against itself and much as the young Dragon had sought to avoid dreams of Her she knew such a forging was not a thing to be undertaken lightly, nor one from which distractions were safe. The young Dragon's gaze wandered to the sky. Blue as my scales' shine, not a cloud in the sky, she thought with disgust.

Flying without a companion to speak to or the rush of a thunderstorm flickering around her would be just as boring as sitting here perched atop the Archer Golem's shoulder. The wide-eyed stares of initiates not quite sure if she was allowed to do that or who they might report a potential draconic misdeed to had long since ceased to amuse her.

It was thus with no small amount of reluctance that the Blue Dragon Wyrmling, Ysandrix, set off in search of other company as Daenerys suggested.

***​

Clink... Clink... The sound had an almost musical rhythm, but there was something more than a bit demeaning about tapping one's head against a window like a Messenger Raven. One more time and I'm off. There has to be something interesting to see at the market, maybe I'll even buy something, the Wyrmling told herself, resolutely ignoring the fact that after yesterday's rather fruitful trip she only had six Silver Realms to spend from her winnings in the Circle of Battle.

"Oh... uh... It's you," a slightly confused but nonetheless familiar voice accompanied the opening of the window. Ysilla Royce looked at the Dragon like she had never seen her before, though it was likely just at seeing her alone and not in Daenerys' company. "What do you want?"

"Bored," Ysandrix hissed, looking around the room in the hopes that something within might alleviate the situation even if the girl could not. There were a great many shelves about heavy with books of all sorts, from poetry to history and trade to siegecraft. Books were alright. Though the pages might be dusty and faded as if with the echo of the mortality that so swiftly caught up to any scholar, they still held knowledge worth knowing.

"Well... I was thinking maybe we can see the new art auctioning Lady Selyse is hosting while she waits for the babies to pop out. Poor woman's a few seeds short of a full watermelon as my old nan used to say, " Ysilla replied at last.

"Well of course she is uncomfortable, you lot do not have the sense to lay eggs," the sky-blue scaled Dragon scoffed.

"I'll be sure to remember that bit of advice," the girl said dryly. After a moment she added: "Azema will be there, it'll be fun. I was thinking about asking her to make up a few Inquisition exercises, she's always up for something more interesting than memory exercises or tailing."

"Azema... she's the Demon, right?" the young Dragon asked, intrigued in spite of herself. She had not spoken with a Tanar'ri at length before, though the Baatezu had certainly proven interesting. "Alright, I will come," she proclaimed, stretching regally.

"Where are you going?" a faintly cawing voice called out from somewhere deeper in the house, likely the storm knight's raven familiar.

"Oh, we are just going to see some paintings," Ysilla replied airily.

This had potential, Ysandrix thought. And so did the girl, she finally admitted to herself.

OOC: Ysilla is making all sorts of interesting friends.

 

[DragonParadox]

To Balance the Scales ​

Fifth Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

"As a start, I would find that most pleasing indeed," you reply sincerely. "Perhaps after some exchanging of goods and works of culture, eventually a branch of Astral Currents Stock Exchange might open its doors here in the City of Splendid Waves?"

"Many of Vialesk's artists and scholars will be fascinated to learn more about the Garden from which we have been barred from for so long, and I imagine I do not need to tell one so adept in trade how the merchants will react at the thought of an entire new market for their goods and services," Lady Anora replies, her smile growing wider with relief. For the first time since greeting him she turns to Breath Taker. "I do not seek to offend, holy one, but I imagine many of your kin who would not be driven by faith alone in your great exodus might reconsider when safety and prosperity become more apparent. "

"I am not easily offended by words, and never to this day by truth. I strive that it may remain so." The priest's voice is soft and even, though you can hear an echo of pain in his words, perhaps over those who chose to remain behind rather than hear the call of their god, but more likely at the thought of cleaving his kindred in two. "For myself, I welcome any who would swim in the seas of home, though I do not deny that others may have grown bitter from the peril and the loss of the war in the deep."

You exchange telling looks with your mother. Such friction is worth bearing in mind for the future, mayhaps something the envoys she had trained could help with once they have cut their teeth on more worldly matters.

