We are back! Only a year after the first thread. I’m like that, sorrynotsorry. You are Alyssa NicNivara, High Elven lady archmage of the seventh order, stuck in this strange backwards land called ‘Westeros’ with your sister Anya, a cleric of the Dawnfather, your druidess colleague Eva, and four mortal partymembers you scarcely know. Where we left off, you and your party were demonstrating what duels of the mighty look like to these folk who do not know power; your duel with Anya involved you turning into a Sea Dragon and accidentally frightening many spectators, and then polymorphing into a 20-foot-tall-Sun Giant - which is when Lord Stark happened to walk in, at just the right moment to witness you beating your sister over the head with her own summoned Leskylor. https://archiveofourown.org/works/62761627?view_full_work=truehttps://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6182755/https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/westeros-elf-wizard-quest-archive.1213676/>Just another day in the life. Lord Stark stares up with the face of a man at a loss. Here you stand before him a Sun Giant, tall and stately as the immortal redwood, in the fullness of your might. Every instinct instilled by noble upbringing and many years among mortals shouts that you have made a grave blunder. This place is ignorant of real power, to say nothing of its stricter mores. But then, this is you, and the truth of an archmage; there should be no pretence of anything else among your guests. They will live. “Sorry,” you reply with a shrug, using one of the few words of Westerosi you’ve so far picked up. Anya looks up at you as she heals her injuries. “Do you have the spells for another bout?” “Not too many. I think I’ll hold the rest in reserve.” You glance around the yard, at the many faces, the divots your dragon form dug in the muddy ground… as well as the section of roof where you stood moments ago and from which you took flight as a dragon. Well, what used to be the roof; two tons of sea dragon taking off from it mostly left behind a collection of loose tiles and timbers, thankfully without catching any spectators underneath in the process. “Perhaps we ought to take this outside the castle in the future.” “Agreed.” When after the next bout (another victory, this time using the dragon form while managing to suppress its Frightening Presence), you return to your normal form, the lord is gone. You’ll have to find him on the morrow; freshly-returned, he’s yet to hear of his foster-father Jon Arryn’s passing, and you have no way to communicate at the moment anyhow. Lord Stark’s children are also elsewhere.
>>6358667The crowd presses you all for a while, but once it’s clear that none of you can speak their tongue, interest begins to fade, and the various servants and guardsmen and ladies-in-waiting disperse to their labours. Your party soon disperses as well: Soren and Senna stay in the yards to spar, as they don’t depend on scarce spells, Lukas and Emíl venture off into the town to explore, Anya goes to meditate in the mansion, and Eva disappeared before your fight was finished, presumably also to explore, which leaves you with the rest of the day to either wander the castle on your own or attend to wizard business. >It’s about noon now; teleportation lag will be finished by the morning, so you’ll be on the same dawn-to-dusk schedule as the locals. In the next post you’ll be deciding what to do in the timeskip, over the next six to eight weeks as King Robert advances like a feasting snail up the Kingsroad. >1) Explore a bit more while there’s light out. >2) Get down to brass tacks, and hit the books on planar research to see if you can’t dig up something about demiplanes. >3) Write-in.
>>6358670>>3) Write-in.Bath, preferably somewhere out in the open
>>6358670>>6358765Supporting
>>6358765+1
>>6358667Welcome back! >>6358765Every other option doesn't sound interesting so sure let's have some fanservice
>>6358670>Write-in: 4-0 for bathtime (though I’m afraid public bathing is out) A short while’s wandering soon enough leads you back to your mansion. You turn to the books for a while, searching through your lexicon for lore on the planes, but even after a couple of hours all you have for the effort is a tangle of nonsense notes and a single page you’ve read four times and still can’t retain the contents of. It hits you, while you try and don’t quite manage to enjoy a cup of tea, just how eventful the last few days have been. Intense battle, planar translocation, diplomacy, performing a Limited Wish and other high-level, rigorous training, and now diving into the books are finally catching up with you, and you realise that you need a rest. And more importantly, a soak. It feels like weeks since you last had a bath like a proper civilised person. Prestidigitation takes care of the obvious mud and dirt and keeps hair presentable, but does nothing for the accumulation of grime. Thoughts of those hot springs in the castle godswood soon surface, but you set them aside; those will be for another day, for a time when you know the godswood doors will be shut. A Magnificent Mansion is among the purest expressions of an archwizard’s will and self: literally, a realm of their imagination made manifest. Yours is as much a forest as a dwelling, with no distinction between living trees that make up the roof and the timbers of the walls and floors and smaller plants blossoming everywhere within. The bathing pool is likewise almost more landscape than anything. The waters span twenty feet and sink deep enough in the centre to stand in with one’s head submerged - the bath chamber being nearly a third of the mansion’s whole volume, with the rest divided between seven modest bedrooms and the library/dining area. The whole form could be changed every casting, of course, even details added in a particular instance if you choose to leave part of the volume unformed at the moment of casting, but after forty years of experience with the spell, you’ve learned your priorities. Here, the steaming air is redolent with flowers. A gaggle of airy transparent serving girls help you out of your robes and equipment. Another privilege of a Mansion: the pampering. Twenty-six elf-maids serve at your beck and call here, wispy air elementals in the vein of common Unseen Servants. Not too bright, but they can wash one’s back and hair excellently well. They help you scrub yourself clean under running water before soaking.
>>6359455When all the dirt of the past week is cleansed physically, you at last enter the waters of the pool itself, cleansing all its troubles ritually. There are few things in life more cherished by your people than the bath, as it should be for all civilised folk. Here the world is washed away and all is made right, for a brief moment, at least. You let the water rise to your nose - then over your head as well, when you recall that you prepared a casting of Water Breathing the previous evening. For a while you sink to rest at the bottom or float weightless, touching nothing at all. Eventually, you rise again, and a servant brings you a book. Manifested from the Mansion, the books within are naturally water-proofed. The tome is a travelogue of the sea dragon sage Khehjaktii, wanderer of worlds, during his youth. Well known for its vivid (and rather purple) prose, recounting in no particular order the centuries he spent swimming Oceanus, the great river-ocean of the higher planes. His recounting remains one of the few first-hand accounts of travelling the planes directly, without rituals, portals, or outside intervention. It doesn’t help much in your quest, but his endless self-confidence and the trouble it buys him in worlds where dwell beings that can chase away aged dragons like a Corellian fox-hunt is amusing. After perhaps an hour or two’s relaxation, as the afternoon is wearing on, you sense the arrival of a familiar presence in your mansion. Eva is back. Not more than a minute later she bursts in through the inner doors to the bath chamber. “Oh there you are!” she says, looking positively exuberant. “Been looking for me, have you?” “I thought you’d be more interested in the direwolves.” “The- what?” You recall distantly that the direwolf is the symbol on the Stark banner, but that’s all. “Direwolf pups! Six of them. Each of the Stark children has one,” Eva says, stripping like lightning and washing herself with the same haste. “Lord Stark’s party found them somewhere on their ride, I think. I tried asking the horses but they didn’t know much.” “And what would children be doing with direwolf pups?” you say. “Those are monsters, not pets. Are you certain they’re not common wolves?” “Dead certain. Should be okay though - the children are bonding with them just fine.” “Bond- are you saying that the Stark children are all druids?” “Or rangers. Didn’t you notice?.” “I’m not sensitive to natural gifts, I’m afraid. I thought the sisters and Bran might have a hint of the arcane, but I’d need to observe them longer to say for certain.” “That’s unusual right?” Eva asks as she climbs into the pool. “Ah, that’s nice… I mean, having multiple gifts is strange, isn’t it?”
