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

[DragonParadox]

Settling the Score ​

First Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC

By now the court is accustomed to hearing your judgement laid upon the lands of traitors. Brax, Jast and Payne lands are to be seized and administered by the Crown for the moment, to be given out or retained at your pleasure. There are a few raised eyebrows when you add that Clegane Keep will be held in trust by the Imperium while Sandor serves as Princeps Praetori and not just because it is so small a fief for a king to concern himself with. More eyes are upon the last of the Cleganes in black and red than had ever been upon 'the Hound' who followed in the footsteps of first Tywin Lannister than his daughter.

How many of them will swallow their pride and try to befriend the son of a kennelmaster? You wonder, and though you do not know the answer to that for certain one thing you do know, it will surely be more of them than the ones that manage it. Since the death of his brother and the capture of the man who held his leash Sandor had been much more likely to speak up and Dany had even caught a smile or two in unguarded moments.

Speaking of the former Lord Lannister you explain that his fate and that of House Lannister as a whole shall be be decided as part of a formal trial including Lanna, Tygett and Gerion in particular. Then you add in parting a warning plain as you can make it. "The crimes and barbarism of Tywin Lannister do not belong to every Westerman from the Golden Tooth to the Sunset Sea. Indeed, many of those same lords have suffered most grievously from those deeds for were they not closest to the lion's maw?" You shake your head, allowing your gaze to pass along the whole of the hall and lingering most on Crownlanders looking to prove their loyalty by slinging mud over backing bricks. "I will not tolerate ill will and feuds misplaced upon the heads of those who are innocent of wrongdoing."

Lord Brune, who had somehow managed to finagle transport to the Red Keep on one of the Manticores instead of staying in the Deep to eat, drink and be merry, starts to cheer at the words. "Hear, hear. Justice not strife! Justice." He drags most of the room with him, not that you imagine he has much love for the lords of the Westerlands, but if it is what you want than he will damn well do his best to see it done.

Once the hall has settled, as much as it is likely to at least, you continue. "As the honorable lord says, there will be justice. The actions of the tyrant and madman Tywin Lannister shall be investigated in great detail and all who are found complicit in his dark dealings will be punished in accordance with their guilt. "

"Looks like the Lion is about to have his head mounted on the wall," one wit opines only for Lord Celtigar to reply.

"Literally, as the case may be. If His Majesty ever offers to show you the 'Hall of Horrors' you should certainly accept, it's worth a look or three, let me tell you..."

"And with that my lords and ladies I must be away from here as you no doubt wish to be as well," you draw the attention of the room once more with a smile. "The day has been long, the night before it longer and you all no doubt have much to think upon as do I."

Upbraiding Yi Tish diplomats for insults that had damn near turned into mortal peril at your coronation in your case, but there is one other matter you must see to before you can leave the Red Keep, whose keeping you shall leave the place in. It is not the capital anymore of course, but for the people of Westeros, highborn and low, it is still of significant import and the one set in charge of it is likely to receive no small number of calls upon his time; complaints, requests and everything in between.

Who do you leave in charge of the Red Keep and King's Landing as a whole?

[] Write in

OOC: This does not have to be a permanent appointment, but I do need to know who is in charge and this is an important enough decision to be put to a vote. This is after all a city of half a million people.

 

[DragonParadox]

Wheels of Empire ​

First Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC

"You know that they say about a job well done..." you trail off over a cup of Baratheon's liberated wine as you offer a smile the officer before you. He had grown over the years, and not as the jest goes 'more around the middle'.

"My wife keeps telling me every night, Your Majesty," General Gerold Torchwood replies. You can see the gleam of a keen mind behind his eyes, the lines of many nights spent not in the company of his wife but seeing to his many duties, not only the first of your generals, but thanks to his posting the one whom you know best on a personal level. Who better to hand the control of your house's former seat and more to the point a city of half-a-million souls, many of whom could do with a much better life than the one they are currently living?

"You do not have to accept," you interject after a moment. "This is not a military deployment, and some of the lords may be slow to recognize how things have changed."

"Slow to recognize the knighthood of a former sellsword, given out by another sellsword in a company of traitors you mean?" he asks bluntly looking out over the courtyard. You could not see the worst of the city from here, not the winding streets that barely got any light at midday, not the middens where hogs and goats scrounged among the garbage of the city, and not bloody Fleabottom where the waste of the city gathered like King's Landing's own overfull chamberpot.

You could still smell most of it, though, unless you were lucky enough to catch the wind from the sea.

"Given the looks being shared today in the throne room, I think most will have the whit to recognize the power and prestige of the Legion," you note. "If there is one thing that is universally respected from Ib to the Summer Islands and from the Westerlands to Yi Ti it is soldiers with weapons and the skill to use them. The Legion would take on the task of patrolling the streets as well as other transitional administrative tasks. To be honest I suspect your day to day tasks are more likely to be interacting with the common citizens not the local nobility. The court will be staying in the Deep."

"And thank the Great Serpent for it," the general says fervently. "I accept, Your Majesty. The Torchbearers will see to it that this city will be delivered to civilian rule in a better state than we found it. The Dragonpit should be settled by the month's end as well..." He quickly recounts the major projects, though left unsaid is the fact that after more than two centuries of mismanagement, much of it can be laid at the feet of your own ancestors. They could hardly deliver it in a worse state unless it were suffering from a plague or some other calamity. Hells, Fleabottom's normal life might count as a plague by most Imperial standards.

