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

[Azel]

The Artisans Pride X​

<< Previous

When he had set out to find the last remnants of his earlier research, Qyburn had genuinely not been thinking all that much about the details of that task. His focus had been to ponder what he might be able to recover and how it could be used for his work and other projects in Gogossos, not so much with the details of the retrieval. His specimens would either be there or not, with the most likely cause for the latter being that Ebrose minions had been more competent then anticipated, thus finding and destroying them.

It was not that he didn't believe the Lantern Bearers to be similarly inclined to destroy his work and he even considered them much more likely to find the hidden compartment, but they were still by a far a secondary concern. They had always ignored him, far more concerned with the experiments of others and why would they ransack his laboratories again after the Citadel was trough with them?

Finding them to be stolen by a common thief and catacomb delver came as a surprise, just as finding out that a rather sophisticated network that was peddling arcane items and Far Realm plunder had sprung up in Oldtown. When they had entered that shop, Qyburn would have expected his work to have been sold off to the Citadel or the Golden Shields, bringing the samples out of his reach for the time being, but instead, he was brought here.

A vineyard a stones throw from the Honeywine, owned by a trader that could trace his lineage to some minor noble house near the Dornish Marches. It was in good repair, the smallfolk seemed well fed and content with their lot and neither he nor any of his companions had made out any signs of magic, neither active nor lingering. It was one place of many and as far as a short stop by Osryx in a nearby tavern indicated, the lord of the manor was not known for any eccentricities or weirdness.

So they waited a night longer, making camp for the night at the edge of the forest and doing a few divinations to find out what the secret behind the vineyard was. However, they found none. There were no hidden motives, shadowy cabals or otherworldly influences. No plot by the Deep Ones, Devils, Fey or some other thing. The owner of the place was not secretly a mindeater, lich, Fey, Dragon or Beholder. In fact, he knew the little group was coming to his door and fearing them much more then the other way around, Jorga having tattled on their encounter and leaving the man with the impression that he was about to be robbed.

It left a rather surreal feeling in Qyburns gut, as if all of this was somehow slightly off. As if the little group he had taken to accompany him had skidded into the well worn groves of some kind of tale, not minding that they were as ill a fit for it as you could find. He spent another hour divining just to make sure that the Court of Stars was not involved in this journey, but that too proved to be a false assumption. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was spill-over from the taint seeping into the Reach that the king was investigating. He could not say and no amount of spells and incense could do so either.

So when the sun rose, Qyburn left for the vineyard, taking only Polyos as his guard along to the audience he knew he would be invited to.

---

Even though he hadn't been in many so far, he could tell that solar was a bit on the small side. Comfy, not luxurious, and it's shelves filled with books and curiosities that seemed to come from pretty much every port between Oldtown and Asshai. Qyburn had quickly taken to read the spines of the books and run his second sight over the displayed objects instead of waiting patiently on the chairs with Polyos. Said creature had been stoically staring into nothingness ever since they entered the house, giving it's disguised mien the appearance of sleeping with it's eyes open.

The aged scholar instead carefully made an accounting of all the books he found, trying to gauge the man whom he would talk with in a moment. It was not that he was looking for any deep insights, since he had never the social graces to make those, let alone exploit them, but he could see the difference between a man collecting random books to appear learned and a man actually reading books and displaying them like trophies of a successful hunt.

It was an eclectic mix. There were certainly some rare tomes in between the more common literature, books on obscure dialects of the tongue of the First Men sharing a shelf with a book about fishes of all things. No theme was there to be found, no dedication to any given thing, just a broad if shallow interest in many things at once. At the same time though, every book was well worn from reading, not the crisp and flawless pieces of one who uses words as decoration.

When the door opened for the lord of the house, flanked by two guards, Qyburn tore his gaze away from the shelves and instead looked at the man himself. A bit on the chubby side, with light skin and a beard that was more grey then brown, while his hair was already white as snow. He looked like a pretty ordinary man, except for the chain segments tied with a leather string and worn as a necklace. He bore one of each silver, gold, bronze and lead, marking him clearly as a scholar, though far from being called a Maester by any stretch.

"It is a pleasure meeting you, Wisdom." There was a joviality and boisterousness in the mans voice that didn't truly exist. Even Qyburn could read that much from his face. "What brings an eastern scholar to my doorstep on this day?"

In return, Qyburn bowed slightly, his mind still slightly occupied by the silver link. That was a detail his divinations had not caught, but it was a decent enough explanation for the many ways this could turn sour, if the man was one of Embrose's creatures. "The pleasure is mine, my Lord, though given your precautions, I take it that you have already been informed about the unfortunate event in Oldtown."

The man seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, but then motioned for Qyburn to take a seat anyway. "Indeed. I have been patronizing Jorga's shop for a while, so he felt it prudent to warn me about the altercation. Though the tale seemed a bit fanciful, I still took some precautions." His gaze turned to the unliving creature sitting on the other chair, looking for something that the former Maester did not know.

"A mere misunderstanding, I assure you. It is scholarly interest that drives me here, not a desire to cause harm or steel another mans possessions." Which was, technically, the truth. Not that he would balk at taking back what was his by having Osryx carry it out through the walls, but it would be vastly less complicated if the man just gave them up willingly. So he took a pouch full of coin from his robe and dropped it on the table without much ceremony. "I would offer you twice what you paid for the items, if you are inclined to sell them."

"Well, now, these are rather rare and exclusive things..." The argument had the feeling of a well worn routine when spoken by the trader, but it was easy to tell his heart was not in it. There was some unease creeping into his voice as he spoke on. "Word is that some vile necromancer defiled the bodies of the living and the dead to make these things, so you will certainly understand that I will not part with them that easily. They are hardly... normal goods..."

Qyburn had to fight to keep an impassive face when he understood what was driving the mans nervousness. "You examined them, didn't you? You've seen something you would rather not remember."

At first, it looked as if he would be denying it, but then the man grew quiet, forlornly staring at the bag of money, not out of desire for it, but just so that his eyes had something to cling to. "You see, I had never much time for scholarly pursuits, what with the family business to tend to. But I did study on my own over the years and when the changes came, I wanted to learn more about magic on my own. With the teaching of Higher Mysteries all but non-existent, we had to improvise to earn our links."

