bloonewb

Magic RP (Open to new players)

"If you insist," Rebat said, with no small sense of confusion. The culture of the dracon nobility seemed incredibly complicated and exotic. What could take the grand prince a whole day to prepare for when meeting with diplomats? Rughoi, under all the lofty airs he likes to put on, kept the court simple and quick. To speak to His Might, one would walk in the room he occupies, bow, and begin speaking. He would listen, and make his ruling, even if those people had just come out of battle or waded through quicksand. Still, though, to disrespect local culture would make diplomacy fall apart before it had even began. "A wash might actually do me some good. If you would kindly show me where I may find a rag and clean myself?"

Dragon's Mask

If Riley could speak, she would have used one of those words mummy and daddy say are not allowed. In that moment of panic, she had done something drastic, something that led to the opposite effect of what she had planned. Now this smelly monster peered down at her, its six eyes widening in sickening delight. Riley felt like she was shrinking in its gigantic presence.

Anger at herself, coupled with an extreme fear of being hurt, drove her legs to leap just as the monster lashed a stretchy arm out at the two of them. Nina escaped the bounds of the bookshelf and bounded away, and Riley quickly followed suit in the other direction. The two animals tore through the library, diving through bookshelves and popping out the other end in a mess of paper and leather bindings. From somewhere she cannot see, Riley heard a deafening roar, followed by the sound of wood smashing. She kept up her breakneck pace, knowing on some animal level that the monster could not be far behind her at any time.

Dragon's Mask

@Mokley This one is still going, right?

Magic RP (Open to new players)

"A good soldier, like the grand prince you described, would not be scared of a bit of sand," Rebat chuckled. He was not too keen on revealing his true doubts about bathing. He knew well enough he cannot enter water up to his neck, recalling a harrowing moment when he was rapidly approaching the mouth of Hetuis after diving into a lake. A lesson he had to learn the difficult way, but a lesson he learned well. It was truly a miracle of Scen that he survived his own foolishness. "I am anxious to finish the task His Might has assigned me and return home. I am as frightened of the guards here as I hope you were when kindly visiting us in Xigyll." True enough, guards lined the city walls like banners, all accustomed to a dangerous and treacherous life. They glared down at everyone, most of all the little kobolds that scurried around the feet of the larger dracons.

Magic RP (Open to new players)

After long, tiring days of travel, Hekaga's tallest spires began to emerge through the dunes and sparse grasses of the Irodil Mountain terrain. Rebat marveled at its sheer size. Hekaga was a city built by creatures far larger than himself, and has lasted hundreds, if not thousands of years. All of this shows up in its architecture, each spire seeming to compete with the others over how magnificent and gaudy it can be. The little kobold felt humbled by its presence, thinking of the wisdoms that such a city would have that his own self wouldn't. "Come now, mustn't be late," he muttered, hobbling his way towards the enormous gate.

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

( @MrDidact had a hand in this. Yay for that!)

Artur in Volantis

Volantis was an ancient city, well learned in its roots. Its buildings and ships were a reflection of older days, days of the Valyrian Freehold. Artur looked out from his place at the prow of the ship, marveling at the grandness of it all. "This is it," he said, with perhaps a little regret. "The last we'll see of any living city, before we plunge into the unknown."

Clayton nodded, "Aye, which is why we oughta eat hearty and bed as many wenches as we can. We can leave a few bastards behind even if we die." Jorje said, "I'd like the oppurtunity to try and collect some rare volumes as well. Volantis is the closest we have to a modern day Valyria. The knowledge held in this city is likely staggering." Tyran Hill looked at the city and said, "We'll have to watch ourselves. Slavers run amok in this city, Thieves and cutthroats of all types. We best watch our step."

Clay turned to Artur and said, "What's our first move then, m'lord?" The last he enunciated with his usual somewhat mocking lilt.

"The records would be a good start," Artur mused, mostly to himself. "I'd have to see them. Tommen must be on one of those pages. It might even say where we're going. Of course, then I'd need permission from the Volantene triarchs . . . " he was shaken out of his thoughts by the ship bumping into the dock with a thud. Shouts and curses were exchanged between the new Triarchy sailors and that of the original Westerosi.