For now you turn to the liaison and more immediate gains. "Returning to the matter of trade, information on the current value and movements of trade goods all over my realm and my capital, as much as those sold in Armun Kelisk and Opaline Vault, would be of some value for those not fortunate enough to possess their own network of informants and merchants themselves. The less fortunate... burghers, that is, might benefit greatly from such knowledge, but all would benefit greatly if the Council pondered upon the possibility of selling land for the opening of another Planar Terminus, to link all four cities together in truth."

The smile slides off the envoy's face, though her expression does not quite freeze as deeply as the first time she thought she was giving you ill news. Of such small steps is trust built. "Such a gate would be seen by many as a chink in Vialesk's armor, I fear. We are a city of traders, but also one that has endured countless sieges by those who would subjugate us. You would have to prove yourself a staunch and unwavering ally of the city to convince the Council to allow such a connection, though to be sure trade makes a excellent beginning."

About what you had expected. This is not the heart of an empire, but a free city that must look to its own defense against rapacious neighbors. Nodding in understanding, you continue, "Ah, but of course, we have just discussed the possibility of drawing the flaming eye of a particularly odious nature upon this fair city. Rarely does a vast influx of wealth not accompany a commensurate increase in protections one might acquire, nor the influence thereby that might be wielded to... mutual benefit."

Only for a moment does she hesitate at the implication. "True, the swords of the Marid and the claws of the Brine Lords are sharp indeed, and we would not weep to see them dulled in... worthy causes."

Relath gives a slow hissing laugh at the notion of other Brine Dragons, many of them his elders, being made into pawns.

The formalities of establishing an embassy are handled with surprising ease... or perhaps not so surprising when one considers the likely patience, or lack thereof, of most Dragons with mortal bureaucracy. The embassy is to be established in the building that once hosted the headwaters of the Vialesk Silver Scouts, a defunct free company which had run afoul of a draconic grudge.

Lost 18,000 IM

Gained Embassy Location

Although there might be friction between the local Tritons and those who dared the perilous journey to the seas of their birth, Breath Taker assures you that he can see to it that the embassy is staffed with those among his people not only knowledgeable of the Endless Ocean, but also level-headed and open to gaining new allies wherever they may be found.

Where do you go next?

[] The Mirror Market, where the submerged part of the city meets the air filled dome to sell your wares and mayhaps buy more

[] The Guild Master's Hall, to try and forge relations with one of the city's many trading houses or use the ones Relath already formed

[] The Glass Pit, the molten furnace deep in the heart of the city where the smiths practice their craft to see if any of them might be interested in joining your realm as Breath Taker hopes

[] Write in

OOC: The location is more expensive than it would have been in other areas of the city, but I figured that given your funds it was not worth a second vote.

 

[DragonParadox]

Flames and Ill-Wishing ​

Fifteenth Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

Two watched in silence and tasted the air, the heat of the cat-woman's breath steaming in soft plumes, the deep beats of her heart and the sweat glistening on her brow in the frigid air. Almost time for the leap, One coiled eagerly. Patience, the Other reasoned and patient was Two, for the hunter knew stealth and forager lore, but the wizard knew patience as the stone did the rain, wearing grooves though the ages.

"A man washed up on shore, half-frozen and shivering, wrapped in a cloak of red, he was strange..." The heart beat too swiftly, the breath too shallow. "Limbs too long, eyes too black, and he had—" The soul struggled mightily against flesh and will against curse. "No... that wasn't supposed to... curse." Pale hands grasped at her throat. Fortunate was she not to have claws in this from, thought One as the Other wove a spell of against curses that had foiled many an elder ward, or surge of wild magic.

The spell's roots went deep, old, stubborn and strong, Two thought in frustration as the Fleshweaver called on her own lore to undo the strangling grasp. Alas, she fared no better and the Wyrm did nothing.

No, not nothing, One thought. Watching the door, suspecting ambush.

"Do something!" the man-called-king said, voice needlessly loud as the woman's face began to turn red then dark with blood bursting from within.

Did he think they had all grown distant or unwilling to act, or was this mere instinct like unhinging one's jaw wider than the throat would allow to pass? Two wondered briefly, as again the power flowed from tongue into the frigid air... and this time from will into being. For a moment even eyes of flesh could see the band of shadow wrapped around the skin-changer's throat, then it broke neatly in two.

