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Thread: Old Ghosts Stir

  1. #1
    Dirty Chai's Avatar Dux Limitis
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    Default Old Ghosts Stir

    "Rasca Lyscaros" calls the smug triarch from atop his elephantine seat, crafted from ivory and elephant skin to keep up the rule of 'never leaving the back of an elephant'.

    The postrated noble in question raised his head, angling his line of sight above the stairs to the fattened prelate.
    His silvered hair slides down his shoulders to hang to the floor, straight and full. His gilded brooch shifts as he moves, and the jewels and rings of his wrists, ankles, and robe seem to glint ever so gently; As was the way of the Volantene Black Wall.

    Scores of violet and blue eyes turned to watch the Triarch with anticipation mired with contention.
    "By moon and star, by sun and earth, you are found innocent of the charges of treason and fraud.
    However, you are banished from Volantis indefinitely."
    He raised a hand, cermoniously.
    "On the coming of the next new moon, your presence in the dominion of Volantis will be criminal.
    You are to leave Essos, and sail west, to the Seven Kingdoms. There, you will serve in the court of their King as both advisor and observer. If you prove valuable to the triarchy, you may yet live long enough to return home."

    --------------------------------------------------------

    Row, row, row. The oars dip into the greened deep, producing foam and cutting like a knife through butter.
    The red sails were being unfoiled above, readying for the open ocean.
    Heralded with a black scorpion, the dromon's master stood at the front of the galley, hands behind his back, watching the distant horizon with a strange, uncharacteristic expression.

    "Husband," Vemaerya spoke, approaching him from behind.
    Wrapped in an ornate, blanketing cloak that was like a furry tapestry, she was woman of high, Volantene stock, as was her husband. Young, blonde, violet eyed. A tattoo ran down her shoulder, detailing her descent from seven famous triarchs.

    "Rasca.." she repeated, gently, unsure.
    She reached out from the cloak and touched his right arm, right where his snakish tattoo merged with the swirly one.
    He shaked to an attention as she touched him, a shiver sent throughout his body, and he looked to her with a smile as if coming back to her from a distant world.

    "Where do you go?" she asked, a look of concern on her face.
    This was so strange. But then, he was banished, even after being found innocent.
    All of it was treason to her, she reckoned. Rasca Lyscaros was an upright, valiant man.
    But, at least he had her, as she had followed her husband to his ship, with all his belongings.

    Rasca was a silvered Valyrian now, his once gold hair now a graying sheen of blonde.
    His violet eyes looked back out to sea with a look of relaxation.
    At his neck sat an ornate brooch, crafted with two layers of half-circular plates, gilded & jeweled.
    His wrists were adorned with numerous bracelets, and his revealed upper back, shoulders, and arms were tattooed extensively in noble and proud designs.
    His robe was somewhat revealing at the top, using one shoulder to support a sort of toga that fell to his calves.
    Entailed with black and red and white, it meant a number of things, but in truth was just stylish.

    "Memories of home," he answered.
    Volantis, she thought. Westeros, he thought.

    As she looked at to sea in the same direction as he, a telling smile crossed his face, revealing a decade of preparation and planning and lying. His left hand tightened its grip on a small coin grafted with the face of a goat.
    To the side, a brazier held the ashes of what was once a letter, sent all the way from the far west, from an old friend..
    Last edited by Dirty Chai; October 21, 2014 at 03:11 AM.

  2. #2
    Pinkerton's Avatar Praeses
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    Default Re: Old Ghosts Stir

    Ten years had passed since he had last seen him. Ten long years.

    He was getting bald, his face was filling with wrinkles and his eyes started looking tired. He was not as fast as he had been and his muscles started to fade. He was getting old.
    What a disgrace.

    He wasn't the same man that had ridden with the Goat King. He wasn't the same man that had served in the Kingsguard. He wasn't the same man that had almost kidnapped a High Septon. He had even changed his name again.

    But he had been called, and he answered this call.

    They hadn't lost contact totally. A couple of letters were sent throughout the years. But it wasn't easy, Morrigen had a hard time writing and it was very complicated to find someone who was traveling to Volantis in The Three Sisters.

    He had moved to Sisterton before the Great Spring Sickness broke out so he was left unaffected. It had been pure luck, because if it had caught him while he was still in the wild, "working as a bandit", it would have certainly killed him. He once had been strong but now he was starting to get weak.
    In Sisterton he felt somewhat at home. It smelled and it was filled with criminals. He even made a couple of acquaintances along the years. But mostly he drank and worked as a muscle for the local smugglers to afford the ale.

    But he was meant to be for something bigger. And it was time to stop ing around and finally getting to it

  3. #3
    Dirty Chai's Avatar Dux Limitis
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    Default Re: Old Ghosts Stir

    A small bag arrived for Morrigen, appearing on the isles presumably after much floundering about.

    All it contained was a simple coin, flat on one side - the other side held the face of a goat, but its eyes were still closed.

    Not yet. But soon.

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