​Rites of the Old Way​

The group huddles up in one corner of the torch-lit great hall to discuss their thoughts before they begin negotiating and interacting with the Ironborn and the Lord.

Aran suggests they tell Captain Galon and Lord Aidin that their misdeeds will not be shared with King Greydon, but that the true decision on what they report should be made when upon arrival in Highgarden.

Qarzdaq agrees wholeheartedly with the treatment of the Ironborn; they just need to leave the situation. However, he believes that Lord Aidin should return with them to Highgarden, for that is the lawful course of action.

The others agree with​ removing the Ironborn from the situation but have different opinions on Lord Aidin. Once the Ironborn are gone they agree to discuss the best path forward.

Rolan adds that he may have a way through his mentor Jahor to get the Ironborn on their side, potentially creating an alliance of some sort. The rest of the group hadn’t considered that possibility. Although they state their doubtfulness, they have also seen the reserved Rolan perform the unexpected and figure there’s no harm in trying.

They break and Aran takes the lead.

            ARAN:               We’ve talked over your terms and agree that we will not mention your presence here.

            ORNO:              Your secret is safe with us, we think it best to just leave this alone.

Galon looks them over for a few moments before responding.

            GALON:             I’m not sure I believe you.

            ORNO:              What can we do to convince you?

            ARAN:               We fought alongside your men to aid you in the fight.

            GALON:             That is a good point. And I suppose that if you were to cross us, we would already be in the Sunset, so what does it really matter. You can always tell Gardener to come get us on the open sea! Ha! So, I’ll accept what you say at face value, not because I entirely believe you, but because it won’t make any difference.

He pauses for effect.

            GALON:             And you are hardly in any position to prevent us from leaving…

            ORNO:              I can live with that.

            ROLAN:             We intend to stand by our word and hope that if we cross paths in the future, we are not enemies.

            GALON:             Despite our reputation, we are not savages. We are willing to make pacts. However, if they are broken, we have no use for you. As long as I believe your word to have held, you may count us as friends. It is not as if we would be rushing to your aid, but we will not act against you in harm.

Rolan nods.

            QHOR:              Our word is our bond.

Galon nods and pounds a closed fist on his heart.

            GALON:             What is dead may never die.

Every one of the Ironborn in the great hall automatically respond in a chant-like tone, “what is dead may never die.” Rolan’s voice is heard trailing at the end, by a half second, finishing the chant.

Qarzdaq and Qhortho toss a WTF look at each other. The creepiness vibe is strong with these drowned folk.

Captain Galon Greyiron walks past the group towards the main entryway. The Ironborn in the back of the room begin to follow.

The lord struggles in his shackles, growing restless.

            AIDIN:               And what about me??

            ARAN:               Just hold your horses. We’ll take care of you in a bit.

Jahor trails behind the last of the Ironborn leaving the keep. The party follows them out of the keep to ensure they are leaving. Once outside, Rolan puts a hand on Jahor’s shoulder.

            JAHOR:             Yes Rolan?

            ROLAN:             Where do you go now? You say ROW is no more, so what’s next for you?

            JAHOR:             I suppose it’s back to SaltCliffe. I don’t foresee further raids, and my heart is not in recruitment after everything I’ve been through… everything we’ve been through…

            ROLAN:             Rather than just going back to SaltCliffe, would you be willing to do some looking up and down the coast and send us information?

            JAHOR:             I would not be opposed to it. Of course, I do not command my own ship, so I would have to convince Galon and Eyan.

Seeing a blank look at the mention of Eyan, Jahor adds…

            JAHOR:             … Eyan is the other captain we fought beside against the cultists. As I say though, I would not be opposed to it, but how do you suggest we share any information gathered?

            ROLAN:             Perhaps a raven to… uh… hmmm… Highgarden, I suppose?

            JAHOR:             Well, there lies two problems. The uncertainty I sense in your voice tells me that you continue to follow the path of the Drowned God and no one on earth can say where he leads you next. That is good. The second matter is that ROW has no ravens… or maesters for that matter to keep them. I am in good stature with Harmund Hoare, so I may be able to use their ravens, but I am unsure of whether the information I find will still be valuable after that much time.

            ROLAN:             Good points. You have been traveling the Reach for decades, so instead of using ravens, I’d bet you can use a local scout to travel on foot with a message.

            JAHOR:             Yes, I think that could work. But who shall I have the scout seek for delivery?

Rolan turns to Qhortho and Ornogrim.

            ROLAN:             Are your lady friends in Highgarden trustworthy enough to hold a message for us if we are unfindable?

Ornogrim burst out.

            ORNO:              Fuck no!

Sheepishly, Qhortho responds.

            QHOR:              As a matter of fact, yes, I believe she is.

            ORNO:              It’s not that I don’t think Nora is trustworthy, but I am trying to just keep things more caj and would like to leave her out of any of this.

Rolan focuses on Qhortho.

            ROLAN:             Do you think she would be willing to accept messages keep them for us if we leave town?

            QHOR:              I think so. As long as she is not put in danger.

Rolan nods and turns to Jahor.

            ROLAN:             You could send a scout to Highgarden, to an armored street performer named Cora. She is a longtime resident of Highgarden and can be trusted. She and Nora are the only two such performers in town.

            JAHOR:             Yes, that may work. I have trusted contacts throughout the Reach. Little guppies I call them. I will call on them to get word to… Cora, was it?

            ROLAN:             Yes. And since the information may be sensitive, perhaps we need a code so we know it is from you. Let us use N-E-K-A-R-K. Kraken in reverse.

            JAHOR:             I like that.

            ROLAN:             One area of interest is the blockade near Lannisport.  Are you able to send any scouts to investigate them and find out who is executing it?

            JAHOR:             Ah. I was under the impression that you were more interested in other areas along the coast… We would not be able to get within range of them. They must be sponsored by those who oversee the Iron Islands. There is no other source for that size fleet, with that many men.

            ORNO:              So you do believe they are real Ironborn.

            JAHOR:             I have no reason to suspect otherwise at this time.

            ARAN:               If you find out more specifics related to the blockade, we would appreciate any information you can provide.

            JAHOR:             Although I cannot directly investigate the ships, I will try investigating rumors when I return to the Iron Islands.

            ROLAN:             Thank you Jahor.

            JAHOR:             I will do my best. What is dead may never die.

            ROLAN:             What is dead may never die.

            JAHOR:             I wish you well Rolan. I wish you all well.

Once all of the Ironborn are sufficiently out of earshot, they remain outside the keep and discuss Aidin’s fate.​

Aidin and Abettin’

            ARAN:               The guy clearly had good intentions. He was trying to protect the realm.

            ORNO:              True. And we’re not out here to enforce morality anyway.

            ARAN:               We can tell him that we won’t say anything to the king, but I am thinking more and more that we need to tell King Greydon everything.

            QARZ:               I agree and stand by my thoughts that we need to take the lord back to Highgarden. His fate is not for us to decide. The realm has their laws and customs and we are working at the king’s behest. We should, therefore, be following his rule.

            ROLAN:             If we put him in front of the king, he’s going to tell him that we helped a bunch of my kinsmen after they attempted a raid on the Shields. On the Reach.

            ARAN:               The Ironborn did solve the greater issue here though. They were important in helping us destroy these things. If they hadn’t been here, this whole place would have been overrun by slaad.

            QARZ:               I agree. That is what we have to tell the king. We must also tell the king that the lord created this problem that he could not solve.

            ORNO:              And we should be sure to add that we promised the Ironborn our secrecy and let him do with that as he chooses. Honestly though, I don’t know that we need to take the lord with us.

            ARAN:               I agree. If the king wants him, it won’t be a problem for him to come out here and administer justice. I think we should leave him here.

            QARZ:               After what the lord has done, I do not believe he should be left to rule over this land. We do not know his intentions once freed. I strongly believe we must take him with us. If we plan to tell the king everything, there is no risk to him telling the king anything.

            QHOR:              If you compare the crimes here, a little raiding and pillaging is an everyday thing, but bringing unholy beasts from the fire is quite different.

            ARAN:               Maybe in your part of the world.

            ORNO:              But wait. Is it our charge to dole out justice for crimes committed?

            QHOR:              Not justice. We are talking of bringing him to the king so the king may dole out justice.

            ARAN:               We should probably speak with the lord first and hear what he has to say.           

            QARZ:               We can keep him tied up.

            ARAN:               I don’t think he’s going to run off and disappear. Plus, he is a lord, after all. We should allow him some dignity.

            QARZ:               What if he gets scared and tries to bring those slaad back again? I don’t even know how he did it the first time.

