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

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We learned that in this Quest the Grey Waste, that Mossovy is next to, was where all the Red Dragons fought the Bloodstone Emperor. This makes it probably the second most magical significant place to Chromatic Dragons after Valyria. The Golden companys presence there makes suddenly sense to me.
 
Duesal said:
Yeah, that's definitely an angle we should exploit, though at the same token we need to learn the exact rules of who can use it and how to use it, along with securing the other side of the portal.
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Yeah that we do, still as long as we can find someone who can use it, unless they can't carry items though it, we can smuggle whatever we want in using bottles, so if we manage this right, it's going to be a great boon for the war effort come next year.

This is a path to the Heart of the Sultan's power with no border guards or wards, I'm considering it a massive lucky find, if the Sultan knew about it this would be a disaster, but as long as we can pay off or kill those in the know, this just became a major win for the war effort.
 
[X] "Most people south of the Wall would like the shirt off your back, if only to stick a blade into it more surely, that is true, but then when two sides have been bleeding each other for thousands of years for all manner of slights or for survival..." You trail off. Part of you quails at the notion that raiding to survive would ever be viable under any circumstances, but the circumstances of the Mountain Clans and the Free Folk are such that they could never come down from their snow drifts or their fields of ice, not without being killed for ancient grudges and longstanding feuds. Given a generation you could make the lands north of the wall a rich one, with enough magic and enough hands, but you do not have that time. Winter is coming.
-[X] "But those oaths of vengeance do not exist in my own lands, nor do your enemies. If you should bring your people together to flee aboard my ships, I can feed them, clothe them, provide them with ample productive work with which to enrich themselves, and they shan't be viewed as beggars or vagabonds or raiders ill-wanted, they will just be one among the many other peoples moving across my realm to better livelihoods."
-[X] More stonily: "They need merely follow the law, like all others." When Mance protests, point out that he has been south of the Wall and he has studied the capacity to harm that the North alone has. If it was ever in such dire straights that it could not strike back against an army led by Mance, he would swiftly have to lead it south of the Neck, filled with yet more hostility, only now he would bring Winter's host at its back swollen with the dead.
-[X] "The Free Folk have never had the opportunity to grow cultural mores like that of even the men of Thenn who already swear me oaths of fealty in exchange for a lord's protection. They had to fight and scramble for survival each day, some more than others, but all sizing up their neighbors to seize what they have managed to gain. Given a decade living off the ample fat of the land, in Essos or even in Westeros, that wouldn't be likely to change without some degree of force, but after a generation or two? Your people would look to leaders like Kings, and those Kings would have riches and armies and force the rest to bow to them. Either they would be killed by those tribes and chiefs, who would then scatter in an unknown land and be simple prey to other realms, broken men and a broken people. Or the people would bow." You think of the Tritons and their circumstances. They have already made moves to swear their spears to you, and their way endured countless generations because they were a migratory people who did not bed down in one place for long. Eventually either their council would have manifested itself similar to that of Myr, always a first among equals to reign it in, or a leader would have risen.
-[X] "I can help your people skip those steps, ensure you do not have to struggle just for basic survival. But only if they all meet me half way."
 
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Wait a minute @Artemis1992, there are in fact 3 level-up paths for Azema!
  1. Chameleon. DP has explicitly authorized it, it's amazing, and it's perfect for an infiltrator. It progresses divine magic fast, and provides varied banefits like stat boosts, dual casting, a floating feat, some skill bonuses, and 4+Int skill points per level. BaB and medium and saves are decent (in her everyday Divine focus, she'll have good Fort and Will). I personally think it's perfect fluff-wise.
  2. Cloistered Cleric. This one is weak power-wise, and in my opinion generally sucks. However if she gains another 15 or so levels (despite her 6 RHD), it outstrips Chameleon as a pure caster.
  3. Ardent Dilettante. This one is actually even weaker than Cloistered Cleric right now, but it's arguably the fluffiest option. It's also weird and fun, so that's nice!
 
tarrangar said:
I'm 90% sure, after all not a single one of the wild Weirwoods have magical effects on them, having an already grown tier 0 grown, might decrease the price compared to making a tiered Weirwood from a seed, but I don't think a Weirwood will have any magic except the Hallow effect without sacrifices.
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You need 16HD worth of sacrifices for even the Hallow effect from what I see.

tarrangar said:
That might work, but it would probably be less efficient, than doing it at the Weirwoods we are enhancing, and sacrifices are our bottleneck for making tiered Weirwood not time for the rituals, I think we can grow a Leshy capable of doing the ritual if we want, so sacrificing sacrifice efficiency to speed though the rituals, don't seem at all a good idea.
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I mean if we give each leshy we send to plan a tree four Imps they could make the first effect themselves. After that it becomes a matter of upgrading the tree as the population gets bigger and just give more sacrifices as needed. The leshies can use Shivering Touch so they are quite capable of capturing things. Now I am not suggesting they go out and hunt things. I am just saying it wouldn't be difficult for them to subdue a creature, drag it to a tree and shank it.

