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Sitting round the table, a lull in the discussion settles into a tense, quiet atmosphere in the drafty castellan's chambers.

You chew your lip as you think of a potential solution to the whole 'losing the war' problem.

There is one . . . flimsy piece of advice you contemplate giving. It's either mention that or keep your damn mouth shut.

In the end, your urge to aid the floundering Lannister forces wins out.

“We could attempt to negotiate with the Starks,” you suggest. “Convince them to stop supporting Stannis's claim for the throne.”

Jaime chuckles sardonically and Tywin gives you a hard stare.

You shrug to hopefully lessen the load of their judgment.

“I doubt Eddard is aware Stannis murdered Joffrey with shadow magic. The Northerners may view that as evil, especially since Stark detests the slaughter of children.”

The Warden of the West growls low in his throat. “Even so, the man is still under the the sway of Stannis's vile lie that my grandchildren are bastards born of incest.”

“A claim for which there is no proof!” you declare. At least not in this timeline. “All Eddard has is Stannis's word, which we can lead him into questioning if we point out Stannis is acting much more dishonorably than our own forces. Which is true for the most part,” you reason. “Renly attempted to take hold of the throne by force and we retaliated. We didn't do anything!”

“Nothing unjust at all,” Jace mutters under his breath sarcastically.

“I suppose,” Tywin concedes, “that there is some merit to the concept of making peace. There's been bloodshed and losses on both sides. Strategically Stark has the advantage, but if I succeed at putting him and all his lords to the sword he cannot see that as a victory. We will sew for peace. We don't lose much for the attempt. Of course, this means we'll need an able diplomat to negotiate terms and make our case.”

You sigh out while Ser Jacelyn groans. The Kingslayer chuckles.

“I have an idea about who we should send,” Jaime comments.

You just got here. “I don't know if –”

The old lion looks back around to Jaime and interrupts your half-formed protest. “Who?” he asks his son.

“The eye-eater,” Jaime answers simply.

Tywin 'hmmms'. “I suppose the man does possess a brutal quality the Northerners may find endearing.”

“He's also quite the talker,” Jaime informs his father. “Not just hot air and idiotic pleasantries either.”

Oh shit! They actually aren't planning to send you.

“Nobleborn?” Tywin asks.

“As far as I'm aware, no, but he definitely speaks with a highborn voice. Knowledgeable too.”

“Alright. Bring him here so I can speak with the man,” Tywin concurs with his son's suggestion before turning back to you. “You're free to leave, Lady Towers. I'll have servants prepare the lord's bedchamber. I apologize once more for the inconvenience,” he speaks unapologetically.

>Go grab your shit
>Wait I want to negotiate the peace!
>Something else? (write-in)

>>706229
>Wait I want to negotiate the peace!

>>706229
> Grab your shit

> Lannisters pillaging local lands in case one day maybe the enemy could possibly feed their men from them
> Not acting dishonorably
Ok Mira, whatever.

Who is this eye eater chap? He didn't have a very diplomatic name...

>>706280
Its tricks westeros persona.

>>706222
>Go grab your shit
A Lady we may be, it would be waaaay out of turn to try to force ourselves into one of the main positions of a negotiation like this.

>>706229
>Go grab your shit
Because duh

>Something else? (write-in)
I'd also like too meet this "Eye Eater".

>>706580
supporting,lets meet Trick

>>706580
this, I'd like to meet the eye eater

Rolled 2 (1d10)

21-30

Rolled 3 (1d12)

Casualties

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"Eye eater?" Jace asks quizzically, leaning back in his finely upholstered chair and cocking an eyebrow.

Jaime meets Bywater's gaze with a smirk. "Ser Patrek of the Green Fork. Knighted for fighting with distinction on the battlefield. You two have a lot in common, Ironhand."

"Do you mind if we meet him?" you ask, squinting. The name doesn't ring a bell to your mind. You know of a Patrek Mallister, but he would be with the Riverlanders not the Westermen.

The current Lord Commander of the Kingsguard nods assent to your request. "I'll introduce you. Follow after me."

Jaime strides across the room and makes his way to the ornate double doors. You and your fiance give Tywin curt goodbyes with deferential gestures and receive a stoic nod from the dispassionate man in return.

Following after the golden-haired knight down the massive stone steps, he begins to explain in further detail with less regard for propriety since his judgmental father is absent.

"My father is not incorrect. I was almost taken captive by the Northmen. I had pushed into Eddard's own ranks with my cavalry to take his head and finish this rebellion quickly. I was [i]almost[/i] successful. I slew two of Stark's personal guard and was so close I could see the sheen of sunlight glinting off his great Valyrian sword. However, I was halted and with the loss of momentum my men were pressed in on all sides. If it weren't for Ser Patrek following in my wake, we would not be speaking today. He took a wound saving me however. Arrow to the eye."

Jaime taps upon his cheek near his left eye with a gloved finger as he leads you through a door out of Kingspyre tower.

"And he's called eye eater?" you qualify, concerned and quite frankly a little disgusted as your party of three weaves its way through the many clusters of Westerland soldiers scattered across the courtyard.

Jaime laughs uproariously, sensing the hesitation in your voice. "You've guessed it. Pulled out the shaft and swallowed his own plucked out eye. I was right beside him when he did it and you must know that I've seen plenty of men bleed and die, often at my own hands. But even I almost retched on the spot when I watched him eat himself like he was biting a piece of cooked rabbit off the spit. As gross an act as it was, the ploy worked at intimidating our pursuers. We made it back behind our own lines and I knighted him myself the moment he had recovered."

Jaime halts as you spot the man you're searching for. He sits out in the open, clutching his knees before a roaring fire, surrounded by a dozen other men with similarly greasy hair and rough stubble. Only the black eyepatch tied round his head makes him stand out from the throng of soldiers. Staring into the cookfire, he seems lost in a daydream. The last of his group of soldiers to notice Jaime's approach, he spots your group when you're only a few feet away.

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Drawn out of his self-inflicted stupor and back into reality, his lifeless expression is replaced with a wide smile.

"Ser Jaime," the man calls with familiar joviality, standing up on shaky feet.

"Ser Patrek!" Jaime shouts back. "I bring more people who wish to hear of your exploits."

"I don't believe any story I have to tell is fit for a lady," the cyclops retorts, giving you in particular a once-over glance.

"Ser Jacelyn Bywater and Lady Mira Towers," Jaime introduces with a sweeping gesture of his hands. "The new Lord and Lady of Harrenhal. As well as ardent loyalists, both of which fought bravely to preserve the crown the night of Renly Bartheon's betrayal."

"Mira . . . Towers," the unwashed knight mutters your alias, eyes glazed over as he ponders upon your name.

"Is there an issue?" Jacelyn asks, slightly confused.

Eye eater shakes his head. "Uh, no. No issue. A pleasure to meet you both, my lord. So, I'm sure you've already heard the tale from someone. There's not much more to elaborate on."

"What does human eye taste like?" Jace asks with a chuckle, although the question appears genuine. Patrek rubs the back of his head, smiling awkwardly.

"Uhhhh, can't really tell you. Just sorta chewed and swallowed."

"[i]Why[/i]?" you demand emphatically. "Why would you do that?"

"I . . ." he trails off as he thinks of how best to explain. "I was in a [i]lot[/i] of pain, my lady."

>You're a competent negotiator?
>You sound highborn
>What else can you tell us of the battle?
>Something else? (write-in)

>>707665
>>You sound highborn

>>707665
>You're a competent negotiator?
Any experience in negotiating or...spinning tales?

>You sound highborn
But more, you speak rather well for a simple soldier where are you from?

>>707693
>>707665
kek, still had that on from shitposting in dan's clone thing earlier - anyways, ask about his background as well.

>>707665
Supporting >>707732

>>707665
>>707732
Supporting

>>707732
Jaime might take offense to the implications.

>>707732
supporting

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“So you're a competent negotiator?” you ask.

He recoils at your question, confused. “What?”

Jaime sighs out. Putting his arm around Ser Patrek's shoulders, he guides him into a nearby tent, thankfully devoid of any other bystanders. Jace and yourself follow.

“We're going to make peace with the Starks,” the Kingslayer explains now that the four of you have some privacy surrounded by crimson-dyed canvas. “Which means we need to send an envoy with a peace offer.”

“And I'm expendable,” he points out. “Making me the perfect candidate to bear a peace banner.”

“You're also an able speaker,” you add, drawing the recently anointed knight's attention. “You sound highborn. Very surprising considering you were a common soldier before your knighthood, correct?” It is a peculiar thing, to hear my lord as opposed to m'lord.

Ser Jacelyn folds his arms and squints, nodding along in accordance with your commentary. “Definitely sound different from any common folk soldier I've ever heard talk.”

“Where are you from?” you needle.

“Near the Pendric Hills around Ashemark,” he answers your probing question smoothly. “I was educated by a septon who may or may not have been a former member of a cadet branch of House Tarbeck. But your father need not dwell or contemplate on that baseless rumor.”

