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

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“We discuss things as a group – including as many of the others as is possible at the time – and then we vote on a path to pursue together – majority rules!” You tap the desk once to emphasize your decision

“Ahhhh,” Othello remarks, taking his feet of your furniture and shifting his sitting position so he is leaning forward with both boots planted squarely on the floor of your cabin. “So what you are saying, my friend, is that you believe my actions should be under the sway of not only your own meaningless opinions, but also those of your girlfriend and your fool?”

It takes you a moment to process all of the casual vitriol he just spewed at your proposal. “She's not my –”

“And I notice that at least three people on this secret cabal work directly for you. How fortunate a coincidence that a majority of the votes are on your payroll, William.”

“I don't pay – ”

“I believe I've heard enough,” he interrupts you again, brooking you no quarter to explain yourself. “You do not seem the type of vacuous creature I despise and you quite clearly possess a style I can appreciate. Coupled with the fact that you command influence, wealth and power – and I see the benefit of an alliance betwixt our respective forces . . . For now. But you are a fool to think I would subject my freedom of action to committee approval on the vague guarantee of a safety net.”

The pirate stands up, smoothing down his vest as he does so to maintain a pristine appearance. “I'll be taking my leave.”

As the man walks away, you feel a cold dread seep into the back of your mind.

“This stays a secret between us, right?” you call out before he makes it to the far door of your chamber. Your words stop the muscled figure in his tracks. “What I've told you. About my loyalties.”

Othello casts a glance over his shoulder and flashes you a pearly white smile before offering a paltry remedy to sooth your concerns. “Othello is under no obligation to keep such information concealed. But the Dragon King does not need to know and I do not feel the urge to tell him. Best hope it stays that way, white boy.”

And with that he swivels his head back around and exits your chambers.

. . . Well shit.

+++++++++++++++

You've got five days until you arrive in Meereen.

>What do you do in the meantime? (write-in)

>>759759
>Assassinate Othello or work towards it. He's obviously going to be a thorn in our side.

Uh


This is sort of close to the concept I had for my own quest....

Welcome to Banished Quest!
You take the role of a young autist, thrust into a fictional world.

It is currently the 5th of Yuddha, in the year 936 NH.

Required reading material:
Character Sheet:
http://pastebin.com/8wLGz3HQ (embed)
Inventory:
http://pastebin.com/9mxDQn7N (embed)
Companions:
http://pastebin.com/tWc3Zjje (embed)
Spellbook:
http://pastebin.com/Tu1sVEnQ (embed)
Runic Library:
http://pastebin.com/7zQt9XLy (embed)
Current Missions:
http://pastebin.com/rzD5PPsU (embed)

Dice:
http://pastebin.com/nhswziq6 (embed)
Magic:
http://pastebin.com/aYPzn0aU (embed)
http://pastebin.com/2iHKTQTS (embed)
http://pastebin.com/Hu8SUUyL (embed)
Combat:
http://pastebin.com/e1peu2ih (embed)
http://pastebin.com/1niidZEa (embed)
Enchanting:
http://pastebin.com/jUQKQLLx (embed)
Fluff:
http://pastebin.com/ydKwNLba (embed)
http://pastebin.com/sijmZSSf (embed)
http://pastebin.com/UygnkCBe (embed)
http://pastebin.com/gR0sgiFu (embed)
http://pastebin.com/ibi8j7Md (embed)
http://pastebin.com/q8rQUjzS (embed)
Archives:
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Banished%20Quest
Twitter:
https://twitter.com/Quidam_Asinus
Ask Page:
http://ask.fm/Quidam_Asinus
Tumblr:
http://somaqm.tumblr.com/


IRC Channel:
#BanishedDiscussion on Rizon

At this hour, with the curtains drawn, the sole source of light in your room is the monitor, harsh white light just barely illuminating your desk but little else. By its light, you're able to make out the collection of empty bottles scattered across the desk. How many you've drained tonight alone, you can't recall.

Jesus Christ, Soma. Thirty two days. That's how long you've been gone. Thirty two fucking days.

You drag your mouse across the filthy wood, sending a bottle or two tumbling to the floor as you do.
Twitter. Even now, this far gone, you expect a new tweet, announcing a thread some time soon.
There's nothing, of course - even if there was, he'd cancel it. As always.

You spend a good five minutes just staring, blankly, at his last tweet. Spring? Does he really think you can go that long? Does he think he can? By spring, he won't even remember a single thing about your beloved Banished Quest.

There's only one solution to all this.
The gun lies at the base of your monitor. Several times now you've tried to work up the courage to do it. Once, you even got your finger on the trigger.
This time will be different'. There's more alcohol than blood pumping through your system, and thanks to it you can finally understand, no, accept the truth.
Soma isn't coming back.

Post with your trip in my quest again and I do this fifty more times!

>>759759
>What do you do in the meantime? (write-in)
Practice fire magic.
Try to figure out how to do a Hadouken.

>>759911
this

>>759759
> timeskip
> assassinate Othello, by giving him aids
> practice some memes with the ship's cats, maybe dress them up and stage a play
> spar with one of your sellswords
> challenge Raina to an embroidery contest
> tell the crew spooky stories, maybe about a square sponge that wears pants and lives in a pineapple under the sea waiting for careless sailors to fall into the sea's unforgiving embrace
> get the sailors to teach you how to tie good knots
> put plague in the crow's nest

>>760609
>Assassinate Othello by giving him Aids
Othello is black in case you didn't notice

>>760826
Sssooo, your saying he already has aids?

Roll me 1d100, best of 3.

Rolled 40 (1d100)

>>761222

Rolled 8 (1d100)

>>761222

File: DoJo's Bizarre adventure.gif (3.16 MB, 360x186)

3.16 MB GIF

Rolled 70 (1d100)

>>761222

File: Varys in the Black Cells.jpg (126 KB, 1280x720)

126 KB JPG

Over the next five days you decide to focus on enhancing your skills at fire magic through rigorous practice and prayer – dedication, devotion, evocation.

While the long hours of your travel at sea has most of the crew abuzz with talk of dragons, foreign beauties, dangers and R'hllor – you are locked down in the bowels of your vessel with as many candles as you can scrounge up from the various crates of trade goods you are intending to hawk at some point.

It takes much effort and you aren't exactly sure on what is the best utilization of your time to maximize the growth of your ability to weave flames with your mind via magical means. You conduct daily and nightly ceremonies and prayers – often still accompanied by enthralled and faithful sailors – that pale in comparison to the ones performed at the Temple of the Lord of Light in Volantis some few weeks ago. You are lacking in supplies, alchemical spices, artifacts, holy sites, knowledgeable peers or priests, or even a hearty specimen of livestock to sacrifice that wouldn't piss Raina off royally.

But thankfully you still manage to make some progress with your powers. Soon you've moved on from altering the flame of one candle – causing the wick to burn bigger and smaller in increasingly more frequent pulses – to altering the flame of two candles at once.

Then three candles.

By the fifth day, a troupe of candles dances for you in alternating bursts of energetic leaps and kicks, putting on a show for all those who require a demonstration to bolster their faith in you, this voyage and your God.

Only once the Great Pyramids of Meereen drift into view and good Captain Semar bellows across the ship, ordering the deck hands to prepare for coming into port, do you decide to test your the limits of your ability to see if you can tread even further beyond!

Holding a torch in your hands, the smell of burning pitch invades your nostrils as you angle yourself so the smoke does not fly right into your face. It takes a long time. Perhaps as long as a minute – maybe more. But ever so slowly do you watch as your mental ministrations take their toll on the comparatively raging fire. The flame flickers and slowly recedes as you focus, dwindling until the chunk of bumpy wood in your hands merely glows.

Satisfied with your ability to diminish, you attempt the reverse. Within seconds the fire blazes back to life, growing back to its original size so quickly it startles you and you nearly drop the implement of light.

“Wow,” Raina comments simply from where she's been watching, drawing your attention to her. “You're actually a wizard.”

“Indeed I am,” you confirm with a chuckle. “Indeed I am.”

(((Lurking)))

Rolled 58 (1d100)

Ser Burton Crakehall

Rolled 35, 99, 69 = 203 (3d100)

Ser Patrek

File: Harrenhal.jpg (95 KB, 800x586)

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“Finally!” you exclaim to Jace as you finish your return trip through the underground tunnel. Emerging into the bright sunlight that washes over the dizzingly tall tower ruins, you sigh out in exhaustion. Not just from today, but from all the bullshit exploring you've had to subject yourself to in order to keep most of this shit secret from the common soldier – especially those not on the payroll of you or your fiance.

You figured there had to be some sort of secret escape tunnel in this place. Harren the Black made the most impregnable castle in the history of Westeros, but all these ancient nobles had a desire for secrecy and hidden architectural elements only they were privy to. It was just a matter of finding out what illogically placed escape route or secret entrance had been concocted and where exactly it was located within the massive castle's expansive locale.

You had thought your curious delve into the layout of your own domain wouldn't take long, but with only yourself and Jace to truly rely upon unless you wanted any secrets discovered to soon become not so secret after a few drinks, you had to do the legwork yourself.

And boy is Harrenhal massive, unwieldy, spooky and filled with dust and spider webs. You had to comb through the larders, dungeons, cellars and secluded areas holding a torch to usher light into the dark to make sure you didn't trip and break your neck, let alone discover super secret hidden passageways.

Doing all this scooby doo investigation has taken a lot of time out of your days you could have spent accomplishing some actual governance and has instead forced you to put most of your plans for the future on the backburner as you merely listen to daily reports and let Tywin pretty much run the whole shebang as he awaits news from his peace envoy.

And you've been searching Harrenhal for over two weeks now, so it comes as a major relief that you've finally struck gold. Located in a partially underground section of the most southern part of the thick curtain walls was a potentially unstable tunnel that leads straight to the waters of the God's Eye. You only mention its potential instability as the tunnel was nearly impassable it was so clogged with dirt and debris for who knows how long.