When he trailed off, Qyburn waited for a while for him to resume, only speaking up when it was clear he wouldn't. "What did you do with these samples?"

"Me? Nothing. I got headaches just from looking too closely at the things, and when we used a soothsaying ritual to see what would happen if we were to open the jars or do something else to the contents, it was always the worst of omens. Thorwyn though..." Again he trailed off, though this time he suddenly waved one of his guards to leave the room in the pause.

The former maester just sat there, quietly listening and inwardly grinning about what he learned. If the seal were intact, then the samples should all still be in perfect condition. It had taken much of his meager funds to make these jars ward against divination and decay of the contents, but it seemed to have paid off. Most likely, the traders divinations were predicting the Illithid to claim what was theirs, had they broken the wards on the samples by opening their containers.

"It doesn't matter," the trader proclaimed with an air of defeat. "We failed and paid the price. I couldn't bring myself to destroy these things, for I still feel that they should be studied. Maybe you will have more success then we did."

As if on cue, the guard entered the room again and with him two servants carrying a small wooden chest with two heavy locks. The trader took the gold without another word, placing two keys in it's stead. Without delay, Qyburn took them and opened it, carefully lifting the jars within from their bed of straw and cloth.

Slices of human brains, within them the bulbous growths of an ongoing ceremorphosis, carefully cut apart in thin layers to reveal the forming organs within. A few black tumors, the first attempts at the cyst that sat in Qyburns chest to this day and which had been the base of Polyos physical form. It was all in order. All just as he had left it. With shaking hands he took the largest container and lifted it up, much to the disgust of all onlookers. Two sunken, purple eyes starred back at him from the frozen mien of a Mindflayer, it's long tentacles floating around it like a twisted halo.

"You have done a great service to the natural sciences today, my Lord," Qyburn whispered into the quiet room, a rare grin firmly on his lips.

Next >>​

---

AN: And this concludes Qyburn and companies merry adventure in the Reach.

 

[DragonParadox]

Prodigal ​

Seventeenth Day of the First Month 294 AC

It had been two years almost to the day since Elinor Rowan had been taken from her home and thrust into the company of the Sons of the Mist. Dalla's pet lowlander, a better fate than others she could have had but still a far cry from the life she had expected, the life she had trained and studied for from earliest childhood. But through it all she had made the best of it, read out the letters, kept an eye on the various clansmen for potential allies and enemies, even aided the young witch in her magic when all that was needed was a pair of hands and quick wits. She had gotten quite a bit of blood on her own hands in the process from new mothers in hard birthing to warriors wounded on raids, to... other things she did not like to recall under the light of day, though they haunted her life.

Had someone asked her when was the precise moment when she had set aside dreams of being recused by some gallant knight she could not say for certain, but it must have been around the same time she stopped praying to the Mother for protection, the same time she decided she was never going home. What would her father even do with the wild thing she had become? Would she show of her skills in carving the liver out of a shadowcat without damaging it in place of painting, keeping rhythm with the ichor painted drum in place of singing? Madness and dreams of another life.

It had dawned on her slowly that someone must be supplying the clans with tools and weapons, armor and grains. The raids had grown less a matter of filling stores and preparing for the snows and more acts of divine retribution and plunder of fine things. Blood and gold. Then had seen the healing salves wrapped in wax sealed with an unfamiliar eastern symbol, a stylized dragon wrapped around the Valyrian letter S. Scholarum...

She had heard the rumors, too many and too detailed to disbelieve out of hand. Viserys Targaryen, son of the Mad King Aerys, was using the clans to weaken the lords of the Vale in preparation for an invasion. Elinor had not been sure what to feel then, betrayal that any civilized person, much less one who wished to be seen as king, would be ultimately behind her being stolen away in he dead of night by raiders atop winged steeds, fear that the Dragon King might have some hidden purpose for her yet, and worst of all hope that he might win and she might get to return to some semblance of civilization, somewhere were food was not cut off the bones with a belt knife or drunk from crude wooden bowls.

One thing Elinor had not expected to happen was to be called from her scribe's duties on a perfectly unremarkable day and presented to that very same king, silver haired and cloaked in shimmering gold, bearing a weirwood staff in hand and a sword of Valyrian steel at his belt and just... offered the chance to go home.

She had bitten the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted blood to keep herself from smiling, laughing, shouting, crying or some other stupid thing that would ruin things. She had listened as the dragon proposed that she lead her family into apostasy and pacts with fey out of the deep past. Distantly the young scion of House Rowan knew the girl she once was would have been horrified at the notion, but on this day and in this hour as the sun showed its face upon the high crests of the Mountains of the Moon she didn't really care. For a chance to go home on her own two feet not as an object of scorn or pity she would walk through hellfire.

The memory of Dalla casting the bones before a big battle came to mind clear she is she was seeing it before her very eyes. Had all this been planned from the start, to get her here to where she would agree to this mad plan, to take on sorcerous boons and the company of strange creatures in order to lead her family away from the worship of the Seven?

In the end she didn't much care if the cat was kind of cute and she really... really wanted to get somewhere she could wash her hair properly without making a pact with a nixie.

She wanted to go home.

***​

There was crying, really an unreasonable amount of crying. She wanted to see her parents and sisters smiling, not crying, even if they were tears of joy. Father had organized a funeral for her when even sorcery couldn't find her. She had a bloody tombstone. What did you even say to that?

"I'm back... I'm back now and I'm never leaving." And she had an elder fey and maybe even the future King of the Seven Kingdoms to make sure that stayed true.

Later that day as she was making up 'adventures' of the past two years she wondered if the Scholarum did tutoring if you had the coin to pay for it, or maybe she could persuade Elswyth to teach her how to weave proper magic and then they could attest to her skill.

What do you wish to see next?

[] Receive a report
-[] Write in

[] Continue with Viserys
-[] Write in

[] Write in

OOC: Things went off without a hitch with the fey, I just felt the interlude would work better if I kept the focus on Elinor going home since that had the most emotional weight.