>>6359456“Plural gifts are hardly unheard of, though it’s more common that a single bloodline might have several potencies. But several children in the same family would be quite remarkable.” You put the book down as you let the thought roll around in your head. “And you’re *quite* certain they’re direwolves?” “I said so, right? Plain as day to a druid.” “That means that there are, in fact, monsters here in the North, where there apparently haven’t been in living memory.” Eva’s contented eyes snap open. “That’s- oh.” “Nor has anyone in this part of the world seen or even heard of spellcraft or other talents for centuries at least.” “Uh…” Eva sits up, chewing her lip. “That’s… not good, is it.” “Neither good nor bad, yet. But we’ll want to keep a very close eye on things over the next few weeks.” “Hmm. Do you think I should offer to train the children?” “I’m not sure Lord Stark would be enamoured with the idea of his children wielding gifts,” you say, considering the idea carefully. “Is there any risk to not learning druidcraft properly? Without a teacher, I mean.” “Overconfidence, mostly,” Eva says. “It’s not like wizardry where one bad ritual can suck you dry if you do it wrong. You sorta get an instinct for what you can and can’t do with spells or wildshape. But youngins sometimes get it into their heads to try things they’re not remotely ready for. Teaching is mostly about learning your limits, practical medicine, village duties, and whatnot.” “It sounds then like it may be important that these children, the youngest of whom is five, might need some guidance, whether the lord likes it or not. For their own safety as much as anything else.” Eva nods, chewing her lip. “You’re probably right about that.” “We’ll need to see if their gifts manifest properly, however. Rather than gifts being absent, it could be something about this world that prevents latent abilities from developing. And we should keep an eye out for others with abilities as well.” “Is it just me, or does… all of this suddenly feel a lot bigger?” “It’s not just you. It seems we have a great deal of work ahead of us in the coming weeks.” Some hours later, the party slowly collects again for supper, and the others share what they’ve discovered over the course of the day. “… I’m concerned about the quality of their warriors,” Soren is saying. Lukas scoffs. “Every master I’ve ever met has said the same.” “And they’re usually right. Most warriors these days never even reach the sixth form.” “And how many warriors reached the sixth form a century ago? Not many mortals, certainly.”
>>6359457“More than now. I’ve even heard respected generals in Corellia say that martial training hardly matters against shot and shell - which is true, right up until you have to fight someone strong enough to ignore them, and your whole formation crumbles like paper. I’m sure you’ve faced that before.” “… On occasion, I’ll admit.” “It’s worse here. The old man, what’s his name? Rodricus?” “Ser Rodrick Cassel,” you supply. “Well, Cassel is the only warrior of the fourth form in the castle. I don’t think anyone else even breaks third.” That surprises even you. Warrior forms are roughly equivalent in an abstract sense to a caster’s ranks, so fifth-form is the equivalent of a caster of the third sphere. Except that anyone with arms can wield a blade or spear or bow, and practice with them until their arms break; any professional infantrymen would have to at least reach the third form, and most major armies of the world had a core of fifth-form fighters to draw on and could reliably identify talent in recruits. Guardsmen of a high noble would not have army discipline, but their skill at arms should at least be comparable. But the captain of the garrison didn’t break fourth? And without casters or even proper talents, they relied wholly on force of arms… “It’s not like they’re fighting many monsters here,” Lukas says. “I’m not surprised.” “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Eva says. “Did you see the direwolf pups?” Lukas and Soren turned to her. “Direwolves?” Soren says. “I saw one of the Stark children - Bran? - carrying a pup of some kind. That’s what it was?” “Six real direwolves, yeah.” “Those are no mere beasts,” Lukas says, with a look in his eye that spoke of experience. “No, they are not,” you say. “Both spellcraft and monsters were unknown in this world for hundreds of thousands years, until yesterday; now direwolves appear a day after we arrived, or perhaps even at the same time.” “What does that mean?” “I don’t know,” you say honestly. “Direwolves certainly existed in this world before, so perhaps it’s a coincidence, and these pups are members of a living population - but personally, I find that hard to believe. What it means for us, specifically, is a need for vigilance. “Speaking of our own needs, I believe it is time we discussed what those are, specifically. Tomorrow morning I will be meeting with Lord Stark to discuss terms of employment and the establishing of a base of operations. In my own case, the acquisition of a mage’s tower. Yet we are but three mages - between casting services, translation spells, some training, and a baseline reserve, this leaves myself, Anya, and Eva with exceedingly thin margins. In other words, we can accomplish a very few things well, and must leave others by the way for the moment. I wish it were otherwise, but that is our reality.”
>>6359458>Potential tasks to consider: >1) Learning Westerosi (investing as many spells as possible into Tongues and Comprehend languages will enable basic conversationality for the whole party by the time King Robert arrives, freeing up many spells later) >2) Jumping into experimentation on the nature of this plane, and the construction of a field laboratory using whatever’s on hand>3) Working on building a trade network to acquire reagents, parts, and a proper laboratory but delaying experiments until it’s finished>4) Investing all your spare power into creating a proper wizard’s tower (using contingencies and bound summons, traps, Explosive Runes, anti-scrying defences, et c.) >5) Jumping into trying to scry on known Nightrunners - they could be here and up to something >6) Analysing local supernatural phenomena like the spells under Winterfell >7) Physically exploring the North beyond Winterfell >8) Write-in tasks. >You will do most of these things a little bit, but can reasonably prioritise no more than two. (Write-ins can be more numerous if they're minor specific tasks rather than larger projects.)
>>6359459>1) Learning Westerosi (investing as many spells as possible into Tongues and Comprehend languages will enable basic conversationality for the whole party by the time King Robert arrives, freeing up many spells later)>6) Analysing local supernatural phenomena like the spells under Winterfell
>>6359459Well, not a lot of movement, so 1 and 6 it is. Writing.
>>6359459>1, 6 “Several interdependent tasks lay ahead: to learn the local language; to establish our presence in trade ties; to construct a tower; to construct a laboratory; to conduct research on the conditions of this plane; to study the conditions of the castle and what spellcraft and other supernatural elements are present here, which would probably include attempting to train talented natives in their gifts; to explore the North on foot; and to search for the enemy, if they are here. The effectiveness of research depends on a capable laboratory; the effectiveness of constructing a capable and safe research environment depends on both tower construction and procurement; tower construction depends on analysing local supernatural conditions; the safety of both exploration and seeking our foe depend on a secure base of operations; and the wisdom of staying here at all in a moment of strategic blindness is as questionable as it is nigh-unavoidable. “Personally, the only single task I cannot conscion not exerting every effort towards is learning the Westerosi language. The cost is simply too high. Everything else is important, but it is not for me to say which matters most.” “Do you think we really need to spend so many spells on language?” Anya asks. “We usually pick them up pretty quick anyway.” “Curse words first, in your case,” you say, smiling. “Naturally. I’ve already picked up ‘shit,’ ‘fuck,’ ‘bastard,’ ‘whore,’ and ‘cock,’” Anya says with a grin to match. “But fine. We do need to learn rather faster than usual.” Soren sighs, shaking his head at his senior cleric’s eccentricities. “I say we scout, whatever form it takes. If the enemy’s out there, we need to know, and we need to be ready. I don’t disagree with the High Cle- with Anya about learning the language, though, especially if you can make it faster somehow.” “Eva?” “I really want to get out there and feel the world,” she says. “But I think there’s plenty enough to keep us busy here, and we should really focus on getting a feel for the place before trying anything. And I can fly without spending any spells when I want to take a look around.” “If it helps,” Lukas says, “my father was a merchant, I remember plenty of the tricks of the trade. I can work on the procurement side of things for a laboratory and tower, whatever we decide here. Obviously I cannot teleport, I’m afraid, so it’ll have to be local.” “Even if all you can do is put in a good name for us among the merchants here, I’d happily see you put my money to work,” you say. “Admittedly, I don’t have too much capital to supply, as I’m not in the habit of carrying my worldly fortune on my person everywhere I go.” “What we have will probably go a long way, judging by the reactions I got from gold down in the town.” “All the better. We can talk about priorities for purchase later.”