"So sorry, ser," said one of the Westerosi, coming up to the prow. "It's these damn Lysene, ser! They won't row into the docks!"

"Don't bother his mind with your corrupted lies!" spat a Lysene, quickly following behind. "It is the fault of the Westerosi! They insist on ramming into the dock like a Dothrak horse!"

"Enough," Artur said, clutching his forehead with one hand. He was annoyed already. "I'm sure it was merely a misunderstanding between the sailors. If neither ship nor dock is damaged in any way, then nothing done." The two sailors glared at each other, but chose not to say anything.

"Come, Artur Ser," said Calla, touching him on his hand. "Let us be to the city. City is far more beautiful than little ship, yes?" A playful smirk danced on her lips as her eyes turned towards Volantis.

Clay nodded, rubbing Clegane's head, "Aye, let us be off." Jorje pointed out the famed Long Bridge, one of the wonders of the world, and how it connected the two sides of the free city of Volantis. The Halfmaester said, "We're docked on the western end, but we can make our way through the Long Bride to the Black Walls of Old Volantis. Your Lannister connections might come in handy there. It is the nobles of Volantis who would have the answers we seek."

Tyran was already strapping on his bow and his sword, "Let us go then. I'll have the captain take the ship in and see to supplies. If the nobles accept us, we can send for them and have the ship docked in the eastern half. Otherwise we'll have to find lodgings on the western half. Either way, we should leave half the men here to watch the ship and our supplies. The other half can come with us."

Tyran shouted orders to the captain, and a short time later, several Lannister men-at-arms were gathered with Artur's companions. Clay nudged Artur, and grinned, "Lead the way Lannister."

"If you say," Artur said, taking the first nervous step off the boat. There was something about the wood that just felt old. It was like he could feel the years of trade and travel, starting from the hands of the Valyrian woodworkers, imbued in the ground itself by their strange magics. Volantis struck him in a way that Lys didn't, a portal back to the days of the Freehold where Lys was an imitation.

The sights, sounds, and smells of Volantis were a riot of exotic scents and spectacles, heady and exciting to the Westerosi travelers. Jorje looked on in awe, while Tyran kept a sharp eye and had the men form a cordon around them as they walked. They passed through crowds of fishmongers and shouting sailors, the guards jostling away whores and pickpockets both. And everywhere there were slaves. Slaves of all colors, with tattoos that marked what they were for. For every free man, the Westerosi could see five enslaved men.

The Lannister contingent passed through a market, Fishmonger's Square, where everything under the sun was being sold, goods from as far east as Asshai and as far west as Lannisport. But other than the odd merchant, they were the only people of Westeros in the crowds. Clayton gawped as he watched an elephant stomp past on the street, women wearing only silk giggling and laughing from the tower atop the beast as a noble of Volantis sat within.

After an hour of jostling their way through the noisy crowd, they entered the Long Bride. It was even more congested than the port. Even more marvels to observe. All in much less space. They passed between the archways flanked by sphinxes, manticores, and other stone creatures, Volantene guardsmen with tiger cloaks and tiger stripes watching them closely as they passed through.

The buildings pressed in, shops, inns, taverns, parlors, brothels, and all others rising on either side up to great heights besides them, and in the distance they could see the Rhoyne glittering in the sun. Jorje gulped as they reached the halfway point of the bridge and they saw the severed hands and heads of criminals displayed proudly by more tiger guards. The walk took a few hours and Clay whistled, nudging Artur, "No city like this back home, Artur. What do you think?"

No words could describe what Artur thought. The bustle of the Valyrian city stretched out as far as the eye can see, making the entire city come to life. For a second, he could consider his quest done. He had seen the wonders of the children of Valyria, both in the west and east. Is that all one needs in life? Duty, however, calls to his spirit, even in this city of wonders.