            ARAN:               But he only did that to protect his people. You’re missing that entire point.

            QHOR:              If you want to protect your people, you train them in the art of war.

            ROLAN:             Not all commoners are proficient in learning those arts of war. The Westerosi way is to protect those who cannot protect themselves.

Aran is caught slightly off-guard by this Ironborn knowing the Westerosi way so readily.

            ARAN:               This is true and I agree with the premise. His methods were obviously flawed, but his intentions were pure. He told us that this was something being practiced for generations, so this guy is just a middle-man.

            QHOR:              But he is the one that triggered their appearance. The crime is of action, not intention.

None of them can disagree with anyone else’s logic, only in application; it seems there may be two acceptable paths of action here.

            ORNO:              Though… even if we do leave him, perhaps we can convince the lord he should have to pay us to leave him here? No reason to walk out of this empty-handed.

Before they make any final decisions, they determine they should look over the commoners to ensure they do not show signs of being scratched by the slaad.

The party re-enters the keep to the sight of Aidin sitting at the table, still wearing his iron wrist and ankle bracelets. The chain between his wrists holds his hands up, palms front; the chain between his ankles is short enough to turn simple walking into a busy shuffle.

            AIDIN:               Please, please can you release me from these shackles??

He clumsily motions to the keys on the table. Aran pockets them immediately.

            ARAN:               We need to check out everyone in the prison first to be sure no one is infected.

            AIDIN:               Can you just release me? Can’t you tell I haven’t been infected?

            ARAN:               We’ll just make sure it’s safe first. Just hold tight.

Aidin groans whiningly, as If he were just told he cannot have tarts until after supper.

Wyllum of House Chester

The party approaches an large open iron door in the rear right side of the great hall. The stone steps descend about 10 feet into a stone torch-lit corridor. Aran leads the group down the steps to a large prison cell on the left side.

The 60-foot wide cell contains roughly 40 commoners, sitting on benches along the rear and left walls. More of them are propped up along the cell’s bars. Still more are sitting at a couple of simple wooden tables in the middle of the cell. The right-side bench serves as a cot for one man. He is better dressed but appears unharmed.

            ARAN:               How is everyone doing down here?

The entire group is sapped of energy, but one man musters up the strength to respond for the group.

            COMMONER:    We’re in need of food and water. Other than that, we haven’t been mistreated. I’d take these conditions over being out there with those things.

            ARAN:               What’s going on with this guy over here?

Aran motions to the unconscious man on the bench.

            COMMONER:    Oh. That’s Lord Wyllum… of House Chester.

            ARAN:               Is he sick?

            COMMONER:    No, I think he’s just sleeping.

            ORNO:              Have you noticed anyone with scratches or bites?

            COMMONER:    I have not.

            ARAN:               Has anyone felt ill?

            COMMONER:    Not to my knowledge.

Another commoner gets to his feet and stumbles over. In a raspy voice, he asks for bread and water.

            ARAN:               We have to check each of you for bites and scratches from these creatures first, but we will get you bread and water as soon as we can.

The commoner thanks them and finds a place to rest.

The party gathers in the corridor and discusses the pros and cons of several approaches to checking everyone. They almost settle on letting each commoner out one at a time, but they realized they may run into issues if they go upstairs and see Lord Aidin shackled in the great hall. A chained lord would not do well for their credibility and might even inspire a revolt.

They decide the best approach is to have all the prisoners move to one side of the cell. They will have each one approach the bars where they will undress to be inspected by the Tutelary of Trade. After passing inspection, they will be provided some bread and water, then move to the other side of the cell. Everyone will be released once all of the inspections are complete.

Aran speaks loudly enough for all the prisoners to hear him.

            ARAN:               Alright everyone. Listen up. We have to be sure everyone is ok before we let anyone out. Once we know you are clear of any infection, we will give you food and drink and ask you to take a seat before we release you.

A random commoner yells out from the crowd.

            COMMONER:    And why should we trust you??

This is followed by grumbling unrest. Aran shuts it down immediately.

            ARAN:               You don’t have a choice.

            ORNO:              And we’re the ones giving you bread and water.

He shakes his Commemorative Lannisport Faire Tankard in the air to prove his words.

Qarzdaq takes on the task of describing the process to the prisoners while Aran leaves to search for food and a drape to give these poor bastards some semblance of privacy.

Aran goes upstairs to the great hall.

            AIDIN:               Have you finally made the decision to let me free??

            ARAN:               No, not quite yet.

Aidin groans with a whine.

            AIDIN:               So what are you doing up here then?

            ARAN:               I am in need of food for your people. And I will need a drape or something else to provide them some privacy.

Aidin tells him the directions to the kitchen and that he should just take one of the drapes from the great hall.

Aran returns with an armful of bread and places it on the table in front of the lord. He provides a piece of bread to the lord and pours some water in his mouth.

            ARAN:               We just want to be sure we do everything the right way and very carefully. Just wait here and we’ll be back as soon as we’re done.

Aran returns to the prison with a large, faded green drape and a load of bread to see the commoners making their way to the right side while Rolan pokes Wyllum with his bow. The young man shudders awake after a few pokes.

            QARZ:               Alright Wyllum, you’re up first.

He sluggishly gets to his feet and approaches the prison bars. The man is in his mid-30’s, perhaps about 5′ 10″, wearing layers of lordly clothes with various clasps of silver and gold.

            WYLLUM:          You know my name.

Qarzdaq nods.

            QARZ:               We need you to undress so we can see if you have any wounds.

Qarzdaq summons his mage hand to hold the drape, providing some privacy for the lord. The few commoners taking their sweet-ass time to get to the right side suddenly get a pep in their step at the sight of the disembodied hand.

Wyllum unclasps his over-robe, takes off his boots, then his coat, and so on.

After a few minutes, the lord is halfway through undressing. Ornogrim’s impatience kicks in.

            ORNO:              My god man… If I weren’t wearing my armor, I’d be able to undress with a flick of my wrist.

Wyllum looks at Ornogrim, entirely disinterested.

Another minute or so later, the lord is standing there naked. As instructed, he waggles his tongue back and forth in the air, turns around slowly, squats, and shows the bottoms of his feet. There are no signs of scrapes or gashes.

            QARZ:               See, that wasn’t so bad. Get dressed and stand over there.

Ornogrim pours a few gulps of water into his tankard and Aran prepares a morsel of bread. The lord takes both, shows his appreciation, and sits on the bench along the left wall.

They continue this process with the commoners, finishing about an hour later. None of them appear to have been attacked by slaad.

            ARAN:               We thank you all for your cooperation. We’re going to speak with Lord Aidin and we will be right back.

The entire prison simultaneously groans in a whiny tone as the group ascends the steps to the great hall.

            AIDIN:               Please! Have you decided yet? It’s been hours!

            ORNO:              Soon.

Aidin groans with a whine.

            AIDIN:               Can you at least tell me something? Was my son down there?

            ARAN:               Yes. Lord Wyllum is down there and it appears he is just fine.

            AIDIN:               He is! Thank the Seven.

The party walks outside of the keep to discuss their next steps.

            ARAN:               I think we set them all free and let King Greydon decide whether or not they want to send men out here for Lord Aidin.

            ORNO:              I’m ok with leaving Lord Aidin, but we might want to take Lord Wyllum with us to ensure Lord Aidin doesn’t run.

            QARZ:               There’s an idea.

            ARAN:               Why would he run? Everything he has is here on this island. This is his land.

            ORNO:              If he thinks we will tell the king and that the king will retaliate…

            ARAN:               We should leave them both here and just tell him that it wouldn’t go over well if Highgarden knows we worked with the Ironborn. We tell him that we won’t say anything about the Ironborn and we won’t say anything about what he’s done.

            QARZ:               But that’s not what we are going to do.

            ORNO:              Well, no, but so what? All that matters is that he believes that’s what we’ll do.

            QARZ:               I don’t see the point in lying to him.

            ARAN:               We just need him to not suspect anything. It will make things go easier if they can just go back to their lives.

            QARZ:               If we were to do that, and I don’t agree that we should, but if we were, I would insist we make sure they cannot raise any more slaad. We must ensure the ability to do so died with those cultists. We know this has been going on for generations, and House Chester has had to be behind that, which means Lord Wyllum may be involved in all of this too.

​The Lab

They all agree this is something they should determine before anyone is set free and they re-enter the keep.

            AIDIN:               So are you ready to let me out of these blasted things?

He waggles around, rattling the chains.

            ARAN:               Yes and no.

            QARZ:               We are going to have to check you for injuries, so we will unshackle you to do that, but we will have to restrain you again afterwards until we finish getting some answers.

