A Song of Bards and Maso (Asoiaf/Nier)

[FireWalkWithMe99]

I thought class A(ttacker) androids were obsolete and were replaced by class B(attler)

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Yea thats true in the automata era thousands of years after this devola and popola. I was thinking Class A in their era would still be relevant.

Thanks! there were cursed ruins in Sothorys,Yeen i think,when notching grow and people vanished if they try to settle there.You could use that,too.
Maybe city of Valyrian convicts,Golgossos i think.But - they were too late,and only used flesh alchemy,so maybe not.

And Hightower was built on some ancient ruins,too

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Im aware of the various locations that are associated with it. The Isle of toads also features it. Im aware theres other locations just within the scan radius of 1500 miles (which I wanted to be semi reasonable (opposed to just scanning the entiriety of the known world)

The only ones that would fit were the 3 brought up. And honestly even with the isle of toads (which is just off the north western coast of sotoryos I might have underestimated how far away it is. Theres a good map of distance between locations in westeros but not for essos/sotoryos at least as far as I saw.

 

[FireWalkWithMe99]

GENDRY III


Gendry felt at home— the distant crackle of the forge fire outside, the soft ping of cooling metal, and the creak of ancient floorboards beneath his boots. He moved through the dim space, sorting materials with relative ease, almost being akin to breathing by now. The air itself carrying the familiar acrid smell of coal dust and the metallic tang that he felt would forever cling to his skin after this long on the Street of Steel.


Master Mott had tasked him with preparing supplies—bundles of black iron that left dark smudges on his palms, brass rods that caught the fading light in an oddly beautiful way, and scraps of rare metals meant for the Mott's more intricate works. The ones he never lets me see, Gendry thought, his eyes drifting toward the locked door in the corner of the room.


Last week, he'd heard voices behind the heavy door that led to Tobho's private workshop. Whispered conversations in foreign tongues he didn't recognize, accompanied by the soft clink of metal against metal and the occasional scrape of something heavier neither seemed particularly reminiscent of blacksmithing. When he'd asked about it the next morning, the old smith had merely grunted and pointed toward the tool wall, demanding he reorganize it for the second time that month.


He didn't ask again.


Gendry's hands moved methodically now, the rhythm grounding him. Muscles flexed under strain as he hoisted a small crate of brass toward the worktable. The weight was familiar, and he let himself sink into the simplicity of the task. It was honest work—reliable in a way few things in his life had ever been.


Yet the unease lingered. The old smith had always been gruff, but there was an edge to him now, a tautness that hadn't been there before. Gendry shook his head, setting the crate down with a soft thud. None of it was his business. Tobho had given him a place here, taught him a trade, and that was more than anyone else had ever done. He had no right to question the man's secrets.

The floorboards creaked under his boots as he crossed to another pile of materials, His hand hovered over a bundle of thin iron rods, as a sharp knock cut through the routine. Just loud enough to echo amongst the quiet.


Gendry froze, as his eyes were seemingly stuck on the door, though he couldn't really say why. It was just a knock, wasn't it? A Blacksmith of Mott's capabilities got visitors frequently after all. But something about this knock set him on edge.


Behind him, Tobho's quill stilled mid-stroke, leaving an uneven ink on the page. The old smith's head jerked up, his eyes narrowing. He rose from his seat without a word.


Gendry watched as Tobho crossed the room, his boots heavy against the floorboards. There was something in his posture that made the unease he felt intensify. Old man never hesitated. Gendry's hand tightened knuckles white against the smudges of iron and soot on his skin.


The knock came again—slow, deliberate. Tobho's hand hovered over the latch, his fingers curling like he was bracing for a fight. When he finally pulled the door open, Gendry felt the air shift, the room somehow growing colder.


The man who stepped inside was nothing like Gendry had expected. Draped in silks of deep violet and gray, he moved in a manner that seemed out of place yet intentional. His head tilting slightly as he surveyed the room, his expression was warm, but his eyes conveyed a different sentimentality, darting corner to corner as though cataloging every detail.


