westwhere | interlude: ellethia

interlude: ellethia

ELLETHIA

En route to their next destination, the Merchant detours the party through his home citadel of Ellethia — the first, haunted casualty of the undead, now divided into Ellethia-Allayar and Ellethia-Hamsour.

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ONE FOR THE ROAD

Macaluso Spina’s plans to escort the group out of Taravast are overturned by the Merchant’s transmission:

”It appears many of you remain indifferent to the stakes of our endeavour. So, you will see them. You go to Ellethia, jewel of innovation, the first cradle of the dead. My home.”

With the sorceress Karsa now gone, the party is entrusted to journey master and kindly-mannered biologist Enam.

Characters retain their bare essentials and what little can be carried on their backs. Magical storage is minimal. Everyone receives bags containing: three raw candles, a bundle of red clothes, a light blanket, two flasks of fresh water, a dagger, two bandage strips, two needles, strong thread, four textile patches, dried food, a pouch with two fistfuls of kiln-dried broken firewood and some flint. Supplies are replenished periodically.

Enam and his six assistants carry larger loads — with two aides transporting heavily bound humanoid forms. They’ve got you, Kaneki.

Ellethia requires delicate travel. The group first travels communally by ship, reaching the East Arakuthia Seas at sunset, meeting 25 small boats that can home between one and three passengers.

The group only travels at sea by night, when the depths are safest. The 3-17 January period covers two nights of seaborne travel, broken by journey on land across the two segments of Ellethia. Sea shipment will take characters from East Arakuthia to Ellethia-Allayar. A second voyage will later deliver them from Ellethia-Allayar to Ellethia-Hamsour. They spend roughly seven days at each land location.

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TROUBLE AT SEA

The small boats have been thralled to slowly progress through mist and water to their destination. Enam quickly discloses the rules of seaborne engagement:

■ Keep the light. Enam offers each traveller a lit candle brazier to wave periodically around the boat and “ward away evil.”

■ If your candle blows out, rush to it light back with help from your boat-mate or other vessels.

■ If all of a boat’s candle lights have been died, travellers have three minutes to light fresh candle flames. The vessel begins to sink, seized by hands of rotting flesh and shadow. Undead mermaids attempt to drown those who fall in.

■ Sunken characters can be rescued by other vessels but remain “marked,” experiencing a bitter, unrelenting cold that no fire can tame. The saviours’ ship are intensely targeted by mermaids that seek to capsize it and collect their lost prize. You are rattled but safe as long as your lights hold.

■ Perhaps you dozed off, or briefly looked away — no matter your distraction, a newcomer (?) has now climbed into your boat, teeth chattering and terrified. These undead visitors are unaware of their condition and beg to be delivered to shore. They are not violent, unless ignored and often spark conversations. Over time, they become paranoid that they will not be rescued.

■ Those who share their names with these creatures feel compelled to take them to ground, where they trigger immediate medium-scale explosions. Other boat-mates or vessels can stop this.

■ Forcibly push your stowaway into water, trick them in, or pose a riddle they cannot solve.

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AHOY, LAND

Ellethia has been cleaved into two — Allayar and Hamsour — by the Huntress, whose extended presence crumbled stone, decayed organic matter and eventually sunk districts and passageways. Crude bridges connect sectors of the citadel that have been partly submerged.

Although the tragedy of Ellethia occurred within the last decade, its ruins have been completely overrun by lush vegetation.

The following applies to both Ellethia-Allayar and Ellethia-Hamsour:

■ Characters must don their fashionable red gear once they reach land. Over 15 minutes of direct exposure to the crisp Ellethia air leads unprotected skin to erupt in a rash, then into gashes and tissue-deep decay. The wound fully regenerates within the hour.

■ Patch your party suit immediately, if it is torn.

■ Science-prone characters can notice no sign of radiation. Sorcerers feel no magic. Necromancers sense a complete absence of death.

■ There is no other human presence on land. Plants develop abundantly. Animals live an entire cycle of birth, growth, maturity and decay in the period between sunrise and sundown, reaching their prime around midday. Corpse remains patch back together into the creature’s new-born form at sunrise.

■ There are no human corpses anywhere.

