Season 4, Turn 25
Days 1 - 15 of the First Moon, 421 AC
General Summary
The Holy Hundred's Hollow Sanctuary, Continued
***Event of the Faith: The building of the Greatest Sept*** PatMagroynThe answer to the riddle is life. Or stars. Or dreams. Or time. {N.W.} Rasche
I second "Time" as the answer to the riddle. {N.W.} Blader
For the riddle I am going to guess "Doubt/hope", or "time", with the primary pick being the first. That is what makes the most sense with me. sandman
Yeah I thought doubt too, but I choose time.
I like doubt as well, but I think it could be storm. Yeah storm then time. High Septa Caelia | Shinigami Knight
**FINALE for the GREATEST BUILD OF ALL** "Storm," Long Tom murmured, his voice faltering as he wrestled with uncertainty, "or t-time." The Manifestation fixed him with a penetrating gaze, its eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity. Slowly, almost languidly, its jaw descended with a cacophony of grating noises, revealing rows of jagged teeth that seemed to glisten with a sickly sheen. With each deliberate chew, the creature's features contorted into a grotesque semblance of a grin, distorting its visage into a nightmarish mask. A soft chuckle escaped its lips, morphing into a tremulous growl that reverberated through the tent, chilling the very air. "Yeah," it rasped, its voice laced with a sinister edge that sent shivers racing down Long Tom's spine, "you're right." A manic laugh erupted from its throat, echoing in the air with an eerie resonance, as if heralding the onset of some unspeakable calamity. "YES! That is the answer!" Long Tom sprang to his feet with a surge of exhilaration. "So I'm right! I beat your riddle!" he declared triumphantly, his voice ringing out with a mix of satisfaction and pride. The Manifestation's response was immediate; a sudden hush fell over the chamber, punctuated by the palpable tension that hung in the air. A flicker of surprise crossed the creature's features, its predatory gaze fixating on Long Tom with unnerving intensity. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, a predatory gleam ignited in its eyes, casting a sinister shadow over its countenance. Drawing closer with a deliberate slowness, it began to sway its head from side to side in a macabre dance, its movements unnaturally fluid and disjointed. And then, with a voice that seemed to emanate from the very depths of the abyss, it spoke: "Prepare, it's time for the storm you summoned." As realization dawned too late upon Long Tom, he found himself ensnared in a deadly trap of his own making. Before he could even reach for his sword, the Manifestation pounced upon him with a ferocity that sent him crashing to the ground. Long Tom struggled desperately against the creature's grip, but it was as futile as attempting to uproot an ancient tree from the earth. Each sinewy limb of the Manifestation seemed to possess an otherworldly strength, holding him in an iron embrace from which there was no escape. "What is the meaning of this? What are you trying to achieve?" Long Tom's voice echoed with desperation, mingled with a tinge of fear as he struggled against the monstrous grip. "Get off, you beast!" he shouted, his words a futile plea against the relentless force bearing down upon him. In response, the Manifestation's mouth stretched open in a grotesque display, its jaw extending unnaturally far, as though defying the very laws of anatomy. The sound of cracking bones and stretched leather filled the air, a chilling reminder of the creature's otherworldly nature. Long Tom's mind reeled with confusion and terror as he grappled with the horrifying reality unfolding before him. What manner of creature was this, and what dark purpose did it serve? Time seemed to slow to a crawl, each passing moment stretching into an eternity as Long Tom found himself locked in a desperate struggle against the looming shadow of death. As he lay sprawled upon the soft carpet, his mind raced with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Was this the end? Had all his efforts, all his prayers, been in vain? Where was the guiding light that he had sought in his darkest hour? Before he could find the answers he sought, the beast let loose a primal roar, its monstrous form poised to strike with deadly intent. Fear surged through Long Tom's veins, threatening to overwhelm him, but he refused to yield to its paralyzing grip. Summoning every last ounce of courage within him, he mustered