(Collab with [@bloonewb], cheers!) 

[hider= The Knight and the Magister] 

The lads had returned to the tavern to retrieve the rest of their comrades and arrived at the Magister's manse in the city as the sun began to set. The band were dressed in their finest, which for the most part, wasn't quite appropriate for the venue they found themselves in. The property was large, dwarfing every other dwelling for miles around, with sprawling grounds. High walls of ornate stone with carvings of myth and legend ran around the manse and there were guards aplenty both on patrol and in the towers at each corner. 

Clayton whistled as they approached, "Fancy place. Think they got any whores?" 

Jorje nodded, "They almost certainly have a concubine or two at least. And an expansive library, I'm sure." 

"Fuck the library, I want some more silver-haired girls. I didn't even get to finish, Artur, you damn bastard." 

They approached the gates where some spearmen stood at attention as well as a man in an understated doublet, with a firm yet subservient posture that marked him as a servant of some kind. Likely the Magister's major domo. 

He bowed his head to Artur, "Ser Artur, the master awaits you inside. Dinner will be served within the hour and your guest rooms have already been made. In the meantime, he awaits to entertain you in the parlor. Refreshments will be served. Please follow me." 

The man turned on his heels and entered, the doors opening to show them a beautiful garden, with a wide variety of exotic blooms from all over the world, as well as several striking marble statues, ornate hedges, and a fountain that depicted the Merling King and his court of mermaids and merknights. 

They walked into the manse proper and stepped on white marble floors, passings paintings, suits of armor, heraldy, and all manner of fanciful decorations, many artifacts and trinkets from all over Essos. Above them the ceiling depicted a striking mural of the Old Gods of Valyria cavorting with dragons and all manner of beasts and creatures of legend among the clouds. 

Soon they reached a parlor with several large recliners and chairs, more decorations around them. Magister Aurion sat on one such, a hookah on a table before him. A woman as beautiful as she was handsome was dressed in silks, her hair done in silvery braids that caught the light in brilliant flashes. The Magister's wife no doubt. Several other guests of equal refinement and grace were present, likely Aurion's kin, friends, and peers. Slave women in golden collars stood with trays of snacks and wine stood at the ready, while several concubines of various extraction lounged on the recliners with some guests.

Aurion stood, wine glass in hand, "Ah, Ser Artur! Welcome to my humble home. This is my wife, Vaella. Please, come join us. Care for a drink?" 

Still, the manse dazzled him. It was as beautiful as an Old Valyrian palace, and possibly far larger. Everything around him appeared so clean and well-kept. The sweeping halls and cavernous rooms whizzed by him, and he felt as if his feet were betraying him, or as if some force of its beauty were manifesting in physical form and pushing him through the rooms, that he may sample all the marvels it had to offer.

Artur accepted a glass of wine from a passing servant, with a quiet word of thanks. The servant acted admirably, quick and efficient, and seemed to be directed by no more than the stern gaze of the Magister. "Magister Aurion, Magistress Vaella, it is beyond kindness that you would allow my crew and I to join you this afternoon. I fear that I am abusing your hospitality."

Aurion shook his head with a congenial smile and Vaella favored the young knight with her own friendly grin, "Perish the thought, Artur. I was already throwing a little gathering, it is only right that I extend that hospitality to the child of the esteemed Lord Jason, not to mention Ser Tyland's nephew. I know your father would have offered the same. Come, sit." 

Clayton immediately sat down and pulled a silvery concubine to him as she giggled, and a passing slave even set down a plate of delectables for Clegane, who dug in with gusto. The rest of the men relaxed as well, and Jorje came to join them on one of the couches. 

Aurion said, "A Dornish strongwine, a gift from the Prince of Dorne himself. Dark as blood, but far sweeter. A toast, to your father and House Lannister. May the Rogare family and yours always remain friends." Aurion raised his glass, Vaella mirroring the gesture, and all in the hall save the slaves drank. 

Once done, Aurion indicated the hookah on the table before him, "A concoction from Slaver's Bay. It helps a man relax. You may try if you so wish, ser." 

Artur eyed the strange object that rested on the table. He had never seen anything like it, and he quite doubted its relaxing properties. Occasionally, even as he spoke, the Magister would grab the tip from the device and set it in his mouth. Then, his eyes would go wide, as if he were experiencing wild visions, which if his father was to be believed, he was. Still, to refuse such a distinguished figure, especially now, when their two circles had such tension between them, would not be a good move for himself or for his house. He took the tip from its rope, but hesitated putting it into his mouth. "A toast to my father," he mumbled. The tip seemed as if to glare at him, judging him for this action. "If it pleases you, could you explain what I am to do?" He was stalling for time, and he knew it.

