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

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Abhishek M said:
Is that a Wheel of Time knockoff?...I want it. Next Viserys Spell?
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Kinda like Balefire, but not much more than suped up Disintegrate.

It's not something Viserys needs to use often enough for it to be chosen as one of his 9th level spells, IMO. We can duplicate it with Wild Arcana as necessary.
 
Deliste said:
We aren't running Ashen Path in a Ymeri fortress?
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We should be. It's a common sense buff for the situation and among those that shouldn't need to be specified ahead of time, like Life Bubble. I didn't think it would allow us to see through the smoke created by Ray of Ending, but it probably would. It's a result of a 9th level spell, though, so not something I want to chance right now.
Abhishek M said:
Speaking of do we still routinely cast Nine Lives on ourselves everyday?
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Yep. It's one of Viserys' standard daily spells, and has been for a while. We also cast it on Richard, Rina, and Teana before coming here. It's one we can use ahead of time, along with temporary Extend Spell metamagic learned via Ancestral Awakening, to buff a bunch of people a day or two prior to an encounter.
Smartphone said:
Hey everyone I was looking through Viserys spells and Freezing Glance link is dead. I checked online to see if there was a description of it somewhere but google failed me.
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I noticed that particular version of dndtools was down a couple days ago. It happens every so often with all three versions of it that I am aware of. It'll probably be back up soon.
 
Goldfish said:
We should be. It's a common sense buff for the situation and among those that shouldn't need to be specified ahead of time, like Life Bubble. I didn't think it would allow us to see through the smoke created by Ray of Ending, but it probably would. It's a result of a 9th level spell, though, so not something I want to chance right now.
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It wouldn't make sense for the tertiary effect to negate the very specific effect of Ashen Path.

@DragonParadox?
 
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Interlude DCI: To Hunt the Hunters
  • Threadmarks
    • To Hunt the Hunters ​

    Seventh Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

    Leila Goldhammer woke abruptly, heart hammering in her chest and looking blindly around the small shack until she caught sight of a pair of familiar amber eyes. "Flicker... Is it time, have they come?" she asked the fey hound, already rising from the rough bedding and grimacing at the crick in her neck.

    "Right on time, sailing with the moonrise," her familiar replied. "Very diligent for criminals I must say."

    "They're perfectly respectable fishermen when the sun's up," Jeyne cut in. She had awakened more gently, whether because she trusted her magic to keep her safe or Ser Kennos and Ser Roger who had gallantly offered to sleep outside Leila could not say.

    Watching for trouble along the coast had proven to be a good bit less easier said than done. The coast of Claw Isle was rocky and filled with minor inlets just wide enough to get a boat through carrying cargo of 'uncertain' provenance, of the sorts its bearers hoped to keep away from the local lord's taxman. Unfortunately the sorts of places that made for good 'inland fishing', as the Crabsmen called smuggling, also made for excellent places for the Deep Ones and their horrific servants to come ashore, and when the two should meet by chance or the twisted designs of the monsters the conclusion was practically inevitable. Such had been the fate of the Grey Log, a fishing boat recently renamed not as Leila had first assumed in honor of some oddly colored timbers, but rather for the finding of a prodigious amount of ambergris to sell to the markets of King's Landing.

    Sudden strokes of good fortune were often the first sign of being touched by the Deep Ones, along with a sudden urge to stay out of sight of kith and kin, likely to hide their enthrallment or even other more hideous transformations of form. There was even a saying going around the Isle and the Point about those who did not toast their luck—'empty cup, hollow soul'.

    The four human companions and Flicker hid behind the rocks overlooking the inlet, likely the reason the hermit's shack had even been built here, not that anyone was inclined to live alone by the sea on Claw Isle these days. If the monsters didn't take you one's neighbors were likely to show up at the door with torches, certain that you had been. Few people disliked their fellow man quite enough to take those chances.

    "And to think all this started with whale shit." Ser Roger's voice was low in the darkness, but you could hear the smile in it at the jest he had made.

    "Whale shit?" Jeyne sighed, obviously used to his antics.

    "That's what ambergris is, trade secret don't you know," the knight replied. "Floating whale shit that's left out in the water for too long..."

    Leila looked at him carefully for any sign that he was lying for the sake of the jest, but the knight looked far too pleased for that. "They make perfume out of that," she declared, horrified.

    "What's wrong with a little spoor scent?" Flicker asked cheerfully.

    "I knew of a magister in Myr who liked to eat it with eggs," Ser Kennos interjected to general laughter. "I wonder how..."