“Of course not,” the Kingsguard confirms with a laugh. “Educated by a septon whose ancestry we need not question.”

“And you have . . . experience with diplomatic proceedings?” you inquire further.

Patrek scratches the back of his head. “Not . . . quite. I think I tell a good story around the campfire, but I can't vouch that any of the ideas I'd have would prove palatable or helpful to the war effort.”

“I can vouch for one idea at least,” Jaime counters.

“Yes, well, if all you're expecting me to do is parrot Lord Tywin's words and make them sound half as intimidating as if the man was speaking the threats himself – sure, I'm your man. I'll carry a banner of white to the Neck if need demands.”

“We may need you to haggle like a fishwife too,” the Kingslayer addends.

Ser Patrek chuckles. “Yeah I can haggle. I have a request, however, if I do this for you.”

“Name your boon,” Jaime allows, leaning against the tent's center post with his arms folded.

“I bring Podrick Payne with me – as my squire. You said you'd think on the matter and I've given you long enough.”

Jaime rolls his eyes. “Fine. Consider it done. The boy will be yours. Just promise me you aren't interested in him because . . .” Jaime trails off, leaving the implication unstated.

The one-eyed man scoffs and shakes his head. “Of course not!” he snaps in defense of himself. “But someone should look after the kid.”

“The last two knights who had him for a squire passed away. He might be a source of bad luck for you.”

“You're a source of bad luck for me!” Patrek ribs his pal.

>Say something? (write-in)
>Take your leave
>Something else? (write-in)

>>709662
A. Ask why he wants this particular boy to be his squire

>>709663
>Take your leave

>>709663
Leave, cause he's obviously a fag and deserves to be burned

>>709663
>Take your leave.

>>709662
>Take your leave
The man already got shot in the head

>>707665
>"Mira . . . Towers," the unwashed knight mutters your alias, eyes glazed over as he ponders upon your name.
Does he carry around more eyes glazed in sugar to eat?

>>709663
>Take your leave
>Something else? (write-in)
I'd love too get too know you later when you return

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You decide you've exhausted whatever fruit could be borne from this meeting. This eye-eater character appears to be, at the very least, in control of some manner of intelligence. He gives you and your fiance one last bow in salutations before departing after Jaime to speak with Lord Tywin about the peace proposal.

“You mind if I use the baths sometime soon?” you faintly hear Patrek ask the Kingslayer.

“I'll have you hanged if you don't,” he replies.

Now alone, your fiance speaks to you while inspecting a rack of swords in the corner of the war tent.

“What now, my lady?”

You sigh. “Sleep, I think. The servants have most likely prepared the bedchambers by now and I'm on the verge of passing out. Although a scrub does sound nice so I think I'll have a bath drawn. ”

“I should get some rest as well,” Jace concurs.

You grab the flap to the tent and hold it open, on the verge of leaving. “Well, follow me then.”

You watch him freeze up and hesitate. “Mira . . .”

“What?” you ask, confused.

“If we sleep in the same bed before the wedding –”

“Nobody cares, Jace,” you answer with a roll of your eyes. You exit and leave him to make his own decision, whatever that turns out to be.

. . .

You are awoken by a knocking upon your chamber door. You groan and roll out of bed, quickly latching onto a nice fur robe to wrap yourself in so no servants scandalously steal a peek at your conservative nightgown. Peering out through the window and you guess it's currently late afternoon or early evening.

“My lady,” Jacelyn's voice pierces through the ironwood door. “The rest of our troops have arrived. We have a situation I believe you should be made aware of.”

“Give me a moment to make myself decent,” you call back through the doorway. “And send Senelle up here to help me dress.”

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You follow Jacelyn out past the murderhole-laden main gates of Harrenhal on your courser until you reach the congregation of former goldcloaks that make up the bulk of your household guard.

You spy the wagons of the Night's Watch some distance to the rear, but much more pressing a visual are the twenty or so dirty, grubby unhorsed soldiers clad in mail and halfhelms that have been corralled between your soldiers. They look simultaneously frightful and sullen.

“Our scouts stumbled upon a group of former Myatt bannermen,” Bywater explains.

“House Myatt?” you ask.

“A noble house from the Westerlands. Their blazon is a spotted treecat of yellow and black on a mud-brown field. These men were a small part of Ser Kevan's host that was besieging Riverrun. My second in command, considering them deserters, rounded them up and captured them.”

“Well what's the issue?” you probe for the dilemma here. So far seems cut and dry.

Jacelyn nods his head as if he is at another one of those indecisive crossroads of his. “When charged with the assertion of desertion, the leader of their band declared the charge false. He claims they were routed and merely retreating, harried by Northmen soldiers and Riverland resistance the entire way.”

“Do you believe them, Ser Jacelyn?”

“ . . . Tywin will not,” he deflects. “If we dump them within the walls of Harrenhal as it is they will be hanged before tomorrow's supper.”

>Hand them over to Tywin
>Let them join the Night's Watch
>Take them on as part of your own forces
>Something else? (write-in)

>>714665
>Something else? (write-in)
Let's interview the leader. If he seems alright I don't mind infusing them into our forces.

>>714665
>Take them on as part of your own forces
More the merrier.

>>714665
>let them join the nights watch

>>714665
> lock then up until you get confirmation of the fate of Ser Kevan's host

>>714769
>>714665
This, if they are confirmed deserters it's the rope or the wall.

Writing!

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“I wish to speak with their leader,” you command.

Jace nods. “I'll guide you to him.” He kicks his steed into a trot and you follow on the horse's hooves.

After a quick word with his second, Jace dismounts and you copy his actions. Thankfully, you chose to wear thick boots instead of those dainty, gem-studded heels. You hear the squelching of mud as you tromp through wet grass towards where your erstwhile prisoners have gathered. Nervous eyes study your form as you approach and the men arrange themselves to put as much distance between you and them as they possibly can without being mistaken for attempting to flee.

All of them except one.

An older gentleman in bloodied, dirtied plate that would shine bright if given a nice polish at camp sits upon a gnarled tree stump on a small swell of the rolling green fields that make up a vast majority of the Riverlands landscape. A large scabbard at his hip holds a long bastard sword and he wears a hood of chainmail that does much to shadow his eyes, denying you the chance to interpret his intentions or mood by masking such an expressive component of the human form.

A large ruddy nose juts from his face above a bushy white mustache that would most likely stand out as his most defining feature if it were not caked with mud, blood, sweat, grease and who knows what else in the experienced soldier's long march from the loss at Riverrun.

Ironhand makes sure to keep himself a few feet in front of you with his remaining hand on the hilt of his sword, on the off chance one of these desperate men makes a foolish mistake in your presence.

“The Lady of Harrenhal wishes to speak with you, Ser . . .” Jacelyn trails off to let the man introduce himself.

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“No ser,” comes the gruff response. A young man's deep, brash voice merely tempered by age and experience. “Lanard.”

You cough once into your hand to clear your throat. “Well, Lanard. You are the captain of this band?”

“I'm the leader. Weren't no captain.”

“You were part of Ser Kevan Lannister's host?” you probe.

“Aye,” he confirms. “Under Lord Brax's command 'fore he took a tumble in the Tumblestone. Drowned in his fancy armor.”

“Who did you take orders from?”

“Some knight. Think he was a Sarsfield or sumthin. Watched a dire wolf bite 'is head off. Man in charge after 'im got run down by a man near as big as the Mountain. Weren't noone left to give orders by the time I'd escaped.”

“So you did run,” Jacelyn clarifies.

“Riverlanders from the castle took us in the rear like cheap whores. Either run or die. Weren't gonna be no ransom for me.”

“What did you do after retreating?” you continue your line of questioning to get a sense of the man's timeline.

“Met up with these treecat fellers. Were a lot of 'em at first. Gonna meet up with you and yours at Harrenhal or the Green Fork or the Ruby Ford or wherever Tywin was. Got attacked by Northmen cavalry at first. Some died. Then got attacked by Riverlanders. Bastard of Bracken and 'is men. More died. 'round Acorn Hall we got attacked by an outlaw and 'is men. Mad Huntsman, they call 'im. Sicked dogs on our horses. Most died or broke and turned cloak. After, we saw some weirdos on striped horses burning a village and avoided 'em. Then you captured us. Less than twenty of us now. We carried our fuckin' banners though. Died for it too.”

>Any other questions? (write-in)

>>715317
Give them a choice of joining the watch or hanging from the walls

>>715317
>Any other questions? (write-in)
Well this is awkward, you'll have to spend a while in a cell until we can confirm your story but you shall be washed and fed well until we decide your fate.

>>715449
Supporting this

>>715317
Seems legit, but if Tywin is going to be a cunt about it then just do >>715453
And if this is the first news we have of this debacle we should probably tell Jam-Jam or something.

>>715449
>>715453
>>715477

There's no way to confirm his story other than the fact that the battle did happen (it did) and that the parties that he claimed were present were there (they were).

