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The Dance of Dragons - (ASoI&F) (GoT) - [Openly Recruiting]

(In no small part with @MrDidact . Thanks!)

Some weeks later, Daeron Velaryon arrived at the Ring. It was dangerous to travel with Velaryon colors, so the ship that had borne him to the mouth of the Mander had been a non-descript merchant galley that had been on it's way to Lannisport. From there Daeron and his companions had taken a river ferry to Tumbleton and then rode to the Ring. They bore no sigils or device, and wore no garments that signified house colors. To all of the world, they looked like a band of simple Hedge Knights.

With Daeron was a bastard kinsman named Aurion Waters and a serjeant in the Driftmark garrison known as Longjon and a few other men-at-arms. The seven of them saddled the horses they had brought with them from Dragonstone and the group made their ways to the Ring, riding hard and fast. War had not started in earnest yet, but tension was in the air and the roads were choked with smallfolk seeking refuge and soldiers mustering.

The group reached the gates of the Ring, riding slower through the castle town before appearing across from the portcullis and the moat. Daeron took off the helm that concealed his silver hair and violet eyes and called out, "We come to meet with Lord Frados Roxton. He has been anticipating this meeting for some time now. Tell him the Hand sends his regards."

The gates slowly opened with but a hint of creaking, barely wide enough to admit the party one at a time. Thick fog, uncommon to the area, had settled itself around the castle, hazy torches at the top of the wall the only indication of people being up there. The insides were also largely invaded by the fog, and the thickness of it was enough to choke some torches into darkness. A guard rushed into the room, and reported in a hushed whisper the admittance of the delegates. The quiet bickering between Arillos and Ser Haraway died down into quiet.

"Where is Keles?" Frados asked, tapping Maester Serran on his shoulder.

"Apologies, My Lord," came a drawl from the far end of the room. A side door opened, admitting the Salt Dornish, holding up a reassuring torch. "But I had to make a detour. I'm sure you'd understand." Lindsay nervously walked out from behind him, and rushed over to her uncle's side.

"What are you doing?" growled Frados, pulling Keles aside. "What is the meaning of this? I remember leaving rather specific instructions to keep my niece out of this. She's only young."

"I was hoping you'd understand," came Keles' response, accompanied by an impish smile. "I thought it best that our future liege lady have a bit of firsthand experience in governing her future domain. We all want what is best for Lady Roxton."

"And I had thought that making a decision too quickly would make ruin said domain," whispered Frados. "I had thought you of all people wouldn't stoop to -" his tirade was interrupted by the host at the door making its way into the main room, flanked on both sides by Roxton guards.

The party had already surrendered their weapons to the Roxton garrison. But they hadn't found Daeron's dagger, hidden in a boot. Not that it would help should the Roxtons decide to turn on them for whatever reason. But he'd be damned if he was going to be captured alive and handed over to the Hightowers.

But they had already partaken of the bread and salt as well, and Frados had a reputation of upholding his word. But it never paid to take too many chances. Daeron entered, this time with a Velaryon seahorse badge pinned to his dark cloak. He had hidden the badge but he needed the symbol to prove his status to any nobles they met with.

His men walked in in two ranks behind him and the the party stopped before the seat of the Roxtons in the great hall. Daeron smiled at Frados and inclined his head in respect, "My lord, thank you for receiving us." He noticed the girl in the hall and putting two and two together, bowed at the waist in a chivalrous gesture, a wide smile on his face, "My lady, I was not told you'd be receiving us. If I knew, I wouldn't have been dressed so shabbily. Please accept my apologies for my appearance, this is no way for a knight to greet a lady."

He addressed the hall as a whole, "I am Ser Daeron Velaryon, Knight of Driftmark. I come on behalf of my uncle, Lord Corlys. He regrets he cannot meet with you personally, as his position requires him to remain at court in Dragonstone to attend to a multitude of concerns. I come in his stead and speak in his voice."

Lindsay looked on in wonder and confusion at the situation before her. Keles had promised, as he led her down the darkened halls, that today she would take a bit of responsibility for her little lordship. She had hoped for something along the lines of managing the servants in the castle. This threw her completely out of her comfort.

"Uncle," she whispered, standing up on her toes and tugging at Frados' sleeve. "Who are these people? What do they want?"

"Merely fanatics of a faraway cause," he whispered back, tousling his niece's hair. "Since you're here, it's best you quietly watch the situation. It will be yours to handle by fall, if Maester Serran knows his weather." He stepped forward, and adressed the Velaryon host. "May I remind you who you're parlaying with," he said. Sometimes, situations required a firm beginning, especially ones as serious as this. "I thank you for coming, and ask humbly that you make your statement known."