>>6361021“I am much in agreement about mastering the local tongue,” Emíl says. “Other than that, I would say, let us not seek the enemy just yet, not without somewhere to retreat to. And talk of research is over my head, I admit, so perhaps I am very much mistaken, but I do not feel we should be chasing clouds when we need our eyes on the ground.” You nod along, considering all you’ve heard. “I believe that leaves only Senna. What is your opinion?” The girl perks up from focusing on her food, straightening and looking intently at you. “Observation. Intelligence. Integration.” “You say we should be analysing our local environment as well, then.” She nods slowly, golden eyes unblinking. “Understand, then strike.” You give the girl a curious look. She seems completely changed, a far cry from the twitchy stray that is her usual demeanour. Something clicks into place in your mind then. You’ve heard language like that before, and seen that cold, still expression. This girl was an assassin. A true professional, or she was once. Most major nations would not train small children for the work, nor would common criminals care to invest in training to her level of excellence, nor could many manage it if they tried; she must have been trained by someone far worse, for purposes darker than espionage and smuggling. “It seems we are resolved,” you say. “We learn, and we analyse. We keep to the fundamentals. It is perhaps for the best; building a tower here is not the same as building on an empty field, and neither would be a laboratory and any experiments we carry out in one. Truth be told, I thought there’d be more… well, contention, on the subject.” “As much as I want to chase Nightfuckers down with all haste, we’re not remotely in a position to do that,” Anya says. “Best to keep our heads down in any event, since we’re not in much of a position to face them if they find us first either.” There were general nods of agreement around the table. “Then, all that remains is to decide our services, and the terms of employment. I have made the offer to Lord Stark already of arcane security services and structural defences. What do you each intend to provide, for those who are?” “Eva and I have already discussed healing,” Anya says. “Low-level restorations should go a long way here and they’re no real burden.” “And I’d be training their warriors even without a contract, but I’ll take one anyhow,” Soren says. “I’ll see what I can teach the kids, if Lord Stark says it’s okay,” Eva says. “And a little on the side, even if he says no, ‘cause they’ll need help with those pups.” “If they’re amenable, I can show their smiths some tricks I’m certain the locals have never imagined,” Lukas says. “Otherwise, shot and blade, the standard.”
>>6361022“Likewise myself, for shot and blade and spell,” Emíl says. “And I do not at all mind performing more, given such an appreciative audience as we had last night.” “Right. Onto specifics,” you say, withdrawing a piece of paper and putting items to pen. “My standard contracts reserve a number and arrangement of spells for experimentation and crafting, typically around a quarter to a third per day on working days. Anya and Eva, you’ve taken similar contracts in the past; is this amenable for our purposes here?” Anya nods. “The usual. No need to change it.” “I’m definitely keeping my one seventh-level spell, though,” Eva says. “And since I can’t spontaneously heal, curative work’ll have to be scheduled.” “Very well. And Emíl, you have significant casting abilities; do you intend to cast at discretion, or would be willing to reserve set baselines to our various purposes? Preparative and spontaneous arcane casting do not mix cleanly in rituals, so I would not normally suggest it, but we are hardly attempting anything delicate yet, and with so little power to go around as it is, every ounce matters.” “I am more accustomed to contracts of discretion, as you say, as a bard’s songs are not sought for in the ritual work of wizards; but, if you have use for me, Alyssa, then gladly I will offer as much as you need.” “Would you contribute both of your fifth-levels every day?” Emíl scratches his chin, and smiles. “Seeming and Shadow Evocation are useful, but I believe I can survive well enough without for a few weeks. If that is all, then yes, I will give these.” “That will offset much of the raw strength I would otherwise be expending in basic diagnostics. Thank you, Emíl.” “You are welcome. I do also possess Cure Moderate and Cure Critical Wounds, though only for battlefield triage; I cannot offer restorative aid.” “I’m certain our hosts will very much appreciate it all the same.” You give the emerging list a once-over, building a picture of what will be possible over the next few weeks based on the numbers involved. “Lastly, there’s compensation. Or, the lack of it. We’re providing advanced work for what amounts to room, board, and tentative trust; that is not nothing in this land, but it is far below any price we would normally work for. This venture should be understood as an investment, it seems. I fear we can expect little else. Still, is there anything I should request in specific?” “We have bigger things to worry about than cash,” Soren says bluntly. “True enough. I for one can wait for Cuvan gold back home,” Lukas says. “You high elves are miserly employers, but honest to the letter, and you’ve promised plenty enough for the trouble. Otherwise, I’ll need a workshop, office, and warehouse all separate from the tower. And an attorney familiar with taxes and duties and so on.”
>>6361025“That should be easily accommodated,” you say, adding them to the list. “Once you have your space, bring me the iron and I’ll Fabricate your mills and lathes and engines. I don’t expect we’ll have much luck finding those here.” “Much appreciated. Crucibles too, if you would; the castle smith here is still using bloomeries.” “Understood.” You give the list another once-over. “If anyone wants to look this over, I’ll pass it around. It seems we have a plan, however.” The list goes around the table, and with a few minor alterations, the proposal is ready. Table conversation turns to stories and speculation and other matters; fruit pies and ice cream and coffee are served; and finally, exhaustion takes you all to bed to rest and face the new day. ------The meeting with the Stark household starts the instant you, Eva, and Soren walk through the doors of the lord’s solar. Wariness is on every face; Lord Stark sits in his chair, his wife standing beside him, with Maester Luwin and Vayon Poole resting behind desks and Ser Rodric Cassel and Keeper Brennan standing at attention to the right. Lord Stark speaks without preamble, not even waiting for you to take your seat. “Lady NicNivara,” he says, slow and deliberate. “I know now clearly you do not exaggerate when you say you make the impossible real. Before all else, I need the truth: what do you intend for my home?” “You are right to demand clarity. Before we proceed, I first must apologise for the damage to your roof yesterday. I will see it repaired, by my hands or your own craftsmen, whichever is your will.” His eyes narrow, one brow rising ever so slightly, as if weighing whether you’re mocking him. “Do not be glib, Lady NicNivara. You have shown my household wonders - and terrors. My- Jon Arryn is dead. King Robert is coming here. No doubt it’s to drag me into more far-away matters I would rather have nothing to do with. Direwolves, south of the Wall for the first time in two hundred years. The King-Beyond-the-Wall is stirring. I have greater worries than broken tiles. But I cannot face them if my home is not in order.” He paused for a moment, jaw hard set. “Not when… dragons and giants roam the yards, and powers walk my halls that I cannot name.” You nod in understanding. “Then let us name them, and speak materially - of the brass tacks, as my Corellian and Atmoran clients are wont to say. I will start with all that you witnessed in the yards yesterday morning.” You all give the Starks a concise explanation of yesterday's match, emphasising throughout that these are all abilities governed by well-defined rules, however wondrous they may seem. Lord Stark and his retainers look visibly relieved with the new understanding, though clearly still far from pleased. “What am I to tell the king about dragons and monsters, then?” Lord Stark asks. “Or my own lords bannerman?”