"Master Mott," the man said, his voice smooth, like the purr of a fattened cat. "What a delight it is to find you at home."


Tobho stood rigid, tightly gripping the handle of the door. "What do you want?"


The man's smile widened, as he stepped further inside with no invitation, his gaze sweeping over the materials on the worktables as his hands clasped lightly behind his back.


"What an impressive home," he remarked, his eyes lingering on the weirwood and ebony door at the far end of the room. "Weirwood and ebony… a most intriguing combination. I dare say I've seen its like before, but not often. Perhaps in Pentos? Or Braavos? Rare craftsmanship, wouldn't you agree?"


Gendry followed the man's gaze, unease prickling at the back of his neck. The door had always seemed out of place to him, its intricate design seeming more fit for a ceremonial sword than a simple door. He learned not to ask too many questions. But, the stranger's interest in it made his hands itch to grab a hammer—for purposes other than welding.


"What lies beyond it, I wonder?" the man continued, his tone light but carried a prybar's weight.


Tobho stepped forward, his broad frame filling the space between the man and the door. "Leave it," he said sharply.


The stranger raised his hands in mock surrender. "Of course, of course. Merely a passing curiosity."


His gaze shifted to Gendry, and for a moment, the room seemed to grow small. "And who might this be?" he asked, seeming genuinely intrigued. "A promising young apprentice, I presume?"


Gendry straightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "I'm just helping out," he said gruffly, his voice rougher than he intended.


The man chuckled softly, the sound equal parts disarming and unsettling. "Just helping out, is it? Oh, I think there's more to you than that."


Gendry's jaw tightened, but he didn't reply. The man's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before returning to Tobho. "It seems you've found yourself a most dedicated apprentice, Master Mott. One wonders what other talents you're fostering here."


Tobho's patience snapped. "If you've no business here, I suggest you leave," he said, his tone like steel.


The man didn't flinch at Tobho's tone. Instead, his smile only deepened. "Ah, but business comes in many forms, does it not?" He turned slightly, his eyes flitting over the room once more, yet again lingering. "Still, I wouldn't want to intrude."


He took a step toward the exit, but paused mid-stride, as though struck by a thought. His gaze slid back to Tobho, something unreadable passing through between their eyes. "Your recent visitors," he began, his tone lighter now, almost casual, "have stirred quite the curiosity. They seem to carry an air of… purpose, wouldn't you say? Strangers to this city, yet their reach extends in ways that leave even long unseen eyes intrigued. Fascinating, isn't it?"


Tobho's grip on the edge of the table tightened, his knuckles going white. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said flatly, though his posture betrayed the tension coiled in his frame.


"Of course," the man replied smoothly, with a hint of mockery in tone. "Merely a passing observation. It's said that a face can hold countless secrets, but even the most skilled craftsmen can't help but leave their mark. Remarkable individuals, indeed. They do leave an impression, perhaps more than they realize."


Gendry's brow furrowed, his unease growing. Visitors? Whoever he had over the other night? He glanced between Tobho and the stranger, trying to piece together the fragments of their exchange.


The man seemed to sense Gendry's confusion and turned his attention back to him, his smile softening into something that almost resembled kindness. "You've done well to stay focused in a place like this," he said.


Gendry bristled, but before he could respond, Tobho stepped forward, placing himself firmly between the two. "Enough," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "If you're done with your riddles, you can see yourself out."


The man chuckled, a soft, lilting sound that carried no real mirth. "As you wish, Master Mott. I've no desire to overstay my welcome." He inclined his head slightly in exaggerated courtesy, and began to walk toward the door.


But just as his hand touched the latch, he turned back one last time, his gaze flicking to the weirwood and ebony door once more. "Do give my regards to your visitors," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sure we'll cross paths again."


The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the workshop in heavy silence. The distant crackle of the forge fire was the only sound that remained.


Gendry exhaled slowly, his chest tight. He glanced at Tobho, whose shoulders were rigid, his fists clenched at his sides.