Daeron nodded, standing tall before the knight, "To the point then. My lord, my lady, I come to ask House Roxton to pledge fealty to Queen Rhaenyra. The rightful Queen of Westeros. By now my kin have flown to all corners of the kingdom to treat with other houses, and I come to ask you to join us. Join your strength to ours so we can stand against the usurper, and right this grievious wrong."

"They make a good case," whispered Lindsay, a little louder than she intended. Frados quickly touched two fingers to his lips, a stern expression coloring his face. Lindsay knew well enough when it was best to leave her uncle be.

"I applaud you and your house for your diligence, I truly do." Frados said hastily, trying to bring the conversation back into his control. "But I have . . . reservations. Imagine, if you will, you stand in my place. You ask a small lord, one who can field no more than two thousand arms, to join them in a battle they have little stake in. While at the same time, their strongest neighbors, liege lord, and liege lord's neighbors all clamor to join the opposing sympathies. Do you understand my hesitance? If we swear to you, we would be surrounded by enemies. Can you promise the protection of our castle, like the Tyrells do?"

Daeron tried his best to remain as impassive as possible and not frown, and he believed he did a passable job of doing so. He wished someone else had been sent. He was no politician. But he would do his duty. Daeron replied, "I understand your concerns completely, my lord. I know the Hightowers have pledged for Aegon and many Reach houses have already followed. But I will remind you that while many of the bannermen are flocking to Aegon, House Tyrell still remains undeclared as yet. And you are hardly alone in the Reach. We have already made overtures to the Beesburys, the Rowans, and several others. Since news of Lord Lyman's death, I am confident Honey Holt will join us."

Daeron continued, remembering Corlys' advice as best as he could, "It is true that the Ring is far from Dragonstone. But I will remind you that we have more dragons than Aegon, and we are faithful to our friends. If the Ring is in need of aid, I am certain that aid will come quickly."

He nodded at Lindsay, "If you have concerns for the lady's safety, I am also prepared to offer that she be fostered at Dragonstone with the royal family for the duration of this conflict. It is a strong fortress, that has never been taken and can withstand even dragon fire. And this fortress is in a strong position, commanding the high ground and the approach for miles around. You are far from helpless, my lord."

"Furthermore, we do not require you publicly declare your allegiance. Just that if the time comes, you can stand with us. Either your political voice to forge peace or your soldiers to win in battle."

Frados stopped himself from letting out a sigh. This man, with all his vague promises of dragons and fortresses, asks too much for his liking. It seems, that on this particular side, there are more risks to be taken, but Frados thought again, trying to put as much favor into the white-haired man as he could. Imagine, imagine if this high gamble pays off. The Tyrells are marked traitors, and their Hightower puppeteers along with them. And to whom would these vast domains jump to, after those families are gone? Perhaps it would be best to play the field for a bit longer, and use this seniority to his advantage later. Nobody has to know. Not only that, but the thought of such a large payoff excited him, calling to a primordial part of his mind that he has never been able to squash.

"You make very good points, Ser Daeron . . . if I may call you such," Frados said. "We do have certain ties to the Beesburys and Rowans, after all. My old father, may the gods give him rest, always said that having a friend was the reward for having a friend. And friends we have many, especially now. Perhaps, today, I will at least consider your queen's cause."

Lindsay saw the conversation reaching its conclusion. If she was going to take responsibility, now would be the time to do so. She stepped forward, and brushed her uncle's hand aside when he reached for her shoulder.

"Let it be known, honorable Ser, that House Roxton considers your case, and deem it worth thought. While it may be much to ask our house to put a bit of hope in your place, I believe that in the spirit of good friendship, you would do no less for us." She concluded her outburst with a curtsy, and stepped back to her uncle's side. He coughed, and she can see the sweat running down his face. Had she done something wrong?

Daeron had felt a pang of defeat as Frados replied to him. The lord would be hedging his bets. It was the smart thing to do. The right thing to do really, when one considered he had a niece to protect. But it stung Daeron still. The best he could tell Corlys was that Frados would consider it. He did an admirable job of keeping his surprise and delight from his face when Lindsay spoke.

Daeron smiled again and once again bowed his head to the young lady, "You honor us with your kind words, my lady. Believe me when I say that House Velaryon also values the friendship of your old, storied house. All I can ask is that you at least consider our request. Even if you decide to remain netural, that would be of great help. And rest assured, that the Hand of the Queen will remember your friendship when Rhaenyra sits upon the Iron Throne."

"Yes . . . " mumbled Frados, dabbing his forehead with a hankerchief. "You have traveled a long time, and I'm sure you and your people want rest, not talk. The servants would be more than happy to guide you to the guest quarters." He then pulled one of the servants aside. "Watch them closely," he whispered. The man he pulled aside, Arillos, nodded with a smile.

