I think I had broken something in Janith's worldview, the moment I killed three men. Juxtaposing the polite, subservient man I had conducted myself in her home between the one who killed without blinking seemed difficult for her to grasp. I don't blame her really, I was a bit surprised how easy it was. Once you saw them as walking statblocks to crush rather than people with their own hopes and dreams, it felt like breathing... In that respect I suppose, I could thank the character I was inhabiting more than most. When life and death was on the line, he who acted to end it, stood atop and alive and that was basically that. Not that I would go seeking out a fight if I could help it. If I had no stake in it, so what if people said mean things? Or tried to bully me? I had power and there was no army nor knight that could stand before me, at least as far as I knew of.
Which honestly, brought up a problem of its own. But that would wait, at least for now. I had a job I was being paid to do, and I would do it to the best of my ability. And after a month of travel, we had finally made it to Kings Landing.
If there was ever a moment where my disgust for the ruling class grew exponentially, it was the moment the smell hit us. I gagged and so did Janith, both of us pausing for a moment to regard it as I spoke, slightly muffled as I lifted my face mask to obscure my nose and mouth. "Somehow, it seems fitting. That someplace so nice smells like shit."
Janith threw me a look as she spoke. "Do you have anything that can help me breath? Any magic?"
I rolled my eyes and spoke. "Oh, first it's all 'magic, strange, dangerous!' Now it's 'use your magic, help me breath-". I snickered as she kicked my shoulder from horseback, the both of us taking a moment to laugh as we stared out at the city.
King's Landing sprawls across the low rise beside Blackwater Bay, a vast tumble of stone and timber pressed tight within its walls. The city does not sit like a jewel upon the land; it clings to it, crouched and crowded, smoke rising in restless plumes from a thousand chimneys. The outer curtain wall snakes across the ridges, squat and thick, punctuated by watchtowers that bristle with spears and crossbows, like an ant hill set in a cowpie.
Beyond the walls, the harbor gleams.
Blackwater Bay stretches wide and grey-green, its waters busy with ships, from what I've learned are trading cogs, lean galleys, fishing boats bobbing like scattered driftwood. Their masts form a forest of wood and rope, gulls wheeling and shrieking above them. Even at a distance, the faint tang of salt mingles with the heavier scent of tar, fish, and humanity.
From afar is what could only be the Red Keep, its red stone catching the sun and glowing like banked embers. Its towers spear upward, banners snapping in the wind, proud and above all. The great castle dominates the skyline utterly, dwarfing the lesser structures that cling to its slopes. To the east is a domed, lighter building but no less magnificent in its own way. As I absently work on a scarf which I add a few scented drops from my medicine bag for Janith, the pathway grows and so too, do the people wandering it.
Merchants passing by in creaking wagons, hedge knights riding in pairs who give Janith and I quizzical looks seeing the knight walking and the smallfolk lady riding, and peasants that trudge along the verge with bundles over their shoulders. A mass of humanity, not a single other race I'd come to expect moving with them. No halfling families with their harvest, no half orc mercenaries sharing a wine flask, no tiefling bards playing for coin and the absence of them and more makes me feel a bit depressed actually.
The closer we become as well, the more shoulder to shoulder the traffic becomes and the more signs we see of the city before us. The fields outside the walls are dotted with hovels and tanneries, places too foul or poor to be allowed within the gates. Beggars appear, thin as fence posts, notably avoiding anyone dressed in armor like myself. The wind shifts and carries the full stench of the city, as both I and Janith gag briefly before there's a noise up ahead.
The roads are poor and muddy. Consequently, it's easy to lose a wheel from a fancy looking carriage, which is what we see up ahead. Whoever is riding looks to be some kind of nobility, with an odd looking banner of a red hart under a golden crown. The sight of it actually perks Janith up as she turns to me and says eagerly; "It's my ladies house colors! House Hartewell and in need of assistance! Oh, the Seven must be looking kindly down upon us!"
"If you say so?" I remark as she rides ahead and I follow with the bemused ease of someone along for the ride. There are five guards around it, with a driver and an armored knight, dressed in their colors. Janith's approach has them tense at first, till recognition follows and I come just in time to hear the last part of her conversation.
"-vitally important that we meet Lord Stark. Oh, excuse me. Ser Edric Hartewell, may I present Ser Azreal Anghelscu. I'm his servant nowadays."
"A fine gift indeed." Edric declares as we both scrutinize one another. He's a handsome man, facial hair neatly trimmed. His hair is dark brown from the sun and there's something about the eyes that remind me of someone, before I ask. "You're Lady Amora's sibling?"
He smiles and I know I made the right call as he says proudly. "Her younger brother. It is an honor to meet such a guest, rest assured you shall be as good as family within our holdings. As soon as we fix the carriage." He added ruefully before raising an eyebrow as I walked over to it. Whatever he was going to say dies in his throat as I bring both hands to grip the bottom and lift with my knees, hoisting the whole thing in place as I look to the driver. "Whenever you're ready."
His mouth gapes open as he looks to my hands, to the carriage and the sound of the window opens as a young girl, thirteen years old stares in turn at the sight, eyes flicking to my hands and then my armor as the wheel is placed in and I gently lower the whole thing down.
".... That was amazing!" She gushes and I can't help but smile. Especially as she suddenly seems to remember herself, head held high as she speaks. "Ser knight. Thank you for your most gracious assistance." Edric nods to her in approval and I nod in turn as I remark. "The honor is mine, young lady."
She beams and Edric puffs in pride as he speaks. "My daughter, Lady Edwynn Hartewell. It's her first time in Kings Landing."
"Is it now?" I remark as I dust off my hands. "Well, something we share then. Is there anything you might share with a newcomer?"
Ser Edric is about to speak, then pauses before he shakes his head. "Not until you find yourself a ride, good ser. It would be poor of me to let one who has been so helpful walk, whilst we ride in comfort. What happened to your horse?"
I groaned and spoke. "Uuurgh. I don't ride horses. Not good at it, so I just let Janith ride it."
Ser Edric blinked and Janith covered her face in her palm as the knight slowly spoke. "You let your smallfolk maid ride it? And you walk?"
"Well, yes." As I speak, his eyes flick from her to me as some kind of understanding dawns as he nods and speaks more cheerfully. "Well ser, there's plenty of room atop the carriage seat or inside should you wish. You've whet my curiosity and I would fain be pleased, to have it sated."
I slung myself up on the carriage seat, and as we continued on, Ser Edric considered before he spoke. "First of all, Kings Landing is a world unto itself. Within it, if he has the coin, a singular person may live out his entire life, entertained and amused before dying and buried with full respects. The higher elevations are where the majority of nobility and wealthy merchants live, the lower end holds that of smallfolk with the poorest found in Flea's Bottom. A word to the wise, don't go down there. Tis said that they subsist on food that consist of rats and whatever poor victims that wander in."
My brow furrowed at the idea and ignorant of my thoughts, Ser Edric continued. "There's also the street of steel; if you've weapons, tools or armor that you wish for, you won't find a better place. On that note, your own armor is strange to behold. Who was its maker?"
I grinned and said mysteriously. "A grumpy giant in Glorium. One of the best places to seek arms and armament in all the planes." He stared at me with a blank expression as Janith smiled behind a handkerchief. I could tell that Edwynn was adjusting herself to listen as I looked forward and began describing it.
"At the advice of a witch, I and my friends ventured to the Gate-Town of Glorium. It is a place akin to the far North of Westeros, save that everyone down to the child in their crib is taught the fundamentals of war. For its gate extends to the realm of Ysgard, and every so often, a raiding party of giants of frost and fire come to conquer the town. For to do so, would be to give their clans a foothold into the wider planes." I keep speaking and as I do, from the corner of my eye I see some of the house guards actually turning to listen as I continue on.
