Part MMMDCXLV: Of Bronze and Lead
Of Bronze and Lead

Twenty Ninth Day of the Second Month 294 AC

You set the parchment with the latest reports from the Feywild aside with a sigh of annoyance you feel no need to stifle for once since there is none but Varys to hear and she already knows you mind as well as you do. "Will you then bribe the gods to aid you against their lesser kin?" she asks, heedless of the fact that both parties so named would take offense at her words.

"Likely so," you reply ordering your thoughts. "Doing it another way would be too much like trying to take keeps by assault in the old way, victory paid in a river of blood and a mountain of treasure at best."

"Yet to unleash doom from afar fueled by the Death of Ruin will not be without cost, their lords will likely take notice," she replies, rising sightly from her perch on the windowsill to look at you in askance. "Do you trust that another of the Great Fiends will be as foolish as Mammon?"

"No," you admit. "But I would rather face a Power in a time and place of my own choosing than in the heart of their domain surrounded by their armies."

Before your familiar can reply the study door slides open to let in Anu, accompanied by the soft white light of the hallway lanterns. Once you might have struggled to read a face of forged bronze rather than flesh, but now you have no issue distinguishing the scores of clues in his posture and expression. He does not look pleased with himself. "I am afraid, my lord, that it is practically impossible to prevent the efreeti from making use of the Grey Veil in their attacks in the region, from what we have discovered at least."

"How so?" you prompt, motioning to a chair. You are careful to keep any hint of perceived judgement from your tone. Anu and his colleagues in this have done more than enough to compensate for one dead end study, especially since it had been one you had your doubts about to begin with in regards to more ambitious applications.

The warforged sits with a clank of metal on wood, "It is simple enough to design a short range countermeasure to push back the cloud of lead, the trouble is that the effect does not scale efficiently and the distances are vast. Wisdom Beryl thought she might design a projector of sort to strip the protection against divination and that might see limited use, but if you already know roughly where the enemy is than the worst threat of the veil is no more."

"I don't suppose you made any progress on replicating the effect then?" you only half-ask. If they had succeeded Anu would have lead with that. The ability to make entire demiplanes resist to divination is tempting almost beyond words.

"We did after a manner, but it is not practical." At that the artificer unrolls a scroll of arcane symbols and calculations before you.

"Wild magic," you note running a finger over the line of script in Beryl's hand, still halfway between Lya's looping hand and the strict even lettering of military communications. "Wild magic turned against itself by planar confluence. You could not add this to a demiplane without leaving it to collapse in a matter of weeks or even days."

A Baleful Mirage Progress 38/60 : Minor gains made. Information shared with your allies

As Anu leaves your solar your thoughts turn to another scholar and how he might find his new position. What do you wish to lean from Marwyn?

[] Write in

OOC: Some poor rolls on an already marginal project. Hope it's not too disappointing.
 
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Part MMMDCXLVI: Chains of Gold
Chains of Gold

Twenty Ninth Day of the Second Month 294 AC

Archmaester Marwyn takes his seat with the barest amount of formality required of him and not a hint of hesitation to the motion, obviously untroubled by what you may have learned of his comings and goings this past month, though some of them might have been troubling to a more cautious liege. According the city's Office of Land, he had acquired a modest townhouse with a large basement that could easily be made into an arcane laboratory and then proceeded to borrow books from the Scholarum and acquire reagents through Silver Serpent middlemen from Armun Kelisk.

For anyone in possession of both lists, which you assume he had wanted to make public, the former archmaester's interests are obvious if a peculiar combination; the history of the deep past, the Age of Dawn most of all, astrology, and weather working. The pieces are not hard to put together with your mind turning to the farthest North in the wake of Rina's transformation. Understanding, perhaps even reversing, the unbalancing of the seasons long ago. You cannot fault the man for his ambition, though you wish he would express himself within the Scholarum's structures rather than in private workings. The Citadel would not have encouraged seeking collaboration as a first reaction in such matters, that much you know from Qyburn. And unlike Qyburn, you are not in the possession of a treasure beyond price where his interests are concerned.

"I assume you can guess why you have been summoned here?" you ask with a wry smile that stops just short of being friendly, congenial you would call it. This is not a man who would trust fast friends.

"You wish to know what I know about the Citadel, about the Lannisters, and all other lore I possess, yes," he replies. His own smile may not add much charm to his battered face, but there is a slyness in his eyes you appreciate. "I have spoken to others you recruited under similar circumstances."

"Well then, I would hate to be predictable. Start with the Lannisters." Your jest startles a laugh from him.

"Not much like your father are you, Your Grace?"

"I will take that as the compliment it is no doubt intended to be by anyone who had the misfortune to meet Aerys Targaryen, Second of his Name," you reply, making a mental note to never ask Marwyn to to play the diplomat.

"About the Lannisters then, Lanna," He pauses a moment, collecting his thoughts. "She was my student once, or near enough as to make no difference. I still spoke to her as one mage to another as recently as half a year ago. I fear she is too much a creature of her birth and standing, for all the streak of rebelliousness that sent her into the wide world. She heeds Lord Lannister because she does not trust herself, does not trust her husband. This is not the blind fear of the grey sheep, who see magic as a flame burning away the world rather than part of it. How could it be?"