>Hand him over to Tywin
>Let them join the Night's Watch
>Take them on as part of your own forces

>>715625
>Take them on as part of your own forces

>>715625
>>Take them on as part of your own forces

>>715625
I personally think that it's potentially possible they were sent here by our enemy forces in the hopes of having saboteurs in the castle.
Would not put it past Rob to pull off something like that.

Provided they aren't enemy operatives, the story on whether they were deserters or genuinely just retreating is rather irrelevant.
They're here, they didn't try to fight their way out and they were carrying their banners and wearing their uniforms.
We've no way of proving they cravenly deserted, but they're not trying to hide the fact that they're soldiers and they came with us peacefully so that's good enough.

They don't look like broken men.

>>715790
>Take them on as part of your own forces
Probably the best thing.

>>715790
Rob "muh honour" Stark isn't smart enough to send disguised saboteurs, accept these men, they're good battle hardened warriors

>>715801
Sending in a man on the inside during a siege is not dishonorable though.
True, Rob Stark values Honor, but he is also a brilliant tactician, which means that he knows the quickest way to win a siege is to open the gates from inside.

It's not as if he's using a trebuchet to fling corpses over the walls to try and spread disease amongst the enemy ranks.

>>715625
>Hand him over to Tywin
Oh hell no I ain't touching this Shit.

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“Alright,” you say to fill the air as you roll over the possibilities in your mind. “I believe you. I heard Ser Kevan lost most of his fighting men in that conflict. It is good to see some still hold loyalty to our cause and to the rightful king. I'm folding you into my own forces and charging you with the defense of Harrenhal. We'll escort you inside where you can bathe and have your equipment tended to.”

“Thank you, m'lady,” Lanard gruffly barks as he stands up, the sound of metal armor shifting making the ill-fitted nature of his suit apparent with the movement. “For King Joffrey,” he calls.

Ser Jacelyn opens his mouth. “Actually . . .” he trails off and shakes his head, thinking it best to save it for later. “I'm sure you'll hear the news soon. Stay near the supply wagons and keep your heads down for a while.”

Jace and yourself wend your way back through the squishy, muddy grass and mount your horses. Bywater orders his men to find extra gold cloaks to aid the soldiers in blending in with your own.

Your company returns to Harrenhal as you and your fiance discuss the logistics of getting proper seamstresses to sow your own sigil onto doublets eventually.

Once back inside the Flowstone Yard, where men-at-arms are drilling in every free space they can find, Jace and yourself part ways as he plans to deal with the minutiae of your new score of sword arms.

You are only able to enjoy the privacy and freedom from responsibility for a brief moment before Jaime finds you. Flanking him on either side is Yoren, the Night's Watch recruiter, smiling that bloody smile of his, and Ser Patrek, who looks simultaneously exasperated and confused.

“Lady Mira,” the Kingslayer angrily spits your name to nab your attention. “I need to hear this folly from your own lips before I beat this dog for besmirching your good name.”

You inwardly sigh, but feign a dumbfounded expression and awkward smile as you prepare for the onslaught of your next dilemma.

“I'm a crow, not a dog,” the stoop-shouldered man argues. “And I'm no liar, Kingslayer.”

“Ser Barristan walks about freely with the other Night's Watch recruits when he should be shackled. I have been lead to believe you are the one responsible for this and you promised to hand swords and shields over to the Night's Watch specifically so the traitor could do as such. Is this true?” he demands.

“Yes, it is,” you begrudgingly admit.

“Why?!”

“Barristan is a good, brave man with honor. Barely a traitor. He doesn't deserve to be treated like the rest of the filth shoved into the Black Cells.”

“Well he's going back in a cell,” Jaime tells you. “And he's staying here for the time being.”

Yoren cackles. “Over my dead –”

Jaime rounds on the older man. “Careful what you wish for, crow.”

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“You ever hear the tale of Aegon the Conqueror and Lord Commander Hoare?” Yoren asks politely, eyes alight with mischief.

Ser Patrek's sole remaining eye goes wide and he turns to the grizzled veteran. “Ooh. I haven't. Could you –”

“Please no!” you interject. “King Joffrey himself let Barristan take the black, Jaime.”

The golden-haired knight looks back to you. “The King was barely more than a child and he wasn't embroiled in a war. Only a fool would let an enemy battle commander traipse freely into Stark's hands. Nor am I going to let Lannister steel fall into them either. The wolves can take the orphans and poachers, I'll allow them that and no more.”

“Night's Watch doesn't take sides in your war,” Yoren explains.

“Somehow I'm reluctant to blindly put my faith in a organization of rapers and traitors commanded by a Northerner. Seven Hells, Stark's own brother is the First Ranger!”

Ser Patrek chews his lip, eyes projecting fouled concern.

>Compromise, no weapons but we send Barristan
>Compromise, we keep Barristan but let the Night's Watch take the weapons
>You're right Jaime
>Something else? (write-in)

>>718047
>>Compromise, no weapons but we send Barristan

>>718047
>Compromise, no weapons but we send Barristan

>>718047
>Compromise, no weapons but we send Barristan

>>718047
>Compromise, no weapons but we send Barristan
Ser Jamie a word.... Once we can
We're about too try too make peace with the starks are not, how can they challenge yours occur honour if we have Ser barrisan as leverage to show we have it instead of making him suffer, it will discredit therefore pride if they mess with it and all the Seven kingdoms will know the starks support as you said thieves and rapists... We use their self-righteous honour against them

>>718047
>>Compromise, no weapons but we send Barristan
Wel'l put him back in chains if it'll make you less rabid. The nights watch has had many, many opportunities to play in the game of thrones and they never have. If you had visited castle black like your brother did you would know that they wont start now. Their eyes are fixed firmly north. (nb4 he claims Stannis' dragonstone shipments as a bribe to get involved.)

I support Jamie's reasoning anyway. He has already said he supports the Baratheons over the Lannisters and that his honour is rooted in him supporting the true king. We should never let him free from he chains.

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“We need to send Barristan,” you reason. “We're trying to make peace with the Starks. Eddard thinks you a dishonorable cur. Kingslayer, right? Well if we let Ser Barristan – a traitor – freely travel North to join the Night's Watch under your orders and Eddard takes advantage of our trust, well . . .”

“What do you call a man more dishonorable than the Kingslayer?” Ser Patrek offers rhetorically. Jaime rolls his eyes.

“Exactly,” you concur. “Eddard is an honorable man and if you and your father take credit for this magnanimous gesture, it may sway his opinion in the right direction. You may not care for the Night's Watch but the northerners do. It would be a blow to his subjects' opinion of him if he stole such a renowned recruit from their organization.”

“Respecting the order and being the first to extend a gesture of peace will help my job immensely,” the cyclops admits.

“Eddard and I have an understanding,” Yoren assures the noble. “I won't be giving up Ser Barristan to any man.”

Jaime laughs. “I'm sure you would never lie.”

“The Night's Watch has had multiple opportunities to play the game and they never have,” you point out.

“And the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard never attempted to seize the throne from the heir until Ser Barristan's ploy. But fine.”

“We won't send them the steel,” you offer as a consolation. “Not while we still need all the swords we can get to win.”

Yoren tuts. “Breaking your promise to me.”

You shrug. “Then I guess you'll have to put Ser Barristan back in chains to spite this betrayal.”

“Oh I think the Gods will do that for me,” Yoren retorts, spitting a glob of red mucous at your feet. “You reap what you sow.”

“Your gods aren't here anymore, Northerner,” Jaime insults. “We burned your trees.”

“Isle of Faces is just south of here,” Yoren contends. “See farther than you give 'em credit. Wish you the best,” Yoren lies. He bows to you all before tromping away, back to where his recruits and wagons are.

Ser Patrek coughs. “I believe I'll be traveling with them when we leave tomorrow, so I should . . .” he trails off and instead of finishing his sentence he just walks away

Jaime scratches the back of his head before sighing out, reflection on the rapid exchange of heated words for a moment before giving up on putting more effort into the situation since the outcome has already been decided. “Good day, Lady Mira,” he simply offers before leaving as well.

. . .

You're alone again!

>Anything you want to do? (write-in)

>>719019
>Start working on a local spy network

>>719019
>Anything you want to do? (write-in)
Secure an escape route in the event that Vargo gets left in charge of this place.

>>719019
I'm tempted to go make friends with Yoren, tell him not to be such a sourpuss but yeah that ain't gonna happen.
Go get some breakfast. Maybe abuse your servent girl. Find a raven and send a love letter to Cersei. Switch PoV to Othelo, raping Will.

>Anything you want to do? (write-in)
I've got an idea. The northerners respect the Night's Watch, correct?
We've got bunch of peasants whose livelyhoods have been destroyed, correct?

How about we, get this, send some dudes with the Night's Watch, not necessarily to join them, but rather to have them go through one of the battlefields and pick up arms and armor and help them transport it to the Night's Watch.

