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

Twenty Third Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC

"I would see this bitter water for myself, in exchange..." technically the meat had been only to talk, not to lead you somewhere. While wolves are unlikely to split hairs you always did like dogs, and what is a wolf if not the first of all dogs? Reaching out to the wellspring of power within you speak a word of grand healing upon the whole pack, old injuries mended, lingering maladies cured and even a bit of the touch of old age and hard living lifted as the glade fills with golden light.

The black wolf jumps back startled, but he knows his own body and knows that he feels better than before. With a tongue-lolling 'smile' he lopes ahead, enjoying the feeling of perfect health. Maybe enjoying it a little too much, both you and Ser Richard have to resort to flying in order to keep up on the rough forest floor. At the knight's look you shrug and smile sheepishly. "It's a nice wolf, and despite what many think a healthy prosperous pack is vanishingly unlikely to trouble men. It's in the lean and hungry times they trouble folk, or when something else compels them..."

It does not take you long to find the something, another far larger clearing among the forest of oak and aspen, and within was a pool of still water with not a trace of moss growing upon its crumbling shore, nor a single willow bold enough to dip its roots into the water. At first sight it looks like the sort of pond that gathers intermittent runoff up in the hills, filling up and drying out a hundred times in every season, but looking into the surprisingly clear water you see no trace of the sort of leaf litter and other refuse that would gather in such a place, only stones worn smooth by water and time. This pool has been here a very long time and not wholly by natural circumstance.

"Thank you for leading us here," you say to the wolf with a careful a pat on the head, not quite careful enough that he does not nip at your hand from sheer instinct, but even in this form your skin is too hard to be pierced by wolf fangs, and when you start scratching him behind the ears where he cannot normally reach he presses into your hand happily.

"Are you going to take that home?" Ser Richard asks amused.

You consider the matter briefly, there is room enough in Mosshold and it really is a very nice wolf. "Do you wish for a new home where food will always be plentiful and you need not have fear death through disease or injury?"

The wolf ponders the matter for a long moment, weighing its present territory against the promise you have made, then nudges your hand in agreement.

"Yes, we are taking them home," you answer a surprised Ser Richard.

The wolves however are Vee's concern, you have yet a mystery to untangle. Silently you reach out with your senses, to see through veils and catch the glint of magic in the air if there is any to be seen. At first it seems as though you had caught nothing but a dead end, the air dead of both sight and sound. Then you catch sight of something sparking in the water brighter than moonlight, perhaps a light that only a mage's sight can catch.

Two wishes more you weave upon yourself and Ser Richard both, to grant you breath like a fish to pass unhindered beneath the surface. The water is clammy and colder than it aught to be, though not uncommonly so, though the deeper you walk the more it darkens out of all proportion with its actual depth. Rather than conjure light so that darkness might be warned Ser Richard uses a bound enchantment to see through it as you already can, until at last you spot something embedded among the stones.

"A sword, or what's left of one at least," you say pulling the hit free of the earth for the first time in who knows how many centuries. Green, not rust-red with age, bronze then, First Men work. The pommel is the head of some snarling beast, though which you cannot tell in its current from, but the runes along what is left of the blade broken two places below it reveal more: "Honor... Chase... Moon... Key," you trace the markings in turn. "The sword was a gift to a hunter, a symbol of status, maybe authority, maybe a hunt's master." Turning the blade around you see perhaps the last runes you had expected to find here: Frost, kingship, and a accent that is usually reserved for feared beasts like wolves or bears, the Kings of Winter, the Starks of old.

"Maybe we aught to get out of the water before we look that over, Your Grace," Ser Richard's voice draws you from your thoughts.

"Yes, of course," you agree quickly. Out of the darkness where colors bleed back into the world in the fragile moonlight you realize your first guess was wrong about the sword. While it is indeed green with age and corroded the missing piece of the blade had been broken long ago, perhaps in battle.

"Did you find anything more?" you send to Dany after a moment.

"No news, though in this case it is good news too, no lingering effects of the sickness in Copperidge," she answers. In a less pleased tone she adds: "No trace of magic or enchantment either, and we are going to have to wait until morning to interview more people." When she hears what you had found she and the others translocate to meet you on the shores of the nameless lake.

"How old is that?" your mother asks pointing at the blade, her eyes flickering momentarily to Rina.

"Not that old," the younger mage says definitively. "The runes are more rounded, meant to be forged into metal not carved into stone. From the Age of Heroes, not the Age of Dawn."

Luckily you have an expert on runes to call upon to give a more definite answer.

"You are looking at somewhere between Jorah Stark, Edrick Snowbeard and Edwyn the Spring King," Waymar says after weighing the blade in hand. "It's not just the runes, but the way they forged the guard, almost ornate see. It fell out of favor with Jon the Eight Stark and Brandon Ice Eyes would probably sooner stab you with one of these than gift it, too much of a reminder of his great-grandfather's weakness."

"Snowbeard is the one who lost the Wolf's Den and Ice Eyes the one who won it back if I remember right?" Rina half asks. "It looks like this comes from a time the North, or at least the Starks, were weak. Though what it's doing this far south and tangled with the curse..."

"Then new moon is two days from now, maybe we should get back to dealing with the politics and watch the sword then to see if it does anything strange," your mother interjects.

"Or we could see if Eddard Stark's forebearence extends to another visit to his archives," Dany offers. "I'm not sure I want to wait until this thing has power again, it's too skilled at hiding itself, too skilled by half."

What do you do next?

[] Return to settling the political conflict, speak to the two heirs and then their fathers
-[] Write in

[] Try to gain access to the archives of Winterfell again
-[] Write in

[] Write in

OOC: That was a lot longer than I expected it to be, hopefully the atmosphere is worth it. I had actually missed that you guys wanted to take the wolves, thankfully it got caught in beta.