"But?" you prompt. You cannot deny that of all the Lannister plans, you have been most curious as to what could keep the new lord and Lady of Castamere wedded to Tywin's cause. They must know it's hopeless by now.

"There are checks on a lord's power, his vassals, his people, his neighbors. There are no checks upon a sorcerer lord's, or so she believes after having seen the wreck of Valyira. A system that hinges upon a single lever shall break upon that lever, after having learned of the Empire That Was before all Empires." The mage's gaze pierces yours measuring. "If an empire built upon Heaven's own foundations could break with it, then why not one built upon the powers of dragons?"

There is something to the tone that makes you suspect it is not only Lanna's question being asked. Marwyn will serve you for his own reasons, that you do not doubt, but this is a man who wishes to understand where he stands. And perhaps one who is not wholly bereft of subtlety.

What do you reply?

[] Write in

OOC: Not a lot of substance to this chapter I'm afraid. My cold just got worse today (still no fever though). Hopefully it's nothing, but I'm starting to seriously consider getting a test tomorrow, just to be sure, and to get a doctor to look at whatever the hell this is if it's not that. Apologies for getting all this stuff here, I know people come here to relax not stress about the pandemic.
 
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Part MMMDCXLVII: Paths of Power
Paths of Power

Twenty Ninth Day of the Second Month 294 AC

You consider your answer carefully. It seems absurd on the face of it, especially from one as learned and well traveled as Marwyn. On the other side of the coin perhaps he is not sure if you understand the mechanisms of your own empire and their implications fully. No matter how many deeds you performed nor how bright you shine to mage-sight you are yet only eight and ten, and youth is often assumed to be headlong.

"The idea that a sorcerer lord's power is wholly unrestrained is laughable," you reply in a measured manner, turning the sphere of healing magic by which you pay the price of wishes in your hand, the light of sorcery playing between your fingers for emphasis. "A knight in heavy armor surrounded by his men-at-arms might be nothing compared to a powerful mage, but to the smallfolk they are equally unassailable in their personal power. Yet evidence shows that the knight can't rule by fear alone, no matter how many have tried to do so. His power to compel others to act by force is limited by the reach of his blade. Likewise, the sorcerer is limited by what spells he can threaten his subjects with. To rule like this is to rule over slaves who will only obey as long as the whip is cracked at them, and the state of Essos and Slaver's Bay shows how well such systems work."

"So the Imperial Times writes to great acclaim," the archmaester replies wryly. "Yet a student of history cannot help but note that slavery has existed for as long as there have been men to practice it upon their fellows. If all tyrants were doomed to failure of malfunction than it would not be so much the way of the world."

"And do those realms seem well suited to face the world as it now is, Wisdom?" you ask in like tone. "To rule means to act in accordance with an often unspoken consensus between those governing and those governed. The governed will obey the commands of the governing as long as those are seen as legitimate in the frame of a societal agreements. A legionnaire obeys his officer because the officer has been imbued with the royal authority to give his commands. A citizen will obey the lawmen because they have been imbued with the authority to enforce the laws. But this authority rests on the royal power being seen as legitimate by the governed and the system can only work as long as that is given."

"An age of silver..." the archmaester muses under his breath. At your curious look he adds. "An old prophecy from the Whispering Stones of Asabhad, like as not nonsense or worse as most such things are, but the mind still enjoys idly teasing out meanings." Taking on a tone of practiced recitation that you imagine did not see much use in the Citadel's lecture halls he continues:

An age of silver will rise from old flame and tarnished gold
Fruits of blood from the tree of knowledge falling
Blade thrice reforged cuts through the cold
Ware thee the storm from the poisoned seas rising

"I imagine you can guess that it is no mere chill it refers to, but the first line is generally held to refer to a new age from the ashes of the Empire of Dawn. I begin to wonder if its meaning might not be more obscure and more prosaic all at once. Silver is a metal from which men strike coin, worth no more than they are willing to pay for it, yet by that does the world turn."

You nod, consigning the verse to memory and making a note to ask for a copy of the original verse. Prophecy does not bind one's fate, but it may yet illuminate an unnoticed peril in the darkness ahead. Instead you continue on to less mystical though certainly not less important matters: "The Imperium works because both the absorbed governments and the population of these entities have been convinced that the actions of the Imperium at large are beneficial to them, the laws just and their application fair. If the people assumed that the lawmen were enforcing the laws unfairly, they would disobey them. If they thought the courts ruled unfairly, they would avoid the judgement of the courts. If they thought the orders of their leader were not in their own interest, they would see to subvert and twist them. Force can be used to force compliance anyway, but said force requires compliance in turn. A sorcerer lord can't stand behind every lawman, every court and every governor to back up their orders with violence. Those institutions would be worthless if that had to be done. A sorcerer is not a god."

"And even a god is not a god, or at least not in the way most of the faithful see them, eh?" A brief smile pulls at the archmaester's rough features, making him look if anything even more like the kind of person who would not be out of place in Drowned Town shaking down shopkeepers for protection money. Having actually done so yourself you can hardly disapprove. "Tywin Lannister seeks to move priests upon his board, you would move Powers that rule them."

