Tyrion Lannister (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
alowprofile) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
warforged2014-05-10 03:46 pm
alowprofile) wrote in warforged2014-05-10 03:46 pm
Our Lord bless Charlie Mops, the man who invented beer
Who: Tyrion Lannister and anybody who bumps into him. Or bowls him over cuz chances are he is much shorter than you are.
Where: Sapphire Sanctum > meandering about? > the gates of Silverglen
When: Sometime before this kindapping escapade.
What: Tyrion arrives in Sapphire Sanctum. And is really confused. And goes in search of booze.
Warnings: Possibility of dwarven drunkenness.
a.) Sapphire Sanctum
He still wasn't sure what this was all about. He was surely no warrior--that had been made fairly clear every time he'd bothered to don armor--so what he could possibly do to help a bunch of dragons of all creatures was beyond him. He was still somewhat convinced he was hallucinating or that Maester Pycelle had given him some kind of truth serum that was wreaking havoc on his perception of the world around him. Honestly he wasn't sure if that would be better or worse than the idea of actually being on some other world.
Worse, probably; at least if he had somehow been magically transported to another universe he wouldn't be headed for an undoubtedly rigged trial that would find him guilty of killing a king.
It was cold here in this place, this 'sanctum' he had been deposited in. Cold like the north. Cold like the wall. His breath clouded the air, but it felt strangely not uncomfortable--he had been expecting to have to be bundled up in furs as he had when he had visited the wall, but he was perfectly comfortable in his normal clothing. Well, as comfortable as one could be when deposited in another universe. Or possibly high on something intent on making him confess to crimes he hadn't committed.
He took a moment to peer up the icy walls of the sanctum, his gaze lingering on the cracks in the ceiling that seemed to open into nothingness. If he was in another universe, he supposed one where he might actually get to see dragons could prove very interesting. If he wasn't... maybe he would just enjoy the hallucinations while he could.
b.) Headed for the nearest civilization to look for a pub//at the gates of Silverglen (feel free to meet him en route or at the gates, either is fine)
Tyrion was not nearly drunk enough for this. He had stared at that ceiling far too long, and it still didn't make sense. None of this made any sense. He needed wine and lots of it, and at this point he really didn't even care if it had some kind of bad interaction with whatever Pycelle may or may not have given him.
He was fairly convinced that there was at least one universal invariant, however, no matter the locality: alcohol. People needed a drink now and then, it didn't matter who or what or where you were. Unfortunately in order to find an establishment, he had to gain entrance into a village. And in order to do that, he apparently had to pass a test he hadn't known to prepare for.
"My allegiances?" he asked, puzzled. "My good man my only loyalty is to the drink, and I have respects that direly need to be paid. So if you would be so kind--"
The guard stepped into his path, blocking his way, and Tyrion huffed. He wasn't even going to comment on the fact that he had no idea what sort of creature this man was. He looked human-ish, but his ears were far too long, and his skin was a very odd shade of purple. Flapping his hands sort of helplessly at his sides, Tyrion peered up at the man, distressed.
"Do you want to be paid as well?" he asked, reaching into his pocket. "I am a very rich man, you know." Not that the Lannister family fortune would do him much good here, but... hopefully gold and silver were still worth their weight. "Come now, surely we can strike a bargain of some sort."
This was either the most exasperating nightmare ever, or this was going to be a very long unpleasant vacation in another universe.
Where: Sapphire Sanctum > meandering about? > the gates of Silverglen
When: Sometime before this kindapping escapade.
What: Tyrion arrives in Sapphire Sanctum. And is really confused. And goes in search of booze.
Warnings: Possibility of dwarven drunkenness.
a.) Sapphire Sanctum
He still wasn't sure what this was all about. He was surely no warrior--that had been made fairly clear every time he'd bothered to don armor--so what he could possibly do to help a bunch of dragons of all creatures was beyond him. He was still somewhat convinced he was hallucinating or that Maester Pycelle had given him some kind of truth serum that was wreaking havoc on his perception of the world around him. Honestly he wasn't sure if that would be better or worse than the idea of actually being on some other world.
Worse, probably; at least if he had somehow been magically transported to another universe he wouldn't be headed for an undoubtedly rigged trial that would find him guilty of killing a king.
It was cold here in this place, this 'sanctum' he had been deposited in. Cold like the north. Cold like the wall. His breath clouded the air, but it felt strangely not uncomfortable--he had been expecting to have to be bundled up in furs as he had when he had visited the wall, but he was perfectly comfortable in his normal clothing. Well, as comfortable as one could be when deposited in another universe. Or possibly high on something intent on making him confess to crimes he hadn't committed.
He took a moment to peer up the icy walls of the sanctum, his gaze lingering on the cracks in the ceiling that seemed to open into nothingness. If he was in another universe, he supposed one where he might actually get to see dragons could prove very interesting. If he wasn't... maybe he would just enjoy the hallucinations while he could.
b.) Headed for the nearest civilization to look for a pub//at the gates of Silverglen (feel free to meet him en route or at the gates, either is fine)
Tyrion was not nearly drunk enough for this. He had stared at that ceiling far too long, and it still didn't make sense. None of this made any sense. He needed wine and lots of it, and at this point he really didn't even care if it had some kind of bad interaction with whatever Pycelle may or may not have given him.
He was fairly convinced that there was at least one universal invariant, however, no matter the locality: alcohol. People needed a drink now and then, it didn't matter who or what or where you were. Unfortunately in order to find an establishment, he had to gain entrance into a village. And in order to do that, he apparently had to pass a test he hadn't known to prepare for.
"My allegiances?" he asked, puzzled. "My good man my only loyalty is to the drink, and I have respects that direly need to be paid. So if you would be so kind--"
The guard stepped into his path, blocking his way, and Tyrion huffed. He wasn't even going to comment on the fact that he had no idea what sort of creature this man was. He looked human-ish, but his ears were far too long, and his skin was a very odd shade of purple. Flapping his hands sort of helplessly at his sides, Tyrion peered up at the man, distressed.
"Do you want to be paid as well?" he asked, reaching into his pocket. "I am a very rich man, you know." Not that the Lannister family fortune would do him much good here, but... hopefully gold and silver were still worth their weight. "Come now, surely we can strike a bargain of some sort."
This was either the most exasperating nightmare ever, or this was going to be a very long unpleasant vacation in another universe.