You do not envy Gerold his task, but you trust that he can do it well.

***​

On your return to Sorcerer's Deep you are welcomed by a city both jubilant and weary, as Tyene puts it in jest 'Happy Hangover Day'. Of course the truly dedicated feast goers, her father perhaps first among them, are not going to let something so insignificant as a hangover affect their ability to enjoy themselves. That is what alchemy is for. Though the sun is well past its zenith, you have no expectation of the celebrations ending anytime soon. In fact, with the many fine establishments of the Deep looking to reap a fine profit off all the visitors, you doubt the festival atmosphere will truly be said to stop anytime this month.

There are, however, some visitors who will not be enjoying their stay and for good reason. The delegation from Yin even makes a halfhearted attempt to delay the meeting, sending Hua Fen with news that their chief envoy will need to go into seclusion to ponder the wisdom of the holy Kami and how that reflects upon them.

"If I may speak my mind freely, Your Majesty," the young woman noblewoman begins.

You know by now that it is more a form than substance, and she knows you value her counsel in this, but still you nod. Form is to be respected to keep face.

"I think the delegation is so mired in shame that you might find yourself facing a new Chief Envoy, even one sent specifically from Yin by the Son of Heaven, though that may place more of an eye on the whole affair than the dignity of the Azure Throne would allow." She snaps the fan in her hand open from nervous reflex, but does not hide her gaze behind it. "I suspect there is more than folly to those fools' gifts, though I cannot prove it. It just felt a bit too much like some of them were... what do you call it... playing a part."

"How so?" you ask, listening very closely indeed. "If you have an actual infiltrator, this has just gone from frustrating to legitimately dangerous."

"Ah, nothing like that," she says, guessing your thoughts. "More like the script of courtly ritual. Many of those I dealt with would not hear me because I am a woman and they had fit me into certain roles. They seemed inexperienced dealing with the broader horizons of the world beyond the palace walls. "

Which envoy do you summon first, and what do you say?

[] Write in

OOC: I hope the transition is not too jarring.

 

[DragonParadox]

Throne's Censure ​

First Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC

Alas, you do not have a throne to loom over the combined delegations of Yin and Trader Town, for it would be an undeserved honor to grant such a private audience. Instead you make use of one of the more austere meeting rooms, designed in fact mostly with the Legion and other military commanders in mind. It is meant to give an impression of cold practicality and allow one to get down to business without the eye wandering over ornamentation. As a venue to meet diplomats it has the virtue that nothing can distract them from your own less than pleased presence.

There are not even any refreshments in sight, a fact which you had to impress upon the palace spirits who were less than pleased at the lapse of hospitality, until you had explained just what crimes the ones you were meeting had made themselves guilty of. From the way more than a dozen pairs of eyes flash across the camber, as though looking for a corner to hide in, one can call the attempt a success at least...

"I shall be brief," you begin coldly into the dead silence of the room. By spellcraft you speak perfect Yi Tish with the sort of archaic flourish that only makes it seem more formal. There shall be no misunderstandings today, you vow. "It does me no joy to be in this position as a host, but your deportment during the coronation yesterday must be addressed." You turn first to the eunuch near to trembling in his fine silks. Though you project no dragon awe you might as well be doing it.

"Both the undertones of your speech and the gifts offered are blatantly obvious to anyone paying attention, and rest assured I was doing so. I threw lifeline after lifeline to prevent more of a scene than was already made. I do not care if this was the result of arrogance, sabotage, simple incompetence or as I personally suspect a mixture of all three. I have sent a letter to the Son of Heaven and since it concerns you I shall share the salient point. He may not send diplomats to anything more important than a pigsty until he has cleaned house in the Diplomatic Corp, which upon careful consideration does seem to resemble said pigsty. I would also suggest listening to those who both know the realm of which you speak and have the wit to conduct diplomacy," here you nod slightly to Hua Fen who starts as though from a daze.

You are not done, far from it.

Turning now to Pol Ning, her flames dancing close in a sort of warding corona of balefire, you explain in like tone: "Releasing a potentially hostile kami in the middle of a courtly function would have constituted a breach of guest right at the least and manslaughter at worst if anyone would have died from the envoy's actions as you have no doubt guessed. I do not know what was passing through your presumed superior's head and frankly I do not care." You glance at the other shugenja, only the briefest look of distant contempt. "Had the Lady not interfered you would most likely be dead either by the hand of palace security or a hanging for the death or other hand brought to the citizens of the Imperium. You shall be removed forthwith and shall never set foot on the grounds of the palace ever again."

The man tries to open his mouth to protest, though he is wise enough to close it as Varys peaks out from among the folds of your cloak, hissing just on the edge of human hearing, a sound that you imagine would have set many to flight already.

"The Imperium is neutral in the matter of the conflict for the Throne of the Golden Empire and shall remain so regardless of yesterday's events," A fact for which you all should be thankful, you add by way of silence heavier than words. "If it should come to pass that in the future Imperial citizens are harmed in the furtherance of said war, especially if it is done with the intent of framing one's rivals, the result shall be swift and decisive."