"I prefer to think of it as a mutually beneficial alliance," you temporize. "Trying to manipulate such entities is foolish, seeing to both their interests and the realm's is only good sense."

"At least you did not say common sense," Marwyn offers, soft enough not to interrupt though clearly wishing to be heard. The years of being the least favored archmaester in the Citadel have honed quite the sardonic wit. In a more normal tone he adds, "One might worry at where the interests of inhuman and vastly powerful beings will turn should the day come when you can no longer mediate the alliance."

You give him the first truly surprised look of the meeting. Was he not the one with the reputation for going to sailors' temples and conversing with foreign priests as much as hedge witches?

Reading your expression the archmaester replies simply, "I have no quarrels with priests that do not seek quarrels with me. The few times I have encountered true vessels of divine will... they have been less congenial."

That you can well imagine, recalling some of Zherys' tales about Qohor. Most powers who remained able to touch the world at the nadir of magic would not have been as pleasant to interact with as the Old Gods. "You have spoken to Yss..." It was not a question, Marwyn had entered the temple sanctum publicly two weeks ago.

"And I have found Him fascinating, yet the same alien nature would make him difficult for others to deal with, the same could be said of the Gods to Stone, Tree and Stream..."

"And do you imagine Tywin lannister or anyone who might follow in his footsteps would do better?" you interject.

"No, no, of course not," he waves the matter aside as he would a buzzing fly. "I was speaking of Lanna again. I fear sharing some of my experiences may have inadvertently poisoned the well there, if the devils, Deep Ones and stranger things did not." He shifts sightly in his seat. "Few mistake the meaning of the first word in the Golden Shields, but it is too easy to forget the second. I suspect the attachment to familiar values and traditional authority of lord and land is born in no small measure from seeing such horrors trying to tear them down."

"So they, the Shields, Lanna, think of me a alien and inscrutable, or at least the herald of such?" You let some of your disbelief show. "I have literally spread both my history and my hopes for the future throughout Lannisport in secret. Short of personally sneaking the Imperial Times into the bedroom at Castamere I do not see how I could be better known."

"Change, true, and sweeping change can be a terror of its own," the archmaester sighs. "Half a year ago I thought she was beginning to change her mind. She visited Sorcerer's Deep you know, then Myr just as the mirrors proclaimed the annexation of Braavos, but then she turned on her heel, grew more secretive from those outside the Shields. I imagine she thinks she has a chance to preserve the old world, something about those dragons they are force growing like herbs in a glass garden. Madness...."

"Perhaps it is poor form for me to say, but yes I would not pit a dragon against the Moonchaser even Balerion himself," you nod.

"They are not trying to use the dragons," Marywn replies to your surprise. "That is a lie for Baratheon."

That much you can believe. Robert Baratheon is no more king to Tywn Lannister these days than Aenys Targaryen was to Maegor. "What are the Lannisters planning then?" you ask

"Sacrifice and blood forging, crafting a weapon, an engine of sorcery bathed in the blood of dragons, invested with the purpose, the will to slay them, for all the good it will do them now," the archmaester replied, drawing a parchment from your desk and a stylus from his robes. "Here, let me show you how to get to the dragons and their forge. It would be a pity to let all that go to waste..."

There is a hint of veiled sorrow in Marwyn's gaze, but his hand does not shake as lines flow under his hand.

OOC: And this is where I have to put a cut and continue in an informational post simply because it would take too much space to write all he knows about the Golden Shields in narrative form and this is already a sizable update.
 
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Interlude DCCCXCIX: The Order of the Golden Shields Part One
The Order of the Golden Shields Part One

History: Founded a little over four years ago following the return of the Laughing Lion from its journey to Valyria the Golden Shields were designed from the ground up not as a mysterious cult or an institution of learning, but as a means to police and control emerging magic, to direct those adept in its use against malevolent Powers and the dynastic foes of House Lannister. It's first year was marked with scandal, not least from vassal lords too cowardly to face Tywin Lannister yet who found his younger brother and new scandalous bride much easier targets.

Partly through human folly and partly through infernal meddling, the issues were amplified when several hedge mages taken into service were found using their powers attempting to blackmail important Westerlander lords. I know not the precise identity of the lords involved, only that they were discreet or frightened enough of Lord Lannister to keep the matter from becoming public. Regardless, the incident would have ended with five swift executions were it not for the fact that one of the plotters, who had been apparently been acting in ignorance of his companion's motives, had thrown himself upon his teacher's mercy.

At that point, as one might expect, the Old Lion would accept nothing less than a geas-bound oath, and so the Circles of Oaths were born.

Organization: The outermost circle of the Golden Shields is that of the Dutiful Apprentices and minor spell-casters, those lacking the power to cause significant harm even should they wish to. To advance in rank to Guardian one must either accept a geas for however long it is deemed suitable or prove oneself loyal and skilled enough that one is allowed to advance to Assessor, the Third Circle. The fourth and final circle comprises the Honorbound who bear no geas, though show their honesty in swearing oaths to lord and crown, meaning the former far more than the latter is verified by arcane means.