"We must speak to the Triarchs of Volantis," he said, trying to focus on the large wall on the far end of the city, where they met. "I will know where Tommen has gone." He began wading through the crowd towards the Black Walls, a singular thought burned into his mind. The crowd proved difficult to maneuver through, and engulfed him like the jaws of a hungry beast. He turned this way and that, but no matter where he looked was either a merchant, guard, or beggar blocking his view. This, combined with the many backstreets and winding turns, meant that when the jumble of people finally spit him out of the other end, he found himself in a dirty alley, with neither the capitol building nor any of his companions in sight. "Clay?" he called out, but was drowned out by the sound of Volantis. That didn't stop him from trying again. "Tyran? Calla?"

The young Lannister had made his way off of the Long Bridge. But the Black Walls and the old city they hid, were shielded by the buildings around him. He could hear the chattering of dozens of languages. But of his companions he heard none. Suddenly there was a scratching on the wall behind him and Artur would turn to see a lanky, dirty man, scraping a knife on the wall of the alley. He grinned at him. More were shambling behind.

Artur would look around and see that he was surrounded. On both sides of the alley, thugs were closing in. Around a dozen in all. The lead man croaked out in broken common, "Westerosi boy, far, home eh? Help? Find way?"

He held out a palm, "Coin. I help."

Artur's eyes darted to the lead, then his compatriots, his mind aflame with panic. Could he fight twelve men? He slowly backed up, and pulled his sword from its rest.

"I have no money," he managed to croak. "Don't fight. You will be killed." If anyone believed his outrageous bluff, they didn't seem to show it.

The thieves eyed the Westerosi boy. He had armor. He had a sword. All they had were rags and daggers. But they had him surrounded and outnumbered. And they looked hungry. The leader snapped out a word in bastard valyrian and two men ran at Artur, one from each side, the rest of them crouching and advancing more slowly.

Desperate, Artur cut at the left and ran. He didn't see the man fall, but he knew what it meant to be cut by a sword. Without armor or a blade long enough to block his attack, there was no way the attack could miss. Artur didn't look back. He couldn't. He dashed down the alley and made a hasty right turn, then another, before turning his head around to see if they followed.

His flight had surprised the thieves and the larger armored man had bowled through several of them as he ran. The one Artur had cut was screaming as his guts fell from his stomach and the thieves ran after him, shouting and cursing as they jostled their way through the alleyways and after Artur. The leader was in the front and shouting the thieves on.

Artur continued to make his flight, knowing well enough that his heavy armor was slowing him down. The lighter thieves were slowly gaining on him, their shouts deafening and getting ever louder. "Clay!" he shouted. Anything is worth a try now. "Tyran! Clay! Guards!"

The gods answered Artur's cries. A figure stepped into view at the end of one of the alleys. It was Tyran. Tyran yelled, "Artur! Hug the wall!" Waiting but a bare second, Tyran strung his bow and let loose an arrow. It lanced through the air and through the brain of one of the thieves. Not even a second later, another arrow was through another thief's neck. Clay appeared alongside Tyran, Clegane by his side, and both of them roared, charging down the alley while Tyran fired another arrow before nocking his bow and making his way to Artur.

The thieves broke and ran, three of them already dead, and the leader turned, only to feel Clegane's jaws wrap around his shin and drag him to the ground screaming. Clay swung his sword and cut a man across his spine, making him double over. The thieves all spread out and Clegane ripped out the leader's throat. Tyran knelt by Artur, stowing his bow, and grabbed his cousins' hand, "Are you alright, Artur?"

Clay sword drawn, stepped back slowly, "Better get out of here. Rats may come back with even more friends." Clegane snarled, mouth bloody, as Lannister guards appeared with swords drawn at the head of the alley, beckoning for Artur to come.

"Fine. I'll be fine," Artur gasped, leaning on the wall with a hand. "I'll feel better when we see the Volantene port records." He detatched himself from the wall, and looked around him, seeing only low buildings and narrow paths. "Where are we?" he asked. "Which way is Old Volantis? Which way is anything?" It seemed that battle and death were determined to follow him on his path to Brightroar. Whatever road the gods have planned for him will not be kind.

The Lannisters closed ranks around Artur and Jorje and Calla were waiting in the street with more guards. Jorje said, "We're in the eastern half of the city. The wealthier district for the most part. But it seems you found yourself to the rare slum here. Something of an achievement actually."

