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

[DragonParadox]

Eulogy for a Lost Prince ​

Eighteenth Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC

"Let the record show that the accused refuses to comply with court procedures. For the benefit of the accused, the court will assume that he has plead 'not guilty'. Proceed, Lord Vanor," the words of the Imperator echoed from the mirror and some in the crowded square cheered, but most were silent. Some out of respect for the throne, some out of lingering horror from what they had heard to be the crimes of the western lord, but in the case of the youngest of the watchers, one small cloaked figure among the slightly larger ones of dawnkin gremlins in the guise of urchins, it was the silence of confusion and pondering.

A spell of tongues was a strange thing to lay upon the very young, for normally it was meant to pass concepts from one tongue to another as best the listener could understand in the intent of the speaker's words, yet even in those cases when the one hearing them did not have the words to set to strange thoughts the spell still strove to gift understanding, soft and vague as it might be. Thus it was that Rhaenys Targaryen understood the mind of her uncle even when she knew not what 'comply' meant, or 'procedure'.

The bad man was trying to get out of having all the bad stuff he did being told in the open. She did know what a headsman was, but she knew what a hangman was and there the grey-haired man would be going.

The little girl could not recall the moment she and mother had gone away anymore, thanks to the dream-magic and here in the warmth and the light of the Deep, but she could remember remembering the cold sweats and the screams. She could remember all too well the way her mother looked at her, dark eyes filled with worry and dread as she tried to quiet her... the way she would cry into her pillow when she thought Rhaenys did not see her.

It was because of Balerion that she knew who Tywin Lannister was and what he had done, well Balerion and Vee. The cat had once bragged of having stolen a choice morsel off his plate and Vee who had been speaking cat for Rhaenys had explained who that was and why the deed was done. Mother had been quite angry with Vee then and she had told the older girl to never speak of such things again until she was older, but the little princess was old enough and she remembered that too.

I used to have a brother and the bad man took him away, like he tried to take mama and me from uncle Oberyn and uncle Doran and uncle Viserys, and my brother is never coming back because he was too little to know the way. She would sit here and she would watch. I used to have a brother and mother used to have a son and his name was Aegon and he is never coming back. Well Tywin Lannister would not be coming back either, Rhaenys thought with an edge of viciousness beyond her tender years. She would make sure of that with her own eyes. She would watch the bad man hang.

Had any of the folk in the mirror square chanced to look down at the girl at that moment they might have seen a spark of red flame. But if they had they would likely have thought nothing of it. This was after all Sorcerer's Deep.

OOC: As you can imagine Elia would not be amused to find out where her daughter is right now, though Dany would probably count what Glyra did a good deed.

 

[DragonParadox]

Of Blood and Fire ​

Eighteenth Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC

"Let the record show that the accused refuses to comply with court procedures. For the benefit of the accused, the court will assume that he has plead 'not guilty'. Proceed, Lord Vanor," you reply in place of the outburst the accused was probably expecting and hoping for. Or not... perhaps he actually thinks he is giving good advice, a payment of sort for having been treated well as a prisoner. Even now at the last Tywin Lannister does not seem to understand what the rise of magic means for the world, that your 'kindness' is nothing of the sort, but instead simple conventional. You do not need a rack and thumbscrews to make your case and to have him show any sort of bruise or wound would make a poor show for the mirrors. There is yet much you can take from the proud terrible old man in front of you and it shall not involve laying a hand on him.

Malarys lips twitch ever so slightly in amusement, though you doubt any who do not know him as well as you could have seen it, much less guessed the cause. 'Let us add on a charge of contempt of court to the one of murder and slavery and all sundry sins that only the noose can absolve. That way he can pay a fine with the coin he does not have...'

There is the faint scratch of the court calligraphy wyrm laying down the very charge on paper, then he continues. "On the matter of the attack upon King's Landing and the ordering of the deaths of the Princess Ellia Martell, her son Aegon and her daughter Rhaenys the prosecution calls upon a posthumous witness Gregor Clegane, called by some the Mountain that Rides."

The skull gleams white and pristine in the light of the mage lamps, though you had to repair it from the ruin Sandor had made of it. As you knew it would the voice of Gregor Clegane, still echoing with a faint remnant of his hateful will, recounts how he had been commanded to kill Aegon and Rhaenys and had Malarys not stopped it you know it would have given even the details of the deed. It had obviously been something of a highlight of Clegane's miserable life, to have been so well preserved in his bones. Though Elia's death had not been ordered it is clear that at the very least in sending the Mountain on his murderous errand the Lord of the Westerlands had at the very least not cared to preserve her life, and not once had he ever been brought to task for the crime even in private. It is more brief, but no less clear, on the matter of who had ordered the sack.

For corroboration on that part you have some of the horn blowers and signalmen of the Lannister hosts from those times brought forth to testify that indeed the sack had been long planned, before the hosts of the Westerlands had even set out almost certainly. It would have after all been rather impolitic to bring the lords to give the same account.

'And so you shall be thanking me, my lords, for allowing 'smallfolk' to testify when you cursed my great-grandfather for it,' you think with carefully veiled amusement.

Next comes a matter that is not public record at all, that the Wyldfire attack in the Deep had been planned in the Red Keep and 'the substance' provided by the Alchemists' Guild at the king's command with the aid and agreement of the lord of the Westerlands. The documents Pycelle had been able to gather on the matter do not have any Lannister seals, but they do have one of the Golden Shields in the matter of transporting the stuff and handing of off to the 'foreign wizard'.

The revelation that said wizard had been one of the Deep Ones awakens quite a few shocked gasps among the more excitable of the Curia, and you suspect it would have drawn groans among the more savvy had they allowed themselves the luxury.

