I'm not dead?That is the first thing that comes to mind when you awaken in a bed of frost and tundra. All other things proceed from the fact that despite your best efforts, you remain the living vessel of an apathetic and nihilistic entity that could be very easily mistaken for a god. Falling into the void should have spread you so thin across time and space that your frequency would have returned to the primordial chaos. Lost to all but to those who are searching for you, and even then they would need the right equipment. Perhaps that lovely man will succeed, in time, to separate your frequency from the voidPerhaps he already succeeded. Perhaps that is why you are here in the snow, naked and cold, rather than drifting alone in the void with all of your senses blinded - your existence finally given meaning through its cessation. Could this pain you feel be "happiness"?[No, that is frostbite] The Threnodian's song echoes in your mind, its babbling more sensible than usual. [The pen moves in admiration of pointless frivolity, for the hand that grasps it would only be used for fruitless endeavors. The desire to fill a vessel born to die with the fruit of life is an admirable thing, yet we are but false words upon the page-]"Shut up," you growl, taking to your feet. You've no desire to listen to the mad ramblings of Aleph-1 any longer than you have to. "If you've nothing meaningful to contribute, then keep quiet."[Voidmatter, then.] The Threnodian sings a new tune in your mind. [This place runs thick with it, thy birthright as a childe of stardust. Afore the author's pen sinks too deeply into perverse admiration of thy shape and coloration, twist it into-]"I remember how to shape it," you grumble.The thing is right. The Voidmatter is thick here, thick enough to form a Void Storm and yet so mysteriously stable that it does not. It bows to your command, the command of the Threnodian with which you resonate - with which, you are one - and slides between the pattern shaped from your own unique frequency. You do not weave it, but rather allow it to take shape... and its final shape surprises you.Somewhere between the clothes you wore beneath the ice of Lahai-Roi and the gown you wore into the void. The thousand star-spangled hands of Aleph-1 grasp your arms and legs more gently than before, shaping into a facsimile of gloves and stockings. The rest of the dress is of the night sky as your gown had been, yet punctuated with the warmth that Sigrika insisted upon with every outing to see the Exoswarm. [This suits you more than the false smile and despair.] For once the wretched creature to whom your frequency is bound says something you can agree with. [More honest, but not the whole truth, for the whole truth does not suit such a devious woman woven of power and lies-]"I believe I told you to be quiet," you remind the Threnodian before it starts rambling again.
>>6424967You call forth your staff - in truth, a bubble maker you bought from Lollo Logistics, modified for your own purposes - and with it create a bubble of your own frequency to carry you through the sky. Once you've pushed it in the right direction, you lay down within it for a nap. While you haven't had any good food, and you're missing your good friends - especially him - you can, at least, get some good sleep.While you rehearse for your death, what direction have you pushed the bubble in?>North, towards a great wall some three hundred feet tall.>South, towards a swamp and the riverlands.>East, towards a city that's been bleached white.>West, towards a castle under siege.>You let the winds carry you without a thought.
>>6424969>South, towards a swamp and the riverlands.swaaaammmp
>>6424969>North, towards a great wall some three hundred feet tall.
>>6424969>East, towards a city that's been bleached white.
>>6424969>>East, towards a city that's been bleached white.Never thought I'd see a gachaslop character isekai quest. Anyways let's push East to Qarth I believe?
>>6424995For those who recognize the world Denia wound up in:North is the WallSouth is the NeckEast is White HarborWest is Winterfell
>>6425010I guess we can board a ship to Essos from there. The squabbles of petty kings are of no interest to us. But magic....
>>6425010Yeah, figured it was asoiaf insantly
When you awaken from your nap, you can see a city sprawled out beneath you. White stone carved from the cliffside into an old and venerated sort of architecture that reminds you of pictures that you've seen from Rinascita, or perhaps Septimont. He showed you some of those, before you sank into the void to sleep forever and ever. Alas, now you are awake as the city beneath you prepares to go to sleep.And with wakefulness comes certain needs.Your stomach growls and your head pounds for lack of food and water. As much as you would love to drift off through the sky in the cradle of your bubble, starvation and a migraine would do your sleep no good. How long has it been since you've eaten anything, anyways?[The kalpa turns swiftly when seconds become aeons and aeons become seconds.] The voice of Aleph-1 babbles in your head. [The distance is meaningless until a needle pierces the event horizon, for how can you traverse to that which cannot be observed?]"Shut it." You command, and for a moment the babbling ceases.Your bubble drifts down towards the city, though the people going about their day would not notice it. Aleph-1 did not lie when it named you a deceitful and devious woman, for you have a talent for trickery and showing people what they want to see rather than what is truly there. In this case, wrapping your bubble in a refraction of light is a simple matter, no more difficult than conjuring clothes from voidmatter.The bubble pops when you touch down in an alleyway. It makes no noise, not at any frequency that a human could hear, though you do see crows scatter through the air from the sound. Your hand goes for a terminal that is not there anymore; like your original clothes, it was without a doubt lost to the void, though it was designed to survive even the worst case scenarios. It contains an imperfect record of your soul, meant to be studied in the case your frequency collapsed and became one with the void. All researchers had one.Perhaps that study is why your frequency appears to have dropped out form the primordial chaos? Or perhaps this is the depths of the Somnoire, and you are just an echo of your self. Hm. Usually Aleph-1 would chime in with something nihilistic when your thoughts trail down such a road.[Thou hast requested mine silence]"You never listen," you complain. Well, none of this matters anyways, so you take your staff and you leave this quiet little alley to get a better look at the city.It's barely a city, by your standards. The streets are too narrow for automobiles, and the lampposts appear to hold oil lamps and torches if they hold anything at all. The ever present hum of electricity in the air in the deep of Lahai-Roi and at its surface stations is conspicuously absent, making it feel more like the Frostlands on the surface. Even then, every creature you see is made of meat and blood, with not a single exoswarm or soliskin to be seen.
>>6425289Good. Exoswarm never liked you, and you detest soliskin. Not for what they are, but what they represent. The dead should be allowed to sleep, and should not be processed into such horrifically whimsical creatures.The buildings of the city are well made, well cared for, and - perhaps most importantly - well planned out. A white castle looms from on high, and white stone buildings rise in neat and tidy rows going down to the harbor. Colorful banners hang between the buildings, breaking up the cold and white colors into something much more lived-in. The people adorn themselves in simple clothes that almost remind you of the Frostland Roya; though the colors and patterns are very different, they remain designed for warmth above everything else.They seem to give you a wide berth and wary eyes. You cannot blame them, for you stand out like a sore thumb. The dress you wear has some Royan motifs in fluffy trim and patterns, but your gloves and stockings glimmer with the thousand colors of the starlit sky. What's more, none of them have a starstack - which, you suppose must be rare outside of Lahai-roi - while your own is... a custom job to say the least.Rather than a ring constellation of stars, yours is a black hole. The same black hole that peaks through your wide band tacet mark set upon your breast, though you've left that largely covered by a fuzzy, comfortable capelet. No one comments on it, they're just very wary. Very wary. It's like they've never seen a resonator before.You follow your nose to a stand that appears to be selling some sort of pastry stuffed with meat and vegetables. Eyeing the coins behind the counter, you reach into your purse and quickly shape voidmatter into their likeness. Copper stamped with a star, silver stamped with a stag. The coins you make carry the same properties of copper and silver - as well as voidmatter's more exotic properties - and will remain in that shape indefinitely."How much for one of those?" you ask the man behind the counter.Unfortunately, he's a bit distracted by your starstack. Maybe recreating it as part of your outfit was a bit overkill, but unlike your terminal you know all about it's inner workings and were able to reconstruct it. It monitors your Rabelle curve, the local environment, and if there were any robots around you'd be able to interact with them and issue some commands. The fact that it might distract the locals did not occur to you."Hello...?" you wave your hand infront of the gobsmacked man's face. "Is there anyone in there...?"A few people in the square whisper to one another, giving you an exceptionally wide berth. You can't really pick up what they're saying, but given their dress they're probably making some sort of commentary about how you're showing off your ankles. The guards seem rightfully wary of the obviously foreign person, but they certainly don't look like they're about to arrest you for spooking the locals.