"Who was that?" Gendry asked, his voice low, tinged with suspicion.


Tobho didn't answer. His eyes stayed fixed on the door, his expression grim. After a long moment, he muttered, "Lock it. And get back to work."

---

It was the hour of the owl, by the time Gendry truly paused his work, wiping sweat with the back of his hand. He glanced up through the myrish glass window. The moon looked almost dented tonight, like someone had taken a hammer to it an odd thought, but one unshaken as he stared at its battered glow.


He leaned against the worktable, arms crossed, his thoughts drifting as he replayed the events of the evening. Tobho had called the servant girl—what was her name again, Ilva? and Alric into his office not long after the stranger left. When they finally emerged hour or so later, Ilva looked about as meek as usual, clutching her shawl tightly around her shoulders, but Alric… Alric looked downright miserable. His shoulders slumped, and his usual stride was replaced with something far more subdued.


Gendry had watched him for a bit, curious but not wanting to pry. After a while, though, he couldn't help himself. He sauntered over to where Alric sat by the forge, poking idly at a pile of scrap metal with the tip of his boot.


"You look like someone nicked your favorite hammer," Gendry said, a teasing lilt in his voice. "What's got you looking so glum, then?"


Alric glanced up, startled, before giving a half-hearted shrug. "Nothing you'd care to hear about."


Gendry snorted. "Don't give me that. If you're gonna sit around sulking, you might as well make it interesting. What is it? Tobho yell at you for botching a rivet? Or was it something Ilva said? She does seem scary, what with all that glaring at the floor she does."


That earned him a faint chuckle, the corners of Alric's mouth twitching upward despite himself. "You're a real arse, you know that?"


"Never said I wasn't," Gendry replied, a grin spreading across his face. "Come on, spit it out. If it's something bad, maybe I can make it worse just to even things out."


Alric rolled his eyes but seemed a little lighter for the banter. "It's nothing," he said again, but his tone was softer now. "Just… long day, that's all."


Satisfied for the moment, Gendry gave him a companionable clap on the shoulder. "Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me. Just don't expect any good advice. I'm rubbish at that."


Alric muttered something about him being hopeless. Gendry just grunted and went back to his bench, letting the quiet of the workshop wash over him.


The forge wasn't like this during the day. Then it was all heat and noise and work that never bloody ended. His hands had the scars to prove it—years of burns and cuts that told their own story. But nights were different. Nights made a man think, even when he didn't want to.


Jon Arryn's face came to him sudden-like. Odd, that. Hadn't thought much about the old lord since he'd died, but there it was. He remembered how strange it felt, having some high lord asking after his mum. She'd been gone so long by then he could barely remember her face. Just bits and pieces really—yellow hair, maybe a smile. But those questions made him dig deep, made him remember things he'd thought the forge had burned away.


Gendry spat into the coals, watching them hiss. Lord Arryn had been different from the other fancy folk who came through. Didn't look at Gendry like he was just another smith's boy. Asked real questions, listened to the answers. Funny how a few conversations with some old lord he barely knew had kept his mum's memory alive, even if it was just scraps and pieces.


He missed the old man, in his way. Not that he'd ever say it out loud—wasn't his place to miss lords. But there it was all the same.


The moon was up now, making the workshop look all strange and silver. Gendry picked up his hammer. Work needed doing, whether he was feeling soft in the head or not.

---

A.N. Well hello im glad to say it hasn't been too long but still i'd like to update this more often. I saw the Wicked movie over break and let me just say its great. I never seen the musical or read the book. Though I enjoyed the movie so much I ended up buying the original 1995 book. Im already a 3rd of the way through and I like the book even more. Just dives into the world and explorers character povs barely touched in the movie. Its quite good and hope the movie inspires some interesting new fanfics.

Doctor Dillamond for ruler of Qarth make it happen SB.

 

[ATP]

Who was visitor? Baelish? somebody else?
I hope that Mott here would not die in stupid canon way.