Thankfully, with Jace's help, you've cleared most of the path and even took measures to ensure a small boat was hidden and ready for use at the exut by the shore far from the prying eyes of most travelers or villagers.

In the hopefully unlikely event that Harrenhal is about to fall to enemies or has been snatched from right beneath you, all you need do is make it to the tunnel and you've got a straight shot to wherever you wish – even the Isle of Faces if you want to hang out with the green men and the weirwood trees for some spooky, cryptic bullshit.

Thankfully this endeavor has also provided you with intimate knowledge of the intricacies of your home base which could also be very helpful if shit hits the fan.

Now with this side diversion completely taken care of after the expense of a significant chunk of your time, you can focus on something else.

>What now, Mira? (write-in)

>>764167
I guess focus on governing and improving Harrenhal.

Put out a notice that we'll accept villagers displaced by the war and give them a place to live if they help with the improving efforts, which in turn gives them a job.

Sleep with Jace. Dude deserves it for being a good sport.

>>764167
Fuck Jace.
Fuck Jace.
Fucking fuck Jace.
We need to legitimatise the marriage.
We can't keep putting this off.

>>764158
>What now, Mira? (write-in)
Start looking for people to put into your council.
We need a spymaster, a septon, a steward and a chancellor.
Jayce can handle the Marshal job.

>>764207
After we've gotten our council, we need to listen to them for their grievances in order to map out our "to-do" list.
Once we've figured out the shit that needs our attention, we'll dispatch our people the things that need doing.

Our main issues right now are as far as I can tell:
-Public Order disrupted by Tywin's mercenaries
-Lack of funds
-Preparation for winter

>>764207
this

>>764167
Fuck Jace

>>764167
Juck Face

File: Weese.jpg (48 KB, 425x601)

48 KB JPG

While preoccupied with discovering a way to bug out, you've also been discussing plans for the wedding. Funds, concerns and logistics settled between you two while traipsing around dank, dark, dusty corridors. You figure it's time to get it over with and commit to this future you're pursuing. The longer you postpone the marriage the more illegitimate your standing and position here at Harrenhal will be viewed.

Jacelyn is a good man, loyal to both your efforts and schemes. While you doubt you'll ever love him, you can safely say he's a good person and that's a lot more than you can say for most of the people you've slept with.

Certain issues you were able to settle immediately. Jace was insistent you keep your last name as to adopt his own would muddy the argument for your rights to claim Harrenhal through your own ancestry. Likewise, any children – God forbid – produced from your union should also possess the House name of Towers. Thankfully those few seamstresses you were able to acquire have gone to work on producing tapestries, doublets and banners with your blazon upon them. It also helps that your sigil is rather simple.

The sole remaining concern to settle is how much effort you wish to put into the wedding itself. Do you wish to make this a relatively grand affair with all the proper garnishes and rituals that getting married in Westeros entails? Or should you do something much smaller and with less pomp and circumstance since you are currently embroiled in a devastating war?

Another issue you must consider that the two of you have been discussing, unrelated to the wedding, revolves around establishing a proper council of advisers for you to consult with to deal with the problems plaguing the governance of Harrenhal.

With yourself at the head of such a council, Jace shall be your military commander as befits his experience and station. A small portion of Lady Whent's household remained behind at Harrenhal after she was forcibly evicted and have been serving the Lannisters during their occupation. You aren't confident they all can be trusted to give able advice, whether due to incompetence or intentional sabotage, but there are a few people to consider.

Tothmure the maester is a wise individual in his autumnal years. Assigned to Harrenhal by the Citadel, he has served Tywin and Lady Whent both. He appears loyal to the estate itself rather than particularly devote to whoever happens to rule at the time.

Weese, the understeward of the Wailing Tower, has attempted to ingratiate himself with Ser Jacelyn Bywater whenever possible, insinuating he possesses some skill at rooting out disobedience and lies. Your husband believes the man a distasteful, disgusting wretch but good spymasters have never been known as upstanding individuals.

>Grand Wedding
>Small Wedding

AND

>Maester Tothmure joins council (Y/N)
>Weese joins council (Y/N)
>Search for more potential council members (Y/N)

AND

>Something else? (write-in)

>>768205
>>Small Wedding
>Yes
>No
>No

See to the wedding preparation yourself - we don't want there to be blood spilled, of course.

>>768205
>>Small Wedding
>Y
>N
>Y

>>768205
oi, trick, when are we returning to the Lost Island?

>>768205
>Small Wedding

>Maester Tothmure joins council (Y)
Always can use a maester
>Weese joins council (N)
Nah, seems too slimy.
>Search for more potential council members (Y)
Need at least one clergyman to act as the scapegoat.
>Something else? (write-in)
See if you can't find some extra crossbows lying around and then arm your personal guard with them.
Then try to train them personally to shoot decently.

>>768205
>Small Wedding
>Y
>N
>Y

Roll me 1d100, best of 3.

Rolled 28 (1d100)

>>769439

Rolled 68 (1d100)

>>769439

Rolled 27 (1d100)

>>769439

Rolled 83, 90, 84, 40, 45, 50, 4, 29, 39, 52 = 516 (10d100)

>>769439

File: Septon Sterlan.jpg (51 KB, 552x414)

51 KB JPG

Maester Tothmure is quickly invited into your inner circle as a man of learning, wisdom and impartiality. He swears himself into your service and promises to honor your wishes and aid your aims to the best of his ability.

In contrast, you decide not to indulge Weese nor his ambitions to raise his station. Although encouraging Jace to ignore the commoner's comments, you don't completely ignore the man. If he is as skilled as he claims to be, than the fact that he doesn't work for you means he may end up working for someone else. It's a slim chance that he'll pursue a viable avenue to work against you, but best to keep an eye on him anyway to ensure he doesn't get up to mischief that works out not in your favor.

. . .

Two days pass since the completion of your escape tunnel preparations. And although you've mentally prepared for this moment, on the day of your wedding you find yourself all nerves and jitters. Garbed in a fine, white, silk dress, you attempt to calm your breathing to soothe the brain pain as you fidget nervously. The affair is small as you had desired, contrasting marvelously with the grotesquely huge and ruined sept it is to be conducted in – all in accordance with the Harrenhal standard of architecture. Makes the whole thing seem quite devoid of life considering there will be only five people in attendance. Ser Jace and yourself. Jaime and Senelle as your attendants as well as the witnesses to the event. And old Septon Sterlan, a white-haired wanderer who you had extended a haven of sanctuary to after you had received word he was passing through your lands a week ago. He claims to have been formerly in the service of House Tully before the war broke out and has since been traveling to the tune of his own conscience. Blessing the displaced and offering prayers to those deceased and slain before their proper time, you convinced him that you were in dire need of a religious figure.

Which wasn't a lie! Lady Whent took her septon with her when she fled, so Sterlan was a necessary component if you wanted to conduct this wedding any time soon and with some degree of legitimacy. He seemed eager to minister your wedding, claiming it was a breath of fresh air and levity compared to the more somber religious rites he had been called upon by the Gods to perform as of late.

Considering the stern visage etched into his wrinkled features when you are escorted inside by Senelle, you suppose it may have been prudent and kind to warn him of the specifically unique atmosphere of this ceremony. Jace already stands in his proper place, his hair coiffed and combed, his satin doublet proudly presenting the Bywater emblem – three silver fish on blue and white. He smiles upon seeing you and you give your husband a curt nod as you stride gracefully before the pulpit from which the septon plans to speak. Senelle takes her seat in the row opposite Jaime as you come to stand beside the lantern-jawed soldier you're going to be fucking tonight.

File: Jacelyn Bywater.jpg (176 KB, 407x266)

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You zone out as the transient priest speaks his platitudes and blessings, citing a litany of holy texts. You strive to condense all the hesitations and fears you hold into a tiny, little, metaphorical box in your mind that can be shoved to the back and considered much later. For now, you focus on appearing regal, not slouching, and not keeping your knees rigidly locked in place. You don't wish to be the fainting, low-constitution damsel right now. Even when supposedly no eyes are upon you.

“In sight of the Seven,” Sterlan melodiously sounds out. “I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one.”

Holding up a cloth ribbon, the Septon gestures for you to clasp each other's hands.

You two comply and Jace gives you a quick comforting squeeze as together you present the union of your hands to the holy man. He wraps them together with the ribbon, providing a physical manifestation of the symbolic nature of your union today.

“For eternity,” he speaks. “Look upon one another and say the words.”

Turning to face Ser Jacelyn "Ironhand" Bywater, you drink in his features one last critical time. Objectively attractive. Well-put together. Warm eyes – at least when looking at you. Only one hand, but – y'know. Everyone has their scars to bear.

The memorized words seem to spill forth like a flowing stream from your mouth easily, as lies always seem to do when coming from you.

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am his. And he is mine. From this day. Until the end of my days.”

He speaks near identical words at the same pace.

You finish your vows simultaneously. And then you come together, meeting at the lips.

He tastes of freshly chewed mint and the tiny fibers of emerging stubble tickle your chin.

But all in all. Hey. This is a far cry from the worst day of your life.

>Septon Sterlan joins the council (Y/N)

AND

>Something else? (write-in)

>>769974
Yeah let this nigga in deep

>>769974
>>769998
Jace, and the Septon.

File: Meereen.png (771 KB, 900x506)

771 KB PNG

Stepping out onto the docks, the Meereenese cityscape sprawls out before your eyes. The pyramids dominate the skyline proudly, demonstrating the wealth and prestige of the slaver nobles. The buildings, the walls, the streets – all are made of bricks of an assortment of various colors. High walls and bronze facsimiles of harpies over most gates, the Meereenese project strength and prestige as you peer out into the sea of collared and chained slaves milling in the streets and alleys like whipped dogs.

Flanked by Raina, Plague and your dutiful bodyguards – you let your body settle in to the change in environmental conditions. More humid and hot than when you were on the high seas – and guaranteed to get worse as you move from the sea breeze cooled docks and deeper into the heart of the ancient city. Already the stink of crammed together bodies that toil and sweat in unbearable conditions assaults your nostrils.

