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

[DragonParadox]

Of Steam and Story ​

Nineteenth Day of the Eighth Month 294 AC

A visitor might be forgiven for thinking that the sight of a snake man face a creature of pistons and gears and pumpkin vines was owed to some mishap with the fried mushrooms the day before. Yet old deep hands had seen enough to Bulabar ever excited to try out their strange arts to know the little things were as skilled as they were excitable and when they set their hand to making weapons they could be twice as deadly, sometimes even on purpose.

It was thus generally agreed that Vrath the black snake was fortunate in spite of his loss, tossed aside and pummeled with hydraulic fists until he could fight no more for all the swiftness and skill that had carried him thus far. After all defeat was not the worst thing that could happen to someone who got that close to a tinker-fey's master work. Those blasts of steam and dreadful screeches sounded like the thing was about o burst apart at the seams any moment.

Truth be told the construct had been perfectly safe else it would not have been allowed to participate, but there had been little reason to take away the spice of danger from the audience's day. Twelve of Three Hundred and Twelve, the golem's maker even sold gears supposedly from earlier failed prototypes together with steamed pumpkin to the good people of the Deep and beyond. The gears were all spare parts from the local warehouse, but the seeds at least were authentically steamed.

In the second quarter-final of the day Dirriz Bluecloak saw both her wings broken in a fight with a what looked like an ordinary man and one who fought bare handed at that though given than this was billed as part of the 'duels of a thousand blessings' that was not quite as surprising as it might have otherwise had been. The little dragon's luck had to run out sooner or later, though some in the crowd winced at the sheer vicious glee of her defeat she did not seem overly bothered seeking out her former opponent with questions as to his nature. Alas her curiosity just as that of most of the spectators would have to go assuaged.

Much to the frustration of the Glassmakers of Myr their pride failed before the flame-kissed blades of the Incarnate Nuri, a mage slayer defeated by a mage in almost the blink of an eye, though they could at least take solace in the fact that the daughters of the soon to be queen were no common sorceresses nor armed or armored as such. Only in the Deep of all the cities of the Imperium could such a thing as a 'common sorceress' be said to exist understood by all and sundry as such

Last though certainly not least that day Brienne of Tarth, bearing Moon Sun and seven stars upon her shield faced the horned knight Ser Dregaire like the echo of some bloody battle of the ages long past made softer with the passage of ages. Though the fey knight fought gallantly and the Warrior's champion boldly beyond pain and fear the match was never in doubt. Between the sword which could fight with no sword to hold it and the horns sharp as spear tips the young scion of Tarth was the one to call for quarter.

Semi-finals:
Nuri vs the Old Juicer
Ser Dregaire vs Digir Izi

Which of the above do you wish to see?

[] Write in

OOC: It is getting close to midnight and there is no way I am going to be able to both roll the above and do a decent write up of them, so I figured I might as well write up what I have and let you guys pick what to see. Not yet edited.

 

[DragonParadox]

A Perilous Dance ​

Nineteenth Day of the Eighth Month 294 AC

She was fire and leaping grace, she was light as the wind but bore blades dredged from the depths of the earth. At first one might mistake the looks the dancer drew from the crowd for base attractions of the flesh, but in truth it was more than that as the wind of an oncoming storm was more than a lover's breath, no matter how heated. The crowd loved her not because they imagined her in some other setting, not because they desired to possess her, but simply because she seemed to belong amid the sands of the arena as the tiger to his forests or the dragon to the sky.

"Nuri! Nuri! Nuri!" Someone, perhaps an overzealous employee of the Ministry of Information, had tried to get the crowd to chant some honorific with her name, lady perhaps, or wisdom, it was hard to recall among the shouting and the cheers.

The incarnate bowed with a flourish to the crowd, her long red hair like a banner waving in the wind of her own passage, then without missing a beat she turned on her heel and faced her opponent in all his hissing, steaming vegetative glory.

"Oh fuck me, not another tin man." Through some trick of acoustics or perhaps a touch of sorcery the exasperated words carried perfectly even to the upper stands.

"Ah, wouldn't I love to darling," Saladhor Saan's words on the other hand were rather lost of among the noise of the crowd, though anyone who knew the man would have been able to guess what he had said. The old rogue considered himself something of a connoisseur of women, and men for that matter, but he had never known one with quite so much fire in her blood. A real pity she would fry me like a roast pig as soon as look at me...