 

[DragonParadox]

Of Roots and Revelry ​

Twentieth Day of the First Month 294 AC

If there is one thing the last three days have taught you it is that the fey of the Greenwood to not actually like mortals much, or rather they do not like the work of men's hands, the furrow of the plow in soil or the bite of axe in wood. They certainly enjoy the company of mortals in other ways, some perhaps a little too much. The local lords are unlikely to receive many complaints from hunters who fell asleep beneath a dryad's tree or beside a naiad's stream and found themselves in pleasurable company, but the trysts of satyrs and their kin are likely to have more lasting consequences for their neighbors as you discovered in Harroway. Still, as that town also showed these are tangled that can be smoothed away with experience as long as there is patience and goodwill on both sides.

Be that as it may between you spinning tales of the empire's nature and its laws, Danar's songs and even Ser Richard fighting a handful of mock duels to the cheers of delighted spectators and the somewhat daunted congratulations of those who offered to face him you manage to make good progress getting the spirits of the green to explain what they most desire and in some cases need to survive, as well as what paths they hope to take in this world both familiar and strange.

First there is the need for protection for the untamed wilds, the play of the four elements in harmony without the orderings of men's works, minor leyline crossings and passages into the Feywild that are the hearts of the green courts, places where dryads and treants meet over waters bright with minor water fey and sprites giggle amid bright blossoms. Often these are places as perilous to mortals as mortals would be to them, poisonous life and too sharp ledges, heavy mists that befuddle the senses and beasts turned far more clever and wise in their ways that flesh alone can account for. However they are also often places of great beauty, not to mention of the wealth a man with a basket or an axe could reap in many of them.

It would simply be impossible to reach an agreement with the Greenwood that does not secure some sort of protection for these minor mystical loci, but just what sort is not easy to decide. On the one hand you could simply plant Heart Trees here and proclaim them holy places. All of these fey are friends to the Old Gods, either of old or for having been aided in their return by the voices of the Greendream. However, planting Heart Trees is not without cost in both blood and treasure as well as being a rather blatant show of force to the Court of Stars.

Alternatively you could simply craft a contract of fealty by which you oblige yourself and your realm to preserve those tracks of land the Greenwood fey need to live. Between the fey already among your vassals and the experience of the harbinger devils in such contractual magics it could be done subtly, but absent the hand of the Old Gods in the bargain. However, you would need to offer something beyond the simple guarantee for their fealty and acquiescence to imperial law. The satyrs and other more excitable breeds favor yearly festivities in which they might catch more mortals up in their revels whereas dryads, nymphs and others of like temperament would rather see more fey placed on local lordly councils, allowing them to have a say in policies throughout the Reach.

What bargain do you strike with the Greenwood fey?

[] Bargain of the Gods (Requires you to raise 12 Tier 3 Heart Trees; obvious to all fey in the region and most mages)

[] Law of the Deathless (Requires 50,000 IM in reagents to craft the contracts binding upon the fey to obey imperial law and the Empire to never willfully harm their hallowed places)
-[] Feast of the fey (obligation to arrange wide scale festivities at least three times per year, during which the fey enchantments will influence mortals to lower their inhibitions)
-[] Wardens of Nature (obligation to arrange for fey advisors on local councils throughout the Reach, this need not be everywhere but must include most dukes of the Reach)

[] Write in

OOC: There was no way I was going to cover twelve fey courts in the detail. I did Rowan's Rest so I decided to up the level of abstraction a little here. Hopefully it works and gets across what they fey want, which is mostly security that no one will burn down their groves, but also a chance to safely express themselves within the strictures of this new realm.

 

[Crake]

Songs of the Goldenheart
​

Seventeenth Day of the First Month 294 AC

Trepidation shook her down to her roots, her Heart thrumming with furious anticipation and a strange admixture of dread and hope, the currents of the world seeming to swirl and froth beneath her, no longer pliant and quiescent as they had been through the long ages. It was as though the grave of Rowan Gold-Tree recognized the importance of what approached, but was that the wind of change which beckoned forth despair and sorrow? Or of reunions, the spring of youth and glad tidings?

She had to know.

Elswyth stepped forth, out of the shade, summer fire and goldenrod reflecting its light, beams dancing through the boughs with the dying rays cast from the astral body. For a single moment, for a single shining instant the drumming stopped, her Heart went still, every branch and leaf suspended in time, and it was only then, gazing upon a face so uncannily similar to Rowan's granddaughter, that Elswyth knew for sure. She had never unlearned joy or sagacity, but there had been some notion that Spring may never come again, something anyone familiar with the utter darkness flowing south on the high winds would be. Yet the smile that bloomed upon Elswyth's face was enough to shock even her court gathered in the distance, almost too nervous to stand in her presence until the final hour when she might know if it would indeed be rage or relief that would fill the empty void at last.

"Welcome home, young one," she breathed softly, and she felt wet in the face, something the girl mirrored as she touched her own eyes and came back with silent tears. "Let none tarnish the joy of kin thought lost, returned to nest, and always will you be welcome here, thus I proclaim as Queen of the Wildwood and Lady of Prosperity, be welcome and have no need to fear!"

"Thank you," came the reply, not tremulous but filled with soft wonder. It was with immense relief that the girl did not respond with fear, for Elswyth had shown no restraint in her joy and even the smallest expression of emotion at that time could bury a mortal soul under the weight of her deepest need. Now that she had opened herself to the notion of reconciliation, she did not wish to be robbed of a single moment bent toward that task with the full force of her Legend. If there were no people to share it with, Prosperity meant nothing, and if mortals feared or hated the Wilds enough, they might also cut it down and burn it away, as the grave of her Mother stood in testimony toward.

Elswyth listened carefully to the girl's fears and even closer to their interests. What she could not make much of due to the course of the discussion and the nature of the dilemmas both were faced with when matters of faith and the bending of mortal will toward one solution or another came to a head, she then graciously asked a reprieve from one to ponder the notion further and offered comfort in other matters of the heart that she herself closely shared, more than Elinor Rowan could ever know, more than anyone in the wide world could for it was her tale that was spinning forth into a new thread in that very moment.