You sigh out as you consider your options. Othello has already arrived and you can spy his anchored swan ships from here. His crew goes about offloading whatever supplies they brought with them to sell or utilize. He most likely plans to wait for Viserys's arrival before leaving the docks – which should be within a few hours at most.

You could do as much the same – await the Dragon King's timely entrance before meeting with Daenerys and her dragons. Or you could search for her now to entreat with the Khaleesi without Viserys.

You could also bail completely – take what you've got and slip into the city streets without any chance of suffering the crazed Targaryen's impotent wrath.

Or you could do something else with the time you have other than sit around twiddling your thumbs.

>Wait for Viserys
>Find Daenerys
>Sell some of your cargo
>Bail
>Something else? (write-in)

>>770127
Assassinate Dany

>>770138
Seconding this, attempt to find the faceless man.

>>770127
Go talk to Dany about a partnership to produce a line of dildos modeled after her dragons' dicks.

Roll me 1d100, best of 3

Rolled 48 (1d100)

>>770168

Rolled 12 (1d100)

>>770168

Rolled 14 (1d100)

>>770168
crit

Velo attempts to assassinate Daenerys but is unfortunately caught.

He is executed the next day.

>END

If you would like to hear any individual character's epilogue feel free to ask.

The quest is over and I hope you enjoyed the experience and wonderful ending my friends.

t. TrickQM

>>770185
what happened to Viserys and Othello

>>770204
Viserys ends up getting executed by Allant.

Othello bails and goes to be king of the pirates again.

Rolled 45 (1d100)

>>770185
This quest ain't dying today, she started with a Coup and she will continue on through a Coup.

Coup Time.

>>770211
Go for it Sora. I believe in you!

>>770185
Sure, did Mannis bail out and go ethnic cleansing with Mills

“ALL PASSENGERS, LISTEN UP! TIME TO GET ON THE SHIP. LEAVE YOUR BELONGINGS ON THE DOCK WITH YOUR TICKET. THE SAILORS WILL CARRY THEM TO YOUR QUARTERS. ALL PASSENGERS MUST PRESENT THEIR SEALS TO ME BEFORE BEING LET ON BOARD.”

The ship captain sits back down at his wooden table, flanked by a swarthy looking orc and a darker-skinned human wearing full plate mail. The various people waiting on the waterfront begin to stir and collect their things. Your companion, Sir Renault, turns to you and hands you a blue, velvet bag and a letter. The letter has the seal of The Republic on it and the bag rustles with the sound of clinking coins.

“There's 200 gold coins in that bag. Keep it close and the letter closer. Don't open it and don't let anybody touch it after the Captain inspects it. The only person who should open this letter is Blackburn. He'll meet you when you get off the ship. The trip will take about three weeks. I'll handle your equipment.”

He stoops to pick up your luggage and brings it over to where the rest of the passengers are putting their things. You shove the bag into your pocket and move into the line of people going past the Captain's table. In a few moments it's your turn and The Captain sticks his hand out. You give him the letter and he stares at the seal for a moment, his brown eyes inspecting it meticulously before softening as he hands the letter back to you.

“So you're one of Renault's hopefuls are ya? That makes you number seven then.” He looks you up and down. “So what's so special about you?”


>Magical Potential
>Martial Potential
>Mysterious Potential

>>770220
Mannis convinced Stannis that all was lost and together they sailed to the Wall where they helped fight the White Walkers.

>>770224
>>Martial Potential

Barbarian Alan plz.

>>770226
“Sir Renault told me he believes I possess some latent ability to hit things with a sword” You say. Renault told you this was not very confidential information. You know what you should say out loud in the open around so many people. The Captain picks up on your lack of hesitation.

“Don't worry, all my boys and girls here have been vetted personally by the best spooks and inquisitors Ceril has. Don't know if the same can be said about the passengers, but Renault generally knows how to pick 'em. Can't say I have a good sense of your skills, but you look a bit strong compared to the others. Shit, all this is over my head. Well, I'm Francisco Faraday, captain of The Skipping Stone, and I'll be your guide for the next coupla weeks. Its a bumpy ride but I've done it many times before.” The two of you shake hands as Renault returns to your side. Captain Faraday looks at him as a smile creeps onto his face. “Renault! You old, bald bastard. Your crew is motlier than mine!”

Renault instinctively grabs at the long locks of red hair that frame his balding head. “Bald? Not yet, you young pup. When you're an old sea dog and that bird's nest of yours migrates to your chin, you'll feel sorry for insulting an 'old' knight.” Renault looks towards you. “This group's a bit colorful, but they're a good sort. Especially this one. I think he'll go far over there.” You smile in spite of the small amount of sadness that washes over you. The way he's talking . . .

“You aren't coming with me, are you?” you ask him. His expression answers your question before his words do.

“No. Recruiting requires me to stay on this side of things. Many more with potential I need to look into.
So, this is where we part ways. I've enjoyed these few weeks we've spent together.” He extends his hand and you grab it. “For the Republic.”


>“For the Republic”
>Thank him for saving you
>Remind him of his promise to your family

>>770230
>>Remind him of his promise to your family

Family is important.

>>770231
“Your promise to my family.” You nod your head once as you refrain from shaking his hand. He lets go as he was not gripping anything to begin with and instead begins to walk backwards away from the dock.

“Yeah I'll give them money or something, I guess. And try to get along with the others. They're going to be your co-workers and allies for at least a year or two.” He turns and strides away towards his horse. You watch him leave before adjusting yourself and walking onto the ship. A dwarf sailor greets you and guides you towards your cabin. It's much bigger and nicer than you thought it would be. You aren't bunking with anyone and you have enough space to do some exercises in the morning. There's food and wine already prepared for you, with some candles and some decent clothes. Your equipment has already been placed off to the side and you get to work unpacking it all. Clothes go along with the fancy stuff and work boots that have been provided for you. You place your weapons on a weapon rack at the back of the room and your armor on the armor stand close to your bed. You pull out a couple books and a pack of cards – things to stave off the boredom. You eat a bit and then grab a quick nap.

By the time you wake up you can feel the rocking of the ship. You're out to sea. This strange new place will be your life soon. In three weeks. Well, boredom's already starting to kick in. Renault told you to get along with the others.

You exit your cabin and look around. You see six other similar rooms in your area, but a quick knock on each door reveals that none of those other hopefuls are in their rooms. You head to the top deck to look for them. The sailors are busy going back and forth doing their duties. A quick glance around and you see some interesting figures you assume are your compatriots. They are scattered around the ship doing their own things. Who do you introduce yourself to first?

>The gnome and the elf
>The half-orc
>The archer
>The loner
>The monk

>>770234
Ah, apologies for the error. That should be:
>He does not let go

>>770234
>>The half-orc

Lets romance Dolah this playthrough.

>>770236
You decide to speak to the half-orc first. She appears to be meditating cross-legged next to the ship's prow. She wears a simple black robe with the hood raised, so her disgusting, degenerate features are hidden by the shadow it casts. Upon approaching you notice she's a big girl, for you. It is hard to tell with her sitting, but you think she must be around seven feet tall. When you finally get close enough to her to speak you notice that her eyes are closed. You wait a few seconds before she finally opens her eyes and looks up at you. She appears to be ambivalent. She quickly looks you up and down.

“Hello. My name is Alan. Are you one of the others that Renault –”

“You look like a bitch.” she says to you.

“What?” you ask, a bit taken back.

“Sorry.” She replies as if she merely chose the wrong wording. “That's just what I say to all the human bois.” She gestures with her head to where the elf and the gnome are. They elf seems to be performing some card trick for the gnome. “Now those are some real men. Anyway, can you actually fight or what?””

Despite her outwards degenerate appearance she seems to be able to speak your language, as crude as what she says is.

>Yes, I was a musketeer in the army.
>Yes, I was an infantryman in the army.
>Yes, I was a cavalryman in the army.
>Leave, go talk to the monk instead

>>770238
>>Yes, I was a musketeer in the army.

Guns are cool.

Also you're misrepresenting Dolah. She's not a typical orc but a paladin who believes in doing the right thing.

Please try to represent her better, thank you.

>>770243
SKILL: Gun +5
SKILL: Stand in Line +5

ARMOR PROFICIENCY: LIGHT

WEAPON PROFICIENCY: GUN


“Yes, I was an infantryman in the army.” You try not to sound too derisive. She sounds excited to hear your words at your words.

“I asked if you could handle yourself in a fight, and you have indeed told me that you can do that. Further, you have identified yourself as a fellow ally of justice! One not afraid to get blood on their clothes, even if those clothes are state-issued, and so not really yours, and so you wouldn't be too bothered.to ruin.” Now you're with sounding derisive. And angry.

“Ally of justice? Fuck off. I'm not a moralfag. I saw that my country needed me, but more importantly I saw an opportunity to kill. I worked to get my way up into a musketeer position and I'd still be there on the battlefield if Renault hadn't come and dragged me away. And yes, I've had a lot of blood spilled on my clothes. Friend and foe, and I was responsible for every drop.” You stare her straight in the eyes. You hold that look for a couple seconds before she visibly tenses.

“Oh. Sorry. Didn't know. Thought there had to be at least one other person with a sense of morals on this crew.” She stands up. You were correct, she's about seven feet tall. And she's definitely not a bean pole. She reaches her hand out and you do not shake hands. You never shake hands. “Uh, I'm Dolah.”

“Alan Rodain.” If you were shaking her hand there would probably be a lot of strength in her grip, but you're not so there isn't. You can probably tell from her arms, though.

>Ask her why she decided to do this
>Ask her what her skills are
>Ask her about what she did for a living

>>770248
>>Ask her why she decided to do this

Better.

(HINT: She's doing this because fantasy racism)

>>770250
“So, Dolah, what made you decide to do this?” She sighs a bit and begins to chuckle before she answers.

“Fantasy racism. Orc Lives Matter.”