"The crown does not usually allow one to remain unprosecuted on the matter of making alliance with the enemies of all the world, but in this case given how clearly the record shows that you neither knew nor cared what manner of killer you had 'hired' to slay tens of thousands the prosecution allows that your ignorance should be taken as genuine," a small note of disdain entered Malarys tone at last. "Do you have anything to say in your defense that counters what has been here said and shown?"

"Only this," the Old Lion replies more angry at the implication of his own incompetence than he would like to show. "You cast a spell upon a skull that we must take on faith of your honesty that it is Clegane's and then it says when you wished it to say. Who is to say what else you might make it say or whence it came?" Looking around the domed hall he adds. "Which of you my lords will be next charged on the words of hollow bones and men of no account that you might buy with three coppers on the roadside?"

"That I could do something should not be taken as a sign that I did, Lord Lannister," Malarys replies, now again in his perfectly neutral tones. "I could simply have made you say that you were guilty, but unlike you I have never made puppets of others in defiance of both oath and law. As soon say that all who bear a sword must have committed as many crimes of violence as your... Mountain. There are standards for evidence in this court and those standards are publicly known. While I cannot here reveal the source of the Inquisition's for some of them, postcognitive divinations have established that the documents have come from the hands of a member of the Golden Shields and some of those same mages are willing to testify against you. As has been shown time and again, slaves are only too glad to do that against a master who abused them."

"Fine then, I shall play along in this mummery," the old man sighs, as though weary of the follies he sees around him. He turns to you. "There was no law in the Seven Kingdoms that claimed that laying geas on another was slavery. Am I then to be judged by the laws of a realm I was not then part of and did not recognize, indeed a realm that did not exist when the first of these supposed crimes of magic were committed? If that is the standard then I imagine all of Westeros shall see men in grey cloaks demanding the throne's due darkening their door, and I do not think that all your magic is enough for that."

What (if anything) do you reply?

[] Write in

OOC: Tywin can stand being called a monster much better than being called an idiot, news at 11.

 

[DragonParadox]

Lessons Learned Late ​

Eighteenth Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC

"The Imperium is the legal successor to the state of the Iron Throne, which has been dissolved by order of the rightful sovereign of said entity. The deeds recounted here were illegal under custom and law of the Iron Throne, so it falls on the Imperium to persecute those who broke them," you reply dryly. "For an example of how absurd clinging to the specificity of this instance is, let us for a moment consider the following. A man walks into a keep in Westeros or a burgher's house or a crofter's cottage, there is a fight and the stranger kills all within by magic. If upon this murderer being caught he should claim that his deeds could not be murder for behold there was no provision for killing by sorcery than any judge of good will shall hold him in rightful contempt. Why then should we count slavery any different because the scars it leaves are less obvious than a body on the ground?"

Slowly your gaze moved above the head of the accused and to the members of the Curia and the much wider audience beyond the mirror. "The argument Lord Lannister is making, if argument it could be called, is that slavery and murder were both legal in the Seven Kingdoms, if only the one who enacted it was 'clever' enough to choose the right weapon for their dark deeds." You pause again and return your gaze to the now quietly seething Tywin Lannister. You had after all just compared him to a common criminal. A pity for him you have no intention of stopping until the argument was driven well home. "That is a stance that most legal scholars would likely consider amusing until you tell them that you are willing to stake your life on this nonsense." Your smile is cold and cold is your heart as you look down upon the accused. Funny, you had always imagined your anger would run hot this day, but the only thing you feel now is the simple desire to see this and to wring from the moment as much use as your burgeoning realm can gain.

There is much to be learned from the tale of Tywin Lannister and there is yet more to be learned from that of Gerion his brother and Lanna his goodsister, for they did not start on their path with thoughts of tyranny and domination, but found for them justifications along the way. Fight fire with fire and soon all is ash...

You cannot bring either of them into the chamber of the Curia. Even with you, Malarys and Garin all in attendance they might still try something and a fight, even one won, would send entirely the wrong message, and as for the means you could give to ensure they cannot pose a threat, well many of them are going to look like torture and the most oft used would render them unable to speak in their own defense.

So instead you had arranged for two small mirrors to be rolled in, each projecting the likeness of one of the two from secure holding cells for the remainder of the trial. There can be no doubt on the matter of slavery once you had heard testimonials from some of the Golden Shields who had been bound with geas and ritual. One of them does try to spit at Tywin, which while understandable is disruption and more than a bit distracting from the fact that poor Malarys is left having to explain the arcane 'organization' of the Westerlander mages in full court. Here too some of the lords are allowed to say their peace and to show that far beyond 'simply' enforcing the oaths of bannerman and banner lord the magics were used for the enrichment of House Lannister. Moreover binding spells were used to control those beyond even the borders of the Westerlands, hinting that were things allow to flow in the same channel for long many more of the lords and ladies of the Seven Kingdoms would find themselves bound...

"I would like..." a voice breaks into the middle of one of Malarys presentations. It is Lanna. "I would like to change my plea to guilty. There is in truth no point arguing this now, but to try to belittle the pain and suffering we have caused and thus multiply it. I lost my way and allowed my magic to be abused in the very ways I once vowed I would not countenance. Nothing is worth that, not should the seas rise up filled with foul brood or the ice grind us all down, or the hells open to devour us. I ask the court only that they look with mercy upon my husband..."

"Six times," Gerion breaks in, shouts almost. "Six times I convinced you to stick with the heartless... well, I shall not call him a bastard because it would be an insult to our mother's virtue. We should have sailed the fuck way and not looked back. No, if you are guilty of this it is not any more than me. I ask of the throne only that Leon, Leila and Joy not have to live under the shadow of our deeds as much as it can be done. Let it end with us." He looks you right in the eye and his distant gaze is clear as the sea on a sunny day. "May you have better fortune than us navigating these hurdles, Your Majesty."

What (if anything) do you reply?