"You are my song now," Elswyth whispered as she watched Elinor leave her glade, to return to hearth and home for the moment. "Let it be sung far and wide when the time comes again."

***
​

Mathis Rowan was a gruff man, some might say blunt too, but he was not a man with a stone heart or a dearth of gratitude for the circumspect nature of his daughter's return. It dawned on him for all the talk of adventures and the joy of discovery in a world gone otherwise mad, with what he had learned of magic hoping for some chance to recover his daughter, either in life or death come to that, it was impossible the boy hadn't known.

He had asked once a lord of the fey to slake his personal, if morbid, curiosity the truth of the rumors, that the Dragon King had journeyed far and wide and gained unexpected knowledge and prescient wisdom, then bent his likely immeasurable will, given the nature of mages on the order of the Ninth Circle, by the reckoning of both the magical parchments passed around the Seven Kingdoms and the estimations of that horned lord, toward one task.

Of his mother, Queen Rhaella, Gods keep her--or, he suppose, return her. The Gods hadn't kept a very good watch on her in life, he thought then, immediately startled by the sharp bitterness of the notion when he came to understand the sheer gulf between him and a solution to a daughter missing or dead.

He would need to be strong enough himself to overturn the will of the Gods in matters of life or death to even stand a chance. What else could one name that but the surest of madness? What other mad notions had passed through their head when they raised a kingdom of pirates and brigands and thought, 'I suppose it's a decent time to end slavery, then'?

So the boy knew about his daughter, how could he not when she had come to his kingdom herself, how convenient that was and never thought to note her survival when it was the greatest bargaining chip he could have imagined over his head. Then... returned her, with a bevy of mystical companions and a bag full of gold and a smile on her face, no words of pledges on her lips, not even once? Even if she had not lied about what she had seen, he would have to be an idiot not to see how unshakable one's confidence would have to be to do that.

Still. He was not one to cast a pall about occasions joyous such as this, part of him wished to count his blessings and think that his daughter was returned to him out of the goodness of the exiled Prince who would count himself King and then count one more banner, likely among a sea of others.

He would if asked in the press, Mathis realized with a start. With the worry and sorrow that weighed on him, he had hedged out what little was left between attending to the needs of his fief and vowing silent vengeance for those who had taken her away one way or another, too much at once to really ponder the political realities he would soon be faced with.

Mathis Rowan wanted more than anything an explanation for why his daughter had been chosen, by the Gods or by Dragons or by the cruel whims of fate itself, why he could not have been put under trial to see what the world had in store for his House and not her, but he could not as that was, quite apparent by now, not the way of the world. All at once, he realized not even their children were exempt from fulfilling some grand purpose or destiny, whatever it may be.

"Father?" Elinor's voice was filled with worry as the lines of his weathered face deepened, he had more gray hairs than when she had last seen him two years ago, he was slower to smile, but never forgot to do so when his attention was pulled back to her, not even a single moment would he forget.

"Daughter mine," he said softly, clutching her hand tightly, "Tell me one thing. Will he save us, or damn us?" All the new foes he had heard about, ones lurking in the wilds and in the far reaches of the world, seeming to prey on all men, both the virtuous and the sinner alike, making no distinction by sound judgement who was guilty and who was not...

One might come to realize sooner or later that the Gods might not be the right answer for every occasion, not when so many things were providing answers of their own, none of them a comfort for the faint of heart.

She pondered the question long and hard, before replying at last, "He will help us learn how to save ourselves."

That was a comfort. Mathis Rowan was not faint of heart.

 

[DragonParadox]

Wanderers' Way ​

Twentieth Day of the First Month 294 AC

A bargain is struck a dozen times over, allegiance for protection in perpetuity for the sacred groves, each lord and lady of the fey to be granted the privileges and duties of a baron. Though many in the Greenwood were loath to answer to the word of mortal lords whom even the more kindly among them deemed blind and unknowing in the ways of magic and the land's secret paths, it was eventually agreed that they could bring such concerns to the Scholarum and from there would be guaranteed a royal audience in urgent matters. Thus in Sorcerer's Deep harbinger devils freed from the yoke of Mammon begin to craft a contract like yet unlike their previous fare. It would bind just as tightly lords and crown alike as any pact inked with iron and brimstone, but it was fairer by far in letter and in spirit than any of Hell's workings,

Though you know the pact will be signed, the fey of the Greenwood sworn to your banners would have to be deaf not to hear the grumbling of the wilder spirits. They would much rather have had a few days of ultimate freedom over carefully husbanded power and assured protection, and so you propose a festival in spring and one in fall to celebrate fertility and the cycles of the year if not in so unrestrained a manner as some of the satyrs and their kin might wish. Your empire's laws stand against the worst of their impulses as surely as it does against the depravities of demons or the withering touch of Abaddon.

The festivals are not to be written in the contracts of vassalage, their rules and strictures yet to be decided and changed as suits circumstances.

***​

So it is that you move from woodlands to the shore to meet those who in the songs of faerie are remembered as the Courts of the Deep, the guardians of the secret places beneath the waves where no mortal eye has ever seen. Thankfully here too you do not pass into their realm a stranger. Triton horns blow deep and sonorous, a greeting... and a song of mourning, for those you now swim to meet are not in truth the masters of the deep waters. Other darker things have long since taken their places, whom men have come to call by the same name for few but sages would know or care about the differences among those who dwell in the lightness places.

"Does it ever stop being strange to just walk into the ocean like this?" Asha asks from your right. In spite of her words you do not miss the fact that she had chosen to be here with you and Ser Richard in place of Danar and Alyssa. The journey into the east had not slaked her desire for adventure, but stoked it.

"Most things do," Ser Richard offers from your other side as he sinks into the waters of the Whispering Sound faster than any of the rest of you by virtue of his plate. "Watch out for things buried in the sand. They could bite you clean off at the knee..."