Vaella spoke up, "There is a plant in the east with great euphoric and relaxing properties, though effects vary based on strain and the individual. Do not worry, ser. You should feel nothing more than a great sense of ease and pleasure. Inhaling the smoke is all that's needed." 

Clayton spoke up as he nuzzled a concubine, "Just stick with the whores, Artur." 

Jorje grabbed one of the tips and said, "I did a few experiments with this substance in the Citadel, I assure you it's completely harmless." He took a puff and the man's face widened into a smile as he laid back for a moment. 

Tyran Hill, Artur's bastard cousin by his uncle Tyland, who had abstained from all of the... refreshments so far frowned skeptically, "Up to you Artur. It should be an experience at least." 

Artur took a deep breath and steeled himself. "Experience . . . " he sighed, and stuck the tip in his mouth, sucking inwards. It felt as if smoke were running down his throat, burning him and bubbling in his stomach. He coughed, tossing the tip away, and a white steam billowed out of his mouth and nose. He shook his head in an attempt to clear the pain, and that was when the visions began.

Tyran came over to him, a concerned look on the youth's face as he smacked Artur on the back, "Artur, Artur? Are you alright?" 

Vaella laughed, "It's alright young Lannister, it's his first time it's likely to have a stronger effect." She paused, "Plus, my husband may have purchased a... unique variety. There may be some... artificial additives that could have an effect on a first time user." 

Suddenly Artur saw the paintings and statues around him become animate, living breathing things that became to move and socialize as if they were people. Every sight and sound became enhanced ten fold it seemed, and the clouds of the mural above swirled as if in a storm. Artur saw his brother, Michel sitting on the recliner next to him, drinking wine. 

"Always knew you were a lightweight, little brother." He laughed and the visions continued, as Artur saw two dragons battle it out in the sky, the pleasant visions giving way to scenes of battle and chaos, the clouds darkening and thunder and rain lashing out. He was on a boat, sailing to a distant light. To Brightroar. But a massive wave came, overturned his boat, and sent him down to the murky abyss.

Finally the moment passed and Tyran, Clayton, and Jorje all stood over him, Jorje wafting some smelling salts under his nose. Clegane licked his face. Magister Aurion looked concerned, "Are you alright, Artur?" 

Artur groaned. His head trobbed and weighed down on his neck. His is belly threatened to burst open with protest. He coughed, and sat up, glaring first at the paintings, which were still, then the recliner, upon which sat no man, and lastly to the sky, which was mercifully covered with a layer of ceiling. "An experience," he gasped, and realized that his heart thumped like a charging horse, and his breath came in rapid heaves. "Indeed. Now I am sure I have overstayed your welcome, Magister."

Clayton scoffed, "Oh one puff and suddenly you're on your arse. Don't be a pansy, they've got girls here, Artur! Girls! And food!" 

Aurion frowned sympathetically, "I didn't think it would have such a strong effect on you. Last time, I buy from that Ghiscari bastard for sure. But allow me to make it up to you, Artur. You can rest and relax in your room or perhaps even the sauna, and then we can call you in for dinner. Allow your body to calm. I'm sure you're men would still like to enjoy themselves. I'll even make sure you have the money to refill your ships' provisions. As a gesture of apology." 

Clayton nodded enthusiastically at Artur as Tyran helped him sit up. 

Vaella rested a soft palm on his hand, "Oh, I'd hate for you to leave, young ser. I was dying to ask you questions about yourself, and your homeland. Please, stay and let us make it up to you." 

Artur gingerly pulled his hand away. Lysene women held poison, it seems, most of all upon their tables. The device bubbled merrily away, cackling at its most recent conquest. "We truly must be on our way, isn't that right? Clayton? Tyran? Lys has been an absolute pleasure, but if we become too accustomed to the comfort, then we may never face what Old Valyria has to offer us. I bid you good day." He ended with two quick bows, toward the Magister and his wife, and hastily turned on his heels.

Then suddenly, the young knight felt a sudden feeling of vertigo, nasuea, and then he was expelling the expensive Dornish strongwine all over the immaculate marble floors. The Ghiscari device kept bubbling as yet another side effect manifested in the young Westerosi. There were several shouts of surprise and Clayton just managed to catch Artur before he fell face first into his own vomit.

Darkness took him. 

After some time, Artur found himself in a luxurious bed, in a moderately sized room. The curtains had been drawn on the window, but there was no sign of sunlight, with only a candle next to the bed to light the room. There was a platter of fruit, bread, meat, and bread on a counter, next to a pitcher of water. Someone had changed him into smallclothes and left a washbasin next to the bed. 