“Orc lives matter? No they don't.” Renault never mentioned anything about the others he recruited. You assumed they'd all be soldiers from the way he talked about this. Unfortunately it seems like that isn't the case. At your question Dolah looks down and strolls over to the ship railing. You follow her.

“Yeah the do. Humans killed my dad. Wait though. Don't go thinking I'm some reverse-racist. He was a mean son of a bitch. Slapped Mom around. Beat the shit out of me." Sounds your typical orc father. You're surprised he was a part of her life at all. "One day I decided I was done and fought back. Didn't think I'd murder him. He was bigger than me.” Her father must have been a big guy, if he was bigger than her. Still, this is a rather sordid history and a bit odd that she's bringing it up so casually.

“Anyway then the lawmen caught me. Humans, of course. I was jailed without a trial - typical orc treatment. I'm just surprised I wasn't murdered in "self defense" because I supposedly ran at them with a dagger I had hidden in my pocket. Anyway, while in jail I joined an order of paladins, we worship this god and fight against fantasy racism. After a while Renault showed up and offered me an alternative.” That is not a rather succinct explanation. “So how about you? Why are you here?”

>Renault offered me an escape
>Renault offered me a way to win the war
>Renault offered me a lot of money

>>770253
>>Renault offered me a lot of money

In line with this edgier, less morally constrained Alan you seem to be presenting here.

>>770256
“Renault offered me a lot of money.” Dolah takes several steps closer to you.

“Money? Really? Just how much money? Do you have it on you now?” You're somewhat taken aback by the sudden change in tone. "You know, and this is entirely unrelated to what I was just talking about, you're pretty attractive, honestly. Do you have a girlfriend? No, with your good looks you'd have to have a fiance, at least - anyway, point is, are you single?"

“Yes, of course I'm single. Women are just an inconvenience, and I wouldn't want one anyway. They just talk a lot and drain your money and tell you what to do. God, I hate my mother. Do you know what my father used to be? He was a fucking war hero, man, but then he had to settle down, and get married. The most action he sees these days? Milking a fucking cow, and only when my mother nags at him to. Fuck women, man.”

“Well, I'm not like other girls, you know.” She's right. At least other girls don't have green skin. "But the point is, how much money do you have?

"Well, 200 gold. More than I ever fucking saw back home, and my father was a war hero. A fucking war hero, you know? And he was just abandoned once he couldn't fight anymore. And of course there was my mother and me, not to mention the rest of the family. Then the farm - you know how much it costs to maintain a fence running the length of that much land? More than you'll ever see, greenskin. Oh and I'll get more later on, I guess. I, uh, didn't actually ask how much I'd be getting. Or when. That was fucking stupid in retrospect.” Gabby leans into you a bit, lowering her voice down to a whisper.

“If you're interested, meet me in my room tonight. Bring half that bag of gold.”

“I don't know.” Honestly, you really don't have any interest in women. It seems foolish to waste time with them. “I'll think about it.” Gabby pulls away from you and starts to speak again in her usual, gruff voice.

“Hope you will.”

>Ask Gabby about what her potential is
>Go talk to one of the others

>>770259
>>Go talk to one of the others

Why the fuck did Dolah suddenly become Gabby?

>>770261
Please accept my most sincere apologies.

>>770262
Jesus BUD. You had ONE job!

It's like you never read his quest or something!

>>770261
“So, I'm going to leave now. I don't want to spend any more time around you than necessary, I might get some kind of disease.” You are pretty sure Renault wouldn't have let her onboard if she is diseased, but you'd rather be safe than sorry.

“See you tonight, Alan.” She laughs after she says this, “Try not to oppress any greenskins till then, you bigot!”

“No, I refuse. If they didn't want to be oppressed they'd never have come to our country so many years ago. You know, the myth is that we took you people as slaves, but the truth is you were sold to us by your own people! Now you bitch and whine about it, and you're so stupid that you're bitching and whining to entirely the wrong people. You brought this on yourselves. You orcs. Not us humans. We have done absolutely nothing wrong, other than making the horrible mistake of releasing you "people" from slavery.”

“Wait, what?” Dolah gets a confused look on her face.

Rather than responding, you turn and leave. No doubt her mind, half-human thought is, couldn't process the truth even if you went into detail on it.

That conversation over with, you survey the ship once more.
Who next? The gnome and the elf seem to be arguing over a book. The archer is shooting at passing seagulls. The monk appears to be meditating. And the loner is . . . gone. She's probably back in her room.

>Go talk to the archer
>Go talk to the gnome and the elf
>Go talk to the monk
>Go check for the loner

>>770138
>>770146
>>770166
Well, I was expecting something like this to happen sooner or later.

>>770273
Please stop shitposting

>>770266
>>Go talk to the monk

Gabby is cool too.

>>770291
You decide to check for the monk you saw meditating at the base of the mast. You head over to her, ignoring Dolah as she returns to her room. The monk doesn't say a thing once you come to a stop in front of her, so you take the opportunity to stare at her. She has pure, white skin perfectly matched by her blue eyes and blonde hair, pooled in the lowered hood of her white cloak. She's does not have an assortment of daggers strapped to her belt. She looks you up and down, but unlike Dolah looks annoyed. Her face is particularly easy to read.

“I'm Alan Rodain. You're one of the others that Renault recruited, yeah?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “Gabby.” After a moment, she says, "You look like a twink, honestly. Sort of scrawny, and weak."
Another reason why you avoid women. They either want some big guy with huge muscles or some rich cunt with too much money. The latter has nothing to do with why you picked your particular reward.
No woman could appreciate a mind like yours. Still, you should probably attempt to communicate with this one.

>Ask about her potential
>Ask her why she decided to do this
>Tell her she should be less of a cunt
>Leave and talk to somebody else

>>770299
>>Tell her she should be less of a cunt

V. Important to establish dominance now

>>770302
You stare at her blankly for a moment, in thought. This isn't something you can let slide. If you let her get away with this you'll look like a complete and utter beta male. No, not look like, you will be a beta male. She'll have completely dominated in just one sentence.

With that in mind, you decide to put her in her place. "You act like cunt of a cunt, honestly."
Fucking destroyed. You let that sink in for a moment, then just as she draws in a breath to respond continue, "Scrawny or not, I've killed men. Most of those men weren't even fighting against me, out of the hundreds of people I've killed I'd have to say at least half of them were fighting on my side. I have calmly approached my own friends and blown their fucking brains out all over my uniform, then calmly wiped them off and continued on with my day. Did you stop and consider just who you might be fucking talking to before you made your little "snarky" comment, cunt?" From her blank look you can guess she didn't. "No. No you fucking didn't. Why would you? You think you're the head of the fucking pack, the alpha bitch. Well, let me tell you something. You're mistaken. You are sorely fucking mistaken, now that I'm here. Let me tell you - I am complete and utter sociopath, and if you step out of line again even once, just ONCE, I won't hesitate to toss you over the side of this boat. If anyone tries to help you, I'm going to calmly load my musket and shoot them. If you make it back onboard, I am going to kick you right back in. If you say just one fucking thing more to me, you're dead. Consider that. Just fucking consider it."


She just stares at you, expressionless.


>Go introduce yourself to somebody else
>Ask her about her potential
>Ask her what she did for a living
>Tell her she should get to know the others

>>770320
>>Tell her she should get to know the others

Team building is important.

>>770322
Now that you've broken her down, it's time for you to build her back up.

"You know, maybe you should get to know some of the other people here. It might do you some good, you know? I mean I get it - you put on a tough act to push others away because you've been hurt before. You probably had an abusive father or something, women like you always do. But ultimately it's only going to hurt you all the more to keep pushing other people away. Think of it this way: you're doing this because you've been abused, but it's like giving in to your abuser by acting like this. They've won, you know? So, what I'm saying is, just give other people a chance. Who knows? You might even make some friends."

Before she can respond a hand claps down onto your shoulder from behind. Turning around, you see the archer, the gnome and the elf. The elf looks to be very seasick and is carrying a bucket with her. The archer strides over to you.

“The Captain says there's a storm coming. We're to stay down below decks in our room until it passes.”
That's odd. You've only been out to sea for maybe a couple of hours and you hadn't noticed any dark clouds. Although, looking up, it seems that some have closed in recently. Very recently, for you to until just notice.

>Check on the elf
>Go to your room
>Ask where the half-orc is

>>770329
>>Go to your room

Rowe's orders are to be followed!

>>770333
You're a good sport about this, Trick. I like that.

You really have no interest in talking to any of these non-humans, and if there's going to be a storm you'd rather be in your room than anywhere else.

That decided, you stride past the elf without so much as a word and head down below deck.

There are probably other people there, but you resolutely ignore any plot hooks. You don't remember whether you were told which room was yours but you find it somehow and flop down onto the bed and instantly fall asleep.

>End of Thread
I will most likely run next on Monday in the daytime. I will announce on my twitter about an hour before I start.
https://twitter.com/TrickQM

What the fuck is going on.

Also, I know for a fact that goddamn Jaqen will kill Dany in a moment that puts all the blame on us, if we don't resume with the 'FUCK YOU INKY" and let ducking Velo in disguise roll a 1

>>770342
It's those faggots that didn't like will, so they try to constantly kill him by making him do stupid things.

Well this is really fucking dissapointing

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I go Innawoods for one day and this shit happens
smhtbqh senpai

>>771516
>>771090
You let the shitposters take control

>>771576
No, Trick let the shitposters take control.

>>771621
Well yeah. Did you think he was a good QM or something? Can't just ignore the shitposts he must embrace them.

Like fuck why do you think Will's chapters are all boring write in only parts? He wanted this to happen so he can drop the quest while having the ability to blame the players.

>>770185
What happened to Mills?

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This got derailed...