>>6361026“I… acknowledge that our actions yesterday morning could be seen as heedless. We could have considered appearances more carefully than we did. All the same, honesty I believe was the wiser course. And we are capable of restraining ourselves for a time; you needn’t worry about me flying all over the North as a dragon and causing a panic. You may tell the king the same thing as I do: exactly what I am, nothing less.” You let that sink in before continuing, and he seems to take it reasonably well. “I have not yet answered your question as to our intentions, however. Having discussed the matter amongst ourselves, we intend to stay here until at least through the king’s visit, towards the end first and foremost of learning your language. Beyond that, circumstance must dictate. “As to our specific terms of employment, those are enumerated here,” you say, indicating the folder you assembled the previous evening. “Obviously, as I cannot write in your tongue, they will need to be transcribed, and I am prepared to do so at first opportunity.”You start to list your services and describe the function of the wards you plan to construct (with a small hitch at the mention of rituals, requiring you to explain that you do not deal in black masses and animal sacrifices - these are procedures, not rites, Keeper). The lord’s eyebrow climbs again as you work your way down the list, his expression turning from wariness to hinting of something like appraisal. His wife and retainers all glance and whisper back and forth. “And for this, you have asked for a tower?” “And the free hand in commerce needed to repurpose it. There is an abandoned drum tower on the north side of the keep, old and weathered, but sound; that would suffice.” “The First Keep? It’s true it’s gone unused for centuries,” Lord Stark says, considering the notion. “What exactly do you plan to do with the First Keep, dare I ask?” “Live in it, for a start. I will rebuild and renovate the interior, construct a ritual chamber within. I will conduct most of my work there, well out of sight, though to finalise any wards I will need to do so on location. This will be quick, usually no more than minutes once preparations are complete, and can be done at night. All that said, the more immediate matter than wards is the need to construct a model of the spells underlying Winterfell-” “Spells under-” Lord Stark interrupts. “You’re saying my castle stands on magic?” “There is power here, yes. Old, deep, its spells written by persons or parties admittedly much stronger than myself, and built atop a source of natural energies as well. I expected you might already be aware.” “What kind of powers? Be specific.”
>>6361028“I would, but the fact of the matter is, I don’t know, though I can guess at certain effects. They are wards of some kind, defensive works, but the spells here aren’t the typical wards of a city or fortress. Given a few weeks, however, I could tell you exactly what Bran the Builder wrought here. All this is to say, we are not bringing strange foreign ‘magic’ into your home; it has always been here, and is your House’s heritage.” Lord Stark and his household are quiet for a moment while they absorb the revelation. As they digest it, Eva leans in to you and whispers, “should I tell them now?” “Probably for the best. The floor’s all yours.” Eva stands, and clears her throat. “Pardon, everyone,” she says. “We’re not just talking about ancient spells here. Lord Stark, Lady Stark.” “There’s more, is there?” the lord says, weary but not surprised. “Well, speak.” “The direwolf pups you found yesterday. You gave them to your children. Why?” “The direwolf is the symbol of our house. There were six pups: four male, two female. One for each of my children. They were meant to have them.” The way he spoke made it sound as if he was trying to convince himself. Clearly there is much more to that story, but Eva doesn’t pry. “I can’t speak to omens, but if that’s what you believe, I think you’re exactly right. I told you earlier what druids like me are, how we draw on the primal energies of the world. One of the ways that manifests is the bond between a druid and their companion. When I watched your children yesterday, I saw that bond in all of them.” There is a distinct collective intake of breaths. Lady Catelyn goes very still, back straight as a spear. “This… bond,” she repeats, voice tight and shallow. “You speak as though it is something already done.” “It is,” Eva confirms. “Those wolves are a part of them for as long as they live… and a bonded companion lives every bit as long as any mortal.” Lady Catelyn’s knuckles go white. For a long minute she is silent, eyes closed or distant, then fixing again on Eva like knives. “As long as they live. And if the wolf is hurt? If it dies? What will that do to my children?” “Hurt. A lot. I’ve lost two before. It hurts, and it never really stops. It’s a cruel truth, I know. But losing their wolves won’t harm them, not even close; we grow, love again, and form bonds anew, and so will they.” There is no relief in the lady’s form, but there is a slight release of pressure. “What does this mean then, this companion bond? How will it change my children?”
>>6361029“Not as much as you’d think, I’d say. That’s the reason I raised the subject at all. The bond is empathic - we share feelings with our companions. Not sensations, it’s not like we feel actual pain if the other does, but joy, rage, fear, despair? That all bleeds through. And it’s subtle, especially at first, when the bond is new. They might not even notice it. But then, one day, they might lose their temper completely, and then there's a wolf the size of a horse by their side, ready to defend its master, whether they really want it to or not. And those wolves are gonna grow up quick: they’ll be as big and strong as dogs in a month and fully grown inside a year, and direwolves are as clever as men, or nearly. Your kids’ll need guidance. Real training. And I can do that for them. I can show them how to work with their wolves and keep things in check.” “If this matter is done, it’s done. We will deal with it as we need,” Lord Stark says, face resting in his hand. “If it keeps those wolves controlled, teach as you will.” Lady Catelyn is not so easily satisfied. “You said that *druids* bind to companions. What more is there? Will the children be like you in… other ways?” Eva shrugs. “If you mean spellcasting and wildshaping, it’s possible. I really couldn't say without seeing them more. The touch of the wild isn’t just druidcraft, though; you can have bonds or casting or wildshape without the other parts. Then again, I can't say I've ever seen six kids in the same family with the touch, and honestly I've never actually trained human kids before.” Lord Stark places a hand gently on his wife's forearm, and he and his household take a minute to digest and confer in hushed tones. After a while, Maester Luwin breaks away from the discussion and looks to Eva with a skeptical expression. “Miss Elsähtti… you speak of humans as if you are not one.” “I'm… not, though?” “You are correct, Maester,” you say. “Myself, Anya, and Miss Elsähtti are elves. You might know our kind rather as Children of the Forest.” What follows is dead, quiet stillness. Keeper Brennan is pale, then red, eyes narrow. “That is a heavy mantle you place on your shoulders, outlander,” he says, in a tone like old gnarled oak. “The Children are gone, down into the earth and water.” “Yours are, most likely. We are not the Children of your world. But I am certain we and they share a common origin in our most distant pasts. Your own stories recall that Brandon the Builder sought out the Children and learned their secrets; that is almost undoubtedly correct, if indeed he was not elvish himself, or the offspring of elvish and human parents.” At first, Brennan seems affronted, as if you’ve intruded upon his most sacred space, which you have, but his expression soon turns pensive.