If he listened closely he could hear a buzz of activity somewhere beneath him. Likely the dinner, Aurion had planned. Still in the manse then. There was a pounding headache, and a great sense of thirst. 

Artur dragged himself out of the bed, cursing softly. He reached with a sluggish hand to the pitcher, then dumped it over his head, mouth wide open. Water washed down on him, embedding itself in his brown hair and running down his sides. He looked scornfully at the food, considering having a bit, then pushed it out of his mind. He would never be able to keep food down for the rest of his life. with a groan, he pushed himself into something resembling a standing position, and let his gaze fall upon the room. There was clothing in the corner, looking much like his own. He stumbled over and fell upon it, hitting his head on something hard. A sword, the very one on his belt. Something about that gave him a sense of familiarity, a glimmer of the old bravery he had. Without putting anything on, he fumbled the scabbard out of the pile of cloth and pulled out the metal with a satisfying swing. He only had this small chance to reunite with his things before his nerves buzzed, freezing him in his place. A sudden tapping, at the far window, covered by blinds. 

There was a soft click, and a form clad in black slithered through the window, crouching down to the floor and turning to close the window softly. They were dressed all in black, with a hood covering their face. A sword was strapped to their back. And then they turned and saw Artur. Froze in place for a moment. Then the sneak pulled a dagger from his belt, drew his sword and lunged at Artur, going for a quick thrust at his throat. 

With strength he surely didn't have, Artur jumped off the ground, and with a roar, swung his blade in a clumsy arc at the arm. It, of course, pulled back before the blade could connect. Pressing his tiny advantage, Artur brought the sword around again in an offhand swing, which the figure responded to by ducking back to a reasonable distance. There was going to be blood, right here in this room.

The assassin flicked his wrist, the dagger flying at Artur before he rolled forward and swung at the Lannister, trying to slash at Artur's legs with his sword. The confines of the room were tight, and there was not much room to manuver. Artur had to end this quickly. 

Artur stepped back, and felt to his horror his legs give way under him. With a startled yell, he made a desperate gamble that the assassin would take just one more step forward, and lunged out with his sword far as it would go. His shoulder joints protested this, of course, but the gods did not, for with a sickening splat, its tip touched home. The assassin stood in his place for a few seconds, then slowly looked down, most certainly afraid of what he'll see. Blood running down his legs, followed soon after by the hints of innards. He slumped over, clutching at his abdomen in a vain attempt to keep his organs inside. Artur turned away, disgusted by the sight. Swordfighting for him was always about clean cuts, removing heads or arms like his training stands. This was something else.

Artur heard a scratching on the door and once opened he would see Clegane, looking up at the Lannister, barking in alarm. The hound turned and growled and once he stepped into the hall, he would see more black-clad killers, four of them in the hall. A guardsman had had his throat cut, as well as that of a slave woman bearing a tray of food. Two of them saw the hound and the knight and rushed to engage them, blades at the ready while the others turned to try and run off down the hallway towards the stairs. Clegane growled and crouched, leaping into the air and catching one of the assassins at his torso while the other slashed at Artur. 

Artur leaped backwards, barely avoiding the slash of the blade. His head landed hard against the doorknob right behind him, and pain flared up throughout his head. The assassin stepped forward menacingly, blade in hand. Is this his fate? To never even see the sword of his ancestors? To die in disrepute in Lys?

By another saving miracle, just as Artur was to meet his gory end, his foe was leapt on from the back. It was Clegane, loyal and fierce, taking a mighty chunk out of the assassin's skull. He trotted over with a low growl, blood leaking out of his open maw. "Good dog!" Artur shouted, giving him a good pat on the head. "Every Lannister should have a Clegane."

Clegane barked happily, blood staining his maw as the other assassin had already had his throat ripped out. There was a clamor from downstairs and Clegane barked again, running down the stairs and leading Artur to the entry hall where the other two assassins were. One of them slashed and stabbed at a quartet of guards, keeping them at bay with his attacks while the other threw open the doors to the estate. The two guards at the door barely had time to turn before two assassins each slit their throats. 

Behind them, Artur could see that the grounds of the manse were in disarray, torchlight everywhere as guards clashed with cutthroats. The quartet of assassins attacked the guards in concert and made quick work of them, before darting off for the dining hall, ignoring Artur and Clegane as several more killers ran in to join with them, bringing their numbers to eight. 