"Hey!" a small voice called from up ahead as a tinny figure emerges in a cloud of loose sand. "I resemble that!" The fey has skin the same color as the seafloor but marked with stripes that would help hide him among the swift moving shadows. His wings are more akin to the fins of shore fish, though you suspect he could fly if he had to. "The hiding part, not the biting off at the knee, you look really tough with all that ironmongery," he adds quickly.

Spoiler: Nixie

As the sprite's gaze slides to Asha he gives a charming smile. "Glad I am you did not take after him, bearer of the King's Mark. It would be a waste to hide thine beauty behind heavy iron."

Asha has clearly spent enough time around Moonsong not to be shocked at flirtation from a two foot tall sprite. "As it is a waste of my time to listen to compliments light as kelp strands on the tide."

"Ah... fair one, but the tide is not passing thing. Come, let me show you to him who has watched over it for time out of mind of thine folk," he replies.

Deeper you tread as the waters go from murky brown heavy with silt to clear cerulean under the light of the summer sky, mats of green algae pass above like clouds shading your path and all around you fey creatures great and small begin to make themselves known. You spy singers with hair of tangled kelp and satyrs' kin with horns grown long and pale as the crescent moon, a fish's tail in place of hooves, but the one who sits tangled around a throne of coral and crumbled stone is stranger by far to those who walk the drylands. In form they are something between squid and bearded worm, his face a nest of writhing tentacles. Grandfather Tide meets your gaze with eyes black as as star-strewn night reflected in deep waters.

Spoiler: Grandfather Tide

"Hail Prince of the Air, and to you also Child of Bright Mind," he whispers through the current, addressing you and the mind dragon by turn before also turning to Asha. "Glad I am to see one of your line Salt-Born, freed from the madness below."

Asha bows slightly though her hand is never far from her axe, obviously finding the company a touch more disquieting than flirtatious nixies.

"I have heard of your offer to the People of the Waves to dwell in houses of stone in the shadow of your palace," the strange fey continues, "But we are not as they are, of tide and currents born and to them bound evermore. Though we keep to the shallows we cannot linger in one place overlong lest we drown like the shark tangled in mortal nets."

"In my realm there are many coasts and many ports for you to visit if such is your way. There is strength in gathering in purpose and that strength shall be the doom of those who have taken the deep places from you."
"Your words are fair King of Two Hearts, but that alone cannot be the price of our oaths, if you would bring us to war against the scourge of the depths then we ask for protection in our wanderings as any vassal does of his lord."

What do you reply?

[] Assign flesh-forged beings to protect the various fey beings on their journeys
-[] Write in

[] Create paths of safe passages to the Endless Ocean in your realm, allowing the fey to travel further than ever before (Commitment to creating several more terminuses with access to the Plane of Water)

[] Write in

OOC: I changed out Danar and Alyssa for Asha who was free this month anyway because she plays off the sea fey much better than they do, also it makes sense IC for her to look for a bit of adventure.

 

[DragonParadox]

More than a Whisper ​

Twentieth Day of the First Month 294 AC

Most would-be vassals looking to strike a good bargain for their fealty would be at least slightly weary of being offered the company of dragon turtles, a seawyrm leading a dance of coral drakes and shadebreacher whales to name but a few of the host you name before the assembled court. The fey nod with good cheer, a symphony of sea-song seeming to burst from every throat without prompting, likely to entrance any passing ships sailing close enough across the straight.

"Wonder if that's how it got its name? The Whispering Sound I mean," Asha asks, eyes closed as she listens to the last of the fading melody. "There seem to be a lot of old things coming back that we had forgotten the kenning of."

"Perhaps, but they have never sung this song before," addressing the court once more you add. "May it be an omen of things to come, unseen and even undreamed before this day."

The fey cheer for novelty of course, for what is a tale that never changes with the ages but one already dead, but perhaps they cheer also for hope that the seas no longer hold horrors that pray on mortal and immortal alike.

***​

For all the grand uses that magic can be put to it is still a surprisingly satisfying sensation to dry your hair with a wave of your hand as soon as you reach shore, a boon you extend to your companions also of course. "You are out here meaning to talk to Reacher Lords aren't you, Your Grace?" Asha asks as her short unruly curls are briefly untangled by the arcane wind.

"That is indeed the plan, it should not take too long though, besides those already pledged in all but name to the Court of Stars there are few reasons for any lord of the Reach not to take a hand offered in friendship from Sorcerer's Deep. The Tyrells never had a strong grip on the Reach without royal support behind them and few in these lands have any reason to think fondly of the man they fought in the Usurpation, however halfhearted the attempt." Truth be told you are not sure what you find more offensive, the fact that Mace Tyrell tried to play both sides of the war by camping in front of one of the strongest keeps in Westeros, or the fact that he thought to excuse himself by reason of a missing raven.

From her expression Asha is not thinking of the rebellion however, but something farther ahead as she looks out over the water. "Could you spare a moment, Your Grace, to carry me to the Arbor?"

"The Arbor?" You can guess what business she might have there, but it is sooner than you had anticipated, much sooner. Her arrangement with Horas Redwyne would be far simpler to approach once you are King of the Seven Kingdoms in fact and not forced to move in secret lest you precipitate war.

"Lady Redwyne found out about me somehow, probably her husband not having the good sense to keep his mouth shut about the letters Horas has been sending and she... disapproves, the way the fey disapprove of bilestone I mean. This is a conversation I should be having sooner rather than later before she wears Lord Paxter down." Her expression darkens as she speaks to one only a shade less angry than one she wears in battle.

"Does Horas know you intend to speak to his mother?" you ask carefully.

"No," the word is flat and final. Then she sighs. "It's not that he would argue against it, he was horrified by the letter his mother sent, but he would insist on coming with me and playing the gallant knight even though I don't need it and it would do more harm than good to seem besotted."

What do you do?

[] Take Asha to the Arbor and move on
-[] Write in where

[] Argue against Asha going to the Arbor at this time
-[] Write in arguments

[] Travel with Asha to the Arbor and help her smooth things over

[] Write in

OOC: So you know that saying about absence making the heart grow fonder? Well Horas Redwyne's heart and other parts of him are definitely fonder, and he was perhaps a touch too enthusiastic about his marriage prospects in letters home.