"It is a town by the shore, its infrastructure built to reflect the endless battle that they endure. Farms, lodges, homes all set to act as both barrier and blade for those who seek to take it. A massive statue of a great serpent rises above the mountains and the shores are constantly red, for the fallen who come to take it and are beaten back, every time."
Silence falls for a moment, as Ser Edric asks, unsure if I'm joking or just a really, really good storyteller. "And this place is one of giants?"
"Oh, not just giants." I correct as I continue on. "There are humans and dwarves. Elves and half-elven, goliath herds of all elements, bariaur and even hexbloods and just about any other race you can think of. Its a place utterly devoted to battle when it comes, and to warriors as a whole. Unless you prove yourself to them that you are one such person, they're pretty much distant. This armor?' I rapped it with a knuckle and continued. "I had to leap through a few hoops to prove myself worthy, as did a few of my companions."
Ser Edric nodded once as he spoke. "I see... Well Ser Anghelscu, if nothing else the story was quite decent. As for proving yourself a warrior, his majesty is running a tourney to celebrate the posting of the new Hand of the King." His eyes grew sly as they flicked to my sword as he added. "The language of Westeros is that of the sword and I would test myself against a man who claimed to have armor wrought by giants. Win or lose, the story I feel would be worth the bruises."
I grinned, already liking the sound of that as I spoke. "I may just have to take you up on that, time permitting."
"As the Seven wills it." He intoned as we finally found ourselves before the gate.
It was the first time I've seen the titular goldcloaks, and made sure to carefully watch how they moved and acted as Ser Edric stepped forward to announce the group. It lasted for about a minute, as he did a handshake and I caught a glimpse of gold vanish better than any rogue I've seen as he salutes, and we're allowed inside.
The roads are a bit better around here, the stench is worse. But Ser Edric leads the way with a degree of experience, moving through the crowds with our entourage like some New York cabbie till we find ourselves as a nice little manse with walls and a gate. I do note the spikes on the walls though, before I descend and help Janith get down as Edric helps his daughter out. Dinner is a small affair, some kind of stew and bread and when I bring up the question of meeting Stark, he promises to send a runner to the Red Keep so that's nice.
It's not till I get to my quarters and see Janith there, brushing her hair that I realize something might be lost in translation. Her fond, exasperated look to me says it all as she speaks. "Ser Edric said it was better for a knights mistress to sleep in the same room as her knight."
"You're my mistress?" I asked confused and she rolls her eyes, smiling despite it as she speaks. "There are few knights who'd let their smallfolk servant ride their own horse, whilst they walk themselves."
"They sound stupid." I say idly as I take the brush, working on her hair as she closes her eyes and sighs happily before she speaks. "Mmm, I wouldn't mind it you know. If you really did take me as your mistress."
"Would you not?" I say back, as I keep working on her before I speak. "As I told you before, it's not expected nor dependent on your service to sleep with me."
"What if I really, really wanted to?" She said brazenly in turn, looking over her shoulder at me as she smiled, wry and sad. "You saw the kind of prospects there are. If I'm your mistress, I'm afforded a matter of safety and security. And if you ever feel the need to wed, I won't stand in the way either-oh!"
Midway through her sad talk, I move to hug her. Its something she's definitely not used to, not when my arms are loose enough for her to run, nor in the way how I'm not copping a feel as I look steadily to the wall instead of places where she expects my eyes to linger.
"Janith. If you want protection, safety? You already had it. I like to think we're friends and friends don't let their friends get assaulted by bullies. You owe me nothing for it and I'm not going to ask for it."
She looks at me like I'm something new, something strange before a determined look crosses her face and she pushes me on my back, straddling me the next instance as I blink and hold my hands up.
"Whoa, whoa! I just said you don't have to, just to be protected."
She smiled hungrily and presses her hands on my chest as she leans forward and kisses the tip of my nose as she speaks. "I know. This is my choice."
And from there, things got a bit more muddled and wild.
Ser Edric's smile is broad the next day. His eyes dance with mirth, flicking to my face as he speaks innocently. "Ah my friend. You look as though you've faced a grave peril."
"Do I?" I said, distracted as we continued up the road to the Red Keep, his eyes crinkling as he speaks solemnly. "Yes. A most ravenous beast. One with jaws and claws." I look at him blankly and he finally taps the side of his neck. With a small blush, I pop up my collar to hide it as Edric gives in and laughs, before he speaks. "Don't be so worried. Would that all of us found such a beast. Janith should have been born noble, her status as a smallfolk is a waste. I remember well her days with my sister, running often among the vineyards that are our house legacy, tracking mud and scoldings in equal measure." His face is innocent as he adds. "If you wish, I can tell you some of them?"
I laugh, despite myself and he nods as if he had scored a great victory. It's a nice walk up to the keep and the more I talk to Edric, the more I like the guy. He's decent, humble and dotes on his daughter with anecdotes that have me smile all the way up to the gates of the keep. It seems we're not the only ones either, as a small crowd has gathered and are waiting to be let inside, as Edric gestures and speaks. "Petitioners. Folks with issues to be solved, inheritance problems, things of that nature. They'll be here all day, some will have to come tomorrow. But as our own business is with the Hand, we should be just fine."
We move in and as we do, security keeps their distance as Ser Edric leads the way, before our passage is barred briefly by someone new.
He's a soft-looking man, dressed in silk robes of grey-blue. Bald and hairless, with a little smile as inoffensive as can be. I don't know why, but he's giving me the heebie-jeebies as he remarks in a pleasant, effeminate tone. "Oh, do pardon me. I wasn't watching where I was going. Still, one's problem are another's opportunity. You must be Ser Edric Hartewell?"
Ser Edric nodded, smiling as he did so. "Yes, my lord. Just escorting a friend to deliver a message."
"A friend? And such a fearsome looking friend." The man I was calling Humpty-Dumpty in my head turned to look at me as he spoke. "And no heraldry. This must be Ser Azreal."
"You're well informed." I remark and he titters, using a fan to cool himself as he speaks humbly. "It's my job to do so. And a man of your unique armor is easy to find stories of. Rest assured, all good tales. Few would think to chastise a knight for keeping their vows." He then sketched a small, half-bow as he rose and spoke. "You may call me Varys. I serve the King in what small manner, I can contribute. But who exactly, are you two seeking? Mayhap I might be of some assistance?"
I didn't see the harm outwardly. If my job was a thing, soon I'd be a common sight around here as I remarked. "I'm looking for Lord Eddard Stark, would you happen to know where he is?"
Varys expression took on a look of sorrow, as he shook his head. "Oh, I actually did see him in a meeting earlier. He didn't like the result and left in rather a huff, but from my understanding the Starks are currently living in quarters sectioned in Maegor's Holdfast. Otherwise, you'll find him in the Tower of the Hand, working."
"Well thank you, Lord Varys. I appreciate the help." I remarked as he gave me an inscrutable look and that odd smile again as he spoke. "So, you do. What a curiosity! Till then my friends." He tittered as he moved away, in an utterly silent walk I noticed. As Ser Edric and I continued, I spoke casually. "Strange man, but he seemed nice enough."
Ser Edric nodded. "Aye, Lord Varys serves as the Master of Whispers; his lips to the kings' ears, so to speak. He's an odd one, but who isn't really? Especially him, poor bastard. He's a eunuch."
I blinked at that, before wincing as I speak. "Ouch. Well, he doesn't seem to let it bring him down at least."
"Dunno if I would be smiling like him, if it happened to me." Replied Ser Edric as we kept walking. Further directions were obtained from a goldcloak and we soon found ourselves ascending the stairs.... One of us anyway. Ser Edric eyed my floating state and proceeded to flip me off which had us laughing. An odd sound in the stairwell as we came to the door, knocked and found ourselves inside the Solar of the Kings Hand and more importantly to me, meeting the man who I was going to bodyguard.
