A Sword Without a Hilt: A Song of Ice and Fire/D&D 3.5 Crossover

Twenty-Seventh Day of the Second Month 293 AC

As thunder rolls and lightning crackles you hear the voice of Moonsong's lute between the notes of nature's wrath, defiance in mirth and mockery that cuts deeper than steel. For all their grand and dreadful presence you feel laughter welling up inside your chest at their absurd contortions, as though you gazed upon some poorly-crafted mummery. It is not rotten fruit that is hurled upon the foe for all of that, but words of power meant to cast them out beyond the boundaries of the world.

One burns in a flash of searing white, leaving naught but burnt rags in its wake. The others turn their hooded faces towards Dany, the pale witch lights of their eyes promising fates far darker than death. Three bolts of living darkness splatter against her golden wings, enough to slay most men thrice over, but to your relief her radiance scarce dims.

Dany gains 1 Negative Level

Swift as a striking viper is the grim lord in the wake of the daemon's curses, invocations polluting the very air. Your blood goes cold in your veins once more as you understand them, at once to tear at Dany's protections and cast her into cold accursed Abbadon, an offering to some foul lord of the damned.

For just a moment her form wavers like a vision in the distance but then it grows sharp and clear again, her gaze undaunted from looking damnation in the eye as she ascends to give you the best chance to hurl your own power against the foe. And so you do.

No spells spill from your lips, no works of a mage's art and artifice, only the flame that is the first and greatest gift of dragonkind, bright with the dance of elder magic that was before the first incantation was set to fragile parchment and fading ink. All sorcery is will and your will is that he burn!

In this hour your magic proves the stronger over dark blessings and thrice damned faith, thus burns the foe in agony beyond agony, his screams heard even over the rattle of the accursed bone, louder even than the thunder above. Somehow he manages to stagger from the muck amid the charred remnants of his 'steed' and casts off his helm, still sparking and smoking, to reveal a ruined face, flesh sloughing off, eyes dripping blood.

"I have seen the Truth!" he screeches to the heavens.

"There is no truth save that which each of us works," Lya says more to herself than to the dying monster beneath you as she casts down a sphere of crystalline power bright as a falling star upon him. Once more he collapses and this time he is still.

Amrelath laughs and the dead turn to his command, tearing and ripping at the remaining daemons robes as best they can, a poor effort if the purpose was to harm them in truth, but as Moonsong would say, "a worthy mockery."

The three horrors look to each other, conferring in some unknowable manner, then the speak as one, their voices creeping into your mind, a darkness unlooked for. "Death is patient..."

"But we are not!" Dany shouts as she tangles one of the things to earth before it can flee by dream-rooted power. "Your death will serve a purpose yet."

What do you do next?

[] Write in plan

OOC: Lya went with the orb of force since she saw that the mage was at death's door.