TASKS

■ Forage or hunt. Replenish resources. Water from Ellethia’s canals is potable.

■ Help Enam find samples of the Widow’s Yearning. The plants grow in small fields whose scent woos travellers into a restful sleep they struggle to wake back from on their own. Widow’s Yearning can be ground into a potent hallucinogen.

■ Explore the pastoral surroundings.

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ELLETHIA-ALLAYAR

The party first reaches Ellethia-Allayar, which hosts the ruins of the citadel’s seats of banking, commerce and governance. Ellethia-Allayar has been deeply flooded, with many streets partly overcome by water.

■ Amid torn-down halls of rhetoric and administration, characters can find bright flags on public office buildings, and glitter debris and street cups on the ground.

■ Several decaying pamphlets remain in the main piazza, whose halls have been submerged 1 meter underwater. If recovered, the pamphlets bemoan: Toss a Bone to Your Taxman: He’s Already Got the Meat, Gristle and Fat, Dowries: Sense or Sentiment? Join Tonight’s March for Free Wedlock, Who Watches through Your Mirrors?, Selling: Minor Palace with Main Street View and Cat, 90 Days Since Conscription: Where Are Your Sons?, Taravast Was Our Fathers’ Question, We Are the Answer.

■ Fresher pamphlets littered on public streets announce extended burial grounds in the botanical garden.

■ Roads and buildings show signs of clawing and trampling, along with spattering of long-dried blood.

■ The carriages, streetlights and infrastructure of Ellethia suggest a technology level near the 1800s.

THE SILENCE GAME

Ellethia-Allayar’s impromptu “canals” have made it a prime target for mermaids, who only infiltrate at midday — the peak of the accelerated animal life cycle.

■ Enam urges retreating to the high ground of the peripheral residential areas, as midday draws near.

■ Between noon and 13:00 each day, swathes of vicious mermaids storm the Allayar canals, working in packs to draw unsuspecting animals or humans into water. Some mermaids are dead, some living. While they always circle Ellethia during the day, they only proactively hunt in this period.

■ The thick fogs of Ellethia throw a boon: if they are very silent and very still, characters can hide even on low ground. Beware: the mermaids’ hearing has evolved to compensate their weaker sight, helping them locate close-by characters who speak or heave.

■ Mermaids imitate the animal calls and human voices they have heard to lure out prey.

■ Most central and public buildings are on low land.

Enam directs characters to their boats again to head to Ellethia-Hamsour within the week.

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ELLETHIA-HAMSOUR

Unlike Allayar, Ellethia-Hamsour is a completely demolished territory, bordering a wasteland. Water infiltrations have been minimal.

The fog runs thicker than in Allayar, compounding the dangers of the collapsing, decayed roads and bridges.

The strong, vibrant greenery only breaks in coastal regions. Beneath the plant beds, you can find signs of the academic, science or technological districts. In some manicured gardens, flowers have overtaken hundreds of newer stone plates bearing local names and the marker, Truth Bows Only to the Sun.

Any remaining stone edifices display intense clawing and blood residue.

Characters are tasked to head to a distant lighthouse, lone in the horizon.

■ Characters become increasingly obsessed with reaching the lighthouse, often neglecting food, safety and sleep.

■ The single-minded focus leaves some vulnerable to being lured into steep pits or down cliff edges, into the sea.

■ Some characters become possessive of the lighthouse and plot to prevent their fellow travellers from reaching it. The lighthouse is not safe, if others get near it. It does not want them. Only you.

PLOTTING POST

QUESTIONS

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[He turns his head in the suit and looks down at her, as much as he can.]

Any cost, for whatever I learn. I will not make others here bear it.

[They're getting close enough to the lighthouse that he thinks they'll reach it today -- in considerably less than an hour, if he's right. He doesn't try to shake her hand off of his arm. The most important thing is getting them both closer to their destination. As to Sansa, Zuko must be with her.]

[Her face grew cold. It could not be seen well under her helmet, but perhaps he understood from how her hand tightened on his arm.]

I don't accept that. [She understood what he meant and it made her furious to think of such a sacrifice.] I'm not your Queen, but I am your ally. If you wish my help, then you cannot die.

Whether are sacrifice or anything else.

You cannot die.