Training: While the Golden Shields do teach sorcery, alongside strategy, diplomacy and a host of other skills important in carrying the Lannister banner, most of their most skilled mages are awoken using a mechanism that draws on the planar energies of the Deep Earth beneath the Rock. I have had but a brief amount of time to study it, even that was hard bargained, but the focus seems to be a combination of genie-craft and ancient altar of learning discovered on the spot. While most of those woken are sorcerers, later honed by experience to be roughly on par with Scholarum graduates, six of these mages have learned how to tap into the deep wellspring of knowledge and lore which Lanna herself tapped, though none of them are her equal.

Numbers: The Golden Shields count roughly three hundred mages worth the name, two thirds of those among the Dutiful; hedge mages, healers and minor artisans mostly who should be easy enough to incorporate into the Scholarum after the conquest. Guardians make up about four fifths of the final hundred; better trained, equipped and possessing many skills that allow them to function with limited or no support, whether that be exploring an ancient barrow or gathering information at court. In many ways the final twenty are trained to mirror Lanna and Gerion, who experienced traveling across the world. Looking back on the matter I suspect the drive to create mages of many talents may have cost them dearly in the end.

OOC: Don't worry guys, this won't be like the fey, part two will include weapons and we are done.
 
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Interlude DCCCC: The Order of the Golden Shields Part Two
The Order of the Golden Shields Part Two

Weapons and Plans: The plans of the Golden Shields, such as I have been able to ascertain, hinge upon the notion that they will be able to force a confrontation over Lannisport either by inflicting enough damage upon any invasion force or by the symbolic value of taking the Rock. One suspects this strategy is based, at least in part, on the Lannister conviction that the Empire is fragile in the absence of its ruler. They are still hoping to play Cyvasse, kill the king and the rest will crumble.

The dragon-slayer construct itself is not something I have personally witnessed in action, but I have spoken with those who did, and thus gained some insight into its mechanisms. It makes use of the connection of Valyrian dragonblood, be it dragonlord or lesser beast, to an ancient curse of death and ruin. Thus, it is preternaturally protected against not only fang, claw and fire, but also any magic one of dragon blood might cast. Further, its own attacks cut deep into blood and bone, even into the mind of any dragon it strikes. I distinctly recall one argument between Lanna and her goodbrother as to whether any dragons struck down by the latter would be driven to a berserk rage or to flight. Tywin preferred the former thinking that mad dragons would cause more damage to their own allies as well as giving him more political fodder in the aftermath of victory, where Lanna eventually prevailed in making the curse one of flight so as not to risk harm to Lannisport.

Expect use of wands, staves, and elemental engines such as one might find in the Wars of the Three Spheres as well as alchemical and arcane explosions to seal off any breaches as enemy forces storm the Rock. The knights who trained alongside the Golden Shields can be expected to hold their own against the best Legion champions and perhaps even some flesh-forged beings, though the weight of dead bodies should grind them down. I would not be surprised to find that certain traps were rigged to bring down the entirety of the Rock to deny it to enemies as a last gambit. It seems suitably petty for a man as in love with his own self-made image of invincible ruthlessness as Tywin Lannister. One would hope Lanna would not go along with such a loss of lives, lore, and potential, but sadly I cannot be certain of that.

Potential Infiltration Routes: Although navigating the innermost chambers of the Rock or Castamere would not be easy for an invader, there are of course means of bypassing the defenses, there have to be in order for the Golden Shields to function on a day to day basis. The members as well as any visitors brought this far use Tokens of Passage bound to their blood and soul. I am still in possession of my own token, and while my access may now be rescinded I am confident I can work out how to create a skeleton key of sorts given enough time and perhaps access to genie enchanters who would be familiar with the tradition.

Fallback and Flight: The Golden Shields have no plans that I know of to continue resistance after an eventual conquest of the Westerlands. To plan for that would be to plan for defeat and the fall of House Lannister. That said, mages who have been selected for loyalty as well as skill may well take it upon themselves to make such plans, particularly in light of the rumors circulating about your rule among them. The Sisters of Battle in your ranks are known to them, though Lanna herself does not believe you have made a pact with Hell to gain their services and neither does her closest circle, rumors to that nature are common among the Dutiful. The experience of dealing with devils has left many of them leery of even a whiff of brimstone.

What next?

[] Write in

OOC: The part about targeting the dragons' minds sounds to Viserys like a sort of supped-up Feeblemind using the curse on the Valyrian Reds as a template. It might be one of those things that can punch through otherwise absolute defenses like mind blank.
 
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Part MMMDCXLVIII: Company of Rogues
Company of Rogues

Twenty Ninth Day of the Second Month 294 AC

From what you learned of Marwyn's account of the founder of the Golden Shields she is not one you can afford to have at your back alive, thus you resolve to see her dead and ensure she remains so. Easier said than done of course given what you have learned of the fortress that is Casterly Rock, but there never was a fortress without a few weak points and you know just who to ask about them...

When you enter the temple of Yss the vessel does not rise from the waters as he has done every other time. According to a somewhat nervous-seeming Relor, Yss had business to attend to on other realms, though what that might be the former gambler turned priest does not know. Whether his nervousness stems from contemplating what might drive a god-in-flesh to act or the fact that he must be the vessel for a divination when he is not yet anywhere near knowledgeable enough to pray for himself you do not know.