Tyran glared at Jorje and the man coughed, "At any rate, we must to the Black Walls. There we can try to speak to the old families of the city. Perhaps then we can find traces of the Lion King." Clay slapped Artur on the back, "You're alright Lannister. Let's get on." He laughed, "Can't even leave you alone for a minute before somebody's trying to kill you. Perhaps your brother ain't as bad as you thought."

Calla stuck close to Artur, holding his hand and whispering soothing words to him as the party made its' way to the massive Black Walls that dominated the eastern half of Volantis. The great oval of fused black stone rose higher than any other structure in the city, and the Lannister party were to a man, intimidated by the size of the structure, more than two hundred feet in height.

Men could be seen patrolling the walls far above, and on the ground below, on foot, on horseback, and even elephants rode by. Jorje seemed almost reverent, "Behind those walls lie Old Volantis. And the Old Blood of the city. We need their permission to enter. You must make yourself known my lord."

They walked ahead until they were in shouting distance from the walls. A voice, booming from a large horn sounded down, "Who approaches the Black Walls of Old Volantis? State your name and purpose, immediately."

"My name is Artur Lannister," shouted Artur. "Son of the Lord Jason Lannister! We hail from Westeros!" There was some whispering above. Artur hoped they were good. Lannisport, he presumed, would be a well known trading site, and the name of the Lannisters, even as far away as Slaver's Bay, should carry weight with these trading cities. "We wish to meet with the Triarchs!" he added.

There was no answer and for several moments it seemed there would be none. Right at the moment when Tyran was about to speak, a side gate opened and a column of horsemen rode out. At their lead was a man in black armor, a dragon helm glinting in the sun. With him were a few other dragon-armored men, and a large contingent of slave soldiers in tiger cloaks. They surrounded Artur's party, Clay and Tyran placing hands on their weapons as the leader flicked open his helm.

He had the violet eyes of Valyria, and looked at Artur, "Greetings, Ser. I bid you welcome to Volantis. Your arrival was unexpected and has caused a bit of a stir. It's not often a great lord's son arrives here. I am Qavo Maegyr, son of the Triarch. And I was sent to ascertain the purpose of your visit here. Would you call to tell me, why you have come? I had thought you'd be at home, considering there's a war brewing in the West."

"Yes, the war in the west," Artur said. "I am something of a . . . special case. In fact, it is because of the war in the west, among other things, that I have need to meet with your father and his two compatriots. If you would please show me to them." Qavo nodded, then said a few phrases of Volantene Valyrian to a slave near the door. He bowed, and opened the gate, gesturing into the grounds of the capitol building. Artur entered, heart pounding in his chest. What would these illustrious Triarchs think of him?

Qavo's men dismounted, the guardsmen leading them into the Black Wall and to a moderately sized reception hall, outfitted with cushions and couches, with trays of fruit and pitchers of wine. Qavo said, "You may wait here for the moment, while the Triarchs prepare. Then they will call upon you for your audience. Please, rest. The time for talk will come soon enough." There he left them, awaiting the meeting that would define the course of their journey.

Magic RP (Open to new players)

Well ok.

Magic RP (Open to new players)

"Mounts? Not till we reach the Talon Pass," Rebat said, limping towards that great landmark. Mazdak insisted on filling the silence, and Rebat just let him speak. He was not old, but there was something about being at the mercy of fate that makes one simply feel older. Rebat could never decide whether that was a condemnation by the gods or a reward.

Eventually, they saw the twin peaks marking the Talon Pass. They looked down at the two travelers with distant disdain, and Rebat felt himself humbled by its giant reach. Truly, a kobold may be great, but he may never be as great as Hetuis' many tails.

"State your business," came a voice behind the pair. Rebat couldn't help but chuckle to himself. A classic kobold tactic, as old as Arjun the Brave. Sneak up on the enemy and scare them out of their wits before they get a good look. Rebat decided to face the voice, and found just what he expected. A kobold warband, covered head to toe in war paint made from the rock dust of the mountains. All but invisible in the terrain they found themselves in, if they chose to stand still.

"You address Commander Rebat, first legion of the kobold guard, under the service of His Might Rughoi the Unbound," Rebat said. He knew the password well enough. One kobold stepped forward and bowed low.