>>6361031Maester Luwin jumps in instead without missing a beat with a long barrage of questions, and presently begins taking notes. What is an elf? What are the ‘Feywilds?’ Immortal, you say? Truly? Yes, Maester, I am 193, and still very young; Miss Elsähtti is only 76. My parents were born in the First Age and they’re doing quite well. The touch of the wild is heritable, yes. Lord Stark almost certainly has it, just not as strong, and Lady Catelyn, you might too, or one of your parents or grandparents did. It’s far more common for elves, but plenty of humans have it too, and indeed many humans have elvish blood. Special care? Those wolves are partners, not pets, so treat them like it. If you ever think they can understand you talking, well, yes, they can. No, the bond is voluntary, you have to want it even if you don’t know what you’re doing. Spellcraft? Time’ll tell. Interfere with anything? Oh no, they’ll grow up healthier than normal. It’s a gift, you know. Maybe a little strong-willed, but that’s just children for you, I think. It’s hard to say what effect Luwin intends to have except to acquire information, but you’re not slow to miss the effect his comprehensive cataloguing has on his lord and lady. Within minutes, a terrible unknown becomes a walkable path, and the relief is plain; for the first time since you walked through the door, and probably for the first time since yesterday morning, they actually relax a hairsbreadth. At length, Lord Stark brings the conversation to order. “We’ve heard enough for today,” he says. “Very well, Lady NicNivara, you have your tower. You and your company may stay and work as you will. But you will do nothing final without my leave. Anything wards or other spells as you think to work, you will report them directly to me.” You smile. “Naturally, my lord. Those are already standard terms in this sort of contract. My schedule is already written in any event; I’ll have a transcription ready before the day is out.” And now, your real work begins. >Choose any short vignettes you want to see before King Robert arrives (no more than two): >1) Alyssa’s ghetto rituals as she analyses anything remotely supernatural in the area >2) Soren, Senna, and Lukas Making a Man out of You with Robb, Jon, and the rest of Winterfell’s poor under-levelled garrison>3) Anya teaching Arya basic fencing stances in secret >4) Eva talking to every animal, plant, and stone in the several-mile radius and teaching the Stark children how to do the same>5) Senna climbing the walls with Bran >6) Lukas introducing machines gunsmithing to Wintertown >7) Anything else (write-in) >9) Get on with it! (skip a bit and bring out Bobby B and the Golden L Gang)
>>6361033Found this on SB, great crossover idea>1) Alyssa’s ghetto rituals as she analyses anything remotely supernatural in the area
>>6361033Does all of this happen and we choose which scenes we want to see, or do we choose what happens?If first: >2) Soren, Senna, and Lukas Making a Man out of You with Robb, Jon, and the rest of Winterfell’s poor under-levelled garrison>5) Senna climbing the walls with BranIf second:>1) Alyssa’s ghetto rituals as she analyses anything remotely supernatural in the area>2) Soren, Senna, and Lukas Making a Man out of You with Robb, Jon, and the rest of Winterfell’s poor under-levelled garrison
>>6361206Yes, these are all the things which are happening, you're voting on what you want to see in writing
>>6361033>1) Alyssa’s ghetto rituals as she analyses anything remotely supernatural in the area>7) Anything else (write-in)Making our with Jon
>>6361285*out
>>6361033>>2) Soren, Senna, and Lukas Making a Man out of You with Robb, Jon, and the rest of Winterfell’s poor under-levelled garrisonand this >>6361285though he probably dun' want it (elfpoon that is)
>>6361081>>6361206>>6361285>>6361473It looks like we've got two each for options 1 and 2, so ghetto magic and training montage it is >>6361473Sam: "More like you don' know where to put it!" Not to mention, Alyssa has 180 years of experience; she's a mature lady who has no use for sulky teenage boys. She'd want mature confident men who know what they want and know how to show a girl a good time. (And probably ones who can physically handle her; level 13 is pretty damn strong and tough, even for wizards, not to mention Alter Self and Polymorph.)
>>6361033Hey, I remember this thread.I do enjoy these stories. Don't think you don't have an appreciator in me. It just took me this long to notice its return. Good to see you back.>2) Soren, Senna, and Lukas Making a Man out of You with Robb, Jon, and the rest of Winterfell’s poor under-levelled garrisonEvery adventure story needs a good musical number.>4) Eva talking to every animal, plant, and stone in the several-mile radius and teaching the Stark children how to do the sameThis is too based to pass up
>>6361033>1, 2; Shed ritual and training montage You are Lukas Athanasios, a common marine of admittedly uncommon skill and amateur artificer, and you are intruding on a wizard’s business again. As much as she's tried to make you welcome in the lab, being around her still sets your hair on end. There’s always tea, of course, and she greets you today as openly as usual, dressed in the plain paint-splattered black tunic she favours for serious work. It’s not anything she does in particular that puts you on edge. It’s the feel of the room more than anything. No wizard tolerates chaos. They do not improvise rituals. Or much of anything, for that matter, and for good reason. Her laboratory, however, is wall to wall chaos. Lady Alyssa beckons you into the room, but there’s no way to cross it without stepping on something, be it the fine lines of paint, a veritable forest half-erased chalk scribbles, or bits of glass and stone and other odds and ends, and it’s all you can do to cross it without trodding on something that looks important. At least she had the good sense unlike some mages to tie ribbons on her Unseen Servants. “You’ve found some bismuth, then?” she asks. “Twelve pounds, as requested. Slag from tin refining, I’m told,” you confirm. “It took a while to get the idea across. The locals don’t have much use for the stuff.” “And the chalk?” “Right here, with the ingots.” A pair of unseen servants adorned in green bows take the bags from you, one full of rough bismuth nodules and the other of seven-coloured ‘devotional chalk,’ which the holy brothers of the Faith of the Seven downriver in White Harbour mixed using oil paint pigments. Lady Alyssa had complained often of the difficulties in using the natural chalk gathered from the lands around Winterfell; a source of the pre-mixed would be a great boon. Lady Alyssa Mage-Handed one stick of each colour from out of the bag, giving each an appraising look. “They’ll do. Time to get started, then.” A flurry of movement and rearranging follows Alyssa and her airy assistants around the room. This is accompanied by a constant stream of often frustrated corrections on the lady’s part - with how limited unseen servants are it’s not hard to see why. None seem to get anything right their first try, many not on the second, or the third, and the lady often changes her mind about placements, starting the whole process over again. It takes a solid fifteen minutes to clear away the chamber’s large central circle, the one made of ceramic transmuted into stone channels in the floor. Once the numerous little odds and ends have been placed in their due positions, Alyssa dismisses the servants and begins drawing out additional circles and symbols over the clay one by hand. With the delicate proceedings about to start, you sense it’s time for you to take your leave. But a maker’s curiosity overtakes you, and you linger with a question.
>>6363327“What’s it all for?” you say. “The chalk, I mean. If you don’t mind me asking.” Every professional wizard you’ve ever met uses it frequently. “Ah. It’s an index,” she says. “Almost every ritual element you’ve ever seen is. It doesn’t do anything, per se, but it responds to a ritual's internal state. Imagine a sort of dynamic instruction manual. Chalk is marvelously sensitive, changes output quickly, and can be tuned with different pigments. See the chalk misbehaving, and you can cut it off and try again. And, of course, you can erase it. The amplifications you’ve seen in shipyards and factories and so on are simple enough chalk’s about all one needs.” “But the basics aren’t what you’re doing here, clearly.” “No. No they are not.” Alyssa pauses a moment, letting out a sigh. “Granted, investigative tomography isn’t my specialty, so I’ve had to learn a lot of techniques I’ve only read about the hard way. But most of my time in the last three weeks has been spent just learning to work with local indexing materials.” “Are they really that bad?” “Not really, no. Everything’s just subtly different enough to be unnerving. Small initial differences in state tend to build and show up suddenly later on, and you’d best’ve set your boundaries and terminals properly when that happens. Make sure your lathe is securely mounted and work is centred, as it were. And natural materials are always a shade less predictable. When it comes to diagnostics, that makes it hard to trust the results I get.” She then takes the bismuth chunks and places them in the centre of the circle, and stands back, and with a clap of her hands, pressure builds and the air begins to hum and crackle. Something in the back of the room hums and rattles gently. A faint yellow light emits from the clay, then from the lines of blue chalk in the outermost circle. “Still, I’m making progress,” she says offhandedly, even as she’s conducting her ritual, as if that’s something perfectly normal for a wizard to do, and you can only stare as she goes through her motions. “How about you, Lukas? Do you need anything more for your shop? You haven’t mentioned it in a while.” “Need anything?” you repeat, trying not to snort. “No, I don’t believe I do.” When three weeks ago Lady Alyssa said that she would Fabricate you a set of machine tools, you’d taken her at her word. That’s what the great elven archmage is known for, making large toolsets for factories. Half the hull plates on Corinthia’s new ironclads bore her maker’s mark. And you’ve seen Fabricate at work before aplenty, a not terribly uncommon technique for making large or tricky parts or developing novel ones. You’d thought you understood.