 

[DragonParadox]

In King's Colors ​

Twentieth Day of the First Month 294 AC

"No matter how well or ill the conversation in the Arbor goes Horas will know that you kept him from it intentionally," you point out. "Wars have been lost and realms sundered because those involved did not converse freely. While I do not expect keeping this from Horas would end quite so poorly, it is still far preferable to be honest with those close to us."

"Now I'm going to have to wear a bloody dress or he'll feel he has to defend that, probably mentioning my axe-work in the doing," Asha sighs but she does not speak against the matter further, you suspect because you echoed her own doubts on the matter.

"You do not actually have to wear a dress, just seem to," you try to cheer her up.

"Oh yes I do, Lord and Lady Redwyne use bound spells of true sight, strong ones. They would notice the glamour even if they couldn't see through it," she replies in frustration.

"Naval colors," you muse, thinking through the hurdles ahead perhaps a little too quickly to judge by Asha's expression. "A dress would do more harm than good, you would feel ill at ease trying to play a part you have no love for, but a naval officer's garb would make it clear that you sail under my banner with all that entails."

"That I have to share the plunder?" she asks innocently. She isn't doing a very good job of it but...

"Have you been spending time around Dany?"

"Yeah, she's been curious about Yi Ti, and not the stuff that goes into reports," Asha replies. "You know..."

"Yes, I am aware no report can encapsulate the whole of a land. That does not man they shouldn't be filed," you chide in jest.

"I'd rather wear a dress," she grumbles as she carefully pats herself, standard Inquisition procedure to make sure one had not a acquired a stowaway in an unusual environment.

"You could always write up reports while in a dress," you point out, earning a briefly horrified expression at the mental image.

"At least now I know what all those devils you are hiring see in you," she counters instantly.

Ser Richard's lips might have twitched into the faintest shadow of a smile, but you would need a dragon's sight to notice.

***​

Horas is as surprised as one might have expected at the realization that Asha had intended to travel to the Arbor and he is rather embarrassed to see you involved. "I'm sure mother will come around, there's no need to..."

"Yes, I'm sure she'll stop insinuating that I spread my legs to half the sailors at the docks just on her own," the young Greyjoy scoffs, causing poor Horas to turn so red his freckles vanish into a sea of crimson, but he does not deny that his lady mother had implied just that in a letter.

Looks like you have your work cut out for you, or rather Asha does, but she is willing to take advice on how to approach the Redwynes.

How should Asha present herself the the Redwynes and persuade them of the wisdom of their son's association with her?

[] Write in

OOC: A bit of character interaction, it's been a while since we saw Viserys and Asha together so I figured it was worth showing a bit of that with the banter while also exploring a bit how her character has changed.

 

[Crake]

New Machine, Old Dilemma
​

Twenty-First Day of the First Month 294 AC

Eastern Flatlands

Lieutenant Morrigan trotted at a canter until they slowed toward the edge of the rise, a full column of Legionnaires moving steadily downwards by way of the newly stone-carved slope. A mage raised a hand without looking and an arrow shattered upon a plane of invisible force, the other hand holding a scroll rapidly burning away into the aether.

The Legion Officer watched the silver-haired man turn it into a dispassionate yet fluid set of arcane movements, a hissing, almost reptilian lilt to the following incantation. A bright spot briefly streaked across the sky before a crevice nearby erupted into a grand blaze, shrill screams rapidly cut off as even the very air in their lungs must have ignited. "Clear!" He called in High Valyrian, then repeated it in the Common Tongue by the Westerosi reckoning. Morrigan nodded, and the mage half-jogged down the slope himself.

Morrigan squinted, then raised his Myrish spyglass bearing enchantments for clear sight and fidelity. "Blue Hawk, this is Morningstar. Open Way, forwarding details of the target. Two hundred men on foot, or dismounted. You're looking for woodland, it's between the depressions at the edge of the woodland, thirty-degrees west, four hundred yards out from the Column. Confirm?"

"Blue Hawk, Closed Path. Confirm," came the reply from the pouch of obsidian sand worn on a pouch about his neck.

"From there, about that far again to the north, you'll see a stand of trees. Confirm?"

"Confirm."

Morrigan shifted his sight and took in the clever bastards who thought they could ambush their outriders given the opportunity, but they were really rather well organized... their equipment was far too professional, and there were a disconcerting number of auras there. Not quite an ocean or he would be sending that information to his Captain and likely the whole Column would grind to a halt momentarily to reassess their approach.

"Now six hundred yards northeast. That grove is false. Confirm?"

"Morningstar, Clarity, illusionary structure on site?"

"Confirm."

"Understood, Blue Hawk confirms all details. Solution?"

"Engage with half-mixture incendiaries and explosive shells, clustered bomblets upon any massed enemy formation which is revealed."

"Acknowledged, Morningstar, engaging." Morrigan watched from half a mile away as the distinctive booming noise of a flight of Wyverns traveling far faster than any dragon on the wing dived through the air faster than the enemy could possibly react before their speed tapered off as they began engaging the spot in the forest he had marked down, showering them with all sorts of alchemical munitions.

A minute later they came around for another pass, and the tell-tale explosions of their bomb bays releasing a payload put paid to most of them, he imagined, and made the enemy's location apparent to all with ears to hear it. A cluster of Outriders broke off from the column in a smooth display of coordination, seamlessly forming up and preparing to run the survivors down. The four aircraft buzzed the moving column, who let out a brief cheer, but kept moving undeterred. The sight had become somewhat routine over the past month.

"Blue Hawk, Open Path. Enemy eliminated. Standing by."

***​

"This... doesn't paint a good picture," the Lieutenant pointed out to his commanding officer, Captain Norro grunting in reply but offering little else. The pair ducked into the command pavilion, the field headquarters crowded by a table bearing the General's Anchor, hosting an illusory display of the campaign theater.

