Season 4, Turn 45
Days 1 - 15 of the Eleventh Moon, 421 AC
General Summary
The Scandals of Lys, Continued
Free City of Lys | CoenquistatoreSilence. Only silence awaited the Lysene troops crossing the gates of Tyrosh, the Un-Free City; were it not for the light cracking of the even lighter rain that covered this supposedly happy day, the moment would have felt like a dream, or a nightmare, perhaps. Where was everybody? Freedom was finally being restored to the once mighty city! Yet not one Tiroshi citizen greeted the Steel Angels, not even giving them a fleeting glance while they were passing: the housemates continued to gossip, resting at their windows. The market was immersed in the usual chaos. Children were scampering around merrily but completely uninterested in the flashy knights of Bakkalon. Why? There's no surprise in their eyes. Nor fear. Not even acknowledgement. "As if we were inconsequential..." murmured Dinand, the only horseman with a civilian attire. A single man, sitting at the steps of the Palace of Reason, seemed to give nods of interest to the newcomers. By no means was this preventing him from nibbling on an apple with utmost nonchalance and certainly more attention. "This smells of ambush, milord." whispered the lead escort. "Not this time, Khosim. You are witnessing an even mightier weapon: indifference. Tyrosh is saying to us that all talks of liberation won't beguile them." A smile, soon turned into a joyful laughter, started to open up the fellow's mouth: "So, it was Lys in the end! Hah, it seems that Magister Naharis has won me my two best Dornish reds.". "Citizen of Tyrosh, you are being liberated by the noble legions of the Lovel..." started shouting the bearded Steel Angel in the front, just to be interrupted by a well placed whip on his shoulder "Be quiet, Khosim, do not embarrass yourself!... The Rogare Bank will be glad to provide you with some of our own collection of vintages, Archon." "That's a long-lost title, the Goat enshrined his dominion over Tyrosh by calling me Rector, but I was and am just a figurehead. I will answer to the name of Alerio." A swift bow of the head, still ruminating the last slice of the apple: "At your service, of course, ye mighty banker."
All Eyes on the Vale, Continued
House Corbray | Kingdom of the Vale | Prince NyunyuNews on the Vale
Queen, Prince, and Princess have been murdered by an attack from the Mountain Clans when the royal family was moving from The Eyrie to Heart's Home, as the enemy's armies could easily locate and siege the castle. By the other hand, the King of the Vale has commanded all his bannerman and common folk to cross the glacial river that crosses Heart's Home; he will defend the northern part of the Vale from there. Coldwater Burn has been crowded by common folk, and others, many looking for a way to fly from war. House Mormont | Kingdom of the Vale | Knight
The fleet had made good time despite their slow pace, and was currently on the last stretch of waters before reaching Pebble island. Before they could reach the shores however, a messenger ship caught up from behind them. Jorah sat in his cabin, overlooking the plans for their attack "one last time" for the third time, when the knock suddenly came at his door. "Come in" he said plainly, and the door quickly opened in response. "Ser, Bearsgate brings word from the Vale." A woman clad in leather armor enters the room as she speaks, quickly moving to hand a letter to Jorah. The letter was sealed by the royal sigil of House Corbray, perhaps the last time that version of the sigil would be used, and it was addressed to Jorah Mormont. He wasted no time opening it and scanning its contents, after which his expression sank. "King Jamie has ceded the islands to us." he says somberly, a sharp contrast to the seemingly good news his words conveyed. "That's... good, isn't it?" she questions, a bit confused. "Of course. It is great news that no blood will be shed, and I am grateful for that fact." He places the letter down onto the table, the parchment landing on top of a map of the Bite, covering most of it. His tone is still lacking energy, as if his words were sarcastic, but there was no actual sarcasm in what he said. "But...?" she asked as she leaned against the wall, now more curious than confused. "I can't help but sympathize with their plight. It wasn't long ago that we too faced occupation at the hands of an old ally, and potential extinction because of it. I know-" he stops to correct himself, "We know what it feels like to have