[That's kind of her, when not a moment or two past she was trying to keep him from getting to the lighthouse. It's puzzling, but it must just be something about this place.]

If I die, I won't be going home. The North will be lost -- they will only have whatever my sister can give them. Back there, she believes me, that the Dead are trouble, but she hasn't seen them. And she is older there than she is here, but she has never mentioned any of this to me. [Meaning that he can't trust Sansa to know anything he learns here and to carry it with her into the Great War.]

I don't mean that kind of cost, Daenerys. I mean if the cost is pain or a mark, then I will withstand it, no one else.

[His relationship with Alayne had gone back and forth in her mind. She was forever second guessing things, that perhaps they were sweethearts or friends from the past. With their names so different, being siblings wasn't her first thought. She wouldn't question why she assumed sweethearts so quickly.

She was wrong though. It seemed Alayne was his sister. She covered her surprise, preferring to seem as though she always knew.

When her eyes cast ahead to the lighthouse, the strength of that pull started to grip her tighter. Tighter than she held his arm.]

I will not allow you to die. I will not allow you to be hurt.

[She pulled away from him, pressing her fist against her heart. It was starting to become unbearable that it felt that she couldn't breathe. There was only the lighthouse. She craved it, she needed it and she was leading him closer.

Send him away. Stop him. Any cost.

She started to hyperventilate a little, well aware he noticed her behavior.]

It's mine- I...no. Go back, Jon Snow. Go away.

[It's troubling when she pulls away from him. Escorting her towards the lighthouse had been the easiest way -- she might have turned on him when they were nearer to it, she might be doing that now, but at least they would all get closer to it.

The way Daenerys is moving is strange; the way she is breathing is strange.]

Are you afraid I'll be hurt if I don't go back?

[That seems to be what she's saying... but if that's the case, what does she mean by "It's mine"?]

[The thoughts are growing louder. It was no longer a hum but a rushing torrent. Emotions translated into words, whispering and clawing at her until she felt she was nearly wrapped in its tendrils.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

It's suffocating and she feels so weak under its rage. Her body was only so strong. She was the Blood of the Dragon, but even her fire could not withstand the cold breath of the lighthouse.

"Your father always had a little madness in him, I now believe. Yet he was charming and generous as well, so his lapses were forgiven. His reign began with such promise . . . but as the years passed, the lapses grew more frequent, until . . ." Ser Barristan's words echoed over the roar of obsession.

He had the taint. Had her knight been wrong? Was it in her and just not seen, waiting dormant until something urged it out?

Her breath became heavier and the helmet felt so suffocating. There was no air, no space, she was confined and imprisoned by it all. Her body felt battered against the strength of the lighthouse. Her mind was a battlefield and everything was decimated.

She couldn't answer him. All she could think was burning away those that would take this from her, that would leave her paranoid and as mad as her father. It's there, it's always been there. She wanted to kill, to burn and that buckled her legs, her reason broken at the idea.

Dany pulled her helmet off, sucking in as much air as she could. Yes, this was good. They would be safer this way, he would be safer.

She tossed the helmet away from her. Let them, him be safe.]

[At first, he isn't sure what's happening. She has torn herself away, pressed her fist against her chest, and her breath is coming hard and fast. She seems concerned for him -- she doesn't ask for help.

He begins to ask, "Are you sick?" -- but before he can get the words out, she rips her helmet off and throws it aside.]

Daenerys -- no!

[He darts to retrieve the helmet, scooping it up, then turning back to her, ready to hand it to her, ready to put it on her head himself if he has to.]

Don't!

[She's ready to push him away with all the strength she cans till muster. There's still time before the effects take hold, but it isn't soon enough. If her body could shut down, turn to rashes and decay, perhaps it would burn away the thoughts that she could no longer control.

Let the taint burn and turn to ashes. She was reborn in flames, let it end with the same feeling.

Her violet eyes are wide and full of tears, her cheeks turning red from her sobs rather than the air.]

Ser Barristan called it the taint. [She was breathless, desperate to make him understand, even if her thoughts were blanking rapidly. She had to hurry before she dissolved to madness.] My father had it; he said I didn't.

But I do. I feel it. It's so loud in my head and I can't fight it. I don't want to hurt anyone over a lighthouse...my lighthouse. I have to kill it in my head.