[] Write in

OOC: When faced with a mountain of evidence some people are going to just plead guilty in the hopes of saving if not their legacy then at least some of their final moments upon the earth. Still, a Lannister is still a Lannister to the end, pride and all hence Gerion's advice at the end.

 

[DragonParadox]

In the Scales of Empire ​

Eighteenth Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC

You sigh... this again. Well to be fair he is not accusing you of wanting to harm his children, only a father worried as to the fate of his daughters and son, and if ever unreasonable fears loom blackest they are upon a man at the foot of the gallows. "The Imperium does not punish children for the deeds of their parents. Your children will become wards of the state and be treated with all the care and compassion this implies." You cannot quite keep the exasperation off your tongue entirely. "We are not barbarians after all."

Softly, so softly you doubt other ears than yours in the whole of the throne room caught it, Tywin Lannister curses bitterly and you do not think it is at your last dig. With Lanna's and Gerion's admission of guilt the last of his family have abandoned him and there can be no more hope that others have not, for had he not bound them to him with chains of magic?

Tywin Lannister looks old for the first time since you have laid eyes on him in the flesh, the sharp planes of his face cast in sharp shadows by the light of the chamber and many lines upon his brow, his back just a bit less straight upon the plain wooden chair that had been afforded him.

The mirrors fade to rippling silver grey as Malarys stops to write down the guilty pleas both had entered into the record. There might be something like a glimmer of appreciation in his eyes over the deed, not so much for the rights and wrongs of admitting fault, but because it makes it so much easier for him to move on to the lesser crimes of the Golden Shields... lesser at least in comparison to planning the death of a city, but this is not petty theft or minor graft that one might have expected creating such an imbalance of power as the geasa did in the Westerlands.

The least of the crimes recounted and presented through testimony is a massive smuggling ring which counts a total of more than five thousand Gold Dragons in lost taxes, then there is the rape and murder, mostly confined to the smallfolk who would had no means of fighting back, all the more so with their lords enthralled, but at Sarsfield where the mages had fought and killed the lord before fleeing one of the young cousins of the main line had actually suffered the unwanted advances of a mage of high ambition and low character. That it had stopped shy of actual rape could be put down to luck and wit on the part of the victim as well as the lord, now sadly dead, managing to give some protection in spite of his binding. For many of the lords in attendance this seems to cut closer to home than much of what has been said before. The killing of a city is abstract, the hideous works of unregulated flesh-smithing arcane and obscure, but the air of dread and uncertainty 'like a clinging grey morass that eats your soul little by little' as one witness put it speaks to the fears of many in this time of change and to the fears of tyranny.

It is not without purpose beyond the obvious that you have made such a show of this trial, for not only to your aim to end House Lannister which has ruled in the Westerlands since before the bounds of commonly recorded history, but it gives here to the notables of east and west a tyrant of an obvious sort. Thus when they might see some change that you have championed and grumble to themselves that it to going 'too far', they might think back to what too far actually looks like from one who would sooner strangle a realm than let it loose from his grip.

"Rarely have I had the chance to stand before a man whose crimes are so many and so unabashed," Malarys concludes once the last of the witnesses had said their part. "Your Majesty, you have before you a man who fears neither the censure of his pears nor the judgement of history, who holds nothing sacred save power and the legacy of power. He is saved from the path of those who betrayed all life and sanity only by the chance in finding more wholesome allies, though he used their arts in most unwholesome and perilous ways. Had there been any question that his deeds require a sentence of death I would ask for one on the basis of that fact alone. As is I can only wish him swift him passage on the last of his journeys." The last is said with cold conviction that goes beyond his preset role in the trial and so it echoes across the hall and across the realm.

How do you pass your sentence on Tywin and all of House Lannister?

[] Write in

OOC: I know you guys already decided on what sentence you shall give, but I thought I would give you the chance to put it into words. Also, the execution is an entirely different scene so I needed a scene break.

 

[DragonParadox]

By Sword and Noose ​

Eighteenth Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC

For a long moment you let the silence stretch, for all that you had reached this verdict long before you had stepped into this chamber today. Still, you seek the words for this is a momentous time for your quick-growing realm. Thus you intone: "There are no easy judgments. No matter how clear the law, no matter how certain the evidence, no matter how crushing the guilt, there are always other things to consider than merely the fate of the accused themselves."

Most of the witnesses have gone now, having said their part, some with tears, some with rage, some with a simple breath of relief to be finally listened to. Your eyes fall on a young man who had lost his brother to a mage of the Golden Shields for nothing more than a drunken brawl in which the wizard had called his magic and 'painted the tavern red with his blood'. His was not a unique tale, merely one of many chosen for the passion of its telling.

"The first question has to be if restitution can be offered to those wronged in accordance with the damages they received. In a perfect world, all wrongs could be righted with the right judgement, but our world is not perfect and even my power can not restore all the lives lost or forever impacted by the vile acts we have heard about today. Even now, Imperial healers try to ease what suffering they can, but in this case I must admit that true restitution can not be offered by a judgement. All it can give is closure for those still alive and vindication for those that are not."

You do not even glance at the once lord of the Westerlands, but instead sweep with your gaze the seats of the Princeps and the Vox, from the empty seats that shall be filled with the representatives of the western lands to the already seated representatives of Essos, from the Narrow Sea to Mantarys.

"The second question has to be how the law and it's enforcement could prevent such events from transpiring in the future. The acts we have heard recounted today were the result of a weak and incapable Usurper, whose presence was barely felt outside his throne room, leaving his vassal to scheme, plot, murder and defile in his absence. Worse yet, some of these actions received the full blessing of the man who styled himself king. Even under the most cursory of scrutiny, the crimes discusses should not, could not, have been left unnoticed for so long, let alone be ignored and tacitly approved for political convenience. But the Imperium is not the Iron Throne and under the stalwart vigil of the Inquisition and the many law enforcement officers of the realm, I have full trust that I shall never again have to hear about atrocities such as these committed in my realm."