"Uh, yes..." the man finally speaks, though you had to poke him on the forehead a few times to reset it. What did Siggy call it, percussive maintenance? Maybe this fellow's some human shaped sort of exoswarm, like the fellow he spoke about, who purified corrupted soul records? "What would you have of me, mighty sorceress?"Eh? Sorceress? Well, you suppose a forte can look like magic, though you haven't really done much with it. Maybe he thinks the starstack is your forte? Whatever. You point at the pastries and ask, "How much for a dozen of these?""For you, mighty sorceress, they're free!" The man says something absurd, and you can hear fear in his voice. Really? "I would not want to offend a practitioner of the mystic arts.""And I would not want to offend those mermaid men over there by stealing from you," you say, pointing at the guards. "So, how much. Is this enough?"You place one of the silver coins on the table, and the man takes a long, drawn out breath before stilling himself. "You would be overpaying by a factor of three, mighty sorceress.""Then give me three dozen," you tell him. "I'm hungry."The man gladly hands over three dozen of those pastries, which look like the microwave sandwiches that Professor Mornye would eat for lunch, but taste far less of preservatives and chemical sweetener. He's gracious enough to give you a bag to carry them all in, and after sealing that up with a small bubble to keep the microbes out, you put them into your purse. He arches an eyebrow when you manage to fit the much larger sack inside of your purse, as though he's never seen a resonation inventory before, but he doesn't comment upon it.Taking your leave from him, you buy a large mug filled with some sort of juniperberry drink and are on your way. Food status is good enough, sleep status was good enough, if only your good friends - or maybe just him - were around to share it with you.As you turn out towards the docks with the intention of booking a ship bound for the east, your way is cut off by two of the mermen."I didn't break any rules, did I?" you ask, wondering if they noticed you copying coins."No, honored sorceress," the guard says. Honored this time, rather than mighty - less fear, and more respect. Wary, wary respect. "On behalf of Lord Manderly, you have been invited to guest at his estate for however long you intend to stay in our fair city of White Harbor. Our Lord assures you he has no intention of standing in the way of your business here, though he would be most honored if you were to attend the feast he is holding for his son's birthday."You perk up at that. He had brought you a birthday cake, but you never got the chance to taste it. It would have been your first time having birthday cake, so an opportunity like this...>Isn't one you can pass up.>Isn't something you're interested in. You want HIS birthday cake to be your first.>Is one that you need further information on.>Write in
>>6425291>>Isn't one you can pass up.
>>6425291>Isn't one you can pass up.Can we change to the regular outfit?
>>6425345>>Isn't one you can pass up.Holy shit, wuuing my wa's as we speak
>>6425291>Isn't one you can pass up.Let them eat CAKE. And by 'them' I mean 'US'
>>6425345Do you not like evil women, anon?
>>6425291>>Isn't one you can pass up.>>6425427You make a compelling counterargument
You think over the invitation for a moment, and then ask the guards the most important question, "Will there be cake at this birthday feast?"The two of them share a look before the one with the fancier cake says, "I am certain there will be many cakes for the young Master Theomore's nameday celebration, honored sorceress. He is Lord Manderly's firstborn son and heir, and White Harbor is the most prosperous city north of the Neck. Second only to Oldtown and Lannisport in all the realm."You file those two cities in the back of your head for later, as you imagine they will be important. Though... who names a city Oldtown? It doesn't matter for now, so you simply answer with a smile less fake than usual, "Say less, good sir. I will happily accept the invitation."The two men lead you up through the city and to the castle that overlooks the waves. It stands stalwart upon the highest point in the city, atop the bleached white cliffs that stand high above the harbor. The route up is filled with switchbacks that would make an assault from the sea a nightmare, and behind it the city spreads from the inner walls to an outer set, and then even more buildings cluttering the outside. You get more than a few stares from the guards on the way up, some at your strawberry hair, most at your starstack.[The fishfolk cannot understand the majesty of the heavens, for they are blind to all but the wondrous and mysterious depths of the sea.] The voice of Aleph-1 returns, and you cannot simply tell it to silence itself, not infront of other people. [The maw of starcorpse is a thing of strange beauty to those who do not understand its purposeless hunger. All is meaningless before it. Life, the Universe, Everything has neither purpose nor reason to exist, least of all ourselves.]But you do. After all, there's cake to be had here. Birthday cake, albeit for this young Theomore fellow rather than yourself. You will strive to document its flavor and then return to his side, so that you can compare what he would make for you to what this Lord Manderly had made for his son. That is purpose enough for now, even if you made it up for yourself."Ser Warrick..." the concerned voice of a gate guard snaps you from your thoughts. He stares at you, and then at the older of the two men accompanying you, his mouth moving but no words forming. After a moment, he finally finds them, "This might be the single strangest woman you've brought home... uh, no offense meant, Lady Sorceress. I assume? Well, I don't mean to assume, but..."He gestures at your starstack. With your tacet mark hidden beneath your fluffy capelet, you suppose that must be the single strangest thing about you."Sorceress is accurate enough without getting into the technical details," you tell the man, though that only seems to make his lips thin with mild apprehension."Ser Warrick..." the guard gives the older fellow - Ser Warrick - a pained look.
>>6425870"I invited Madame Denia to my nephew's nameday feast," Ser Warrick sounds entirely unapologetic as the gate guard winces. It seems like this behavior is not new... did he just see an exotic, different woman that piqued his interest, and decide to invite you on his brother's behalf? "Besides which, I'm sure it's safer for you to enjoy my brother's hospitality than spend your evenings in the lower city, Madame Denia. Not that I doubt you can defend yourself from ne'erdowells - I've quite the opposite concern, in fact.""The smallfolk would riot if someone started turning people into newts," the younger of the two guards, you think his name was Willas, quips. "The Faith doesn't preach against sorcery, despite what some say, but that doesn't stop the smallfolk from getting spooked by anything supernatural. Why, they even whisper Queen Visenya to be some sort of shadowbinder, when all she does is practice the arts of Old Valyria...""Well, as luck would have it, turning people into newts isn't among my specialties," you tell them. With a gesture, you conjure up a bubble and give your fake smile as you lie through your teeth. "I just create bubbles. Durable bubbles, but bubbles all the same.""Oh, Theomore will love that, if you'd be willing to show him," Ser Warrick's eyes light up as the bubble floats away. "He's at that age where anything sparkly and shiny catches his eye right quick."You hold back a snort, and keep the fake smile bright. "And you're at that age where you'd lie to a pretty, strange, and exotic woman to have her company at a feast, aren't you?""Guilty as charged," Ser Warrick gives an unapologetic smile, and his comrades in the mermaid tunics groan. Honestly, were you not so hung up on him you would be hard pressed to call Ser Warrick's demeanor anything less than charming. He's older than you, but in that way that makes him more attractive than a younger man of the same stature. Only a hint of gray in his dirty blonde hair, with a handsome face and broad build that would have seen him star in some New Federation action flick had he been born back home. Alas, you have glimpsed perfection, and compared to him everything else is just ash in your mouth."Besides which, my Lord brother gave me leave to invite any lady I wish... as long as she was of high enough standing," Ser Warrick says, earning another groan from his companions. "I think a... if I were to place your accent and hair style, Tyroshi sorceress would almost certainly count as a lady of high standing."He's not quite right, there, though it's good to know that your accent matches that of another people in this world. Still...>You should probably correct him to avoid inconsistencies later on.>You should agree with him, go along with the lie he provided>You should play mysterious with him, "So that's where you think I'm from, how interesting, fufufu~">Write in
>>6425872>>You should probably correct him to avoid inconsistencies later on.Let's use this chance to inquire of the world
>>6425872>You should agree with him, go along with the lie he provided
>>6425872>You should probably correct him to avoid inconsistencies later on.