The solar sits high within the tower, a broad chamber of red stone and heavy oak beams. It smells faintly of parchment, sealing wax, and the smoke of last night's fire. The floor is covered in woven rugs whose colors have dulled beneath years of boots and chairs dragged in agitation. A hearth yawns wide along one wall, its mantle carved with lions from an earlier Hand's tenure, though the carving has been worn soft by time.
The desk dominates the room.
It is large, square-shouldered, and scarred by generations of men who have leaned over maps and accounts and letters from distant lords. Candles gutter in iron stands at its corners, wax pooling thickly and running down like pale tears. Scrolls lie unfurled across its surface; petitions, reports from the City Watch, requests for coin, grievances over land and titles. A heavy ledger sits open beside a small mountain of sealed correspondence awaiting his attention.
Behind the desk sits Eddard Stark himself.
He looks ill-suited to the room's southern opulence. Where others might lounge, he sits straight-backed in a high chair carved with the crowned stag of Robert's reign. His doublet is dark wool trimmed in grey fur despite the city's warmth, as though he refuses to shed the North even here. The heat of the brazier does little to ease him; the air of King's Landing always feels too thick, too perfumed, too close.
He looks like Sean Bean.
For some reason, that feels foreboding as Ser Edric bows his head and speaks. "Lord Stark. A message, from one of your sworn houses." And he presents a sealed letter with the Talhart family emblem on it, as Stark slowly takes it, confused but breaks it as he reads through. And then twice over, before he finally sets it aside and looks to me as he speaks with a gruff tone.
"You claim to be a sorcerer?"
"Warlock." I correct as I add. "Sorcerers derive their talent from innate power, inherited rather like a dragon or a griffon. Warlocks make pacts, from which we derive our gifts." He squints and looks all the more skeptical before he gestures and almost falls back, as Ser Edric looks surprised in turn as I use Mask of Many Faces to look like him, before I revert back.
"Faceless man." Hisses Stark, who looks disgusted as he speaks. "I've no need of your services. It is appreciated, but not wanted."
"I've no idea what a faceless man is." I venture, casual now as I take a seat and add. "But my gifts aren't strictly magical. I'm a fair hand with a sword, I've experience in war and my magic is... Well-suited to combat." Ser Edric clears his throat as he speaks.
"Lord Stark, your subordinates have made quite a discovery. I too, can vouch for the quality of Ser Azreal. He has conducted himself as a knight should, in word and deed. His similarity to the Faceless Men is just that... A similarity, skin deep alone."
I made a note to find out more about this group, before adding aloud. "Put me on a trial basis if you like. In a month, judge me by my work then. And we'll talk it out. If you're unsatisfied, I'll just leave. And you'll have lost nothing."
Stark scowled, fingers tapping the table as he bowed his head in thought before he finally grunted and looked at me. "A month. No more. If you would serve me, then do so by finding my daughters and keeping an eye on them."
If he expected me to be troubled by babysitting, I didn't show anything as I simply bowed my head and spoke. "As you command, Lord Stark."
And I made to leave the room, pausing for Ser Edric who waved me off as he spoke. "I'll catch up. Just need to talk private house business."
Fair enough. So, I turned and left. The conversation already leaving my mind as I hummed quietly down the stairs. "Oh the bear and the maiden fair.... Hmm-hmm-hmm, hmm-hmm-hmm."
Eddard Stark turned to Ser Edric, who instantly spoke. "I can vouch for my sister. Amora has not taken leave of her senses, if that is what you're worried about."
"It's not." Eddard said shortly as he re-read the letter handed over to him.
To the Right Honorable Lord Eddard Stark,
Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North,
May the old gods keep you and yours beneath their watchful boughs.
I write to you from Torrhen's Square with tidings both wondrous and troubling. A night from this letter's writing, there came to our hall a knight claimed by one of our patrols. Clad like a Targaryan, claiming to be a sellsword yet with magic to impress our maester and set our own fears moving. The knight bore no threat in his manner, yet neither did he seem bound by the laws that govern other men.
I fear, my lord, that such a man, if left untethered will draw the eye of southern courts. The capital has ever been hungry for advantage, and a sorcerer in mail would be prized more highly than ten sellswords. Should the Lannisters or other southern powers claim him first, whatever force he commands may be turned against northern interests in years to come.
The North remembers, and we have long memories of magic, both its gifts and its cost. Yet if such power walks again in the realm of men, better it be bound by northern honor than southern ambition.
I therefore counsel swift action. Test him beneath the heart tree where falsehood withers if you must. If he is fraud, we lose little. If he is true, the North must not let him drift into other hands.
He remains here for the present, though I sense he will not linger long.
I await your wisdom in this matter.
By my hand beneath the square tower,
Ser Helman Tallhart
Castellan of Torrhen's Square
In service to House Stark and the North.
"They speak as if he truly is a sorcerer reborn." Lord Stark remarked sourly. "Will we see a return of grumpkins and snarks as well, before the day is over?" His eyes flicked to Ser Edric as he asked. "You said you vouch for his character."
"I do." Ser Edric nodded as he spoke. "The first I met him, he was afoot and letting his mistress ride his horse. He said he had done so since he left my sisters home. If foul-hearted he is, then we can add patience to it as it seems quite a ways. Also, the handmaiden seems very taken with him and calls him honorable."
"And yet, he claims to be a practitioner of magic. In a time when there are already problems enough, without seeking magic." Lord Stark said, frowning. At any other time, perhaps this would have garnered his attention more. But not now. Not seeing the state of the realm, the incredible debt it found itself in, the murder-and it was indeed, murder he was more than sure of Jon Arryn... Something like this was more tiresome than useful.
Hmm. Still... His eyes turned to Ser Edric as he spoke. "Your families service to mine will not be forgotten. For now, keep an eye on this... Warlock." His gaze turned thoughtful as he added. "Perhaps a new player might upset the waters and who knows, what will wash ashore?"
Well, finding them was easy enough.
One Mask of Many faces to look like a goldcloak had the 'newcomer' directed well enough to the place Varys had mentioned earlier that the Stark children were living. It was also a good idea to get a feel for how the place operated as well. As far as that went, it was... Alright? No runes, no wizards, no magical locks, nothing that even a nominal manor in Waterdeep would have. On the plus side, there was no beads of fireball, no invisible stalkers, none of the usual dangers that would require magic of my sort as well so I guess it balanced out. Still, the more I walked around, the more of a bad feeling vibe I got about the whole place. And if I was gonna watch Lord Starks kids, I wanted to do it right. He put a lot of trust in me, with his own family and.... No, wait.
That was Faerun thinking. Well, more so. I couldn't speak for places like Menzoberranzan or Amm. But this was a place that took great pride in their Game. So... What did it mean to have someone like me by his kids? Maybe there was an enemy and he couldn't trust any guards to be compromised? Or perhaps as a newcomer and with the letter from a subordinate house, he knew me to be clean? Or maybe he was just overworked, elbow deep in paperwork and decided a new babysitter was just the thing he needed... Honestly, I don't know. I just work here man.
And the first thing I was going to do was take my measure of the children, Arya and Sansa I think it was? Gleaned from gossip anyway.
I must say, I didn't expect to see what I was. The younger child, Arya was getting a lesson in swashbuckler techniques. Her teacher seemed chill enough, but an assassin as a teacher would be a good cover. Ready-made weapon, all he has to do is stab, then scream about an assassin that ran off.
.... Too complicated. Cute kid though, I had the urge to get her a puppy or something. As for Sansa, well... She seemed nice. I found her doing some kind of sewing thing I had no idea what the name was, and little inclination to ask. Both seemed to be keeping themselves busy however, so for now? I left them alone. But not without noting where exactly, they were staying as I kept wandering.