Thus keeping our promise, but at the same time not taxing our war effort in any way.
Furthermore, the peasants might not want to come back to our region, seeing that their livelyhoods have been destroyed, so they've got some refugees to deal with, thus taxing THEIR supply lines as the Starks are quite honorable.

>>719431
Basically, the peasants would have our permission to loot the corpses of soldiers from our side and bring whatever they can carry to the Night's Watch.

This way, should the northerners honour this permit, our equipment will not end up in the hands of northeners, but rather in the hands of the Night's Watch.

>>719431
You mean the battlefields in the riverlands? Where the locals won and would have grabbed anything already? And most of the stark's army isn't from the riverlands and are in fact already taxing the local economy due to eating all the food and whatnot.

>>719463
Exactly, but they haven't grabbed "everything" already, since the military is still stationed there.
It's only after the military has moved on that they can actually start looting.

However, since the Night's Watch can just go past without issue, they can pick up some extra arms and armor.

>>719019
Fuck Jace

>>719053
Spy Network

>>719380
Secure escape route in case of shit going wrong

>>719389
Get breakfast, abuse Senelle, send love letter to Cersei, play Othello

>>719431
Send dudes to go through battlefields to pick up weapons to give to the Night's Watch

>>719685
Fuck Jace

Sooooo,

>Construct Spy Network
>Send peasants to pick up weapons for Night's Watch
>Secure Escape Route
>Send Love Letter
>Fuck Jace

Choose your top two.

This is the real one!

>>719719
>Construct Spy Network
>Secure Escape Route

>>719719
>Secure Escape Route
>Send peasants to pick up weapons for Night's Watch

>>719719
> Spy network
Who are we spying on? The lannisters? Stannis (via the boltons?)
> Secure escape route (wtf is vargo?)
> Fuck Jace
Tease the beta!

Yeah I'm clearly not up to speed on this quest, but I'm mostly sober!

>>719775
The spy network is meant to let us preempt internal threats and give us practice for making bigger networks throughout Westeros

>>719719
Change that to
>escape route
>fuck Jace

Aight escape route it is!

Roll me 1d100, best of 3. This is a luck roll primarily.

Rolled 25 (1d100)

>>719831

Rolled 39 (1d100)

>>719831

Rolled 24 (1d100)

>>719831

Rolled 17 (1d30)

So we have bad luck ... but Trick has worse.

>>719872
That's not a d100

>>719877
Oh

File: Black haired beauty.jpg (122 KB, 600x980)

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The sound of humming draws you out of unconsciousness. A lilting female voice, sounding out the tune to . . . is that Ruby Tuesday?

Your eyes flutter open and you find yourself staring up at the most beautiful woman you've seen in months sitting on a wooden stool beside your bed, sewing something on a round wicker circle in her hands. Raven-haired with regal features and yellow-green cat's eyes full of laughter

For a moment you're taken aback and swear your breath has been stolen by the sight. You squint, wondering what the fuck happened. Your head is pounding and you swear the ground beneath you is rocking. Are you hung over? You notice this is not your room, but a much darker, danker room with wooden walls and ceiling devoid of any decoration.

You attempt to ask what such a knockout is doing in this weird room with you, but it comes out as a pained groan.

She stops her music-making and her eyes flit to you. She gasps. “William?”

William? That's not your fucking name. Did you give this girl a fake . . . oh.

. . .

Oh right, yeah.

. . .

No, yep, it's all coming back now. So that wasn't a dream. Raina stoops down out of sight and before you can strain your neck attempting to peek over your threadbare, pink blanket to spy whatever she's doing, the girl pops back up holding a sack filled with what you hope is water, considering how fucking parched your mouth is oh god it feels like your throat is a fucking desert!

She does most of the work thankfully and squeezes the liquid down your open mouth, agape like a baby bird. Sweet cold liquid pours down your throat and after only after swallowing it and smacking your lips do you detect the sweet after taste of wine. You manage a wet cough and recapture your voice from the clutches of disuse, although it is hoarse and harsh like a dust-filled room in need of a good cleaning or ten.

“What happened?” you croak, eyes and mind adjusting to the small burning candle on a side table that casts long shadows on the far wall of the cabin.

“You've been very sick,” your erstwhile nurse explains. “Since we neared Valyria and for the past . . . I dunno, week at sea, you've been in and out of consciousness with a horrible fever. You screamed a lot too. It was pretty scary,” she admits, her tone and expression suggesting recalling the memories brings a true fear to her mind and body.

File: Carrack.jpg (417 KB, 1920x1249)

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She puts the back of her hand to your forehead, still concerned with your recovery. “Hmmmmm, think the fever might be breaking. That's good. We got caught in a storm around that Doomy area and a lot of men fell overboard. Admiral Groly Poly Oly and his Salad ship crashed on the rocks and the . . . uh, the silver-haired guy – Mr. “I Let Horses Fuck My Sister” – put you in charge of Groly's other ships. Summer Sun and Josh's Prank. So, uh, congratulations I guess. You're got a promotion and you're not dead!”

You simply groan your enthusiastic acceptance of your positively astounding fortune. “Have we arrived in New Ghis yet?” you ask, trying your hardest to keep yourself focused on some sense of your goals and timeline for this epic journey of yours.

“Just about to,” Raina answers dutifully. “Anything you think you want to do there or should we just keep moving on to Marine in Slaver's Bay?”

>Let's sell some cargo
>No let's just keep fucking going
>Something else? (write-in)

>>720014
>Let's sell some cargo
>Something else? (write-in)
See if you can't find an obsidian candle to buy.

>>720020
+1

>>720014
> fucking timeskip already
That are we supposed to do here, raise an army?

>>720011
Some good turns of phrase there trick, have you been fucking a thesaurus lately?

>>720050
Well, New Ghis is pretty close to old valyria, if you are gonna buy some stuff relating to that place, places like these are where they're probably gonna be at.

We should also try to listen for news about happenings in this side of Valyria if we can.

Roll me 1d100 + 11, best of 3. This is a diplomacy check.

Your goods will sell for three times the price you bought them, level of your success determines how much people are willing to buy.

Rolled 11 + 11 (1d100 + 11)

>>720728
let's roll those 1s boys!

Rolled 60 (1d100)

>>720728
Capitalism ho!

Rolled 49 + 11 (1d100 + 11)

>>720728
gimme dat 1

Rolled 2 + 1 (1d5 + 1)

Rolled 30 (1d30)

File: New Ghis.jpg (155 KB, 1024x773)

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With a groan you force yourself into a sitting position. Sweat pours off your body as you do and you realize just how gross this mattress is. You're soaking in your own sweat stains and filth. Every muscle throughout your body aches. You require aid from Raina, leaning on her for support, as you swing your legs over the side of the bed and wobble to your feet.

Your balance is absolutely trashed for a long moment as you are acutely aware that without Raina you'd be collapsing to the floor right about now. But with a few moments of rest and some deep breaths, your body seems to remember how to human again.

Your fellow earthling brings you a tub to wash yourself of all the built up grime that's occurred on some of the areas Raina didn't scrub down herself. You request some amount of privacy while you strip naked and let your strength return as you soak.

Upon exiting your cabin, freshly garbed in red priest's vestments, you finally feel like a healthy person once more. Lingering feelings of sickness and vague echoes of pain projected primarily upon yourself by memories, but you are of relatively sound body and mind now.

“Good to see you doing better, boss,” Chiggen congratulates you as he slaps your back with his meaty mitt. Bronn gives you a polite nod as he walks beside you. “So what's the plan?”

“If I recall correctly,” you begin, “New Ghis is a smaller port. And after such a long and deadly voyage, the men are going to want some time to recuperate. Pay them their wages and then accompany me as we go about town hawking some of our wares. I also want to check out a few esoteric shops. There's a specific item I want to pick up that may be useful. So lets make port!”

. . .

Viserys, when you meet him upon the shores, seems to agree that it would be smart to allow the men some time to relax to build up their resolve for his goal. He decides two days should be sufficient for relaxation while not falling too far behind your quarry.

New Ghis is a small city. And its gaudy construction and motif appears to your eyes like posers attempting to ape an ancient style for the sake of being chic. The preponderance of harpies and pyramids stink of newly constructed replicas as opposed to the genuine articles of antiquity. If Old Ghis was akin to the Egyptian pyramids on Earth, than New Ghis is like the Luxor Las Vegas.

Iron Legions patrol the streets, similar to the Lockstep Legions of the Old Empire in the same way that civil war re-enactors are similar to civil war soldiers. Still, the spearmen project strength and appear to maintain a level of discipline near similar to that of the Unsullied – as similar as freed men who still possess their genitalia could possibly be to slave eunuchs.

File: Candle of Dragon Glass.png (444 KB, 600x678)

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You find yourself trading with a variety of Ghiscari people. Their skin the color of dark amber, a variety of men with wiry hair, teased, oiled and sculpted into fantastic shapes do business with you.