"A bit further than that, if I were to guess," you say with a wry smile. The sun here is not artificial, and for how thick and dense the voidmatter flows through this world, the aetheric sea does not cover the sky in a veil of false stars. They do not need to know that you're almost certainly from another world, but you lose nothing by telling them the name of your homeland. "I am from Lahai-Roi, and I doubt you would find it upon any map. Though I must ask, Ser Warrick, what made you think I was... Tyroshi, was it?"He and the gate guard share a look and both at once say, "Your hair.""Tyrosh is famed for their hair dyes," Ser Warrick elaborates when you give the pair a non-plussed look. "They wash their hair of its natural color and replace it with bright and luminescent tones. Blues, greens, purples... I once met a captain from Tyrosh who kept his forked beard in two colors, one half a lemony yellow you'd never see without pigment, and the other a pink even more vibrant than your own. Do the people of Lahai-Roi favor hair dyes as well, or is it a personal preference of yours."You blink at him, and then shake your head. You lose nothing with the truth here, and gain a bit of trust by revealing this little secret. "No, this is my natural hair color. It's actually quite common among the Royan people, though it took several years to darken to this shade. When I was a girl, it was actually silver and white, with only a little hint of the strawberry it would become."Well, that's not from your Royan heritage. You're not Royan by birth, not truly. The matter is excessively complicated and you'd rather not linger upon it.[The mad architect dreamed of weaving frequencies stolen from the dead into new life born of glass and amniotic fluids.] Aleph-1 rumbled in the back of your mind, almost reassuring. A reminder that for all its apathy and madness, it spins on without a shred of malice to its name. [Is it not a joy to be born with purpose? Or perhaps given it? Not all creatures are so lucky to know why they were born.]Ser Warrick looks taken aback for only a moment. "Truly? Well, the Valyrians were known for their silver hair, so who is to say that those from even further afield cannot have other shades? Though I must admit, I have not heard of this Lahai-Roi you call home, but even the Valyrians did not have full maps of the world.""Perhaps after the feast, we can take a look?" you ask him.Ser Warrick's blue eyes brighten, and with a nod he says, "Yes, we can consult with Maester Yorrick on the morrow. He's a love for all manner of old things, if there's any complete map of the world on record it would be in his offices or else the Citadel's library. But for now... the feast!"
>>6426265How easily he slid into this being about us together. Against someone as pure and naive as your dear friend Sigrika, those sort of tactics would have worked wonders at winning him the company of an adoring woman. Unfortunately for him, you're the devious sort of woman who has kept her eyes on far greater prize, wise to the games of lesser men seeking your company. That is not to disparage Ser Warrick, for by any objective measure of masculine beauty, he's a catch to say the least. It is simply that the competition is so far ahead that he never stood a chance to begin with... especially since you're quite certain that you will continue to live until the last gasp of Hawking Radiation evaporates from the surface of Aleph-1 and his singularity is no more. The castle halls Ser Warrick leads you through remind you of a story book. Coupled with the cleanliness of the city, the lack of vagrants and the homeless alongside the orderliness of the docks, you must suppose that the rule of his family - House Manderly, a loyal vassal of House Stark - has been one of relative prosperity and abundance. Had their people lived in squalor, you might have accused them of taking too much in taxes to fuel their lifestyle, but the Manderly's appear to rule well. But no, the bright tapestries that keep the cold out from the stone walls are a sign of wealth to be sure, but of wealth well managed and loathing careless excess."They depict our history," Ser Warrick explains, as your eyes travel along the scene."Our exile from the Mander..." He points to a tapestry depicting men in orange tabards chasing off a remarkably well endowed mermaid."Our journey across the sea, past the Arbor and Dorne, the Stormlands and the Vale..." This next one depicted a ship, fat with merfolk as they sailed past a winery and a desert, through a storm and the crags of treacherous mountains. Turned away at each landing by the folk who lived there, back to their ships to sail away again."...until we reached the North at last, and the King of Winter welcomed us into his home." The last set shows a great wolf the size of a house with deep grey fur standing upon the cliffs where the castle of White Harbor would one day be erected. Appraising them with bright golden eyes, but not turning the fishfolk away. It welcomes them to its den, out from the thick snows of winter, and when spring came the wolf pups and the merfolk ran and swam together as brother and sister under the wolf-king's watchful eyes. "Though I suppose it's Lord Paramount of the North, now. King... I should say, Lord Torrhen made the wise decision, and knelt before the Dragon King rather than waste the lives of his people for the sake of pride.""You don't seem too distressed to be under new management," you observe, looking for a shift in Ser Warrick's demeanor.
>>6426266He gives a simple shrug. "It hardly changes matters. We still serve our Ki... Lord Paramount, and our independence remains largely intact for our liege's wisdom. It's the fools who thought they could win against the Black Dread that shall find the Targaryens nosing into their business. Ah, that's the Dragon King's dragon, a great beast the size of a castle - and that is no exaggeration. I had the privilege to see the beast myself when K... Lord Torrhen marched south."He gets a faraway look in his eye. "It's size was simply... tremendous."[Yet meaningless against entropy all the same.] Aleph-1 whispers in your ear. [How sorrowful it must be, a monster born without purpose, made to bring an end to the meaningless lives of those who are but ants beneath the breadth of its wings. Though it in truth is but a gnat among gnats...]You do not comment. Not upon Warrick's look nor Aleph-1's babbling. Your sense of scale is warped by the Threnodian bound to your body and soul. A monster merely the size of a castle would be a formidable beast, to be sure, yet the Exostrider's sword alone held up the false sky of Lahai-Roi. A weapon made for a mechanical titan the size of a mountain, that sealed away a collapsing singularity - a necrostar given sapience - the size of a planet. Instead, you simply nod along and allow him a moment to reminisce.."Ah, here we are!" You finally arrive at a great set of oaken doors set with polished and well oiled iron bent into a tapesty of its own. One depicting the well endowed mermaid, the crowned wolf, and what you can only assume to be the many totem beasts of the Manderly's peers in the north gathered around a table. Ser Warrick offers his hand, "If I may escort you in, Madame Denia? I do not mean to presume, but it might ease things considering..."He takes a meaningfull look at your starstack.Of course, you know his game. You're a devious woman, not the sort of simpleton who gets swept off their feet by men who happen to be just a bit charming. Leave that to Sigrika, that poor girl needs protection and unless he intervened, she would certainly have her kind nature get taken advantage of by someone unscrupulous. Taking his hand, you say, "Very well."He pushes open the door, and it looks like the feast is right on the verge of beginning. All manner of folk are there, some dressed in finery that makes you wonder if you should have conjured something fancier for the day, other dressed down in simple but well put together outfits. The same totems on the door can be seen throughout the hall: a pink man t-posing with prominent veins, a great lumbering bear, a bull moose, a flock of gulls, a white hound, a bearded giant with broken shackles, a horse with a flaming red mane, and at the high table a crocodile and that deep grey wolf flank the mermaid. Silence hushes over the crowd as people notice your starstack, hovering behind your head.
>>6426268Ser Warrick, of course, just beams at the crowd.It gets more than a little awkward until a hefty man - with that pudgy and boyish sort of obesity that's more cute than hideous - lumbers to his feet and lifts a great gilded tusk filled with wine towards you in greeting. Taking a long swig, he puts it down and says, "Once again my brother has shown his talent for finding the most interesting jewels in all of White Harbor to accompany him. Don't feel obligated to forgive anything foolish he does, and feel free to take offense at his braggart tongue, for my dear and beloved brother is as boastful as he is valiant. Now, now, what are you waiting for Warrick? Introduce the poor lady before our soups get cold!"The knight has the courtesy to get a bit red in the ears. "Of course, brother. Allow me to introduce the Lady Denia, an honored sorceress who has come to visit our fair White Harbor from the far-off land of Lahai-Roi. I took it upon myself to extend the hospitality of our-""Can you do magic!?" A boy you had overlooked, who could be no older than seven or eight years, looks at you with wonder in his eyes. He wears a rather adorable green doublet sewn with the likeness of a merman carrying a trident... putting two and two together, you realize that this must be the birthday boy, young Theomore. He turns to the rather hefty man who must be Lord Manderly, and asks, "Father, father, is it okay if she does magic?">Wait for the local lord to say it's okay to put on a little show.>Play the imperious and might sorceress, for you are no conjurer of cheap tricks!>Play the imperious and might sorceress, for you are no conjurer of cheap tricks... and then make the boy a little merman plush.>BUBBLES FOR THE BIRTHDAY BOY! IN LARGE QUANTITIES!>Write in.
>>6426269>>Play the imperious and might sorceress, for you are no conjurer of cheap tricks... and then make the boy a little merman plush.
>>6426269>Play the imperious and might sorceress, for you are no conjurer of cheap tricks... and then make the boy a little merman plush.
Giving notice: Updates will be spotty until Sunday due to my free time getting eaten by some guests.