The voice of the priest drops to a low hiss that seems to echo through your mind as much as through the still air of the chamber, but it is still recognizably his own as he offers answers one after another. Two words only does he speak, but what a difference two words can make.

You learn that no alarm would be raised if a being burrowed through the warded area under the Rock so long as they did not burrow through the ward-line or create a tunnel larger than eighteen inches in diameter behind them. Further, the wards wrought by the First Men long ago would trigger instantly at the presence of beings touched by the Far Realm and the unliving, however Qyburn's soul-forged dead and Xor with his talisman would not trigger them, and there is no ancient ward against devils or others of the Outer Spheres.

There are also mercenaries to be found in the deep places of the Rock and Castamere alike, about a hundred janni and a dozen shaitan who would rather take Lannister coin for guard duty than risk themselves in the War of Thee Spheres, though they are not all present at all items. Unfortunately, there are no portals unguarded, though you suppose you should also thank the diligence that there are no perils in the area on either side of the planar rift that would add dangerous wildcards to the battle.

Though the Lannisters had long since mapped out the area under the Rock comprehensively, there aren't as many checkpoints as you might have feared. Once an infiltrator is past the wards it is only the more secret and restricted halls that have any additional protection; the library, the laboratories and the armory as much as the Hall of Singing Stone where sorcerers of the deep earth are made. Lastly you discover that over the whole five mile network of tunnels surrounding the Rock there is no spell or enchantments that would prevent molds from conversing freely, being as they are creatures of the Green Dream as much as of death.

Yss' absence does make your other task today a touch more difficult. There is nothing quite like a god of life and death in his domain to make even devils quail at the thought of swearing false oaths. But given the nature of their rebellion from Hell and the danger that any lingering loyalties to Asmodeus might pose, Zathir is willing to play the part of witness. Three more join the Sisters of Vengeance in your service and almost a score more prisoners are safely sealed away.

New Subjects:
3 Erinyes (Former Servants of Mammon)

New Prisoner (Former Servants of Asmodeus unless noted):
1 Ashmede
9 Gaavs (2 unaffiliated)
2 Imps
5 Salikotals
2 Ink Devils

***​

You are not sure if Marwyn can smell the lingering brimstone on your robes or perhaps see the fading reflection of Zathir's light in your aura, but he gives you a very deliberate look when you meet again that evening. Whatever the case the former archmaester is full of tales of both his deeds and those of his companions. From the defeating of a hooded man before he could slip back into the realm of the Lady in the guise of an infant to bargaining with the specter of an ancient shadowbinder for his lore only to give it True Death when it sought to betray him, Marwyn's exploits paint a picture of a man who did not hesitate to wade into the darker aspects of magic for power and especially for knowledge.

You get the sense that for all his disdain for 'grey sheep' Marwyn's interest in restoring the seasons in particular and the Age of Dawn in general is rooted in a desire to prove wrong the detractors who claimed magic could never truly improve the lot of the world in the way other fields like healing, architecture or smithcraft could. Though the very notion is absurd on the face of it, of course magic could be as valuable as any mundane field, it could be anything the mind could imagine, you well understand how the stings and burdens of one's youth could shape the present.

Of greater note than past exploits is what Marwyn reveals about his companions. Ashin, you discover, is a renegade sorcerer with a price on his head in his native Asabhad due to his fascination with objects of storied history from which he can coax arcane power in a manner quite unlike anything you have heard of before. Initially Marwyn explains that the Lord of Asabhad took exception to 'stealing the gifts of the kami', though after laying the groundwork he explains that his companion had liberated certain treasures that were moldering in the city's treasury, their potential wasted in the silent darkness.

Vargo by contrast has never been a mage, though he has not let that stop him from pretending so in every city across the breadth and length of Essos. Through lies, trickery and ruthless bargaining he has gained quite the knack for using magic not his own with such skill as to easily best many a lesser mage. You suspect Marwyn respects the older man's sheer dogged determination to harness magic for himself in spite of a lack of natural affinity, a lie told often enough it is almost true.

Last though certainly not least is Sari, who honed her skills as an killer on the streets of Oldtown before joining the Lantern Bearers as part of a brief but but very exciting year facing some of the worst things that lurked beneath the city. Eventually tiring of rules and looking for more money than one could find in Lord Hightower's patronage she fell in with Marwyn, solving many a conundrums that magic alone could not unravel with sharp blades and sharper wits.

  1. Ashin of Asabhad: Occultist (Occult Historian) 15
  2. Marwyn the Mage: Wizard 6/Loremaster 10
  3. Sari of Oldtown: Slayer (Bounty Hunter) 15
  4. Vrgo of the Wide Road: Rogue (Counterfeit Mage) 15

What next?

[] Write in

OOC: And that's a wrap for Marwyn and company.
 
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Interlude MCI: Of Wheels and Waves
Of Wheels and Waves

Twenty Ninth Day of the Second Month 294 AC

Lya did her best not to look up at the desolate sky, the wound in the world, passing through the crowded streets like a phantom garbed in grey dust, one of countless minor sorcerers with just enough magic to survive but not to thrive among the ruin of Heaven. No one would look in askance at such a one entering the manse of a greater devil, even one as eccentric as Heronious of Dis. Part of her wished she could just stand up in a public square and recruit all that would come to the Deep, even the merest arcane talent would be welcome after all. But it was not to be, it would be too revealing to the masters of this place, both the immediate and distant.