But back to the task at hand:
1) scope out the town
2) Create wildfire grenades
3) Use this simple, but revolutionary easy to make invention to be a god in combat.
4-Optional) Convince a true follower of Rhllor to take a suicide wildfire vest and send him to meet the Queen, preferably when she has a hearing or something.
5-Probably never going to happen) Buy a huge siege Ballista, put it on the front of our ship, make an explosive wildfire bolt, create a magnification lens with two mirrors. Then fire it at the Queen's balcony in the middle of the night, if dragons attack blow them up also.
6) Just use our great knowledge of earth to make easy, but revolutionary ideas and designs for more gains.

https://discord.gg/ZC43hST

Sora/Ben, lad, if you're here - take this. Hare's discord server.

>>773951
I get you're meming, but Trick can fuck off, hard.

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>>773974
I actually like this quest and its one of the few that have stayed this consistent and good. But, I've never seen it a quest get derailed this hard and even though my suggestion get extremely memey at the end (ever since step 3), I do believe we've been a bit softcore on our scientific knowledge, but then again we rolled an extremely low number for the knowledge of Earthers, so we're really the only ones with actual knowledge, the others are just memers from South Africa and ghetto pirates.

All in all, I actually like this quest and love its consistency. I still do find it funny that the quest originally started by a railroader( Velo ) got adopted by a person who got derailed by the same meme vultures Velo got roasted by.

Checkpoint loaded.

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Stepping out onto the docks, the Meereenese cityscape sprawls out before your eyes. The pyramids dominate the skyline proudly, demonstrating the wealth and prestige of the slaver nobles. The buildings, the walls, the streets – all are made of bricks of an assortment of various colors. High walls and bronze facsimiles of harpies over most gates, the Meereenese project strength and prestige as you peer out into the sea of collared and chained slaves milling in the streets and alleys like whipped dogs.

Flanked by Raina, Plague and your dutiful bodyguards – you let your body settle in to the change in environmental conditions. More humid and hot than when you were on the high seas – and guaranteed to get worse as you move from the sea breeze cooled docks and deeper into the heart of the ancient city. Already the stink of crammed together bodies that toil and sweat in unbearable conditions assaults your nostrils.

You sigh out as you consider your options, feeling an odd sense of deja vu. Like you've already done this before. You shake your head to clear your mind and focus on your next step in whatever half-formed plan you've concocted.

Othello has already arrived and you can spy his anchored swan ships from here. His crew goes about offloading whatever supplies they brought with them to sell or utilize. He most likely plans to wait for Viserys's arrival before leaving the docks – which should be within a few hours at most. Those Volantene galleys aren't particularly slow.

You could do as much the same – await the Dragon King's timely entrance before meeting with Daenerys and her dragons. Or you could search for her now to entreat with the Khaleesi without Viserys. You'd be an idiot to try and kill her in the heart of a city that apparently adores her for the novelty of her wondrous dragons when she is the wife of powerful Khal whose entire force is probably on high alert to prevent assassinations or the like. But you'd never try to do something that fucking stupid.

You could also bail completely on this venture – take what you've got and slip into the city streets without any chance of suffering the crazed Targaryen's impotent wrath.

Or you could do something else with the time you have before his arrivel other than sit around twiddling your thumbs.

>Wait for Viserys
>Find Daenerys
>Sell some of your cargo
>Bail
>Something else? (write-in)

Also,

>Septon Sterlan joins the council (Y/N)

>>774311
Can't let V control us, so
>Find Dany
And
>sell cargo

>>774311
>Find Daenerys

>>774311
>Find Daenerys
And
>Sell some of your cargo

https://discord.gg/F2pTq

New discord invite.

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Discerning Daenerys's location is easy enough. You let Plague loose to ask around the various slaves who recoil and cast their eyes downward upon your approach. Within minutes, ex-madman Plague returns to your side with information on The Mother of Dragon's whereabouts.

“On the eastern side of the City,” the former fool relays from one particularly pretty dark-skinned, foreign girl, who retains an essence of grace despite the dirty rags and iron choker that adorns her flesh. Her golden eyes are timid and wide upon her flat face as she mutters some unintelligible gibberish to the brick-laden streets, flinching every time one of your four warhorses snort or whinny. “The Great Master Hizdahr Loraq hosts the Mother of Dragons and The Great Khal Drogo at his pyramid after their profitable trade deal. As well as their three baby dragons along with hundreds of the Khalasar's most prestigious warriors. The rest of the Khalasar is currently grazing outside the city walls, roaming where they please.”

A short conversation erupts between your translator and the slave for a few more moments before Plague speaks again. “The Khaleesi has been hosted in Meereen for over a month now and the Khalasar plans to depart soon for Vaes Dothrak so the Dosh Khaleen may inspect her son, Khalakka Rhaego – The Stallion who Mounts the World. If we wish to gleam a glance of the dragons,” the scruffy earthling's tone changes to indicate he speaks his own words now, starting with that last sentence. “Or meet with the 'Mid-wife' as they call him, we'll need to present a gift of some sort or demonstrate we've something to offer more than mere words or gasps of wonderment.”

“Huh,” you utter, thinking. “Mid-wife?” you pose the question, pondering that title. “Well, let's head over there at least. I want a head start on Viserys and I'll think of something as we go.”

You spend fifteen minutes traversing the city, transitioning from the poorer districts filled with slaves and scant few freedmen to the more opulent quarters where amber-skinned nobles wearing tokars and sporting extravagantly sculpted hair-dos scurry about and gawk at your obviously foreign appearance.

It is not long before the rising prominence of Hizdahr's pyramid stands proudly in the skyline displaying the crest of House Loraq – a horned devil holding a pitchfork. It provides a guiding star of sorts to keep you on a direct route to your destination.

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As you near the temporary seat of Khal Drogo's forces, you start to see a smattering of Dothraki that clearly aren't Meereenese slaves. Unarmored with arakhs at their sides and long braids reaching the smalls of their backs, most cut imposing figures as scarred, swarthy, veteran warriors. You have to suppress your laughter however when these scary, strong men jingle whimsically while they move about markets and whorehouses. Quite a silly tradition, in your opinion, to place chiming bells in your hair.

Up and down the pyramid proper are a long line of wealthy adherents bearing baskets of gifts or accompanied by palanquins laden with supplies and carried by weary slaves. Outnumbering these jittery, excited visitors are Dothraki soldiers, standing around looking bored. Chatting with each other casually when they aren't eyeing pretty noblewomen with a hunger that loudly proclaims how much they'd prefer to be sacking Meereen right now rather than enjoying their positions as guests of honor.

You also spot a good number of what appear to be the city guard of Meereen. Young noblemen, or those just shy of being considered such due to a lack of funds or birthright, garbed in brass breastplates – complete with chiseled nipples – and armed with ornately decorated spears and swords.

As your posse approaches, you already spot the eyes of Dothraki and Ghiscari alike flicking to assess any potential threat from your figures. You stand out like a sore thumb and if you get any closer to the pyramid steps you will most likely be stopped and potentially turned away if you fail to explain yourselves.

>Proffer a gift for the Mother of Dragons (what?)
>Try to talk your way through without a gift
>Assassinate Daenerys
>Something else? (write-in)

>>774777
>Proffer a gift for the Mother of Dragons (what?)
A jar of Wildfire(let's hope she drinks it)

>>774805
You don't got any.

>>774777
>Proffer a gift for the Mother of Dragons (what?)
Do we have any luxuries or exotic items left in our cargo? Offer that if so.

https://discord.gg/kg36FTs

Permanent discord link

>>774777
>Something else? (write-in)
Grab some Pentoshi wines from cargo and try to use your bardic talents to get in.

gift of wine and song

>>774777
Assassinate her, with poison or something

>>775027
You ain't got no poison and you've got no method of delivering said poison.
Unlike Mira, you're shit with Crossbows.

>>775041
Go find that faceless cuck then

>>775045
How? It's not like he's gonna be wearing the same face for this mission.

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“Chiggen,” you call out the name of your burliest bodyguard.

“Yeah boss?” he quickly asks.

“Ride back to the ship and ask Captain Semar to bust out a few of our more exotic wares so I have something to offer. Considering the line before me I believe you'll have ample time.”

“Good,” Chiggen comments with a laugh. “Wouldn't want to miss the spectacle.” He turns his horse around and rides in the direction you came from at a fairly speedy trot.

One posse member fewer, you close the distance between yourselves and the veritable Hizdahr zo Loraq's pyramid of ye olde dragons.

Now that it is indisputable that your intentions revolve around the location of their beloved Khaleesi, a few of the Dothraki guards speak to each other in their foreign Mongolian-esque tongue and stand up to intercept your path. A few of the more brazen ones – notably some of the youngest – draw their arakhs or at the very least hold the handles tight in their fists.

Plague visibly shudders on the back of Raina's horse and you see his hands sink into her waist as he holds on for dear life.

The lead Dothrakan, sporting the longest braid, shouts at you in his guttural tongue. Some sort of threat or demand that involves gesturing to you and Bronn with his exquisitely curved blade.

Plague turn his head to you, still trying his best to hide behind Raina's smaller frame, and informs you of the speech's content.

“Why do men in iron suits approach?” Plague hisses.

“We have come bearing gifts in tribute to the Mother of Dragons,” you speak directly to the unhorsed man.

Plague speaks your intentions and the Dothraki responds by spitting onto the street and spewing forth more accusatory gibberish, waving his arakh bombastically.

“Perhaps we are more servants of the fat Khal of the red stone house come to die for him,” Plague quotes. “Do we wish to die?”

“The fat Khal is dead,” you state with some regal authority as you summon the most dignified posture you can manage. You let that information sink in before speaking further, watching with glee as your declaration has unnerved your unnamed accuser ever so slightly. “And two new would-be Khals squabble and fight over Westeros. We support the Dragons and wish to bring Khaleesi Targaryen news of her homeland.”

As Plague concludes the translation, the response is immediate and harshly spit.

“And who are we?” Plague asks you. Much more than merely quoting the Dothrakan, your resident meme vulture asks the question with a sincerity that seems to genuinely resonate from him, as if he is unsure. And to be fair, you're hiding behind a wealthy repertoire of various identities.

So.

Who the fuck are you?