            ARAN:               We’re going to have to strip you down. I apologize for having to do this, but it’s a necessity given what we’re dealing with.

The lord cooperates with the request, stretching his limbs as they are unshackled. They check him over and find no wounds. After dressing, they hold off on reapplying the restraints.

            ORNO:              We’re going to let you speak with your son briefly but then we need something from you.

            ARAN:               We are going to keep everyone locked up while you show us where these creatures came from and how they were summoned.

            AIDIN:               What do you need from me?

            ORNO:              We need a tour. We need information. We need you to show us everything.

            QARZ:               How and where you did all of this.

            AIDIN:               Based on what you’ve said, you’ve already found the place where they were being summoned on the northern part of the island.

            QHOR:              How did you know how to summon them?

            AIDIN:               We’d been working on it for generations. Here in the keep.

            QHOR:              In this room right here?

            AIDIN:               No, we have a room dedicated to it upstairs.

The group all insist on Lord Aidin showing them the room and details on the ritual. He leads the party through a hallway in the back left of the great hall and up a staircase immediately on the right. Upon reaching the second floor, the lord leads them through the first door, into a room with various beakers and flasks of green, red, and silver liquids. This room looks like it was once a well-stocked arcane laboratory but neglected for some time.

A bookshelf along one wall contains several pieces of measurement equipment and metal utensils, as well as a series of journals.

Qarzdaq immediately notices the books and pulls all three of them from the shelf, shedding dust into the air.

Rolan and Ornogrim investigate the equipment and materials for about ten minutes and find that nothing appears to have been used, or even touched, in years.

            ROLAN:             It doesn’t look like they’ve been using this room to summon those things in quite some time.

            AIDIN:               This is true. All of the latest activity has been at the site you described earlier.

            ORNO:              Ok, this is still not entirely clear. I want details on what you did to summon these phrog phuks.

Aidin has the look of defeat in his eyes.

            AIDIN:               During our research, we learned how to open a portal to another plane of existence…

            ORNO:              What did you do to open this portal? Specifically.

            AIDIN:               The story goes that a few arcane words and chants were discovered. When spoken correctly, with the correct tone, a small portal opened in mid-air. It sputtered out some type of corruption that latched onto the stone and grew.

He points to a black discoloration on the stone floor.

            AIDIN:               The portal disappeared just a few seconds later, but the corruption lasted for hours and could not be destroyed. Over years of experimenting with tone and inflections they learned the portal could be kept open for longer and we could be made larger. The early summoners, under my grandfather, actually went into the portal to explore and never returned. Any bits of corruption that entered our world were extremely dangerous, but we did eventually find a solution that would cause it to hiss and sizzle out of existence. The hissing was almost a projection in our minds. I remember hearing it for the first time as a child. Clearly the work of the Stranger if you ask me. Still, this was seen as our only line of defense against raiders that might return at any time. Our greatest achievement…

He pauses for a moment of introspection on his word choice but continues.

            AIDIN:               … took place about fifteen years ago when we were able to open the portal for more than ten minutes. It was the first time we had real stability. It was at that time we were attacked by one of those frog things. We called it a Dire Frog but that was just because we had no other way to describe it. It killed seven of my best acolytes. All good men. At that point, we moved the operation to a far side of the island. Within the following six months, we were able to control the portal and have these creatures not attack us. They had a chaotic need to kill though. We would get one of the Dire Frogs into our world, and distract them with sheep, goats, and other small animals. We would then close the portal and kill the frog. After that point, we waited for the opportunity when this weapon would be needed. And then we would unleash it on those that would have The Reach destroyed.

            ORNO:              So there is nothing to keep you from bringing these things back again.

            AIDIN:               It sounds as if you’ve killed those most knowledgeable, unfortunately. Perhaps fortunately…

His voice trails off.

            AIDIN:               I personally do not have the knowledge.

Qarzdaq had been reading through one of the books but slams it shut, punctuating the lord’s sentence.

            QARZ:               I’m taking these books with me.

            ORNO:              It seems that you see the error of your ways, but even up to the very end, these men you knew, the master cultist especially, still wanted to continue unleashing them.

            AIDIN:               We needed an army. I’m not sure how else to put that. This was a matter of desperation.

            ORNO:              You saw the error of your ways, yet he did not.

            AIDIN:               We see the error now that we’ve seen their utter destruction. It is regrettable. We… I would not do it again, knowing what I know now. With so many that have been summoned. The point you are making is not lost on me. I recognize the error, yet he did not at the time, as he continued to summon them. I do not know what would have happened if they had not been stopped.

The words hang and fall slowly in the air like the settling dust stirred up from their presence in this room.

Aran whispers something to Qarzdaq who looks at him and nods.

            ARAN:               Why don’t you guys take to destroying the things up here and Qarzdaq and I will go downstairs and let the villagers out.

            ORNO:              Do we really want to let them out yet?

            QARZ:               Yeah, I think it’s about time. I think we’ve learned what we need to know they are not a threat.

            ROLAN:             What if this is an island full of cultists?

            QARZ:               I think we’ve killed all the cultists. But… I do have a question… who wrote these books?

            AIDIN:               Um…. Well… I… I’d rather not say.

            QARZ:               I’d rather you did say.

            ARAN:               Why would you not tell us?

            QHOR:              You’re not really in a position to be withholding information.

            AIDIN:               Wh… what does it matter?? You’re going to destroy everything right?

            QARZ:               You tell us or you’re going back with us to tell King Greydon.

            QHOR:              Would you rather answer to us or the king?

            AIDIN:               Is there any way that I can change your minds on this point?

Ornogrim raises an eyebrow.

            ORNO:              Perhaps…

            ARAN:               Ok, you guys stay up here. We should really let the prisoners out.

Aran and Qarzdaq leave the room

            AIDIN:               Look… Is there any way around this line of questioning? Where the king doesn’t need to know?

            QHOR:              We’re not going to do that, unless you tell us everything.

            ORNO:              Yes. Everything.

            AIDIN:               I have gold. I have platinum.

            QHOR:              I have no need of gold. Or platinum. I just need to know… everything.

            AIDIN:               If we can end this, I would give you a hundred platinum. Even your friends don’t need to know…

            QHOR:              YOU’RE NOT GOING TO BRIBE US WITH YOUR COINS! We’re not interested in that.

Aidin looks over his shoulder at the doorway, expecting the fighter and sorcerer to pop back through at any moment.

            QHOR:              The only way you’re getting out of this and not undergoing the king’s justice is by telling us everything we want to know.

            ORNO:              And, AND! You can pay for the privilege of not telling us who wrote the journals.

Qhortho looks at Ornogrim with annoyance and disgust.

            QHOR:              Look this isn’t happening. You’re talking. And you’re talking NOW!

The lord shrinks away from the screaming Dothraki.

            AIDIN:               It… It was me.

            ORNO:              Alright Qhortho, so you got your answer. How about we leave it at that and you give us our hundred platinum?

            AIDIN:               No! I’ve told you what you wanted!

Ornogrim leans in close and speaks to him in hushed tones.

            ORNO:              Look fella. I know you didn’t write it. I don’t really care. And I think you do. So pay us off and we’ll drop it here. Plain and simple.

Aidin whispers back.

            AIDIN:               I don’t believe you.

Then loudly.

            AIDIN:               I’M NOT GOING TO PAY YOU!

Ornogrim grabs Lord Aidin by the neck and slams his face into the ground. The lord cries out in pain as his face cracks.

            QHOR:              Ornogrim, what are you doing?!

            ORNO:              He’s not being cooperative.

Qhortho gets the hint and they tie him up with their rope. He quietly whimpers as they do, an older man overpowered by gods among men.

            QHOR:              We can’t trust to release him.

            ORNO:              We might for the right price.

Literacy Test​

Qarzdaq follows Aran down the stairs and when halfway across the great hall, Qarzdaq stops Aran.

            QARZ:               Hey, I think that if we just ask everyone to write “I had no part in this,” it will be enough to tell whether they wrote these passages.

Aran agrees. Qarzdaq stashes the books in his backpack and retrieves his calligrapher supplies. The two men continue across the great hall and descend the staircase leading to the prison.

            ARAN:               We’re almost finished here.

A thud is heard above them.

            ARAN:               We’re just going to take a quick statement from everybody. If you didn’t have anything to do with it, then just write that and sign it. We’re going to let each of you out as you write your statements.

Aran uses the key and opens the door for the first time. Even though it’s just the two of them, they manage to hold order rather well. They let out one person at a time, starting with the commoners, and have them write a statement as best they can. They also ask each to tell them what he or she knows.