A wave of muck and nameless sludge flowed in the wake of a cistern wagon heading for a healer or other less reputable establishments. They are going to get fined for that leak, Lya thought with dark amusement. If nothing else the devils ran a tight ship. She knocked on the manse door with three quick raps, feigning furtiveness and shame. Another desperate fool come to sell her soul the handful of passersby no doubt counted her.

The oracle devil greeted her courteously though he was quick to business, obviously concerned with returning to his own studies. Lya approved.

She approved even more of the delicate clockwork construct wrought of hundreds of overlapping triangular plates and toothed gears threaded through with arcane light. It looked incomplete somehow, a key without a lock to match it.

Clockwork Familiar
  • +8 in all Knowledge rolls in creating or researching sentient constructs
  • +2 Caster Level for the purpose of enchanting them

As she contemplated the little floating treasure she wondered if she should try to bind it herself or give it to Anu. On the one hand it would be a project in of itself for her to bind it to her soul, transmuted as it was by the powers of the Spheres and the warforged would likely get more consistent use out of its lore. On the other hand Lya knew without false modesty that she was the most skilled enchanter in the Scholarum.

Who gets the Clockwork Familiar?

[] Anu (Can bond automatically)

[] Lya (Requires 30 Progress Research to adapt the familiar)

[] Write in


***

By the time Lya made it home Viserys was in a meeting with a triton sporting a particularly ornate set of frills down his back, kami-blooded from the Jade Sea. Apparently negotiations were going well with many of the clans considering relocation, though others were tempted by Yi Ti's counter-proposals to stay. Only time would tell how many would make the journey west, though at least with the use of the pocket realm the journey could be made without daring deep waters and the horrors that lurked therein.

Three Points, Three Kindred, One People Part Three Progress 20/25

From what Viserys later said they might get even more of the tribes to move if they could tie Yin closer to the Empire, perhaps with a branch of Astral Currents. The company was continuing to grow by leaps and bounds all over the world. Someone less accustomed to the complex permutations of the arcane might have counted the numbers downright absurd.

Astral Currents grows by 11% (Regular Growth)

Expand Earths Bounty Jewelry Manufactory (10/10) -> Complete
x2 Expand Everflame Ironworks (23/20) -> Complete
Expand Great Northwestern Trading Company (8/10)
Expand Southlands Fruit Company (6/4) -> Complete

Lya did not think about it often, because there was much else on her mind, but she supposed she was absurdly wealthy in a roundabout sort of way. A far cry from the foundling on the temple steps in Braavos. I wonder if I should make a donation...

What next?

[] Write in

OOC: This is pretty fragmentary, but I wanted to tie off as many loose ends as I could to make up for the sporadic posting from me being sick.
 
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Interlude CMII: An Account of the Last Journeys of Elissa Farman
An Account of the Last Journeys of Elissa Farman

By Daenerys Targaryen​

Two months journey west from the isles named for the first King and Queens of Westeros the Sunchaser indeed found land again, and this was not land bereft of living folk such as the isles were. Here a great river spilled into the sea slow and mighty, but it did not flow of its own will for it had been dammed by clever hands and a great city of canals more populous even then Braavos stretched out before the travelers. Rice was known here and the faces of smiling gods looked out from among carefully tended vines.

At the first sight of the Westerosi ship there was great commotion for never had a ship come here from the east and the locals had first thought them some manner of phantasm or dark spirit come unbidden. The people there, who call themselves Loqua, are men as other men, dark of hair and eye and garbed in bright colors that match the finest dyes of Essos, woven in geometric patterns mirroring the constellations. A land of many gods this is and subtle spirits that linger in the shadows of tall bread-trees. Though they did not have weapons of iron, only copper and dragonglass, they were not poor in arts nor in treasure for they held to elder arts.

Elissa and her sailors saw more magic woven in those far western lands than in all their other journeys put together, though with the eye of this new world one can call it 'show-weaving' of the sort that endured through magic's nadir. Shrines to winged gods with the faces of their ancestors dot the land of the Loqua, places of pilgrimage and sacrifice for bequeathing intercession with the sky god who was before the heaven and whose name they will not speak outside of hallowed halls for to invoke his attention outside the intercession of the ancestors is to call down his wrath.

It was one of these temples of the ancestors, open to the elements but filled with offerings of masterful craft and gems bright as the sun, that were to be the undoing of the Sunchaser and Elissa. As the ship rounded the northern cape of this land, for they had almost missed it entirely and found themselves starving upon the sea, the captain decided that if the locals were minded to keep their treasures where any might grasp them they should not complain when they vanish in the night.

There was a brief fight with priests and pilgrims, but surprise and greed carried the day and the raiders took their ill gotten treasures onto the ship to sail way for they had seen no local ships that could match the Sunchaser's size or speed before the wind. Alas for them that they carried more than sacred goods with them from the temple.