There is no doubt in your mind that all of them had heard that loud and clear. Now you look into the silver eye of the mirror that carries your face and your voice far and wide, and to them you speak.

"Which leaves the third and final question. What is the message that this ruling will send? How will it be received by those who had not been impacted by these events? How will it inform their actions in the future? The case put before us today is of great scope, both in the width of crimes and their depravity. Yet, many knew what transpired. Many aided and abetted the accused, who himself ordered all, but was incapable to impose his madness on the world without their aid. Here it is, that this ruling must send a clear and firm message for all the world to hear."

Silence falls again, heavy as a curtain of lead, with only the softest of whispers from the upper seats of the Principium break it, speculation too urgent to be kept quiet even one moment more. You pay it no mind for the moment. At last you look down onto the still defiant face of the Old Lion, he does not seem a lion now to tell the truth, more a starving vulture denied his roost and if he has yet the strength not to speak than it is held back by a thread. Wrath and contempt bubbles there, envy and rage beyond the power of words to tell of.

"For the crimes committed by the head of House Lannister, aided and abetted by other members of House Lannister and in furtherance of it's political and economical goals, House Lannister is hereby dissolved by Imperial decree."

One can almost feel the air in the chamber thinning from all the in-drawn breaths and from the seat of the accused Tywin jumps to his feet and opens his mouth to speak, but without word or gesture you silence him, the first and last spell you shall ever work upon him. This chamber is one of debate for the good of the realm and it is one of judgement, but not of bandying sharp words with dead men.

Thus you continue as the legionaries flanking Tywin press him back into his seat: "All fiefs and properties of the defunct house fall to the crown and will be used to alleviate the damages inflicted through the crimes of Tywin Lannister. Former members of House Lannister who wish to petition the crown to retain all or part of their fiefs and properties may do so, provided they have not been found guilty of crimes against the Imperium, or aided and abetted the crimes discussed today. All legal claims and obligations related to House Lannister are void and any attempts to reinstate or make legal claims on the basis of House Lannister will be made in direct defiance of Imperial decree and thus be considered treason."

Slowly you turn to look at the two mirrors that hold the images of Lanna and Gerion, kindled again for the sentencing: "Gerion and Lanna Hill. You have pledged guilty on all charges levied against you. I therefore bestow upon you the title Slaver, for your enslavement of sentient beings, and the title Maleficar, for your abuse of magic for vile purposes and the atrocities committed in this. As per the laws of the Imperium, I sentence you to death. However, the crown notes your admission of guilt and the remorse shown during the trial and thus rules that the sentence will be carried out by the sword. Your children will become wards of the crown."

The implication of your words is not lost on the old man in black, not lost at all. His struggles go from mere rage and affronted pride to deadly purpose as he struggles to reach for the sword of one of the legionaries with all the strength left in him until Malarys freezes him in place with a command and you suspect an edge of hidden glee. He had not enjoyed having to deal with Tywin's interruptions.

There is something like gratitude in the eyes of Lanna though Gerion seems too consumed by anger at his eldest brother to actually give much thought of it, not that you blame him for that at least.

At last you look to the architect of all that has been recounted today and with perhaps a touch more relish than you really should you say: "Tywin Hill." You let the words hang for a moment. "Your conduct before this court has been marked by belligerence, petulance and unrepentance that almost veered into glee over the crimes you committed. You have been found guilty on all charges levied against you and for your conduct. The court would also fine you for disrespect, but as you have no worldly possessions, this will be waived. I bestow upon you the tiles Slaver, for you enslavement of sentient beings, the title Maleficar, for the crimes and atrocities wrought by magic that have been committed in your name, the title Oathbreaker, for your false conduct during the Usurpation and for breaking the oaths of vassalage to the Iron Throne, and the title Traitor, for violently resisting the rightful sovereign of the Imperium and his servants. I sentence you to death by hanging."

Though you had half-expected him to resist again once the first spell was lifted he does not seem to have found some mastery over himself. After a moment's hesitation you dispel your own working, giving him back his voice. He might after all have some words of repentance to speak even now... though you very gravely doubt it.

He says nothing at all, perhaps concerned that any insult or challenge shall be cut off mid-word making him look all the more absurd, perhaps simply unable to find in all the tongues he knows any words that could fit his loathing of you in this hour.

The doors of the chamber close behind him with a heavy clang like the onto a tomb door closing.

***​

The sun shines red in the western sky, bathing in crimson the white marble of the palace and beyond that the high fair walls of houses drawn from the depths of the earth, trailing off like steps to the western sea and beyond that the causeway that goes as far as Dorne and over the leagues and miles to the mountains of the Westerlands, to Casterly Rock empty of Lannisters for the first time in an age, where now only the red of the Legion is seen and no gold. Oathkeeper flashes with its own flame before the assembled crowds and the first of the prisoners are brought up.

Some lords no doubt wonder why you had asked your sworn sword to play the task of executioner but not Ser Richard himself. If that is an honor you wish to give to two among your foes than he shall grant it and glad for having himself removed them from the world.

The two come forth slowly, eyes filled with regret, but not with fear. Death for them is not the great unknown it might be for others and you had pledged to deliver their souls bound in silver and steel to Axis where the World Wheels yet turn true, and you had pledged also that their children shall be honorably fostered.

Once, twice, the sword flashes, almost too fast for the eye to see and the sound to two heads falling is as one.

For his part Tywin is not so fortunate, no sword of arcane forging for him, no champion so skilled in its use that one hardly feels the sword upon the neck, instead only a common scaffold, of the sort that had seen countless criminals sway for the amusement of the crowds and the profit of the crows.

"Do you have any final words, Tywin Hill?" the hangman asks. For all the pomp of the moment and the fact that he shares the proverbial stage with a Companion the man sounds bored, caring nothing for whom Tywin Hill might once have been and likely just waiting to get to his dinner.