our backs up against the wall with nowhere to turn." The woman simply stared at him in response to this. She was a blonde-haired shipwright that had followed him from Fisherton and had been one of a handful that trained directly with Jorah on the way through the North, so she had become comfortable speaking her mind. Because of this, the silence was deafening. It lasted for several seconds, and to Jorah it felt like minutes. "You realize you are talking about the same people that did that to US first, right? They are the reason we know that pain," she finally says, bitterly but mostly matter-of-fact. "I know..." he says mournfully before repeating it more certain and steady, "I know. We move forward regardless, I'm just being a sentimental old fool." She moves away from the wall and over to his side, placing a hand on his shoulder as she says, "Aren't we all? That's why we all followed you here in the end." She doesn't wait for a response before walking towards the door, exclaiming on her way out, "Cheer up! At least the poor sods won't make us fight them to get our justice." Jorah looks back at the letter once more as her words repeat in his mind. Nearly six decades and he had never been so conflicted before. War had always come so easy to him, he could shut everything out and simply follow his commands, and command those further down the chain... and yet now he had avoided war and it still pained him. His eyes turned from the letter to the scabbard resting further back on the table, the bear and wolf back to back at the pommel. Was it the title? The authority he now held to raise an army like this, a role that rivals even the Throne itself; Had it changed the way he thought about things so quickly? Or was part of what he shut out of his mind all these years a pain that had finally caught up to him in his old age? So much so that he now pitied the king that seemingly only just yesterday wished to kill them all? He couldn't be sure, but regardless, he wouldn't let it stop him now. "Ana's right," he mumbles to himself aloud, "We're all sentimental fools. May as well make the best of it." He pushes the letter off of the map, letting it fall to the floor as he begins accounting for changes to the plan. "Of course I'm right," she says quietly to herself from the other side of the door before walking away with a pained smile on her face and a tear running down her cheek. "I won't be joining you just yet it seems..." she says as she clutches an amulet in her hand. She, more than anyone, wanted to die fighting in this attack. A few days later several ships flying the grey flag of the Winter Wolves would make landfall on Pebble. When they arrived, no Vale soldiers were found and the keep was completely empty. After a few days Jorah Mormont had garrisoned many of the Winter Wolves in the keep and began working to speak with the locals. Many of the smallfolk islanders seemed willing to serve whoever owned the keep, but a few families held loyalty to the old lord. These disgruntled locals are assured that if they wish to flee to the mainland they are free to do so, and passage will be arranged for them to the port of Coldwater Burn. This seems to placate them, and so just as Jamie Corbray's letter had said, they were able to take the island without any fighting. Meanwhile, the other fleets that had taken up the grey flag of winter were still on the move, seemingly scouring the Bite to ensure no hidden tricks remained on the horizon. In the chaos of these unannounced movements, a small skirmish is fought in Breakwater Bite. Several ships flying the flag of House Costayne were sunk, mistaken for ships of the Vale by the inexperienced sailors. When the fighting is finally ended, the Winter Wolves take a day of mourning to acknowledge those lost to the misunderstanding. Free City of Lorath | Sentry
The Fleet had finally begun to set sail from the rally point at Shalorath. Magister Qarlon took time to properly arm the fleet despite worsening news from the Vale. The ships that were large enough had catapults mounted to their decks. The siege weapons were then blanketed with seal skin to protect them from the elements. These weapons would be deadly in battle by themselves, but Qarlon had greater plans in mind. Hulls full of flammable whale oil were to be his tool for destruction. These catapults would deliver fiery death at range, turning enemy vessels into pyres while Lorathi ships remained at a safe distance. If the Vale could not be the Republic's Western shield, then fire would be.