>A representative of Viserys Targaryen
>Lord William Shakespeare of the Frozen Shore
>The Commander of the Argo and a merchant trader
>A humble singer bringing news and song
>Something else? (write-in)

>>775087
>William Shakespeare the Commander of the Argo and a merchant trader

>>775106
>Something else? (write-in)
Mention that we arrived with Viserys Targaryen, that'll get us at the front of the line.

ayy lmao getting some sleep like a faggot

>>775087
>>The Commander of the Argo and a merchant trader
Dany is always in the market for more ships I imagine.

>>775106
>>775109
these

>>775345
this. Perhaps also add William Shakespeare of the Frozen Shore. But anything concerning V is for the khalisi's ears alone.

The Question is what are we exactly gonna tell the Khaleesi?

>>775410
We should avoid calling ourselves a "lord" though, seeing that we don't exactly hold any lands.

>>775106
>>775109
these

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“William Shakespeare. Commander of the Argo. A merchant trader from Westeros. And a representative of Viserys Targaryen, her brother and the rightful king of Westeros.”

After Plague provides the translation of your titles and position, the lead Dothraki who has been interrogating you nods his understanding and gestures for the rest of his men to back off and let you join the ever growing line of petitioners and potential 'friends' here in the Slaver City.

. . .

The sun's rays beat down on you and your horses, who Raina dotes upon where you were forced to leave them at the bottom of the pyramid, moving back and forth between your place in line to water them excessively in worry that the oppressive heat may do long lasting damage to the health of the warhorses. The line actually moves at a good pace. You don't see any visitors leaving the pyramid so they must be exiting another direction or perhaps staying within the building to schmooze and booze with the visiting equivalent of Dothraki royalty.

. . .

A lot of time passes and you start to worry about the mission you assigned the curly-haired mercenary. You're three to four groups of visitors out from seeing Daenerys in the flesh and the dragons in the scale. And Chiggen still hasn't returned. Not only do you not wish to show up empty-handed when you promised gifts for the Mother of Dragons, but you harbor some fear for his safety in this distant land that he is completely unfamiliar with.

“Oooh, there he is,” Raina remarks, pointing towards the bottom of the Pyramid steps. You spot your barrel-chested brunette followed by five or six of your sailors carrying boxes of some of your most exotic and luxurious cargo. Relief floods your extremities, releasing the nervous tension about being unprepared for this meeting. Your men are similarly halted by concerned Dothraki inspectors who demand to see the contents of the crates, but when Chiggen points to you and you acknowledge his existence and place in your retinue, the horse people back off. Chiggen and the crewmen of the Argo trudge up the steps, bearing their relatively heavy burdens.

The curly-haired fighter jocundly clasps you by the shoulder. “Sorry for the delay. Did I miss much?”

“What took so long?” Bronn asks.

“Ehh, Captain Semar wasn't there. Taking his shore leave. So I had to do some guess work on what was worth what and how much we should bring. Talked to some of the other officers”

“How much did you bring?” you interrogate.

“Ehhhh, maybe two hundred gold dragons' worth? Figured it was better to bring too much than too little.”

You sigh out. A little pricey, but its not every day you're going to be buying the chance to entreat with a queen that possesses the potential to invade a continent.

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When you are finally next in line to get on the ass kissing ride, a fat Ghiscari noble dressed in traditional tokar garb emerges from the interior of the pyramid of House Loraq.

“Lord Shakespeare,” he greets in broken Westerosi. “Follow me please graciously. Leave gifts here for taking.” He bows slightly with a flourish of his hand before turning around and retreating back inside.

You exchange one wary look with Bronn before following on the heals of this apparent host's nimble, shuffling footsteps, prepared to see how far this rabbit hole goes.

The guts of the pyramid would make a claustrophobe faint, walls thicker than the outer walls of even the grandest of Westerosi castles. Decorated with tapestries depicting the rich history of the Ghiscari empire. Metaphorically of course, with one image in particular displaying a harpy locked in deadly combat with an enormous dragon, her talons clawing at the animal's scales.

You traverse three long corridors, making sharp right turns at where the edges of the pyramid must be. You walk down a few steps of an interior staircase past rows of House Loraq's personal guards and off into a side chamber that is sparsely decorated compared to the halls you just walked through.

A small cell with but a shoddy desk and chair, laden with writing supplies. You'd guess this used to be the work quarters of a more knowledgeable slave. But now . . . now it's filled with half a dozen swarthy Dothraki. Killers and savages prepared to draw steel. You cast a glance over your shoulder to see the fat Ghiscari quickly taking his leave of whatever situation he has just left you in.

Already Bronn and Chiggen are prepared to strike, hands on the hilts of their swords while Raina and Plague inch themselves as subtly as possible towards the only entrance into this room.

It takes you but a moment to notice the flash of white followed by the almost puling “skreee” of what sounds like . . . huh.

Yeah . . . that's a dragon all right.

Scales of cream that shimmer and shine under the candle light that illuminates the small, cramped room. Sitting perched upon the shoulder of a relatively unassuming man – shifty, reptilian pools of gold stare at you curiously. Like his eyes, the house-cat sized dragon's horns, wing bones and spinal crests are also of a contrasting golden hue. Baring teeth that strike an uncanny resemblance to the obsidian daggers you carry, a short puff of pale gold flame slithers out past its clenched maw, coupled with a growl.

As all of your crew is entranced by the sight of a real life dragon, it seems as if time has stopped. Neither side makes a move. No one speaks. You all just exist together in tenuous harmony.

And then the moment ends.

“William Shakespeare?” the mustachioed figure asks incredulously, looking you up and down. “Is that really your name?”

>Yeeaaaah
>Nooooooo
>I thought I would be meeting Daenerys
>N-n-nice dragon
>Bail!
>Something else? (write-in)

>>778005
>N-n-nice dragon
And yes it is - are you perhaps from a place called Earth? Your recognition of my name seems to suggest it.

>>778005
>>Something else? (write-in)
Nah my name is Trick and Im p-pathetic

>>778005
>Kinda? It's the name I've been using since I 'got here' if you catch my drift.

>>778014
seconded

>>778005
To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.

File: Seath or Viserion.png (351 KB, 811x528)

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“Nice dragon,” you compliment non-sequitorally, feeling a bit at a loss for words.

The man's eyes narrow as he stares at you, some combination of annoyance and perplexity plain on his face as he processes the lack of expected amazement-expressing verbosity at seeing a previously believed to be extinct creature.

“Yes, thank you,” your apparent host speaks facetiously. “Seath is a proper, healthy specimen of the breed. Now if you could answer my question. Your name is William Shakespeare?”

“Why yes it is!” you confirm with a declaration. “Are you perhaps from a place called Earth?” you ask.

As that question leaves your mouth, you visibly watch the man freeze up as his eyeballs expand in his head and his eyebrows rise nearly to his hairline. His jaw drops as he takes a moment to mentally slog through what you just said.

“And I thought the fat bastard was just more of a hack than I'd realized,” you hear him mutter under his breath.

You clear your throat. “Your recognition of my name's significance seems to suggest you're also –”

“Yes, uhhhhhh,” The figure verbalizes oral white noise to fill up the space as his eyes glance over the rest of your compatriots. “Are all of you . . . oh fuck.” The man leans back slightly as his eyes fall upon the sellsword to your left. “You brought Bronn here?!”

Bronn squints in confusion, looking between you and the man sitting down at the desk on the other end of the room.

“He brought me as well,” Chiggen casually informs the dragon tamer.

“Who are . . .” your host asks, inspecting Chiggen's face for some identifying familiar feature he clearly can't discern.

Your lesser known mercenary sighs out, defeated. “It isn't important.”

“The fuck do you know my name for?” Bronn asks, concerned. “Please tell me I'm not important.” He looks between both of you, waiting for one of you to put him at ease. “I get something weird's going on here, but I prefer not to be at the center of it.”

“No no,” the mustachioed man raises his hands and shakes them as if that will dispel the awkwardness of the situation. He looks to you. “Look, William. Are you the only . . . y'know?”

“Nope!” Raina buts in, striding forward a bit to catch the man's eye. She notices Plague is still attempting to cower behind her and drags him forward by the elbow to present him before the new Earthling. “Plague and I are from Earth as well.”

“Oh!” the dragon tamer exclaims. “That's uhhhhh, that . . . changes some things.” He grabs his face with one of his free hands and massages it as he ponders for a few moments on exactly how harshly you've managed to rock his world view in the last fifteen or so seconds. “So were you bullshitting when you said you represented Viserys or have you actually spoken with him?”

>Totally bullshitting
>Definitely repping Viserys right now
>He'll probably be dropping by later today
>Something else? (write-in)

>>778299
>He'll probably be dropping by later today

>>778299
>Definitely repping Viserys right now

>>778299
>He'll probably be dropping by later today

>>778299
>He'll probably be dropping by later today
We just decided to get a heads up before he arrives

>>778350
this - perhaps we'll get more info this way.

>>778299
> He'll be dropping by later
I work for him but represent is probably to strong a word.

>>778299
>He'll probably dropping by later today

File: Viserys Targaryen.jpg (54 KB, 640x488)

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“He'll probably be dropping by later today,” you inform your host.

Judging by his immediate physical reaction, you're relatively sure if he had been drinking something he would have performed a spit take right about now.

“Wait, what?! He's here? IN MEEREEN?”

“Yes,” you succinctly confirm with a nod.

“Viserys?! Viserys Targaryen?!” he probes further to be absolutely sure as if you might be talking about some other Viserys.

“Yes,” you repeat. “We decided to give you a heads up before he arrived in person.”

“But why is he here?”

“Uhh, he left Pentos on some of Magsiter Illyrio's ships, I assume, and on the way he's picked up a small pirate fleet as well as a cluster of Volantene galleys. I ended up working for him, but in retrospect 'represent' may have been too strong of a word choice. I was practically shanghai'd.”

The proud dragon owner puts his head in his hands as he groans. “He's coming for his army, isn't he?”

“I believe so.”