You almost burst into laughter many times as you watch them hold their tokars in place as they shuffle via small dainty steps to peruse your goods. Even with the language barrier, which Plague manages to vault over with his command of Valyrian, you successfully hawk roughly three hundred gold dragons worth of goods for triple the price. It is all you mange to sell before the offers of purchase begin to dip so low in bulk that it's more of a detriment by wasting too much time for too little profit.

. . .

Near the end of your second day off, Chiggen claims he has found a curio shop that was selling an obsidian candle. He just threw five of your gold dragons at the owner rather than waste time haggling. You admit, with the amount of money you're dealing with now, your barrel-chested bodyguard has a point about not sweating the small stuff.

Holding the smooth chunk of black glass in your hand, its tip carved into the facsimile of a wick, the coolness of the material seems to seep into your flesh. You squeeze the ritualistic reagent tight, assured by your own experiences of its potential.

. . .

Captain Seamar informs you that a full score and a half of the sailors failed to return. Most were Groleo's men who very well may have just switched back to one of the other two Pentoshi cogs in your service, but more than a few were probably those too distraught by your earlier bad fortune to stick with you for the long haul.

Their loss, you think. They can fuck around here if they wish. You've got a dragon queen to meet. Othello sent word throughout the fleet that his efforts to gleam information about Daenerys have borne fruit. Apparently, a Dothraki horde sporting three baby dragons, led by Khal Drogo and his Valyrian khaleesi, has been feasted by the Meereenese for the past month after the successful completion of a mass trade of slaves. Gawkers and spectators alike flock to the slaver city to gaze at the dragons, wondrous and rare as they are.

Viserys is giddy from the revelation, but also anxious. He is sure now more than ever that you need to leave immediately before the savage horde decides to leave civilization back for their grassy homeland.

You watch Othello's fleet of swan ships shoot off from the Ghiscari docks like a an arrow shot true before the Captain begins ordering the men to pull up the anchor and man the oars. The trip to Slaver's Bay will take eight days and then you will finally be within arm's reach of Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons.

What are you going to do to pass the time?

>Try to get better at fire manipulation
>Fiddle with your obsidian candle
>Read a book (which?)
>Train a skill (which?)
>Something else? (write-in)

>>722506
>Fiddle with your obsidian candle

>>722506
>>Fiddle with your obsidian candle

>>722506
>Try to get better at fire manipulation
>Fiddle with your obsidian candle

>>722506
>Fiddle with your obsidian candle
>Seduce Othello

Rolled 51 (1d100)

>>722506
>Try to get better at fire manipulation
>Fiddle with your obsidian candle
Firemagic pro

Roll me 1d100, best of 3. This is like a luck sort of check.

Rolled 45 (1d100)

>>722932

>>722932

Rolled 75 (1d100)

>>722960
>>722932
let's try again

Rolled 79 (1d100)

>>722932

Rolled 7 (1d10)

1 - Obelix
2 - Ser Patrek
3 - Mira
4 - Boatserk
5 - Allant
6 - Tot
7 - Sora
8 - United
9 - Mannis
10 - Mills

>>723911
Well someone is about too have a he'll of a wake up call

File: Magic Rituals.jpg (46 KB, 621x444)

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Deep within the belly of the Argo, you find yourself a dark, dank and empty cabin devoid of any distinguishing features or valuable pieces of cargo. It is pitch black save for the small regular candle you bring along with you, which you force to burn dimly to give you the smallest amount of natural light possible so as to extend its life as long as you can stretch it.

See, you really aren't entirely sure about how to light this thing or what powers it may require. Kinvara lit a dragon glass candle within the Temple of the Lord of Light in Volantis. But she's arguably one of the most powerful red priestesses on the planet and for all you know there were a half dozen rituals required to prepare that trippy light show she demonstrated before your eyes during your initiation into the powers of the Red priesthood.

Lighting obsidian via magic is, pun intended, a shot in the dark and will possibly require hours upon hours of experimentation and guesstimating what will lead you to the result you want. You shiver slightly, thinking back to your previous forays into magic unassisted. But unlike then, now you have some level of expertise and confirmation that it is possible for you in particular to perform these rituals. And remembering that vision you saw of the girl with the crossbow who heard you speak to her and the decision to attempt lighting this thing becomes a no-brainer. This is potentially a magical walkie-talkie, to put it in the bluntest terms. That's worth some few nights spent in avid study.

. . .

Three days, and many candles guttered out to pools of wax later, and your self-imposed recluse behavior finally pays off.

The methods you tried were honestly innumerable at this point. Praying, focusing, using a match, using another candle, dipping the obsidian in water, in burning hot coals, waiting until dawn, waiting until dusk, waiting until the moon is shining down on the top deck. You moved your study to the crow's nest, the prow, the stern. You placed the chunk of obsidian in every corner of the room, in the center, on its side, upside down. You uttered a hundred different words for prayers in a thousand different combinations.

Once all other alternatives were exhausted – that's when the wriggling thoughts in the back of your mind you tried to suppress finally broke through to sway your actions. Sacrifice.

File: Spoiler Image (37 KB, 850x560)

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You aren't sure how far down that dark road you may have traveled to test out this piece of equipment. But thankfully the first and least morally offensive of your more outrageous ideas takes hold.

Slicing your palm with one of your obsidian daggers, you squeeze your fist tight and let your lifeblood drip from your hand and onto the dragonglass. Within seconds of focus, the obsidian candle alights, startling you as it casts the cabin in that familiar eerie light that plays with the natural colors pervading the room and twists them into perverted exaggerations of what they once were.

You look past those distracting influences however and focus on the center of the light source, willing the normal candle's flame to wink out of existence so you may more easily focus on the black object before you.

You stare long and hard as flame and darkness dance in the peripheries of your vision, to the point that you almost believe you've gone blind or ceased to exist as an individual. The world around you drifts away like pillars of stone eroded to dust and swept away by a persistent gale over a millennia of existence. All that remains of time and space is the swirling sensations assaulting your eyeballs, adding taste and texture and smell to the simple sight of a blazing black wick.

The tangy taste of citrus fruits and the slimy feel of olives in your mouth. The scent of spices and peppers. Coarse grains of sand flowing over your hands, so hot they nearly scorch your skin.

There he is. Who he is meant to be is unbeknownst to the man known as Velo, but this is who the candle has shown you. A chubby older man, scars marring his face, his eyes opened wide with unnaturally dilated emerald pupils.


“Whether you be demon, god, spirit or ghost,” the figure speaks, startling you once more and causing a gasp to escape what must be lips attached to what must be your face. The image of the man shimmers with his words, distorting your connection ever so slightly as the flame flickers. You're certain he heard the utterance you just made, for his own eyes crinkle in recognition of your presence. “Know that I hear your whispers and seek your wisdom!" he continues to announce. "Grant me your guidance, benevolent one!”

>I'm human!
>Uhhhhh
>Where are you?!
>Say nothing
>Shut it off!
>Something else? (write-in)

>>724080
>I'm human!
>Where are you?

>>724080
>Something else? (write-in)
"Fuck Chechnya."

>>724095
>>724085
Casually mention something that confirms we are from earth

>>724080
"Remove kebab." could also work.

>>724101
To be fair, we don't know this guy is from earth.
For all we know he's just some random dude asking guidance from gods.

>>724080
>KILL YOUR FAMILY

>>724080
Heil Stannis

>>724080
I COME FROM A LAND DOWN UNDER.
Where woman glow and men plunder.
Cant you hear ,cant you hear the Thunder?

>>724186
supporting

>>724186
Not dank enough

>>724095
Jet fuel can't melt steel beams.

>>724080
I was phone

>>724261
Backing

File: radio.jpg (26 KB, 1280x720)

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>>724080
>>Something else? (write-in)
"As the Congressional Debate over gun control flares up yet again, we regret to report the murder of the wife and her two children by their husband and father. The father purchased the rifle used in the crime at his local gunstore two days earlier. This brutal killing took place while the family was gathered at home on a Sunday afternoon. The day of the crime, the father went to the trunk of his car, retrieved the rifle, and shot his wife as she was cleaning up the kitchen after lunch. When his ten-year-old son came to investigate the commotion, the father shot him, too. His six-year-old daughter had the good sense to hide in the bathroom, but reports suggest he lured her out by telling her it was just a game. The girl was found shot once in the chest from point-blank range. The mother, who he shot in the stomach, was pregnant at the time. Police arriving on-scene after neighbors called 911 found the father in his car, listening to the radio. Several days before the murders, neighbors say they heard the father repeating a sequence of numbers in a loud voice. They said it was like he was chanting some strange spell. There was another family shot to death in the same state last month, and in December last year, a man used a rifle and meat cleaver to murder his entire family. In each case, the perpretrators were fathers. State police say the string of domestic homicides appears unrelated, though it could be part of a larger trend, such as employment, childcare, and other social issues facing the average family."

"Don't touch that dial now, we're just getting started."