"Keep quiet," the Captain said softly, and Morrigan took up a position along the edges with some of the more junior officers invited into the meeting. Norro stepped forward and halted at General Torchwood's side, a muted and harsh conversation passing between the two in whispers.

"Fuck," the Lord General swore, "You're certain?"

"It's that, or we're being baited in." Norro shrugged, not perturbed in the slightest at possibly angering man in overall command of three Legions and associated assets charged with pacifying the region, surveying all irregularities and eliminating any brigands or enemies discovered therein.

"I don't know if we should be insulted or flattered by the fucking welcome," Gerold Torchwood groused, leaning forward onto the table. A silver-armored woman stepped forward and changed something on the Anchor, focusing the display.

"Is it Norvos or Qohor, a misdirection of some sort?" The man turned his attention onto her, but she turn toward him or shift her focus entirely away from the map, leveling it out until it became apparent what she had in mind.

"If there's anyone competent left in either Free City who isn't just as insane as they are cunning, cultists or acolytes from yet another forgotten discipline or cabal of sorcerers... back in the War we did not content ourselves, nor distract others, with vagaries based on conjecture alone." The woman held a slightly amused tone when she spoke the word, after a fashion it might have been a jest... or as close to it as she ever got.

"I need to act within my remit and based upon what I know, Iziah," the General replied in a put-upon fashion, drily continuing, "Not everyone here has continuous True Sight."

"That sounds like an excuse," she challenged with a hint of a smile.

Gerold barked a laugh, before turning his attention back to the display, features carved from stone. Eventually he spoke up again, "Burn it."

"What?" One of the colonels seemed surprised.

"I'm not going to play cat and mouse for two more months, and any damage we do here can be fixed later, that still puts me well within my remit and I doubt the King wants us wasting our time here flushing out rats from the grass instead of actually accomplishing something of actual substance. The villages have been cleared out as of a week ago, their inhabitants all on the road miles away from here. Put an open call on everything from Purple Point to Sourrush, that entire forest--"

"All of it?" The red-winged woman, Iziah, didn't sound disapproving, exactly, but she did dare to interrupt.

Gerold nodded slowly, lips pursing, then repeated the order to the Captain of the Dawnstar, and a runner was already carrying his command to the Harbinger and its merry dance of Heralds.

Gerold noted the woman's look, his own a tad exasperated. Morrigan did not miss the roll of his eyes, even from where he stood. "Our scouts have spent more time pushing everyone truly uninvolved out of the area--or unimportant enough as to dismiss from interrogation--everyone who could be caught up in it."

"And for those who won't make it out in time?" She challenged subtly, not seeming perturbed by the notion at all, but almost testing the command to a degree.

"We've made it obvious by now what we're here for," he said grimly. "Everyone remaining in that area is a collaborator or an enemy."

"To the pyre they go, then." She vanished in a puff of brimstone.

 

[DragonParadox]

By Strange Tides​

Twentieth Day of the First Month 294 AC

Lady Mina Redwyne neé Tyrell had long since mastered any twitch of the face or hesitation in the eye that might give away surprise at ill news, or that which was merely unexpected, if that made a difference in these days when tragedy and ruin seemed to be visited upon all right-thinking lords without warning. She had buried her son after he'd been killed by monsters out of some sick tale, then she had seen him live again after playing a price she didn't wholly understand but knew she did not trust.

Yet all that did not stop her heart starting in surprise when she heard the servant calling her to Paxter's study 'at her earliest convenience'. That was how he put it when the matter was truly urgent but he did not want to inform the staff or anyone else of the matter. Another letter from Horas maybe, having finally come to his senses? Too much to hope for, the lady sighed inwardly, though neither did her breathing nor her stride shift for a moment.

The Lady of the Arbor glanced into the ivory backed mirror to set the pearl-studded hairnet ever so slightly just in case it was company.

***​

There was a Greyjoy in the keep and wonder of wonders it wasn't on fire or being looted, the thought came to mind in what sounded suspiciously like her mother's voice. Olenna Tyrell would probably have said it aloud too, but Mina was rather more busy trying to take in the girl in polished chainmail and dragon's colors sitting across from her. Duchess Asha Greyjoy, Captain of the His Imperial Majesty's Ship the Hunter's Moon.

It should have sounded like the kind of nonsense a child would babble or perhaps a conman looking to fool the gullible but for the fact that said 'Imperial Majesty' was sitting just to her right, between Horas and the grim-faced knight who introduced himself as Ser Richard Lonmouth. Viserys Targaryen for his part looked every inch worth the grandiose title, from the Valyrian Steel crown on his brow to the fine black boots adorned with silver tracery. Though if she had to be the one to give him one title it would have been Sorcerer King, between the cloak of golden scales that flowed as though alive, the staff of weirwood and the rings glittering with the light of otherworldly gems he seemed to have just stepped out of some fanciful illustration of bygone times.

The Lady of the Arbor was no fool, she knew Greyjoys were not to be dismissed out of hand, like some who had the fortune to live far from the sea or great rivers, as foolish as dismissing a plague that blew in from the Sunset Sea, but that did not mean Mina wanted some trollop who had taken up her ancestor's bloody axe the first chance she got rather than be grateful for a civilized fostering in her son's bed. The thought was shaken by the mere presence of the Dragon here, his support obvious though he had hardly given anything besides words of greeting and expected pleasantries.

"Fair lands you have here, my lord and lady," the girl said motioning out the window. "Horas told me about them, but even the words of a man who clearly loved them could not do them justice."

"Some of your ancestors thought so too I gather," Mina said sweetly. The sharpest needles were dripped in honey. If she claimed all that was gone and done there was always the savagery of her own father to bring up.

Her sea-grey eyes flashed with anger, but her tone was even. "I said the words without greed or rancor, truly the Ironborn would have been wiser to tend the land and trade with their neighbors and turned their axes towards those who deserve it."

"And who do you judge deserves an ironborn axe across the neck?" Paxter asked. He didn't sound accusing, but it was clear he wouldn't abide weaseling out.