A reputation could be something of a burdensome thing, and if there was one universal fact known about the Daughters of the Empress it was that they were uncomfortably particular about the company they kept. Why, these days Saan could have almost any woman he set his eyes on, High Lord of the Imperium that he was, master of his domain, answerable to none but the Imperator, which was likely why his eyes were so very focused on the women he could not have...

On the other side of the stands a very different sort of man watched the same scene of the incarnate ducking and weaving around the construct's heavy blows as she wove ward upon shield and shield upon blessing of haste with rather different eyes. Ser Willas Tyrell was a man who in theory should have been seen as one of the most influential young noblemen in the Reach. True his family's fortunes had not come out as well as they might have from the recent upheavals, but the lands of the Mandervale were still rich and wide. He could claim blood relation to many other Dukes and influential Counts, but his father seemed bound and determined to piss it all away with clumsy attempts to call out the pride of an age already dead, even if they had not yet said its last rites.

In another life, in another place, he might have wanted to court the young woman who was even now slowly tearing apart a eight foot tall mass of vines, pistons and strange fey magic, deftly jumping out of the way of jets of steam and blasts of thunder. But I might as well wish for the moon. Any sort of odd moves by House Tyrell would be seen in her very darkest of lights, and rightly so in some way. Margaery might be able to wed as her heart tells her in a decade or two if she is lucky, but as for me... I'll have to go looking for the most boring bride that will have me and take care to only have the most blandly supportive of opinions to counter-balance father so that the Imperator might overlook any embarrassing word choices on his part.

Willas had considered doing more than that. He had considered being a voice for change, enthusiastic and invested in all the projects that came down from on high. In some ways it would have been easier, after all he agreed with much of the plans for education and local representation to far more than lukewarm levels. The only trouble was... well, he knew what the Inquisition was beyond the shinny silver façade and he was very much afraid...

The neck of the golem hissed and crackled as the thing lashed out with vines at a illusory doubles of its foe. Three swift blows rammed into the fey forged mechanisms and it exploded with the force of a dozen thunderbolts, the stands shaking. For a moment it seemed as though it had taken its opponent with it. Then some of the smoke swirled and danced and in the center of it stood the dancer, bloodied but unbeaten among the detritus of his body. She kicked the head, miraculously mostly intact, into the hands of a boy sitting on one of the lowest rows, much to his delight.

And that might be father's head if the Imperator thinks he would be much better served with me, Willas thought. And I would never even know for sure. A safe and boring wife it is for me, if any of them will still have me.

OOC: This fight was not the most exciting, so I used it as background to a bit of politics. You guys to know all this IC BTW because of passive surveillance. Basically Willas is for your policies, but does not trust Viserys personally not to arrange an accident for Mace if he looks like too good a replacement.

 

[DragonParadox]

Wicked Wisdom ​

Nineteenth Day of the Eighth Month 294 AC

Ting had grown to like the arena, for all he was sure his old master would have called it folly and the fruit of pride and greed.

There was life here, and joy in life taken. Voices young and old mingled in a pleasant hum of excitement that rose into waves of exaltation and denial. Far indeed was it from the Middle Way, but not all would even wish to walk that path, and if there was one thing Ting had learned in his travels it was that there were more ways than one to be at peace with yourself. Sometimes the sailor took joy in the storm and the tiller saw beauty in the flowers of wild herbs. His clapping was therefore no less enthusiastic than his neighbors.

Truth be told it may even have been a touch louder, for the monk was curious as to what manner of fighter this Digir Izi was. He had heard from Denys that he fought in a manner not unlike Ting himself, with hands and feet, wielding no weapon and bearing no armor, though he did not seem to hail from the Golden Empire. To be able to get this far in the challenge, facing sorcerer, warriors and constructs forged of arcane arts, he must be skilled indeed, perhaps possessed of insights besides the molding of one's body into a weapon.

These hopes began to wither like flowers under the light of the merciless desert sun at the mere sight of Digir Izi entering the arena glistening with oils and wearing naught but a loincloth and a haughty look. That is not the pride of a fool, Ting thought, meeting the back gaze even from the height of the stands. No, that is a predator slinking out, sure of his mastery, drinking in the cheers as though they were owed to him.

Neither left nor right did the man glance and he gave no sign that he heard the cheers of the crowd as he advanced as from the other side of the arena came the fey knight, antlers held high, shield of true silver shining like a moon at his left, sword of adamantine bright in his right. The two bowed, one with the courtesy of all kami-kin, the other with an edge of cold mockery... though the eyes were still watchful as ever.