    The words and the mirth died instantly as someone, something walked out of the sea. Water slid down the bronze of a helm fitted to the alien contures of an Eater of Minds, then down a scaled coat made from the hide of some strange sea bast. The gleaming assortment of hooked blades made it clear that this was no sorcerer, but a warrior of some sort.


    The figure turned to face the horizon and the approaching Grey Log intently, apparently not feeling anything out of place with its strange mind-touch. Guess Jeyne was right about that.

    "Do we wait for the boat or strike now?" Leila asked, doing her best to sound as matter-of-factly as the others would have done.

    "Let's see how deep the 'good' captain is in it first," Ser Roger suggested. After a bit of arguing everyone agreed, well... everyone except the Fey Dragon who was still scouting the ship's approach, but it was clear she would not mind 'loot now' or 'loot a little later'.

    So they waited in silence to see what their foe, their quarry would do next.

    OOC: The part about ambergris is accurate, it is used in perfumes and in the past it was eaten at the courts of Europe as a delicacy. It felt like an interesting sort of sea treasure for the Deep Ones to snare people with.
     
    Last edited:
  • Threadmarks
    • To Hunt the Hunters ​

    Seventh Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

    Leila Goldenhammer woke abruptly, heart hammering in her chest. She looked blindly around the small shack until she caught sight of a pair of familiar amber eyes. "Flicker... Is it time, have they come?" she asked the fey hound, already rising from the rough bedding grimacing at the crick in her neck.

    "Right on time, sailing with the moonrise," her familiar replied. "Very diligent for criminals, I must say."

    "They're perfectly respectable fishermen when the sun's up," Jeyne cut in. She had awakened more gently, whether because she trusted her magic to keep her safe, or Thoros and Ser Roger who had gallantly offered to sleep outside, Leila could not say.

    Watching for trouble along the coast had proven to be easier said than done. The coast of Claw island was rocky and filled with minor inlets just wide enough to get a boat through while carrying cargo of 'uncertain' provenance, goods of the sort their bearers hoped to keep away from the Lord's taxman. Unfortunately, the sorts of places that made for good 'inland fishing', as the Crabsmen called smuggling, also made for excellent places for the Deep Ones and their horrific servants to come ashore. And when the two should meet, by chance or the twisted designs of the monsters, the conclusion was practically inevitable. Such had been the fate of the Grey Log, a fishing boat recently renamed not as Leila had first assumed in honor of some oddly colored timbers, as one might have assumed, but rather the discovery of a prodigious amount of ambergris to sell to the markets of King's Landing.

    Sudden strokes of good fortune were often the first sign of being touched by the Deep Ones, along with a sudden urge to stay out of sight of kith and kin. It was likely to encourage them to hide their enthrallment, or even other more hideous transformations. There was even a saying going around the Isle and the Point about those who did not toast their luck; 'empty cup, hollow soul'.

    The four human companions and Flicker hid behind the rocks overlooking the inlet, probably the reason the hermit's shack had even been built here. Not that anyone was inclined to live alone by the sea on Claw Island these days. If the monsters didn't take you, one's neighbors were likely to show up at the door with torches, certain that you had been. Few people disliked their fellow man quite enough to take those chances.

    "And to think, all this started with whale shit," Ser Roger's voice was low in the darkness, but you could hear his smile at the jest he had made.

    "Whale shit?" Jeyne sighed, obviously used to his antics.

    "That's what ambergris is, trade secret don't you know," the knight replied. "Floating whale shit that's left out in the water for long..."

    Leila looked at him carefully for any sign that he was lying for the sake of the jest, but the knight looked far too pleased for that. "They make perfume out of that," she declared horrified.

    "What's wrong with a little spoor scent?" Flicker asked cheerfully.

    "I knew of a magister in Myr who liked to eat it with eggs," the Red Priest Thoros interjected to general laughter. "I wonder how..."

    The words and the mirth died instantly as something, or someone, walked out of the sea. Water slid along the bronze helm fitted to the alien contours of an Eater of Minds, then down a scaled coat made from the hide of some strange sea bast. The gleaming assortment of hooked blades made it clear that this was no sorcerer but a warrior of some sort.


    The figure turned to face the horizon and the approaching Grey Log intently, apparently not feeling anything out of place with its strange mind-touch. So Jeyne was right about that.

    "Do we wait for the boat or strike now?" Leila asked, doing her best to sound as matter-of-fact as the others would have done.

    "Let's see how deep the Good captain is in first," Ser Roger suggested. After a bit of arguing everyone agreed. Well, everyone except the fey dragon who was still scouting the ship's approach, but it was clear she would not mind 'loot now' or 'loot a little later'.