This time the silence stretches uncomfortably until it is Pol Ning who realizes you are done speaking and says simply: "We hear and understand," not quite the phrase they would have given to their own Emperor, which replaces 'understand' with 'obey', but the sentiment is the same. As the envoys file out you make a mental note to speak with both Hua Fen and Pol Ning privately again under less fraught circumstances to explain that you do value their aid in untangling the threads their countrymen have cast.

Do you do over the days ahead?

[] Write in

OOC: I thought about doing the meetings with Hua Fen and Pol Ning too, but this was already getting really long so that is going in the background so we can move on with the main story thread. Also, fun fact, Varys shares all your skills, including intimidation, so she could technically scare off a company of charging knights or something with a perfectly pitched draconic hiss.

 

[DragonParadox]

The Monster in the Mirror ​

First Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC

As evening closes in on your first full day bearing the crown of a new realm the time has come to hear of the crimes of a realm now passed into history. You stand in one of the most warded halls in the palace in the company of Garin and Malarys as well as Bloodraven to hear what he had gleamed from the minds of the Lannisters, old and young, lord and vassal. For his part Garin looks pleased that it was not his task and he could instead take the day to be with Selyse and his children after the night's excitement while Malarys taps his fingers along the edge of the table in subtle impatience.

He did not use to do that, you realize abruptly, but the motion is too practiced, too commonplace to be a habit he had just gained. Instead, at some point over the past year, he must have let his guard down enough to allow his hands to wander when he left his mind to do the same. How long, you wonder, will it be until you catch Blodoraven at some innocuous habit he had long since trained himself out of showing in most company?

Regardless of the answer, here and now Brynden Rivers takes center stage to give his account of what he had found in the minds of the four Lannisters interrogated. "For all the power they held and all the magics they came to wield the motivations that lit the pyre of House Lannister are almost upsettingly pedestrian..." The ghost of a smile, neither kind nor cruel but simply weary, passes over his newly crafted features.

The Golden Shields had started, as many things do, with the best of intentions, to empower House Lannister yes, but also to give a place for new made mages, to make the word witch less of a curse upon the lips of the smallfolk and to guard against the darkness Beyond, be that those who rose from the waves on moonless nights or the spirits conjured by foolish mages seeking instruction or companionship of fiends. In the immediate aftermath of their return from Valyria there were no fewer than three attempted infiltrations among the circle of Lanna's students, the last of which cost the lives of practically all of them and very nearly ended with her enthralled also.

Over and over the pattern repeated. Tywin burned runes of warding into his flesh, lords fell to a few whispered words of enchantment as mortal defense upon mortal defense failed before the foresight of their foes. It did not take Lanna long to realize that to the Deep Ones they were not foes, but simply food, some of which fought back with some degree of skill, making it something like a boar hunt.

"When she managed to save the girl Joy Hill from what she later discovered was simply a splinter cabal seeking research opportunities into the ways of blood magic and hereditary compulsion it shook her," Bloodraven recounts, his voice perfectly steady. "She came to see what the Deep Ones were doing as 'farming men' and anything that could be made to resist them as acceptable. She started instituting geas spells in order to allow the training of more reliable mages and even managed to sell the notion to her marid allies for a time, though ultimately she did not trust them that much, by reason of the failure to deal with Sorcerer's Deep and..."

"Wait, why was she so interested in dealing with us then, if her focus was on the Deep Ones?" Garin asks. He had not been in the Deep at the time, but by now the 'us' is reflexive among all companions.

"She and Gerion thought you either were about to walk in Damphair's footsteps by means of some subtle corruption he had left behind or that you had already done so. It took months for her to shake off the suspicion, not helped by the fact that she was studying ever more subtle and complex means of control as a way to ward against Deep One mind magic," Blodraven pauses thoughtfully. "There is an old saying I heard among the Orphans of the Greenblood when I sought out their mages in my youth that says, 'see the enemy in the mirror, the friend across the field', it is supposed to mean that you aught to learn to see common ground with your foes by understating common wants and character. I have found that a better reading of it is that we become our foes in time. Lanna Lannister was a woman in the habit of drawing lines in the sand an inch in front of her foot and then crossing them when pushed. Her enchantments were after all still better than the alternative, they were a way for the realm to be safe... and for her to stay in power."

"Astonishing, is it not, the sorts of paths men's minds can take when they lead to retaining and expanding power?" Malarys asks. "If I might hazard a guess, the devils made it worse. This is the sort of behavior the baatezu wish to entourage in the name of their lord."

"Not directly, never directly until the last, but they made certain truths known to Gerion while he was on a mission way from his wife, while she was pregnant in fact, and where before she had been hesitant to adopt the more extreme enchantments his brother was pressing for and his wife was increasingly agreeing with, afterwards he was so overcome by fear for the horrors that might be inflicted not just upon him in death but his family also that he agreed to wider use of geas not just among the Golden Shields and those lords who had proven themselves disloyal, but all who might present a weakness. As one might anticipate that led to several desperate mages making unwise pacts with Hell to escape their earthly masters, which only confirmed the fears and suspicions that grew in the hearts of the senior Lannisters. Tywin had even begun to suspect that his daughter may have been using proscribed magic to escape the compulsions placed on her and doubtless if he had found demonic meddling it would have been one more reason to tighten the chains."
What next?