For a moment it felt to Ting as though he was high among the lost peaks again, the voice of his master a whisper on the cold winds: "Are wisdom and goodness one?"

As Ting watched Digir exploded into motion before the antlered knight could even draw his blade. To his credit he managed to avoid the first blow, a kick that would have struck him in the chin, and the second, a brutal undercut from the left that meant to snap the elbow, but the third strike was too heavy and too fast. Heavy as the right fist struck the chest plate and the metal crumbled like like silver leaf instead of the steel it was, jagged edges biting into the flesh underneath and spraying blood onto the sands.

Reeling for a moment the fey knight cast his bright blade into the air where it hung obedient to his will and ready to strike at the foe, then with a flash of sorcery he vanished, appearing almost the whole length of the arena away, but his foe would not relent. In one great bound Digir Izi cleared the blade, taking only a graze to the leg and charged to meet the lowered antlers of Dregare.

The man, if man he be, goes flying through what would have broken bones in many others, seeming to have troubled him not at all. If anything his face looked more animated covered in blood, his own and that if his foe, his wounds already healing. Once more he leapt forth, foot extended into an axe kick, striking for the chest. The blow left his opponent reeling... no, more than that. Staggered from the weight of the blow, unable to defend himself.

For a moment Ting hoped that Digir would show some mercy and spare the worst blows he could deal. Again, he hoped in vain. Seizing his chance as the serpent seizes its prey in its coils the warrior pummeled the chest of his opponent until ribs snapped and metal bent, until his arms were slick with blood to the elbow, until the fey knight collapsed at his feet to the stunned silence of the crowd that had never seen such savagery.

OOC: And that is what happens when you roll a 1 and get paralyzed on the first attack in a full attack sequence making every last one of the rest a crit against a helpless target. Dregare had an edge in AC and in sheer flexibility thanks to his magic, but he just did not have the chance to use them.

 

[DragonParadox]

By Tattered Memories ​

Nineteenth Day of the Eighth Month 294 AC

To say Malarys Vanor would have preferred to be at almost any other function would be drastically underestimating his feelings in the matter. If one were to replace the soft rustle of parchment with the cries and grunts of the Circle of Battle odds were he would have found it more conductive to doing his job.

Strange how a substance that had made possible the principal means of writing most of his life before and after the long sleep in Essaria could now look like so much dead weight, excess ballast upon the proverbial ship of state. Of course, that likely had to do with the fact that most of the documents in question were filled with the sharp-edged script of Westerosi Common, legal precedents if you could even call them that.

Bad enough that most of the kings of the Seven Kingdoms had no interest in the law besides the very basics and would render judgement each as suited his whim and political expediency. That he could almost understand, if not enjoy dealing with, but why had no one thought to make some kind of a centralized accounting of the decisions of the Lords Paramount when it came to important cases at least? It was madness how opposed everyone seemed to be to record-keeping beyond the reign of a particular king as though each crowning was somehow an entirely new iteration of the state.

Corruption could account for some of it, after all it would be easier to steal and lie if the truth was forgotten, but not all, certainly not all. As stack upon stack of decayed, mold-ridden and in some cases rat-eaten records were delivered not only from lords suspected of folly and ill will, but also from those like Velaryon whom the Lord Justice knew to be competent, the pattern transcended what negligence and corruption together could account for.

Someone had been making sure that legal documents and accounts of judgements past did not make it very far before being consumed by seeming mischance.

The door opened with a creak and a mage in simple grey stepped through. You might almost have mistaken him for some petty mage were it not for the fine workmanship of his belt and the glitter of enchanted rings upon his fingers. "Archmaester, I must first offer apologies in advance for any associations with fools who partook of the same institution you are attempting to reform down a better path..."

"That bad, is it?" The grey-robed man sank into a seat, his battered face wary. "Lay it out quick so the stink of it won't linger, will you?"

The Lord Justice snorted in amusement, though more at the reaction of the clerks behind him than at the rather feeble jest. He was by now rather infamous for demanding the same exacting courtesy he granted others, but Archmaester Marwyn was not his subordinate, thankfully, so he could ignore the unseemly haste.