>>6363332Normal wizards don’t assemble entire machine shops, from refining to precision cutting, in five spells and a minute and a half, then get on with the rest of their morning. You’d expected she might, maybe, assemble a few tools over the course of weeks; now you suspect if you’d asked for an entire ironclad river steamer, she’d have asked the tonnage. “I’ve hired a few locals to help run the furnace,” you continue, “and I’ve had some difficulties with not knowing much of the language, of course. Otherwise, I can’t say I have any complaints. I was hoping to cut some spare parts when I mentioned a shop, a few things you can’t repair with Mending, but I can make whole new muskets now. And just about anything else, if I cared to.” “Really?” she says. “Good to hear some things are going well. No trouble?” “Surprisingly, no. Say Lord Stark’s name around here and everyone sort of gets in line. Not out of fear, either. Can’t say I’ve ever seen a lord a peasant liked.” “That’s true, isn’t it? He’s a rather fair man,” she says, half muttering to herself. “I wonder, would he be amenable to that sort of contract? How to frame it, though…” The bismuth chunks lift up to float in the centre of the circle about eight feet off the ground. “You may wish to cover your eyes for a moment,” she says. You make sure to do so at once, and a moment later a wave of intense heat and bright whiteness washes over the room. It stays for about a minute, and then abruptly vanishes, along with the whole pressure of the ritual. When you look again, the bismuth has formed an iridescent disc about two feet in radius, coming to rest gently on the ground. The rattling noise you heard earlier stops, as a skin of paint bursts with a hiss and a pop, showering the room and you and Alyssa and everything else with a fine coat of steaming red paint and the fishy pungence of linseed oil. “Lovely,” Alyssa says, prestidigitating the coating out of her eyes. “And that is why you need to be careful with ochre sourcing… Anyways, thank you for your efforts in finding things, and sorry about the mess.”
Training vignette coming whenever
>>6363336I listened to the song to prepare.
>>6363334Lady Alyssa sends you to her mansion spell’s impressive washroom to clean up. A rather pleasant hour or so later, you find yourself back out in the grey Winterfell afternoon. You think about going back to work at first, but the truth is there isn't much going on at the moment. Spare parts are in reasonable supply, as are shot and ball; powder’s coming along more slowly, but the materials are all available and the local merchants and garrison both interested in the results, so it shouldn’t be too much longer. Eventually, you hear the bell of Brandon’s Shrine tolling twice, then an answer from the castle’s small sept, and you recall that Soren and Senna are scheduled for afternoon training around now. It’s been a couple of days since you sparred with anyone in earnest, and you find you could use a bit of action. You arrive and ready yourself in time to see the action already well underway. Soren has worked his way through a dozen of Stark's retainers, with more joining the group or getting back up to try their weary hands again. The Goliath gives them all carefully-timed openings, with all the precision of the naval academy instructors you cut your teeth against. Off to one side of the yards on a wooden walkway Emíl is standing by to heal injuries. With him is the older Stark daughter, wolf pup at heel, the redheaded one who looks just like her mother. Sansa, that's her name. She's taken to following Emíl around and begging him to teach her to sing, and rather to your surprise he's actually gone ahead and started instructing her in real control of her voice. He’s never taken another student in all the years you’ve known him. The pair’s songs lend a softer contrast to the music of steel and leather. You wait your turn patiently while they fight. It doesn't take too long. There isn't much a few first- or second-form warriors can do against one of the thirteenth; in short order the many men facing Soren are crawling away battered and exhausted. You give them all an appraising nod; they are improving, if slowly. There's much less hesitation in them now, and they aren't afraid to take blows the way they were a couple of weeks ago. The men pull each other up as they leave and make jokes and laugh, their comments indistinct to your ears without an active Tongues spell, but recruits’ bravado is the same in every world. Once they're out of the mud and across the yard Emíl begins his song of healing for them.
>>6364867Soren joins you on the sidelines to observe the next bout. This one pitches his Changeling protégé Senna against Theon Greyjoy, Robb Stark, and Jon Snow. There's a grim hard look in the eyes of all three boys; they've faced her plenty already, it seems. Senna, for her part, is smiling like a madwoman, big catlike eyes a luminous gold. The boys raise their blades, but don’t advance, instead standing firm. Senna then vanishes by hiding in plain sight, though you can follow her movements courtesy of your Ring of Blindsight. You watch as she dances around them, purposefully making just enough noise to allow them strikes but never allowing one to land, even being so courteous as to leave footprints in the mud, then after a minute breaking stealth for a moment at time to knock the boys down with a single precise punch to each. You wince a little as several of Greyjoy’s teeth go flying, and Senna breaks stealth for good, cackling like a madwoman as she resumes her position for the next round. “Are you sure she’s not enjoying this a little too much?” you say to Soren. “Eh. At least she’s having fun. And she’s holding back enough the boys can still learn something.” “I’ve noticed. They’ve improved quite a lot already, actually. If those three were new recruits I’d say they were on track for third form within the year. Rangers, do you think?” Soren nods. “Robb has the build for a heavy warrior too, or will, but Ranger’ll serve him better. It’s in his blood anyhow.” The next bout ends with another shower of teeth and chorus of pained moans and sadistic mirth. You wrinkle your nose. “She must have something out for the Greyjoy boy.” “I still don’t know what he did, exactly. When I asked, all she told me was ‘teeth are a privilege.’” It’s not too hard to guess. You’ve seen Greyjoy’s sort before - those young boys who think everything is a game and laugh at any danger. The sort to get handsy too easily with the ones who can fight back, and win. “How many sets has he gone through today? Two, three?” Soren snorts. “Something like that. He keeps trying, though.” The other men in the yards cheer from the sidelines as the fight continues, some for the home team champions, others for their new bloodthirsty idol. As always, as you watch the proceedings, you’re struck by just how slow the natives are. How… unprepared. Warriors here have never faced anything but other common men. Not shell or shot, not beast or spell or supernatural skills, or even just uncommon skill at arms, nothing more dangerous than a wild boar.
>>6364868“I’m beginning to see your point about training,” you say. “This really isn’t a lot for wizards to work with even if these people had them.” Warriors of high form could achieve impressive feats, but even those of the thirteenth rank or higher could not change the rules the way any middling wizard could. But without a core of warriors to reinforce and enable, well. “They’re not ready,” Soren says, sighing. “Not for anything. We can show them what’s possible, at least.” “Care to now? It looks like the boys have had enough.” The three are retreating, broken and bloodied, to seek Emíl’s song. Soren nods, smiling slightly under his golden helmet. “Let’s fight.” ----> Now it’s time to ask how you intend to meet King Robert. >1) Standing as a party beside Winterfell’s household, one group of sovereign actors greeting another. >2) With the Starks, but dispersed, with each party member on their own and embedded in the household. >3) Don’t appear in the courtyard, but send King Robert a proper invitation to meet with you and Anya formally somewhere in Winterfell’s Great Keep. >4) Don’t even show up. Anya’s the leader here, and she can ask you if she needs a more careful negotiator; let King Robert petition you in your tower if he wants something - and believes he can afford it. >5) Write-in.
>>6364870>1) Standing as a party beside Winterfell’s household, one group of sovereign actors greeting another.We've been nothing but cordial and proper this whole time, it would pretty much be out of character to snub the king of the entire realm now.And, while I wouldn't really want to show the Lanisters anything, that's meta gaming, as it were.
>>6364870>>6364887Alyssa's main work for the last eighty years has been making magic trinkets for kings and both magic and mundane machinery for manufacturers. Being petitioned and commissioned is how she operates, and for an elven archmage, appropriate to her status and station. Not meeting King Robert at once could be viewed as inconsistent with the party's current strategy if you wish, as Alyssa has so far taken a straightforward but cordial route, but it's not out of character for her per se.