[] Ask a questions
-[] What equipment did they have on them
-[] Were Gerion and Lanna actually planning to defect before they too were ensnared in the bloodline curse
-[] Write in

[] Move on
-[] Write in to what

OOC: I tried to do this in one update, but it is just too much stuff and from too many angles.

 

[DragonParadox]

Wealth Beyond Gold​

First Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC

You do not trust them, Lanna and Gerion, it is as simple that. While you have in your company those who have committed crimes every bit as terrible, if not worse, you cannot trust their good sense to have dug so deep a hole and pulled the hole in after them, and neither can you trust them stripped of the name and House for which they had sacrificed so much and so many.

For his part Garin is just content that he will not have to watch them, a task few among the Inquisition could be certain of managing given Lanna's magic, and while Malarys would have been more inclined to give them a chance to serve on the basis of archmages being rare in this age of the world he does not care enough to argue the point long. Bloodraven keeps his own counsel close, though he does not seem displeased at the answer. He too finds their excuses lacking.

And so it is decided, Gerion and Lanna Lannister shall be judged alongside Tywin Lannister and with him found guilty. Still, that you shall see them die does not mean you have no questions, quite the opposite since you can only ask for so brief a time.

Thankfully there are not many immediate plots and plans that could imperil your realm and no continuances for the swift decapitation of House Lannister in the works. By the end Tywin had no allies to speak of, only the stone-born mercenaries who betrayed him as soon as they were able to. The one troubling thing you find in the mind of Lanna Lannister in that regard is a list of names she had gathered mostly by traveling the Broken Heavens, names of the celestial spirits that had aligned themselves with your realm and which by those names could be summoned and bound to serve as slaves and saboteurs. Thankfully she had been willfully slow in gathering that information as it was only bound at the command of Tywin that she was willing to countenance such a plan. Good that she had some shred of morals you suppose...

"Could we trace back where the Lannisters got those names?" Garin asks urgently. There is among their number the names of two Legion Archons who had joined the Inquisition, only as soldiers not full inquisitors, but still they could have been a danger.

"Some of them perhaps, but certainly not all. Such brokers as trade in True Names are not lightly snared in turn, and even if they were they likely have their own contingencies against having their minds plundered," Bloodraven replies, sounding less than pleased himself. "There is also the matter of jurisdiction, we should do well to tread lightly in Heaven's Shore for the moment..."

"And for a long while to come," you finish. The city, tarnished as it is, serves as a jewel in the black crown of Asmodeus, the Lord of the Ninth, and is unlikely to take trespass lightly. "For now we shall have to take administrative action to keep those whose names we know to be unsafe away from sensitive information."

The other piece of information about foreign actors you learn from Lanna's mind makes for a more troubling hearing. Apparently the coast of the Westerlands is a favored hunting ground for the Deep Ones, not just for feeding, but also for experimentation and slave taking. Dozens of minor mages of various sources and others who were for some reason interesting to Illithid scholars were simply vanished from their beds and replaced with shapechangers who would then stage a more conventional disappearance or even a death. Something to watch for, and more importantly something to warn the populace against as much as can be done because your agents cannot be everywhere.

Also of note are the locations of several safe houses and caches of lore and enchanted objects that will be of use to the Inquisition. Some of them appear to be set up to allow spies to function better in cities well placed against magical infiltrators, like Oldtown, where others are off plane safe houses, including one Lanna and Gerion had prepared for themselves and their children before the bloodline curse bound them.

Then there is the matter of the formians...

"Tywin did not merely trade access to the altar at the last, his first deal was for right of passage into the Westerlands. They had marked out no less than seventeen locations where they wished to build colonies, mostly to harvest wood and grow food under the open sky all over the Westerlands. All of these locations are secluded far from prime farming land as men would count such things, deep in the western mountains. What is most notable is that three of them are already in operation, two in the lands belonging to Casterly Rock and one in those of Castamere, or at least they were last night," Bloodraven pauses and motions to Garin.

"I scouted them myself, the formians withdrew at some point last night, leaving behind their terrace crops and tree farms. One would be hard-pressed to even tell who had been working there."

"How inaccessible are the locations?" you prompt. It would be best to have the Legion secure them against a return of their former masters as well as obtaining samples of the plants. Perhaps you might even settle them yourself. It would be s a shame to leave the work go to waste and the fields to fall fallow.

"Enough so that you would struggle to get anything larger than a party of skilled woodsmen there in good time, though of course we have gates to go around such obstacles. The main trouble will be supplying them."

What do you secure the abandoned Formian Farming outposts with?

[] Write in

OOC: As I suspected might be the case there is just too much stuff for one update. The Lannister assets in enchantment and intelligence will not be revealed yet since I want to abstract them into the new system directly, you will have access to them starting next month.

 

[DragonParadox]

A Price Unpaid, a Crime Undone ​

First Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC

As the Dawnstar races away with its cargo of undead and watchful molds you turn your ear to other matters, namely what the Lannisters had been seeking in Qarth and what they may have gotten out of it. The answer is far from surprising, control, a means to attain mental union and focus beyond what simple enchantment could give. Or if one is being charitable, it could be said that Lanna was seeking a way to guard the Golden Shields from infiltration without compulsion of any sort by creating unity of purpose. Given that Tywin always saw himself as nothing less than the absolute master of any such construct you are not inclined to give an idealistic reading of their motivations much credence.