>>724080
COUGHING FIT

PANTS OF SHIT

CAN’T STAND UP

SHE HAS TO SIT

EVERY TIME SHE TELLS A LIE

SHIT RUNS DOWN HER INNER THIGH

PEE PEE PEE POO POO POO

SHE WON'T MAKE IT TO THE LOO

BY PEPE, KEK AND DONALD TRUMP

LIVE ON AIR SHE'LL TAKE A DUMP

>>724080
Supporting >>724234

Rolled 71 (1d100)

>>724080
Ok, hi I'm will and who are you? Would you know what I meant if I said Shitpost? I say I'm a marine how many confirmed kills do I have over? Tell me where you are!

>>724080
Shut it down!
(oy vey is optional)

>>724080
>(write-in)
niggers tongue my anus

>>724186
I like it, supporting

>>724085
>>706222
Supporting

>>724080
Dragonstone Stronk, Remove Dothraki. God is a Baratheon

>>724080
>Jyzz demands sacrifice, form your closest friends into a ring and jerk eachother off.

>>726998
I'm ok with this as well.

>>724261
this

>>724186
this is also acceptable

Man you guys are usually retarded but this was a level of stupidity that I decided to abandon you for a whole day because you deserve it.


>>724085
This

and maybe >>724186 have won this retarded ass vote. I don't know yet for sure how this is going to be incorporated but it'll probably be done in very many hours from now.

Special shout outs to >>724761 for trying to employ meme magic in my lowly quest.

>>727826
Velo is a retard so the choice we make for him should be accordingly retarded.

>>727870
>Playing it off as in character.

Be honest. Everyone here, especially you, are as retarded as Velo.

File: Dornish canyon.png (135 KB, 521x325)

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“I'm human!” you shout to the man. “And alive,” you addend.

He blinks rapidly as he hears your voice. “Truly?” he asks.

“Yes!” you assure him, a little giddy at the success of your ritual. You're speaking across vast swaths of land instantaneously. “I'm human and alive. Where are you?” you inquire.

“In the desert . . . somewhere,” he looks about himself, searching for landmarks. “I'm not quite sure exactly where.”

“But where in . . . the world, are you? Are you on Earth?”

“No I'm afraid not," the scarred man answers. "I am lost in some foreign world far from our reality. Have I been lead to this location because it is the weakened tear between our dimensions?”

“No,” you inform him. “It isn't, sadly. I'm on the same planet you are. We're both stuck here in this realm. But you're an earthling, then?”

“Yes. Are you?” he asks as if there were some other possibility which . . . well, you guess it wouldn't be impossible for an alien species to be stuck here in ASOIAF, but the concept is improbablre simply based on how silly it would be.

“Yeah I am. Where are you from?”

“I come from a land down under, where women glow and men plunder. Can't you hear, can't you hear the thunder!?” he sings to you.

“So . . . you're Australian?”

“Yes.”

“Cool. You're not the only Aussie here. I'm American. But listen. You said you're in a desert right now. Are you in a place called Dorne?”

The man takes a moment to think over that name, before his eyes alight with recognition and he nods vigorously. “Yes.”

“Alright, good. That's good. Now, uh, what's your name?”

“Ben,” he answers simply.

“Nice to meet you Ben,” you reply. “My name is William. Now, I need you to listen to me!”

>What do you tell Ben? (write-in)

>>730185
>>What do you tell Ben? (write-in)
"Try to get in good with Dornish nobility and stay alive. I'll try and find you the next time I'm in Dorne."

>>730185
>>What do you tell Ben? (write-in)
Explain to him the in's and out's of westeros and the turmoil it's in.
"Listen man, the continent you're on is in the middle of a war but if you stay in the south and make friends with the Dornish nobility you should be safe. If you play your cards right you might be able to help Stannis win this war."

>>730185
And tell him we can't schedule these little visits because magic here works on dice. Also stop eating random cacti and watch out for sneks.

What is this, some guy from /x/ who was shitting in the thread without knowing anything about the series?

>>730185
>What do you tell Ben? (write-in)
"Basically, the timeline be fugged. Don't expect to tell the future too much unless you start learning magic like I did."
"The Starks are all still alive last time I checked and siding with Stannis, which means he's pretty much winning the war since his fleet did not get blown up."
"If you wanna start up some illuminati shit, we've already got anons at Stannis and Renly's court.
"If you can find and copy the paperwork that incriminates Lannisters in the citadel and take it to him, Stannis will most likely reward you with like lands or some shit."

>>730288
>>What do you tell Ben? (write-in)
>>731448
Pretty much these. Tell him we'll try to find him

>>730288
>>731448
these

File: Ben is Blazed Bro.jpg (55 KB, 1280x720)

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“The continent you're on is embroiled in a war, but if you stay in the South and befriend the Dornish nobility you should be safe. Play your cards right and you could help Stannis win this war!”

“How?” Ben asks, his perplexed expression and voice distorted as another flicker of the obsidian candle's blazing black wick disrupts the feed momentarily. “Doesn't Stannis get his head chopped off by Brienne?”

“That's show only bullshit!” you can't help to contain yourself. You shake your head and reorient your priorities. “Wait, so you do know about Game of Thrones then?”

“Yes,” he confirms mono-syllabically.

“OK then. That's good. Gives you some perspective. But don't trust your knowledge intrinsically! The timeline has been altered and its based on the novels anyhow. You do not know the future, unless you learn magic like myself.”

“Don't worry I already know magic,” he responds deadpan.

You pause for a second, your next statement half-formed and halted by his assertion before you continue. “A-alright,” you accept without giving his statement too much thought. “But as for Stannis's chances of winning: the Starks are alive and on his side and he has received forewarning about the Battle of Blackwater Bay so his fleet should remain intact throughout the war. There is an earthling in Stannis's court, one that I think may be assisting Renly and another working with the Lannisters – although you should consider the latter an enemy. He tried to have me killed and nearly succeeded.”

“That fucking sucks, mate,” Ben comments. “Tell you what. I'm high outta my fucking mind right now but on the off chance I wake up sober tomorrow and decide this wasn't just a trip-induced hallucination I'll talk to Oberyn about what you said. Goodbye.”

“W-w-what?” you stutter out.

The dragonglass gutters out and plunges you back into total darkness. The transition is jarring and your hair stands on end as your mind leaps to wild imaginings of monsters and demons lurking all around you in the pitch black room.

Within a moment you regain your sanity and focus, realizing you're sweating intensely and your hands feel like they've been rubbed raw.

>What now? (write-in)

(Note: You have five days until you reach Meereen.)

>>734704
Find another red priestess to fuck

>>734704
Gloat to everyone about how you are bad ass wizard. Also keep trying to cantact anons so we can go full manipulating mage. We can call our world spanning council of anons The Circlejerk.
Oh and timeskip.

>>734704
Think about ways we could keep in touch with the anons. More specifically magic

>>734704
>>734955
supporting

>>734955
>>734704
Try to get more constant communications or more stable at least. Will can become the telegraph man

>Use the obsidian candle again
>Do something else? (write-in)

>>735305
>Use the obsidian candle again

>>735305
>Use the obsidian candle again
Touch base with everyone

>>735305
>Use the Australian candle again

Hopefully we reach our boy

Rolled 9 (1d10)

>>735445
>8 - United
>9 - Mannis
>10 - Mills

looks like we got mannis lads

>>735487
Excellent, we can tell him about that other dingo fucker who's shacking up with Oberyn. Maybe he can send him a letter saying "The meme vultures know."

Rolled 14 (1d100)

Maester Cressen

>>735645
poor old stoat is done for, light up the fires mother fuckers

File: Mannis.jpg (18 KB, 236x470)

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Squeezing your already sliced hand, you ease more blood out. It drips a leaky trickle onto your mystical focus of power.

This time, the igniting of the fuel source occurs much faster and with much less blood spilt for the combustion to begin.

Black rivulets of melting, liquid obsidian dribble down the candle as the room erupts into strangely lit visibility once more. You swear it seems the proportions of the cabin have altered, as if you are standing in a different spot than the center or if the outer hull might have distended slightly, the wood warped from soaking in tainted water or the energy of this unnatural heat's origin.

Again, while focusing on the center point – the absolute core of the candle's flame – the world of the Argo drifts away, replacing the familiar sensations of your current location with that of some far distant land.

Watery sea salt fills your lungs and the smell rotten eggs and brimstone assaults your nostrils. A chilly breeze blows past you, billowing your hair and causing goose bumps to traverse your arms as you shiver. For a moment your heart stops – could this be Valyria you are sensing once more. So scared, for a moment you consider dousing the candle immediately to protect yourself.

But then the familiar image of Mannis dominates your vision - sudden and without warning.

There he sits at a writing desk, looking over a piece of parchment, tapping his teeth with the end of a quill he holds, pondering about something.

“Hey Mannis,” you call.

“CRIKY FUCKING SHITE MATE!” the first Australian you ever met in Westeros shouts as he scoots back in his chair and jumps up from the table, drawing his saber. He looks around with true fear in his eyes as he searches for the speaker of the words he just heard. “If this is one of the Red Shiela's tricks . . .” he mumbles.