"I will watch with harpy's eyes," he said, in broken Westerosi. He then walked over to Daeron's host, to invite them into the guest chambers.

Daeron inclined his head, "Thank you for your hospitality my lord. It has been a long journey and we would welcome a good night's rest." It was far from a yes, but they had made progress. More than Daeron had allowed himself to hope really. Ultimately it was truly up to Frados, but at least the seed had been planted. He had no doubt that the greens had sent someone to plead their case. But he had made a good impression on the lady, and that was a victory in itself. He followed the guards into his quarters, steps light and happy.

Magic RP (Open to new players)

Now was the optimal time to strike. The dracon merchant had made the mistake of stopping right under the talon pass. He turned his back to his cargo to admire the twin peaks, and Qorq made his move. "Freeze, trespasser," he commanded, and the merchant turned to find a row of kobolds had effectively surrounded him. He pulled out his sword, but something poked him in the back, stopping him mid-draw. He turned to find another row of spears, much closer than he was accustomed to.

"Who are you? What do you want?" the merchant croaked.

"Commander Qorq of the Rughid Empire, at your service," Qorq drawled. He drew his own sword and cut the sheets covering the back of the merchant's wagon. "You are now standing on land belonging to the Emperor Rughoi 'the Unbound'. You have brought imports into his soil, and must now pay your dues." He pulled out a box of silks and tossed it to waiting claws.

"I know no empire. I've checked the map thoroughly, brigand. You can't fool me," the merchant snapped, but quickly silenced when a spear was poked again into his back.

"Your map may be a bit out of date," Qorq drawled. "Fortunately, the tax isn't steep. After all, you will have to pay another one to cross the emperor's river. Enjoy your stay." With that, he and his soldiers faded into the mountains, quick as they came.
____________________________________________
The treasury was looking better than ever. Ardasa didn't like the methods Kutur had drawn up, but even she agreed that the alternatives meant the city would be built slower. Already, the Xigyll River Valley was one of the largest importers of wood and stone in the region, and new houses are raised from nothing in a matter of days. The peacetime, too, attracted countless reluctant kobolds to leave the dracon cities. If that meant that foreign merchants had to leave a little sore, then so be it.

"Empress Ardasa just doesn't have the same ring to it," Ardasa giggled, uncurling herself from beside the fire and joining her mated on the balcony. Rughoi had been quite proud of this balcony. He worked nonstop for months on it himself.

"What about Your Mercy?" Rughoi answered, wrapping an arm around her.

"That I like," she sighed, leaning into him. "Look at us. The young emperor and empress, here to lead the kobold people into a new age of happiness and prosperity. That I like even better."

Magic RP (Open to new players)

With that, the kobolds packed up their things and once again, found themselves without home. Rughoi, of course, had to get one last triumph in. He ordered everything mobile to be taken, and every building burnt, for he knew the only people to come to the city would be dracon. The walls, however, he could not bring himself to ruin. They were beautiful, gray flagstone lined with marble. The kobold's hand had been forever left on those walls, in the form of their humble granite work filling in the cracks. Such a wall deserved to be preserved, to remember a time of glory. Soon, a city of people were on the road, leaving no living creature behind them. Wheelbarrows full of life possessions made their mark in the sand. Rughoi looked forward, not back, to greater things, as is the duty of the Son of the Dragons.

The new home, as Kutur had predicted, was a beautiful untouched land. The twin rivers jutting out of the Belayon crashed together in a white torrent, and flowed downstream to where it would end at Naushindcalgoa. Already, the sounds of hammering and sawing filled the air, as the kobolds set to work on the little scraps of wood they brought with them. They built kobold houses, a good size for them, as opposed to the too-large dracon homes.

"The Xigyll River Valley," Rughoi said. "Mark it down on the map. Our empire will make its home right here, where Scen has blessed with growth, where Hetuis lays its tail." The beginnings of a humble hillfort had been begun just a ways away, and he saw in his mind's eye a castle that would be the envy of the world.

"Now, Rughoi, you had promised me a day by the water," Ardasa said, smiling slyly and walking up to her betrothed. She stood next to him and gazed out at where the rivers converged. For once, he didn't look tired or mad. He looked like an emperor.

Magic RP (Open to new players)

Could we do another timeskip? I'm not sure how to go from the current scene to the Xigyll River Valley stuff.

Game of Thrones : The Pact of Ice and Fire (Always Open)

"I!" shouted Arak, raising his hand up. He didn't even fully understand the mission, but ke knew well enough when to serve. "I vol-" a hand came up from behind him, enclosing itself around his mouth, while another wrenched his wrist down.