Perhaps if they had found their answers two years ago from Qarth and not a year ago from the formians Lanna and Gerion would have had the spine to stand up to Tywin and truly break the cycle of tyranny, 'and perhaps the winter sun shall grow sweet melons', but one should not count upon it to feed you, as the saying goes between the Dornish mountains and the Mander. Circumstances as they are, the Warlocks placed too high a price on their cooperation and Tywin would not pay it even to spare his own subjects from being devoured by the Deep Ones.

"What did they ask for?" Malarys questions, intrigued almost despite himself by the whole sordid tale.

"Some things he could give and did, like weirwood cuttings, somethings that could be found and but he had no interest in giving, like the a collection of Blue Ice from the Far North, and one thing he would never give for pride's sake if nothing else, the girl Myrcella 'Baratheon'." Bloodraven's lips twisted into a familiar smile when he said the words. "And yes, I did ask our guests what they wanted the girl for. Apparently she was born under an auspicious conjunction and they hoped that they might raise her to join the Undying. The reason why they wanted her so young was so that she would not be 'contaminated with the norms and expectations of Westeros'. Translated freely that would mean they wished to indoctrinate her themselves. It is after all the nature of mystery cults and ancient orders, and in Qarth the people who sell you condiments for the table are an ancient order."

Garin laughs at the moment of dry humor before asking, "There was a letter of some sort that burned just as we reached the Lord of the Westerlands, we saw enough to know the writing was Infernal, but not what it might have said."

"A promise to deliver onto him his 'lost love' Lady Joanna Lannister at the low price of all the people who looked to him for lordship. How it was delivered none of them know, they simply found it in his study one morning, a show of power one assumes from the One sending it. Whether it was truthful is hard indeed to judge, and not particularly relevant." He waves away the notion as one might shake off a drizzle of rain from the shoulders of one's cloak. "He has no more power now than the merest wretch in the Black Cells did of old.. less in truth for all too many prisoners retained the ability to deny the executioner their boots."

"Speaking of the Black Cells..." you glance at Malarys.

"We have found no political prisoners in that wretched place, but there were a few common criminals tossed in like so much refuse with only the faintest pretense of justice. Most were freed, though one man who did not deny being a murderer under a truth spell shall instead be given a retrial, assuming you wish to call what he had initially a trial that is."

"Good," you nod, content to be in the company of competent people. "Now as concerns the relations of House Lannister with the other powers present in the Westerlands, Baator, the Deep Ones, the Court of Stars and what remains of it, are there any surprises?"

"Not particularly, Your Majesty," the Last Greenseer replies. "Tywin's arrogance alienated the fey, his pride was preyed upon by devils at least until his gooddaughter finally managed to explain the scope of the problem to him. In the end he both hated and feared them because of what the existence of Hell implied for his own fate, not that he would have admitted it."

"Oh, so he does fear for his soul?" you ask grimly. "Excellent, that is one more thing to make his execution all the more unpleasant if he is expecting the judgement of the gods."

"What of the arcane machinery that bound the altar of the Winged Serpent?" Malarys interjects. "I realize why we could not preserve it for study, but at the very least it would serve us well to know what it did."

"Partly it enforced the geasa spells that bound for much of the Lannister rule, however it also served to craft another sort of servitor, the golems. The altar was bound to the ley line beneath the keep and through it channeled vast powers that allowed the enchanters of Casterly Rock to far overreach their meager skill. Who knows what they could have done if they had not been obsessed with battling dragons that never came, but then they were so mired in the past it would have been shocking had they not attempted to fight the last war instead of the next."

"One final present concern then, are there other rifts they know of or any other rare resources they have not exploited or have hidden from the lords of the Westerlands?" you prompt

"Not beyond the ones we know of, the fact that only one True Silver mine was found is part of the reason why it was so important to ensure the lord in question did not ask for too large of a cut," comes the reply, followed astutely by a question of his own. "I assume there are concerns that are not present, but still peek your curiosity, Your Majesty?"

"Yes, I wished to know what they Lannisters took from Dragonstone and if any of it could be recovered. It is unlikely to shake the foundations of our understanding of magic, but if one has their home robbed at the very least an accounting will help to sleep better at night."

"Arcane texts belonging to Queen Visenya were taken, particularly with concern to the creation of constructs, including..." for the first time since he had started speaking Bloodraven hesitates. "Homunculi, that is simple flesh-craft of the sort where one could in theory substitute blood magic for the paucity of ambient magic."

"You are telling me the rumors were true for once, Maegor was born of blood magic?" You asks surprised. Visenya would have had little reason to lie.

"No but not for lack of practice in those arts," Bloodraven replied. "Should the news spread of the sorts of magic she practiced it could be used as propaganda against such as fleshcraft."

You nod in understanding, another potential hurdle down the road.

What next?

[] Write in

OOC: Equipment later, I'm all exposition'ed out for the moment. I could not come up with interesting fluff for the items to save my life. You guys can vote for what you actually want to do, no need to mention the loot. I'll cover it automatically.