A wasting sickness that would steal away first taste, then smell, color, sound and finally touch until the sufferer were like dead men walking came upon them. Most died of hunger, unwilling to keep sustaining themselves as the world faded away, but in the end the ship made it as far as Asshai by the Shadow where Elissa's luck held out one last time, for even as the last of her sailors were driven wholly mad by the poisons of that place she found a sorceress who could turn back the curse in her flesh, and paid her with her ill gotten gains. The captain was warned that when death finally claimed her she would have to answer to the ancestors and the sky god of the Loqua for her desecration.

Elissa Farman was not one to be bound, even by her own ill deeds and the commands of gods. She spent the last ten years in Asshai trying to discover some spell or enchantment that would free her. Three stolen she traded away in this time and knows not where they lie. Her end came suddenly and without warning, by poison she thinks, though the pain of death made those memories vague.

Something of the magics she had invoked and bought in the cursed city must have weighed upon her fate for rather than being drawn to the land she had plundered she instead flew towards the land of her birth, to Westeros again, as though upon the Sunchaser's sails again, but when she reached the isles she had named for the kings and queens of Westeros again and claimed in jest for the crown she found to her horror that this was far enough by the measure of whatever magic drove her. She would not face the judgement of the people she had robbed, but neither would she make it home. Instead she watched as the stars wheeled above and the centuries passed.

Faintly she recalls that the Loqua came to the island searching for her, but they did not survive the things that prowled the deep forests.

In the very end Elissa Farman found her way home and even once more into life, no longer under the hand of any divinely ordained doom. One might even say fortune favors her still, though I for one would judge centuries of loneliness in death enough penance for all her recklessness has cost.

What next?

[] Write in

OOC: I'm very deliberately not writing fantasy Americas here, there will be elements of that of course, but also Southeast Asia and the Philippines mixed in what I hope is an original manner. I'm also trying not to info-dump everything from a ghost's eye view so that you guys have an incentive to go there and experience the place in narrative form, not just as exposition.
 
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Interlude CMIII: Keys of Madness
Keys of Madness

Ninth Day of the Second Month 294 AC

Away from the walls wrought with sorcery and black stone, away from their horrid greeting, you might almost think Qohor was as any other place under the sun, any other city where the worst excesses one was likely to find was in the slave markets or perhaps the hearths of sorcerer-priests who were said to feed slaves 'too weak to be good at much else' into the flames. Alas, that was not so. Years of hunting hidden cults, servants of demons, devils and darker things had made Garin Drekelis quite adept in finding signs of otherworldly malice in the crowded streets. In Qohor he barely had to look.

Someone was selling infants in the Turnstreet Market, a lot of infants, enough to crash the market in what was already a limited niche of the slave trade. Most buyers expected a slave trained in a craft or skill, or at least old enough to do work. Only the most 'exacting' bought children to train themselves and practically no one bought infants, they were as likely to catch some nameless fever and die as grow up and make up for the price, yet he had never heard of a 'Turnstreet Babe' getting ill or dying, not one hint of a displeased customer coming back for their silver.

The only complaints had been from other slave traders and the priests of the New Faith, who now ruled Qohor with a rod of iron, had summarily dismissed the concerns according to what Mia had been able to discover from the city's churning rumor mill down by Hangman's Hill. The fact that she and Nuri had been attacked by surprisingly determined and well-armed 'footpads' on their way back to the inn yesterday did not bode well. The thugs, sellswords more like, recalled being paid silver for the attack, but they didn't have any recollection of the one who paid them besides the dark cloak and the strange bitter smell that hung around it, 'like almonds and old fish'.

Had they tripped some minor alarm asking about the odd merchants and their seemingly endless supply of very young slaves? Garin wondered. There was only one way to be sure.

***​

Eleventh Day of the Second Month 294 AC

The baby in his arms looked like a baby, round pudgy features wrapped in a rough grey cloth that was little more than a rag, a little tuft of dark hair peeking out from his head. He was oddly quiet. But then, Garin thought darkly, slaves likely learn to be quiet young. He walked quickly down the first alley he could find to get out of sight.

Truth be told he felt a touch nauseous in the guise he had taken up to justify his purchase. There was a certain sort of Pillow House owner across what was left of Essos' slaver cities with aspirations of filling the void left by Lys, of raising slaves that 'knew their place as well as Unsullied'. Though he would not have thought it possible half a year ago, learning just how Unsullied were trained had made that phrase sound even more horrifying.

At least this poor mite is spared that fate, whatever the hells is wrong with him, Garin thought while looking down at the child. His gaze was transfixed in horror as the child's eyes seemed to be gone, replaced with holes of utter blackness, but not empty, not still, something squirmed there, in the fetid darkness of some unknowable womb.

An image of madness seared itself into his mind, a many-limned goat with hooves, claws and writhing tentacles. In the center of its chest was a gasping maw ringed with razor sharp teeth, its head a skull crowned with six curling horns and surrounded by a floating circlet. It towered over the woods around it, over the city, over the world entire...


Garin bit back a scream and tasted blood in his mouth, the instinct to feed breaking the trance the way merely mortal horror could not. When he came back to himself he was holding not an infant, but a knot of blackened tentacles that faded like wisps of shadow in his grasp. He went home not by any common path, but over the roofs shrouded in glamor.