his strength and let out a defiant roar of his own, a call of defiance against the encroaching darkness. In a fleeting moment of clarity, Long Tom's mind drifted back to a time of fervent prayer, a desperate plea to the Seven for guidance and protection. "Almighty One who is Seven," he had beseeched with unwavering faith, "give me strength to face the evil ahead, show me the light in the darkness, guide me to that which is lost." With each word, he had felt a surge of resolve, a renewed sense of purpose that fueled his every action. "Make our combined efforts," he had continued, his voice echoing with unwavering conviction, "bring us closer to your grace. Watch over the workers, whose unwavering devotion builds a bastion for the lost, a sanctuary for the weak, a beacon for eternity." In that moment of prayer, Long Tom had found solace amidst the chaos, a glimmer of hope amidst the encroaching shadows. And now, as he faced the looming threat before him, he clung to that faith with all his being, drawing strength from the divine presence that he knew watched over him. In the very instant before the manifestation's jagged maw could close around Long Tom's throat, a swift and decisive intervention shattered the tension. A dagger, gleaming with deadly purpose, pierced the creature's skull with unerring accuracy. With a sickening thud, it crumpled to the ground, its once-menacing form rendered inert. Long Tom's scream, born of equal parts terror and confusion, echoed through the chamber, reverberating off the stone walls. As the cacophony of his own fear began to fade, he turned his gaze to his left, his eyes widening in disbelief. There, standing amidst the chaos with an aura of ruthless confidence, was Caelia, her hand still poised from the decisive strike.
Caelia's words resonated through the tent with a commanding presence. "Death," she declared with unwavering confidence, her gaze piercing into Tom's soul. Yet, with the blink of an eye, her demeanor softened, and a gentle radiance enveloped her presence. Drawing closer to Tom, she leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper, "Evil surrounds us, ever vigilant, ever patient," she murmured, her eyes darting to the shadowed corners of the tent. "No matter your cunning, never waver in your resolve. For they will always seek to deceive you." With a graceful movement, Caelia rose to her feet, casting aside the dagger with a flick of her wrist. Extending her hand toward Tom, she wore a mesmerizing smile, one that could sway the staunchest of hearts. "Or life..." she trailed off cryptically. Tom's expression twisted in confusion, prompting him to inquire, "Or what?" Caelia's response came with a playful lilt, "Death, life—I bring the dawn, I bring the night's embrace. Laa-la--la," she sang the riddle whimsically. Tom felt a shiver run down his spine as the memory of their recent encounter flashed before his eyes. Despite his unease, he grasped Caelia's hand firmly. With a surprising show of strength, she lifted him to his feet, way higher than comfortable. Once the remnants of their previous encounter had faded, Caelia cheerfully led the way out of the tent, with Tom trailing behind. As they emerged, Tom was greeted by a breathtaking sight: the sun was on the verge of rising, casting a golden glow over the workers who were diligently constructing the Sept. It was a mesmerizing scene, each worker moving in perfect harmony, like the intricate workings of a fine-tuned instrument. Tom's mind raced with visions of the grand structure taking shape before him—the towering walls, the intricate architecture, the inviting entrance beckoning all who sought solace within. "Isn't it beautiful?" Caelia's voice broke the spell, her eyes filled with wonder as if she could perceive the same grandeur that filled Tom's mind. Without hesitation, he simply nodded in agreement, unable to articulate the profound sense of awe that enveloped him. Together, they stood in silent reverence, taking in the sight of the burgeoning monument, while the gentle breeze whispered promises of hope and fulfillment. With a contented sigh, Caelia turned to Tom, her expression one of gratitude and fondness. "Well, my time here draws to a close. You've done a splendid job," she remarked, her gaze lingering on him with warmth. "But duty calls, and I must return to announce my presence before the Faith guides my path once more." With those words, she began to make her way toward her