    So they waited in silence to see what their foe, their quarry, would do next.

    OOC: The part about ambergris is accurate, it is used in perfumes and in the past it was eaten at the courts of Europe as a delicacy. It felt like an interesting sort of sea treasure for the Deep Ones to snare people with. Not yet edited.
    Here's an edited version of the chapter,@DragonParadox.
     
    "Shiver me timbers...I be Tentacle-Beard, and your brains be mine for the taking!"
     
    DragonParadox said:
    To Hunt the Hunters ​

    Seventh Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

    Leila Goldenhammer woke abruptly, heart hammering in her chest, looking blindly around the small shack until she caught sight of a pair of familiar amber eyes. "Flicker... Is it time, have they come?" she asked the fey hound already rising from the rough bedding grimacing at the crick in her neck.

    "Right on time sailing with the moonrise," her familiar replied. "Very diligent for criminals I must say."

    "They're perfectly respectable fishermen when the sun's up," Jeyne cut in. She had awakened more gently, wether because she trusted her magic to keep her safe or Thoros and Ser Roger who had gallantly offered to sleep outside Leila could not say.

    Watching for trouble along the coast had proven to be a good bit less easier said than done. The coast of Claw island was rocky and filled with minor inlets just wide enough to get a boat though carrying cargo of 'uncertain' provenance of the sorts its bearers hoped to keep away from the Lord's taxman. Unfortunately the sorts of places that made for good 'inland fishing' as the Crabsmen called smuggling, also made for excellent places for the Deep Ones and their horrific servants to come ashore and when the two should meet by chance or the twisted designs of the monsters the conclusion was practically inevitable. Such had been the fate of the Grey Log, a fishing boat recently renamed not as Leila had first assumed in honor of some oddly colored timbers as one might have assumed, but rather the finding of a prodigious amount of ambergris to sell to the markets of King's Landing.

    Sudden strokes of good fortune were often the first sign of being touched by the Deep Ones, along with a sudden urge to stay out of sight of kith and kin, likely to keep from hiding their enthrallment or even other more hideous transformations for form. There was even a saying going around the Isle and the Point about those who did not toast their luck 'empty cup, hollow soul'.

    The hour human companions and Flicker hid behind the rocks overlooking the inlet, likely the reason the hermit's shack had even been built here, not that anyone was inclined to live alone by the sea on Claw Island these days. If the monsters didn't take you one's neighbors were likely to show up at the door with torches certain that you had been. Few people disliked their fellow man quite enough to take those chances.

    "And to think all this started with whale shit," Ser Roger's voice was low in the darkness but you could hear the smile in it at the jest he had made.

    "Whale shit?" Jeyne sighed, obviously used to his antics.

    "That's what ambergris is, trade secret don't you know," the knight replied. "Floating whale shit that's left out in the water for long..."

    Leila looked at him carefully for any sign that he was lying for the sake of the jest, but the knight looked far too pleased for that. "They make perfume out of that," she declared horrified.

    "What's wrong with a little spoor scent?" Flicker asked cheerfully.

    "I knew of a magister in Myr who liked to eat it with eggs," the Red Priest Thoros interjected to general laughter. "I wonder how..."
    The words and the mirth died instantly as something, someone walked out of the sea. Water slid along the blonze of a helm fitted to the alien contuses of an Eater of Minds, then down a scaled coat made from the hide of some strange sea bast. The gleaming assortment of hooked blades made it clear that this was no sorcerer but a warrior of some sort.


    The figure turned to face the horizon and the approaching Grey Log intently, apaprently not feeling anything out of place with its strange mind-touch. Guess Jeyne was right about that

    "Do we wait for the boat or strike now?" Leila asked doing her best to sound as matter-of-fact as the others would have done.

    "Let's see how deep the Good captain is in first," Ser Roger suggested. After a bit of arguing everyone agreed, well everyone except thefey dragon who was still scouting the ship's approach, but it was clear she would not mind 'loot now' or 'loot a little later'.

    So they waited in silence to see what their foe, their quarry would do next.

    OOC: The part about ambergris is accurate, it is used in perfumes and in the past it was eaten at the courts of Europe as a delicacy. It felt like an interesting sort of sea treasure for the Deep Ones to snare people with. Not yet edited.
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    Think by Thoros you meant Kennos here.

    Edit: Oh, that wasn't a slip, but a switch. Yeah, Thoros should be with the Misfits, two unlikely Knights of valor from opposite sides of the Marches and One Hairy Northern Boi this month.
     