The New Freehold
Free City of Myr | Scotland's BESTMagistrate Thaeros Naaris and the people of Myr have decided. Upon the liberation of the city of Myr from its ruins and its people's return, we will become a client state of our city's liberator, The New Freehold. My people have only known war and are tired, but they have continued to fight for years. Our city lay in ruins, and we long for its return. Long live Myr, and it's eternal people! Long live The New Freehold! Free City of Pentos | PatMagroyn
She closed her eyes as he delivered the news. In front of anyone else, she would not show such relief. “Thank you, Tregar. I knew I could entrust it to you. “Thaeros of Myr is quite a reasonable man,” her premier diplomat replied. “Despite your father’s grudge against the man, Thaeros was not lying about moving past our cities’ sordid past. He ultimately, truly, does care for his people’s well-being.” Ellyria looked back down upon the parchment before her. “My father was a great man, Tregar. But he, like so many others, was caught in the past. That is why the Freehold exists. To break us free of it. Pentos and Myr now openly stand together. A first for history.” She raised her eyes toward the Envoy. “Let us make another.” Free City of Lys | Coenquistatore
"Mmhm...mmh! Mmmh?" Lysander comments the news. Fortunately, his mouth was bound up. Free City of Pentos | PatMagroyn
Tregar, the Freehold’s Envoy, was an affable man who seldom held a grudge. And the war did little to affect his own family or personal standing. The same applies to Ellyria, who sent men she had never met to die in a war she had never cared for. For her, it was simply another crucible to prove her worth to her father. Who was now dead. Many others in Pentos did not feel the same. The war had caused some to lose everything they knew. Myrish hate was more prevalent by a hundredfold. However, despite their hellish actions that devastated the Flatlands, none would dare voice their dissent. Not with the mercenaries that patrolled the streets, that Dothraki Horde that rode outside the walls, or in the presence of the woman that had so many killed to take power. And of course, within Pentos’ walls, it was shared as yet just another victory brought to the people by Ellyria.
The Holy Hundred's Hollow Sanctuary, Continued
High Septa Caelia | Shinigami KnightSer Theodan Chester rode toward the Hollow Sanctuary, the location of the Greatest Sept of All, now commonly known as Excelsior among the faithful. As he approached, his breath caught in his throat. Even from a hundred meters away, the sheer magnitude of the Sept cast an imposing shadow over the land. The late afternoon sun illuminated its towering spires, each adorned with intricate carvings and gilded accents that shimmered in the light. Excelsior stood as a testament to the faith's perseverance and devotion, far surpassing the grandeur of the Sept of Baelor in King's Landing. The central dome, vast and majestic, seemed to touch the sky, supported by colossal columns of marble and granite. The walls were inlaid with stained glass windows depicting scenes of the Seven, each pane catching the light in a dazzling display of color and craftsmanship. Surrounding the main structure were fortified walls and barracks designed to house thousands of soldiers who would secure its sanctity. As Theodan drew closer, he could see the intricate details of the outer walls, adorned with reliefs of holy scripture and images of the divine. The air was thick with the scent of fresh mortar and the hum of activity as final preparations were made. The gates, massive and wrought with iron and gold, stood open, welcoming visitors and faithful alike. Theodan dismounted at the gate, his intense reaction still evident on his face. The sight before him was awe-inspiring, a manifestation of the faith's triumph and a beacon of hope for all of Westeros. The preparation for the wedding between Princess Jaehaera and Lord Henry Piper would begin within the next week, marking the first official event in this sacred place and a celebration of its successful completion. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the tasks ahead. Excelsior was not just a place of worship; it was a fortress of faith, ready to stand the test of time and trial. As he entered the gates, he felt a surge of pride and determination. The faith had built this sanctuary, and it would be his honor to help protect it.