"We are honored to meet with a commander. What are you doing with an enemy of the state?" His eyes were directed squarely toward Mazdak, and it was obvious what he was thinking.

"That is a diplomat, captain. He would like, no doubt, to be home as soon as possible. If you would let us pass," Rebat said. He didn't make demands of his troops often. The captain nodded, and shouted to the warband, as they scurried back into the niches in the mountains, disappearing from vision once again. "With me, emissary," Rebat said, waving with a twisted claw and hobbling through. "I'd like to speak to the Grand Prince before he decides to raise his levies, thank you very much."

Magic RP (Open to new players)

"Then I shall do my part and not complain about it," Rebat said. "I, as a good leader of the kobold legion, could not in good conscience waylay a kobold cleric to heal my own wounds, when so many of those under me require more pressing medical attention." His mangled tail curled inwards as he gazed out to the water, rubbing his throat. "After a few months, all pains will recede of their own accord. I suppose I've just . . . forgotten they were there." The ferry slowly bumped up on shore, and Rebat hobbled off, with a helping hand from the ferrymaster. "I know not how you dracons handle things, but in some small way, perhaps I have grown proud of my injuries. In my heart I sing for every piece I give of myself to my people and my emperor. I think the two of us are not so different in that respect, yes?"

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

There was nothing in this world worse than a pretentious lowborn, William thought. He was surrounded on every side by dirty-mouthed pirates, all rubbing shoulders and grandiose threats. Worst of all, he was strictly forbidden from killing any of them where they stand. He glared at a figure who seemed a bit too interested in him, and whoever it was obligingly looked away. Serves the fool right enough.

Arak clutched his spear, the wood warping under his heavy grip. He knew what it meant to be in enemy territory, with no more than an instruction to carry out. He swore himself to the task, and the sun will rise in the south before he would break that promise. Just a few more days of holding out now, he promised himself.

"Ey, youse," croaked a fat pirate, rubbing down a sword. "Gots tha hunge' fer sommat royal blood?"

"Erm . . . certainly, surely, and without doubt," Arak mumbled. "I stand always at the ready to thwart the efforts of Their Maj-"

"Eh, what's it ta youse?" William snapped. "We's gonna cuts youse up if ya don't shuts ye's mouth, see?" He stood up, and stared down the still-shorter rebel, and said rebel suddenly seemed to remember a task he had put off. "What did I say about proper grammar?"

"Don't," sighed Arak.

"Good. Now fetch Visenya. If anyone tries to talk to you, don't respond without two mouthfuls of this," William said, fumbling around his coat. "Damn this . . . where did I leave it . . . ah yes, here we go," he pulled out the wineskin, then gave it a hard shake. "Hmm . . . seems lighter than I remember. Here." He pressed the skin into Arak's hands. "Now, like I said, find Visenya." With a shove, William sent Arak out, on his own, into the midst of the Scorpion camp.

Arak would find Visenya with the Maiden's Men, the company of sellswords drinking, laughing, gambling, and making merry. Captain Seronna, for her part, was drinking several of her men under the table. Meanwhile Visenya was playing a knife game with some of the pirates, stabbing between her splayed fingers quicker and quicker while keeping the blade away from her bare digits. The watching pirates were all rapt with attention as they watched the speed and surety of her stabs, and it was clear that a large amount of coin was on the line.

"My la- no, no, that wasn't it. Captain!" Arak shouted, waving to Visenya. He approached the table and was about to drop to his knee, stopping himself at the last second and choosing what he thought as more appropriate, a bow. "The . . . erm . . . 'quartermaster' would like to have a word with you, if you can spare the time."

Visenya finished the rapid tattoo of knife thrusts and picked it up before tossing the knife at a pirate with a puffy hat. The hat flew right off of the man and buried itself into the bark of a nearby tree. There was a loud round of cheering and slaps on the back as Visenya grinned and grabbed a hefty bag of coin, turning to Arak, "Very well, sailor. I'll see to him right now."

Black Visenya Storm, now known to the pirates as Black Calla, walked over to William and smirked at him, hefting the coin bag over her shoulder, "Something you need, Bill? I was just cleaning out some pockets right now."