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    DragonParadox said:
    To Hunt the Hunters ​

    Seventh Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

    Leila Goldenhammer woke abruptly, heart hammering in her chest, looking blindly around the small shack until she caught sight of a pair of familiar amber eyes. "Flicker... Is it time, have they come?" she asked the fey hound already rising from the rough bedding grimacing at the crick in her neck.

    "Right on time sailing with the moonrise," her familiar replied. "Very diligent for criminals I must say."

    "They're perfectly respectable fishermen when the sun's up," Jeyne cut in. She had awakened more gently, wether because she trusted her magic to keep her safe or Thoros and Ser Roger who had gallantly offered to sleep outside Leila could not say.

    Watching for trouble along the coast had proven to be a good bit less easier said than done. The coast of Claw island was rocky and filled with minor inlets just wide enough to get a boat though carrying cargo of 'uncertain' provenance of the sorts its bearers hoped to keep away from the Lord's taxman. Unfortunately the sorts of places that made for good 'inland fishing' as the Crabsmen called smuggling, also made for excellent places for the Deep Ones and their horrific servants to come ashore and when the two should meet by chance or the twisted designs of the monsters the conclusion was practically inevitable. Such had been the fate of the Grey Log, a fishing boat recently renamed not as Leila had first assumed in honor of some oddly colored timbers as one might have assumed, but rather the finding of a prodigious amount of ambergris to sell to the markets of King's Landing.

    Sudden strokes of good fortune were often the first sign of being touched by the Deep Ones, along with a sudden urge to stay out of sight of kith and kin, likely to keep from hiding their enthrallment or even other more hideous transformations for form. There was even a saying going around the Isle and the Point about those who did not toast their luck 'empty cup, hollow soul'.

    The hour human companions and Flicker hid behind the rocks overlooking the inlet, likely the reason the hermit's shack had even been built here, not that anyone was inclined to live alone by the sea on Claw Island these days. If the monsters didn't take you one's neighbors were likely to show up at the door with torches certain that you had been. Few people disliked their fellow man quite enough to take those chances.

    "And to think all this started with whale shit," Ser Roger's voice was low in the darkness but you could hear the smile in it at the jest he had made.

    "Whale shit?" Jeyne sighed, obviously used to his antics.

    "That's what ambergris is, trade secret don't you know," the knight replied. "Floating whale shit that's left out in the water for long..."

    Leila looked at him carefully for any sign that he was lying for the sake of the jest, but the knight looked far too pleased for that. "They make perfume out of that," she declared horrified.

    "What's wrong with a little spoor scent?" Flicker asked cheerfully.

    "I knew of a magister in Myr who liked to eat it with eggs," the Red Priest Thoros interjected to general laughter. "I wonder how..."
    The words and the mirth died instantly as something, someone walked out of the sea. Water slid along the blonze of a helm fitted to the alien contuses of an Eater of Minds, then down a scaled coat made from the hide of some strange sea bast. The gleaming assortment of hooked blades made it clear that this was no sorcerer but a warrior of some sort.


    The figure turned to face the horizon and the approaching Grey Log intently, apaprently not feeling anything out of place with its strange mind-touch. Guess Jeyne was right about that

    "Do we wait for the boat or strike now?" Leila asked doing her best to sound as matter-of-fact as the others would have done.

    "Let's see how deep the Good captain is in first," Ser Roger suggested. After a bit of arguing everyone agreed, well everyone except thefey dragon who was still scouting the ship's approach, but it was clear she would not mind 'loot now' or 'loot a little later'.

    So they waited in silence to see what their foe, their quarry would do next.

    OOC: The part about ambergris is accurate, it is used in perfumes and in the past it was eaten at the courts of Europe as a delicacy. It felt like an interesting sort of sea treasure for the Deep Ones to snare people with. Not yet edited.
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    So Lokhir Fellheart was a deep one this whole time! It all makes sense now!
     
    DragonParadox said:
    The words and the mirth died instantly as something, someone walked out of the sea. Water slid along the blonze of a helm fitted to the alien contuses of an Eater of Minds, then down a scaled coat made from the hide of some strange sea bast. The gleaming assortment of hooked blades made it clear that this was no sorcerer but a warrior of some sort.

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    I want that mask, along with the skulls of every single cultist.
     
    Crake said:
    Waymar's probably fewer steps from Walking Demigod than Amrelath is from 'elder wyrm'.
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    The difference is that Amrelath is, following the analogy, the equivalent of a baby god. The only thing he needs is for time to pass him by.

    Waymar would be the crazy mortal doing an ascencion ritual. It might work, it might not.

    Doesn't change the fact one of them is, inherently, a god. And even the mortal crawling his way up just makes him the exception to the rule.
     
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