"Do you believe it is possible for those of your order to have been systematically destroying legal documents in order to prevent any local or central reform in the matter of law?" The question was blunt as could be asked for and echoed across the high vaulted room. "At a guess it would have been done to retain the decentralized nature of the realms in which the Order of Maesters would hold significant sway as advisers and as the only scholarly contact with the world beyond the narrow confines of each fief. "

For a long moment there was silence, then the Archmaester's bent brow furrowed to look at the ledgers that had been painfully constructed from the meager offerings of the various major keeps from what had been the Seven Kingdoms. Finally he looked up. "Oh they have been definitely been fucking up the records on purpose, but it's not one great conspiracy, but many small ones."

"Explain, if you please," the Lord Justice's tone was clipped.

"In most cases the loss of old records was done with the lord's permision and even complicity so they would not be bound by precedent. After all, there was at least the expectation that you keep to the judgement of your fathers, but if the account is lost..."

"Then you have utter chaos liable to explode into violence," Malarys finished dryly, trying very hard not to think about pyres. For one the Imperium hanged people, they did not burn them, and for another clemency was broadly assumed on such crimes as they were not against the Crown and would not raise public outcry so long as they took place before Imperial Law came into effect. None of this was actually grave enough to bring to court, not least because charges would have to be brought against hundreds of lords, many of which were likely not responsible for anything more than negligence in recordkeeping.

Given the utter chaos in legal records from before the Conquest what does the Ministry of Justice do as a matter of policy?

[] Try to find the records as best you are able to have some kind of foundation, potentially overwhelming the budding legal system

[] Ignore precedent from before the Conquest as much as possible and start afresh despite the likely displeasure of many of the parts involved

OOC: We have not heard from Malarys in a while and I just wanted to do a interlude of him doing his job with all the issues that exist below the level of full actions.

 

[DragonParadox]

Fine Crimson Line ​

Nineteenth Day of the Eighth Month 294 AC

The Royal Box, or you supposed now the Imperial Box, although there has not been much of a call to change the name in common parlance, is a good bit more spacious than most of the Circle. Though larger it is no quieter, since you had refused the suggestion that you proof it against the sounds of the crowd by sorcery. That would rather defy the experience of what it is to be 'round the Circle' as it has grown to be called. Not to mention that not all of the cheers are coming from outside today. Jon has taken your offer to watch the final from the box without any of the hesitation he might once have shown at accepting such favor.

Like most of the spectators, he falls silent when Digir Izi slinks in like a tiger to his meal. In a whisper, he asks Dany, "Who is he? Or really, I mean to say, what is he?"

"One of Wisdom Qyburn's experiments," your sister replies, her tone a good bit louder and more assured. "A group of ghostly Sarnory warriors approached him with a desire to regain a physical form that was made from their own remains instead of enchanted metal. He happened to have done some experiments with vampire samples and was in the need for willing souls with a given amount of weight to them, so he indulged their request. I would say that the First Necroplast has outdone himself yet again."

You can see Jon shiver slightly in his seat. "You make it sound like it's forging a blade or weaving a tapestry."

"More the former than the latter, given their skills." Your sister shrugs. "I mean, just ask Lya. She made the Incarnates like Nuri, including their more arcane abilities, and even she will admit that was some good work done on those bodies. Just think of what happened to Dregaire..."

"I would rather not, if that is alright with you, Your Highness," the boy replies, but Dany just rolls her eyes.

"He's fine. That paralytic touch was really impressive. I don't think I would be able to last long enough to break out of that if I did not have a counter-spell to it already at hand..." she pauses catching his look. "What? Is this about the being young thing again? Gods and Powers, I can't wait to grow up."

The sound of their discussion faded as the two combatants bowed and for a moment dead silence reigned, barely broken even to your senses. Then Nuri moves, her sword glowing with a fel wraith-light that cuts tough steel as easily as a blade of grass and as swift as the reaper's scythe. Yet Digir was prepared and swerved aside, leaving the blade to cut naught but empty air. He turns and delivers blow upon punishing blow with fist and foot, once he even lashes out with his head, cutting bone and tearing skin even though all the wards.

Nuri does not falter under the attacks. "Not a man of many words, are you? Is it because you do not know that many?" she taunts, this time weaving the spell with motions of her right hand and lashing out from her left, quick as a serpent's bite. The steel cuts through part of her foe's hand, sending fingers flying.

"Is this not why we have come here? To seek exaltation through blood and pain?" the Sarnori warrior asks her, his voice deep and and filled with a passion best left unnamed. "When you walk into this circle, you have to do so on your own two feet. No longer can you hide behind the strength of others, but by the first step onto the red sands, you proclaim yourself worthy. Superior to all these feeble creatures who even now know not if they shall love or fear a might and perfection that they can not even comprehend. And those who are unworthy of this glory will be made to pay for their insolence. A tithe of blood to the sand and a tithe of blood to their betters."

