The Stepstones, Tyrosh, PurplePalace
Today, Tyrosh breathed with a renewed vitality, the entire city bathed in a celebratory and fervent atmosphere. Laughter and the hum of spirited conversation wove through the streets, creating a vibrant urban symphony. At the heart of this transformation, a regal purple carpet stretched like a magnificent ribbon from the Dionysus Fountain Square all the way to the distant harbor.
The square itself was a sea of humanity. Around the shimmering spray of the fountain, smallfolk and foreign travelers alike gathered to witness performances and revel in the joys of the inaugural "Dragon Festival."
According to Jeyne Arryn, the Dragonlords of old Valyria would take to the skies during the hottest season, allowing their drakes to soar freely above the capital. It was a calculated display of raw power intended to overawe slaves and dissidents alike. Recognizing the utility of such a spectacle for unifying the masses, Jon had collaborated with the Tyroshi Maesters to establish a five-day holiday in the middle of the "Fire Moon."
During this period, every freeman in Tyrosh enjoyed a reprieve from labor. More importantly, it served as a grand debut for Jon's new policies and products. The city had begun to integrate Zombie and Skeleton Soldiers into its workforce; these tireless, magical constructs now performed the high-risk, backbreaking labor once reserved for living slaves.
The commoners of Essos, long accustomed to blood-soaked religions and fickle deities, found these "Dark Creations" surprisingly easy to accept. To them, a laborer that required no food, no rest, and felt no pain was a divine blessing. Because Jon's constructs were summoned from the void rather than raised from the fresh corpses of their kin, the terror usually associated with necromancy was replaced by a sense of awe.
From Dionysus Fountain to the Purple Palace, the roads were lined with blooming flowerbeds. Today marked not only the festival but also a pivotal diplomatic summit. Jon had invited envoys from the other two "Daughters"—Myr and Lys. While Tyrion's recent maneuvers in the Disputed Lands had ruffled feathers in Myr, the city was not a monolith. Between the secretive influence of Trang Taip and the neutrality of Omar Panama, Jon saw a path forward.
The key to his gambit was his new breed of dragons. Noble houses could rarely resist the allure of dragon-kin. Even though the resurrection of a True Dragon was still in progress, the mere sight of these "Riding Dragons" would convince the world of his capability.
The Encounter at the Square
"Ho... is that Magister Trig Omorren? I heard the families in Lys were sharpening their blades for Tyrosh. Aren't you afraid of being impeached for coming here?"
A light, mocking voice cut through the air. Trig Omorren, the Trade Magister of Lys, stopped in his tracks. He was currently strolling through Dionysus Fountain Square with his favorite paramour, Lynesse Hightower, at his side. He turned to see a portly man approaching: Tansan Domerang.
Tansan was draped in a lavish purple robe, and his hair—once the garish colors typical of Tyrosh—had been dyed a sober, uniform black. Under Jon's rule, the nobility had abandoned the flamboyant greens and purples of the past to mimic the look of their new King.
"Tansan Domerang?" Trig looked him up and down in disbelief. "You're still alive? I expected you to be the first Magister Jon would hang."
"Hah! Who's been slandering me? Was it that old fool Malta?" Tansan's face flushed a deep red. "Just because I asked him for a little medicinal aid, he spreads such rumors? The Alchemists' Guild should strip him of his title."
A soft, melodic giggle erupted from Trig's side. Lynesse Hightower couldn't help herself. In her translucent Lysene silks, which clung to her perfectly curved silhouette, she looked every bit the high-born beauty she was.
"Ah... and this must be the lovely Lady Hightower," Tansan said, quickly composing himself and flashing what he believed to be a gallant smile.
"Tee-hee, it is a pleasure to meet you, the... interesting Magister Tansan," Lynesse replied. The former Lady of Bear Island had long since shed her Westerosi pride. Years in Lys had taught her exactly how to use her beauty to navigate the treacherous waters of Essosi politics. She had come here with one goal: to see the legendary "Dragon King" Aegon Targaryen for herself.
"So, what are you doing out here?" Trig asked, eyeing Tansan's relaxed demeanor.
"I'm on my day off," Tansan replied proudly.
"Day off?" Trig's brow arched. The concept of a high-ranking official having a regulated "day off" during a festival was alien to him.
"Tyrosh has a different system now," Tansan explained, his chest swelling. "Our duties are scheduled, and during the holidays, we rotate our rest periods..."
Trig watched him, feeling an inexplicable sense of pride radiating from the man. For a moment, he wondered if Tansan had been placed under some sort of dark mental compulsion.
"Since you're here for the summit, let me, as a host, show you around," Tansan offered. Eager to show off in front of this "country bumpkin" from Lys, he led them toward a grand thoroughfare west of the fountain.
"Isn't this your Pleasure District?" Trig asked as they entered the familiar street.
"We don't call them 'Pleasure Gardens' anymore. These are our Service Clubs," Tansan corrected him sharply. "We aren't like Lys, where you force poor girls into being bed-slaves. Our staff are here by choice. They are professionals."
Trig stared at him, his expression one of pure bewilderment. "Are you truly Tansan? Or are you a Faceless Man wearing his skin?"
Tansan simply smirked. "Have you ever experienced a professional foot massage? Have you tried the rose-oil body scrub? No? Then you haven't lived, Trig."