"No you don't," whispered his daily tormentor. Arak knew, without looking, that his brother was glaring daggers into the back of his head. "No he doesn't!" shouted William, over the muffled screams that might have suggested otherwise.

Aemon, the dauntless and driven Aemon, seemed a little taken aback by the outburst and scuffle and Viserys swaggered up and eyed the brothers oddly, "Now, perhaps Lord William has a point. We just finished rescuing Arak there at no small expense. We may be tempting fate a tad much by throwing him into the fire again. Perhaps Arak should stay with the ship. I don't know if the man is a convincing cutthroat either."

Visenya spoke up, "Well I am going with Aemon. I'm the best shot in this company. Will can be a convincing lout, he's been practicing his entire life after all." Visenya winked at Will.

"No no no . . . agh, damn it . . ." muttered William, but chose not to argue. Just like her to goad him into mad stunt after mad stunt. Now, Arak struggled harder, and broke free of his brother's grasp. "Hey-" William shouted, but Arak zipped through the crowd, running up to the front and kneeling before the crown prince.

"My life I pledge to you, Your Grace. Let me serve you in this mission," he said, so quickly they seemed to merge into one long word. William covered his forehead with one hand. He should be surprised, but he wasn't one bit. Gods, he needed mead.

Aemon seemed bemused by the whole situation, he urged the man quickly up with a gesture of his hand, "Please, ser there is no need for such dramatic action. You are a member of this company, we are bound by ties of friendship and brotherhood from this day till the end of our days. Your loyalty and conviction is not in question. But are you sure you can do this? You're not a deceiver. This mission requires you to act the part of a sellsword or pirate. And you only just barely escaped death and imprisonment. None among us would question it if you wished to stay behind on this assingment."

Arak winced at the mention of brotherhood, but stood at his liege's command. "I am what Your Grace commands of me. Put your trust in your servant." He felt awkward standing in the presence of such greatness, like as if he was mocking his future king by his actions. He sank back down to a kneel, thoroughly confused.

"Take him off. Don't allow him to go ashore," William said, sidling up to Visenya and grabbing her shoulder. "Don't make me beg. I'm not a convincing beggar."

Visenya nodded and said aloud, "Lord Bolton may have a point. Arak is a valiant warrior, but we need more than that once we go ashore. This is a certain amount of... duplicity involved in this that a man of honor like Arak may be somewhat ill-equipped to tackle."

The Crown Prince stroked his chin and looked down at Arak, "Arak, why do you want to come so badly?"

This made Arak think. To serve? What was he doing. He kneeled there, trying to come up with an answer. Firm hands grabbed his shoulder and tried to pull him back into the crowd. "You've made enough of a fool of yourself," said William. "Time to quit while you're ahead."

"Wait!" Arak cried, slapping a hand away and rushing back to the front. "I'd like to recall the wise Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Despite his loathing of the position as Hand, despite is inability to decieve and maintain fear, he chose to take the responsibility for that was his duty. Let me do my duty, Your Grace, for better or worse."

Several moments passed and Aemon smiled slightly, "Spoken like a man of Winterfell. Very well, Arak Snow. You may join us. You'll need a change of clothes. And you'll need to keep your sword arm ready and your mouth closed, just follow our lead. But you can come with us. Lord Will, you can mind him as well."

Arak finally let himself be pulled away by his insistent brother. "Listen, you complete, utter imbecile," growled William, hissing in his brother's ear. "That was a bad move. You're not a Stark, you're a Bolton, and Boltons don't make bad moves. I cannot believe . . . just don't run in front of swords, and don't challenge anyone to a duel, and most importantly, don't leave my sight." Arak nodded, not really paying attention. He was to serve by the side of the crown prince! Such an honor could not be stained by anyone, not even William.

Dragon's Mask

The rungs of the metal ladder clanked with each step Riley took upwards. They fell together into a steady stream of noise, and even Nina stopped her squirming and was content to dangle under Riley's arm, looking for all the world asleep. Then, she reached the top, and encountered the rounded door. "Hold still," Riley muttered, and tucked Nina into her other arm. With her free hand, she reached up and felt the trapdoor. It was solid metal, and with a little push, revealed the tiniest of cracks, barely visible enough to see light on the other end. Nina suddenly sprang to life, bounding off of Riley into the crack, and squeezing through. Riley felt her balance give way, and for a few frightful seconds, she was dangling by one arm, legs scrambling for purchase, near dropping into the dark abyss below. Then, she found two rungs for her feet, and clung to them best she could. Again, she reached out for the trapdoor, and this time pushed with all her might, leaving a hole for her to exit through.