The next kick sends her flying only for Digir to lunge after her, fists moving almost too fast for even you to follow. For a moment it looks like she is stunned by the blows which would be the end of her, but Nuri manages to shake it off in time. Still, it is clear the weight of the blows and the subtler life-sapping magics are weighing on the incarnate. "It's a pity you did not draw the damn constructs," she says, spitting blood before drawing another line of quickly healing crimson along his chest.

"Yes...a pity," Dirgir laughs as he delivers a blow to the head that would have shattered the skull of any opponent less magically empowered, before delivering two more kicks to the abdomen.

Nuri rolls under the last blow and then rams her ethereal blade under her opponent's armpit, impaling his heart. It is all she can do do stand upright until the healers rush in, but victory is victory, no matter by how thin an edge.

Jon looks at equally entranced and horrified, unable to look away.

What do you want to see next?

[] Write in

OOC: Nuri was at 4 Con , she would not have lasted another round.

 

[DragonParadox]

By Soft Morning's Light ​

Twenty-Fifth Day of the Eighth Month 294 AC

They say a man should be nervous on his wedding day. Who 'they' are is left unknown and perhaps unknowable, some nebulous font of staid wisdom and regurgitated life lessons. As it happens, on the day of your wedding you rise from your bed and dress without the slightest tremble in your limbs. There is no worry in your mind as you wake Lya with a kiss. "Show time, love..."

"You don't have to sound so excited about it," she grumbles. "They are going to titter like wren on a clothesline about us sharing a bed, you know..." She does not have to specify who this iteration of 'they' are either. Though the ladies of the court can only aspire to the universal appeal of the cosmic voices in your earlier thought.

"Unless I am much mistaken, it was you who sought this bed last night and not any other. I was already asleep," you proclaim virtuously, though the image might be slightly marred by the smile you can feel twitching at the corner of your mouth. "I do not think they will have much cause to complain for our sleeping arrangements given the grandeur of today's seating arrangements," you counter.

The coronation had been grand but distant also as the firmament. Flowers white and crimson dotted the palace and bloomed in the gardens, a symbol of love common to both Westeros and Essos, but also by chance matching you and Lya in their colors. Red like the color of your scales, red like blood, white as lotus flowers in the Moonpool of Braavos.

"I think they will more than manage to think about two things at once, particularly when one of those things is positively salacious." Lya tosses her head back then adopts a wide-eyed pose. "Why, you are practically marrying your mistress..."

"Please do not tell me someone actually said that to you," you say only half in jest. "I do not have time in the schedule for verbally eviscerating fools."

"Oh not to worry, I got that second hand from Kira, and I do not think Lady Redwyne even knew who she was when she said that. Kira did not enlighten her, of course. I think she may be having too much fun playing bard out there." A brush was already going through her hair without word or gesture to mark the spell, but her attention was not on the mirror, obviously trusting the spell to do the job just as well as it did each morning.

"No such thing," you scoff. "Why I would call on good Buttercup to serenade you this day if I but had the means to..."

"You could technically," she replies. "You could use that portrait the Djinn gave you, that way there could be two of you and two of me. Though it might be best to just make a double wedding of it in that case."

"I think the guests will be confused enough by seeing the bride double. They would not even have had the time to drink enough to justify it," you jest in turn.

"Do you want both of me to be there, though? I mean in a way it feels like all of me should be here, but I am not even sure what I would be wearing if I did. I mean I only made the one crown for myself. I could just glamor and cloak so both of me are dressed the same to all eyes present, I guess, but it will still look a bit...odd maybe."

For the first time this morning she sounds a bit hesitant. It is not that you have been hiding the pinnacle of Lya's craft, but she has never flaunted it in public like this. It would make her magic obvious in a far stranger way than mere garb or staff or crown of sorcery forged.

How does the day of the wedding go?

[] Write in

OOC: I'm going to need at least a rough outline here before progressing to the ceremony. This is a pretty big moment.

 

[DragonParadox]

Upon Twined Paths ​

Twenty-Fifth Day of the Eighth Month 294 AC

The streets were packed with the young and old, men and women, folk of the Deep and others from lands far off indeed. So too was the air filled with the sound of excited voices and streamers of colorful paper and delicate flower petals as well as offerings that were not so easy to guess at. Colorful shards like flecks of rainbows hung in the air in rays of errant sunlight. Were those crushed shells? Lya wondered, her mind drifting as it often did when there was naught to hold it. Maybe it was something from the priests of Zathir who were growing ever more common in the Deep where the presence of their god drew like-minded folk to him.