Thanks to the septon back at the tavern, I had an idea about the prince already and skulking about, seemed like an opportunity to find out more. But not like this. So, I decided to do what I normally do and went for the direct approach. In my full armor, I nodded to patrolling goldcloaks, ignoring them as I walked around as if I had a purpose and belonged there. Though I garnered quite a few looks, it was pretty much universal-look as if you belong there, and people will ignore you. At least, they did until someone actually approached me.
"You there! Knight, stop."
I stopped, amiable and turned around to see one of the most gorgeous looking ladies I've seen yet. Blonde hair and green eyes were a nice combination, but she dressed well and in a flowing dress that accented her figure, there was no way she didn't know she looked good. Not sure who she was, but as she approached and seemed to frown as time passed, I figured that I may as well seize the initiative.
"Hello there. How can I help you ma'am?"
For some reason, my words had her expression freeze as if she couldn't believe what I was saying, and she seemed to go through some kind of mental reboot before her stare turned icy and she sneered.
"Ma'am?' You address the queen with all the mannerism of a smallfolk raised in a barn?"
That was kind of hot. But I found myself amused as I decided to mess with her a bit.
"A barn?" I gasped, eyes alight as I spoke. "Madame, I would have been lucky to have the barn! I had to endure life, in the corpse of a pig and no door, save for what the good gods have gave it. When I went home to bed, I slipped through the mouth. When I left to work, through the arse."
Whatever answer she might have been expecting was certainly not that, the conversation not going the way she wanted as she seemed to sway in place before she said coldly. "I could have your features disfigured for such blatant disrespect. You dare speak like this, to royalty?"
I let out a deep sigh, an expression of intense sorrow on my face as I spoke. "It would only improve my features and chances. You see, I was born deaf and it's been my utmost curse since to speak in a way to ruin all conversations I have."
"No, somehow I get the feeling you do that all your own." She replied and I smirked. So, she did have bite besides the whole 'offended royal' act, and I gave a start and pointed accusingly. "I heard that! In fact, it reminds me of the time I was chased by a giant black spider-dragon... Drader. Drider? No, that one's taken. I got eaten, so I ran all the way to the end till I was pooped out."
There was an odd sound, something akin to a cough and a gasp all in one and I pointed triumphantly. "You just laughed!"
Her eyes blazed, annoyed as she snapped back at me. "I most certainly did not! Least of all to an immature half-wit with my brother's sense of humor!"
"Ooooh, you have siblings? Figures, you kinda strike me as the bossy kind of child." I said grinning as she gasped aloud, before I chuckled and spoke. "So, queen huh? What's that like?"
Her mood faded and whatever happened seemed locked up behind shutters and inner walls, as she scowled and straightened up before she spoke. Her eyes, once bordering on familiarity seemed to become hardened emeralds as her voice spoke, soft and pointed.
"What is it like?" she would repeat. "It is like standing alone in a pit of vipers and knowing you must strike first, lest you die."
She would step close, composed now as she continued.
"It is like being surrounded by men who believe they rule the world while they beg at your skirts for coin, favor, or absolution. It is like smiling while deciding which of them will lose a hand for disappointing you."
Her gaze would drag over your armor, slow and deliberate.
"And it is knowing that every fool who mistakes familiarity for charm can be unmade with a word."
A faint smile would touch her lips, not warm, not kind.
"You wear your confidence like that armor, ser. Heavy. Polished. Designed to impress. But armor rusts. Men bleed. And still I remain."
A pause, and she continued in that same tone.
"If you wish to keep your tongue and the rest of you? I suggest you learn the difference between amusing and expendable."
Then, more coolly she tossed her head.
"Now. Tell me why you are skulking about my castle, or I shall have the Gold Cloaks find a cell that smells remarkably like the pigsty you claim to have called home."
I scratched the side of my cheek, thought for a moment before I spoke. "Sounds stressful. Have you thought about a hobby? As to why I'm here, I'm just getting a feel for the keep." I grin as I add. "I'm one of the North's hired sellswords and it really wouldn't be so fun if I got lost, right?"
Her expression turned hooded. Something I said seemed to trigger something in her, and I frowned before I spoke. "Whoa, whoa relax woman. You look like you're about to bite my throat." I then pause and after a beat, speak. "Know what, that sounds like a good idea. C'mon."
Once more, she's shocked as she blinks and steps closer, her tone annoyed as she speaks. "What is this new impertinence?!"
I glance over my shoulder at her and speak. "Sparring. I mean sparring. What, you don't do that sort of thing here? Good way to get stress out, hitting something really hard."
Her mouth gaped open, before she drew herself up and spoke aloud, but with less bite than before. "I am queen. Not some barbarian to be whacking with sticks."
"And?" Was my reply as I added. "I thought being queen meant you don't have to worry about what folks say. Or are you gonna tell me you were an obedient child, who did needle work as a kid? Because you don't strike me as that."
"You forget your place ser." She replied coldly and in turn, I stopped and turned to look at her as I threw my most infuriating grin.
"So. What are you gonna do about it?"
The square in which the men-at-arms and knights trained was always full of noise. In this case however, the two currently using it were the subject of everyone's looks, shock following at the sight as in any other moment, Cersei would have been furious at. Not so much now.
For reasons she was entirely unsure, she had been pulled into the madness of the sellsword, blunted weapons in hand as she tried to remember old exercises, learned in the days when she and her better half could pass for each other. Had the knight flexed over her and beat her down, she would have been furious. Instead, he didn't seem to care she was a queen or a woman. He adjusted her stance, fought her just above her current skill level and she even got a few solid whacks in, which he approved. But even stranger?
He hit her back. No holding back, no faking it. In fact, he was incredibly annoying in his cries of victory which in turn, spurred her on to hit him harder which only made him laugh. It was.... Utterly freeing. There was no Game here, nothing but the joy of combat, the thrill that she was sure she would have had, if she had been born a man instead of a weak woman. But even that was taken from her, again by her opponent. He didn't care what she had in her pants, nor what she was or who she was... Hells, he didn't even know her name she was reasonably sure. All he knew was that she was the queen and that she could take his head, should she wish.
And his response to that was to trip her to the floor. It didn't matter... Not the eyes of the people on her, nor the shock. Not even the thought of fathers' disapproval made her feel anything but elated in this moment, as the spar ended and he helped her up, offering a wineskin of sweet, cool water.
'Why didn't I do this earlier?' She thought to herself, guzzling greedily as the stress that had been building up on her shoulders seemed to evaporate entirely. Leaning on the fence by her, the sellsword took slower sips, savoring before he spoke briskly. "You got a great foundation. I don't know who taught you how to fight, but you did really well. That said, you might be more suited to a scimitar. You're more graceful than strong."
"Join my retinue." She said out of the blue, unsure why but knowing the offer had to be made as she looked at him and spoke. "I'll double whatever the North is paying you."
He smiled in turn, as he shook his head. "I appreciate the offer. But I'm currently contracted. Until I'm released, I can't. But I will keep your offer open, for future." He then cracked his neck and added. "Go soak. Relax, treat yourself. No queen deserves to run themselves ragged." The next moment was strange... One moment, I was drenched in sweat, exhausted and utterly unbecoming of a queen in looks.
And then suddenly, I felt dry. My hair was scented and smooth, my aches remained but I felt cleansed. It was surprising enough that his entirely irreverent goodbye and question of 'same time next week' garnered some manner of reply I wasn't entirely sure of, as he walked away.
.... He was going to be mine. One way or another.