The memory of that hollow mocking skull stayed with him.

***​

He had never seen Xor look so somber before. Frightened, sad, even angry, yes, but never so grim. "The being you held was not merely marked by the Far Realm, but of it. Begotten by flesh but strange to it, a scion, perhaps a herald, meant to open the doors wider."

"Why sell them? Why spread them out like that?" Mia asked looking shaken, though doing her best to hide it as any inquisitor was trained to do. "Do they need to... er... feed to get to the next stage of their life cycle?"

"I do not think so," the many-eyed scholar replied. "We of the Far Realm are strangers here, and the greater the being who would pull itself through the more doors it must pass through. I believe these scions need to be taken in, accepted by those of this reality, a second time."

"Second time?" Garin asked, not sure he wanted to have his suspicions confirmed.

"Their begetting must have involved some sort of pact, once for birth and twice for buying, what is the next key?" It was clear Xor was thinking to himself as much as them. "Two does not rhyme, three maybe, five... seven. I hope it is seven."

"Couldn't they just resell them?" Nuri asked practically.

"No... no... it has to be qualitatively different," Xor shook from side to side slightly, the gesture still oddly slow for his floating form, though by now subconscious from all the years he had been dealing with mortals, often in their own shape. "I think the reason Garin did not keep the one he acquired was that he was not intending to retain it as a slave so the agreement fell apart."

"I think we should try to infiltrate these slavers," Mia started. "Or capture one of them at least..."

"Why not the church of the Green God?" Nuri interjected. "They want converts unlike the weird slavers, should be easier to slip in, or slip one of them out for interrogation."

What do your agents do?

[] Approach the eldritch slavers
-[] Infiltration
-[] Capture

[] Approach the New Faith
-[] Infiltration
-[] Capture

[] Write in


OOC: Nothing quite like writing cosmic horror to wake one up.
 
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Interlude CMIV: By Banked Flames
By Banked Flames

Eleventh Day of the Second Month 294 AC

Nuri shivered against a chill she should not have been able to feel. Like many things in her life she had tested it out and discovered that there were few things short of frost magic that could make her feel truly cold, and she had flown high and dived deep. Yet it was here she drew her cloak closer against the night, the humid air tickling at her nostrils with the familiar scents of wood-smoke, offal and something else she could not quite put her finger on. Perhaps some spice the traders carried with them that she had not known even in Yin.

And this is an 'honorable' trading guild, she snorted inwardly at her own rationalizations. For all Nuri disliked the notion of feeling fear she could not deny that there was something about this whole damn city that set her hackles up. Maybe it was just that she was a being of the Spheres and this was something from Beyond, maybe it was working with a sellsword who had been hired on in lieu of staying a corpse in place of a proper Companion.

The knock on the door sounded unnaturally loud for all she was the one making it

A shaven-haired man wearing the sort of elaborate robe that made Nuri wonder how anyone even walked in them, never mind why they would want to, answered the door, his tongue dripping with honey, his eyes hard as pebbles under swift dark waters.

***​

"I have an interest in slaves. Young slaves such as you sell, the more unique the better," she began lounging on the divan in a decent imitation of Azema trying draw the eye and lull the minds of fools. She took a long sip from the cup at her side. The tea was decent if bland while rice cakes were so sweet she had briefly suspected them of hiding poison.

"I hope there is no trouble paying in bullion, three parts in a hundred over the market rate," the young inquisitor said from her left, her stiff posture and clipped tone a deliberate contrast to Nuri's own manner. The sort of person who was in a subservient position to the kind of trader Nuri was pretending to be would not be too comfortable, and of course being willing to pay in unmarked gold at a premium should mark them as coming from very far away indeed.

Their host did not look impressed, if anything he looked distracted, like they were holding him up from dinner. "Payment in gold is acceptable, though if you wish to set up a breeding farm I caution in being careful who you staff it with. There are still all manner of subversive elements looking to set up in isolated places."

"Securing the site is not a concern," Nuri glanced towards her guard. To his credit the former sellsword knew how to scowl and look menacing without calling undue attention to himself. Then again, he probably had not always been a commander.

"While I do not doubt the competence of so well-guarded an individual in all regards, I feel I must insist on knowing just where you hail from before addressing the matter of more unique specimens."

What the Hells did he...? Had the bastard tried to read their minds and hit the wards? Nuri had to remind herself firmly that it was not yet time to set the whole wretched place on fire. One more confirmation of Far Realm incursion she supposed, since those powers were particularly adept at the reading of minds.

Still, since he had distrusted her enough to try to probe her mind that meant she would need a more detailed story, perhaps more detailed than was worth coming up with on the spot. She could just show her very real offense and pretend to take her business elsewhere.

What doe Nuri do?

[] 'Relent' and explain precisely who she works for
-[] A Rakshasa researcher with an interest in soul lore
-[] An Efreeti lord with particular taste in 'pets'
-[] A Shaitan lord slave trader

[] Storm out and hope Xor and Kira are having better luck

[] Write in


OOC: It's been a while since I ran a full social challenge, unfortunately for her Nuri is not exactly a social focused build, more of an all rounder, and the rolls did not fall in her favor.
 
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