I really should not be thinking about shell compositions, should I, the young mage remonstrated herself. It is my wedding day, I should be thinking about the future, about what it means and what is to come of it. She glanced at the man at her side, he was very handsome of course and very regal, or imperial she supposed. Yet her eye at least could still catch sight in his features fair almost beyond the guise of humankind the expression of the boy who had pledged to teach her magic so long ago by moonlight, the eyes of the fugitive prince who had been so shocked when she had guessed his name, the worries and the troubles of years upon years of reign upon his brow gathering, not like upon the flesh, but marks in mind and spirit.

The trouble was that this did not feel anymore intimate than waking in a tangle of limbs this morning as the brief moments of sleep had caught up to them. It did not feel any more permanent than diving side by side into the long forsaken ruins of Sothoryos or Valyria where death and worse could lurk at every corner.

Marriage was supposed to be about a promise you made to another and kept for all the days of your life, but Lya had made that promise long ago and she had heard it back from the lips of her beloved in a thousand thousand ways. This was not the start of something new, just another step on the path, but that was alright, she loved the path and the company upon it.

***​

Lya had never looked more serene nor more determined than she did stepping at your side down the wide boulevard. You do not need to turn your head from the road to know that, you hear it in the faint tinkling of blue ice earnings, the tapping of her emerald-crowned staff in her hand, the steady beat of her heart, each forming a perfect image in your mind familiar as she is beautiful. You smell the scent of her perfume, soft and subtle, and your hand warmed by the heat of hers inches away.

Yet even if all your lesser senses were dulled and muffled you would still be able to find her by the sheer radiance of her magic, the faint comforting pressure of her mind upon yours echoed through your familiar's senses. Never had you been more aware of another person in the midst of a crowd and never had that closeness felt more right, like a whisper in a loud and crowded hall.

"Are you ready for this?" you ask without sound as the dome of the Temple of Unity rises over the horizon like a pale hill among the straight and ordered lines of the city.

"Have been for a few years now. It just took you a while longer to catch on," comes the droll response that sees you bite back a somewhat inappropriate smile.

As you pass under the First Arch, alone among all the colonnades of the temple seeming unfinished, the rolling salute of steam canons fills the air, though your eyes are upon the stone above pondering what it means to be wed here. All the gods of the Imperium in good standing are represented here, from R'hllor the Red as flame imperishable, to Meraxes bearing sword and scales, from the Old Gods as a great tree overhanging stone and river to the Seven-Pointed Star of the Seven and many, many more. Yet all the hosts of the divine do not reach past the keystone. More gods can and will be welcomed into the fold.

The temple was made as a place where the gods and powers might mingle even as their people do. It is ground that was Imperial before it became sacred, not that you suspect any of them of minding very much to judge from the very healthy representation of priests. There are servants of Yss in robes of green and silver and Moonsingers with coronets like the crescent moon. The High Septon is seated without seeming discomforted next to Benerro of Volantis, the Butterfly Dancer of Naath besides Breath Taker among the tritons.

By far the oddest pairing is Melisandre of Asshai sitting next to Bloodraven, under a glamor as a Green Man. You cannot help but wonder how that conversation is going.

The time has come for you and Lya to be crowned, yet what crown shall she bear, what has she forged, by who is most skilled of the Imperium's enchanters?

[] Write in Lya's Crown description and abilities

OOC: Hope you guys enjoy and the transition is not too jarring.

 

[DragonParadox]

Crowning Moment ​

Twenty-Fifth Day of the Eighth Month 294 AC

Even to the eye unused to sorcery Lya's crown is a marvel, as though the stars of some alien firmament had been laid about her brow. Rough nodules and delicate spindles, rhomboids and ellipsoids carved with a unerring hand, flashing and flickering with colors the eye can see but the mind cannot quite grasp. Yet for all its power and this dazzling display, the Empress Sage crowning herself with the work of her own art, it is far indeed from the pinnacle of Lya's art.

For one thing you had eventually decided that having the Harbringer present it would send the wrong message and for another no one is playing much attention to the woman sitting not far from your mother wrapped in a sky-blue cloak, also Lya. Well... almost no one, for you catch the Red Viper turning his gaze thither. One can practically hear the jests about a missed opportunity already, at least he has not figured out mind speech just yet.