"You trespassed against a curse, but the curse is now no more," One said without speaking. "Speak now in silence if you would not do so aloud and know that your foes shall be broken even as the curse was," the Other added, knowing that this Yara was a creature of secrets.

"No need," she replied, the light of gratitude upon her thoughts and smothering the fading echoes of pain. Rising to her feet shakily she added aloud: "The stranger died of the the chills, no potion could ease him, no fire could warm him. He asked that a pyre be made for him but one would not light, but Drokha said that he knew a way to make one as he clutched a box he had taken from the stranger. Only Grom the Wolf and me stayed then, the others were scared of witch work. But Grom was a great warrior and did not wish to show fear... and I, I was curious as a cat." Broken laughter passed parched lips.

"Is that where you got the red silk, the one you patched Mance's cloak with?" the Thunder-Caller asked. The man so named almost jumped out of his seat wanting to ask something, but he wisely held his tongue.

"Yes, but that's... for later," the woman Yara continued. "Drokha spoke spells of opening over the box in the Old Tongue that few now speak save the Giants and the Thenns. Fire without form came out... came out and it spoke to us, asked us our heart's desire. I asked for freedom from the frailties of flesh and from age, to be free as a shadowcat, coming and going as I pleased. That's what it made me. Grom was not shy about saying what he asked for as the stranger's pyre was lit at last, to be a great magnar, a wolf stronger than the Starks of the south and bring all these realms under him and his sons after him. I don't know what Drokha asked for, his eyes looked bright and feverish, like he was seeing something the rest of us weren't and he said something in a voice that wasn't wholly his..."

"Prophecy makes a valued servant, but a poor master," the Wyrm spoke clearly and truthfully, though not perhaps the words the moment called.

"Drokha said the pale tree would not live through winter, only the black, and then he sort of went quiet and he looked at Grom, and he laughed," Yara took a beep calming breath. "I thought the Wolf would kill him then and there, he raised his ax as though to strike off his head, but then he froze there like a bird under the gaze of er... a snake." Two wondered why she would flush and look towards him. That was shame and shame required fault.

"Speak on," One encouraged while the Other pondered the strange manner.

"While they weren't watching I took the red cloak and slipped from the room," the skin-changer moistened her lips with her tongue, almost like she too could taste the air sensing peril. "Three days later I heard Grom died, killed by the other chiefs, some said for boasting too hard, but I talked to Old Elda who taught me to heal and he said the Wolf died of no mortal blade, but something fouler. I knew then, I knew that t'was Drokha that did it and I ran. I did not run away far enough not to see the fire behind me. I think Drokha opened the box again to get another wish."

Silence fell heavy as the darkness of the deep earth. "I thought he'd died at least, but the bastard came to me in a dream, said I'd been clever to take the cloak, but he'd cursed me to never be able to work against him. I never dared test the edge of that promise until today and it almost killed me... almost." Her smile flashed white as the beasts of the jungle before they pounced in the night. "Now I'm free, now he'll pay."

OOC: And here we are Riz'Neth, not quite two beings but as close as they come. Just to be clear the heads do not have names. The first one to think something is always One, and the head that answers or echoes is always the Other and it changes back and forth, while thoughts had in concert are always the province of Two.

 

[DragonParadox]

Craftsman's Fortune ​

Fifth Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

Relath seems to find your decision to head directly to the Glass Furnace faintly amusing. "Fire to fire is drawn," he says, and in that he is not wrong, but it is not the element itself that draws you truly. Granted, the first thing you do upon emerging under the dome of the Upper City is to dry yourself off with a quick spell, but it is the fires of forging and creation that you picture in your mind's eye, not so vast as the Adamantine-sealed depths of the Opaline Vault, surely, but showing uncommon skill to practice one's craft in a sphere inimical to fire in all its forms.

The four of you move down sinuous paths under the shadows of amphibious 'trees' growing from pools of briny waters, though their waving colorful tendrils marks them to be more anemone than plant. Thus at last you find yourselves at the precise center of the Upper City, where a thread of molten glass flows down from the dome and sinks into the depths of the city. Or is it flowing up, constantly enforcing the magics of the dome against attack? you wonder.

After a long moment blinking up at the column of molten glass you realize it is doing both, one thread is up, spinning new power into the enchanted dome, and another is flowing down in parallel, old glass being returned to the furnace that the smiths may work their magic upon it anew.