Edit: Also giving out Fighter template leshies to train the village guard.
 
One Autumn Leaf said:
You need 16HD worth of sacrifices for even the Hallow effect from what I see.
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I'm not sure about that, from what I can see, there's not a less expensive option, to just grow a Weirwood with no magic at all, so while the Hallow effect might be due to the sacrifice, it might also be natural, and the sacrifice is merely to instantly take the tree from sapling to mature.

This uncertainty aren't there with the secondary effects, so wild Weirwoods might have Hallow, or they might not, but they're sure to not have anything else.
 
tarrangar said:
I'm not sure about that, from what I can see, there's not a less expensive option, to just grow a Weirwood with no magic at all, so while the Hallow effect might be due to the sacrifice, it might also be natural, and the sacrifice is merely to instantly take the tree from sapling to mature.

This uncertainty aren't there with the secondary effects, so wild Weirwoods might have Hallow, or they might not, but they're sure to not have anything else.
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The Hallow effect isn't natural, it's what you get after a Weirwood Tree has been sanctified via sacrifice or the Old Gods doing their thing. At that point it goes from a regular Weirwood Tree into a Weirwood Heart Tree
 
TalonofAnathrax said:
Ardent Dilettante. This one is actually even weaker than Cloistered Cleric right now, but it's arguably the fluffiest option. It's also weird and fun, so that's nice!
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I really like that one.
She'll propably have to waste a level on Bard eventually to keep up with the requirements, but it looks great for fluff.
Lore will be useful on her job, general progress is decent for her magic and the capstone is great for one like her. Even death holds nothing to fear, as long as she can trust us to get her back.
 
Anyone have any clue what Ashia's sister was turned into, y'all? That wasn't an Undead, I believe. Seemed more like some sort of dreadful magical mutation, maybe something Far Realm related.
 
Vote closed.
Adhoc vote count started by DragonParadox on Dec 10, 2019 at 2:13 PM, finished with 72 posts and 10 votes.
  • [X] "Most people south of the Wall would like the shirt off your back, if only to stick a blade into it more surely, that is true, but then when two sides have been bleeding each other for thousands of years for all manner of slights or for survival..." You trail off. Part of you quails at the notion that raiding to survive would ever be viable under any circumstances, but the circumstances of the Mountain Clans and the Free Folk are such that they could never come down from their snow drifts or their fields of ice, not without being killed for ancient grudges and longstanding feuds. Given a generation you could make the lands north of the wall a rich one, with enough magic and enough hands, but you do not have that time. Winter is coming.
    -[X] "But those oaths of vengeance do not exist in my own lands, nor do your enemies. If you should bring your people together to flee aboard my ships, I can feed them, clothe them, provide them with ample productive work with which to enrich themselves, and they shan't be viewed as beggars or vagabonds or raiders ill-wanted, they will just be one among the many other peoples moving across my realm to better livelihoods."
    -[X] More stonily: "They need merely follow the law, like all others." When Mance protests, point out that he has been south of the Wall and he has studied the capacity to harm that the North alone has. If it was ever in such dire straights that it could not strike back against an army led by Mance, he would swiftly have to lead it south of the Neck, filled with yet more hostility, only now he would bring Winter's host at its back swollen with the dead.
    -[X] "The Free Folk have never had the opportunity to grow cultural mores like that of even the men of Thenn who already swear me oaths of fealty in exchange for a lord's protection. They had to fight and scramble for survival each day, some more than others, but all sizing up their neighbors to seize what they have managed to gain. Given a decade living off the ample fat of the land, in Essos or even in Westeros, that wouldn't be likely to change without some degree of force, but after a generation or two? Your people would look to leaders like Kings, and those Kings would have riches and armies and force the rest to bow to them. Either they would be killed by those tribes and chiefs, who would then scatter in an unknown land and be simple prey to other realms, broken men and a broken people. Or the people would bow." You think of the Tritons and their circumstances. They have already made moves to swear their spears to you, and their way endured countless generations because they were a migratory people who did not bed down in one place for long. Eventually either their council would have manifested itself similar to that of Myr, always a first among equals to reign it in, or a leader would have risen.
    -[X] "I can help your people skip those steps, ensure you do not have to struggle just for basic survival. But only if they all meet me half way."
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DragonParadox said:
Message in the Mist ​

Fourteenth Day of the Second Month 293 AC

Stonehelm upon the Slayne was one of the oldest and most respected keeps in the Stormlands. Though not quite to the legendary stature of Storm's End, many were the tales of the marches soaked with the blood of heroes, villains, great lords and smallfolk alike. The tumultuous waters of the river had swallowed many a host and once it was even said that they had been dammed with the bodies of slain Dornishmen. But for all that it was also a trading town with many traders taking their chances with the rushing current over the slow and unreliable roads, made even more so these days when an unlucky traveler could meet far worse things than bandits on a moonlit road.