>>6426810So that was a lie
>>6428325I should have said Monday, but I was a bit more ambitious and forgot "oh yeah, there are chores to get done" on Sunday after everyone left.You could have chosen to wait for permission to perform your "sorceries", as the locals referred to resonance abilities. That probably would have been in line with society's expectations of a woman who took bread and salt from the local lord's younger brother, accepting the guest rights that you would do no harm to those who took you in and provided you with sustenance and shelter. However, to hell with the norms of a society that you don't belong to. He would make the norms bend around him, and with the power of a Threnodian at your beck and call you don't see why you should be any different. Besides, you will not be breaking guest right. If anything, you'll be putting on the exact sort of show that the young Theomore wants to see... and providing him with a gift worthy of his birthday."[Young master Theomore...!]" your voice resonates with the Threnodian, the abyss of the all-consuming singularity known as Aleph-1. The lights of the dining room dim until all is but a midnight void, an expanse of black that is swiftly filled with the thousand colors of the starlit sky. The Ladies cling to their Lords and the Lords cling to their swords, but no steel is drawn as beauty quickly overwrites the looming darkness. The boy looks on in wonder, the exact reaction you had hoped for. "[Do not take me for some simple Carnevale Magician who pulls a rabbit from her hat upon command. The secrets I weave reach far beyond such mundane tivalities. Perhaps I should show you...]"Ser Warrick grips your arm rather tightly, his smile thin. You give him a quick side eye, trying to tell him without speaking that this is just a show for the boy. It takes him a quick second, but when he relaxes - just a little - so does his brother at the head of the table. You take that as your cue to continue.From the starry sky, a hand that shares its colors reaches down to delicately pluck young Theomore's hat from his head. With eyes as wide as saucers and a smile as bright as the sun, he cannot take his eyes from the way the hand twirls his hat about with a flourish, before a second hand comes to join it. To have a use for these beyond crushing your foes beneath their gravity is a distinct joy that you never knew you would experience, so you take your time to direct them to move the hat about.A twirl here and there shows the dexterity of the starhands.A tap on the top of the hat show's that the boy's floppy cap is indeed empty.Then with a bit of a flourish that you once saw on the television, you have on hand wiggle its fingers over the hat - as if conducting some strange and mystical blessing - and then dive far deeper than the hat should have allowed. When it returns, it struggles to pull something plush, and soft, and terrible large from its interior.
>>6428441"Though that doesn't mean I'm unwilling..." you make a show with your own hands to give it a mighty tug, your voice straining as though you are exerting a great effort. All the lovely lies you told to make everyone think you a happy and cheerful girl pay off in this little bit of showmanship. "To give the birthday boy... a little bit of... a show!"With those last words, a cheerful pop fills the air. A great giant plush merman - near as large as the boy himself, and woven from voidmatter into something real and soft and tangible - erupts from the hat like water from a fountain, smoothly pulled in a single motion. It is modeled after your recollections of a movie that Madame Lucilla ran in Lahai Roi's theaters about a mermaid who gave up her family for her human lover. You'd do the same, to be honest, but that's because your only "family" is a psychopath who cannot decide if he wants to look like a small and cute woman or Septimont's vision of Death. Rather than a beautiful redhead mermaid that would certainly be dressed scandalously for the crowd, you based the plush off of her father. Broad of build, well muscled, bedecked in gold, and with a great soft trident in his hands.The boy is quite thrilled. So too is his father, who seems to be as taken with the plush as his son. The other Lords and Ladies give a polite clap as the vision of the Night Sky fades - though some give you a wary look as they do - with one sole exception. The representative of the Wolf Lords, the Starks, does not glare at you with any baleful intent, but unlike the others he doesn't bother to even put up a front of being amused. His gaze is cold, hard, unimpressed... and perhaps most of all, concerned.Even as you give a little showman's curtsey, wishing the young lad a happy birthday, that gaze does not falter - and follows you until you and Warrick take your seats."You nearly gave me a heart attack, there, woman," Ser Warrick says with a shake of his head."I'm surprised that you thought me so easily offended," you reply with a shake of your own."It's not that as much as..." Warrick takes a long draw of wine from his goblet and then places it down with a steadier hand. "Didn't you say that your sorcery specialized in the creation of bubbles?">Yes. (Do not elaborate)>Yes. (Elaborate to a ridiculous extreme)>Well, when you think about it, pretty much everything is a bubble.>What are you talking about? (Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss)>Yes. I lied.>Write In
The astral modulator survived the fox menace! (for now)>Well, when you think about it, pretty much everything is a bubble.This should be gaslight-y enough
>>6428442>Well, when you think about it, pretty much everything is a bubble.Let's change the subject to the fashions of this world
>>6428442>Well, when you think about it, pretty much everything is a bubbleI agree with the above. We could learn much from scandalous Eastern fashions (hint hint) where they think we're from.
>>6428442>>Yes. I lied.
"Well, I mean..." You blink at the man. Right, you should adjust your expectations of the locals' foundational knowledge. The Roya might appear primitive to the folk of the New Federation and Jinzhou, but their understanding of technologies and the cosmos far exceeds what one might expect of a pastoral tribe. These folk do not have such a gap, though it would be unwise to assume that of them all. "When you think about it, pretty much everything is a bubble, isn't it?"Ser Warrick stares at you for a moment as you cut apart a piece of cake brought by one of the servants, and admire the little air pockets within it. Before you have a chance to take a bite, he asks, "Beg your pardon? I don't follow."[Nothing begets nothing, and nothing becomes nothing.] Aleph-1 pontificates upon the most nihilistic fact of reality. [Something only exists at the edge of nothing, for where they touch is more than nothing and the difference between that which isn't and that which isn't in a different manner becomes that which is...]"Look here, Ser Warrick," you explain to him, admiring the work that went into the moist sponge of young Master Theomore's birthday cake. "The cake is full of holes in the middle of it, pockets of nothing that make it soft and let it hold its moisture. Bubbles, if you will."You pop it into your mouth. The first piece of birthday cake you've ever eaten in your life is not your own, not the one he and dear Sigrika made for you, but it's still quite delicious. The artisans Lord Manderly keeps are skilled indeed."So the cake has bubbles..." Ser Warrick nods along. "I see, so making cake-bubbles would fall into the purview of your sorcery, but then how did you conjure that stuffed merman? And how does it follow that everything is bubbles.""Well, lets say I kept cutting the cake in half," you explain, cutting the remainder of your slice in two... and then one of its pieces in two, and so on and so forth until cutting it becomes unmanageable. "Like so, but if I had even finer tools than this silverware. Eventually, I would come to a point where if I cut it any further, it would no longer be cake, but instead the components of cake."Ser Warrick nods. "You cut a ring of maille in half, and it's no longer a ring, just the steel used to make it. I suppose it must be the same for cake, though... it sounds like that would be an awfully fine cut.""You'd be right," You say after another piece of sweet and delicious cake. "It would take a fine knife indeed to make a cake no longer cake. But lets think about those rings of maille, each of them is a piece of a chain shirt, yet what takes up most of the ring's volume?""The steel," he replies, his eyes somewhat narrowing."The steel is what interacts with other things for the ring, but that's not what takes up most of the space it occupies. Not if you consider everything within its perimeter," You smile now as what you're talking about. "It's a slice of a bubble."