"Bad girl! don't do that again," she chastised, as she joined Nina up there. The little animal sat on her haunches, gazing up at the giant room before her. Riley soon joined in, transfixed by the scene. Each book must be as tall as she is, and they stacked together higher than the hotels on the Scarborough shore. One of the books caught her eye, glittering in the light. She couldn't quite make out the title, but it must be useful somehow. She started planning another ascent up the bookshelf, sure of her actions. She remembered spending hours climbing the highest of trees, fending off defensive birds, all the while looking for the elusive fairies she had never found. Perhaps had she known they were all hiding under the lake . . .

Another book tumbled from its perch down to the far-away ground. Riley quickly found another place for her free hand and continued. As the book got closer, she could finally recognize the title. On the spine, in shining words, read House of Roses. She stretched to her full potential length up to it, and pulled it out with a grunt. It tumbled, like the rest of them, down to the little pile at the bottom. The book struck ground, and opened up to a page. Riley quickly scrabbled down, eager to read the contents.

Magic RP (Open to new players)

Rughoi was not blind. He knew well enough that without Merat coordinating his forces, the horrors he brought with him were no more than wild beasts, to be quickly put down by the superior discipline of the combined armies. But now his enemies have him surrounded, thrown out of his center of protection to face their wrath. For wrath, they are keeping it well hidden. Dracons, proud and arrogant, even now.

"What I did I did for the kobold people. Had you been where I was, you would do the same at least, if not more. Now, I am accepting the premise of your demand. What could you possibly want more than that? Fine, you want to keep the gold? I ask for no gold. Bread, wood, and stone are what my citizens need more. Something to eat, something to build with. Surely, the dracon nobles in their jeweled spires can spare that," he hissed.

The Dance of Dragons - (ASoI&F) (GoT) - [Openly Recruiting]

Frados

(Also done with @EricRP . Thanks buddy!)

One last day, it seems. One last beautiful day. The green stretched across rolling hills, as far as the eye could see, dotted with golden-headed flowers. Frados tried to imagine a dragon tearing through these meadows, burning the crops with a spiteful breath and toppling the walls with a sweep of its mighty tail. The thought made him shudder. Still, sitting out in the field and putting off the inevitable was perhaps not the best plan of action. Reluctantly, he picked himself off the ground and began making his way back to the circular walls of the Ring.

"Good servant, kindly show our guests in," grumbled Frados, rubbing his weary eyes.

Without a word, the servant bowed, and left the chamber, returning with a single-file group in tow. "The Lord Frados Roxton welcomes the esteemed Hightowers to his humble keep!" He shouted. "Presenting the noble Hightower family, to see his lordship!"

"Gods! It's blasted cold! I thought the Reach was a land of sunblessed splendour. At least, it was last I left Oldtown!" Ser Otto cursed. His squire said nought, they'd travelled light, with no banners or design in order to draw no attention on their long passage from King's Landing. In truth, the day was bright and clear, the landscapes picturesque but Otto was an old man these days and he felt the chill keener than most. Summer was over and with it, he feared, peace. As Hand of the King he ought to have stayed by Aegon's side, he knew, but he was a Reachman first and foremost, if he could visit with a few of these lesser lords, mayhaps he could secure the majority of their power and best serve the new King.

He had a few ripe targets in mind, but The Ring happened to be his first stop and he had ever found the hospitality of House Roxton to his liking. He was tired, old and cold but he was sure this visit would not be in vain.

"Lord Frados!" He called as he rode through the raised portcullis, "Your greeting warms us on this chill day!" He offered a slight bow to his host and his squire, Evand Flowers, slid from his saddle to hand the horse reins to the Roxton stableboy.

"Ser Otto, you've traveled far," greeted Frados, approaching the old knight. Ser Haraway followed at his heels, quickly scratching notes on paper. "I hope you'll forgive the day. It is not my place to dictate the will of the Seven." With a gesture of his hand, the stableboy ran off to attend to the horse. "Now, shall we get straight to business, or would you prefer to enjoy our hospitality first?"

Ser Otto was hungry, but it could wait. If Roxton was to declare for Rhaenyra, best he heard it, made his appeal and if unsuccessful, move on. It wouldn't do to reveal his route in that instance as he'd make himself ripe for capture. "I'll take of your bread and salt Lord Frados, and we can get straight to business. Afterwards, you must tell me how your lovely family fares!" He smiled, he was always a man to remember his courtesies and knew Lord Frados was as much a family man as he. "Come, let us talk as friends..."