I was reasonably sure someone was following me as I walked in the keep, a faint noise behind the walls which further compounded the problem. Hidden passages are so, fucking annoying. I finally lost them by walking out the window, which gave me a bit of amusement to consider. Wonder how they'd put that down, the knight who stepped out the window? Atop the roof, the winds were sweeter and I had much more privacy in which to think and consider. Unfortunately, all my ideas were far too broad, to say nothing of my ignorance with the major players in Kings Landing. This wasn't Waterdeep after all. I didn't have the same reputation I would have, nor the same resources. Back home, I'd have contacts with the Zhentarim for information and clandestine supplies. I'd have allies in the Harpers, and access to their hidden libraries. If I wanted to find out more about a noble, I'd have lunch with a member of the Lords Alliance or see if the Emerald Enclave might do a flyby for me in exchange for a favor. And if I was in trouble, I'd have backup from not only my party but from the Order of the Gauntlet.
In Waterdeep, I was the Witch-Favored. Here, I was no one. Just a sellsword hired to help someone who didn't really want my help. So, what to do?
And then it suddenly occurred to me. A solution so simple in execution. If I wanted a reputation? I had to make a reputation. And the best way to do that, was to return to the adventurers old friend.
It was rare that Petyr Baelish had to meet in person the little cogs that made up his organization in the city. Especially for such an outlandish report. But the winds were changing and the odd bits of information about the newest player were suddenly not sounding so strange after all, as he fixed a smile and poured out a cup of wine for his visitor as he slid it over and spoke with a warmth he had perfected after so long. "Drink my friend. Steady your nerves and tell me from the beginning."
The goldcloak took the wine, drinking like an animal as it spilled over his clean floors and throughout it all, Petyr kept his smile in place. He never did like "Topper" Simonen as they called him. A veteran of Roberts Rebellion, he was more carrion bird than anything else. He picked over battlefields for trinkets, he stole armor off the dead and he suspected he might have even helped along a few to meet the Stranger. Which of course, made him perfect for being one of his spies, situated in one of the many, many goldcloak barracks that kept the city peace and its finger on the pulse that was the little chaos of everyday life.
Topper finally set his cup down, the wine gone as he shuddered and spoke. "Ah, much better. Thank you sar. So there I was, at my post. Just sitting, waiting for the next one to relieve me. Then I blink and suddenly, some huge Targaryan looking fucker is looming over my desk!"
"You mean to say he had white hair and purple eyes, or something similar?" Asked Petyr, interested despite himself. Rare was the Targaryan-blooded person who came to Kings Landing under Roberts reign, it was one of the few things to break the king from his fuge state of whoring and drinking. In reply, Topper shook his head. "No, the armor reminded me of them. All black and red. Anyway, he starts asking for bounties."
".... Bounties." Petyr says flatly, wondering why he was being bothered over this as Topper hastily continues. "Yes sir. I told him we had a few over on the board. Man goes over and rips off the six most wanted ones. Then he flew away!"
He paused in the story, to see what effect this had as Petyr stared at him and tried to clarify. "You mean to say, he took the bounties and left?" Topper grinned and shook his head.
"No sir. He took the bounties, stepped outside and flew away like a bird!"
For any other day, Petyr would have checked his informant for drugs. Today? Well as it happens, there was a knight that came in looking like that. Showing up at the Gate of Gods yesterday, before sighted in the castle speaking to the newest Hand of the King today. The Spider had arranged a face-to-face, getting his measure and Petyr couldn't let himself slide back either, not in this particular game.
And especially not with his plans for Lord Stark. So let the flying man deal with the baseborn bounties. Sizable as the rewards may be, if he wanted to waste his time outside the city to hunt them down? He was more than welcome to.
In the meantime, he still had to meet Varys anyway. His beloved Cat was in town and there was a particular part of the plan that needed a special touch...
I swung my sword and a bandit died. I swung it again, and another perished. I swung again, and this time I added fire as flames washed over him and his companion, both dying screaming before I turned and blasted four Eldritch blasts, the horse dying under the bandit leader who thought to escape while I was busy with his comrades. A crossbow bolt hit my chest and broke against my armor. A knife thrown for my head was ducked as I kept walking closer. Truth be told.... This was easier than expected.
Finding them was a matter of a Scrying spell. I then popped down into their camps from above, charging and slamming into the biggest among them. Then it was just a matter of cutting them down, which my heavy blade did an excellent job in doing. I didn't know how it'd hold up to the armor of the local plane, but I could say with certainty that whatever protection they thought they could gain from leather?
It wasn't enough.
I brought the sword down and the last was killed. Now I just gather the heads for proof of the kill and check off on the list of bounties. Maybe rest for an hour, loot the coin and leave the rest for scavengers.
With an hours' worth of quiet, my spells returned and I held up the bounty poster, scrying with a mirror in my bag as I started to float and rise into the air, now... Aha.
There you are.~
One day.
It had taken one day for the new player in Kings Landing to by himself, hunt down and slaughter six of the most well-equipped, hidden bandits that roamed in the region. Varys should know, he funded a few of them himself just in case and now all that work was wiped clean. Not only did this bespoke to the idea that simply hiding would be useless, it was the sheer speed in question that likewise had him staring at his reports, for the first time in a while at a loss to explain how best to use this. Such a man could traverse the Seven Kingdoms and avoid any ambush. They would be drawn unerringly to targets; castle walls would be useless against flight. It was the sort of magic that the warlocks of Qarth would slaughter thousands for, all in the hands of some polite brute without a single, political bone in their body.
When he had heard that the witch had come to Kings Landing and was escorted by one of House Hartewell, curiosity had compelled him to meet him in person, under guise of mere happenstance. The armor had been something of a surprise in person, such a sinister thing for an overly polite person. Perhaps mere ignorance might have been the force behind his demeanor to him, but he suspected such was beyond the man they called Ser Azreal. Whether or not he knew his role, he would have acted the same regardless. In a way, that was far more disquieting.
More than anyone else, Varys knew well the price of magic. He knew what men would be compelled to, in order to grasp even a fraction of what this knight seemed to do as easy as breathing. A man who showed such power as this, yet still smiled was a dangerous one. Such men rather than becoming brutish and terrifying sometimes snapped in other ways, like the Smiling Knight of old, laughing in madness honed and shattered by whatever forces compelled him. Which in this case, seemed to be whatever he wanted.
He claimed to be beholden to the North, but left Lord Starks command to fight with the queen and then go slaughter people for coin.
.... Unless there was something else to it? Could it be possible that the corpses of the bandits served another purpose? Could the witch be using their lives as potent sacrifices for whatever dark rites he knew? A chill that didn't often flow through the composed Varys nevertheless made itself known, as dark memories of a brazier filled his head. He grimaced, considering before finally rising to his feet as he turned and quietly made his way towards the throne room.
About a few levels of walking, there was a quiet tap and he smiled, his little birds warning him of an approaching figure as he waited patiently. A few minutes later, around the corner came the visage of Petyr Baelish who paused and smiled, wryly at the sight of the Master of Whispers patient waiting as he remarked.
"Lord Varys."
Varys inclined his head to the Master of Coin, a polite smile on his face set just so, in a way he knew infuriated the other as he spoke humbly. "Lord Petyr. How might I serve the crown today?"
Petyr's smile turned rueful, as he stepped into place and the two of them began to walk the halls. For a minute, he seemed to be gathering his thoughts, before he finally just spoke. "Tis not the crown that I come, but rather for a more private matter between friends."
Varys tittered and let the polite fiction slide, both of them knowing full well it was a polite nothing as Petyr continued. "I was hoping to get your thoughts on our queens newest playmate. Quite a stir he's dropped, if you believe half the stories."
"And do you believe the stories?" Varys asked mildly, Petyr replying idly in turn.
"Before? Hardly. Now? Not so much. Too many witnesses, too many threads connected. Earlier, he came before the Gold Cloaks in the city barracks and took bounty notices. Then proceeded to fly away, like a bird. A man in half-plate, sprouting wings? I would scarce believe it, were it not for the words of others."