next destination. "Farewell, Tom," she called back over her shoulder, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness and anticipation. Tom, still under the spell of her presence, snapped out of his reverie and hastily called after her, "Wait! Where are you going?" Caelia paused, turning to face him with a serene smile, her eyes alight with a hint of mischief. Pointing in the direction of her journey, she replied, "West. Back home. Through the South Walls, across the Great Fields, to Casterly Rock, then sailing south to Greenshield Castle." Tom's concern was palpable as he took in her appearance—her once vibrant blonde hair now tinged with strands of ashen silver, her ethereal aura commanding attention even in the simplicity of her attire. "But... like this?" he stammered, gesturing to her bare feet and simple shift. Caelia met his gaze with a reassuring smile, her laughter bubbling forth like a spring. "What of it?" she retorted playfully. Tom's concern only deepened as he voiced his worries about her journey. "Casterly Rock is on the other side of the country and... well, you just can't go like this, can you?" he gestured emphatically. "Walk all the way there? Aren't you worried about the dangers, I mean-" But Caelia remained unfazed, her confidence unwavering. "Fear not, dear sir," she reassured him, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "I am more than capable of defending myself. Besides, you should be more concerned for those who cross my path. Adieu!" Long Tom cried out again, "Wait! I can't just leave you like THIS. Let me dress you up properly and arrange an escort. Gods know what they'd do if they encountered you like this, if I were a thief... Anyway, I'll make the arrangements. Just give me a moment, alright?" he stammered hastily. Caelia rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her appreciation for his concern. "If it eases your mind, I shall await your arrangements.", she crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently. "Well, what are you waiting for?" she teased with a wink, her playful demeanor inviting Tom to take charge of the situation.
Story 1/3: Stone and Spirit - Princess Jaehaera's Quest. Score 3, Remarkably Unexpected yet Articulately Portrayed. Story 2/3: The Ambush - Alexander Bracken's Quest. Score 4, Imaginative, with Potential for Further Development. Story 3/3: The build has begun..Long Tom’s Quest. Score 3, Faithfully Committed, Unveiling Concealed Promise. The build has successfully begun and will take 315 days (21 turns) to complete. Well done :)! 21 is one of the faith’s lucky numbers as well hehe. Rewards:
- Steffi: 20k (winner of event)
- Jack: 7k (right answer riddle + participation in the event)
- sandman: 5k (participation in the event)
- Pat: 1k (participation in the riddle)
- W. Rasche: 1k (participation in the riddle)
- Blader: 1k (participation in the riddle)
- Koen: 1k (participation in the riddle)
A New Conquest for the Andals, Continued
House Bracken | Kingdom of the Andals | Jack HandyTHE TEMPEST (Naval Battle near New Tide, Bloodstone) The sea turned into a battlefield, where cries of men echoed over the roaring waves. Wooden splinters danced in the air, mingling with the spray of saltwater. The Stepstones, once a haven for pirates, now bore witness to a tempest of blades and blood. Despite Bracken's cunning tactics and the ferocity of House Uller's Dornish forces, the Qohorik fleet wielded a relentless power. One by one, Bracken's ships succumbed to the crushing might of the enemy. The waters painted a tapestry of despair, adorned with the shattered remnants of vessels that had once been symbols of Westerosi might. Yet, just as despair threatened to claim Alexander's resolve, a shadow descended from the heavens. A tempest, birthed in the fury of the gods, cloaked the Qohorik fleet in darkness. Thunder roared like the wrath of dragons, and the sea, now a vengeful deity, flung the invaders against the jagged rocks of a nearby isle. Bracken, seizing the divine intervention, skillfully navigated his remaining vessels to the safety of the shore. The sea spat out the remains of Qohorik ambitions, shattered hulls testament to the capricious nature of Westerosi waters. On the damp sands, amidst the wreckage and chaos, Bracken's men prepared for the next chapter of this maritime saga. The castle of New Tide, perched defiantly against the backdrop of the storm-lit sea, awaited their wrath. The horrors of naval