"Bread and salt for the guest," Frados said, and Ser Haraway relayed it to a servant. "I'm afraid since one of your esteemed family has last visited, my family has unfortunately become . . . smaller than it once was. My father, may the Stranger be gentle with him, has been caught in an unfortunate duel. My sister-by-law, bless her as well, had an incident in birth. Shattered my brother's heart, it did. He didn't last long after. That leaves but three Roxtons in the whole world, if you can believe it. My little niece, the Lady Roxton, myself, and . . ." Frados grimaced, trailing off. He didn't like to talk about the third.

"And Jon." Ser Otto finished for him. "I'm grievous sorry to hear of your losses. We had word of the duel, a grim business to be sure. All the more prudent we shield the children. Tis they who will inherit whilst the likes of me will be dust and bones." His mouth tightened. Would Aegon go on to build this new world? He wondered. He must. Nodding to a page, he partook of the bread, lightly salted and dressed with a dark oil that tasted of vinegar. It was too sharp to Ser Otto's taste but he made no sign of it and thanked the lad. "I trust you've had tidings of King Viserys' sad demise?" He began.

"I think the hermits in far away Yi Ti and Asshai who lament the loss of our great king," Frados said. "No matter the king, it is the duty of the kingdom to mourn his passing. And now, I think, the kingdom mourns louder than ever. To be frank, both I and my neighbors can see the coming war. Mighty houses like your own perhaps would not understand, but we are a small domain, and we tremble for even the smallest conflicts. We have so much to lose from so little, you see."

Otto raised a hand at these words, "I assure you, Lord Frados, nay, I promise you, we share these concerns. The King is my grandson and I have great grandchildren besides. If it is to be war, they all are in danger and Kings Landing is the skirmish line..." He paused, his own words had affected him and he felt genuine fear for the children, steeling himself, he pressed on. "We will offer Rhaenyra peace, the offer has been made, but as you might imagine, whilst we hope for the best we must needs prepare for the worst." He offered a wan smile.

"Yes, of course . . ." Frados mused. Already, he was weighing up the sides, knowing that when the time comes, whether one side or the other is more fool, the most foolish thing to do is to stand alone. "If I hear correctly, your allies within the Reach are many. If you would allow me to say so, the lords are quite eager to stand at your side. It even sounds as if the Tyrells would soon declare in little Aegon's name. Now, those reasons are many, I agree, to join them in their thought. However, if the . . . distasteful rumors in my court are to be believed, Rhaenyra has something of a marked advantage, both in air and water. What say you to that?"

Ser Otto was relieved to hear Frados go on, he sounded like he wanted to declare for the Greens yet had obvious misgivings. "Rest assured, the Sea Snake and his vessels are no match for the fleets of Oldtown, Kings Landing and Storms End..." He smiled, "Yes, by now my grandson Aemond should be wed to one of Lord Borros Baratheon's girls. We needn't worry on that score. Dragons? Aye, they've a handful more but we're talking young hatchlings, wild dragons and those that have scarce been ridden in a generation. The history will tell you, it isn't who has the most dragons but who has the biggest. Vhagar is sister to Belarion lest we forget." He smiled his reassurance. "I'm here as your guest, Lord Frados, not as the Kings' Hand. As a Reachman, like you and a friend. I've visited nowhere else before here because I know you've ever been a faithful vassal to Highgarden and I hope I can count on you to be a faithful vassal to the King. Our True King..."

"You've given me much to think about," said Frados. The conversation was reaching its conclusion far too quickly for his liking. "I appreciate your blessing my humble home with your visit, though I'm sure you have many others to attend to. If you would like to stay for a day or two, I would be more than happy to show you the guest chambers. If you would like to get on to the Wythers some leagues hence, I will have your horse brought to you." Making a decision this early, he knew, would lead to an unfavorable end.

Wythers... the squirrels were long leagues North-West of here, Otto knew, but if Lord Roxton believed that was his destination, all well and good. In Truth, he would have visited Inchfield first if he were heading that way but he was due to strike towards Smithyton and House Shermer from here. "You are prudent to take your time, Lord Roxton, you have suffered losses few could imagine of late. All I would ask is that you declare one way or other with your family in mind. These lands are our home, yours and mine, and we must needs stand together for the common good and for what is right. I'll rest up here tonight, begging your pardon, and will strike towards Wythers on the morn." He lied, Alicent and Cole knew his journey but it was an agreed ploy that his route be kept secret from the Lords he courted lest one of them chose to inform Rhaenyra.

"Well and good. Ser Haraway, if you please," Frados commanded, and Ser Haraway leapt ahead of the group to show Ser Otto the guest chambers. Frados watched them go, stroking his chin. Ser Otto would be gone soon, and he made many good points regarding his allegiance. Still, to choose that path would have both him and his niece cross paths with Cousin Jon, a dangerous man if there ever was one. Perhaps it would be best to think first, and when the time is ripe, the Ring must stand with the winning side. To slip now, when such a critical moment was approaching regarding his enemies in Wythers, would cost the house everything, and he can't have that.