Death of Pentos, Continued
Host RP | Jack HandyBelicho Gracchus sat in the grand study of his palace in Selhorys, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows on the ancient Valyrian tapestries that adorned the walls. The recent news from Pentos weighed heavily on his mind. Ellyria Mopatis, heir to the once-prosperous city, had gone mad and married a vile Dothraki warlord, a union that threatened the delicate balance of power in Essos. With a deep breath, Belicho called for his most trusted servant. The young man hurried in, bowing low before his master. "Letters must be sent to Lys, Lorath, and Ny Sar immediately," Belicho commanded, his voice steady and resolute. "Inform them that the time has come to end House Mopatis once and for all. We cannot allow this madness to spread." The servant nodded and swiftly left the room to carry out the orders. Belicho then turned to a slave commander standing at attention nearby. "Fetch my lieutenant, Ironbreaker," Belicho ordered. The commander saluted and departed without a word. Moments later, an imposing figure entered the study. An extremely tall and powerful man with a black beard and hair, wearing gleaming Westerosi armor, strode confidently across the room. Slung across his back was the massive Valyrian sword Heartsbane. As he approached, Belicho looked up and spoke in High Valyrian, a language that flowed smoothly from his lips. "Juspar, ziry iksos sȳz naejot ūndegon ao issa valonqar, īlon emagon olvie naejot discuss bē īlva future," Belicho said to the former Lord Baratheon, with a slight smile. ("Juspar, it is good to see you my boy, we have much to discuss about our future.") Juspar Baratheon, known as Ironbreaker, returned the smile with a nod. "Iksā riña, Belicho," he replied, his voice deep and steady. "Māzigon ao gīmigon nykeā way naejot va moriot." ("You look well, Belicho. Seeing you reminds me of our purpose.") Juspar's High Valyrian was untrained, as he understood it better than he spoke it Belicho's smile broadened slightly. "Indeed, Juspar. We stand on the precipice of a new era. With the chaos in Pentos, we have the opportunity to reshape the world. But first, we must ensure that House Mopatis is no longer a threat." Ironbreaker nodded, his expression serious. "What are your orders, my lord?" Belicho leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming with determination. "Prepare the troops. We will march on Pentos and eliminate the Mopatis threat once and for all. And after that, we shall look to the future, a future where the Freehold of Volantis rises from the ashes, stronger and more united than ever before." Free City of Lys | Coenquistatore
It is with utmost scorn that I present myself to you, Magisters, on this sad day. I have lost a son to a new betrayal from our Essosi brethren. You too have lost a Captain, your Captain, your Gold and a Sister, in Pentos, the once most beloved friend of Lys in the Freehold. I have received a demand for a tribute from us, the one in many, that foretells a future of submission. What should Lys do? Bend the knee, pay the tribute this self-titled new Empress wants to extoll us? At least to see our fellow Lysene returned to us? In short words, should we join this "new" Freehold which has nothing free in it? I Love my son, as do you, Magisters, but he is Not without fault. A betrayal is avoided by not trysting, yet How many times have I seen him, as a father, trust his emotions more than his brains. Too many times, We have seen him trust mostly those of us that soothed him with thousand yeses and no truth among them. So many times the World has seen him trust fate in a battle, throwing himself and his Mariners Our Mariners, into the fray without concern, without a thought, without sparing anything of his and of ours. But this is what Lys does best, we Spare: our enemies, even in our utmost triumph; our friends, from their worst troubles; our precious, from the most awful waste. Yet this is what I see here and now, just utter waste... So, I ask you again, Magisters, what should Lys do? Should we join this wasteful project? Or should we Spare ourselves of yet another Essosi delusion? I do have my share of faults, dear friends. I myself trust too easily: not men, but mankind... Oh...What a piece of work a man is! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! In form and moving, how express and admirable! In action, how like an Angel, In apprehension, how like a god! The beauty of the world, the paragon of animals. And yet to me, now, what is this quintessence of disappointment and failure? I did trust my beliefs too much. I thought I could spare you all from the suffering I was witnessing in our deluded brethren. But it is not time, not anymore, of standing aside, watching in despair, yet...safe. Free City of Ny Sar | KingEridani
A man in the black, gold and red of House Dukat, stands and speaks before the quorum of magisters, in reply. "Īlva qrinuntyssy pirtir isse pryjata. Zegh mazverdagon iā lenton skoriot mopatis ēdrutan. Issa magister rogare bona kostagon 'spare' īlva. 'Spare' īlva se munnon hen zȳhon udra. Syt issa iā byka iderennon, mēre gaomas daor mazverdagon lenton lēda zegh." With that, the man spits on the floor and hesitates in his turning to leave to simply curse; "Se jelmio hen mōrītubis iksis hemtubis's udir." In summary... as colorfully as a 4000 word diction allows, he detracts from Rogare's dramatic speech, pointing out that Mopatis being no more his city is now infested by rats, and one does not make home with vermin. He closes with an admonition, perhaps a warning, that the past repeats itself.
Report Date
11 Jul 2024
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