>>6428853"That... feels wrong," Ser Warrick says. A few others have glommed onto your conversation, listening in and rubbing their temples as they try to understand where you're getting at. "The empty space shouldn't count.""Well, it doesn't add to the mass," you say with a nod of your head. "But if you sliced open the smallest possible piece of iron, you'd be left with a core, a shell, and a whole lot of nothing in between. It's a bit more complicated than that, but more or less everything that exists is a bubble filled with nothing. Though I do prefer my bubbles pretty and shiny.""I think..." Ser Warrick reaches for his goblet. "That if I think about this any longer, I'm going to give myself a headache. The plush merman is made of bubbles.""Yes," you say with a vigorous nod. "Special bubbles. They'll pop eventually, but not before the stars die."Ser Warrick downs his goblet and motions for a servant to refill it. "Stars can die?"You nod quite seriously. "Stars can die.""How?" he asks."Some go boom, others fizzle out like a dying campfire, and some small number collapse like a building into themselves," you explain to him as you take another bite of cake. "The worst of those deaths can tear a hole of sorts, like a building whose collapse triggers a sinkhole. Nothing can escape those holes, even light, because of how steep and smooth the walls are. Nothing can find purchase enough to escape.""Is this headache my punishment for inviting a sorceress to my nephew's birthday party?" Ser Warrick looks up to the ceiling. "Seven forgive me.""Who are the Seven?" you ask, a question that gets you looks from everyone at Ser Warrick's table. A woman with the a sigil of a pink T-Poser asserting dominance on her breast gives a chuckle, and the man with a crocodile on his tunic seems amused, but hides it in his drink. "I'm from quite far off, so do forgive me if I don't know the common sense in these lands.""Well, we don't believe that everything is a bubble wrapped around nothing," the lady with the T-Poser says. "The Seven are a southron thing. The Manderly's are a Southron house, welcomed to the North yet keeping their old ways.""We keep to the Old Gods and the New," Ser Warrick says as though it were an argument he had a thousand times. "The Seven are the New Gods, the gods of the Andals, one god with Seven faces. Maiden, Mother, and Crone. Warrior, Smith, and Father. Last of them the Stranger, who greets the dead at the gates of the Seven Heavens. They are together one, but at the same time seven."Honestly, that sounds like the matter you heard about from Him where over in Rinascita the Sentinel and the Threnodian were merged into one being by the Threnodian's power of Unity. [Not one of us] Aleph-1 babbles into your mind. [Not not one of us, but it sings no lamentations for the suffer of mankind.]
>>6428854"That sounds awfully convoluted," you tell Ser Warrick, and his shrugs."Don't look at me, I'm no Septon," he explains. You suppose a Septon must be some manner of priest of the Seven? "I just find it a bit easier than sitting in front of an ancient tree waiting for it to impart its wisdom. We, at least, have a book.""You don't just wait for it," the woman with the pink T-Poser on her shirt says with a smile that shows off a few too many teeth. "You have to feed them the blood of the wicked, that's why executions of the worst of the worst take place before the heart tree. They'll go hungry if they don't get it, and then they'll be silent until you feed them again.""How delightfully macabre..." you say, your eyes going flat. Bloodthirsty trees do not sound like a great time.The conversation drifts and ebbs as the night goes on. What topic do you pick and prod at most?>The fashions of the world and how you'd better fit in.>Scandalous rumors about the newly crowned King of the Realm>Stories from beyond the great Wall that supposedly borders the North.>Stories from the far Eastern lands and their mysticism, especially Valyria.>(Write In)
>>6428856>The fashions of the world and how you'd better fit in.>Stories from the far Eastern lands and their mysticism, especially Valyria.
>>6428856>>The fashions of the world and how you'd better fit in.
>>6428856>>Stories from the far Eastern lands and their mysticism, especially Valyria.
>>6428856>The fashions of the world and how you'd better fit in.
>>6428856>>6428866+1
The remainder of young Theomore's birthday party is enjoyable. The cake is soft and moist, and sweet like honey and cream; not nearly as creative as the abomination he and your dear friend Sigrika brought for you, but it probably tastes better. The entertainment is delightfully strange, with a motley and patchwork clad troupe of dwarves performing many wonderful feats of acrobatics and dexterity for the crowd to a jolly and happy tune. One of them even swallows a flaming sword as though his throat was the maw of Aleph-1. Bright smiles abound from everyone. You hope your next birthday can be so happy.Conversation at your table drifts from topic to topic. As it turns out, as the second son of their decease Lord Father, Ser Warrick Manderly sat with all the other spares for the heirs and their spouses. Renee Bolton was the name of the woman with the pink T-Poser upon her shirt, the Lord of the Dreadfort's maiden sister who outright declares that she's fishing for a husband. Bobby Umber seems to be good friends with Ser Warrick, a stout man whose mountain clanner wife is near a head taller than he is. Jon Mormont is a bear of a man - appropriate, given his totem animal - wed to a daughter of the Karstarks, a distant branch of the Wolf Lords.One of the Wolf Lords sits with you as well. Young Brandon Stark, not to be confused with his uncle Brandon Stark sitting up at the high table, a matter which must certainly cause no end of confusion. More of an age with you and Renee - both in your mid twenties - than Warrick with his salt-and-pepper beard, he has a wolfish smile that sits a bit too easy upon his face, and a relaxed confidence that may or may not be earned."You know, I've never seen an Essosi woman who dresses quite like you, Madame Denia," he says, as the topic drifts towards tales from the east."Since when were you an expert on Essosi fashions?" Warrick asks the younger man."Since Grandfather spanked Aunty Lyanna so hard that she up and took half the family over there," Brandon says in a tone that makes Renee sputter on her drink. "The exiles named their mercenary band after those blue roses she loved to tend, you know. The Company of the Rose, bringing good, hard northern steel to protect those soft-bellied bankers in Bravos. Do you know she married some Qartheen Warlock and is running around with her ti-""Not in front of the ladies, Brandon," Jon chides softly."The Qartheen have a daring fashion sense," Renee whispers as though it was some great secret that Brandon was about to talk about his Aunt's tits. "It's surprising Lady Lyanna would wear one of their half-dresses, but if she married into it...""When in the New Federation, do as the Feddies do," you say with a nod. With a twinkling eye, you look straight at Brandon and ask - with your voice full of innocence - "Though, whatever could Lady Renee mean by a half dress, I wonder?"
"Well, you know how your own dress is a bit..." Brandon looks at you and blushes slightly, his eyes turning away. "Well, the boldness of its cut. Um, what I mean to say is how the skirt is... not that I'm offended, quite the opposite, and on a woman of just majestic power it's certainly not scandalous, but... ugh, Renee, help!"Her eyes sparkling with delight, Renee puts to words what Brandon cannot bring himself to say. "What Master Stark here is trying to say is that your own 'half dress' shows off as much leg as an expensive courtesan, which some of us assumed you were when you walked in with dear Warrick. I won't name names, but the question of how much your company cost may or may not have been bandied about.""Really now...?" you say, and do the thing wear you push a smile up onto your face with your fingers. This time it's real. "Well, compensated dating did occur at the academy, but I never partook in that sort of activity. The sorts who did deliberately wore the regulation uniform because the sort of people who paid for that sort of thing generally enjoyed the idea of their partners being students."You recall a certain music professor and how she always had a barely-legal freshman on her arm... who always had a big goofy grin for getting it on with the hot music teacher."Students, huh? Never heard of someone having a taste for Maesters-in-training before, but to each their own I suppose," Renee says, not really getting what you meant. "Anyways, the Qartheen fashion is half a dress up top, leaving a breast exposed. Comparatively, yours looks more like a doll's dress someone cut up to skirt the lines of public decency."You pout. "These are relatively normal clothes back home, you know.""Relatively?" Ser Warrick asks. "What makes them unusual, then?""Well most skirts wouldn't have the drop in the back that mine has," you explain, conjuring up an image of Professor Mornye in her day-to-day wear. "They'd just stop around the thighs... though, hum, Professor Mornye's legs are special. Most people would wear stockings with that type of skirt, and if you're really expecting to move around you'd wear shorts underneath so you don't go flashing your undies...""Professor Mornye, huh?" Brandon chimes in, looking at the illusion of her with interest. "That's it, I'm going to petition the King to force the Citadel to allow female Maesters. If every Maester was half as beautiful as she was, the Realm would be at peace for all eternity.""You just like her shiny legs," Renee mocks him."I do like her shiny legs," Brandon admits without a moment of hesitation."Putting aside the length of her skirt - which your people don't seem to quibble about as much as we do in Westeros - that outfit is a bit more sensible than yours, Madame Denia," Ser Warrick says after a moment of observation. A small smile crosses his face when he asks, "Could it be that you're the sort of woman who enjoys flashy clothing?"
