King's Landing, 287 AL.
Lysander.
"Power is freedom. Coin is portable power." Equites Lysander Asimachos.
Damn. He had finally gone a bit too far. The wild-elf, or whatever that… thing really was had done something to him. 'Begone!' the pointy-eared bastard had yelled. 'Bother some other world, some other people!' He had laughed, and suddenly the magic of the wild-elf had consumed him. He had regretted that last sarcastic comment, but then not. Finally, the sweet embrace of death and nothingness. Forgetfulness.
Except, he did not feel very dead. At all. He opened his dark green eyes, one at a time. This did not feel like any kind of afterlife he had heard of. And it certainly did not smell like that. Well, some tales of the afterlife for the wicked probably had this… smell. He stared at a dark stone wall. He was sitting on cobblestones that, seriously, were starting to hurt his bony behind.
"Who are you then?" he heard a rough voice saying, turning his head in that direction. A stocky, bald man with a wicked scar over his head and a strong smell of stale beer over him were coming closer.
Despite joints and especially his head protesting, he got up and stretched himself a little. The stocky man seemed less inclined to advance. Almost seven feet did help in these cases. The long, thin sword and the corresponding dagger at his hip were probably not in his disadvantage either.
"I am Equites Lysander Asimachos, Logothetes in service of His Imperial Highness Kaisar Leonids of the House Toarias." he replied with a confident smile. Years of negotiations, threats and the constant game of cat and mouse that was the world of a good caretaker of his master's estates had taught him to control his face. And do it very well indeed.
"Oh, sorry Milord." the stocky man said, bent is neck a bit and continued walking, now rounding the thin and tall nobleman as if he had intended to do so the entire time. They both knew better, and both knew to not tempt fate by not pretending it was not so.
"Oh, no worries my good man. Even Lords have natural needs, you know."
The stocky man had laughed, a bit forced, but then left. Leaving him to his own devices.
The first question, where the absolute shit were he? He was very far from Langtrue, and from Karastovel, that was clear. He could not recognise the face of the almost full moon, nor the stars, searching in vain for familiar formations.
And this mother-fucking stench. This was obviously a large city that knew nothing of sewers. It probably did not even have a proper aqueduct. How everyone had not perish in disgusting epidemics already was way beyond him.
He stepped out on the street. It was nighttime, or something close to it. Some people were about, drunkards staggered from taverns – some of which seemed very inviting, with song and laughter streaming from glass windows lit by yellow light from oil lamps inside. He needed to take a a look at his situation, and he had always done his best thinking with a glass of wine in his hand. He weighed his options and stepped towards a tavern with a decently freshly painted sign with grapes on it. Surely they would have passable wine?
He stepped in and glanced at the crowd which looked mostly like middle class people. Skilled labourers and tradesmen, traders and the like. With a smattering of whores and serving wenches among them, if one was to judge them on their status of dress – or rather, undress in this case.
He produced a small but polite bow towards those that looked in his direction, which seemed enough for most of them, their eyes turning back towards the bard playing a simple lute but doing it well.
He found his way to an empty table, with a serving wench soon appearing to take his order. He smiled a bit, a toothy grin of pearly white teeth of a man that had grown up being able to afford healers specialised in bones and teeth, got up and to her obvious surprise took her hand to bring it to his mouth, letting one and a half inch of air remain between her skin and his lips, as was proper, all in a smooth but deep bow.
"Ah, young Miss. How fortunate. I am Equites Asimachos and have recently arrived here. I am afraid my command of the language is far from perfect, could you perhaps help me?"
The girl blushed deeply and tried, unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle.
"Of course, Milord." she said with a heavy accent, placing a hand over her chest.
"I shall require to name of this place in your language. And a glass of fine white wine." he produced a silver coin. "It is not of the local currency, but silver is always silver, is it not?"
The girl blushed again. "You mean to tell me, Milord, that you know not King's Landing, the greatest city of Westeros?" she giggled, probably taking his question as a joke. He smiled to assure her while she took the coin to return with wine soon after.
This was troublesome. He had never heard of King's Landing, and never of Westeros either.
The bard finished playing, raised a tankard and cried out. "Hail Robert Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Seven Kingdoms!"
He partook in the cheer, without much enthusiasm. He had never heard of any seven kingdoms, nor a King Robert. This… was troublesome. He sipped the glass of wine the serving wench brought. Not too bad - he had tasted better, but this strange place at least had passable wine. If that had not been the case he would have considered the Wild-Elf most cruel.
As all proper Karastovlians knew, a disaster was just an excellent opportunity that needed some time to sort out.