"Slavers like I've been killing over the past years," the Greyjoy shrugged. "Monsters... aye there's some monsters out there that deserve to be ticked by Ironborn axes." The anger that flashed across her face then was far deeper than mere frustration, almost enough to make Mina sink a little deeper into her seat. She couldn't practically hear her mother hiss at her that no daughter of hers would slouch.

"You can hardly expect to finance a fief with prize money no matter how generous His Grace is," Paxter said trying to flatter the king, not that it seemed to do affect the dragon to judge from his carefully neutral expression and nod simply acknowledging the point.

"No, of course not, there's been a tax on Ironborn stupidity since time out of mind, a tax paid not only in warriors' blood but starving children as well in lean years. We have to trade and seek common ground and we need better plans to grow than some bullsh- er, nonsense about paying the Iron Price." The girl didn't even blush at her near-curse. Shameless.

Still, Mina admitted she was saying all the right things, probably because she had at least as much sense as to listen to Horas in this, but Gods alone knew if she would keep doing it after... Why am I even thinking of this?

That was when the girl pulled out a large pile of parchments, no Yi Tish paper, out of a magic bag, all of them filled with plans, so many plans, ledgers and portfolios of some of the people who could greatly ease setting up new industries in the Iron Islands, as well as raw numbers like the amount of acreage in farmland that could be set up for cash crops and vineyards, forests and grains, all using rich volcanic soil and magic..

It was about two hours into that discussion that Mina realized she would likely have to organize a wedding where the bride insisted on being armed after all, not that she was going to say so much aloud all at once, but this 'plan' of Horas' might not be a complete disaster if the Crown were wiling to be as involved in the whole matter as the king's presence here implied.

"Excellent, I look forward to working closely with you my lady, though not as much as Horas is I'm sure," Paxter chuckled.

For all her self-control Mina Redwyne could not keep back the smallest of eyerolls. At least Horas had the grace to look embarrassed.

What next?

[] Receive a report
-[] The dead of Ghoyan Drohe
-[] Yi Ti financial results
-[] Ghiscari Investigation
-[] Reach fey-pact research
-[] Write in

[] Continue with Viserys
-[] Write in

[] Write in

OOC: I had Viserys take on more of a background role here since the idea of the vote was to have Asha deal with matters with help and not do it for her, still his presence had quite an effect on the proceedings.

 

[DragonParadox]

Mists of the Past ​

Seventh Day of the First Month 294 AC

Ghoyan Drohe, New City

Like many places in the growing empire, Ghoyan Drohe was a city built amid the ruins. Colonists had set about with a will to dredge canals and raise stilts and platforms from the soft water loving woods while the stones of ancient works choked in greenery was being was dragged down with rocks and clever pulleys to build homes and shops, schools and healers' halls. The only thing they haven't quite gotten a handle on are the mosquitoes, Valaena thought as she watched swarms of buzzing pests rise from pools along the sluggish waters of the Little Rhoyne. Thank Sea, Snake and Tree Mercy thought to bring that alchemist's paste or the things would've eaten us all alive before the ghosts could get at us.

The fire of a small temple of the Lord of Light burned crimson against the darkening sky, the priest tending to it already waiting for them, cups of steaming peppermint tea at the ready. The priest was the most senior accredited mage in the city, having dabbled in ritual magic even before the awakening, mostly in glamour and divination as most had in those days.

"So about these blood curdling wraiths of yours," Shara began with a smile board and stylus already in hand. "Any distinguishing features besides having woken up on the wrong side of the bed after someone smashed the wrong pot in their tomb? Something that can tell us where they come from, maybe what they want...?"

"The dead envy the living and grasp at their warmth," the priest sighed, apparently not appreciating the good cheer. "Much as it might pain us to heap more pain upon those who have already suffered so much, I fear there is only one way of ensuring this city can live in peace."

"And the poor envy the rich and some among their number would do them harm if they could, that does not mean we should be going around killing beggars," Mercy pointed out dryly.

"The dead have already stolen life from those who first came upon them in their tomb," the priest pointed out, though he sounded less certain than before.

"The same folk who were probably trying to steal their grave goods," Valaena pointed out. "I'm not one to say they shouldn't have been down there. I've been in their place, hells the King has been in their place, but if you go down into a tomb with a torch and a sack you're taking your chances with whatever is down there."

Argo huffed affirmatively, his breath almost putting out the candle set between them and the priest.

"Wise words," the R'hllorite said after a moment. "I had heard inquisitors could be strange folk, but I had not thought..." He shook his head, obviously not inclined to echo whatever rumors he had heard about inquisitors. It obviously could not have been too bad given their welcome, Valaena reasoned, but maybe he thought they were more inclined to err on the side of conflict than negotiations.

"We are not with the Inquisition, just here to investigate under royal command," the young Velaryon explained smoothly. Shara actually was an inquisitor, but the sort of cheerfully excitable persona she had adopted was far from what most folk thought an inquisitor would look like.

The priest nodded, steepling his hands together in thought. "They come with the fog from the river, not always at the same hour but often the third hour after midnight. Sometimes they are barely more than a shimmer in the air, but if any should draw too close, especially those of Valyrian blood, they become horrors fit to terrify man and beast alike."

"Wait," Mercy asked slowly. "You are saying these wraiths do not frighten beasts as a matter of course? Odd..."

"Could you direct us to any witnesses who survived, particularly ones with any knowledge of magic and spirits themselves?" Shara interjected, apparently unconcerned that she might be a target for wrathful ghosts

"Certainly," the priest replied, continuing with an account of which of the local temple goers had encountered the vengeful dead and where. On the one hand the fact that they liked to roam along the thread of the Little Rhoyne made ambushing the spirits difficult, but on the other at least there were plenty of eyewitness accounts to sift through.

What do they investigators on the spot do for the first week while they wait for Xor to join them?

[] Interview Witnesses

[] Investigate the broken tombs
-[] At a distance, through historical accounts and divination
-[] In person, enter the tombs

[] Set up a system whereby a group of false ravens flies patterns over the city to try and find the ghosts' location each night

[] Write in

OOC: Xor is by far the most skilled mage in this company so no one is going to try to force a confrontation without him.