The first person comes out, writes nothing but chicken scratch and tells the two men that he had “nuttin’ to do wit it.” Qarzdaq shakes the man’s hand to feel the roughness of his skin, knowing that smooth skin is the sign of one who does not toil in the fields.

The next woman does about the same. The third boy can clearly write, but not very well, and they can tell he doesn’t have any part in the issue at hand.

All goes along well until the last person in the cell. Wyllum of House Chester.

Looking at Wyllum sitting on his bench in the cell as if it were a throne, Qarzdaq flashes back to what Aran said in the room just above them: “Aidin is hiding someone, I bet it’s his son.”

No one else had heard him, but those words put this plan into motion.

            QARZ:               Alright Lord Wyllum, it’s your turn.

Qarzdaq passes the parchment and inked quill.

            QARZ:               Just write your statement of involvement and sign it.

Wyllum calmly takes the parchment and quill from him. He deftly scribbles something on the page and passes it back.

Qarzdaq looks it over and passes it to Aran. Aran reads the words and shows no reaction. Qarzdaq places the parchment in his bag.

            QARZ:               Would you like to elaborate on this?

Wyllum calmly walks out of the cell.

            WYLLUM:          Perhapsss we go upssstairsss to talk about thisss. With my father presssent.

            ARAN:               We prefer to talk to you here for right now.

            QARZ:               We prefer to talk to you here.

He motions at Qarzdaq and speaks strange words.

            WYLLUM:          Ma rayuk.

Qarzdaq holds up a hand instinctively, deflecting the words of arcana directed his way.

Wyllum looks at him curiously. Aran puts a hand on the hilt of his blade.

            QARZ:               My friend, I think you should tell me what you just tried to do because it didn’t work.

Aran eyes the two of them, not quite knowing what to do next.

            WYLLUM:          Well…

He vanishes before their eyes. Aran jumps towards Wyllum’s last position only to catch empty air.

Flames Extinguished

Qarzdaq and Aran squabble for a few moments until a torch at the end of the hallway extinguishes in a puff of white smoke. One by one, the torches go out, getting closer and closer to Aran and Qarzdaq.

            ARAN:               GUYS! WE NEED HELP! THE SON IS TRYING TO GET AWAY!

Aran looks back to Qarzdaq.

            ARAN:               He must know some kind of sorcery.

Qarzdaq blinks out of existence and looks around in the realm of shadows for Wyllum.

Upstairs, they all hear Aran’s call. Aidin hangs his head is dismay. Qhortho looks around, confused, instinctually grabbing the hilt of his greatsword. Rolan and Ornogrim look at each other.

            ORNO:              Rolan, you stay with the lord. Make sure he doesn’t go anywhere. Qhortho, you’re with me.

            ROLAN:             Will do.

Ornogrim and Qhortho rush down the stairs. Mid-stride, Ornogrim commands Hooterz to fly out one of the windows to survey the area, just in case there are other threats.

In the prison, all of the torches are now dark except for the two nearest to Aran. He begins walking slowly backwards while quickly sweeping his glaive back and forth in front of him, trying anything to detect Wyllum’s whereabouts. Suddenly, Qarzdaq appears beside him.

            QARZ:               He’s not on the ethereal plane. He may have teleported, but that requires some serious mastery of the art.

Laughter echoes through the hall. Qarzdaq closes his eyes to blink away, but he remains on the material plane.

Qhortho has outrun Ornogrim down the stairs and is approaching the staircase to the prison when a ball of fire expands right in front of him, engulfing him and his two friends down the stairs. The flames sear their flesh causing them all to yell out in pain. Qhortho grits his teeth and presses on. Qarzdaq is the worst off of the three of them.

Qarzdaq swipes the ashy threads from his robe.

            QARZ:               You may have balls, but it’s time to nail them to the WALL!

He casts a wall of fire down the entire length of the corridor, save 5 feet at the end to force Wyllum to the back of the hallway or to come straight towards them. He places it on the left side of the corridor blocking off the large cell where the commoners were kept. The heat fills the rest of the hall.

A muffled yell is heard far down the hallway while a hissing sound is heard in the minds of those nearby.

Just as Qarzdaq blinks out of existence, Qhortho yells to Rolan.

            QHOR:              ROLAN! GET DOWN HERE!

He swiftly runs right through where Qarzdaq stood and stabs at the air, hoping to strike someone, but he only stabs into hot air. Aran quickly swipes out with his glaive to get farther reach, but still hits nothing.

Ornogrim gets down the prison stairs where a small yellowish-green cloud appears. He immediately skids to a stop only to have it become a dense fog covering all of them. Well, all of those still on the material plane… Qarzdaq sees this from the realm of shadows and reappears at the base of the stairs.

            QARZ:               Stop this madness! Surely, we can talk this through! We don’t all need to perish this day!

            WYLLUM:          Ssstop thisss madnesss and we don’t perissshhh?

Qarzdaq closes his eyes to blink, but it doesn’t work. He opens his eyes to see Ornogrim emerge from the dense fog, coughing and gasping for fresh air.

            ORNO:              He’s fucking phrog phuk, guys! That parcel-tongue fuck!

He spawns and downs a handful of Goodberries just as Qhortho slowly walks backward out of the cloud with his blade pointed in Wyllum’s general direction. Once in open air, mucous streaming from his nose, he gasps for air.

            QHOR:              Aran, you still alive?

No sooner do the words get out than another fireball blows up around them. The sounds of searing pain trigger another bout of laughter from Wyllum.

Ornogrim runs up the stairs to the great hall and stands by the large prison door. Qarzdaq turns to follow, but he is unable. He falls to the ground. The wall of fire drops. The yellowish-green cloud moves to cover Qarzdaq. He lies in the dense cloud of gas, silent.

            ORNO:              Qarzdaq’s down! Grab him!

Qhortho jumps to action and runs into the cloud to get him. He does not emerge. The sound of Valyrian steel falling onto stone can only mean one thing. Qhortho has also fallen as well.

Ornogrim grabs his bow. He can make out something moving the now darkened hallway and looses an arrow. It strikes stone.

Rolan finally appears across the great hall with a bound Lord Aidin at knifepoint.

            ORNO:              ROLAN! LEAVE THE LORD! WYLLUM IS THE PHROG PHUK, HE’S THE MASTER PHROG PHUK!

            AIDIN:               WYLLUM!!!!

            ORNO:              They’re all dead, Rolan! We need to close this door now!

Rolan pushes the lord over and he falls forward onto his already broken face. Still on the other side of the great hall, he dashes towards Ornogrim.

Just then, a cough is heard from within the cloud followed by a voice.

            ARAN:               I knew you’d need me to save you one of these days.

Aran appears from the cloud dragging Qhortho and Qarzdaq by their collars up the first few steps.

            QHOR:              Aran…

Qhortho falls silent again.

            ORNO:              Holy shit!

Aran coughs and gasps as he gets his first breath of fresh air.

            ARAN:               I need some help getting them up the stairs!

The cloud continues rolling and swallows the men at the bottom of the stairs.

Aran reappears a second later, pulling Qhortho up and out of the cloud.

            ARAN:               Ornogrim, grab Qarzdaq, he’s lying on the first few stairs in the cloud!

Aran continues dragging Qhortho up the stairs and gets him into the great hall just as Rolan gets there.

Meanwhile, Ornogrim rushes into the cloud and retrieves Qarzdaq’s lifeless body. As he begins dragging him up the stairs, Rolan sees something in the darkness. Wyllum enters the torchlight near the stairs a mere twenty feet from Ornogrim, running with all his strength towards them.

            ROLAN:             He’s behind you! Hurry!

Ornogrim briefly looks behind him as he scrambles to get Qarzdaq up the last few stairs. Wyllum is closing the gap.

            ORNO:              Fuck!

He gets into the great hall, but Qarzdaq is still halfway in the doorway, Wyllum ten feet from them.

Aran jumps away from Qhortho’s body and scrambles towards Qarzdaq, helping Ornogrim pull him out of harm’s way just as Rolan slams the large iron door. Ornogrim falls backward.

Wyllum slams his body into the iron door, opening it a few inches. He pushes it harder than Rolan can respond. It opens another inch. Then another.

            ROLAN:             Ornogrim!

Ornogrim jumps to his feet and rams the door. It slams shut as he grabs the large iron drawbar and crashes it down into place, sealing Wyllum in the prison.

The sound of the drawbar echoes throughout the great hall, accentuating the moment.

Exhausted, they try to catch their breath. Only a few seconds pass before a loud CLANG is heard on the other side of the door. The three men still breathing look at each other and snap into action.

            ROLAN:             Ornogrim, help Qhortho. I’ll take Qarzdaq.

