The Black Walls (Volantis RP)

[Dirty Chai]

Rhaegel had come with few retainers across the Narrow Sea, taking a ship from Estermont.
He dressed in a light mail, and was hooded and cloaked with blue linen.

The city of Volantis, eldest daughter of Valyria, was beautiful enough, but old and in decline.
It smelled of soured wine and public brothels.
The great columns and friezes of Valyrian architecture decayed here and there, with no one to care for its maintenance.
Not outside the Black Walls anyway.

This trueborn son of Valyria had come here, to Volantis, to become on with his bastard siblings, the Volantene nobles.
He now looked across the city of Volantis from a high, bald hill, to the Black Wall and its interned treasures.
The city glittered, domes darkened by the night sky, ghettos shaded from moonlight by smoke, and aristocratic braziers burned bright from their high balconies.
The temple of the Red God was a massive ornate tower, almost like a steep pyramid. It glowed bright, and incensed smoke hovered around it as the sunset ceremonies had just ended.

A giant, black oval mass of stone; maybe one-hundred feet wide or more.
Tiger Cloaks guarded the gate posts in droves.

Rhaegel was pure Valyrian in appearance, but it would not be enough to get inside;
He was still an outlander, a foreigner, regardless of how pure his blood likely was even compared to at least half of its inhabitants.

He would either need to be invited in, or sneak in himself.

The few retainers with him were setting up a tent behind him, since the hill was clear of buildings.

[Dirty Chai]

Days, weeks, months.
They seemed to fly by, the Volantene winter a comfortable vacation when compared with the temperatures of the West.
Ocean winds carried a chill in the morning, but the Essosi sun would burn away cloud and gale by midday, daily.

A man many once addressed openly as a prince leaned against the side of a statue, eating an over-sized citrus of some sort.
He dressed much like a Volantene man now, wearing blue silks and linen robes, loose and revealing; the silvered hair grew long now, flowing down past his shoulders and down his back and hanging in front of his chest. The grains were bleached, silver having become a bright white.
The man looked much the part of a Volantene noble, perhaps not of the higher echelons, but of noble background, epicurean and decadent.

The statue (and accompanying man) stood in a central intersection of major streets, a large circle with fountains and monuments.
The plaza was placed between four major junctures, one heading to the red mass of towers in the north of the city, one west across the large bridge to the ghettos, one down to the eastern harbor, and then one towards a large mass of black stone in the distance.
The Black Walls.

The man stood and sat from many angles during his time here, watching its gates and the rooftops of its contents intently, from sunrise deep into the clear Volantene nights.
His companions took odd jobs while he plotted, keeping them all fed and acquiring their master some convincing attire.

He even stood now, continuing his watch, in the plaza.
The pure violet eyes analyzed and scrutinized every passerby in the plaza, and placed the utmost focus on the rare occasion something came in or out of the black stone.


He paused, looking down at the fruit's root in his hand.
The sweet parts were all eaten away now, and he frowned with disappointment, taking his eyes off the walls for a moment, tossing the root at another headless statue of some old Triarch.

And then it was that a procession was heard, marching Tiger Cloaks surrounding a Volantene sedan chair carried by shaved slaves, turning down from the harbor avenue through the plaza towards the black stone, every man, woman, and child pausing to stare and whisper at the ornate procession.

The Outlander froze, as if trying to remain undetected.
His eyes bugged somewhat as he took in the sight of the chair's inhabitant, who could have as well been his long-lost twin.
He stared for a long moment before the man's eyes seemed to return the gaze with disdain.

And then the Outlander finally felt satisfied, after half a year of patience and waiting, here was his way inside the forbidden city of Volantis' Old Valyrian caste.
He strode away casually, feeling quite relieved to see a plan formulating, stopping by two old men playing Cyvasse before leaving the plaza.
The two elders wore himations, with no chitons underneath, with rough sticks for canes at their sides. A dog was nearby.
"Are they trying to play up Volantene stereotypes..?" wondered the Outlander before speaking to the closer of the two.

He took a respectful flection, as was the Volantene fashion when seeking advice or help from the wise or revered, and spoke with a clear, curious tone, point to the Black Walls.
"Who was that man who passed through here just now? Forgive my ignorance, elder."​
He was beginning to master the Volantene inflections, their own dialect of the many-tongued language of Bastard Valyrian.

[Honors Bastion]

“Him, he’s one of the Triarchs who rule Volantis. From the garb of his men, he must be from the party of the Tiger. That must make him Triarch Horonno as no other Tiger has won a seat this year.” replied one of the old men.