“Listen,” the man looks up at you. “William. Ummmmm, I need you to go find Viserys and tell him to . . . uh, FUCK!”

He stands up, putting his hands behind his back and stares at the back wall for a few moments as he gathers his thoughts.

“Go find Viserys,” he orders. “Tell him that with the baby and the . . . dragons, we're delaying the invasion by a good . . . few years. Go back to Pentos or if he's brought enough money he can live lavishly here in Meereen. I don't really care much. In fact if he needs funds I can pay for his lodgings here for some while. But we're going back onto the Dothraki Sea soon so the Dosh Khaleen can inspect the baby and that's not the cushy lifestyle Viserys is accustomed to. If you can manage it, bring me Strong Belwas and Ser Barristan Selmy. They came with, right?”

He looks at you over his shoulder.

>Yeah I'm not doing that
>Strong Belwas is with him, but Ser Barristan's taking the Black
>Sure I'll go tell Viserys the bad news
>You're seriously delaying the invasion?
>Something else? (write-in)

>>779876
>Yeah I'm not doing that
>Strong Belwas is with him, but Ser Barristan's taking the Black
Talk to him yourself cunt

>>779876
Ask his name first - then
>Strong Belwas is with him, but Ser Barristan's taking the Black

>>779876
>>Strong Belwas is with him, but Ser Barristan's taking the Black
>>Sure I'll go tell Viserys the bad news
>>You're seriously delaying the invasion?

From his reaction he thought he was the only Earthling. The situation for him in Westeros went from clear cut canon to completely random.

>>779876
>Strong Belwas is with him, but Ser Barristan's taking the Black
>Sure I'll go tell Viserys the bad news

>>779876
>Something else? (write-in)
"Hold your horses broseidon, I'd like to know how did you guys even manage to bypass the whole blood sacrifice bit for the hatching of dragons?"

>>780506
This

File: Barristan the Bold.jpg (164 KB, 900x600)

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“Strong Belwas is with him, acting as a bodyguard. That's true. But Ser Barristan has . . . taken the black.”

He recoils slightly. “What? Why?”

You shrug. “When Renly attempted a coup for the Iron Throne while Robert was dying – ”

“There was an attempted coup?” the dragon tamer asks incredulously.

“Yes. To put Eddard on the Throne as Lord Regent until Joffrey came of age. But the coup failed and both Loras Tyrell and Ser Barristan Selmy – supporters of Renly's attempt – were thrown into the black cells. Loras is kept as a captive to retain Tyrell support for the crown. And Ser Barristan was allowed to join the Night's Watch. At least as far as I am aware, he's somewhere in the North of Westeros freezing to death.”

“Jesus,” the mustachioed man mutters. Seath flaps its wings and lifts off from his shoulders, finding a new purchase among the piles of papers strewn across the buffed, pock-marked writing desk. “Lotta shit's changed, hasn't it?”

“Yeaaaah,” you exhale, rubbing the back of your neck a little awkwardly. “There are others . . . making ripples.”

“Shit. Welp,” he turns back to face you and his sable cloak billows in the air for just a brief moment. “Guess I'll just have to roll with the punches as best as I can.” He retakes his seat, the creaky chair screeching as he drags it along the brick floor. “And do it one punch at a time. I'm Allant, by the way. The Dothraki lovingly refer to me as the 'midwife of dragons' for . . . only slightly exaggerated reasons. Now if you wouldn't mind, I'd really prefer if you spoke with Viserys sooner rather than later before he does something stupid and gets himself killed.”

>Yeah I'm not doing that
>Sure I'll go tell Viserys the bad news
>You're seriously delaying the invasion?
>How did you manage to birth the dragons without . . .
>Something else? (write-in)

>>780914
>>Sure I'll go tell Viserys the bad news
>>You're seriously delaying the invasion?
>>How did you manage to birth the dragons without . .

>>780914
>Sure I'll go tell Viserys the bad news
>How did you manage to birth the dragons without . . .

>>780914
>>>Sure I'll go tell Viserys the bad news
>>>How did you manage to birth the dragons without . .

File: Birth of the Dragons.jpg (103 KB, 497x497)

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“Sure,” you answer affirmatively, accepting the task with only a slight amount of trepidation. “I'll go tell Viserys the bad news.”

“Not all bad,” Allant assures you. “Explain to him that matters like these must be handled quite delicately and with the utmost patience. He has spent eighteen years in exile. He can suffer a few more now that we're relatively close to achieving his dream. We just need the right political atmosphere in Westeros and then we can make our move and seat him on the Iron Throne. If you feel the need to sweeten the message – tell him he has a voluptuous Dornish bride awaiting his arrival that will guarantee him Martell support when we cross the Narrow Sea. That bit of news should hopefully tide him over for a bit before I have to dangle something else.”

You nod, taking note of that revelation. “I'll be sure to congratulate him on the betrothal. Before I go though. I have to ask.” You gesture towards the baby fire-breathing reptile currently ruining Allant's papers. “How did you get those to hatch without . . .”

You look around at the various Dothraki faces in your midst and feel it would be prudent not to say 'Khal Drogo's death' out loud on the off chance one of them has a mediocre grasp on the common tongue and mistakes your intentions.

Allant chuckles at your question, picking up on your meaning, and rubs his chin for a moment before deciding to answer your query truthfully. “Honestly . . . I took a gamble and it panned out. In Lhazar, Khal Drogo slew a rival Khal and his son. Khal Ogo and Khalakka Fogo – who became Khal after his father's death. It was in the aftermath of this same skirmish that Khaleesi Daenerys happened upon the godswife Mirri Maz Durr. I had earned the Targaryen's trust enough for her to listen to my counsel and I . . . well, I figured the ritual needed King's blood of some sort along with a burned witch. So, you throw two deceased Khals and a maegi onto a fire, before you know it,” Allant snaps. “you got yourself a stew going."

"Things happened relatively similar to how they were meant to transpire after that. Save for the fact that Khaleesi Daenerys gave birth to an actual son less than two weeks later and ever since I've had to pick up some of the slack on How to Train Your Dragon shenanigans. Also Drogo found himself partial to Kalameet – the black one. There have been a few other changes you might want to hear about later. I'd love to exchange our respective information soon, but I really need to see other visitors and for someone to intercept Viserys. I do however thank you for your contribution to Khal Drogo's war chest and cherish this newly founded friendship.”

The Targaryen confidant stands up and politely ushers for you to take your leave of his presence. You comply with his wishes and exit the small, cramped office.

It is not long before that portly Ghiscari emerges from the shadows once more and leads you to House Loraq pyramid's exit, giving you ample time to stew on what you've learned in these last few minutes of conversation.

. . .

Back on the streets of Meereen, you struggle to think of alternatives to the blatantly obvious next step.

>Find Viserys Immediately
>Do something else? (write-in)

>>781599
>Find Viserys Immediately

>>781599
>>Find Viserys Immediately
So everything went better than expected. The Dany issue resolved itself. This guy wants to wait years to attack and by that time Westeros should be stabilized to counter it easily. Us just giving news bought Stannis two years at least.

>>781599
>Find Viserys Immediately
Seems like it'll be hard to convince this guy to work with us.

>>781615
Well, there's one issue with that though. They'll have dragons.
Granted, if they can get a gunpowder substitute working in the meanwhile, the dragons can be slain.

>>781595
>Find Viserys Immediately

Remember we're an agent of Stannis and we should sow some discontent on the side by trying to get Viserys to complain since he has no sense of backing down or respecting authority. (How he origionally died)
(((Would be a shame if a particular individual stole his gold off his ship when departing)))
(((Or it would also be a shame if we torched the harbor on our way out)))
Hail to Stannis Baratheon, first of his name, king of the andals and protector of the realm.

File: Viserys and Daenerys.jpg (129 KB, 800x566)

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Urging your destriers into a near gallop, you and your friends race back to the Meereenese docks just in time to watch Viserys's freshly moored, Volantene galleys abuzz with activity as they are offloaded of men and materials.

You quickly spy the slender, elfin form of the Targaryen prince alongside his obese, eunuch bodyguard. Standing side by side like a fantasy version of the Odd Couple, they chat amicably with Othello, who seems to have wandered over from where his own swan ships are tied further down the waterfront.

A fear not quite so fantastical to be deemed paranoia grips you coldly by the heart as you slow your steeds to a much more casual, less conspicuous gait. Ideas can't help but fester and breed in your mind as you ponder on what they may have been talking about and how easily Othello could have already sold out your true allegiances. Are you walking into a potential altercation that may end up with you skewered on the end of someone else's sword? Who knows?

But your concerns seem unsubstantiated as the gathering of fellow players in this grand game turn to face your incoming posse of familiar faces. Viserys even graces you with a slight, smug smile upon your approach.

“Glad to see you alive and well,” he raises his voice to cross the ever shrinking distance between your groups amidst the boisterous atmosphere of Meereen's seaside. “Looking much better than when I saw you last, Lord Shakespeare.”

You were still recovering from your bout with a deadly illness at sea back on New Ghis, so you suppose that bit of flattery is more truth than fiction.

“Your Grace,” you utter with a deferential nod before dismounting your animal along with the rest of your crew.

“Othello here has informed me,” the Targaryen begins, much to your dismay. “That he sent you out to reconnoiter my sweet sister's situation here in Meereen.”

You suck in a breath as he finishes his misunderstanding appraisal of your absence. You trade the subtlest of looks with the shit-eating grin that constitutes the pirate poet's facial expression.

“So, William. How is my sister, the Mother of Dragons?,” he speaks the title with a twinge of scoffing disregard for the self-importance of it all. “Please do tell me the dragons are not mere rumors.”

“Well the dragons are real and breathing – that I can promise you,” you inform the claimant. “Saw one with my own eyes. I wasn't able to speak directly with your sister, however I did meet with your former drinking buddy. Allant.”

“Oh, how is he?” Viserys inquires, perking up at the name.

“Doing really well, actually. He's become an adviser of sorts to Daenerys in her position as Khaleesi, it seems.”