Aran, wanting to be useful, searches his bag for scraps of cloth to block the small gap under the door and prevent the gas cloud from seeping into the great hall.

Rolan kneels down beside Qarzdaq and touches his shoulder. He bows his head and whispers, “what is dead may never die.”

Qarzdaq shudders violently and chokes on the air as if he is drowning. It subsides as he scrambles backwards, sitting up, leaning back on his palms, gasping for air, surprised to see the Ironborn on the other side of the Light.

Ornogrim creates some more Goodberries and shoves them into Qhortho’s mouth.

Qhortho’s eyes shoot open. His arms shoot out sideways as far as they can reach. He grabs at the ground as if it is keeping him from sinking into the ground. Once he realizes he is alive, he calms down and relaxes.

Another clang is heard on the door, which startles everyone enough to jump slightly. As unsettling as it is, it does not seem like he will be able to get through.

Thoroughly exhausted and just happy to be alive, they can now discuss how close they came to death.

​Everyone Has One​

            QARZ:               I don’t know about you guys, but I was saved by the Light of R’hllor.

            QHOR:              It was the Great Stallion who spared me. It was not my time to ride by his side. I have yet to mount the world!

            ORNO:              It was in fact the Old Gods who saved you from certain death, my friend. The Old Gods are the force of life and provide me the power to create Goodberries. If we live, we live by their grace.

            ROLAN:             The Old Gods had nothing to do with me bringing Qarzdaq back to life. That was the Drowned God, through and through.

Qarzdaq winces at the thought.

            ARAN:               You are all wrong. We have been given a pass by the Stranger this day because of the might and courage afforded us by the Warrior. The inner peace and resolve we hold at this moment is a gift from the Mother. Using this gift, we are provided the time and presence of mind to pray to the Crone, who we ask to bless us with the wisdom and foresight needed to continue this fight. And when we approach that beast in there, it is the Father who will allow us to be the vessels of justice, and the Smith who will hold our weapons intact in the fight!

A moment of silence follows. Interrupted by a loud CLANG at the iron prison door. Their eyes shift to the iron door.

            ROLAN:             I think you forgot the Maiden in that little speech…

Aran looks at Rolan with deadpan seriousness.

            ARAN:               I think the Maiden left us all behind quite some time ago.

Ornogrim is the first to laugh, but they all join in immediately. It’s a short reprieve before… CLANG.

They all look to the iron door again and decide they need to get some rest if they are to finish this once and for all.

Aran and Qhortho close the keep’s large wooden doors tight, barricading them with a large wooden beam.

            QHOR:              I won’t forget what you did back there. You are a true warrior. I consider you my dothrakhqoyi.

Although Aran does not know what that word means, it sounds as if it holds strong significance and honor for Qhortho.

            ARAN:               I don’t run from those that would do my friends harm.

Qhortho nods and they walk back over to the others. They decide to shackle Lord Aidin in the same way he was shackled with the Ironborn. They try to make him physically comfortable, but they must ensure he cannot leave. They provide him with a few Goodberries so, physically, he is ok. Emotionally, however, the guy is a total mess. The clanging from his son on the prison door spurs his sobbing shudders until he no longer has the energy to continue. It takes a few hours before he is finally sleeping.

The party, on the other hand, is unfazed by Wyllum’s actions; they manage to have their normal long rest where each person takes a one-hour watch.

​Retribution​

Upon waking and following their normal rituals, they prepare themselves.

            ARAN:               We need to all attack this thing at once. When we’re all ready, we’ll open the door and let him have it.

The group agrees and prepares to attack. The lord awakes during their preparations but makes no attempt to dissuade them from their plan. He knows his son’s fate. He’s known it for quite some time.

Qarzdaq removes the draw bar and swings the door open, quickly jumping backward and out of the way.

Lord Wyllum is standing at the top of the stairs, his greatsword in hand glowing a deep blue, ready to strike. But not before the Tutelary of Trade.

Rolan and Ornogrim fire at him on sight. Almost all of the arrows seem to fall away after striking his armor with only one appearing to have any impact. Qhortho and Aran both engage striking him numerous times, spilling his blood and splashing the walls. If it were anyone else, this guy would be dead by now. What gives?

Wyllum arches his back and raises his arms. Qarzdaq is ready for the spell and nullifies it with a wave of his hand.

Wyllum’s eyes grow wide.

            QARZ:               Yeah. You weren’t ready for that, were you…

Qarzdaq pummels him with scorching rays to his chest. He stumbles backward, down a few steps.

Still not discouraged, Wyllum raises his greatsword and slashes at Aran. Aran sidesteps it and slices his glaive through Wyllum’s face, causing him to fly backward down the stairs.

Mid-flight he transitions into a large black slaad. He impacts the ground with a great thud.

Qhortho yells out with a great Dothraki victory call.

Lord Aidin can be hear in the background.

            AIDIN:               Wyllum! …

While everyone else turns towards Aidin, Ornogrim runs down the stairs towards the creature. He immediately saws off one of its hands.

            ORNO:              Building a nice collection here.

The others approach Aidin who is on the ground, shackled and sobbing quietly.

            QARZ:               My Lord, that was not your son we killed in there. That was one of the creatures masquerading as your son. Aran, the key?

Aran produces the key from his pocket and hands it to Qarzdaq. Qarzdaq kneels beside Aidin.

            QHOR:              What are you doing?

            QARZ:               His son just died.

            QHOR:              No he didn’t. That wasn’t his son. That was one of the frog things. It just looked like his son.

Qarzdaq stops what he is doing and looks up at Qhortho.

            QARZ:               Qhortho, Lord Aidin didn’t know that frog thing took over his son. He is suffering a loss right now, whether that was actually his son or not.

Qarzdaq returns to the task of freeing the lord, but Qhortho steps closer, looming over Qarzdaq and Aidin.

            QHOR:              Look, this wasn’t your son. Your son died… who knows when…

Ornogrim reappears.

            ORNO:              Qhortho, come on man… Qarzdaq, go ahead. Let him free.

Qarzdaq returns to his task but is interrupted yet again.

            QHOR:              He must still face the king’s justice.

Qarzdaq stands and the party debates this issue again.

            ORNO:              I’m now thinking we have to bring him with us.

            ARAN:               Do we?

Aidin remains on the floor, not reacting to anything the party is saying.

            QARZ:               There’s no one left to rule over this land if we take him with us. We will tell the king, but now I think we should leave him here.

            QHOR:              How many people died for this man’s careless use of the occult?

            QARZ:               I don’t disagree with the sentiment, but his fate is for the king to determine. In the meantime, we need someone here to rule over this land. I don’t think we should take him into custody.

            ARAN:               Exactly.

            QHOR:              We can’t leave him. He’ll just bring back more of those… things…

            QARZ:               I don’t think he knows how. And I have the books.

            ORNO:              Yeah, I agree, it was the son who had that ability. Still…

The debate continues for another few minutes before Aran calls for a vote.

            ARAN:               I say we leave him. Rolan, what say you?

            ROLAN:             Take him.

            QHOR:              I say we take him.

            QARZ:               We need to leave him.

            ARAN:               Ornogrim, you’re the deciding vote.

            ORNO:              Take him.

            ARAN:               Then I guess it’s settled… I don’t like it, but that is the decision.

Qarzdaq kneels next to Lord Aidin, key visibly in his hand.

            QARZ:               Lord Aidin. If we had left here when the Ironborn did, that monster would still exist, and R’hllor only knows what would transpire from that evil accosting this world.

            AIDIN:               I had no idea… my son… my Wyllum… was one of those things…

            ARAN:               He wasn’t just one of them, he was the most powerful one we’ve seen.

            QARZ:               Unfortunately, we must bring you before King Greydon.

            QHOR:              You brought these beasts forward. By the power given to us by the King of The Reach, we, the Tutelary of Trade of Highgarden, place you under arrest. You will be brought before the king to face royal justice.

            ORNO:              You will be treated well on the journey, but we must have someone to rule in your stead, to look over your people going forward. Do you have any suggestions?

            AIDIN:               There is no one. Wyllum was my only heir.

            ORNO:              Well, it can’t be you, so we need a way to find a replacement.

Qarzdaq begins shuffling through his backpack and reveals a stack of parchment.

            QARZ:               Look, we have handwriting samples from each of the remaining townspeople. How about we select the replacement based on the best penmanship?

The group, amused, agrees this is as good a course as any.

Qarzdaq finds that one stands out from the rest, by far. It is signed by a woman named Maxeen.

            QARZ:               Ok, let’s find Maxeen!