The fact that the only way down into the only dry part of the Lower City is a great spiral staircase wide enough for two elephants to pass through abreast, circling the river of glass such that one can observe it from every angle, cannot be anything but deliberate.

***​

Fire is a rare and precious thing in Vialesk, and so are all who would wield it outside the use of small arcane flames conjured at great cost. Gathered around the Furnace are smiths busy at their anvils and potters at their ovens, of course, but also glassblowers forging colorful creations fragile as a dream yet as enduring as steel, all practicing their graft in the limestone alcoves whose unpainted walls show decorations far rarer than could be worked by a sculptor's chisel. Ancient sea life great and small graces the walls, some that one might find readily in the waters at home and others utterly fantastical and otherworldly... or at least you hope it is otherworldly.

"That is a rather impressive shark," your mother notes, following your gaze to a great set of jaws framing the door of a local tavern, somehow managing to make you feel as though you were seven years old and marveling over the spare swords of the Kingsguard again, even though both her face and her expression were utterly neutral.

Relath leads the way in search of smiths, having obviously passed this way before, though he had been more interested in dyers and weavers to better serve the saffron fields of Tolos. The Eel's Eye proves to be a tavern of a very particular sort found only in the most well-traveled of ports, the reputable establishment putting on the airs of disrepute to draw in visitors looking for a thrill, but not so much a thrill that it might put them off their drink. The drinks are fine, the dice unloaded and the mostly 'landwalker' staff professional beyond be odd jest and light flirtation, just the sort of place one might find ambitious journeymen looking for a new start.

For once fortune seems to smile on your efforts to find talent in far off ports, however, as you find far more than a journeyman. A Locathah with grey scales burnished like steel and the long mustache that marks a master is drinking alone tonight, though he does not do so for long. He proves to be one of the most respected master smiths in the city, as well as one with a truly prodigious taste for seaweed beer.

After a few drinks he is more than happy to give you an accounting of all the smiths in the city, who is skilled and who is not, who might be tempted by a new start in far off lands and who is 'sessile like a sea sponge'.

What sorts of smiths are you interested in?

[] Ones who can work common aquatic material (Bone, Eel Hide, Living Coral)
Cost: 1,200 IM Hiring Fee, 100 IM Monthly Fee (11 Available)

[] Ones who can craft waterproof tools and supplies (Waterproof Ink, Books, Rope etc...)
Cost: 1,440 IM Hiring Fee, 120 IM Monthly Fee (9 Available)

[] Ones who can work with rare materials (Pearlsteel and Riverine)
Cost: 3,600 IM Hiring Fee, 300 IM Monthly Fee (6 Available)

***​

While you conversed with the smiths, Breath Taker and your mother sought out skilled and adventurous enchanters who might be tempted to join those already hired from the Opaline Vault. While you could not find so many as the Sultana's favor granted you, the presence of a Triton priest went a long way to assuaging fears regarding working for a Dragon.

What sorts of enchanters do you hire?

[] Apprentice Enchanters (Craft Wondrous Items)
Cost: 1,800 IM Hiring Fee 150 IM Monthly Fee (16 Available)

[] Journeyman Enchanters (Craft Wondrous Items; Craft Magical Arms and Armor)
Cost: 2,880 IM Hiring Fee 240 IM Monthly Fee (10 Available)

[] Master Enchanters (Craft Wondrous Items; Craft Magical Arms and Armor; Craft Construct)
Cost: 4,320 IM Hiring Fee 360 IM Monthly Fee (7 Available)

OOC: I know the vote says buy all the smiths but you guys lucked out on the roll, so all the smiths would be a rather hefty cost.

 

[DragonParadox]

Treasures of the Sea ​

Eighth Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

Over the next three days you practically knock on the door of every smith and enchanter in Vialesk that might be even slightly inclined to take the journey into the unknown. From the crowded forges of common craftsmen where humble tools of bone and horn are carved with diligence and aspiration of greater things, to the alchemical laboratories ubiquitous to a people besieged by the touch of brine upon all their works and at last to the greatest of smiths who work gleaming pale Pearlsteel and in the deepest darkest reaches of the plane dare to forge ever-flowing riverine into suites of armor no metal can match.