“No, it's one of mine, Mannis," you inform him. "Velo here. Talking to you via magic candle,” you tell him candidly and with a hint of humor.

His eyes go wide and he drops his sword to his side. “Ace, mate! Is that deadset?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah?” you answer not quite sure what he just meant right there.

“You little ripper!” the good-natured man comments as he sheathes his weapon, chuckling. “So what's the news then?”

“I'm on my way to Daenerys as we speak," you explain. "She's in Meereen with dragons, slaves, a Dothraki army and Khal Drogo. I'm also bringing two other anons – a pirate and a fool – along with me as well as Viserys Targaryen. All of these discrepancies from the book are probably due to an anon's interference. But you should know that Viserys's plans to invade Westeros with Khal Drogo's Khalasar is still in play.”

“That'd be right,” Mannis comments sadly with a nod, putting his hands on his hips as he studies the stone floor of his chamber, mulling over the disturbing nes.

“How about you? What's going on with Stannis?” you probe.

File: Lightbringer.jpg (51 KB, 900x561)

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“Joffrey's dead of shadow babies. Starks are beating the Lannisters in the field. Riverrun is under our control. I stopped Cressen's assassination plot to save his bloody life, but he ended up croaking in a dungeon cell anyway. Probably for the best. Queen Selyse wanted to throw him on the barbie for his actions. Mills – your South African cobber – showed up and got thrown out along with Brienne and the rest of the Rainbow Guard quicker than I could sink a gutful of piss. They've been sent to aid the Starks in the Riverlands."

"Here at home, Stannis is about to send a pamphlet declaring Tommen and Myrcella bastards while Melisandre is preparing to make Lightbringer. Everyone's wobbly, but we're winning.”

Mannis shrugs.

Alright. That is . . . a lot to take in.

>Anything else to say? (write-in)

>>735731
Get word to Stannis that we have a potential in with Oberyn.

Find your brother Australian, he is in Dorne.

>>735731
>Anything else to say? (write-in)
There's another Anon in Dorne calling himself Ben be on the look out for him. He ain't really chosen a side though so watch it.

Othello is another anon it turns out and is a famous pirate now....and is a fuck off huge darkie.

Otherwise just take care of yourself we still need to find that Lanister anon. Winter is still coming maybe get in touch with the Reeds we need to get Bran North of the Wall remember...that ain't gonna be easy

>>735752
>>735748
these

>>735748
+1

>>735731
>Anything else to say? (write-in)
"Oh, also, I probably should tell you how to make Wildfire. I kinda forgot to tell you guys the recipe last time I was there since my head was filled with religion and whatnot."
"Also, the lightbringer is made with illusion magic, just in case you didn't know."
"You can probably work makeshift cannons with wildfire as a proof of concept, just make sure you can toss in sand into the barrel afterwards."
"If I can figure out the scrying mechanic on this thing, I'll be able to send you information on enemy troop movements as well."

"Also, do try to keep Cressen alive, having a man of science in the house is always good, even if he's under house arrest."
"If you meet him, tell him that Alchemists didn't win over the Red Priests by poisoning them, they did so by putting forth a better product."

File: Othello Portrait.jpg (281 KB, 600x800)

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“There's another anon in Dorne who goes by the name of Ben. He's an Aussie, like you.” Might as well spread the information you just received rather than squander it.

Mannis chortles heartily as he takes his seat again. “Bloke's from down under too?”

“Yes,” you answer with a nod. “Where women glow and men plunder. Can't you hear, can't you hear the thunder?”

“Nah, mate. Can't hear shit from over there. You're in a thunderstorm right now?” the image of the Aussie adviser asks seriously.

“Uh . . . never mind. Ben may be a good inroad through Oberyn to get the Martells on your side, but I don't think he's specifically chosen a faction to support yet so I'd advise being careful. One of the anons who I met up with is a pirate who goes by the pseudonym Othello.”

“Is he a darkie?” Mannis asks with a furrowed brow and a curious expression.

“Yeah,” you answer. “He's black. He is not necessarily allied with us either. Seems he supports Viserys for . . . some fucking reason, I really don't know. I don't even know if he understands where he is. We haven't even talked about the whole 'being from Earth' thing.”

“Do you think he may just be a book character that was lazily named by that bludger Martin?” the light-hearted blonde poses the hypothetical.

“Uhhhhh, I doubt it,” you dismiss as the image of Mannis begins to flicker more intensely and you realize your time is probably running short before you'll have to . . . pay more. “Look, just take care of yourself Mannis and keep an eye out for that Lannister anon. We need to find them before they fuck us proper.”

“Too right,” Mannis agrees.

“Winter's still coming and although the Night's Watch is prepared, maybe we should get in contact with the Reeds. We might have to get Bran Stark north of the Wall soon and . . . that isn't going to be easy.”

“One horrific obstacle at a time, mate. Make sure the Targaryen shiela doesn't fuck us in the arsehole with her dragon dildo first. One step at a time, sooner than you know it you've walked a thousand miles.”

That little nugget of wisdom is the last gift Mannis leaves you with before your obsidian candle winks out into darkness once more.

>BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD CANDLE
>Do something else? (write-in)

>>736329
since we brought him up why don't we try to find out who's side is othello on?

>>736329
>Do something else? (write-in)
Lets get a little more blood recovered before we do that again. In our remaining time lets focus on improving spear work (namely dexterity with it) and when we're tired go back to practicing magic and improve our petty candle skills to something a little more impressive.

>>736339
Yea, we should.
Also, practice fire magic

>>736339
Seconding

>>736339
thirding

>>736387
Supportting

File: Moqorro.jpg (58 KB, 800x502)

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It's a bit difficult to contact a swan ship already ahead of you in your naval convoy, but due to overtaxing the efforts of your rowing crew slightly, you bridge the distance between the Argo and the rear trailing ship of Othello's pirate fleet, the Iago.

Loosing a few fire arrows into the sky to nab their attention – accompanied further by waving a flag on the top deck to signal you wish to parley – and soon the composition of Othello's ships alters itself. The Iago surges forward while the Desdemona falls behind.

Soon your own ship pulls up right beside the Summer Islander sea craft. Muscled sailors lay a boarding plank across your two vessels and Othello, the Poet-King, strolls across, flanked by his pocket red priest and his female, red archer captain.

Raising his arms up wide, he approaches where you stood to greet his visit. “William – my friend! To what do I owe the pleasure of your company during this dreadfully boring voyage.”

“I just wanted to discuss some things,” you tell him, trying to keep any hint of nervousness out of your voice and body and strictly in the realm of your mind. “We haven't spoken much since we became allies working for the same man.”

The black man chuckles, rubbing his bearded jaw as he listens to you speak. “This is true. I suppose we never discussed in detail about smoothing over that grudge between us.”

“I thought . . . there was no grudge,” you recollect. “That was all forgotten.”

“Forgiven, William. Not forgotten.”

“Alright,” you just come out and say it, cutting through the bullshit and the games he seems intent on playing. “Look Othello. Whose side are you on? Truly.”

“Othello is on Othello's side, white boy. I side with what is best for me to take my rightful place in this world and to be remembered in the annals of history as the legend I am.”

“And you think Viserys and his schemes for retaking the Iron Throne are the right way to go about accomplishing that?” you probe.

The pirate shrugs. “Currently. The Dragon King seems to be favored by the Gods.”

“God,” Moqorro corrects, punctuating his declaration by bringing his staff down upon the deck of your ship, causing another cascade of green flame to erupt from the dragon's head.

>He's insane and a fool
>We should speak in private
>We need to stick together
>Something else? (write-in)

>>739796
>We should talk in private
Can't talk about earth in front of everyone.

>>739796
>>We need to stick together
Mention the other anons, mention plays, writing being spread to the masses, maybe that'll even lead to more writers and playwrites that Othello would enjoy! (Not that we intend to do this, but it's melodramatic, sounds good, and such dreams of grandeur would probably be enjoyed by a man who would name himself Othello)

>>739815
>>739818
+1

>>739796
> we need to stick together
And by us I mean hammy drama fags!

Rolled 27 (1d100)

>>739796
>We need to stick together
I know it seems we don't have much hostory but we might

>We should speak in private
Lets talk about this grudge and see if we can find some common ground. We may have been around similar places together...(god damn i hope he takes a hint)

File: William Shakespeare The Bard.jpg (215 KB, 737x900)

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“We should speak in private,” you opine.

Othello grins widely. “I can get behind that,” he suggests with emphasis.

Kojja groans. “Don't.”

“Dooooooo!” Raina counters from where she's been eavesdropping.

. . .

A few awkward moments later leaves you and the pirate alone in your cabin, sitting and chatting from across your desk to one another.

“Listen Othello. We need to stick together,” you explain.