 

[DragonParadox]

By Strange Lights ​

First Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC

The Ant-Folk are an industrious people and well inclined to hold to their given word, but warlike and grim in their endless toil. They claim to have been wrought as slaves to some nameless master whom they escaped by skill and diligence unparalleled, though no tale of ours stretches back that far through the ages. When the City of Gold was first raised, they delved through the secret places of the world and when the first Sultan lead us into the Vault they yet were there, gnawing at the edges of the realm to test if we were something to be consumed as the soft clay or avoided as veins of adamantine.

The words of the shaitan envoy come back to you as you descend into the tunnels beneath the Rock once more, and to the guarded door between the realms in the company of Ser Richard, always at your side in peril, Malarys for his skill at parsing out law and treaty should it be needed, and last though certainly not least, Lya for the sheer curiosity of meeting a folk yet unknown to her, wielding no doubt strange and intriguing magics.

Dany had drawn the proverbial short straw of staying behind in the Deep so that there would be someone to deal with issues in the wake of the coronation. Given how many folk of differing lands and customs had been gathered, such occurrences are almost inevitable. Hopefully, she won't have to deal with anything near as tangled as what the Yi Tish delegations had thrown into your lap.

"There are mage lights ahead," Lya calls out, pointing down the long straight tunnel. At Ser Richard's odd look she explains. "Lights you can only see with mage sight, that is a interesting trick if everyone you expect to come this way has the senses to use it."

The knight grunts noncommittally and shakes his head. The years of fighting sorcerers and spirits had given him his own sense of the arcane. Not near as acute as yours or Lya's could be, but enough to get along with, enough to see the pale golden light marking the way forward.

On their own home ground, the formians will fight with dedication bordering on madness, but they will rarely strike the first blow even against known foes, if faced with a clearly marked diplomatic party. They have been known to hold truces sacred even when they could otherwise exterminate the other side with ease, and would gain much from doing so. Mind that is not to say they did not exterminate the foe in any case under most such circumstances, but they did listen.

More of the envoy's words come back to you, sounding somehow more ominous in the echoing darkness of the tunnel lit only by radiance that mortal eyes could not glimpse.

Taking the words to heart, you had summoned six erinyes to be your guards, with Mereth at their head. It had seemed odd to press them into so mundane a task as holding banners limp in their hands and ringing horns upon their belts, but all had assured you that the task of herald was not strange to them nor unwelcome to their dignity. Mereth herself had even fought formians before under the tarnished gold banners of the Third and she had found them 'a better foe than most to cross blades with'. When you had asked if she meant that they were more worthy or more perilous for it, she had offered a rare smile and said simply 'yes'.

As the tunnel curves sharply left, you find yourselves abruptly looking down the firing line of enough arcane artillery to blast a Wyvern from the sky or dent the Moonchaser's armor, rings of arcane flame aligned perfectly to fill the whole tunnel, gears grinding as the firing solutions are being calculated behind glassteel and adamantine shields.

"Glad they did not get this thing up to the Rock," Ser Richard mutters, his shield hovering closer on sheer instinct, though you doubt it would do much good against this weapon.

"It's melded to the sides of the tunnel," you say, looking the thing over with a knowing eye. "It would be easier to move a mountain."

Before he can reply, or Lya can give her own thoughts on the device, the sound of chitin claws upon the smooth granite of the tunnel alerts you to the fact that you have more company. A formian officer gleaming with crimson markings like stylized blood-splatter emerges from the stone to your left like one breaking the surface of a pond.

"His mind is too still," Varys hisses in your mind, annoyed as she usually is when someone managed to hide from her most acute of senses. If anyone would develop that skill en masse, it would be the mind-bound formians.

Spoiler: Formian Officer

The officers antennae twitch almost as though he had heard something in the distance. Could one overhear mind-speech, or was he instead carrying on a conversation of his own? "You are recognized, Viserys Targaryen," the being buzzed in the oddly accented though clearly understandable Draconic. "What do you seek?"

Be blunt as you wish, the Hive cares nothing for formalities, though it will respect such norms if it is asked of it.

That had been the last piece of advice the shaitan envoy had given you.

"To speak to the queen in the hopes of finding a path forward that is not war between us," you reply plainly.

"Do you pledge guest right?" The Westerosi formula sounds odd in this tongue, something they had learned from the Lannisters no doubt.

"Yes, by the power I wield and the crown I bear, I do, and those with me likewise." The answer comes easily to your lips. You may yet have to fight if negotiations fail, but you are willing to give it the best shot you can under the circumstances. The last thing your fledgling realm needs is another foe.

"Come," the officer hums in your mind, motioning you to follow in what one might consider a human gesture, though the multiple articulations of its arm turn is far more alien than the stillness before. As you continue down tunnel, now filled with the sounds of industry and the traffic of a thousand thousand insectile feet, you consider what you can offer and what you must ask of those who had so recently been allies of your foes.

What is your opening position vis-a-vis the Formian Queen?

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OOC: Hopefully interjecting what the Shaitan told you about Formians into the journey works as a narrative mechanism.