Enchanters too you find in full, apprentices looking for a new life beyond Palixna's silvered gaze, journeymen seeking their mastery upon strange and foreign shores, and no small number of masters seeking their fortunes elsewhere for reasons of as varied as the people to hold them. Even your mother struggles against a smile once when a grey-bearded Marid proclaims that he's off to live with the morals 'who won't snoop about his business', accompanied by a delicate featured Teleriel, and the complaints and barbs of children, grandchildren, and what might be great-grandchildren. Somethings it seems never change, no matter how far one travels. You suspect some magistrate will have that inheritance tangle dropped in their lap in due time, though given how spry the old fellow looks that judge might not even be born yet.

Spoiler: Teleriel

When all is said and done you count almost three score artisans and enchanters among those who wish to return with you to the Deep, a strange enough gathering to draw odd looks as you gather before the choral and limestone facade of Perenantos Bank, once the treasury of Vialesk's greatest Brine Dragon overlord, now the oldest and most influential financial institution in the City of Splendid Waves. It was upon its involvement in the transactions that persuading many of the more cautious craftsmen hinged, and little wonder given that their vaults are for all intents and purposes the treasury of Vialesk.

The enormous Mithril doors that are wide enough to admit even the greatest of Wyrms remain firmly shut, of course, for you have no interest in making that much of a spectacle of this. You enter instead through a more reasonably proportioned arch, paying no mind to Relath's faint grumblings about having to take human form in a city where he might actually be mistaken for a mortal despite the clear marks of the sea upon his features.

Still, he grows considerably more cheerful when you start stacking gold ingots on the table before the increasingly wide-eyed clerk to be converted into Pearlsteel Tridents. Each of the bars is of course stamped with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen as a guarantee of its fitness, though of course that is yet an unknown mark in these lands so you can hardly begrudge the man for calling for larger enchanted scales to deal with them.

No sense in holding up business though. "Twelve pounds each, one part in twenty-thousand impurity," you explain. The word 'impurity' does not sit well upon the tongue, but any purer than this would not be relevant to anyone but an alchemist.

"Yes... er, I did not mean any disrespect, Elder One," the clerk stammers, guessing your nature if not your age.

"One should never have to apologize for a job well done," you wave off the words, before adding with a smile. "But between you and I, these good people could really use their coin sooner rather than later to prepare for the journey."

After a few messages hastily sent up the chain, the process is indeed made swifter with the aid of a Triton sorcerer garbed in pearls and seasilk who seems nonetheless startled to see Breath Taker here.

Smiths & Enchanters Hired
Smiths Hired
Ones who can work common aquatic material (Bone, Eel Hide, Living Coral) -- 11 hired
Ones who can craft waterproof tools and supplies (Waterproof Ink, Books, Rope etc...) -- 9 Hired
Ones who can work with rare materials (Pearlsteel and Riverine) -- 6 Hired
Total Hiring Cost: 47,760 IM (Monthly Cost: 3,980 IM)

Enchanters Hired
Apprentice Enchanters (Craft Wondrous Items) -- 16 Hired
Journeyman Enchanters (Craft Wondrous Items, Craft Magical Arms and Armor) -- 10 Hired
Master Enchanters (Craft Wondrous Items, Craft Magical Arms and Armor, Craft Construct) -- 7 Hired
Total Hiring Cost: 87,840 IM (Monthly Cost: 7,320 IM)

Grand Total Cost: 135,600 IM (Paid in Gold Ingots) (Monthly Cost: 11,300 IM)

***​

It was not only the craftsmen who were busy, of course. Acquiring the services of more enchanters may serve to provide more magic to your growing realm in some respects, but the true masterpieces are the province of archmages. Fortunately for you the City of Splendid Waves does have a handful of such sorcerers and hierophants willing to ply their craft for gold, and unlike their Shaitan and Fjinn counterparts they are not embroiled in the war against the Brazen Throne. Between them you can order as many as eight mind-warding rings or enchantments of comparable power each month.

Maximum Commission Size by Spell Level:
Level 8-9: Eight Pieces
Level 6-7: Thirty Two Pieces
Level 1-5: Unlimited

What enchantments do you buy?