"That does seem to follow one of my odder reports." Varys volunteered, seeing the way Petyr was listening intently as he elucidated further. "One of my little birds saw this strange knight open a window and walk right out."
"That doesn't sound especially strange." Petyr remarked and in turn, Varys smirked and spoke. "Not on the fifth story. No corpse below, nothing. I suppose we should say that the mystery of the flying knight is one confirmed."
A silence filled as the two smart men considered the merits of flight and how things would change, before Petyr laughed. "Well, at least it's not dragons. Still, this man seems to be well-positioned. A foot in the Northern camp and a new relationship with our beloved queen." Not for the first time, Varys marveled at Petyr's control. He had said that sentence with the utmost sincerity, and in turn he replied in kind.
"It is still early. And the Game continues on many levels yet. On that note, it was rather nice to reunite a husband and a wife, was it not?"
He was awarded by a faint twitch, smirking inwardly as Petyr's smile remained fixed as he replied courteously in turn. "Indeed it was." He then changed the subject, Varys following his lead in the conversation as he considered a few more venues. The flying knight was a problem, yes. But still a man.
Men still bled. Men still died. Magic or not. Whatever this witches plan was or whatever they were doing? Varys for one would be waiting for him to slip.
He had all the time in the world after all.
I glared across the way at my opponent who did likewise at me. The air was thick with tension, as his scarred gaze met my own, inhuman red without any hint of fear. To show fear was to die. To show fear was to be weak.... And then, before my eyes he placed down his cards and spoke without a hint of mirth.
"Get fucked, witch."
I groaned, laying down my hand as opposite me, my new buddy smirked and raked in his winnings. I had returned from my bounty hunt and morning had turned to afternoon. Returning to the Red Keep was easier this time around, the petitioner crowd from earlier still immense and dense enough for me to enter without too much questions. Sansa was meeting with the queen and her handmaidens and Arya from what a northern guard told me was hunting cats, so I figured I may as well explore a little bit more.
That brought me to my current surroundings, a break room for the men-at-arms with a pot of stew, hot fresh bread and some cheese wheels that had me realize I hadn't eaten since this morning. Then as I sit and eat, this big scarred fucker steps up and growls I'm in his seat. I forget what I said back, but one thing led to another and now we're playing cards with the rest as I mock-cry, seeing my money leave me.
"Love, come back. I can change, I swear!"
One of the guards snickered, as he reshuffled the deck and spoke. "You speak and act like a mummer. Are you really a knight?" I stopped crying, made a so-so gesture with my hand and spoke. "Eh, not really? Its easier for folks to call me that though. So I let em. Sandy, how about you?"
'Sandy', AKA 'Sandor' growls at that, like the dog his sweet, kickass helmet is based on but I pay it no mind. Feels like that's just how he is, as he speaks back. "Not a fucking knight. Never will be."
Sounds like a lot of history is laid into those words, but thankfully the subject is changed by one of the guards as he distributes our cards, glances at his hand and frowns. Means he has a good hand, I make a note to bet small this time as he speaks. "My cousin is in the city guard. There's been a lot of people coming in for the tourney and the chaos has been spilling."
"How so?" I ask as I fold and the guard chuckles ruefully. "He said something about a drunken horse race, damn near ran over five people."
"Inns are packed too." Grunted another guard, as he bet big before adding. "My favorite whore has gotten so many customers, she's had to take them by appointment."
"Oh, right." I mused aloud, watching the game as I helped myself to more food. "I heard something about a tourney. What's the occasion?"
Out of all people, it was Sandy who spoke as he grunted once. "The new hand of the king's appointment. Excuses though, the king has more tourneys than he has cunts, it's all he lives for."
I blink at that and make an odd gesture. "Isn't he married? What's the deal behind that?" The guards grow uncomfortable, staring at their cards before Sandy again, makes a noise of mild disgust as he speaks bluntly. "It's a political marriage. Back when he took the throne, old Tywin Lannister wanted his daughter married to the new king. It was the price of his help, but everyone knows they hate each other. Three kids later, she ignores him and he whores around."
I blink. I try to think about the lady I met, and juxtapose that with the idea of leaving her be... "And people are fine with it?"
"What do they matter?" Sandy declares as he wins the next match to the groans of everyone. "He's the fucking king. And everybody else is too much of a cunt to speak up about it."
"That might change." Our eyes all turn to the guard with the cousin in the city watch, who shrugs haplessly under the stares of us all. "The king is friends with the current Hand, old allies and brothers in all but blood. If anyone will speak to the king directly, it'll be him."
"What happened to the old Hand?" I ask, and every one of the guards and Sandy speak.
"Dead."
"Murdered."
"That happen often?" I ask, bemused and Sandy snorts as he takes the deck, shuffle and distributes cards. "Only if you ask too many fucking questions. You gonna play?"
I went back to the game, but slowly I was getting an idea about what sort of place I found myself in. An ineffectual city guard with infrastructure given poor attention, a murdered advisor, a king and queen who hated each other and bread and circus's of a sort to equal Rome in its backsliding days.
What fun.
I had a lot of plot hooks to draw on and a reputation to expand upon. And from what my fellow players were saying, the prizes for the tourney were going to be a lot of coin.
Be a right shame, to just let that coin go to any other mook, when I could get a hold of it. Even better, this was a place that worshiped martial skill. A chance to strut my stuff, to show off and beat the shit out of all the named knights, sellswords and what not that'd be attracted by the chance of glory and gold?
How could I do anything but attempt to get it for myself?
Still, business first. I had to talk to Lord Stark later about my work. Soon as I was done here, I'll find him and see the verdict. Should be fine.
"You have failed in your charge."
The sellsword standing before Eddard had the gall to look offended as he spoke. "I have not!" Stark, in all his northern bluntness continued on. "You were meant to protect my daughters, to introduce yourself to them. You have not. Instead, you raised your hand against the queen and then vanished for the day till later, when my men found you drunk in the halls."
"Lies and slander. I'm not drunk!" The sellsword said as he added. "I'm tipsy and lost! There's a sliding scale of-"
"-Excuses." Stark said flatly. As the sellsword went quiet, Stark continued. "Power without discipline is nothing. I cannot have a sworn sword, who does what he wishes without regard for others. My children learn this early. It is clear, you have not."
There was a sound in the walls. A faint 'scritch' that was starting to become more prevalent and Stark for a moment was at a loss to explain it. And then he looked back at the sellsword and almost went for his weapon.
Gone with the smile, the expression of bemused good cheer for something much more terrifying, more primordial. His eyes were inhuman, a shade of red that no man's eyes should be and in the dark, there was an odd presence about him that his innermost self who had survived two wars was screaming at him to cut the bastard down now.
And then the rats came from the walls.
Spectral, green and ghostly to behold, chittering and moving to surround him in silence as he spoke warningly. "Raise a hand and I'll call the guards-"
"-By all means. If you want more dead men." Stark glared at that, the threat on his people actually getting him to rise before the other leaned forward to speak.
"I've been here for a single day. And so far, what I've seen makes it look like a smokepowder barrel in a house fire. Your enemies are my enemies, at least so far as the contract holds and slowly, its looking more and more like a target-rich environment. If I'm to work for you and in a way, you'd actually trust me with your children? I need to take a few steps. I need to know the players, the game and the way things operate here. Let me do things my way.... Or break the contract now and be done with it."
He leaned back. The rats vanished and Eddard Stark dared not breath a sigh of relief, not with the creature in the room as he leaned back and considered before he spoke. ".... We Starks have long acted in our own ways. We do not scheme, we do not plot. Others may do as they wish, but for us? Honor had always been our watchword. And I will not have that stain by the actions of a mere sellsword, regardless of his powers." He looked the creature in the eye and spoke firmly.