[He doesn't know what's happening to her, but -- the taint. Madness? Her father was mad, and cruel. He has not seen madness or cruelty in her, but he has not known her for long.]

You can't fight anything unless you put your helm back on. The air here is poison -- you know it.

[He pushes it at her.]

I know!

[Couldn't he see? He had to understand that this was a sacrifice needed, something a queen should do. She needed to protect those with her, traveled with her. If this poison stopped the thoughts and needs, then it was her savior.

She shoved the helmet back at him, harshly rejecting it.]

This is fighting it. [She wiped at her cheeks, her skin was starting to tingle. Soon.] This is how I can be strong.

Please. I can't be like him. I don't want the madness.

It doesn't help anyone for you to die out here!

[He is nearly shouting now, frantic to make her cover herself. If he tells her that taking her helmet off is proof of madness, then that will make her doubly determined to keep it off.]

If you don't want to hurt anyone over a lighthouse, then don't hurt anyone. You're strong.

[He has to assume she is, at any rate, because of her youth, and where she started, and where she is. A weak person doesn't conquer cities.]

But don't hurt yourself over it, either. Put your helmet back on.

[If he has to put it on her bodily, he will. If he has to drag her to the lighthouse, he'll do that, but he doesn't know if she'll forgive him.]

[Men had been cruel to her, demeaning, none had ordered her in this was before. He had authority, barking at her as though she were one of his men. Even with her emotional overload, she could admire that leadership.

She shook her head, clutching his shoulders. What she wouldn't give for Ser Barristan, but Jon...Jon was doing what her Commander would do. He also would force the helmet into her hands.

Her skin was starting to break out into a rash, her face becoming redder.]

I'm not. [She was that little girl again, cowering before Viserys when the dragon came out. She had buckled and felt so tired, so drained.] What if I am not, Jon?

Then worry about it later. You won't know if you die now.

[Her skin is beginning to redden; soon, it will split and peel and begin to decay. He thinks of someone burning... of Mance, of Ygritte, of all the men whose bodies they burn after every battle.]

Put your helm back on. Come on, we're almost there.

[He grasps her arm and begins to tug her towards the lighthouse. If they can get there in time -- ]

[She wasn't sure if she wanted to know, but she relented, clutching her helmet tightly. He tugged at her, getting her to move forward several steps. The call of the lighthouse was strong, overpowering. She didn't feel strong, but Jon insisted she was. So, with a bit of hesitation, she put her helmet back on.

After those few steps, her legs buckled, the emotion weighing her down. She was near willing to end her line, to end her blood. Anything to stop the madness, which seemed to grow louder and more powerful. She wanted to cry, she wanted to rest. Everything was collapsing heavily against her shoulders.

She fell against Jon, beginning to sink to her knees as she cried.]

A moment. I need a moment.

[When she puts the helm back on, his taut, commanding posture relaxes, and he sighs and nods and slows his pace. At least she won't die here, under his care, or suffer needlessly.

It makes him less determined to bodily haul her to the lighthouse, even though it's still at least a mile away. Far closer to two, he thinks, but it's hard to say by sight.

Then, suddenly, she's leaning on him, sinking to her knees. He catches her up, trying to hold her on her feet.]

It's all right. You're all right.

[She relied on his arms to provide her support and strength while it seemed the rest of her own evaporated. Her fingers clutched at his suit, spending the last of her energy on that simple action. The helmet made it impossible for her to rest her head against his chest, but she does her best anyway. She needed this, some type of comfort that she'd been lacking for longer then her time here.

Tears aren't the best idea, but still they come. His words are comforting, but muffled against the sounds of her cries.

She can't too much time, but this was needed, built up after so long. Not simply her life here, but back home. These fears had grown stronger and for the first time, she couldn't simply look ahead. She'd be lost either way.]

I'm sorry.

[He lets her lean against him, this woman he hardly knows, and tries to hold her up as she cries. The suits do not allow for much comfort, and he is not, he thinks, a very comforting man.

Still, he tries. His hand reaches around and pats at her slender shoulder.]

Nothing to be sorry for.