>>6364870>>3) Don’t appear in the courtyard, but send King Robert a proper invitation to meet with you and Anya formally somewhere in Winterfell’s Great Keep.
>>6364870>1) Standing as a party beside Winterfell’s household, one group of sovereign actors greeting another.
>>6364870>>2) With the Starks, but dispersed, with each party member on their own and embedded in the household.
>>6364870> 1) All together now“For one whole year, you say?” Durmond says, scratching his short-bearded chin. “With regular deliveries per the moon’s turn,” you confirm. “My North Star Company plans to produce a great many garments in the coming months, so a steady supply is essential.” Two river merchants mostly dealing in wool, linen, and furs sit across from you in the meeting room of your new workshop. The springtime morning outside is clear and cool, and the soft rhythm of sewing machines hums from the other side of the plain wood wall as the men scrutinise you and the terms on the table before them. “I got twice that in Grey Rapids for fresh bales last spring, woman,” the other man says, frowning. Rodry, a pot-bellied boatman with no beard but a thick moustache and sideburns. “And I’m sure you were making plenty once the summersnows set in as well,” you say, smiling placidly. “Twelve bales of good wool and a hundred bundles of retted stalks every month, with the first three installments paid up front today. No fuss.” “You’ll be losing big if the price goes down,” Durmond says, brows knit. “If it does, who’s to say you’ll pay when we show up? Or if we’re delayed by ice or floodwaters?” “If prices fall, then they do; I’m paying for certainty here, just as you gentlemen will be. As for who’s to say, these terms are backed by Lord Stark himself: North Star’s charter makes all debts and obligations binding by his word. Specific terms for delays of weather and water can be put in writing as well, if you wish.” The two men consider their positions with chewed lips and furrowed foreheads, but the temptation is clear on their faces: guaranteed prices and a guaranteed buyer every month of the year are not easily turned down, especially for small-time traders like these two, and mention of their lord’s name has its familiar effect. Most of their questions from there are logistics. Within the hour you’re riding away from the Wintertown waterfront warehouse with two fresh signatures on your copy of the contract on your way to Winterfell to get it stamped by Vayon Poole. You take a moment as you do to check in on the King’s progress up the Kingsroad. High above the castle, your familiar Shadow is watching the lands south, and through his eyes you estimate under twenty miles; the royal procession will be here before tomorrow’s out.
>>6367511Once your brief business with the harried steward is complete, you make your way to your new tower in the First Keep. Activity in the castle is almost frantic now, servants and couriers and early guests bustling to and fro as Winterfell readies itself for the morrow. You’re stopped a few times along the way, including by Jeyne Manderly, one of Catelyn Stark’s ladies-in-waiting, and her three-year-old son. No, Donnel, I can’t be a dragon right now, I’m sorry. Another day. After six weeks of learning their language and integrating into the Stark household you’ve come to know these ladies passing well. New you may still be, but a stranger no longer; Jeyne’s is far from the only friendly face you see on your way through the yards. The tower itself is coming along nicely, or its renovations were, at least. The exterior remains plain, but the insides are quite comfortable now: long-lasting lighting crystals and heatstones are emplaced, furniture and carpets are fabricated and laid out, the hearths crackle away. But structure is still wholly mundane, and the defences remain ad-hoc, not much more than some basic anti-scrying, traps, and contingencies - though that may soon change with your analysis of Bran the Builder’s work finally bearing fruit. But… it’s quiet. There are no familiar serving staff here, no bound servitors. Even the bookshelves lie half-empty. A few days ago you went through the old instinctual motion to hand your coat off to Branwyn after coming in from the rain, only for her not to be there. There’s a kitchen here, but it lies empty, without Dáira and his irreverent wit and his salmon in ginger sauce. Your lab has no assistants. Alannah can’t run your baths and wash your hair. There are no Sendings here, no teleporting home for a weekend to visit your parents or to see your older brothers. Nor could you see your colleagues among Cuva’s archmagi. No more gossiping with Mairí and Corra of a fifth-day evening, or endless arguing with Dónhal about every topic in the planes, invariably wrong but confidently convincing as he is. Were they searching for you, even now? Their duties kept them from joining the hunt for the Nightrunners, but they knew of your mission. Do they think you and Anya dead? No, your tower’s wards would respond to that, you’re sure the particular divination elements there aren’t blocked by whatever isolates this plane. Anya is here with you, at least, and the other members of your little band of castaways have rooms in the tower too. You find Anya present now, in the sitting room on the second floor, reading a book by the fire. A book in High Andalic, you notice, something borrowed from Lord Stark, old parchment bound in leather. In front of her on the table is a notebook where it appears she is taking notes or translating the text.
>>6367513“Studying outside of lessons?” you tease, eyebrow raised playfully, smile curling the side of your mouth. “Master Eavhan would be so proud.” “Would Mother even recognise me?” Anya says, smiling back. It's a familiar exchange, well-worn since the days of youth two centuries past. “It's a history of the Targaryen kings. We've heard plenty about Aerys II and Robert and his war, but I thought it might be good to learn a bit more before Robert comes riding through the gates.” That actually sounds rather interesting. Much of your language instruction with Keeper Allyn has consisted of history, heraldry, religion, and so on, but the history itself has skewed older, to founding stories like the Andal Conquest seven centuries prior, or to the semi-mythic origin stories of the various houses of the North, and a bit about Aegon's Conquest and the sad fire-breathing beasts of burden the natives here call dragons he waged war with. “Well? What have you learned?” you say, taking a seat on the couch beside your twin. “Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin to see if they'll be mad or not,” Anya says. “I thought they only had one Mad King.” “Only Aerys II was called that. But I'm beginning to think they've had more mad kings than sane ones; Aerys was just the stupidest. Frankly it's a miracle this cavalcade of fuckups lasted half as long as they did.” You take a look through her notes. “That’s… really? Locked his sisters in their rooms for years and then fasted himself to death?” “And he's one of the ones they remember fondly,” she says, closing the book. “I think that's enough for me today. Found anything new on your end?” “Some,” you say. “I've managed to constrain Winterfell's age more clearly, for one.” You walk her through the emerging picture of the castle's origins again, from the ancient presence of the Children to the layers of druidic wards set by the First Men. On top of those came five layers much more powerful of arcane wards that you're quite certain were all wrought in quick succession by a single caster of immense power, with the fifth and final capstone ward more powerful than every ward that came before combined, true epic-level spellcraft, indeed masterfully incorporating all of those older spells into itself rather than resting atop them. But after that- nothing. These wards have received no inputs of any kind in the last five thousand four hundred years, give or take a century. No later spell was even strong enough to leave a lasting impression. The capstone itself is woven with such durability that one couldn’t help but feel its maker knew it would be their last work. “The silence in this place is… profound.” “That timing, though…”
>>6367515“I know. Not long after the Calamity. What's most striking, though, is how *different* Brandon's works are from anything that came before. He was clearly a wizard from a long and sophisticated arcane tradition, and the rituals that wrought Winterfell were not singular acts, but the efforts of many. Yet, such works are vanishingly rare in Westeros. Winterfell itself and the Wall are the only examples of casting of this scale I can confidently name. Storm's End and the Hightower of Oldtown are candidates. Any others have been lost or buried.” “Are you suggesting Bran wasn't a First Man?” “More or less. Otherwise Westeros would be littered with ruins and artefacts and other evidence of a civilisation so great. The sort of First Age ruins we've spent plenty of time exploring, you and I.” “Where was he from, then?” “Who's to say? From some civilisation that emerged beyond the Wall? From a sunken continent? From some forgotten land beyond the Sunset Sea? Valyria before the Valyrians? I'm confident he was from this world, at least; this has been an isolated demiplane for over a hundred thousand years, and Brandon was no lone savant, but the product of an indigenous culture.” Anya goes still at the mention of isolation. “I… still can't hear Him, you know,” she says after a while, hardly more than whispering. “I never asked for all this, but now all I want is to go back.” “Has anything changed?” “No. Everything works, except where it doesn't. I can't contact the heavens, or any other plane. I can feel His light, but He's not present here.” The Prime Deities themselves freely admitted to being from some distant otherworld on the Prime Material Plane, but their arrival to Gaia was a known event, falling a little over 12,000 years ago, long long after this world was cloistered. This world, in other words, must be intimately linked to Gaia despite being confined, if the Dawnfather's power is still felt. But that's all familiar ground by now. Anya's fairly quick to change the subject. “Any better idea what Brandon's wards actually do?” You can only shake your head. This has been perhaps the greatest frustration of the last several weeks. “The legends suggest he built Winterfell after the end of the Long Night, once the Wall was raised, presumably to defend against the beings the Westerosi call the Others. They're probably not demons or devils, as there aren't any Forbiddance effects I can detect here, but there's no telling what else they could be. The wards are inactive, though, between the fact that they're a product of a complete different casting tradition from ours and the fact that there are both arcane and divine elements, I would need either much longer to work it out, or to reactivate the wards partially, and I don't know how to do that either.”