"Enjoy your triumph while you can, boy," he spits at last. "I did it too when I was your age. But I do not think you shall live as long as I before you see it all crumble down to death and ruin."

No answer comes as the noose it fitted upon his neck and seat kicked from below his feet. It takes him only a few moments to die. Bored the hangman might be, but like most in Sorcerer's Deep he knows his trade.

As the first stars kindle in the sky you hand the souls of Lanna and Gerion to a somber Deva whom Yrael had called and as to the soul of Tywin Hill... well, the imp is very suspicious to be getting gifts unlooked for from you, but he is not going to argue with his good fortune.

What next?

[] Write in

OOC: I was tempted to break this up into two updates, but in the end I just went with it in full. We have already spent a lot of time on this trial so best to just see it over.

 

[Takesis]

A Reunion of Sorts​

Seventh Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC

What does hot baths, expensive wines, luxurious meals, floating in mid-air, and pillow houses have in common? They're only found on Sorcerer's Deep of course!

Cloud Palace is one of the most prestigious courtesan's place, or whorehouse as a crass Westerosi who can't afford even the door pass call it, in the realm and only serves the most well paying clientele.

Which of course why the old/young group of men choose this place celebrate the good fortune of one of their comrades into a position high in power.

"Cheers to the new Minister of Trade!" Koron tumbles into the air laughing. "Now you can finally pay me that 20 marks I gave you in Qohor four and ten years ago!"

Menel, making a pillow of a buxom Summer Isle woman in the air raised his eyebrow "Which time were we at Qohor was that? The third? Didn't you stole my money pouch at that time to pay off a debtor?"

"Naw, that was in Qarth three years past that." Lothos called out from within a "cloud fortress" in the company of a woman. "And that was me who swiped yo-"

"I knew it!" Menel interrupts. "You costed me 400 marks that year mister!

"Didn't you make profit right after that?" Grazdan noisily chewed while floating upside down. "That was after you and Thin Terion gambled on that pirate's scheme with Pentos."

"Now that's a name I haven't heard for a while." Aubert interjects while drinking from a floating bubble of wine. "Fat Terion on the other hand, can rot in hell!"

Koron grunted, "Bah, they're both dead Flowers, him and that woman both. Speaking of him, wasn't he our last recruit that applied? No one else came to join after, right?"

"I think so." Menel laid down on a bed of clouds after letting his lady of the night off to fetch more wine. "Old Tevos would have known... as would Tor."

The mood darkened a bit, but for Grazdan loudly gulped down a bubble of beer and proclaimed. "Brightsmile! That old bastard really did us good selling his house to our patrons, haven't he?"

At that Menel brightened a bit and threw up a cup of wine he has called to be brought forth. The spilled wine coalesced into a bubble before him. "To Brightsmile and the old place that brought us good fortune and youth!"

He struck the bubble and the magic of the place split the wine into equal bubbles that floated to each of his companions locations, including inside the clouds where Lothos was still... partaking.

"To us, the last of the Windwalkers! Sail Windwards on this age of the Imperium!"

Cheers rang out between the five, and more drinks were drunk, when Koron suddenly spotted an odd patron of this place surrounded by his own buxom women. Something about the odd way the person held his cup and lazed about.

His eyes widened in recognition, got his companions to be silent, and dragged out a protesting Lothos who immediately shut up after a quick explanation.

The five floated over and gathered around the dozing person, the women looking at them in alarm.

The bearded man blinks his drowsiness away as he realizes he's surrounded. "How may I help you... friends?"

"Volantis, nine years back. I found him lounging in the same position and holding the cup the same way." Koron said. "Which I snatched and drank, then I was rolling on the floor later my bowels roiling. And you know what the bastard did?"

The Rakshasta sighed and answered for him. "Kicked you in the stomach till you puked it all out."

Koron snorted. "So you do know that at least. Bastard was at fault, but he did save my life that one time. Hello Tor, we've been looking forward to meeting you as it seems you've been avoiding us."

The shadow man shifts in his position into a formal seating one, but with a posture of one who's used to holding a rotund belly even if his current form doesn't have one.

"I've been commanded to avoid playing cruel games with you lot, and I won't as I don't want to make enemies. Do you object to the name? I could change it if it means peace for all of us."

Grazdan laughs. "Talks with that same condescending tone too... No, the name's fine. We've come here to know what manner of being the Imperator has made out of a fallen friend. We wish to know how much of him is still with you."

At that, the shadow man raised an eyebrow drawing another memory of a man that was gone among those who remember. "A quick answer to that would be half, but that won't be satisfactory.

"I am made to be a guide to the paths your former friend walked among the shadows into places of power. I have all the memories and thoughts related to that, his ways through this form, and nothing else. Of his life before that, only glimpses related to the path he took as he trekked through paths hidden from the light."

There was a mild tense silence after that, which Lothos broke. "Ha! Half of Tor he says, but still speaks with all those cryptic words. Tell it to us like we're five!"

A wry smile broke the person's lips. "Because I know you'll ask as always Lothos, so for you half-wit pirate, just the bits and pieces, and memories and thoughts as he passed through a place where he buried his treasure."

At that, Aubert perked up. "Oh, what kind of treasure?"

The Shadow Guide leaned back relaxing in mid-air. "A god."

Everyone lapsed into silence, until Menel spoke up. "You know, we were just talking about our group having the last applicant a decade ago. Does your bits and pieces know about it?"

The being of form and shadow thought for a bit, "Someone named Terion? I think. The memories thought of him as a buffoon and comparing him to the nasty denizens of the shadows."

"And no one else joined or declined the invitation." Menel continued. "The Windward Society, a place of decrepit old men, basking on old glories waiting to die, as one creative rejection said. But we aren't decrepit now, are we?"