At the heart of the great dome, where the noonday light falls in a golden column through a clear circle of glasteel called the Eye of the Gods, the two of your turn to face each other under the gaze of not just gods but men also. Mummery this may be in its own way, but it brings you joy as few things can to be standing here in this hall, friends and companions in attendance, and make aloud the vow you have so long held in your heart.

For once even Ser Richard looks relaxed as he spectates, confident that the Praetorian Guard had secured the temple. High praise indeed of Sandor's work, though he did place himself right next to Dany, just to be safe you note. On her other side stands Vee, still a touch out of place amid pomp and pageantry even with her new title, and beyond her Waymar and Tyene, both seeming a touch lost in their own thoughts. Are they imagining their own wedding? You wonder.

Though you had considered spreading everyone out as suits their official function for this one day and this one moment all the Companions stand together, Malarys and Garin, both in their robes of office, are seated next to Rina, not least because they would show no discomfort at the presence of the fey sorceress whose company might send a chill down the spine of most other mortals. Beneath the icy façade you can clearly see a longing there that will alas not be easily fulfilled.

It is all you can do to keep your expression to a smile and not a startled laugh when Maelor motions towards you in Braavosi thieves cant of all things. 'Doing great, now close the deal.'

You probably should answer mentally, but you allow yourself the small indulgence of answering in like manner. 'Many thanks for the insight'. The signs were not built with sarcasm in mind, but you can still overemphasize the gestures.

Raising your gaze from the insouciant grin of your one-time apprentice you look upon the only one among your companions who is not seated, for one simple reason. Xor, floating above the heads of the crowd, is the orchestra. Voices ethereal and instruments unseen echo through the domed hall at your approach, a song not borrowed from the past but new made for this hour and this day, when side by side stand once again the magnates of Essos and the Lords of Westeros, envoys of distant lands and ambassadors to the courts of the djinn and shaitan.

Yet had this been some narrow temple in a foreign land with a lonely shrine on hurried roads your vows would be the same and you would mean them no less fiercely.

[] Write in marriage vows

OOC: A bit short, I know, but it is really late for me and I figured that it would be better to have a short update than none at all until tomorrow.

 

[DragonParadox]

When Vows are Spoken ​

Twenty-Fifth Day of the Eighth Month 294 AC

Ser Richard Lonmouth was not a man much given to sentiment. Indeed, he rather suspected there were quite a few people in the Imperium who suspected him of having no more feelings than a Herald or the Harbinger, an instrument of Imperial will and no more than that. Yet as he listened to the words spoken by what was to his reckoning the most powerful man in the world, the knight could not help the tightness in his chest, the urge to blink perhaps a once or twice more than might be expected.

"I, Viserys, take you, Lya, to be my beloved wife, to have and to hold you, to honor you, to treasure you, to be at your side in sorrow and in joy, in the good times, and in the bad, and to love and cherish you always. I promise you this from my heart, for all the days of my life. I take you as you are, loving who you are now and who you are yet to become. I promise to listen to you and learn from you, to support you and accept your support. I will laugh with you, cry with you, grow with you, and create with you. I will love you and have faith in your love for me, through all our years and all that life may bring us."

It was a proclamation clear but soft, spoken not for the crowd but for just one other person standing before him. He had come a long way from that day in the broken tower five years ago, and not all of that had been on the path to the crown. The knight had never really felt like a father to the boy who neither needed nor wanted one by the time he realized what sort of man King Aerys had been, but perhaps beneath the reflexive deference that had grown into something altogether more familiar, he could be counted a brother made in blood and fire, and he was glad indeed to see the day had finally come when he would wed the girl he had courted for so long.

***​

"I, Lya, take you, Viserys, as my husband, companion upon the road of life, be it easy or hard, pledging to give what aid of magic and counsel, or will and understanding. All these things and more I give to you freely, and freely will I accept thine vow and pledge. Let us step boldly then upon the path before us, knowing that each of us may lean upon the other at need."

To Tyene's ear there was still something a little unpolished about the words of her friend, something you might be able to say betrayed a life lived mostly without the expectations of the nobility, although it may have simply been that she did not polish her words with sorcery quite as much as the rest of them. It was hard to tell sometimes, so common had such blessings grown in the budding court, but mostly she was just glad to be able to hear these words and be here to witness them... and gladder still the moment was unshadowed for her.