>>6429447"Professor Mornye's a very reserved woman with a terminal case of oneitis," you tell Ser Warrick, neatly avoiding the admittance that you also have a terminal case of oneitis for the same man that she does. Maybe Sigrika, too, though does healthy skinship between girls really count? "That is, she is deeply in love with her shishou and doesn't feel the need to show off for anyone else. Not that I'm showing off for anyone's benefit but my own."Though if it caught his eye like that, you certainly wouldn't complain. From there the conversation drifts to the sorceries of the east, the mysticism of old Valyria, the remnants that linger in Essos, and the embers that burn in the heart of Westeros. Glass Candles sound like some sort of primitive terminal, without the ability to conjure forth echoes in the same manner as modern technology. Second Queen Visenya is rumored to keep the old magics alive upon her fortress of Dragonstone through blood and fire rather than tuning and modulation as he did back home. The Warlocks of Qarth are said to have some true power, though most of what they do is theater.The greatest work of magic any of them talk about, though, is the Wall. Not for being a barrier that defies entry by monsters, or for channeling some spell through the ice, but for how it was raised. It is a titanic edifice created by some inscrutable ancient sorcery, the sort of monolith that inexplicably survived countless ages due to the sorceries woven into its creation. It's the sort of object that you suspect he would have created, had he lived in the age of heroes, though his would certainly involve some manner of truly divine protection.After the feast, you go to guest quarters near Ser Warrick's own. Ser Warrick doesn't have the balls to ask you to warm his bed, so you're happy that you need not shoot him down like that. It seems your display of true magics - to the locals - forestalled any lust he might feel towards you.The next day, you'll be going to check out the maps with him. What clothes do you conjure?>Something more in line with local custom.>Your Startorch Academy uniform.>The sensible clothes that Professor Mornye wears about.>The delightfully erotic outfit that He wears when He chooses to disguise Himself as a woman>A Qartheen gown... with something under it, you're not showing off your tits like that. Really, that just sounds like a Septimont Garb.>(Write in - No, a proper Qartheen gown is not an acceptable write in)
>>6429450 #>>The delightfully erotic outfit that He wears when He chooses to disguise Himself as a womanWhat's this referring to?For the actual vote>A Qartheen gown... with something under it, you're not showing off your tits like that. Really, that just sounds like a Septimont Garb.Can we cover it with just hair?
>>6429459FemRover dresses like a sexy ninja, and her outfit mogs most of the 1.0 girls in terms of appeal.For the question, no. Denia will imagine a Qartheen Gown as a Toga, and will do the Septimontian thing of wearing a tight black sports t-shirt beneath it (Septimont garb is Ancient Rome meets Cyberpunk)
>>6429471Oh you meant her, then I can agree. Think I've seen a few fanart of Denia in FemRover outfit too. Though if we're taking cues from Rover may I suggest an alt outfit?
>>6429450>>(Write in - No, a proper Qartheen gown is not an acceptable write in)How about something like this (minus cape so its backless). Our own interpretation of the gown.
>>6429489That's basically just Iuno without her metal ornaments. Not saying that as bad thing of course.
>>6429495Yes, that was one of the inspirations I was thinking of but I don't know how familiar she'd be with it
>>6429450>>6429489Supporting, at least until she sees the real thing
>>6429450Sure, something like >>6429489 >>6429495 is fine.
>>6429489>>6429495Note: FemRover's sexy ninja outfit is as far as she's willing to go in that regard; if she goes for something that starts like that, expect for her to take a look in the mirror and tone it down a bit.
>>6429615That's fine. Not a WuWa player, but FemRover's outfit was already S-tier in my opinion.
>>6429450>Something more in line with local customWe can borrow Marika's dress to get that medieval but sexy look
>>6429615The chains on her collarbones could modified into straps but it's very important that her navel is free. For science and magic of course.
>>6429828Wholeheartedly agree
Giving notice that next update will be Saturday.
>>6429450>>The delightfully erotic outfit that He wears when He chooses to disguise Himself as a womanPeople are sleeping on how tight Rover's outfit is
>>6430165Amending this notice to Sunday.
When you wake up in the morning, you blearily conjure up something a bit more expected from a woman hailing from the lands of Essos. Weaving voidmatter into cloth is a simple skill for one of your talents, as easy as using your terminal to weave fabric from frequencies to replace and repair damaged clothes. Simply pulling upon the thick phantasmal substance hanging limply in the air is enough to shape the amniotic fluid of the universe into something suitable.Based on their descriptions, you end up pulling a garb from Septimont's fashion. Generous amounts of white cloth and golden rings to hold it all together in place of hems and stitching. The silken toga flows like water over your body, stopping only at your ankles. Your skin peaks out in places, the draping silk flashing your navel as you move and letting your legs and thigh peak out when you step. Everything important is colored, and the sex appeal is more "elegant" than "whorish", so you should be fine.With your staff in hand and your starstack alight with the colors of the void, you must look like a sorceress indeed.[Three by three shall the sorceresses carve their legacy into the world,] the maddened ramblings of Aleph-1 accompany you down the hall towards the Maester's tower, where Ser Warrick promised to meet you. The frozen queen has come and gone, planting seeds of ice in the wolf's den. The leaf wanders upon the wind, waiting for her beloved crow. The witch queen fled west, to join her hand with the eternal sun. The mother of cruelty shall battle her son's bride in the shadow of his throne. The daughter of the tower shall light the extinguished candles and drive out the spawn of the abyss. The frog shall drip poison into the ear of the lioness, the sheep shall trample the stallion who mounts the world in his crib, and the flame shall complete the promised song.]"You're verbose today," you grumble at the singularity. It answers you with silence and its continuous maddened song, the one you once ignored and shall continue to ignore. You arrive to Ser Warrick and another middle aged man with a salt and pepper beard wearing grey robes and a multicolored chain about his neck. Stories talking about the dangers and consequence of beautiful, bratty women such as yourself mocking old timers like them ran like sewage through the depths of the internet... but you have no intent of mocking them, not too harshly. Only one man holds the right to "correct" you in any way, shape, or form, and He is not here right now."Good heavens, you must be freezing in that get up," the grey robed man says. Despite you shaking your head no, he busies himself with putting more wood in the fire to warm his office up. "Let me add some life to the fire here, it would not do for Lord Warrick's guest to catch her death of chill..."You want to stick up a finger and say it doesn't work like that, except it kind of does. Sure, the cold won't make you sick, but it makes it easier for the germs.
>>6431261"I see you've read up on Essosi fashions," Ser Warrick gives your dress an appreciative look. A man of culture he must be, for while your dress yesterday pushed up what little bosom you had to work with, this one hardly emphasizes your chest, making you look positively flat. "I'd ask where you got the silks and the golds from, but I assume it's the same mummery that conjured up that toy young Theomore adores.""Hn," you make a non-committal answer. "So, shall we take a look at the maps?"Maester Yorrick provides several ancient maps of the world for you to examine, and unfortunately none of them hold any familiarity to you. The runes upon the oldest, which the man excitedly proclaims to have copied from the very texts of the Great Empire of the Dawn, bear no resemblance to the Unified Solaran Alphabet or Royan Runes. Superficially, they do resemble the logograms used by Huanglong and Asinohara, but the more scrutiny you apply to them, the more different the text becomes.You don't admit defeat so easily, however. Even if you did, you'd still want to pick their brains over the various regions of the map; one of them has caught your eye, and you intend to ride a bubble there...>The Land of Always Winter>The Land of Always Summer>The Continent of Sothoryos>The Summer Islands>The Dothraki Sea>The Five Forts>Asshai-by-the-Shadow>The Great Empire of the Dawn>(Write In)
>>6431262>Asshai-by-the-Shadow
>>6431262>(Write In)Slaver's Bay. We taking Ser Warrick too?
>>6431262>(Write In)Qarth. I'm not sure the exact time we are in but we may be able to snatch a dragon if we get it right.