 

[DragonParadox]

Good Fences ​

First Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC

You walk through corridors filled with the sounds of eerie synchronization and all around you the forms of the Hive from the tinny scuttling messengers to the hulking earth-movers recall nothing so much as the works of a particularly industrious flesh-smith. Thin bridges that seem to have been alchemically hardened arch over channels filled with water that smells of salts and bitter odors that scratch at the nose and would likely leave one less well warded against poison lightheaded. Yet for all its practicality the city is not simply a triumph of function over form.

There is beauty here, in the delicate curves of building without brick or mortar, in the soft yellow of the ghost-lights that the eye unaided cannot see, even in the odd filigree that seems to be set around every door and every 'window', if the distinction even means anything. Flying forms make their way out of windows as readily as doors and lines of insects scarce larger than the palm of one's hand move through grooves in the stone like a dance, a pattern the eye cannot truly contain for all it draws and inspires the mind. You glance at your guide, wondering if they would appreciate the compliment.

Spoiler: Formian Hive

Likely not you decide, seeing them glance neither left nor right and heading instead towards the main plinth that dominates the city in a way that almost recalls the Great Tree of the Deep. Here too an old power resides, one that speaks in many voices. The palace itself is a tangled warren that does not follow any intuitive plan designed by those who walk on two feet under the sun, yet you are quite certain the defenders know its paths only too well. The walls are warm to the touch, some sort of resin like the bridges perhaps, though you cannot say for certain without study, which Lya looks like she would dearly want to make.

"I wouldn't want to have to try to take this place by assault," Ser Richard says, using Low Valyrian rather than his usual Common so as to not be overheard, not that you think it is worth hiding the thought. Mutual and very practical desire not to get into a war is perhaps the best reason to follow the diplomatic strategy you have in mind.

When you come at last to the Queen of this place you are surprised to find her half mortared into the wall of the palace, delicate fleshy veins flowing into the stone in a way that brings to mind the works of the most eccentric of flesh-smiths, though she does not seem the least bit discomforted by her condition.

Spoiler: Formian Queen

"What do you seek?" The weight of her mind upon yours is such that the first circle of your mental protections vibrates inwardly. You have little doubt you could win a battle with her alone... and you have no doubt whatsoever that she would not be alone and you do not just mean your guide.

"Peace, a return of those who have been lost to the Hive, a parting of ways that were crossed only in blood," you send back. "Had you not been allied with mine foes I would have no quarrel with you and now that they are vanquished I see no reason to continue it."

"Reasonable," the queen sends back in a slightly 'softer' tone, perhaps a touch surprised. A part of you wants to make a jest about hoping she does not judge all mortals by the measure of Tywin Lannister, but you doubt it would land. Her next words sends thoughts of humor flying from your mind. "In exchange we have no flesh to offer for your crafting, so we offer the texts of blood-craft writ by those of your line. Let there be peace and no debt."

Gained Texts of Blood Magic - Mostly redundant though containing two new templates:

• Eruphyte Creature (CR +1)
• Time Seer Creature (CR +1)

***​

One is simply a flawed diviner's experiment, seeing either the past or the future that you would not inflict on any being wrought in your Forges, but the other... the other has potential, using astral remnants to enhance beings born of the green world. Not something you would typically associate with the Freehold, but then 'typical' does not begin to encapsulate all the experiments that must have taken place over millennia of study in the arcane. As Malarys rather dryly puts it, 'a mage likely wished for a guardian for his prized topiary and that was all the good it did'.

Still, you leave the halls of the formians with a slightly better impression of them than you had entered with... not enough to keep you from tearing down the gates to the Rock. You can lay down a Terminus in far more convenient places. Upon your return to the Deep it is already dark, though the ones you wish to speak to next were quite clear on the fact that they sleep no more than you do and would welcome a meeting at any hour you see fit.

What do you wish to say to the Qartheen delegation?

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OOC: Because calling the chapter 'Naked Bribery' would have been a little on the nose.

 

[DragonParadox]

Scholars' Secrets ​

Second Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC

Although many parts of the palace are meant to be magical, from the ethereal lanterns of the gardens to the unseen lar who served the residence and the inner chambers, to the arcane arms and armor displayed as trophies, or for those less light of heart, the Hall of Horrors, only one of the studies constructed for the palace so far is of magic.

Formally known as the Silver Study, it is an eclectic mix of relatively severe furnishings, ebony with silver accents and a wealth of arcane paraphernalia. A fine scrying mirror is set on one wall, on another a star tablet of auspicious conjunctions useful for enchanting, and in the corner by the door there lies a fine staff, of the sort Lya once carried with her, taken as a prize from one battle or another, though she has long since grown beyond such things. The door itself is automatically muffled against scrying by runes that are carved prominently above the frame rather than hidden as they are in most of the palace.

And of course there are books. What wizard's study would be complete without tomes of every sort and printing, thin and thick, bound in plain leather or gold leaf? They are mostly at the edge of what is publicly available, with perhaps one or two crossing ever so slightly over the edge, even though this is technically only a semi-private sort of sitting room meant to appeal to the sorcerer and the sage, one who would not be impressed by expressions of commonplace wealth or power.

Not that you think the man who will be joining you for tea this morning shall be overly impressed by the carefully crafted stage, but it is the place you can imagine him being most at home. Now that he has agreed, even if just in principle, that the House of the Undying and the city it 'serves' will join the Imperium, you are curious as to their reasoning and their requests.