​Cleaning Up

After they clean up the mess from the dead creature in the prison and destroy the equipment upstairs in the lab, they release Lord Aidin’s ankles to allow him easier movement. They tell him that his arms must remained shackled, but they allow him to have his hands in front instead of behind his head.

Before leaving Greenridge Keep in search of Maxeen, Aran pushes that they should help the townspeople bury their dead. They all agree this is a good idea.

They leave the keep with Lord Aidin and descend the hill towards the docks. They have Aidin sit near the shore while they talk with the townsfolk, many of whom are searching through the remnants of bodies and merchant stalls.

Eventually they find Maxeen.

            ORNO:              Hi, my name is Ornogrim. We have decided that you will be in charge of the town. We need to take Lord Aidin with us.

            MAXEEN:          I… I…. Me? I can’t do it! Why me?

            ORNO:              You’re going to have to. There is simply no one else with as good of penmanship as you.

            ARAN:               Go ahead and get all the townsfolk together so we can make this official.

            ORNO:              Unless you can think of someone better, it’s you.

She stands in silence, unsure of what to say or who to name.

            ORNO:              Ok, it’s you. Gather your people.

She yells out to everyone to gather around at the base of the hill near the docks. They all listen and follow her requests. Perhaps penmanship IS a good way to choose a leader; certainly better than some sort of electoral college.

            ORNO:              Thank you all. We have learned enough information to take Lord Aidin with us to Highgarden. I want to be clear. We are not passing judgment. That is for King Greydon, and only King Greydon. While Lord Aidin is gone, Maxeen will be in charge.

            MAXEEN:          This comes as much a surprise to me as it is to all of you. I do not expect to hold this position forever but I will do the best I can while you allow me to.

            ARAN:               Before we leave, we would like to help all of you bury the dead.

            QARZ:               If you don’t mind cremation, I’d like to assist.

Qarzdaq turns toward the ocean and launches a bolt of fire. The townspeople shrink back slightly. After all they’ve experienced recently, they have a newfound appreciation for their place in the world among those with arcane knowledge.

A small, raggedy ship with gray sails grows larger as it approaches the docks. Little do the townspeople know that the sailors are some of the finest in the land. Once docked, the captain yells out.

            CAPTAIN:           Glad to see you are well, milords. You ready to leave here?

            ARAN:               We are going to help these people bury their dead. We need some help.

The captain calls out an order and all of the sailors, including the captain, disembark. Upon laying their eyes on the bodies scattered about, the sailors scoff and mutter various religious exclamations.

            ORNO:              Captain, Lord Aidin here is our prisoner and will be coming to Highgarden with us. He has been complicit in what has transpired here.

            ARAN:               We are bringing him to King Greydon for justice.

            CAPTAIN:           I see.

            QHOR:              He used black magic to summon creatures from hell.

            ORNO:              That is close enough to the truth.

            QARZ:               That’s pretty much exactly the truth.

The rest of the day passes with them taking care of the townspeople, burying the dead, saying nice words, and wishing the townspeople well.

The party prepares to set sail for Highgarden as the sun is setting.

            MAXEEN:          Thank you for all you’ve done here. You have rid us of a great evil it would seem. We’ve all known something like this was going on, but we understood this was for the good of our people and The Reach at large. I know Lord Aidin had us and our thoughts in mind and he was trying to protect us. I have known him since I was a child and I truly believe this. I hope that you will go easy on him.

            ORNO:              We will relay your message to the king.

            QHOR:              But it is for the king to pass judgment. And remember, if you ever need help in the future, just remember, the Tutelary of Trade is here.

Qhortho bows. Maxeen curtsies in response. They say their farewells and board the ship.

The captain calls out some orders and before they know it, they are sailing away from Greenshield, thankful that they survived and brought peace to such a chaotic situation.​

​​To Highgarden!

Once underway, they unshackle Aidin’s wrists and allow him full freedom to move about as he desires. They provide food and ale to bring him some comfort. The next full day goes by without incident, allowing the party to relax and heal from the atrocities experienced over the past two days. Lord Aidin sleeps the entire day and only finally awakes at sunrise on the following day as they enter the River Mander.

On their journey, Qarzdaq spends significant time reading through what he can understand of the journals. He finds that there was some sort of breakthrough about fifteen years ago and realizes that it may have been at that time when Wyllum transformed. There appears to have been some non-violent encounter with the Dire Frogs, as they call them, where a pact or trade was made. After that, it appears the summoning process was incredibly easier and the cultists had very little issue opening the portals. It’s also at that point in the journals where the writing style changes.

It’s unclear how much oversight Aidin had in these matters after his son took it over.

There are some hints in the words that show a growing strength in Wyllum, as if these portals were empowering him somehow. There are passages where he describes an ability to draw the life out of living creatures to feed his own constitution. It becomes hard to read through some of this content because the common language is replaced by depictions of various runes.

There is an illustration that shows a large dark Dire Frog being eaten by a smaller one. After that, there are only a few notes here and there in a very clear script describing how their safety is now ensured and that they will finally have a home they can rely upon. Whatever that means.

After four more days, they finally have the port of Highgarden in sight. Around mid-morning, they dock and disembark, leaving their barrel of ale behind. Intent on allowing Lord Aidin to retain his dignity, he remains unshackled as the party leads him directly to the castle to meet with the king. They’re fairly certain he won’t run in his current broken state.

They reach the castle and see one of the guards inside. Entering the main doorway, they now realize it is Ser Marcyn, the king’s top sword.

            MARCYN:          I presume you’d like to speak with His Grace?

            ORNO:              Yes.

Ser Marcyn walks towards the rear of the great hall, leaving through the back hallway towards the strategy room.

Aran looks around and realizes they are entirely alone. This is good.

            ARAN:               Ok, we need to figure out what our plan is when we talk to him. I am of the opinion that we need to tell him everything, including the Ironborn…

            QARZ:               I agree. We owe it to the king to tell him everything.

            ARAN:               … but I also think we should ask the king, respectfully, to keep the Ironborn a closely-guarded secret.

            ORNO:              But don’t presume to tell him what to do.

            ARAN:               Right. But we can tell him that we have a workable alliance of sorts right now, under the premise that no one knows the Ironborn invaded the Shields.

            QARZ:               That’s exactly how to work it.

King Greydon suddenly appears, storming in from the hallway at the far end of the great hall.

            GREYDON:        Bah… I knew friends of the Dornish couldn’t be trusted! What, nothing going on down there? Or were the raids too much for ya and you’ve come running back? …

            ARAN:               Your Gr…

            GREYDON:        Cranchen, CRANCHEN!

            QHOR:              Quite the contrary Your Grace.

            ARAN:               Your Grace, may we speak in private?

            ORNO:              We have solved some greater issues on the Shield Islands and have much to tell.

The king looks at them with curiosity when Maester Cranchen scurries into view. Only then does Greydon take notice of Lord Aidin, clearly a shell of who he once was, standing in the middle of their group. Greydon acknowledges him with a nod. Aidin nods curtly and looks down.

            CRANCHEN:      Yes, Your Grace?

The king looks annoyed that the maester appeared just then, despite having summoned him in the first place. He waves his hand toward Cranchen as if he were an annoying fly, muttering, “go away, go away.” The maester, apparently used to this treatment by now, shuffles out of sight.

            GREYDON:        Interesting. Let us speak in the strategy room.

​​It’s the Hoares

King Greydon leads the way to the room with the large map scrolls and he shuts the door behind them.

            GREYDON:        What have you to share?

            ORNO:              Apparently there were some Ironborn raids on Greenshield. We made an agreement not to tell you about them, but of course we are going to tell you all we’ve learned. I believe we may be able to leverage this agreement to our advantage, but there’s more detail on that, which I will speak of shortly. First, apparently Lord Aidin here is one of a long lineage of people building this cult of phrog phuk monsters that they summon.

Ornogrim pulls out the black claw and describes how they had to defeat this monster, who had shapeshifted to look like Wyllum, Lord Aidin’s son. Lord Aidin flinches slightly at every mention of his son’s name as if they are picking at an open wound. Ornogrim goes on to describe the books recovered from the lab in Greenridge Keep. Qarzdaq mentions that those books are in their custody and can never be used again.

            GREYDON:        How do I know you will not use them?

            QARZ:               I have made vows to the Lord of Light to never use such evil magic.

            ARAN:               They don’t exactly say how to do anything, it’s more a history of their progress over time. I suppose it’s possible that someone could reconstruct it, but it seems to be too vague to be used as a guide.

King Greydon requests the books, and Qarzdaq readily complies.

            QARZ:               If I may make a humble request Your Grace.

The king nods.