>>6431427You're about three centuries early to meet up with Dany. This takes place shortly after the Conquest, thus the references to the Dragon King and the Queen practicing Valyrian blood magic in the thread. A Summary of the Times, Courtesy of Maester YorrickThe current year is 2 AC, about half a year after the Sistermen's Rebellion, from which Ser Warrick Manderly returned a conquering hero.King Aegon Targaryen reigns over the Seven Kingdoms of the Crownlands, the Riverlands, the Stormlands, the Reach, the Vale, the Westerlands, and the North. As stability and the King's Peace comes to Westeros, chaos reigns in the Iron Islands, for no one house has consolidated their rule after the burning of Harrenhal and the death of Harren the Black and the extinction of the Hoare line. It is expected that King Aegon will soon depart for the Iron Islands with a host of 10,000 knights and foot, leaving his Hand Orys Baratheon to administer the realm whilst he is on campaign. In Northern Essos, the Iron Bank has made good upon its investments in King Aegon's conquest of the west, and has now opened its vaults with favorable rates to the Westerosi to fund post-war reconstruction. King.. erm, Lord Paramount Torrhen Stark has taken good advantage of these rates to build out new infrastructure in the North, including a new expansion to Winterfell's famed glass gardens and an expansion of iron mining in the mountainous lands south of the Gift. The Norvosi have reopened trade with White Harbor and Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, including the shipment of Whale Oil.In Southern Essos, the city-states continue to feud as they have since the Fall. This time they send their slave armies to battle in order to see... which one of them has the right idea of how to deal with the newly crowned Dragon King. The wheel of their commerce and politicking turns, and the Masters of Slavers Bay feast as the flow of flesh brings coin to their fattened purses. In Central Essos, Khal Mengo has crowned himself Khal of Khals and has united the Dothraki Khalasars under one rule for the first time in history. Unlike his predecessors, he has grown fascinated with the trappings of civilization, and seeks to establish a "Dothraki Freehold" centered around the sacred city of Vaes Dothrak.In the far east, the 69th Yellow Emperor has been crowned in Yin with the passing of his father. Beyond those lands little is known. Supposedly the King of the Shrikes keeps a tree of impaled bodies in his courtyard as a warning to Yi-Tish diplomats that he is not to be looked down upon. The Five Forts stand against the Eastern Widlings, much as does our Wall. The last Church of Starry Wisdom remains in Asshai-by-the-Shadow, claiming to keep the dark sorceries of the Bloodstone Emperor. Though, these are just what tales we have heard, and should be viewed through a lens of honest skepticism.
>>6431463I really thought we were in book times because of the Winterfell under siege option.
>>6431472It was going to be under siege by Lyanna and the folks that would become the Company of the Rose if you went that way, pushing your time of arrival up by a year (or her getting spanked up by a year, which is probably more likely).
>>6431262>(Write In)Qarth is good midway point between the Free Cities and further west of Essos. We can study and observe there before deciding where to go next.
>>6431475I assume she is the frozen queen, mother of cruelty and daughter of tower can be guessed easily enough. That leaves us with the Witch Queen in the west.
>>6431479No. First three are ancient sorceresses, second three - including the Bride of the mother of cruelty - are contemporary, last three are future.If you want full spoilersFirst three: The Night Queen, Leaf, and Queen NymeriaSecond three: Queen Visenya, Tyanna of the Tower, and Patrice HightowerThird Three: Maggy the Frog, Mirri Maz Duur, and Melisandre
>>6431483Wrong on most counts. I think I'm going to stop theorising for now
>>6431486Well now I want to know who you thought they were! Spill the beans, anon. (In spoilers if you don't mind).
>>6431487First three: Lyanna, ?, Nissa NissaSecond three : Visenya, Tyanna, Alys RiversThird three : Maggie, Quaithe, Melisandre
>>6431262>>Asshai-by-the-Shadow
>>6431262>>6431477Supporting
"Ah, yes, Qarth," Maester Yorrick says when you point to the furthest modern city that is properly detailed upon his maps. There are others that are further, but they're well into territories so unknown that the only thing missing is a mark saying 'here there be dragons'. Though, considering the King of this land rides a dragon, you suppose the dragons are here. "An ancient and storied city. By our best estimates, it was settled when the Wolf's Den was first raised by the First Men, but a few centuries after the construction of Winterfell. Do you believe your home of... Lahai Roi, was it... to be near it? Alas that our maps have no record of that place...""If nothing else, I'll be able to gather more information there," you tell the Maester and Ser Warrick. You honestly don't expect to find it, you're quite certain that this is another world entirely. Between the strange waveworn phenomenon that extends seasons into years, and the density of voidmatter in this place, you're quite certain that where ever you are, it is not Sol-3.[Though it is the third rock from its sun] Aleph-1 chimes in, unasked and unwanted."What is Qarth like?" you ask them."Not so wretched a hive of scum and villain as the cities of Slaver's Bay, that much is certain," Ser Warrick says. With a frown, he tells you, "All of Essos engages in the vile practice of slavery, but none so much as the men of Astapor, Yunkai, and Mereen. I have heard that they even go so far as to violate guest right and make slaves of those who accept their hospitality. The Qartheen, at least, respect the rights of bread and salt.""It is a large city that bridges the far east and our western neighbors," Maester Yorrick tells you, pulling out a tome and opening it to one of its bookmarks. "You would not be out of place in the dress you currently wear, though they would find it somewhat conservative. As for their culture, they are a mercantile people who value above all else the protection of an individual's property rights - to a point that even wedded couples commonly retain separate accounts, rather than joining their fortunes. A curiosity among them is that they see open tears to be a sign of civilization, and find stoicism barbaric."You frown at that. It sounds like performative - maybe even competitive - displays of misery. You heard some parts of the New Federation tended towards that sort of thing, but only for the benefit of people in power. The less genuine your tears, the more celebrated your struggles became. Though something more important strikes you."What's this about slavery?" You ask them both, non-plussed at the thought. "Are you saying that human trafficking is common over there, and that the authorities ignore the thugs and criminals who participate in it?"Both of them share a sad look with one another.
>>6431842After a moment, Maester Yorrick speaks, "Your thoughts on the practice of slavery speak quite well for your people. If only the Essosi shared them, the world would be a far better place. Only Braavos and a few other cities in Essos reject the practice. Qarth is not one of them, though their people do not see strangers and immediately think of how much they can sell them for. The 'Masters' of Slaver's Bay, however...""I would advise strongly against disembarking, if you stop in one of their ports," Ser Warrick says. "I would pity any fool who tried to make a slave of you, but a sorceress of half your beauty would find herself needing to strike down schemer, poisoner, and thug alike throughout her stay in that wretched place. You would need be twice as vigilant."The fake smile washes over your face.The New Federation and Huanglong alike both have their underbellies, you know that much. You had the displeasure of being made for the underbelly of the New Federation, and though the Grand Architect never sold those who failed the Fractsidus' projects into such lives... those with whom the Fractsidus often dealt had no such scruples. The thought that people would openly buy and sell others with the same ease that you would buy and sell fruit from the market leaves you with some very complicated emotions.[No, we shall not make a second port of Guixu of those cities] Aleph-1's rambling song becomes remarkably lucid as it reads your emotions. [First there is the matter of logistics. Then, the matter of the slaves getting caught up in it.]"Would I need be so vigilant in Qarth?" you ask, wondering if you'll be able to contain yourself around even mild slavers."Only of the Warlocks and the House of the Undying, and it would not be a dagger in the night that you need fear from them," Maester Yorrick explains. "Rather, a... practitioner of the higher mysteries of your caliber would need to beat off invitations to their society with a stick, as they are known to be quite incessant about conversing with every practitioner who passes by. The poor phantom tortoises... I suspect your domicile there will become their habitat, for the warlocks use them as messengers just as we Maesters use the raven."You blink. "Phantom Tortoises?""Aye, they're majestic little fellows," Ser Warrick says. "I had the pleasure to see them floating about in the air the last time I was in Qarth. Apparently it was some great festival of theirs or another, celebrating the ancestor of all phantom tortoises."Armed with information, you'll need to come to a decision of how you get there...>Take a boat from White Harbor>See if you can't float across the sea in a Bubble.>Tour the coast of Westeros and take a boat from King's Landing.>Tour the coast of Westeros and take a boat from Sunspear.>(Write in)
>>6431844>>Take a boat from White Harbor
>>6431844>Tour the coast of Westeros and take a boat from King's Landing.
>>6431844>Take a boat from White HarborWill any brave knight come to accompany the young sorceress from slavers?
>>6431844>Take a boat from White Harbor
Feeling like garbage tonight, I don't think I'll be posting anything.
>>6432256Feel better soon QM
Rolled 94 (1d100)Rolling to see how shit goes down at sea.