"Your point being?" Tor asked.

"My duties will stop me from joining, but I can support you with funding as I had before, except for the times I've been dragged along by you lot." Menel stared hard at Koron. "What say you lot look into that treasure in the name of the Windward Society to put our name out again?"

"Won't the Imperator protest? asked Aubert. "Didn't he made you to guide him to this treasure for himself?" he turned back to Tor.

"He didn't ask me to keep secret about it." he replied. "When I was made, his majesty is more concerned about my other purpose, which I believe I have performed well enough."

"And that is?" Koron asked.

"Leading him and companions through a fortress of shadows in order to shank a different god."

There was silence again, until the Minister of Trade spoke up. "Why don't you grab this treasure for him then? Wouldn't that make a statement and perhaps get people interested in our group?"

Another raised eyebrow, Tor answered. "Oh? But I a not member of the Windward Society.

Grazdan responded with a laugh. "Once a member, is alway a member, half of Tor. Does your memories tell you that?" he said, half remembering those same words spoken by the person who's half is part of this being now.

The Shadow Guide laughs back. "Oh it does, and also that you owe 20 marks for that wine press you bought just before old Tor left Braavos."

Bickering, reminiscing, and attempts at debt collection followed the lot through the night.

The next morning, Menel Goldentooth submits a proposal for an expedition to the Shadowlands, by the Windward Society.

Notes: Well, if no one wants to hunt Sseth down, lets get others to do it!

 

[DragonParadox]

To Good Health ​

Eighteenth Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC

"To justice!" Oberyn's voice is loud with laughter and with good humor, his cup filled with more than common wine, though you would probably need an hour and an arcane laboratory to be sure quite what he is drinking. There is in the Deep quite a thriving industry for all manner of concoctions to fit every stomach and every temperament, and the Duke of the Rhoyne seems to have sampled all of them, much to his sister's faint disapproval, though for once the Prince of Dorne cannot quite bring himself to object.

Indeed, were one to look upon the smile on the face of Doran Martell it would easy be to see his kinship to the Red Viper, for full too was his glass and bright and loud the toasts he offered also. "To the final journey of Tywin Hill, long may he lie in the Pit of Fire and slow may he cook in the flames!" He chuckled. "I would not have thought the Lord High Justice one to make jests, but that one I shall recall long and long recount."

"Bah... a pity he shall have so little company in it," Oberyn said, laying down his cup for a moment, mirth fading a little. "He leaves behind what? A brother, a sister, a son and more nieces and nephews, cousins and kin than you could fit in half of Lannisport."

"Greyport if you please, and by the will of its new lord," you answer with a smile. "That alone would have been enough to carry Tywin off with bile and wrath. If you want me to read the staves of his heart, such as he could be said to have one, I would say he cared little for his blood and much for his name. Dany spoke a little to Joy Hill before we set her on the ship to Pyke and she said she did not know the Old Lord, nor he her. Now some of that is likely fear and the caution that Westeros breeds in bastards, but a good bit of it was true I wager. He did not care for the girl, his brother's daughter though she may have been, for she was nothing but a stain on the name of Lannister to him. A mistake born on the wrong side of the sheets he would have counted her. That so many of his kindred lived through the fall of the Rock and were content to take the name of Hill themselves would not be comfort to his soul but more poison in the wound."

"Are we really going to be sitting here and debating just what was in the mind of that son of a bitch when the noose tightened?" Elia asked exasperated, her crimson dress ruffling like waves upon the sea. "I swear Oberyn, if you darken the day with much more of that I shall find the first handsome knight I see and drag him off to bed."

"Is that a threat to leave none of the handsome knights for me, sister?" he asked, leaning back into his seat with a smirk and earning himself a sisterly whack on the arm and a roll of the eyes from Doran. He turns to you with a thoughtful frown, or at least as much of a one as he can manage this late in the evening. "What will you be doing with Cersei's boy, the eldest I mean? Some will still think him of royal stock, or pretend they do if it suits their ambitions."

"Fostered with Bronze Yohn in the Vale, no doubt to be a fine knight... among many others," you reply. "He is likely to lose any notion that the crown is owed to him in a few years at the latest for he is still young..."

"Not much younger than you were when you came to Braavos, and you did not forget," Dany points out softly. "I did not forget and I was a babe in arms."

"I did not forget because of Ser Darry and you, because of the both of us. To tell the truth if I had been raised to think of myself as Braavosi and to look to the affairs of the city I would have been well content. There is no..." You laugh. "I was about to say there is no magic in the blood, but that is not quite true is it? Better to say that the magic does not necessarily have to lead to a throne. For myself I wish them a happy life and forgetfulness of a legacy that would bring as much grief to them as to the realm."

"Here here! Drink to that! May the lion's brood forget that they are lions and live long and well to spite the son of a bitch!" calls Oberyn. And that is how the Red Viper ends up toasting to the health of many a once-Lannister, and so the evening goes long into the night and onto the next morn. You are still not sure where Dany had found intoxicants that would actually work through the power of the crown, but she promised to write up a report for the Inquisition on the morrow.

What next?

[] Continue to the business of the Curia

[] Speak to Ser Tygett, cleared of all charges and a man of some administrative skill you might perhaps use him

[] Write in

OOC: Well here we are, I thought about doing this as an interlude but it has been too long since we have seen Viserys at ease I think.

 

[DragonParadox]

Behind the Smile ​

Twentieth Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC

There was a quiet hum of excited voices with just the smallest echo of sorcery to them as the hall filled, the shuffle of feet over fine marble as each man or woman found their own seat as if to some grand spectacle. All these people were not yet familiar to Duke Baelor Hightower, but he knew they would be soon.