The warlock bows low by way of greeting and offers an apology. "Pardon that we could not speak as we have promised."

You wave the words away and motion for him to have a seat. "Time in its haste makes servants of us all, and if any man should say that he is free of its grasp, then behold one who does not know how to read a clock."

"Or one who spends most of his days in repose like a lizard among the sands. I fear you shall find far too many of that ilk among the Pureborn. One hopes they might be swept from the streets of Qarth like so much sand when the winds turns from the west." The warlock settles in his seat with easy grace. "Now, you wished to know of the reason for our conditions, and so I shall share these, under conditions of... discretion, of course."

You nod. Loose lips have never been among your vices, as well he could have guessed, though you can see why someone revealing secrets of this nature would wish actual confirmation and not just conjecture.

"By spells forged of old, by craft wrought in the long ages of occlusion, the very lands of Qarth thirst for magic as the sands thirst for water, and there are few magics that burn as bright as those of dragons and their riders. Any such that might dwell there for a long while risks being drained of their life, perhaps even their anima if they are not strong enough of will. We do not wish to risk harm to others, but we do not wish for the draining to be widely known lest our city be counted cursed."

"What is this thing then if not an... enchantment?" Part of you is impressed that the Undying were able to feed upon magics over so vast an area, but more immediately you have to know what you are dealing with and what the full peril is.

"An alteration of the ley lines, fragile feeders that drain free floating magic and ground it. It is... particularly attuned to dragons who are as the bones of the land," comes the soft reply. "Now as to the second point, about the weirwoods. If I may, could you tell me what you know of them and those whose power is upon them, Your Majesty? It would be easier to explain if I know from what foundation I am doing so."

The full answer is that you know more about the Old Gods than anyone save their Greenseers, but you can hardly share that with one you have met for the first time a few days past. How much is safe to say without seeming ignorant of those you have for so long empowered?

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OOC: Well this was longer than I thought it would be, hopefully the descriptions are worth it.

 

[DragonParadox]

Black and White ​

Second Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC

Thankfully you had been expecting something like this, enough so to keep a thread connecting your mind to that of the Last Greenseer, currently enjoying the pleasures of being freed from his pale throne and not bound to the beck and call of Robert Baratheon's Small Council. Not those pleasures fortunately for your peace of mind, more the simple joys that one can find in any city in the world, though all the more prevalent in your capital, art and architecture to admire, plays to see and public gardens and parks to enjoy in peace or in company.

His answer when it comes is perhaps unsurprising, tell only what could be inferred from publicly accessible books and lore by a skilled and observant mage. That they are a collective consciousness whose power moves through the heart trees, root and sap, branch and leaf, that they are old spirits of nature associated with the fey and the protection of the wild places of the world long before they were the gods of man. Better to keep knowledge back than share it with one who cannot be trusted, and safer to assume the stranger should not be trusted until otherwise proven so.

The Chronicler nods thoughtfully and taps his cup, "Fine porcelain as ever has been wrought. For tea the only proper vessel, yet one could just as easily pour hot wine in the same vessel as is common in the lands of Mossovy and the vessel would hold just as well, no? What matters is not the substance, but the temperature. What matters is the weight of magic poured into a vessel that once was alive. During the Occlusion we who are Undying did not drink Shade of the Evening for power as foreigners who gained the use of it did. We drank it to remain ourselves. We too dream in the embrace of a great dream, but it is not of green growing things and we are not bound to the black-barked trees like grapes to the vine. They are vessels, just as flesh is a vessel, together they contain consciousness. There are no ever slumbering minds to command us from beyond some veil. When one of us is lost, they are lost..."

Sorrow far deeper than the words can say flashes in the eyes of the warlock, but he does not linger upon it. With a shake of the head he adds. "A small price to pay to remain creatures of the world and not bound to the whims of those who have lost all the sensations and wishes of flesh and matter."

"Am I correct in assuming there is some connection between the dark tree and the white?" you ask delicately. So far there is nothing that might prevent the warlocks from taking their place among the mages of the Scholarum.

"They are of the same stock, plucked from a forest that is no more. Like sings to like," the envoy replies, his voice going even softer, such that to the ear no sharper than that of the average man the words might be lost. "I can hear the Songs of the Green standing here before you like a great roar in my mind. We had thought to visit this place sooner, but the risk was counted too great until we found a way to mute the songs for those who would make the journey." Haqaak motions to one of the talismans that lie upon his samite robes. "This wards against losing myself to the roar, though it is far from perfect. Should trees catch root in Qarth and its lands where most of my fellows make our abode, where we must take our rest even in this age of rising magic, then we might be truly lost... consumed as much by our own passions as the Voice of the Green."

"To wipe away the blush and lead powder from what you have just been told, those who call themselves the Undying are less symbiotic with the trees they make use of and more of a parasitic consciousness," Bloodraven notes. You cannot hear any disapproval in his voice, but you doubt the Greenseers of Old would agree. "That and perhaps the small size of their dream web is why they would need to sap magic from all across Qarth to remain alive. The first priority must have always been the trees were not rebelling under a nascent consciousness of dying warlocks and only secondly that they had any power to stay alive."

What do you do next?

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OOC: I cheated a bit with having Brynden be 'on the line' because otherwise this would have been really clunky. Hope it works.