The following day, you depart from the port of White Harbor aboard the Jolly Sealion, a fast dromond laden down with Northern luxuries that is bound for Volantis, with stops at the ports of Tyrosh, Pentos, and Lys along the way. A small, slow, and primitive thing compared to the ferries and cargo ships you saw at the Transit Port that connects Lahai-Roi to the rest of the world. Yet you cannot say that it is poorly run, for what it is, for all the sailors know their place and follow well the orders from their captain to keep the boat moving as fast as the wind will take it.You do not get to join them in their buzzing about, the captain insisting that you are a passenger and not a sailor, and that making a "fine lady and mighty sorceress" even help in the kitchens would be a stain upon his honor. He probably just doesn't want a novice getting in the way of his well oiled machine, but it still leaves you with nothing to do. Which is fine. It's definitely fine. Life goes easier that way, when you can rely upon a bunch of burly men going about their work with practiced precision. [The water sings with a song that is not the Leviathan's] Aleph-1 hums in the back of your mind. [A choir of fish with their heads to the stars, like that Manderly Pie you enjoyed the other night, sing a melancholy song of their drowning god. The funeral dirge resonates across the waters.]If you didn't already have a voice inside you're head, you'd assume that you've gone mad."You seem less impressed than I thought you would be," Ser Warrick - who followed you aboard like a lost puppy and swore his sword to your service - approaches you as you stare off across the waters. "The Jolly Sealion is one of the grandest ships in my brother's fleet, you know? Could it be that the ships of your homeland are woven from magics like your gown, and are thus much greater?"Rather than answer, you ask the same question as before, when he followed you aboard, "Won't your brother be very wroth with you for abandoning your duties? I recall Maester Yorrick naming you as the Lord Castellan of New Castle and the chief general of your brother's forces.""And I'll say it again," he reminds you. "Lord Torrhen's rebellious children have been chased off, the Three Sisters have been brought to order, and the Dragon's peace is settling onto the land. What better tale for the bards to sing than to journey east in search of an undiscovered country?""If we do find it, it may be difficult for you to return," you remind him of what you said when he swore his sword to you."Well, if the women of your land are even half as beautiful as you are, I'll be quite content to settle there," Ser Warrick says with what he assumes is a winning smile."Gross," You make a flat expression at him, thoroughly unimpressed. "You shouldn't flirt with a girl half your age. Someone might call the cops."He makes a playful, pained face. "You said you were 24. I'm nowhere near 50!"
>>6433316"An unc is an unc, and you are most certainly an unc, Ser Warrick." You borrow some New Feddie slang that you picked up from a certain graffiti artist. The small smile on your face tells him that it's not really a bad thing. After all, He is an unc as well... or perhaps an unc of uncs. Looking back over the ocean, you say, "To answer your question though... not greater. Just different. This is a fine ship, of that I'm quite certain, I just... the captain made it quite clear that I'm not to help out at all. There's nothing to do, and it's boring.""Yes, he doesn't want us interfering with his men's work and more than necessary," Ser Warrick explains what you already understood, but it's nice to have the confirmation. Then he says something ridiculous. "He also doesn't want you to, ah, distract his men from their duties, or else they might slip up."You want to say something to retort, but you can't.Even He recognized how the power of boobs could compel someone.With a small sigh, you decide that the best thing you can do to alleviate your boredom is...>Catch some fish from the ocean so that the chefs have something beyond rations to work with.>Make something to sell once you get into port, for some pocket change.>Run yourself ragged with some training so that you're too tired to complain about anything.>Practice your resonation abilities on the water. It will probably scare off pirates.>(Write In)
>>6433317>Catch some fish from the ocean so that the chefs have something beyond rations to work with.Kraken ho!
>>6433317>(Write In)Practice our idol skills with a performance. That's what he liked wasn't it?
>>6433317>Make something to sell once you get into port, for some pocket change.I'm pretty sure training, practicing our abilities, or an idol performance counts as distracting the captain's men from their duties. Back to the loom with us!
>>6433317>>Make something to sell once you get into port, for some pocket change.
>>6433317>>6433359+1
Apologies for no post today, lost track of time and need a tiebreaker vote anyways.
>>6433359Support
With your sworn sword standing guard outside of your door, you can take all the time in the world you need to doll yourself up for a practice recital. You remember the outfit that you wore for him, when you took up the role of an idol, and weave up something a bit less flashy for your practice audience. A surprise concert from an underground idol ought to be just the thing that the sailors need to keep up their morale and excel at their duties, right?Shorts that hug your butt and display your perfect thighs. A strap around one thigh that signifies your purity as a maiden, with a little star hanging off it. A frilled tube top, but not the sort that Lynae would wear that shows off cleavage for everyone to see, more modest than that for the pure girl vibe. A short sleeve bolero with puffed out Juliette sleeves. To put a bow on everything, a bow clipped onto your hilt, wide and bouncy with plenty of ribbon to trail around your motions. You consider putting a star on your exposed stomach, but decide against it.With a happy tune, you step outside... only for your way to be immediately cut off by Ser Warrick."What in the seven hells are you wearing, Madame Denia!?" the knight asks, calmly."I was going to give the men an idol show at dinner? You know, get up on stage, sing a heartwarming song or three, dance a little..." you ask with some hesitance. Every word you say makes more and more color drain from the man's face, until it becomes a plaster-white mask of scandalized concern. "Oh come now, this isn't like one of those Qartheen dresses at all, my breasts are both well and hidden and I'm not even at risk of flashing anyone with my undies. Plus, everyone knows a garter strap means you're unmarried and saving yourself! What's the problem with dressing like this?"[The crowd is unused to such treasures being flaunted before them.] Aleph-1's maddened whispers, ever in the back of your mind, coalesce into something so sensible it's frustrating. [Greed may take them, and you may find yourself subject to the attention of unwanted robbers who fear neither the sword of the knight nor the call of the void.][Also, you know the matter of the garter is a lie. Long has it been a means to charm the pants off the rugged sex.]"Qarth should not be your measure of decency, Madame Denia," Ser Warrick rubs his face from his temples to his chin in despair. "As much as I can vouch for the honor of every man aboard this ship, the sea is a lonely place for sailors. Seeing a woman half as beautiful as you dancing upon a stage - let alone in an outfit that makes you the envy of every Dornish Silk-Dancer - would drive a dagger into that loneliness. At best, discipline would be broken aboard ships, at worst I would need to stand your guard whilst you slept."
>>6434934He makes a point, though you hate it. In a more civilized, less musclebound society like your homeland, there would be other female sailors whose presence would certainly help with morale. You've seen the movies, read the entirely too trashy novels from New Federation and Huanglong both. Idol fans get obsessive, and with only one bodyguard... yeah, without any morale officers aboard the ships to "keep discipline" among the men, it would be problematic.Not for you. You'd be fine. You just want to avoid having to swallow anyone up with a manifestation of Aleph-1, as you're quite certain that nothing can be retrieved from the hollow of a necrostar. "Fine, I'll find another way to entertain myself," You tell Ser Warrick, and he seems relieved. That doesn't stop you from singing at mealtimes, of course. Indeed, with Ser-Warrick's help, you design an especially flouncy and starry gown that would be more appropriate for your given company. Less hopping around and shaking your butt to a peppy song as you do cartwheels on the tightrope between cute and erotic, and more demonstrating supreme levels of elegance to the crew. Leaving them in awe of your talents, yes, but not the sort of awe that would leave them... frustrated in ways that would be annoying to deal with. Sure, the brothels won't be quite so rich when the ship stops at the port of Braavos, but that is hardly your problem. Singing at meals and joining in with the sea-shanties is hardly enough to fill your time and relieve you of your boredom, though, so you decide that the ample free time you have aboard the ship is best spent making something to sell at port. What is it that you make?>Soliskin Plushies. Everyone in Lahai-Roi loves the Soliskin, and they sure are marketable little annoyances. Kids will love them.>Chibi figures of Lahai-Roi's finest. Sorry everyone, but you'll be borrowing their likeness for profit~!>Statues of some cool looking Tacet Discords. People love that sort of thing, right?>Pillows. You will note that the comfort level of this world is MID, so pillows of Lahai-Roi's quality will sell like gangbusters.>Simple mechanical gimmick devices. You can make an everyday carry multi-tool super easily!>(Write In)
>>6434935>Pillows. You will note that the comfort level of this world is MID, so pillows of Lahai-Roi's quality will sell like gangbusters.Affordable luxury sells. Though I'm sure multitools would sell like crazy as well.
>>6434935>Chibi figures of Lahai-Roi's finest. Sorry everyone, but you'll be borrowing their likeness for profit~!We're going to sell so many figurines!
>>6434935>Pillows. You will note that the comfort level of this world is MID, so pillows of Lahai-Roi's quality will sell like gangbusters.
>>6434935>Pillows. You will note that the comfort level of this world is MID, so pillows of Lahai-Roi's quality will sell like gangbusters
>>6434935>>Pillows. You will note that the comfort level of this world is MID, so pillows of Lahai-Roi's quality will sell like gangbusters.