[But why would the Merchant send them to the Lighthouse if it was going to drive half of them mad? They are here to see a price for their decisions. How would madness help them see it? It has to stop sometime soon.]

[He may not think much of his abilities to comfort, but his arms is as strong as she imagined. While she can't feel his body so well under his suit, she finds that she melds against it quite easily. It's familiar and warm.

She takes a long minute to draw from his strength, something he seemed to have an abundance of. Well aware that she was imposing on him, putting him in an awkward position. She let go of his suit, stepping back as she drew one breath after another.]

Let's continue. [For as much as she flirted with him, she felt embarrassed by relying on him.] It's unusual for Drogon to ignore my orders. I wonder if whatever has been happening can affect him as well?

[It’s good to see her begin to put herself together again. He doesn’t try to interfere with it, only watches her carefully.]

It’s something about that place. I only hope it ends when we get there.

If it’s getting to your dragon, too, it can’t be in the same way. He’s coming and going freely. He isn’t trying to keep anyone away.

I would not make assumptions until we are actually there. He may not be Rhaegal with his temper, but he can be possessive. Particularly with something he views as his.

[She can only hope that he has not succumbed to it as she has. Without Jon, she might not be able to fight this. Drogon, he preferred to be alone now. Was that good or ill? He would not listen to her, but it was possible he was fighting on his own.]

Tell me what you think of him. Did you read of dragons as a child?

[She was curious. Perhaps it sounded arrogant to ask, but with Drogon being the only dragon any from Westeros had seen, she would like to hear his observations. He was no Quentyn, though there was no way to test Jon here.

The dragon had three heads, after all.]

[He begins to walk towards the lighthouse again, prepared for her to try to stop him.]

Didn’t read any more than I had to. We had a maester at Winterfell, a good man, Luwin… we had lessons with him every day. But I spent more time in the training yard than reading books, if I had a choice.

I did like to hear of your family. Of the Young Dragon, and the Dragonknight. But real dragons… I never thought to see one. I thought they were all gone — everyone did.

I think he is a wonder.

I wish I knew more of our history, but what I was told was limited. Viserys would speak of it sometimes, but nothing near the education you must have had. [Which for a moment, made her feel smaller next to him. He may not have liked books, but he had to have heard the history to know these great kings and men. She wanted to know it all, to soak it up until she was filled.

It would need to wait until she was in Westeros.] I fear then that I will be dull to you. I love books. There were many I was reading in Meereen and have yet to finish.

[Romantic things that he might find dull, along with children's stories, but entertaining for her.

She smiled with pride at his assessment. Most feared her dragons, even as they were awed by him. Jon seemed to have no fear.]

One day I will have him better tamed and you may touch him, but I don't wish to put you a risk now. The two others are beautiful as well.

I can’t remember if you told me before: all three of them look like him? How do you tell them apart?

[A beat, as he trudges along.]

I don’t think you’re dull, but I’ll tell you what I can remember of those stories.

No. They are each different. Drogon's scales are black, but his plates and horns are red. Rhaegal's scales are jade green, as are his wings. His eyes are gold and his teeth and claws are black. Viserion's scales are cream. His horns, wing and spine are gold, as are his eyes.

Their eggs were so beautiful and seemed to ripple with these colors. They each have different personalities as well, which you would imagine with brothers.

Drogon dominates his brothers, but Rhaegal is fierce and angry. Viserion prefers staying back. He's a lazy dragon.

[She smiles. The compliment is a kind one.]

I should like that. I want to know more of Westeros and its history.

[As she speaks, he tries to imagine these colors… how they’d look on a dragon. Drogon is a little like what he’s heard of Balerion, but if he ever knew the colors of any of the other dragons that had died so long ago, Vhagar and Dreamfyre and Caraxes and the rest, he does not remember them. Drogon is all he really knows about what a dragon should look like… aye, they’re all big (if they grow to maturity), they have scales and wings and claws and teeth, but there is a difference between a painted dragon in a book and one that is circling overhead.]

Hard to think of a lazy dragon.

[He is pleased that she is occupied, not trying to tear off her helm again, and not trying to stop him from reaching the lighthouse.]

As to the stories I know, the history of the realm, what would you want me to tell you? When I was a boy, I liked tales of daring.

interlude: ellethia

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