[] Write in

OOC: As I was writing this I went to look at what aquatic elves were called in the lore, like how winged elves are called Avariel. It turns out they are just called 'aquatic elves', not even sea elves, but a name so dry you would think a bored biologist assigned it on the way to classifying new sorts of spotted snails. So I called them Teleriel in homage to the seafarer elves of LOTR.

 

[DragonParadox]

Eyes of the Living, Voice of the Dead ​

Fifteenth Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

Drokha... they had a name at last, Waymar sighed in relief. It wasn't that he disliked investigations into the dark corners of the world. One could rightly name them more worthy than the battles of man against man for the peril was so often not against one king or one realm but against whoever might stumble over it, be they man or giant, Singer or kindly spirit. Yet something in him chaffed when following an uncertain trail, not knowing if it was the right one or a fool's errand. Ever since that day when he had first dreamed of the pale thing, like a man but not, the Other, the young knight had known that there were things in the world that meant to do nothing but bring ruin and decay. Then had come the news about Heaven, it still didn't feel entirely real even after all he'd seen and done. Heaven was broken, and they were going to have to do something about it.

But at the same time as he took Vee's hand in his left and touched Riz'Neth's scaled palm with his right for the journey back to the Deep he could not help but be heartened by the sheer strangeness of the touch, by knowing how many had gathered to face the coming Night. Much was lost, but much remained.

***​

Perhaps it had not been the wisest thing to take Yara with them to Sorcerer's Deep without sending word ahead that they were coming. When they had asked Hestior where Lya was the hearth spirit had asked 'which one?', likely meaning that she had managed to divide her soul among two bodies as she had hoped. Waymar was happy to hear that all her studying and hard work had been worthwhile, but this was truly not a conversation to be having with a stranger from beyond the Wall, even if she was a skin-changer and more than six-hundred years old by some strange wish-craft.

"Do you need help up north?" Lya asked seriously, pausing half-way up the stairs of the Shadow Tower carrying a black metal box that would not have been the least bit notable, but for the fact that it shook and rattled as something scratched and rattled on it from the inside.

"Not with the fight I don't think, Amrelath should be able to burn the bastard right proper this time around, we just need your help to find him."

"Is this enemy a mage?" Waymar's friend asked, the light in her eyes glowing brighter as was its wont when she heard something interesting.

Yara swallowed before answering. "Aye, a black-hearted sorcerer he is."

Lya nodded thoughtfully. "I'm coming with you." Neither Vee nor Waymar thought to gainsay her, of course. It was always good to have another friend watching your back.

***​

The scrying mirror was a strange fit for the dilapidated house, though perhaps no stranger than those gathered around it all in a circle, each holding a tall black candle. "Let he known as Drokha once of Hardhome make himself known to me in silvered glass. Let mist unveil him and fire reveal him. May earth not ward him and wind carry his words to me," Lya proclaimed in the tongue of Old Valyria, for it must have been a spell she had first learned from Viserys or Daenerys.

First the glass rippled like a still pond struck with a stone, then blackness passed over it like a veil. Like eyes adjusting to the dark shapes seemed to come into being slowly, strange and twisted lines that the mind struggled to string together in a way that made sense. Then Waymar managed it, and a small part of him wished that he hadn't.

The thing in the mirror bore no resemblance to the man Yara had described, for indeed it had not been a man in a very long time. A broken-toothed skull with a strange smooth hole bored between its empty sockets leered at the world from beneath a ragged cowl. A pair of great antlers grew from the thing's shoulders like boney claws reaching for the sky, while its own arms had turned withered and black, ghostly fire still dancing upon them. In its right hand it bore a staff topped by the head of a ram and bones upon its belt jangled as it stalked through rough-hewn corridors lit by nothing but its own balefire. Three fresh bodies, one belonging to a boy who could not have been more than eight years old, laid pale and lifeless against the stone.

Spoiler: Drokha

"Fuck, that's the caves! He's going to..." Mance began angrily, looking as though he was about ready to jump into the mirror after the monster, as a lord should.

But before he could even finish speaking the thing that had once been Drokha turned to look right at them, its third eye blazing with blue flame. "I See You," its voice wiggled like maggots in the ear.

Vee spoke then, a spell of transposition, and in a ripple of magic all were gone from the small hut in the woods to face battle once more.

OOC: I thought hard if I should push into the fight proper, but in the end what decided me was that I would rather do it from Mance's POV not Waymar's.