“Good. I knew he'd make a good representative of my interests in that horde of savages. Have you informed him of my arrival?”

“Yeaaaah. He's aware alright!”

>What do you say to Viserys? (write-in)

>Roll me 1d100 + 21, best of 3

Rolled 57 + 21 (1d100 + 21)

>>784119
Let him know the truth behind them delaying he invasion, but make it seem like we are really supportive and soothing of him. Don't let him do anything stupid.

Rolled 75 + 21 (1d100 + 21)

>>784119
something something patience is a virtue something something dornish wife blah blqh blah stallion who mounts the world

Rolled 71 + 21 (1d100 + 21)

>>784119
Basically tell him that the invasion will have to be delayed, but that would need to be done regardless because of the dragons needing to grow more. Maybe say that Westeros is already in turmoil and is going to stay that way for a while, so we have the time. Really, we only need to keep him cool until we get him killed.

>>784119
>>What do you say to Viserys? (write-in)
Basically relay what Allent said to us and nothing more than that.
Don't try to personally convince him of anything.
Make it clear that you're just the messenger here.

>>784127
We're not his babysitter man.
If he wants to commit suicide by horsefucker, let him.

>>784289
Supporting for true allegiance to Stannis and the whole reason we're here is to stop or atleast delay the invasion.

>>785728
Our reason for being here is to neutralize the threat of dragons attacking westeros.
Stannis is confident he can beat the horse fuckers.

As long as Dragons will not attack Stannis, our mission is completed.

>>785938
What if we are going to need Dragons for the Whitewalkers, our penultimate goal?

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“Your Grace I have . . . well some news. Your sister has given birth to a son in addition to hatching a few dragons. And all four of them are currently infants. Not to mention as half-Dothraki –”

Viserys interjects with a noise of disgust, but you keep on explaining.

“And the son of a Khal, Drogo wishes for the child to be examined by the Dosh Khaleen to ensure he is healthy. So the Khalasar will be leaving Meereen soon – they've already spent over a month being feasted here.”

The beggared prince rolls his eyes. “I suppose these savages must honor their superstitious customs. More delays. More waiting for my throne. I suppose I must suffer the indignity. How long will the diversion last? I'd hope the trip will take no longer than a few months.”

You gulp as you think on how precisely to phrase this as to not cause a blow up of massive proportions.

“Allant seems to be rather . . . informed about the horde's capabilities and is concerned about proper timing. He wishes to delay the invasion by a few years.”

“ . . . What?” The claimant asks, his eyelids flickering as if he was incapable of registering the meaning of your speech.

“Allant wishes to conduct your invasion when the political atmosphere is conducive to taking the Iron Throne. He most likely thinks Westeros should descend into further turmoil before your arrival. And I believe he wants to give time for the dragons to grow so they can be employed as weapons of war.”

“How many years?!” Viserys spits.

You shrug. “I don't know the timetable and from what I heard I doubt Allant has a precise date in mind.”

Othello's expression melts to a frown. “You said there was an army waiting for you, dragon king. Yet we arrive and it seems you must wait for the army. Othello did not follow you to laze about and grow indolent on vague guarantees of the future.”

“And neither did I,” The silver-haired youth concurs. “I gave that horsefucker my own sister a year ago and he has taken her virginity. Bred her like one of his mares and popped an heir out of her cunt and still I must wait for him to maintain his end of the deal?!”

“Allant has promised,” you relay, “to provide the funds you need to live lavishly here in Meereen for as long as you wish while the babies mature. And he informed me that he has set up a betrothal between you and a Dornish girl that should ensure the support of the Martells.”

Viserys's lilac eyes actually lose the seething rage that you witnessed building at the mention of marriage. “Oh. He arranged a marriage for me? With the Martells?”

Viserys looks up to the sky, unseeing as he ponders, licking his lips as he processes that new information. “Well, he should have told me of the proposal and awaited for my consent – I do not like to be commanded by some commoner.” His indignant rage returns for a moment before the Targaryen calms himself to banish it. “But I suppose it is only right. Those Lannister traitors slew my brother's family and I shall take the place that was meant for him, reestablishing that alliance as my father intended to secure.”

Othello clears his throat. “This still does not alleviate the issue of waiting.”

Viserys nods once as the topic of the delay resurges to the forefront of his mind. “Lord Shakespeare. I would appreciate your advice on the subject of reclaiming my rightful throne. Do you have any ideas about our next step?”

>Do you? (write-in)
>Nope

>>786324
Not really - although I would advise waiting just a mere bit. From what I know of the situation in Westeros, the key time to strike shall be rather soon.

>>786328
>>Do you? (write-in)
How about the right hand of this operation figures out what the fuck the left hand is doing. Go talk to Dany and Allant and actually plan/iron things out instead of me being the messenger boy.

Also invasions take time. Going in half cocked gets everyone killed.

Also you should probably send feelers out to see how many loyalists you would get if you did invade. Martells are a good start but who else can you get?

>>786328
>Do you? (write-in)
"Well, you could meet with the Khal or your Sister and ask what's the BFD"
"Beyond that, I can't really see anything to do here except fuck and grow fat."

>>786367
>>787229
seconding! so excited xD

>>786328
>Nope

>>786328
>Do you? (write-in)
Feed bad advice to him so we can cause some more trouble for the Targaryens, maybe get him to assert himself as ruler to get some conflict,he already sees himself as the one who is at the top so lets make him feel like hes making the right decision.

Start a cult of knowledge and find ways to use Earth knowledge and maybe some Rhllor magic. Could become really useful in aiding Stannis or ourselves in general.

>>786328
Recruit some mercenaries to go fight in Westeros on all sides but secretly be loyal (how?) to us so we can sway things whatever way we want when we get over there.

Rolled 69 (1d100)

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“You need to speak with your sister, your Grace,” you truly advise with the knowledge that this may just lead to the dragon prince's demise. “Meet with Khal Drogo or your sister or your friend Allant and iron out the specifics of this . . . arrangement between you and Drogo's khalasar. As it is, this could all be smoke. Words are wind.”

“Indeed they are,” Viserys concurs. Othello nods his agreement to the advice you proffered. “It is time for a family reunion of the last living Targaryens, I believe. Othello. Belwas. William,” he calls you each out in turn. “Follow me.”

As the exiled monarch moves to mount his horse, you pursue his form to give the potential madman some last parting words. “Do remember, your Grace. Even if you dislike the delays and words of patience, a planned and orchestrated offensive will yield much grander results than an impetuous assault. Perhaps if you personally investigated how many loyalists remain within Westeros who would back your claim, you could gauge how long you will have to wait.”

“Yes, yes,” Viserys lazily agrees, blowing off a majority of your counsel. “William, my forebears conquered Westeros once before. The blood of conquerors flows through my veins.”

“Your forebears had dragons,” Othello remarks as he and his archer captain sit astride their own garishly decorated animals, bejeweled with feathers of a thousand different shades and hues. “Big ones too.”

“They also had no support and an army a tenth the size of the one I will lead,” the silver-haired youth retorts. “And the dragons my family possesses now will be big as well.”

The black pirate chuckles. “Claiming ownership already? I believe Khal Drogo may disagree over who owns the dragons. And the army. And the throne.”

Viserys scoffs. “Drogo wouldn't know what to do with the Iron Throne even if he had it or could keep it. He'll be much more content to spend his life among his grass huts.”

. . .

You lead the way for the procession of Viserys's 'inner circle' as you retread the same path back to the pyramid you left.

As you approach, the flow of traffic seems oddly different, with a much larger number of people hurrying in the direction opposite of the pyramid of House Loraq. Your worried appraisal of the situation only grows more concerned and dire when suddenly an entire contingent of Meereen's city guards march quickly down the street, passing you.

Exchanging a look with everyone around you, you are reassured of the validity of your suspicious concern.

Urging your horses to move just a tad faster, by the time you approach the site of where the Khalasar has made its temporary home – it is like you have entered a completely different world.

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Up and down the steps, Dothraki are dragging and practically assaulting various Meereenese citizens. A variety of copper-skinned nomads spread out into the surrounding vicinity, grabbing and harassing fleeing, and sometimes screaming, people. Those with the misfortune to be firmly secured are pulled towards the steps by uncaring savages who seem to be taking them somewhere within for R'hllor knows what!

Amidst this sudden outburst of chaos where once their was relative civility, you spy Allant out in the open and without his dragon, conversing energetically and emphatically with what looks to be a Meereenese guard captain, armored in scales of copper and jet as well as garbed in a fine tunic of pink and white.

As you watch the scene, dumbfounded at what the fuck must have triggered all these horse people, your existence in the dragon-tamer's peripheral vision suddenly draws his focus away from the indignant constabulary. As your gaze meets his, you see a sudden flicker of something as the mustachioed man momentarily zones out, mentally distancing himself from whatever horrid situation he seems to be embroiled in.

“By the Gods,” Viserys comments from behind you disdainfully, turning the corner to view the same sight. “You should have warned me they were this uncivilized. This is ridiculous.”

>What do? (write-in)

>>791299
>>What do? (write-in)
"You get what you pay for."

>>791299
>What do? (write-in)
Things around Dothraki tend to turn...violent. It's not an order or anything but might I suggest we be ready for a bit of a scrap if needs be.

Stick together an keep marching, your sister may be in the process of "conquering" this city and possibly burning it to the ground

>>791299
>What do? (write-in)
Go badger Allant to find out what the fuck is going on. Take Bronn and Chiggen and leave Viserys here for a moment observing the culture he has inflicted on his sister.

>>791299
>"My liege, watch out!"
>Push him in the path of a horse

>>791299
"Iconoclasts, looters, slavers, rapers and killers."
"Dothraki way of life."
"Let's go talk to Allent."

>>791299
>>791320

>>792050
reeeee, I meant to say this

>>792050
>>791299
Supporting

>>791590
I would support this, but Viserys has not caused damage yet, if we kill him now the Claimants only get stronger.

>>791506
+1 to this