Artur cursed his throbbing pains. Sword in hand, he rushed after the figures, groaning threats and clutching the back of his head with his off hand. If he had to guess, he'd say they were going for the dining hall, back to the place where the much-hated smoke device sat. Clegane bounded on ahead, growling up a storm and smashing into tables and chairs, bowling them over without slowing in the slightest.

Artur guessed right for the most part. The parlor was in the path of the killers, who advanced to the great dining hall. It was just as ornate as the reception hall, with a large candelebra and an even larger table lined with all manner of fine foods and drinks. The ambience was ruined by the masked assassins. The eight cutthroats jumped at the guards, who were quickly being overwhelmed. Most of the guests ran for the far side of the room. 

Jorje ducked beneath the table with a knife and Tyran grabbed a carving knife from the table and put Vaella behind him, while Clayton had picked up a chair and threw it at one of the assassins. Aurion stood from his chair, drawing Truth. Half of the assassins broke off and made for the Magister, swords in hand. 

Aurion was in grave danger. Only the best swordfighters could fight multiple men at once, and Aurion, though skilled, did not rank in those esteemed few. Already, he was being pushed back by the relentless attacking of the four assaulters. However, neither of them thought to factor in the near-naked Lannister that had just burst into the room, and their backs were to him. Artur leaped at the nearest, cleaving with his sword and catching one in the back of his neck. He fell over, clutching his throat.

The Magister shot Artur a glance and parried one of the assassins' blades, dancing away from another strike. The Lysene nobleman was quick and graceful, fighting in a unique mixture of the water dancing tradition and Westerosi fencing suited to his weapon. But drink and surprise dulled his reactions, and it was all he could do to avoid or deflect the killers attacks, unable to press the advantage himself. One man turned to face Artur, surprised, and raised his sword to begin clashing with the Lannister, on the defensive as the young knight pressed him back. 

"Clayton! Defend the magister!" he shouted, hoping that his voice carried over the din of combat. Unarmored as he was, it was only a matter of time before he suffered a crippling wound. Then, his dream of reaching Valyria would be over. So he did the only thing he thought would give him a chance. He dodged backwards, then turned and ran into the other room. He rounded the corner and waited to strike into his opponent's back as he would run into the room, expecting Artur to have routed.

Clayton nodded and bullcharged one of the assassins in the side, knocking him to the ground and throttling him with his bare hands, as he wrestled away the knife and stabbed him repeteadly in the throat. Aurion, the pressure lessened, dodged under one of his opponent's attacks and then began pressing him back, his strikes landing quicker and with more surety as adrenaline burned away the inebriation. The other assassin followed Artur into the adjoining room, weapons raised as he looked for the young man. 

Artur, as planned, waited just by the door. When the assassin came through, Artur thrust his blade into the man's back. Blood ran down his blade, ending at the hilt and dripping off the crossguard. The assassin let out a breath of air and fell forward, never to rise again. Artur turned and reentered the room, sick to his stomach. The three men he killed, the first three men he'd ever killed, was all he could think of. Their lives leaving their bodies replayed themselves over and over in his head, each worse than the last.

Aurion performed a picture-perfect riposte, jabbing his foeman in the shoulder before knocking his sword out of his hand and slashing his leg, sending him to the floor, he stuck the blade at the assassins' throat and said, "Who sent you?! Tell me and I'll make this quick!" 

The man only spit at him and Aurion hit him in the head with the pommel, "Slowly then." He turned to his wife, seeing that she was alright then saw Artur stagger in, he sheathed Truth and Tyran came to Artur, holding him steady as Clayton came by to sit him down in a chair. Jorje came out of hiding and examined Artur, "Are you alright my lord? Are you wounded?" 

Aurion came over and said, "I owe you my life, Ser Artur. I will do everything I can to repay this debt." 

"Now I am well and truly to be gone, magister," Artur said, trying to cover himself up with his hands. He was in front of them all, dressed only in his smallclothes, the wind from the open windows prickling gooseflesh on his skin. "Food and supplies for the ship are all I ask for, truly." He then turned to adress Jorje. "I'm fine, no need to inspect me. Let's just get out of here. I'll be glad when I'm sailing home with Brightroar."

Tyran pulled the tablecloth off of the banquet table, sending most of the dishes crashing and wrapping Artur in it as Clayton passed him some wine, "Crazy bastard. Charging in here, in your smallclothes. That would have been an embarassing way to die." 

Aurion smiled, "I can do all that and more. I'll give you some sailors from my own armada to properly crew your ship. Slave-sailors who will follow your commands, and will meet you at the docks. And some sellswords to help you defend against the dangers of the seas. And this." He snapped his fingers and the fastidious major domo arrived with a small chest in his arms. The man opened it and inside was a hefty bag of gold, Aurion said, "Lannisters' aren't the only ones who pay their debts." 