He loved the sight of Oldtown stretching out below the feet of the High Tower and he loved to walk its streets mingling with all manner of folk from lands far and wide, and he loved to read a book in the windowless halls below where the treasures of his House had been gathered from time out of mind, but all these things the imperial city had more of. Strangers from lands so distant they were beyond the borders of the world, books in tongues unseen by mortal man, wide boulevards that stretched into green parks where elder gods seemed to whisper and the halls of power grand beyond telling, where the fate of the world was writ.

He tipped his head to Duke Darry, wondering where the man would stand in the byplay of Tyrell and Redwyne. He was one of those he did not have a good read on simply because his House had been so long defined by their doomed stand in the Rebellion that Baelor had thought he would be a throne's man through and through. That did not quite seem to be the case judging from the fact that he had made some approving noises at Mace's talk of arming armsmen with weapons fit to match the Legion.

As soon to walk up to King Aegon the first and ask him if you could have a dragon egg...

Sometimes Baelor was quite amazed at how his fellow lords could miss the obvious though it was writ in the sky with tongues of fire. There would be no sharing of the great weapons of the Legion and no Airforce in the hand of any lord, now or ever. Swords they would be gifted, aye swords by the thousands, to name, to treasure and to hold in place of high honor for power was no longer drawn from its sheath as glimmering steel. Not that it had stopped Baelor from acquiring one of the finest blades that djinn-craft could forge, fate and fortune folded into steel, but he had not done so because he thought the power and prestige of a lord was likely to hang on battle-craft. No, Baelor knew better than most lords and sooner that the world had far too many horrors in it, and even if he did not go looking for them as his father had alas done they could still be looking form him.

He shook off the thought and the nagging guilt that always came with it with a weary sigh as he took his seat and looked upon the chamber.

If there was anyone in all the Imperium who would have the means to stage a military conflict against the crown it would be the ones who were today selected to lead the Legion and the Airforce, and he was very curious indeed to know what manner of folk the Imperator would trust with that much power. Some were obvious, Gerold Torchwood had earned his name quite literally in the service of the Dragon Banner and he had been with the Imperator as long as some Companions, and they did not call Clegane 'Hound' just for his habit of barking at any who approached him unwarily. He would serve faithfully unless... well, unless you were as foolish as the man Baelor had seen hang yesterday. He smiled as he recalled the flash of horror in Mace's face when he thought no one was looking, no doubt considering how close to that fate he had come. It was quite remarkable how many blindspots the man could have and how deep they ran, it was not that he was the oaf he sometimes allowed himself to seem, but if he was approached from the wrong angle... well, there was a reason Baelor would prefer to look to Redwyne, history and all its prestige aside.

"Netzachel Far Traveler, the Hallowed One, Keeper of the lore of War and of Master of its many arts!" the herald called, interrupting Baelor's thoughts once more.

Well, I always did think those folk who went to war could use with consulting more books and not less, the young duke thought as he beheld the being he thought was called a codex archon. He wondered if he should make the jest aloud. They did call him Brightsmile after all, and the reputation had served him well. Best not, he decided after listening some more to the tale of the angel. There was something just a touch unsettling about the voice that issued from those pages the more he listened to it, as though the hairs on the back of his neck had been informed of some fact that escaped his conscious mind.

Not many others seemed to get the message, the applause was long and loud lingering in the hall into the entrance of the next. General Vaerios Ghand was... well, certainly not holy, though he seemed rather enamored of holy things, the sort that burned with red flame.

Time to earn by hay, as father was wont to say. The silent lord is oft forgotten and while that may be a good thing when one is doing things best left in the shadows the same cannot be said for open court. "General Ghand, do you believe that there is merit in the notion that we are living in the last days of the age as some proclaim from the altar?"

"I do," the man replies without hesitation. "One has but to see all the things that crawl from the dark to trouble the world to know that it is so. Soon it shall be given to each of us to fight for the soul of our world even as we each fight for our souls with each sunrise."

Baelor nodded gracefully. "And I would be the last to deny you that faith as a citizen of the Imperium, but I contest that the belief that these are the last days of the age might move you to let use say... less prudent military tactics. For myself I would prefer if the marshals of the realm marched first by facts, good or ill, and then by faith. Evil things are abroad, I know it well, and they seek to end all that is, but the fate of the world is not preordained for good or ill. This I must myself have faith in if I am to get out of bed in the morning." He waited for the laughter to subside, mostly from his fellow dukes, though a few of the Essosi potentates joined in.

"Whether I am right or you are, my lord, such things are well out of both our hands," the general glanced towards the throne. "I shall not be making any decisions thinking I know the day or the hour of wrath, this I pledge."

That had the air of a quote of some kind, though Baelor had not read the holy texts of the Red Priests, a deficiency he vowed to correct soon for there were a very many of them in the realm and some of them quite influential. "Then I am content for my part," he replied and took his seat once more. Fanatical religious belief that you are a divine envoy come to save the world, that was one way to assure loyalty, the Duke of Hightower thought.

OOC: And that was Baelor, he can be quite insightful, but he does not get everything right, like the fact that Viserys considers the whole belief that he is Azor Ahai more of a negative that a positive.

 

[DragonParadox]

Ships of Air and Sea​

Twentieth Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC

The former Archmaester Benedict makes something of a strange sight wearing the colors and armor of the Legion, one assumes in the hope of trying to erase the grey robes of his former calling, even as taking up the name of Deepfinder does. A touch on the nose, but you chose the man for his skill in military theory not politics or public relations, in truth a lack of skills there might even be a selling point to a degree. The last thing the realm needs is marshals overly involved in politics. Still, it does make the confirmation of a bit of a slog as several among the Vox of Braavos and Lorath call into question his experience and even make veiled comments about the supposed loyalty or lack thereof of those who bore a maester's chain. This is not so much an objection to a Westerosi, you guess, but to what is likely seen as another conservative voice on the Curia that will side with the landholders, be they of east or west.

