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

Fourth Day of the Tenth Month 293 AC

Maelor knew the man was going to be trouble as soon as he stepped into the shop, trouble or good business. The two often went hand in hand when one's business was magic, even such petty magic as Enchanted Outfitters kept in stock. The ones likely to make the greatest purchases or better yet sell interesting pieces were sorcerers of some skill, and this man certainly was a sorcerer. If one could not guess it from his fine black robes that must have been enchanted to keep the heat of the City of Brass at bay, then surely his right eye bright with eldritch light, whether plucked from some unfortunate 'donor' or crafted in an alchemist's laboratory, would settle matters. The curling horns growing just beneath a receding hairline were hardly of note in the city. The blood of Fiends ran thick here, in every way one could imagine.


"Boy," the mage said in a faintly annoyed tone, given lie to by knuckles turned almost white on around his staff. "I require to speak to someone that is not just weaned off his mother's teat."

The young mage sighed, his exasperated expression mostly for show as he whispered a swift incantation in the tongue of the Pit to call the shadows close. Of them he crafted wings and ethereal armor to veil himself. Where before he had been warded utterly against the heat of common flame now even lightning could not harm him anymore than it would a true Tanar'ri. "I would demonstrate other spells for your convenience if you have something for me to appraise, gracious sage," he added in an acerbic tone at odds with the honorific he had granted.

"Sorcery can be born of blood, wisdom only of age," the sorcerer scoffed

"Who do I have the honor of speaking to?" Maelor asked, ignoring the remark. Push come to shove he could call Sarell to negotiate with the man. She counted years beyond telling, but she also had less patience for the commonplace stings of being trader of talismans and petty enchantments. The mage was certainly a better class of customer than the usual ones that do business here in the Middle Ward, and having one or two favored customers above their station would paradoxically make the shop stand out less than having none. It would make them look less new... less like the spies they all were.

"Siles bin Faran. You were at least wise to call me sage, for I am a Recognized Scholar of the Repository." The one-eyed mage pauses a long moment, measuring Maelor up and down. Finally he seems to decide that the bother of asking for someone else would outweigh simply dealing with the person he had in front of him. "What would you value this as?" he asked abruptly, pressing something small and hard onto the counter with a solid clink.

When Siles took his hand away it revealed a talisman of pale bone... no, antler, the spell humming at the back of his mind whispered, with a cloudy grey agate at the center forming an eye. Not Efreeti work, that was for certain. The more Maelor looked at it the more convinced he became that it was not genie work at all, too rushed, the mark of mortal hands rushing to some other task. The magic upon it was interesting also, it allowed the bearer to see the true form of those around him, at least if they were physically transformed. It would not help one whit against a veil or glamour. Still, for though it was a very minor enchantment it was also a useful power.


Were the patron any other sort of man Maelor would have cast it aside and named it a trinket as a haggling tactic, but he suspected the proud mage would not take well to encountering the City of Brass' oldest tradition quite so abruptly. "Where did you obtain this?" he asked instead with genuine curiosity.

"Nowhere you would be able to travel, child," Siles replied, though with less bite than before. "Now answer my question, my time is short and yours is not the only shop in the Middle City by far."

"One-thousand-five-hundred Great Brass Seals," Maelor said, a generous price though not exorbitantly so.

"Done," the mage replied instantly. He really needed the coin.

A few moments later coin had changed hands and the shop door closed with a clang of the heavy iron bell affixed above it, leaving Maelor both curious as to the makers of the talisman he was running through his fingers and quite certain he would see the one-eyed man again. After all, even a mildly generous offer to the desperate was about as rare as ice-water in the City of Brass.

OOC: Here we are, the next interlude in the series will be Maelor buying stuff as per the instructions in the minor action. For now some intrigue afoot.