"You pursue a worthy goal to restore your family sword. I wish you godspeed Ser." After a moment he whispered in the major domo's ear. After a moment he returned with a few women in tow, Aurion smiled, "To keep you company on the long journey, including one of my favorites." A slender, waifish young girl with bright silver hair and violet eyes came forward. She was probably close to Artur in age, mayhaps a few years younger and smiled at Artur. Aurion said, "Calla. Extensively trained. But untouched. My gift to you, Ser." 

Calla curtseyed to Artur as the guards and servants came in to attend to the damage and help square the noble guests away. 

"Erm . . . thank you, magister," Artur mumbled. Calla smiled wanly at him, and he turned away, hoping that his cheeks weren't reddening. "Right, let's get going. Clayton, Tyran, our . . . quest isn't going to finish itself." He mentally kicked himself for his idiocy, mentioning Brightroar in front of Aurion. Calla came over to him and enclosed his hand in hers. He pulled away, quietly squeaking. 

Calla hid a giggle behind a dainty pale hand and both Clayton and Tyran traded a smirk before the rest of the men gathered and Clayton took the chest of gold in one hand. Jorje brushed himself off as the major domo brought him another chest, "Apothecary and alchemical supplies from the Magister's stores." Jorje smiled in thanks. 

Vaella came forward and beamed at the young knight, "Thank you for saving us Ser Artur and coming to Aurion's aid. You'll always have a place here and can rely on us as friends." She kissed him on the cheek and withdrew as Aurion took her hand in his, "Safe travels, Ser Artur. And good luck." It would still be several hours till sunlight. 

The company left with their newfound treasures and companions, eventually finding their ship at the docks, the captain from Lannisport coming forward to report to Artur the loading of supplies and the arrival of new crew members. A large cadre of sellswords of every origin stood on the docks, a hardened lot of toughs. A quiet, row of sailors stood next to them, just as diverse and experienced. But they stared down at the ground subserviently. Slaves. Tyran frowned at the sight, "We can't use this kind of labor cousin. It's wrong." 

Jorje piped up, "If they are in your employ now, then you have the power to free them Artur. They may feel grateful enough to remain. Though of course, they will then have to be paid wages. But I believe Tyran is right." 

Now he was stuck with a decision. Artur had not thought about the implications of Lysene labor, but he realized now that more than half of these sailors were slaves. On the one hand, they would be valuable workers, near tireless and requiring little resources, yet on the other, he would have to return home and face the concequences of the gods and of his peers. Better to be safer.

"Let freedom be their choice," he decided. This felt the right thing to do. "Do not hide the simple truth that we cannot pay them. Don't give them much time, for I want us to be off within six hundred counts. Quickly! Let us be away!"

Jorje spoke several phrases in bastard Valyrian of Lys and the sailors all looked up in surprise, then at each other. They spoke among themselves for several moments and one man came forward to speak. Jorje listened then said, "They say, they will work for us despite the lack of pay for the most part. Food and lodging sufficient for them for now. And they wish to return to Westeros with us to make a new life." 

Clayton grunted, "Free labor? Good enough for me." 

Tyran nodded and the Captain got to work, getting the men to set sail as the sellswords boarded followed by their own guardsmen. Clegane and Clayton hopped on the boat, followed by Jorje and Tyran said, "I'll keep an eye on those blokes. In case they're supposed to keep an eye on us." Tyran left as well.

Calla came to Artur, looked up at him at his eyes and said in lightly accented common, "And what of me, ser? Am I free now as well? Or not?" The question seemed merely curious, the girl asking it in a seemingly casual tone. 

" . . . Yes," he said. The girl looked so innocent, looking up at him with that face. "If you will go, go quickly. We will go to sea very soon." He looked out to the water, gleaming and blue, and tried to will the moment away. He'll be back at sea soon, where he felt sure and in control. 

Calla looked down at the ground, then at the sea, silent for a few moments before she turned back to Artur, "I have nowhere else to go. I have never left Lys, but I have also never known freedom. I do not wish to go back to Aurion. And so I will go with you, Ser Artur. On behalf of all the women, I thank you." She stood on her tiptoes to kiss Artur on the cheek, her lips soft and she boarded the ship with the other newly freed women in tow. 

Soon, Artur boarded his newly staffed ship and the vessel went underway, striking out onto the Lyseni sea under the full moon, heading for Volantis. Where King Tommen of the Rock had last been seen. [/hider]