warfare lingered in the air, a foul perfume of salt, blood, and trepidation, as the men of House Bracken steeled themselves for the impending assault, knowing that victory at sea only laid the groundwork for the greater struggle ashore. THE BLOODY SIEGE OF NEW TIDE The air hung heavy with the metallic scent of blood and the acrid smoke of war as Prince Alexander Bracken, shrouded in plate armor, led his army through the bleak and stony landscape of Bloodstone island. The sky, a canvas of ominous clouds, seemed to resonate with the impending clash of steel and the anguished cries of the valiant. The air here was thick, small flurries of wind whipped against their faces from the passing storm above the sea. Free City of Qohor | Gaming Snake
In the war room of New Tide, Vargo Mott, the hardened commander of the Qohorik fleet, surveyed the maps spread out before him. The Stepstones, a realm of endless strife and treachery, lay at the heart of his ambitions, and Alexander Bracken's incursion was but another chapter in the saga of conquest and bloodshed. As the storm loomed on the horizon, casting ominous shadows across the chamber, Vargo's grim visage betrayed no hint of fear. He had weathered countless storms, both literal and metaphorical, and emerged unscathed, his resolve unyielding in the face of adversity. When the tempest struck with a ferocity unmatched, Vargo's flagship, a behemoth of Qohorik craftsmanship, found itself at the mercy of the raging sea. The hull groaned under the onslaught, and men were tossed like leaves in the wind as the vessel careened towards the unforgiving rocks of Bloodstone Island. Yet, from the wreckage emerged Vargo Mott, battered but unbroken, his gaze ablaze with a fierce determination. With the instinct of a born leader, he rallied the scattered remnants of his fleet, marshaling their resolve with a steely resolve that brooked no dissent. Gathering his forces at the makeshift beachhead, a mere stone's throw from New Tide, Vargo knew that the time for vengeance was nigh. Alexander Bracken may have seized the initiative, but the fields of battle were where true glory awaited. As the Qohorik troops dug in, their weapons gleaming in the fading light, Vargo Mott stood at the forefront, a grim specter of defiance against the encroaching tide of war. The air hummed with anticipation, the clash of steel and the thunder of hooves echoing in the distance. Vargo Mott stood atop the walls, his eyes focused on departing Swift Wave from the docks. Ship glided through waters with unparalleled speed, leaving a trail of determination in its wake. Vargo hoped his captain will find Arthur Blackstone and his Silver Goats in time for him to defeat Alexander Bracken. Swift Wave vanished into the distant horizon.
Coincidence or Threat?
High Septa Caelia | Shinigami KnightI've been quiet for a while since I thought nothing bad about it, but why are there suddenly 20k soldiers knocking at my gates uninvitedly at Casterly Rock? King, are there any matters we need to discuss in private? I'd have made my way to King's Landing if you asked me to. In faith,
Random Council Sept
Mourning an Essosi Legend
House Bracken | Kingdom of the Andals | Jack HandyHouse Bracken of The Hightower sends their regards to House Mopatis of Pentos . Master Horro was a man above most others. His presence was ever felt, from the North, to King's Landing, all the way to the markets of Qarth. A lion of our times. Prince Alexander Bracken
The North Expands
House Gronson | Kingdom of the North | rvenThis is the last time you will hear me speak as Magnar Rven Gronson. The strength and leadership of Queen Lyanna Stark has inspired me to make a choice that none of the freefolk has ever made before. I swear myself to her from this day until my last day.
Lorath Matchmaking
Free City of Lorath | SentryAlon was surprised by how quickly he managed to gain a following. Initially it was mostly refugees that attended his sermons for the free food provided afterwards by the Maze Makers. Now he drew in many citizens who were generally curious about the ancient statues they passed by every day. Even a few senators began to attend trying to appeal to the growing religious crowd. It was common for people to turn to religion in troubled times. There was certainly no better way to describe the times they lived in. The Merchant Families of Lorath have begun to seek out marriage candidates for their youngest members.
Who Will Lead Lys Next?