Game of Thrones : The Pact of Ice and Fire (Always Open)

Cathay stood in front of the mirror, glaring at herself. She had, somehow, become a little lap-dog for the Mistress of Whisperers, despite her precautions against it. Angrily, she snatched up her wig and shoved it on her head. It looked ridiculous and haphazard. She sighed, and collected herself, delicately readjusting it to a more comfortable position. Best not to let her anger get control over her. She remembered reading the records regarding her father. Anger had got to him in the end as well.

Cathay tied the shawl to her head, completing the disguise. This time, she looked old, a fortune teller hailing from Essos, who's years were long behind her. She didn't want a repeat of the tavern situation. At least this way, drunks would feel less inclined toward pulling her onto their laps.

She would find Gaemon Celtigar near the royal docks, where a flotilla of gold-sailed dromonds were readying for war. The Narrow Sea fleets had already departed to the Stepstones for the campaign, and the Gulttown fleet now took up the patrols, leaving the defense of Blackwater Bay to the royal fleet and the mainland levy flotillas. Ser Gaemon was pacing the length of the docks, shouting orders and kicking recruits into action, sometimes literally. His gold cloak trailed to the floor and his gilded gold armor had been polished to a sheen.

"I want these ships ready for patrol by tonight, or there will be hell to pay, understood?" A browbeaten row of sailors nodded and Gaemon dismissed them. He turned away from the docks for a moment and began walking through the market stalls that popped up near the shipyards, full with fishmongers and whores and every other kind of merchant selling their wares. Gaemon ducked under a tarp and ordered a bowl of clam chowder, taking off his helm for a moment in this brief respite from his strict routine.

Cathay, in her disguise, hobbled up to Gaemon, careful to rely on her staff to pull her along. She cleared her throat, and pointed one far too youthful-looking finger at his back. Hopefully, his eyes aren't as observational as hers. "You," she croaked. "You are a mystery, yes? Destiny swirls about you, like a bright typhoon filled of wisdom."

Gaemon turned, a skeptical look on his face. Like his kinsman he was a young man, though of considerably more serious expression, with close-cropped silver hair and a tightly trimmed beard. He snorted, "And to find out my destiny, is how much? Ten coppers? Twenty?" Gaemon was an experienced Kingslander, and already suspected some manner of grift.

"Ah," muttered Cathay. "You are clouded, far too long, by Westerosi pretenders. They do not see destiny, in the way true maegi of the east do. To give a destiny is its own reward, and I ask no coin or treasure to apply my gift. Now give me your palm."

The Captain arched an eyebrow in surprise, "Maegi you say? I suppose there's no harm in trying." He took off one leather glove and held out a weathered palm to the supposed wise woman, "Tell me what you see, maegi."

Cathay fiddled around with Gaemon's hand, prodding and poking, the way she saw many of her underground connections do. She had no idea what it meant, and she hoped that this captain had similar experience. "In the palm, I see many things," she crooned, continuing to play around with his outstretched hand. "I see your past, your future, and into your mind. Let me in, young man. Let me in." Then, she leapt back in feigned shock. "I detect dark thoughts within your mind. A conspiracy, of the largest degree. I feel it striking the hearts of the courts across the world, reaching even the high perch of the royalty. Tell me, tell me of this conspiracy. Confession, as those who taught me have said, is a cleansing of the mind."

Gaemon recoiled in shock, pulling his hand away from the woman, "How do you know about..."
The Captain snarled and reached for the woman again, gripping her wrist tightly, "What is this? Witchcraft? Or espionage? What do you know? Tell me what you know!" One hand drifted along his belt, reaching for his cudgel.

Cathay's eyes darted around the room. There was no escape, or at least no obvious one. It took all of her willpower not to shriek and slap him in the face. "I only know what I see in your mind. Relax yourself, I am not the enemy. Be at peace . . . " She reached up to clasp his other hand in hers. "Nothing to worry about. I am in body only a woman of many years. Now . . . you may speak your mind here, free of betrayal. Go ahead, it is not often I can entertain one who will end his life a royal, after all."

Gaemon's grip slackened, his features becoming less hostile and more curious. He eyed her and said, "A royal you say? You see this in my future? Tell me what else you see." Gaemon's inquiry was earnest, eager of an answer.

"I must hear it from you, for the . . . delicacies to take effect," Cathay whispered. "Tell me, have you a child? Perhaps one of a family with the king? Has fate given you that gift?"