"I'll say," William chuckled, turning his gaze to the angry faces lining the table. A few of them reached with uncertain hands to the pile of coins in the middle. "I seem to have been left out of your grand plan. Do you know how insulting that is? I don't think I've ever been left out of one of your schemes in my entire life." He rolled up his sleeve for dramatic effect, revealing the burn marks on his forearm. It was old and faded, but still rang of the time Visenya had tried to steal a wedding cake from the kitchen, and the angry cook had thrown a torch at the two of them. William didn't even remember what made them try something so drastic. "I don't sit here talking like the mentally slow for the fun of it, you know. Well, not just for the fun of it."

Visenya saw the burn marks and she smiled, remembering, the she laughed, "Well, you do have a sibling to look after now. I wasn't sure if you wanted to participate." She sat down next to Will in the private pavillion that their men had erected, away from the other pirates without being too suspicious, "Tell you what, the next grift, I'll let you take the lead. How about that?"

She grinned, "I'm surprised you came with me, this could prove to be quite a dangerous job. We'll have to pretend to be dirty, drunk, conniving pirates for quite some time." She paused then said, "Well, it might not be so difficult for you."

Visenya laughed and pulled out a wineskin, taking a sip before passing it on to him, "Why did you want to take the risk, Will? I'm genuinely curious. Grateful, but curious."

What was he supposed to say? William took the skin and took a generous helping of it for himself. He once again found himself without words. Damn it all, this always happens at the worst times. "Well . . . hmm . . ." he said, before ducking behind the comfortable cover of the wineskin. Eventually, though, it was to run out. "I couldn't just let you go galavanting off to the Stepstones, leaving me with the gutless ladies in Westeros." He finished. The wine tore through his throat in the way only a strong wine could. Gods, she knew exactly what he liked.

Visenya smiled at him and said, "That might be the nicest thing you ever said to me Will." She let the matter lay and took the wineskin, frowning at it's emptiness, "I suppose it makes up for draining my reserve of Arbor red."

The bastard princess sat back and looked up at the stars, a sea of lights above them, "Remember when we used to camp in the Kingswood? You, me, the Princes, our friends. I miss those days Will. Things were simple then."

Her smile turned sad, "I wish it could have stayed that simple."

"Friends? That's new," William laughed, handing the rather empty wineskin back. "Way I saw it, it was you, me, and a load of white-headed bullies who for whatever reason insisted I skin the animals they hunted. They were all so excited when I did. 'Ooh, your father could do the same trick with humans' every time," he grimaced. "You lived the simple life. Mine's been complicated the moment I was born."

Visenya looked at him, "Aemon never did that Will. And you know Viserys is an ass, but he means nothing by it." She placed the wineskin away and poured out two bowls from the stew boiling over a nearby fire, handing one to Will along with some bread, "It wasn't always simple for me either Will. I'm a bastard with no parents. The King and Queen raised me. I may be part of the family, but I don't have the name."

"You at least, you can make the Bolton name honorable again. Make it something to be proud of. If we do our jobs right, Jon will give you back the Dreadfort. And you won't have to deal with my schemes any more." She smiled and took a bite of bread.

"What a shame that would be," William said, taking the bowl and having himself a large slurpy drink from its contents. It was tasteless and lumpy, but he didn't expect or wish for anything else. "I rather enjoyed stealing that cake. Especially after, when we returned it, looking all sorry, with our own little birthday surprise in it." Perhaps the best part of the night was when Lord . . . some big name or other joyfully sliced it open, and to his horror a live rabbit bounded out of it, covered in sweetbread and angry from being confined for so long in a big loaf of it.

Visenya giggled, sounding like a girl again as she remembered, "I had no idea how you found that one. Remember Sansa's face? She was absolutely furious. Knew it was you right away. And Jon knew it was me too. We had to scrub the kitchens for a month. But it was completely worth it."

"When you're Lord of the Dreadfort again, make sure to come down and visit, will you?"

" . . . Sure. I will," William said, far hushed, while thinking angry thoughts, directed mostly at himself. Well, there goes that, he supposed, finishing the last of the porridge. "Any excuse to get out of the cold in the North, right?"