>>6367516“And Lord Stark probably wouldn't be too happy with you tampering with his castle.” “I imagine not. I will raise the issue with him soon enough, though.” You lean back into the couch, letting your mind wander. “We need to see the Wall, next.” “Oh? Need, do we?” “Okay, I want to see it. If we're to understand the Long Night, I need to examine the spells that support it. Just determining if they're the work of the same archmage who built Winterfell would tell us a great deal.” Anya considers the move. “I'm not sure any of the rest of us are needed for that. We have an enemy to chase down at some point, you may recall.” “Eva would be a great help, but you're probably right. I’ll still go, but I won’t linger,” you say, deflating a little. “Where do you suppose we should go, then?” “King's Landing, Oldtown, Braavos. I don't know. We'll talk about it all together after we've met the king.” -----The king's three hundred knights and freeriders pour through the gates the following morning like a shining river, armour and crests and tall spears flashing in the sun. A few you recognise at once by reputation, like Ser Jaime Lannister, the queen's twin brother who slew the Mad King, armoured all in Kingsguard white, and their younger Tyrion who they called the Imp with his stunted limbs. At the head of the column, before anyone else can even get in position to dismount, a great shaggy bear of a man vaults clean off his horse and runs to Lord Stark, locking him in a hug so tight you actually hear the lord's back pop from several paces. “NED!” the man says, in a voice that matches his bearish look. “Ah, it's good to see your frozen face again!” Ned Stark's solemn face hinted at a smile. “Your Grace, Winterfell is yours.” You can't help but exchange a brief glance with Anya, standing on your right. This is really the king? All the tales of Robert Baratheon speak of a mighty warrior, but the man before you is positively rotund. True, he's tall enough to look you in the eye, and seems near as wide. Overstrong floral perfume clings to him. The bristly coal-black beard does nothing to conceal the royal double chin and jowls; dark circles under his eyes speak of persistent poor sleep. The queen and her children enter on foot then as the men ahorse are dismounting. The ridiculous gilded wheelhouse they'd hauled all the way from King's Landing wouldn't fit through the castle gates. Queen Cersei is every bit as golden as her twin, dressed in fine white and red furs. Introductions are made: Joffrey, the crown prince, a tall boy of thirteen, Myrcella, the only princess, and little Tommen, all three as golden-haired as their mother; the Stark children are presented in turn, save Jon Snow, kept to the sides.
>>6367518Even as they are, you note that your group is drawing eyes. You could hardly help it; even after mostly adopting Northern dress, there’s no pretending you’re from anywhere in Westeros. Well, Senna perhaps could, but chooses not to. Soren in particular draws sharp gazes, most of all from a large knight with a rather unfortunate burn scar covering part of his face. You understand the eyes on him better now - the infamy of the Mountain, Ser Gregor Clegane, who slew Princess Elia Martell and her children, follows before him. The burned man here would be his brother Sandor, called the Hound. Robert is watching you all closely as well, and his patience soon enough wears out. “These must be your famous guests. Seven Hells, Ned, who are they? I ride all this way only to hear you've got dragons flying about.” Lord Stark gives him and then you a slightly bemused expression. “May I introduce my court wizard, Lady Alyssa NicNivara; her sister, Lady Anya NicNivara, High Priestess of the Dawnfather and the druidess Eva Elsähtti, of Eryn Talleran, both healers; Soren Avenatus Tarantus, knight of the Dawnfather; Senna Moltularis, his… squire; Emíl il-Isan, of Aryanna; and Lukas Athanasios, of Corinthia. Travellers from distant lands. They have been… of great assistance, these past weeks.” Surprise takes the crowd when you’re openly named a court wizard. Keen interest becomes outright gawking, and whispers fly back and forth. Plain disbelief shows on many a face. This is going to get rather tiresome, isn't it? Explaining what a wizard is over and over. “Your Grace,” you say with a nod, offering nothing else. The king gives you a sharp evaluating once-over. “Wizard, eh?” he says, unimpressed. “And she's where all these rumours are coming from, is she?” “If you mean dragons, your grace, you'll find none here, only me,” you say. “Nor any Targaryens.” Silence lingers long, but ultimately King Robert seems to decide you're a matter for later, and only shakes his head in annoyance. “I want to see her, Ned. Take me down to the crypts.” You don't need to ask who she was. The story of Lyanna's abduction is a bitter memory in the castle, and history, as the spark of rebellion. The queen speaks then, suggesting that they've had a long journey and should refresh themselves first. Surely the dead can wait. But the king would hear none of that. You can't help but sympathise a little with her, as she watches her husband rush off to see some dead love’s grave… all the same, it only takes a glance at their expressions to realise there's no love lost between the two. With the lord and king away, Lady Catelyn is left with the task of organising hospitality for the royal company. The Stark children and other members of the household as are unnecessary for the task begin to disperse, and you and your party likewise retreat to make way.
>>6367520“Am I the only one feeling a little underwhelmed?” Anya says, once you’re all well away from the courtyard. “No, sister, you are not,” you reply. “This is a court of peacocks preening over old wounds." Eva’s nose scrunches up like she’s smelled something unpleasant. “I don’t like the way that queen was looking at us.” “She’s the clever one,” Senna says quietly. You glance at her. She’s come a long way, these past few weeks. Once upon a time she would never have spoken out of turn, but now she’s willing to provide an assassin’s insights without being asked. “Doubtless,” Anya deadpans. “Did you notice how tired they felt?” Soren asks. “I suspect that may have something to do with spending seven weeks on the road,” Lukas quips. “It’s more than that.” “Soren’s not wrong,” Anya says. “Back to it, everyone. Let’s see who we’re dealing with.” The other five all head off their separate ways to help with the emerging chaos, but you hesitate before going anywhere. ----->You now have a rather irregular unscheduled afternoon as guests get situated and chaos reigns in the castle. >1) Get out and about, remaining visible while staying out of the way of traffic, and go meet a few guests directly. >2) Head to the Library tower, present and available but unlikely to run into anyone by accident. >3) Hide in your tower and do some work for a while until things get settled. (Skip directly to the welcoming feast.)
>>6367521>The other five all head off their separate ways to help with the emerging chaos, but you hesitate before going anywhere.Should read as the other six, not five
>>6367521Thanks for the update, Nuke.>1) Get out and about, remaining visible while staying out of the way of traffic, and go meet a few guests directly.Might as well see the social event through. No better way to see who we're dealing with than the direct route.