The Captain straightened saying, "My children are no royals. But there is one... a cousin of mine. She carries a Prince's seed in her. The first Celtigar and Targaryen child in hundreds of years. Tell me, is this child how fortune takes a turn for us?"

"Tsk tsk. Fortune is a fickle creature, giving with one hand and taking with the other," continued Cathay, squeezing Gaeron's hand. "However, you are still too tense. Many soldiers have come to me, asking their fates, but such will never be if they are coiled tight as a snake." This was further emphasized by a hard squeeze of his hands.

Gaemon visibly tried to relax, "Very well. I suppose I was a bit tense." He took a calming breath and said, "Do you see anything else at all? Any hint of what may come of this child?"

Cathay silently groaned to herself. She was getting nowhere dancing around the subject like this. "I see . . . this child. Names, he has many, truth, he has none. I see . . ." she gasped, and let go of his hands. "Gold. Upon his fair head, rests a band of dark and red. Around him swirls darkness and secrecy! It seems the fair child has many enemies, so many above and below. Who is this child, truly? The secrets hide him so."

Gaemon seemed enraptured by the seer's vision, convinced he was witnessing a telling of the future and not the deception he had intitially suspected, and he worked his mouth trying to say something, "He will be a prince. Like his father. And if your visions are correct, he will be a king as well. A king with Targaryen and Celtigar blood. The blood of Jonquil Celtigar and Aemon Targaryen."

"But the enemies! Forget not the enemies! There is another, an old man, weary of his place and his world. He will seek to crush this child! His name I have never heard, but he too wears the dark and the red! Away, warrior! Defend your child, for the old will swallow the new!"

Gaemon stepped back, disturbed and said, "What do you mean? Does this man seek the child's death?" He ignored the shop keep telling him his chowder was ready and was wholly focused on the wise woman before him.

"Death, I know not. But perhaps, before I go on, you should rest. The mind needs fate, but not more than the body needs food. Drink, and let us continue." Cathay allowed herself a wan smile at that. She had always been . . . generous with this particular soup merchant. She didn't know the specifics of the contents within the chowder, but she knew too well what it did to people. Slight hallucinations, just outside the corner of their vision. A temporary dulling of the mind, and a strange desire to speak the truth and to put trust in those around them. "Drink, young warrior. You will need it."

Gaemon absentmindedly took the chowder and took a long swallow. After a few moments he jumped in fright, reaching for his cudgel and turning but finding nothing. He shivered and his movements seemed more lethargic, not the motions of a trained soldier so much as a drunkard, "What is happening? Is... this some magic?" He gritted his teeth and held his head in one hand, "I feel strange."

"Perhaps that is your body, for so long ready at battle, now finally allowing itself to feel content. Do you feel content? No doubt you do." Now, this was her chance! "But something tells me you are keeping a truth from me. Do you want to do that? No, that would be silly. Tell me this truth, perhaps it would help the connections between the now and the later."

Gaemon sat down and leaned against one of the market stalls, ignoring the cursing of one of the shopkeeps as he said, "Yes there is something. I know little, and only have suspicions. But I was at Claw Isle a few moons past, helping train the navy levies. My uncle had a visitor, a hooded man who did not show his face. He arrived in the dead of night to speak with Lord Ardrian and once he did, my uncle took him into his solar to speak with him, and they did not emerge by the time everyone was abed. The next morning, he was gone. This man... there was something about him. But a few months after he visited, I hear this news of Jonquil bearing a Prince's son. I think there is a connection."

"Indeed . . . nevertheless, you have done well. Both for this child and yourself. You will have a long life of few regrets, and will go far in life. I bid you good eve." And with that, Cathay stood up, and hobbled out of the soup tent. The Mistress of Whisperers would want to hear this. More importantly, her brothers will need this for when their reascension comes.

Magic RP (Open to new players)

"No!" Rughoi rasped, pulling back from Kali's outstretched hands. "No magic, no teleportation, no closer." His hands searched around for his sword, but he found none. So instead, he steadily pushed himself to his feet, which threatened to give out under him again. He swayed, glaring through unclear eyes in Akydon's general direction. "You . . . I know you. My people speak in hushed whispers, but there's no doubt about it. The Thorn of the Emperor, they say. It annoys me to no end." He then experimented with walking. Hesitantly, he picked up one of his feet and set it down a little ways away. It shook, but held. Perhaps he was getting better.

"You want Traeton? You would dedicate tens of thousands of soldiers to that ruin? Fine. I will gather up my people, and we will settle in our own land. However, we want reparations. My people need to eat and build their houses. Those things require gold, simple as that." He stood there, looking up at who for the longest time was his enemy, and found his own harsh expression mirrored back at him.