The other then said “Yes, he is Triarch Horonno. I met him personally during the elections when he was giving out slaves by the dozens to buy votes from the aristocracy.” The man turns to the outlander and slowly examines him. He notices the many features of the man’s face and appearance that would make the man a true son of Valyria but there appeared to be something off about him, just slightly. He then asks him “And who are you stranger. On just a glimmer, I would suspect that you are a true Valyrian and yet, a true Valyrian would know who that man was.”

[Dirty Chai]

The outlander takes a long pause, glancing to the Black Walls and back to the second elder.
"I am Benarro, elders. I have spent many years abroad in the West. How long has Horonno ruled in the name of the Tiger?"

[Honors Bastion]

“Ah, that makes sense then.” said the elder, still not completely convinced of the stranger’s words. “Horonno has not ruled for very long at all. In fact, he was only just elected this year in a very narrow victory over a fellow man of the Tiger. His opponent was an elderly man, well respected amongst the aristocracy but his age was failing him and it seems the people wanted to choose a younger man to rule the city over him.”

[Dirty Chai]

"Is Horonno of one of the ancient lineages?" asked the outlander, a look of curiosity over the mention of the Triarch's election.

[Honors Bastion]

“He is, or at least he claims to be. Like you stranger, Horonno has just returned to the city from the West a few weeks before the last election. As soon as he returned, it was said that he immediately began plotting and planning for the elctions, using his supposed ancient lineage as well as the hoard of slaves that he brought along with him when he returned to buy votes. His claims were extremely suspicious until he presented an heirloom that could only come from a member of one of the ancient lineages. That quieted the talks of him being a fraud but many still do not believe him. They say the man stole the heirloom from an ancient tomb. The city's elders were unable to verify this and they had to allow Horonno to run for the election.” replied the elder.

[Dirty Chai]

OOC: I was going to murder and impersonate him, but what you're implying could also work.

"This city has a history of conflict between the old and the young."
He paused again, and then changed the subject slightly.
"The other Triarchs are still Vindagaro and Vogarro, yes?"

[Honors Bastion]

The elder nodded and said “Yes, Vindagaro and Vogarro are still the Triarchs. Neither had any serious opposition during the last election with Vogarro even running unopposed. It seems the Elephants will still remain in power for decades to come at this point. The Tigers just don’t have the strength to remove them.”

[Dirty Chai]

"Trade is popular with the citizenry. War brings death."
He took another glance at the Black Walls.
"Though I suppose there's an attraction to conquest."
He half-knelt, and then backed away.
"Thank you for your help, elders."

[Dirty Chai]

The outlander's companions set about discreetly spreading word of this Benarro, a man supposedly born of Jenno, the admiral, and descended from Trianna.
They put coin in hands carefully, telling the common gossiper and crier about this recently returned aristocrat.

All while the very same Benarro sat watching the Black Walls from a high perch, day and night, waiting for his entrance.

[Honors Bastion]

Roll will be a standard 10/20 roll with a 1-10 being hey believe your ploy and 11-20 being they don’t believe you and they will require something more as persuasion.

Rolled an 10, so they believe you but just barely.

[Dirty Chai]

It was a bright day, the spring winds of the Summer Sea blowing in and cooling the sun-splashed streets of rotting Volantis.

The Black Walls stood before "Benarro", though this time he was approaching them, not watching them.
He rode a broad stallion, one of noble Dothraki breeding, and his retainers walked alongside him like Volantene lesser nobles, armed with scale-mail and sabers.
The silver-haired "Benarro" himself dressed in a purple and yellow himation, revealing part of his chest in its loose folds made of silk and linen.
A tattoo symbolizing his claimed lineage was etched down his revealed right shoulder, a three-headed snake coming out of a sword-hilt.
Ornate gold jewelry hung about him, small earings on his ears, armbands on his limbs and a light brooch on his neck.

They came upon the gate, and his eye pupils moved ever so slightly to watch the movements of the Tiger Cloaks at the portal, the procession continuing as if it belonged inside the Walls..

[Dirty Chai]

[OOC: Forget that, change of plans]

A ship sailed, and that was the end of Benarro.

It was a flight of fancy, a wonderful plan that could have been executed had everything fallen into place, but things were changing back home fast, and no longer did the plan seem so perfect.
The Outlander lost interest in the Black Walls, and simply abandoned the ploy and boarded a ship headed for Dorne, leaving Benarro behind.