"House Stark thanks you for your service. But it is not the service we deem fit for our own. You may go."
At that, the creature paused and then gave a small bow of his head, before leaving. As he did, the air felt less oppressive and he sighed out, already feeling a migraine building. His son almost killed, the Lannisters behind it, the exorbitant costs of the tourney and now, this... Perhaps coming to the South was a mistake, but he was a Stark.
Duty before all else, honor before death. And that was that. And by the light of his candles, he returned to the paperwork required for his position... Someone had to do it.
It was just his shit luck he was wearing the pin.
As he did, his eyes flicked to the book left to him by the grand maester. Work was only going to be a slog, perhaps he'd best look in on that now....
Man, fired in the space of a single day. Lord Stark was a hardass. So much for that plot hook.
Guess I'd have to make arrangements and I headed out for a balcony and took off, heading back to the Hartewell Manse. As I flew through the dark, my mind idly considered other venues that lasted up to the point I saw a group of black-dressed, masked figures enter the manse through the back. Burglars maybe?
That lasted up to the point one of them crept up on a patrolling Hartewell man-at-arms and slit his throat, prompting a grim smile from me as I drew my sword.
Alright then.
Not burglars. And angling myself, I dove for the biggest among them. A crashing, full-armored man from the skies does as much damage as anything else as the man I hit didn't break so much as explode, covering me in gore as I slammed into the ground, slowly rising up as I turned to look at the shocked eyes and slack hands, as from their perspective one of their own just blew up and in his place, a knight was standing as I said grimly, my tongue licking up some of the blood on my face.
"I hope one of you tastes a lot better than your friend did."
For some reason, this did not put them at ease.
The far north air blows with the promise of an early winter.
The carriage rumbles. Faceless, the driver dressed warmly for the cold as all around it is an escort of riders without emblem. The moon is bright, illuminating the frost-tinted streets as the city looms around us, the light deepening the shadows all the more to my eyes as my darkvision pierces the gloom. It was the first time I had ever visited Neverwinter and despite my curiosity, there was nothing to see. Indistinguishable from any other city really, at least in the dark. A cross voice echoed from within my shared space, the voice gruff and slightly antsy.
"Stop fidgeting. We'll get there when we get there."
My eyes turn from outside to stare at the two across from me. The first who spoke fills the seat almost by himself, an enormous minotaur, Gregor Nightmane. Fur black as night, wooly in the same manner of certain iceborne megafauna as he dresses in a kilt and little else. Upon his horns are a scrimshaw pattern, blessings to ward Umberlee's attention in the manner of privateers from Luskan. Currently, he's giving his companion a distasteful look, a kobold named simply Nik-Nik, small stature even for their kind.
In sharp contrast, Nik-Nik seems almost absurdly disproportionate to the minotaur by his seat. His scales are a polished sheen of bronze, his head seemingly larger than the rest of him. His eyes are sharp however and his fingers are rapidly working on a puzzle box, not to solve. But rather, to test his speed as the clicking noise seems all the more loud in the space we find ourselves. He wears a worksman suit, well-tailored with a tool belt as he just speaks.
"Can't-can't. Too much thought, too much brain-worm. Lord Neverember, calling upon the Masked Lords? Too direct, too fast-fast."
"I don't see the problem." I drawl, leaning back in my own seat in the carriage. In contrast to the brutish outfit of Gregor and the worksman-like of Nik-Nik, I dress as if I'm about to attend a party. Dark clothing in red trim, a coat with a long tail and extra pockets-hidden of course. A tricorn rests on my head, a face mask hangs around my neck, sharing space with a playing card featuring an aspect of Death. I continue, my companion's attention fixed on me now, the only other sound to break the silence being Nik-Nik's rapid working of his toy. "The fact that he called upon us so swiftly is a concession. Whatever he's paying Waterdeep for our services and so suddenly, means we're the ones profiting off of this in the end. All we need to do is cut a few throats and we'll be home again before next week."
"But that's not what we should be focusing on." A voice speaks, feminine and thoughtful. I sigh, roll my eyes and turn to look to the space next to me as I speak. "Oh? And what is?"
In contrast to the rest of us, Alice dressed rather plainly. A white robe, hooded with a belt and a symbol of Ilmater dangling from her belt. The Celestial-blessed sorceress when not adventuring with the rest of us Grays, worked as a religious acolyte in the temple in Waterdeep and she thought more than spoke. Normally something I appreciated in a woman, as she said softly.
"Lord Neverember has always had a measure of ill feelings between Waterdeep and himself. More so, with the rumors surrounding about how he robbed the treasury before fleeing. So, what would inspire such a man to go on hands and knees, asking for help? And why would Waterdeep respond so, if that's the case?"
Nik-Nik's eyes flashed, new information taken in as his fingers began to move more rapidly, swiftly as he focused on the puzzle. "Mmm, yes-yes. Ill blood. Vendetta. Put aside, danger? No dragon, no war. Cult of the Dragon shattered. Zhentarim, quiet. No invasion, no Red-Red. Not after coma. Death. Death." The puzzle came to a halt, perfectly solved in five seconds. A new record as he looked up, worried.
"If Neverwinter come asking for help, is problem involving the cities."
"My dear Nik-Nik." I drawled as I returned to glancing out the window, at the reflection of my eyes burning beneath the brim of my hat as I smiled lightly.
"Don't you know? The cities are always in some sort of trouble. It's why the Gray Adventurers are a thing."
The Gray adventurers. The most elite of the elite, a branch of the Waterdeep military forces renowned for problems conventional forces wouldn't be able to handle. Long an abode of adventurers, Waterdeep resolved at some point that the best way to deal with them would be to gather them together and point them the way they wanted. It worked, and the benefits offered were all things that would draw even the greediest of people. Good pay, a place to live, a stipend for equipment and whatever we needed! I had clawed my way to get to this point and made deals that I never might had before. The result was the world being my oyster, in exchange for a bit of blood which suited me down to the ground.
As we came out of the carriage, I helped Nik-Nik and Alice out, as Gregor grabbed his battleaxe from the top of the carriage and looked happier for having a weapon back in hand. As for me, I manifested my pact weapon, creating a cane-sword with the head of a snarling fanged skull, ascending up the steps with the others as we were lead into Neverwinter Castle. Through hidden passages and corridors we were lead, my curiosity despite myself growing as we saw the level of security present. On a whim, I cast Detect Magic and my eyes glowed as I winced. So many barriers and runes, arcane locks and magical weapons and armor. Our host was being a paranoid little thing as I ended the spell, lest I be blinded before we found ourselves let into a special room, our host before us.
And he was not alone. Besides the usual entourage of bodyguards, three clerical looking figures were discussing quietly together with him, all with a symbol I didn't recognize as I gently nudged Alice in the ribs and asked. "Anything you recognize?"
She glanced over and nodded, speaking in a whisper. "Oghma. God of inspiration, invention and knowledge."
Nik-Nik, glancing our way looked intrigued as he put away his puzzle in a special place on his belt. "That make them from the House of Knowledge then." Any questions I might have had on this, was broken off in place of Lord Dagult Neverember before us, as I tried to recall what I knew of the man.
I knew he might have been a masked lord at one point, before fleeing. He turned Neverwinter back into a thriving cityscape and then at the height of his rule, fell into a coma and was almost deposed of by the Red Wizards of Thay into a coup before some do-gooders dealt with that. At the moment, he looked haggard and troubled, but smiled nontheless as he bowed his head before us and spoke.
"Greetings, my heroic friends! I'm so glad you came. I daresay, terrible events are afoot. Specifically, four prominent citizens have been kidnapped in the past several days. May I count on your help in rescuing them?"