            QARZ:               I would like to have Tyrone or Maester Paxtan review their content upon their return.

The king agrees that is a good course.

            QARZ:               Would you like me to hold on to them to prevent them from falling into the wrong hands?

            GREYDON:        No. I think I will keep them here.

He pats the cover of the book on top of the stack.

            QARZ:               Very good Your Grace.

Aran and Qarzdaq go on to describe that if they hadn’t arrived at Greenshield when they did, it is extremely likely that the entire Reach may have been overrun by these beasts. Ornogrim adds that although Lord Aidin’s bloodline was responsible for bringing these creatures into our world, they did so with the best intentions: to fend off Ironborn raids.

Aran provides full detail about the Ironborn presence: how the party was sworn to secrecy of their presence under the threat of death, to which the party agreed, but also how they helped the party destroy the beasts. He adds that as long as this Ironborn sect, known as ROW, believe the party to hold this secret, the party may be able to use this as an advantage in the future.

            GREYDON:        I see. This is good.

Qarzdaq tells the king that they learned that these ROW members are not affiliated with those blockading the Lannister ports.

            ORNO:              It turns out that Rolan has some information about the Ironborn factions involved.

Greydon looks to Rolan.

            GREYDON:        Go on.

            ROLAN:             This group, ROW, is one that follows the Old Way of thinking. ROW stands for Rites of the Old Way. Their numbers, especially after this encounter, have dwindled to very few. It seems they may have lost their bloodlust, or at least their capabilities for waging it, after this encounter. I’ve known one of the members for quite some time. He is a very good friend of mine. A mentor. But I do not believe they are a threat any longer to anyone, Your Highness. That said, they are traveling north, back to the Iron Islands, and they plan to send word this way if they can find information about the blockades or any other threats on the coast.

            GREYDON:        Hmmm…

After a long pause, he continues.

            GREYDON:        Well… Even I can admit when I am wrong, however infrequent that may be.

            ARAN:               You said there might be some sort of reward for this?

Greydon lets slip a faint smile.

            GREYDON:        You have done well. You have done well. I told you the reward would be commensurate to the job done. So tonight, we shall hold a feast in your honor. You will receive your full payment then in the form appreciation, honors, and reward. Come back here at nightfall. I will begin preparations at once.

            ARAN:               And what would you do with Lord Aidin?

            GREYDON:        Leave him. I will deal with him myself.

            QARZ:               Very good, Your Grace. I would like to say that we did not leave Greenshield without a ruler. We selected the most capable of the remaining townspeople in charge. A woman by the name Maxeen.

            ORNO:              Though honestly, it was just based on her handwriting for a test we put forth.

Greydon’s eyes widen slightly.

            QARZ:               It was the only test we had Your Grace.

The rest of the party promote Maxeen’s capabilities by describing how she handled herself amongst the townspeople during the cleanup efforts.

            GREYDON:        I suppose that, as you mention, the last piece to this puzzle is the blockade.

            ARAN:               We heard that it must be from House Hoare.

            GREYDON:        Interesting that you say that. What I am about to say is confidential, you understand.

The group nods eagerly.

            GREYDON:        I received a raven just yesterday from Lorys Lannister at Casterly Rock requesting my involvement with House Hoare. This was the first of any such requests. He is suggesting I take the Hoare boy hostage to stay at Casterly Rock. I still agree the Manderly’s are suspicious in all this, but I am pleased to see The Rock sees Highgarden as the power to get this done rather than taking matters into their own hands. I am sending an envoy on the morrow to treat with Harmund Hoare.

            ORNO:              Do you believe the Hoares are faithful?

            GREYDON:        Um… No. I don’t. That is why I have to send an envoy. A trio of ships with diplomats to take care of the situation.

            QARZ:               Your Grace, what would you have us do?

            GREYDON:        I believe you have satisfied all that has been asked of you. You have no other obligations, other than keep peace within the Reach and to attend the feast tonight, of course.

The group takes this as their cue to leave the castle and ready themselves for the feast. They cordially take their leave, exiting the castle to wander the streets of Highgarden looking for dates.

​​Finding Dates

Upon reaching the main road, Qhortho leads the group to where Cora and Nora put on their show. Following the road, they have idle conversation about such miniscule topics like whether the king is planning to kill them all at the feast and whether or not they need to buy dresses for their dates.

Sure enough, the armored duo is finishing a performance just when they walk up.

Both armored fighters are collecting coins from the crowd. One of them is still fully armored, helmet and all, while Nora has her helm under her arm. Ornogrim notices Nora notice them approaching. She looks at Ornogrim, then to Qhortho, then to her partner, then back to Ornogrim. She begins making her way hurriedly in the opposite direction.

Ornogrim quickly walks around the crowd then cuts through to intercept Nora.

            ORNO:              Ah My Lady! I’m glad I caught you! I have an invitation plus one with the King of the Reach tonight if you’d be interested in attending.

She looks surprised and it seems that any worries she had moments ago have vanished.

            NORA:              That would be fantastic!

            ORNO:              Do you have a dress to wear?

            NORA:              I do.

            ORNO:              Great. Where shall I pick you up?

            NORA:              How about we meet outside the castle, say, just past nightfall?

            ORNO:              Sounds good, see you then!

Ornogrim finds his way out of the crowd and watches Qhortho wriggle through from another angle towards the fully-covered fighter.

            QHOR:              Cora!

Calling out her name so close startles her.

            CORA:               Hi, Qhortho. It is good to see you.

            QHOR:              It is good to see you! There’s a party tonight in my honor. I wish for you to be by my side.

            CORA:               I would like that.

            QHOR:              Can we meet by the castle at dusk?

            CORA:               Yes. That sounds great. I will be there.

Though her words state enthusiasm, her tone is glum and cool.

            QHOR:              Is something wrong?

            CORA:               Umm… No… no…

Although there seemed to be some hope of Qhortho understanding the art of womancraft with his question, the lack of follow-up shows he has much to learn.

            QHOR:              I will see you tonight then!

Qhortho weaves out of the crowd and reunites with the party with a fat grin on his face. They all go to the Deep Onion in hopes of the others finding dates. They find it incredibly easy when their pickup line includes the words “feast” and “castle” – made even easier by “at the king’s request.” Although they each vary in their ability to exude confidence, they do well enough to get their first picks of those in the Deep Onion at midday. Of course, it is among those that happen to be at a tavern at midday.

Qarzdaq finds the first firecrotch he sees. She doesn’t even put up a fight.

Aran realizes that his choice of wench is dumber than Qhortho, which would fall far short for a travel companion but happens to be just right for a lady friend for the night.

Rolan asks his choice of wench her favorite number. He’s not even looking at her when she gives her answer, but he responds that it’s his too. He tells her that with so much in common, they should go on a date. She hesitates long enough for Aran to jump in and tell her how famous Rolan is and how he is being honored by the king that night. At that point Aran simply walks away. Literally, he just stops talking and walks away. She casts a suspicious gaze at Rolan.

            WOMAN:          Why haven’t I heard about this?

Just then a town crier is heard outside.

            CRIER:               HEAR ME, HEAR ME! FEAST AT THE CASTLE TONIGHT! NOBILITY AND THEIR GUESTS WELCOME! ANY REMAINING OPEN SEATS ARE FIRST COME, FIRST SERVED! MUST DRESS TO IMPRESS!

The woman looks outside then back to Rolan and accepts the invitation.

They drink for the next few hours until they purchase rooms so they may change into their party clothes and have a place to stay for the night. It is at that point that Rolan realizes that he “hath no threads fit for a king.” He spends an hour or so shopping the local clothiers to find some very fancy cottonwear and meets the group at the Deep Onion.

​Wise Words

As the sun sets, it highlights Highgarden’s picturesque skyline of slender, stark white towers against the deep purple sky. Outside the castle, a crowd of well-dressed people are entering the great hall. Nora and Cora are noticeable as the only two faces pointing away from the castle entryway. Nora is wearing a beautiful red and white gown while Cora wears a slender dress of blue and black with a light blue veil. Nora motions them over on sight.

Qhortho runs over and grabs Cora by the waist and leans her back, raising her veil in the process. Although she covered it quite well with cosmetic paints, a deep black color is visible around her right eye at this close range.

            QHOR:              What has happened to your eye, my love?

            CORA:               I hurt it practicing.

            QHOR:              Well you are no less beautiful for it.

She thanks him, blushing slightly.

            ORNO:              Come on, save it for later!

Qhortho places her back on her feet and they filter into the crowd. Passing through the entrance, they see the large, mostly-empty hall is now filled with long wooden tables and chairs, decorated beautifully. Along the back wall, the dais has its own table where the royal family is seated. King Gardner is at the center throne-like seat, presently in a discussion with other men and women at his table. Above the King’s seat is a mounted Valyrian blade.