“Hmmmmmm,” the eccentric sounds out as he lifts up his hard leather boots and plants them firmly on your polished wooden furniture with an audible THUNK, one leg lazily crossed over the other at the ankle. “And why is that?”

“We're both from Earth,” you point out. “We literally share a wealth of . . culture and heritage that almost no one else here will ever understand or appreciate.”

Othello scoffs and looks to the ceiling. “Do not mention such trivialities. What do I care for such meaningless distinctions. Earth is worthless and it was filled with worthless people.”

“Uhhhh," you sound out, taken off guard by that response. "Othello, there are other earthlings here on Planetos. Two in fact are on this ship.”

“And?” he asks.

“Together we could set up a network and support each other.”

Othello looks at you like you're crazy. “Why? How do I know they'd be worth supporting?”

“Well, for one, they're real.”

“Some of the realest men and women I've ever met have lived their lives on these seas. And some of the fakest existed on Earth. I have a network that supports me and they hail from the Summer Isles. Not Detroit.” He darkly utter that name, venom dripping from its syllables. “I will not ally myself with losers, weaklings, cowards or Democrats simply because we shared the same soil of birth. My brothers and sisters must share my character,” he declares, gesturing to the center of his chest where his heart beats with the intensity of a roaring lion.

“Welllllll, you and I share the same character, at least,” you argue.

“Do we, William?” Othello questions, sly smile gracing his visage.

You feign offense. “Of course. I am William Shakespeare! A bard traveling from port to port seducing women, writing songs and experiencing the wonders of the world on a grand journey. Tell me, truthfully, do I not seem the type of company you keep?”

The dark-skinned braggart chuckles low in his throat. “Oh you seem my type alright.” He leans back in his chair and clasps his hands behind his head. “Fine. Consider me convinced. I believe it may be a splendid idea for us to couple our forces, William. But I do believe we're already allied under the same banner. Do you have some suggestion to alter our next course of action?”

>Do you? (write-in)
>Nah, keep doing what we're doing

>>741268
I mean - do we fuck the Othello? I'm okay with that.

>>741268
>Do you? (write-in)
Well lets start with meeting the Dragon Queen. For now I think we're doing pretty good but when the going gets tough we need to stick together. If I had too say anything it would be something dumb and long turn buid our own nation or some shit, conquer some islands and set up our own state who knows? Assuming the white walkers don't freeze over the oceans or at-least lead them to receding when they march.

But lets stick with the present shall we...lets get some drinks and debauchery going on in here and toast to no matter how bad things get here the King aint a democrat and it's never gonna be Detroit so long as we are around.

>>741268
It's time to talk to Othello about leveraging our alliance with Viserys and Stannis to place ourselves (The Earthlings) on the throne as a oligarchy congress of sorts.

>>741287
Yes yes we do...raina can watch from inside a cupboard and has too keep it down while Will gets utterly wreaked by BBC and their eyes can meet as will gets facefucked with his head hanging over the edge of the bed

>>741268
>Do you? (write-in)
"Well, I can contact people from across the seas with magic. If it seems like Viserys wants us to die for him and you need to negotiate a better deal with Stannis, I can contact an anon I know in his court with magic and you can flesh out the details if you want."
"Now, I'm not gonna get myself killed for Stannis or for Targs."
"However, if we want to keep our options open, we need to have sort of a gentleman's agreement."

>>741287
Instead of fucking Othello, how about we make him a batch of the stuff Melisandre showed us that makes sex really amazing?

>>741371
We gta: westeros now? We're the producer? Othello the strong arm, raina the people person?

>>741268
>>Do you? (write-in)
Meet the Dragon Queen, and see what her personality is like, in this timeline we also have to deal with Khal Drogo an anon whose plan we know nothing about and the "Stallion Who Mounts the World" is probably alive
We need her dragons against the white walkers so we can not kill her and neither Viserys or Drogo will accept being under Stannis
In my opinion we either switch sides or have to get rid of those two whitout being too involved
After that we can convert her, or seduce her or whatever other ideas you guys have

Keep in mind that there's still that faceless assassin that's been sent after Dany.

Are there cats in planetos?

>>743562
I ask because it may please Kek if we introduce funny/cute/anthropomorphic cat pictures to the world.

>>741268
>Do you? (write-in)
We should not forget that Daenarys probably wants to invade Westeros which contradicts our oath to the King of the Andals and the First Men and the Protector of the Realm, Stannis Baratheon the true king of Westeros.
Honestly, we should remember that we'll be greatly rewarded for staying loyal to Stannis which means removing this possible threat to his legitimate rule.
We could probably defeat or atleast hold off the whitewalkers when they come, they should be slowed down by the improved knights watch. Afterall, Stannis is bro-tier, believes in Rllhor, and a decent guy.

>>744431
I hope we do stay loyal right now we're just some tool jumping around and not choosing a side. In a world like this that marks you for death. Pick a side and fucking hope it wins

File: Othello Portrait 2.jpg (487 KB, 1180x842)

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“There's something you should know, Othello. Consider this a demonstration of trust. In truth, I am loyal to King Stannis Baratheon, not Viserys and his dreams of conquest.”

“Ahhhh,” the pirate nods his head as he hears your reveal. “So what is a servant of the Stag King doing so far east of his owner?”

You sigh out. “He sent me east to deal with Daenerys and her dragons, who may prove to be a thorn in his side if she attempts to oust him from the Iron Throne he seeks to claim.”

“So you plan to kill her?” the pirate asks.

You shake your head. “I don't know what I plan to do because I have no clue what's actually going on. Alliance, a peace – steal the dragons. I'm not sure. I'm simply trying to prevent another bloody war rocking Westeros when there is already a worse threat plaguing the nation from North beyond the Wall. I have doubts about . . .Viserys's leadership style. I have doubts about his capabilities and certainly his sanity. And I'm exactly like you – on my own side. Not Stannis or Viserys if either of them is leading me right to my death. I wish to thrive and I assume you do as well.”

“An accurate assessment,” he speaks succinctly.

“Then we keep our eyes, ears and options open,” you lay out the plan. “Whatever benefits us the most is the side we choose and whoever has the best chance is the team we back. Which means no matter who we back or what we do, we always do it so we both profit and don't fuck with the other's interests.”

“That creates an interesting dilemma, William. What if our desires or beliefs conflict? You think the Stag will win and I believe the Dragon will – what do we do then?” the dark-skinned man plays with a dagger at his belt as he speaks.

You rap your fingers on the desk as you ponder that conundrum.

>We go our separate ways but leave the other alone
>We argue until the other is convinced
>Including the others, we have a vote and majority rules
>We leave it up to chance
>We beseech R'hllor for guidance
>Something else? (write-in)

>>745909
>Including the others, we have a vote and majority rules
Like a goddamn quest. It all comes full circle. No samefagging.

>>745909
>>Including the others, we have a vote and majority rules

The Illuminati has to come to an agreement.

>>745942
+1

>>745909
We figure out a way both can benefit despite it. There's always a yay, or we can wrestle for dominance you know whatever.

>>745909
>Something else? (write-in)
>"That's why we don't let anyone on this who is not looking out for #1"
>"We can have a vote, we can argue till the other side is convinced, but everyone who is in on this should have the right to fight their own wars without the other side's direct interference."
>"Sort of a gentlemen's agreement if you will, to preserve any people of talent that might end up in the wrong side and take them under one's own banner."

I honestly doubt he'd be in for democracy, seeing that he's not a big fan of the old world and how democracy worked there.

>>745946
>>745999
>>745942
Democracy won't really work though, considering the great distances between everyone.
Before you say blood candle, that would mean that Will controls everything since he's the one counting the votes and not a whole lot of them would agree to that.

+ Who would want their vote be negated by Raina or Plague, both of who do nothing?

>>746182
Because fuck you Anon Illuminati.

And the option doesn't imply we talk to every anon in Westeros just the people we can reach.

>Who would want their vote be negated by Raina or Plague, both of who do nothing?

Except save your life on multiple occasions and being the dude that knows the most languages of all the anons.

>>745909
>Including the others, we have a vote and majority rules

>>746505
Why would Othello care about that?
Neither Raina nor Plague are enough of a threat to him that he has any reason to treat them as equals and they haven't done shit for him.

>>746533
Nigger if Othello doesn't like the option he will say it. Right now we are just putting it forward. We can try something else if this doesn't work.

I don't give a shit about your speculations or assumptions.

>>746558
First things first, he's not our friend.
If the talks go wrong, he can just go to Viserys, tell we work for Stannis, in which case he will go fucking crazy and uses that as an opportunity to kill us and take our stuff.

Secondly, I'm not making any assumptions.
It's a clear observation that while Will and Othello have comparable assets, this is not the case with Raina and Plague, especially not with plague.
Why should a pirate captain care anything about the vote of a slave or an artist?

Will's vote has weight because he has a well armed ship, lot of loyal men, connections, money and he knows both alchemy and magic.
Plague's just a meme vulture and Raina went to art school.
I just don't see him having much respect of their opinions.