Free City of Lys | CoenquistatoreA mystery is unfolding in Lys! Or at least a political one: where the hell did the good part of the Magisters disappear? Not that people do not know their whereabouts: Master Polidore is directing his slave raids in the Summer Islands from Lys Pirate Harbour; Master Salasso is in his favorite brothel all the time; and this is just to throw a few names out. The fact is that they don't show up to vote on the issues Moredo Rogare has decided upon! Ah… ehm… that ALL of Lys is discussing to undertake in the near future. But they are stalling! THOSE DAMN TRAIT… caste of anti-popular privileged! There's a rule in the Lysene Draft of Foundation that says that you need a quorum of half the Magisters to pass any decision... How dare they?!! Is this a REBELLION? Wrong word, wrong word, most political commentators would say that the First Magister's grip over the city is having a little hiccup, but I'm not one of those pompous fools that forget about their loyalty… objectivity at the first glance of unrest. Master Rogare has everything under control and none can ever oppose his will, not even his children! … Or… mmm… can they? Might need to take a look at what is really happening behind the scenes then: I've not come unprepared! You see, every good scholar has a fat number of sources he can rely on, the key is reporting them when they say seditious… ehm… unlikely things about their mast… government! And, in all honesty, I did hear a pretty number of curious rumors going around the Pleasure Gardens: it seems that the apparent loyal bastard son of Moredo, Lysander, Captain General of the Lysene Mariners, is not too happy by Lys' uncertain stance about the Essosi Civil War (that's how Moredo calls it - Lysander thinks of it as the "Missed opportunity"). Lysander has a Westerosi mindset: "EXPAND! North and South! East and West! Let's show the Lysene might!!" Now, the war itself left the other Essosi backs quite open for a backstab, and the noble Lysander is said to be not that noble. He is the son of a Summer Islander prostitute, so… Nobility isn't bred in a brothel, right? He's also very jealous of his wife, it seems, but that's another story! He's not too lucid about international politics too: he's the one that ordered an advance on Myr's border provinces and was lucky enough to see his father take the responsibility of such a foolish enterprise! Not that I would ever sell my honour as an honest writer by moving the blame of our First Magister to another! Never! So, a born backstabber, what does HE want? Well, to go to war with everybody and get lands! And so he is pushing for it, behind the back of his peace-minded parent, thwarting his projects for a perpetual peace in Essos! My very reliable methods of interrogation… of interviewing my sources told me that he seems to have the backing of most of the military officers in the border regions, but NOT the Navy, despite him being the head of the Mariners! Why so? Simple, the boy doesn't have much gold and so he has won the hearts and minds of only those who seek to get compensated with lands once the war is won, and those are the border commanders (themselves, usually, noblemen so full of debts that they need to actually earn a living, while staying away from the creditors… There is an actual movement that asks for all debts to be forgiven, you know?) On the other side, it's being said that the once discreet Lotho Rogare, the Heir (but Lys is NOT a monarchy, of course!), controller of the Rogare Bank, is not being very discreet as of late. At least, this is what the awful lot of dead bodies being found around Strangler's Tower tells us. There is no direct confirmation, since those who might talk usually end up not being able to talk anymore. Though, I'm not an ill-equipped fool! And I can count! Mostly the ships coming and going from The Rogare Bank's harbour, which is just under my window in the Emerald Palace where Moredo Rogare very generously let me live (without asking for ANYTHING in return, let's be clear!). I noticed a lot of ships coming and going: trade cogs, bulky, resistant, and very well-armed move in at night and get out just before dawn, with their floating level reduced to just under the oars!! That's gold moving AWAY! To whom? Well, it seems a lot of Westerosi strangers have the habit of visiting our recluse patron... Yet, Little Lys, the not so fair twin isle of ours has been smelling of goats for quite some time: a whole "herd" is being seen camping in Master Dinand's mansion (The "Gold Eminence" is Lotho's right hand man). I truly hope that Lotho has not signed some adventurous loan, for dear Bakkalon! But the warlike attitude of Master Polidore and of the other pirates… Marine Officers among