No one is quite sure what to make of celestials, devils, shaitan and azer, but everyone east of the Narrow Sea seems certain they understand their Westerosi colleagues, especially the ones who had hardly met one before. One can already hear the refrain of their debates over everything from trade to infrastructure to education. Well, you had asked for a place for them to debate... it is clear that until voting blocks form that debate is likely to swirl chaotically from one supposition to another.

Thankfully Tyrael is sure to slip through on both his military record and the simple fact of his nature, while sharing nothing of the glaring golden light that had dazzled so many or the subtle shiver of Netzachel. In a sense you were right, but another matter was raised over the course of the interview.

"...if I may be so bold as to ask the Air Marshal what is to be done with the ships that yet sail upon the face of the ocean?" the Lady Doreah Phassen asks. "I make no claim that such vessels can even hold a candle to your great ships of the air, but surely defense from the sea is of grave import given those that lurk beneath the waves as well as the current dependence of most trade between east and west upon the waters of the Narrow Sea."

"You speak the truth, my lady, but I can no more speak for the readiness of the galleons any more than I can over that of the Legion," Tyrael replies. "While it is true much of the recruitment of the Airforce is among seamen the ships themselves are not under my command."

"Well then, should not their commander be represented in this great body?" the lady asks, all too aware that the senior officers of the fleet tend to skew first to the Braavosi and then to the Myrish, Lyseni and Tyroshi in that order. From the glance she throws to the Sealord it looks as though there is some understanding between them in this matter.

The first inklings of a political block east of the Narrow Sea perhaps...

Still, you do not think you can give them this victory even if you wanted to. In a matter of decades if not years sea going ships shall be as much a thing of the past as chariots thanks to the Deep Ones and the simple economics of air transport. How you present this fact to a chamber containing so many places with a strong maritime tradition and interests just as strong is not obvious. Perhaps you could devolve the ships back to local control or some of them at least, that would make for some very happy trading cities... but on the other hand it would seem favoritism compared to the inland lords to whom you had just denied military improvements.

What do you do with your remaining wet navy?

[] Write in

OOC: A quick update so we can have a vote going and cover a small transitional issue.

 

[DragonParadox]

Settling Accounts ​

Twentieth Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC

'Don't break the wheel that is still turning', goes a saying your mother is fond of with the corollary of 'especially when it is soon to be replaced with a better wheel in any case'. Thus, you simply see to it that the navy can continue its duties under the Imperial High Command until those duties can be taken over by the Air Force and Air Marshal Tyrael.

Lady Doreah seems somewhat disappointed in the announcement, but the Sealord seems to have been expecting it. An agreement of support for something he knew would not make it past the proposal, and therefore cost him nothing? you wonder. It has the sort of elegance one expects from a Braavosi getting a foot in the door.

The last marshal to be presented is Hazhak mo Zhoa, and his confirmation is almost startlingly smooth. Where you had thought that a man with no connections and loyalty to any major faction in the Imperium and without the cachet of age old experience would struggle, he is instead seen as inoffensive and easily swayed to this position or that. Many of the magisters and the more conservative members imagine they have a kinship with him because he is Ghiscari and everyone knows how the Ghiscari are about social matters... Not even his own soldiers like him as much as some of the others, after all. At the same time, the feudal lords in Westeros see him as one without support who might be inclined to vote with them, perhaps swayed by the Minister of War or his fellow, Marshal Benedict. There is a lot of counting of unhatched dragons going about, and in truth you might say they are counting the eggs those dragons will supposedly lay, though perhaps one can understand the point.

After lunch, the order of the day is sorting out which fiefs you will keep and what lands you will buy for erecting military bases all over the Imperium, a matter which could prove vastly profitable for those members of the Curia who are land holders by blood or by election, in the name of their constituencies, of course.

You find yourself in the possession of lands in places that are almost certainly worth keeping, like the Eyrie and Casterly Rock, but also minor keeps and the ruins of minor keeps from the Reach to the Stormlands, to the Vale and the Riverlands. The only kingdoms that have not lost lords to the pacification are Dorne by the foresight of its lord and the North by your own foresight, unless one is to presume that the deed to Eddard Stark in keeping Jon alive and safe was a cunning political move, of which you do not suspect of the Duke of the Winterlands, not then and not now.

Part of you wonders if you should treat some parts of the Stoney Shore, where the North meets the cold waters of the Sunset Sea, as crownlands simply because the land is so barren. You could found a village in those lands and be found not by the taxman that year, but by fur traders cutting their way through the woods like explorers in some strange land or by smugglers looking for an hidden alcove. There is a reason no one noticed actual slave traders heading to Bear Island, and it was not their great capacity to blend in among the local populace.

Adding to the affairs of the day are the underground fey. Pech, bulabar, and those born of their joining have decided on where they would like to make their subterranean mountain home, or rather they had narrowed down the possibilities to three mountain ranges rich with untapped ores; the Mountains of the Moon where they had found mithral beneath one of the peeks, where Dalla had discovered her nesting hippogriffs and which by chance fell into the lands she had been granted to settle and reign over, the Western Heights near the ruined Tarbeck Hall where they had discovered a thin vein of sunsilver left behind by some ancient magic perhaps as old as the Sundering of the Spheres, and finally there are the Red Mountains, where near the springs of the Scourge in the foothills of the Red Mountains there lies undisturbed a node of viridium, as precious as it is perilous to all who would dare mine it. You suspect quite a lot of lords will be bidding this way and that to try to persuade the fey to settle in their lands and bring to light the wealth of the earth, but first the time has come to present initial land proposals.

What lands do you wish to offer up and which to buy for military installations?

[] Write in

Additionally, do you wish to become involved in the bidding for where the fey will settle?

[] Yes
-[] Write in how

[] No

OOC: The fey have been trading favors like crazy to get those nodes scouted out, do not expect them to be able to do that again in so short a time.
ort a time.