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

Twenty Sixth Day of the Tenth Month 293 AC

"Yes, I will stay and deal with the Fey, if you wish to join me you are of course welcome to," you add, guessing rightly from her pleased smile that Hermetia would like to have a hand in the investigation. The sight of the window besides which she is standing reminds you what it is still the wee hours of the morning before even a hint of dawn. "Do you need to rest?"

"No, I usually take my two hours of rest around noon and either read or partake in balls far into the night if I'm looking for company." The smile grows into a laugh. "I can't even say anymore how many socialites I've disappointed by telling them that my secret for being so bright-eyed late into the night is actually sorcery like the rumors said." She stretches out her hand to look at the gold and emerald ring glinting in the pale magelight. "This might just be the most useful enchantment I bought. It certainly gets more use than the ones that empower my magic or ward my mind."

"Would you like to get more use out of them?" you ask. She has certainly done a good job in Lys, Fey troubles notwithstanding, and there are plenty of more exciting tasks she could turn her hand to for a few weeks.

"Yes, not skyship battles over Valyria of course, not yet," she replies. Though the last words are spoken lightly enough to be counted a jest the challenging glint in her eyes speaks to a seed of truth behind them.

"I certainly can't fault ambition, but for today the most I can offer is a glimpse into the aftermath of said battles," you answer with a flourish of your cloak, depositing upon the floor the six Valyrian Steel swords the Asurendra bore, alongside a dark red gem that had been embedded in one of his hands.

Reaching out to grasp one of the blades for a closer look at its enchantment, you are surprised to find it moving with you with far more than the lightness that all enchantments bring. Acting on a guess you release it in midair and there is stays, seemingly as obedient to your will as it had been to that of its last master. You try the same with the next sword and it too flies in place ready to guard you, with as much skill as you would have used, if with no great strength.

Hermetia follows the graceful arc of the sword moving to your command with curious eyes, but wisely shows no inclination to touch it.

"Do not trust the edge of that steel with any lives you care for," Dark Sister's voice rings in your mind, a warning you are not inclined to ignore. When you try to read the marks upon the steel they almost seem to flee your gaze. Had something of the Asurendra's spirit passed into the blades instead of flowing downwards into Hell? you wonder as you will the swords back into your cloak. Perhaps they might be worth studying, but you certainly would not be handing them off as they are.

Of Hell-forged origin also is the gem, though in a more straightforward manner. A spirit of tormented flame bound within its depths, not so much bound to the bearer's will and compelled not to harm them in its wrath.




By the time you arrive at the gates of the Lyseni office of the Inquisition it is roughly three hours past midnight, but judging from all the light spilling out from its many widows the building seems scarcely less busy than it would have been at midday, and that is not counting the work you know to be done in windowless rooms deep within.

For the sake of not disrupting that work both you and Hermetia are veiled glamours, a fact which the False Raven perched above the wrought iron gate notices on her part at least by the aura of the spell, though it waves you on after giving the correct password. Not a perfect system, you admit inwardly, but you can't have a Fury playing gate guard day and night, they are far too useful elsewhere.

The bird insists on leading you up the the office Malarys had taken for the month where you find your friend surrounded by reports, the one in front of him so recent the ink still glistens.

"How much of the mess here in Lys were you able to read about before tossing aside the account in disgust, Your Grace?" Malarys asks with a touch of dark humor.

"The former archon made a deal with the Fey for baubles, the baubles were lost and as you were seeking them a Fey enforcer manifested and almost killed your guard before fleeing, implicating the often invoked but little seen master of the Goblin Market known as the Hooded Lord. Thanks to Glyra having nose for trouble almost as good as her skill in making it it was later revealed that someone was working to frame the Fey Lord in our eyes, spreading favors to the merchants to implicate him further. That is as far as I could read into the matter before the Brazen Throne so impolitely meddled in all our plans," you reply in a marginally more cheerful tone.

"When the Harbinger visited the merchant Glyra caught trying to deceive her and others of the same ilk they was accommodating eventually... but not helpful. Our would-be puppet master is a skilled enough shape-shifter that not even his kin could see through the disguises. Never did it use the same face twice and never the same name."

How do you proceed with the investigation?

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OOC: Well there we have it, if you have more questions about the investigation do not hesitate to ask. I did not want to front load a bunch of exposition.