In the quiet midnight hours, she had wondered if when the pledges were said and the ceremony complete she might feel some spark of jealousy, some regret for what might have been had the world been different and the choices all of them made years ago other than what they were. She felt nothing of the sort.

Intellectually, she knew she might have loved Viserys, but it was with the distant understanding one might consider 'I might have been a decent archer if I had kept to those lessons with Nym'. It was not real and never would be, and her heart beat to a tune wholly different.

She laced her fingers through Waymar's as she watched first the radiant bride and groom, then the watchers behind them. Her eyes fell of Arianne and the young man beside her, looking at once proud and a little lost, as though he could not quite believe he was here with her cousin. It would be so much fun to tease them now that Viserys had gone and proved once and for all that it was acceptable for a high noble to marry a mage... Granted, Denys Trainer would be a lot easier to tease than Ari, but the challenge was what made the latter endeavor worthwhile.

"In the eyes of Gods and men, we take each other as husband and wife," Lya and Viserys completed the ceremony speaking in unison. Originally they would have placed the crowns on each other's heads as they did so, but the symbolism might have been troublesome given that Viserys was already crowned so they had gone with both of them entering in full regalia, which was in its own way more honest as well.

Neither of them had been made ruler in some grand ceremony, they had simply grown into it almost out of sight.

What next?

[] Turn action
-[] Write in which

[] Parting interlude
-[] Write in PoV

[] Write in

OOC: I could not think of what more so say about the exact moment the vows were spoken from the inside, so I went with a bit of an outside PoV. Hopefully it works.

 

[DragonParadox]

The Last Sting ​

Twenty-Fifth Day of the Eighth Month 294 AC

The wedding of the Imperator and his sage bride awoke all manner of feelings across the capital and the realm. For many of the common citizens if was cause for pride at the new sign of Imperial pageantry and power, for others if was relief at the implication that heirs could not be far behind. Dragons were supposed to be long lived after all, but just how much so had not yet percolated far into the understanding of the layman. For the High Lords of the realm, Dukes and Archons, princes and merchant lords who had not yet understood that the old game of dynasties had changed forever it was reason for carefully veiled disappointment.

Yet not even the blackest pit of disappointment could match the feelings of the woman who who among those attending was of the least rank and import. Horror, dread, jealousy and sheer ambition had battled in the soul of Tyrina of Braavos for weeks... months. Should she come or should she stay? Should she pretend to have never seen the curling script above the Imperial Seal, the dawning horrified understanding of what had happened to the girl who spent too much time in the archive, or not enough time there depending on where you saw that from?

In the end ambition had won out, it always seemed to do so with Tyrina, she arrived in the capital one day before the wedding hoping that she could take the chance to see and speak to the great and good of the Imperium without actually being seen by... she could hardly even think the words, Empress Lya. They just did not seem to fit together, her memories of the snotty girl with her nose in a book totally at odds with any notion of Imperial power and grace.

A part of her hoped that she would get to Sorcerer's Deep and conclude that there had been some mistake, that her invitation was a clever fake made by some petty mage. There were plenty of other things to do in the capital after all. Peronius would be upset of course, but she wuld bear her husband's displeasure more lightly than...

The invitation was not a false, a fact with surprised the palace clerk in charge of checking it as much as it did her. There was on relief, and no answer.

Why? Why Why? Why?

That question hammered at the Tyrina's mind like the drums of some savage land in the night, incomprehensible as they were loud. And then she saw them... she saw her.

If one were to ask a mage trained to recognize works of glamor and enchantment, if she had the courage to speak to the great lords and ladies, the high priests who were in attendance then perhaps she could have realized that the terrible grandeur of the hour was as much a manufactured thing as the paper streamers that now littered the streets, but she would never know, because she had never dared to ask. The sight which to people filled with more uplifting feelings would have seemed merely majestic was to one already filled with awe and dread the final straw. She rose from her seat and in the middle of the ceremony started to flee.

What she might have said or done on her way no one would know for there were fortunately quite a few seers in attendance and eyes that were sharp and wary of attack were instead turned to the task of avoiding embarrassment.

Tyrina was spared the embarrassment that her outburst would have caused, not that anyone truly cared. The lawmen did not even bother to make her pay a fine. It would have taken too long to actually get it signed off and she wanted to get off duty to enjoy the feast that had been laid out in honor of the wedding for the citizens of the Deep

OOC: Just barely got this out, not sure if it is any good, but since it was not that important I figured it would be OK yo post as is tonight. Not yet edited.