the Magisters might reveal something is afoot or, better, "above water" (ahr ahr I could be a comedian too!). They are in fact the major investors of the bank: it's not the time of peg-legged eye-patched old farts digging a hole on a remote island. They all deposit their hard-earned gold in the Bank, certain it won't be spent in silly enterprises… until now? There's a saying in Lys: never get between a pirate and his gold! Mostly, if you borrowed it to not return it back! Hope these are all just fantasies of mine, though! Finally (no, I haven't finished!) there's Moredo the Wise, the Pure, the Modest! Our all-knowing leader seems to be quite oblivious of what's happening in the city: it must be said that his two daughters (illegitimate both, if that's a word - we don't care here, in the civil and advanced society of Lys!) are running like mad girls trying to appease, or force, the Magisters to comply, while appeasing, without forcing, our friends in Essos and our partners in Westeros: Alys (she acts as the Mistress of Ceremonies of the Republic) has managed to entertain all our guests in the Council of Lyson AND our visitors in the Pleasure Gardens - she seems to have took an interest in a certain Westerner of high lineage, but she is very skillful never to present herself unless his father allows her too. It is said that Alys comes from a Dornish noble family: her mother came to visit Lys, took a liking to Moredo and stayed with him for a while until she died. Few things are known of her, Alys always says the same thing: "my last memory of her was in the Am-Azon when she was researching spiders right before she died." Poisoned, it seems. Lysia, the Lawmaker of the Council, on the other hand, is unaccounted for. Her father doesn't speak of her, but all say she is fine, for now. Peculiar! But the Rogare never turn on one another, right?
Musings of a Karstark
House Karstark | Kingdom of the North | Damia RoseThe silence was welcome, but it just meant that it left an open stage for her inner monologue. And oh were her thoughts running rampant. She needed to prepare for the ceremony at Winterfell. She had ravens to answer. Reports to read. She needed to check in with the Maester on how her youngest siblings were doing. And then there's Katlina. By the gods, it could only be hoped that she wasn't scheming something. Lysara needed to find more tasks worthy of her sister's time to keep her out of trouble. She decided to start small. Just read the stack of parchments. Write replies where needed. Answer your ravens. Then we can go out and get some fresh air. First was the surrounding villages giving updates on their rebuilding efforts. Lists of what resources were needed. Time estimates. She would send what she could and make plans for additional shipments. Searching through the stack she found the treasury statements and current storage numbers to aid with her efforts. The sunlight was beginning to break up some of the shadows. Then came the reports of the upkeep for Karhold. What sort of game was being brought in. The status of the staff. Preparations for her trip, who would be accompanying, what they would be bringing with them, etc. Various reports beseeching her input for this dispute or that family in need. The oranges of the sunrise were becoming more vibrant now. Then she got to the military reports. Staffing at the castle, the outposts, the blacksmith supplies and inventory, the same from the stable master, and finally the movements of the various regiments. Most notably was that of the forces in Essos. They'd finally reached the outside of Pentos and were in communication with their leaders. She'll send an update to the Queen. A knock on her door caused her to look up, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "Yes?" One of the errand boys, the young one, came through the door. "M'lady, your visitor's sails are visible. They should arrive shortly." "Thank you. Will you send for my family? I'll meet them momentarily." "Of course, m'lady." "And if you would, meet them at the docks with their gift and then take them up to the castle." "Yes, m'lady. Anything else?" She had just finished salting her last letter. "Take these to Maester Marek when you go to him. Ask that he send them out for me." Stepping forward, he accepted the parchments from her outstretched hand. "Gladly, m'lady." "You're doing well, Rylen. I'll be sure your father knows." The boy stumbled on his own feet, not for the first time, his face blushing red. "Thank you, Lady Lysara. You are too kind." And shut the door behind him. "It's time." Her smile warmed her whole face as she stood, blew out the candle, and headed to meet her guest.
Report Date
12 Feb 2024
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