I could already feel my soul leaving my body in disappointment. Kidnappings? This was small fry. The sort of work you called on randoms in a tavern, not the elite force of Waterdeep. Gregor, always to the point grunted out aloud.
"Who's the victims?"
Lord Neverember nodded and spoke. "Eldon Keyward, Indrina Lamsensettle, Sarcelle Malinosh and Umberto Noblin. They-" He was interrupted by a sudden hiss of intake breath, Nik-Nik bouncing from foot to foot as he spoke.
"The Umberto Noblin? Historian and reputed author of 'All Things End?'"
"That is correct my good kobold." Lord Neverember said with a nod as he added. "Each of these citizens are either scholars or highly sought after, in certain social circles. Eldon is a specialist in the Outer Planes. Indrina is an actress, one of our rising stars."
Huh, I thought that one sounded familiar. I kept listening, as he continued.
"Sarcelle is a colleague of Eldon, and the two often corresponded between each other on the mysteries of the planes. I won't pretend to understand further. As for Umberto, as mentioned he's a historian. One who specializes in gods, lost and otherwise. One of his older works concerning the Dead Three has actually become something of a sought-after item, with the current events in Baldurs Gate. But aside from the one connection between Eldon and Sarcelle, none of the victims knew each other. All were also kidnapped at night, from their very secured, very well-protected homes without a trace. To that end, I've funded divinations-."
He gestured over to the House of Knowledge clerical people and continued. "-in an attempt to find my people. Tonight, we've finally found something and just in time."
One of the clerics stepped forward and spoke. "Divination is an inexact art. But it took our combined efforts, just to find a trail. From that trail, we've unraveled its protections and finally traced it to a place in Neverdeath Graveyard."
"I feel at home already." I drawled as Alice elbowed me in the ribs. The cleric continued, ignoring my comment.
"In particular, the trail ends at the Hallix Mausoleum. We could find no more."
"So, they're dead then?" Alice asked, worried as she stroked her holy symbol and in turn, the cleric shook his head. "No. The trail simply ends. No spell, no divining can pierce the mausoleum. It's a protection that simply, is beyond what the House of Knowledge is capable of overturning."
A dead silence filled the air and despite myself, I felt a chill. That's some serious power behind this group and I get an inkling of why Lord Neverember called upon Waterdeep for help. Still, I have to ask.
"So why us? Why not use your own adventurers?"
There was silence. Lord Neverember looked at me, before he spoke grimly. "I did. Before you came, I had sent five different teams. All of them have vanished without a trace and I presume dead. I'm hoping a more seasoned, experienced team will be able to succeed where we've failed. And just before you come, we finally have a breakthrough. It's a sign from the gods. Go to the graveyard. Enter the mausoleum. Retrieve our people and find out the source behind this.... Insidious power."
I glance to my companions. Gregor is silent, arms crossed but I can see the way his nostrils flare in that way which tells me he's on edge. Nik-Nik is quiet, claws running over his tools, slowly. Alice looks to be saying a prayer and as for myself? I sigh, grin and tap my cane on the ground as I doff my hat.
"Lord Neverember. Consider it done. The Gray Adventurers aim to please."
The towering stone mausoleums in Neverdeath Graveyard cluster near the wall separating the Main Graveyard from the Pauper's Graveyard to the west. Hallix Mausoleum is a squat, unassuming granite block in the shadow of larger monuments to the west and south. Its metal double door bears a rusty broken chain and a padlock that hangs off the door.
Through the foggy air, Alice flies on a broomstick and I keep up with her, in the form of a bat as down below, our less subtle companions are moving. Skeletons are commonplace here and from what I understand, its something of a local adventuring tradition to prune the undead and put them to rest.
Gregor doesn't make them rest so much as trample them underfoot, horns down as he runs without stopping, leaping over and around headstones and crushing old bone under hoof. In sharp contrast, Nik-Nik is doing much the same thing. Clad in an odd construct of metal, it resembles a dragon skull with spinning bladed arms and digitigrade legs, surprisingly graceful in its movements as he drives it forward. I saw the inside once, out of curiosity and the whole thing just confused me. But he was comfy and moreover, I trusted in his inventions. At this point, I split up and began circling the area, letting my animal senses do the work as I flew back and squeaked. No invisible watchers.
She nodded, casting message as she called out. "Clear."
Nik-Nik called back, the eyes of his metal dragon glowing faintly as they scanned in turn, focusing on the door as he spoke. "Clear."
A final skeleton was smashed and out of the fog, Gregor stepped to the doors of the mausoleum as Alice landed and I did too, transforming back. We stared at the door and Gregor approached first. His hands reached to his belt pouch, a set of thieves tools dangling as with far more delicacy than he showed, the old pirate picked the lock. Quietly, Alice used the time to ritual cast silence as the area dampened and we slipped the chain off, tossing it silently behind us. Holding up his fingers, Gregor began to count down. Three.... Two.... One.
He kicked down the door, all of us entering, weapons and spell at the ready.
But there was nothing. Just a crypt interior with heavy layers of dust, and numerous tracks leading to a descending staircase at the rear of the room. Against the walls rest six stone coffins, three on each side. A stone slab engraved with a name, birth year, and death year covers each coffin.
Alice dispelled her silence spell and the rest of us began investigating, Nik-Nik looking at the doors as he began testing it, making it wriggle before he spoke. "Well-oiled. Wouldn't have made noise."
Gregor would hoist up one of the coffin layers, checking before he reported. "No corpses."
Alice grimaced, eyes glowing as she used detect magic in turn, as I myself skittered up the wall and on the ceiling, overwatch role well prepared as an eldritch blast prepped itself for release. Finally, she spoke.
"Nothing here. No sensors, no arcane tripwires."
"No physical traps either, yes-yes." Nik-Nik replied, making a tsk noise at the sloppiness of whoever was in charge. I then threw a casual salute and spoke. "I'll be back then."
And once more, I became a bat as I flew down the stairs.
Into the darkness I flew, keeping to the ceiling, pausing now and then by clutching onto the ceiling for any noise before I moved on. As far as my sense knew, I couldn't find any traps. But I could hear the sound of clinking metal, coming into a deeper chamber as I saw the following. Desiccated, outdated armor being worn by a patrol. Not a heartbeat, nor conversation coming from the silent beings as I noted the deep, blue glow of wights. A necromancer cult perhaps? Something to consider, as I counted five in total before I flew back and transformed, reporting to the rest of my group.
"Five wights down below, as far as I know. They have no idea we're here."
We exchanged looks, a slow smile crossing our faces as Nik-Nik gave a snicker more characteristic of his more violent brethren.
Down below, the wights continued their endless patrol. As they did, they heard a noise upstairs. As per their instructions, they drew weapons and began to ascend. Higher, higher... Until they saw the following. A kobold, looking alarmed as he threw up his hands by the door and cried out. "Woe. Woe is me. For death is here! And.... Something, yes-yes."
The wights, never the smartest would approach to do violence.
And then from inside one of the coffins, Alice cast Stone Wall. It sealed them inside a circular prison, with the only way open being forward, single file. Rolling out of another coffin, Gregor roared and stepped forward, axe ready as from the ceiling, eldritch blasts crackled and fired. And just like that, the wights perished-unable to break out, unable to fight together as Gregor grunted and put his axe over his shoulder as he spoke. "Like chopping firewood at this point."
I poked one of the arms as it twitched, the armor all but severed as I spoke with a grin. "Not bad. I kinda wanna learn how to do that."
"Get on my level." Mocked Gregor as we both shared a laugh, as Nik-Nik looked us over. Alice dispelled the stone wall, turned to the rest of us as she asked. "Ready?"
More serious, we nodded.
And like that, together we entered into the depths of the ruined graveyard.