Naturally, their eyes move towards the movement in the center of the room, an area kept clear for the entertainment. A few dwarves are jumping around and knocking into each other, garnering cheap laughs.

Qhortho laughs hysterically, having never seen anything quite so ridiculous.

At the tables, places have been set for perhaps a thousand people, each of those seats being taken one-by-one. The guests appear to be taking seats at tables matching their personal level of decoration, presumably, indicating their stature. They begin to wonder aloud where they are supposed to sit.

Ser Marcyn, the head of the king’s guard, greets the group and leads them to seats just outside the most prominent position near the dais. Ornogrim sniffs the air and looks over at Qarzdaq with a raised eyebrow.

            ORNO:              Smell that?

Qarzdaq smells the air.

            QARZ:               Smells like lots of perfume.

            ORNO:              Yes, but underneath that. That there’s the smell of some wet panties, friend.

The guests are talking and bantering over wine and bread, waiting for the King to kick off the banquet. The baskets of bread and wine pitchers on the tables are being refreshed often.

Once almost all of the seats are filled, the king stands, revealing flamboyant layers of green, gold, and silver. He raises his ornate tankard and bangs on the side of it with a silver spoon. The crowd stands and quiets. The Tutelary of Trade stand. The music fades to silence.

             GREYDON:       Please. Sit.

Everyone sits.

             GREYDON:       I appreciate you all gathering here on such short notice to drink my wine and bread.

Boisterous laughter echoes through the hall.

             GREYDON:       You all know that here in Highgarden, under the rule of Gardeners for thousands of years, we appreciate those that dedicate themselves to our realm. To the Reach Proper. From the Westerlands to the Stormlands, from the Riverlands to the Redwyne. I would like to take this time to recognize five men who have paid a heavy toll on behalf of Highgarden, on behalf of The Reach, on behalf of all of you. Men who bravely returned the flow of trade to the Ocean Road, making it safe for our merchants and travelers. Men who courageously confronted invaders at the Shield Islands. Men who cunningly weeded out truths in a sea of lies.

He looks towards the party.

             GREYDON:       I would like the five of you to come up here now and kneel before your king.

They stand and begin to walk towards the dais. The king places his cup on the table and turns to the blade on the wall behind him, lifting it off the mount and walking from around the dais.

The party approaches the center carpeted area in front of the dais and kneel. King Greydon walks to the first member he comes to, Qarzdaq.

             GREYDON:       By House Gardener, rooted by Garth the Gardener, son of Garth Greenhand, I hereby knight you…

He lowers the blade to Qarzdaq’s right shoulder. Qarzdaq feels the weight of the blade briefly before feeling it on his right shoulder.

             GREYDON:       Ser Qarzdaq.

The king moves to the next in line.

             GREYDON:       Ser Aran.

Continuing on to the rest in turn…

             GREYDON:       Ser Rolan.

             GREYDON:       Ser Qhortho.

             GREYDON:       Ser Ornogrim.

He steps backward from the line of kneeling men.

             GREYDON:       You knelt as commoners and rise as The Shields of Shields.

The thousand attendees drink and applaud the newly-minted Shields of Shields. The party looks around, never having felt such widespread appreciation. The feeling is so foreign that it makes them all feel a little vulnerable.

The king walks back around the dais, allowing the men to take their seats while the crowd swoons. He remounts the blade, lifts his tankard, and awaits everyone else to lift theirs.

             GREYDON:       To the Shields of Shields.

The crowd repeats “To the Shields of Shields!” More applause follows the gulps of wine.

             GREYDON:       Now let us eat!

Servers appear from the rear and side halls with the first course of potage, a thick soup of meat and vegetables boiled and mashed. As they finish their plates, hoping that wasn’t the entire fest, the second course of stuffed peacock is served. They continue to eat and drink until the third course of roasted wild boar is presented. Becoming full, but not too full to turn away more food, they are given a fourth course consisting of pears in red wine. Now about bursting, and hoping there is an end here, the fifth and final course is put on each table: a selection of finest nuts from around The Reach.

Over the course of the feast, Ornogrim finds a few times to take a puff or two of Indica, just to fully embrace the atmosphere.

Aran glances up at the king regularly, waiting to find a moment when the king is not deep in conversation. Throughout the entire night, the king’s attention is held by one person or another. Finally, he stands to address the guests.

            GREYDON:        I have matters that require my attendance, but I welcome you to continue eating and drinking in my absence. I wish you all a good night.

He leaves the dais, still in conversation with the other royals. Although Aran does not want to interrupt, this could be his last chance to speak with the king before the next day.

Aran gets to his feet and intercepts the king.

            ARAN:               Your Grace! Your Grace. If I could have just a moment?

            GREYDON:        Yes, Aran? Excuse me… Ser Aran.

He grins.

            ARAN:               I’ve been thinking since we left your presence earlier. We have seen this problem far but not to its end. Would you be willing to give us the opportunity to continue on? To speak with those that maintain the blockade?

            GREYDON:        You have done quite well battling enemies. You have done quite well gathering information. What experience do you have in diplomacy and negotiations?

            ARAN:               We have done more over our travels than simply vanquishing enemies and sneaking around. We have gotten out of many tough situations and this would be just one more of them. We also have a lot of background on this specific situation. We have the fullest picture of anyone. We have seen the Lannister perspective, we have battled the Ironborn up close and even at sea, and we have experience negotiating with the offshoot sect ROW. We, and only we, can make the most convincing arguments.

The king analyzes Aran’s face for a moment before responding.

            GREYDON:        You have exceeded expectations at every step of the way. You have even gone beyond what I’ve asked. Initially, I did not take kindly to that, but you did it in a way that wound up best for The Reach. And had you not taken those actions, especially at Red Lake, I do not know we would be in as good a position as we are right now.

He glances to the rest of the group, still sitting at their table but peering at the conversation between Aran and Greydon.

He looks to the side and mumbles low to himself.

            GREYDON:        I hope this isn’t a decision I’ll be second guessing, for the page will be carved in stone…

He looks back to Aran.

            GREYDON:        This reminds me of something my father always used to say when I was a boy…

                                    No soul can know the trouble, sitting high upon the throne.
                                    Second guessing decisions, of those pages carved in stone.
                                    Loved by few and judged by many, bearing that weight alone.
                                    Never finding peace, the work ne’er to cease.
                                    Uneasy is the head that wears the crown.

                                    He always pronounced that last word as crone. I used to believe it was to preserve the meter. I now believe it is a double meaning for the physical crown and the Crone’s wisdom. Wisdom is something few possess and yet those in power are presumed to hold it perfectly.

Aran looks at him, not knowing what to say next.

            GREYDON:        I digress. If you believe you are able to do this and you succeed, I will reward you accordingly. If you fail, you will be judged harshly. There is no great reward without great risk. Are you absolutely sure you want to take on this task?

            ARAN:               Truer words were never said. And absolutely yes.

            GREYDON:        Then you shall. Continue to feast tonight. On the morrow you will meet the three ships that will take you to the Iron Islands. They are a little bigger than the little scout ship you had last and you will be flying the green fist of House Gardener.

            ARAN:               Yes, Your Grace. Thank you for this opportunity.

            GREYDON:        Yes. Well. Be off with you. Go enjoy yourself!

Aran bows his head once and backs away as the king exits the great hall. He walks back to his table and fills in the group of their new mission.

They’re not quite sure what to make of Aran taking on the group’s charge by himself, but at this point they are committed. They leave the arguments for the morning and finish the last of the wine before leaving the castle.

On their way out of the gate, they are stopped by Ser Marcyn.

            MARCYN:          You have done quite well for yourselves in short time. You do good for the realm and the king thanks you. He wants you to visit a shop owner on the morrow, first thing. You should meet him at the Order of Sorcery before you leave town. He did not say why, h​e just said it would be apparent who you would be meeting.

The group thanks Ser Marcyn and they continue on their way. They begin speculation of what that means but are distracted by their women friends. All five of them have switched their minds to the same track… get them to their beds!

Suddenly, an arrow thuds into Qarzdaq’s skin. He immediately falls to the ground. A second arrow strikes Aran, causing him to sidestep and call out in pain. He feels the familiar sense of poison.

The party looks across the street to the rooftops from where the arrows were sent. The dark night provides all the cover this assailant would need.

            ARAN:               Ladies! Run!

The party finds themselves in yet another precarious situation.

With a newfound 1,930XP, totaling 37,730​XP, this night of Day 337. (Technically Day 338…)