So it was hardly any wonder that the town beneath the keep's ancient walls prospered even in the uneasy peace of a world turned strange, and of course when the town prospered so did too its lords. The Swanns were rightly counted among the most powerful lords to pledge their loyalty to Storm's End, a stout shield in times of trouble, but a sharp sword to those who would give them less than their due or play them for fools.

All the reasons one could ask for to grumble over the recent upheaval among their overlords, thought the woman who might have been counted nine-and-ten or a few months old depending on how one counted it. The perfect cover for far darker dealings yet. She looked out the small dirty window of the attic room, half-tempted to slip on a glamour and fly out to clear her head.

"I did not say we should kill the bastard, just make the attempt to have him show his hand," her fiendish companion's voice slid through the air like honey and venom. "You do not even have to do anything, just coincidentally have men ready to arrest him once he grows horns or however else the mark of hell upon his soul will show."

A lesser man than Davos Seaworth might have at least been tempted, for alu demons were skilled in that art and not just, as some would suppose, only the temptations of the flesh. But Aradia had come to realize in the almost three weeks the three of them had traveled together that the Onion Knight was in his own way great. Oh, he would deny it to his dying breath and believe it too, but he had the will and cleverness many of his supposed betters lacked.

"What if you kill him anyway because he's not expecting that sort of blow?" The knight had long since stopped trying to make any arguments hinging entirely upon upholding the law of the land to Azema. In truth he seemed oddly adept in finding the right words to at least make her consider caution. "I've not noticed that dealing with hell sharpens a man's wits, the opposite to tell the truth," he finished, drawing a grudging nod. Mayhap smuggler crews and demon-kin were not that different, Aradia reasoned.

"I think I've a way of approaching Lord Gulian's younger son that won't tip our hand if we are wrong in our judgement and he is mixed up in this madness..." Aradia began, dreams of flight coalescing into something else altogether, as they oft did.

***​

Ser Balon Swann slept uneasily that night, tossing and turning in the sheets as he had for many nights before, black and formless portents haunting the edges of his dreams but never remembered with the dawn. A hesitant knock resounded from his chamber door, then another more urgent and louder, drawing the young knight from slumber.

He reached for the dagger he had not used to carry with him to bed within the bounds of Stonehelm until recently before rising from his bed and traversing the room in three quick steps.

His nighttime visitor proved to be his sister. The youngest child and only daughter of the family, Lenore counted three years less than Balon's own eight-and-ten, a sweet girl though made painfully shy by inheriting more their father's heavy frame over their mother's willowy build.

"There's someone... something..."

"Yes?" the knight tried to shift his gravely voice into something reassuring.

"There is something whispering in my room, saying I should come fetch you," Lenore blurted out, speaking quickly lest her courage fail. "It looks like a woman made of mist or smoke. She said that it was of greatest urgency and the fate of our House hangs upon it."

"Did anyone else see you come here?" Balon asked, anxious, though he could not quite decide if it was over the fact that others may whisper that she was mad... or the possibility that she was not. He had heard many a strange tale of late and seen with his own eyes the night-black stag crowned in hell-fire that had been blighting his father's woods, the blight he had rightly taken for an omen that Stannis Baratheon had enchanted and usurped his brother somehow.

"No... I thought of going to a septon, but Septon Jorg is a young man and it just would not be right for me to knock on his doors at night, holy vows or not." From the way she looked at her feet Balon could guess that it was more than that. Maybe the new septon gave her the strange oily feeling too...

"Alright then, I'll come see," Balon knew he was not the most sharp-witted nor smoothed tongued of knights, but he had taken to heart a lesson his father had given him as a boy. 'When there's talking to be done first it costs little to do so and might gain you a great deal.' He probably had not meant to include strange nightly visitations in that, but the warning recalled too well the tightening of his gut of late.

"There is no need," a cool voice called out from behind them.

Balon whirled around, moving instinctively to keep his sister as well shielded with his body as he could.

A woman robed and cowled in dark blue, with little seen of her eyes save the gaze bright and golden like a hawk's, stood there seemingly utterly unconcerned by the brandished dagger. She tossed a hideous bat-winged night-black corpse at his feet. "That was watching you, but I killed it before it could report back to its masters."

"Well, why were you skulking, too?!" the knight called. Part of him winced at taking such a tone with a noblewoman, for the stranger certainly looked and spoke the part, if in a strange manner.

"Because I wanted to be sure of your allegiance before showing myself," she replied gravely. "There is a rot and an evil, not in the woods, nor even at Storm's End where Stannis Baratheon rules, but in this very keep."

Balon wanted to call her a liar but in his heart the seeds of nebulous fear took root and bloomed. "What do you mean?" he asked in spite of himself.

OOC: Sorry for anyone who expected combat. I thought I'd do a bit of a more political interlude for a change to allow for more character and world building over just showing the direct clash of fiends and those who oppose them (even if one of them is technically a fiend herself).
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Oh wow, two of my favorite Stormlanders, Balon Swann and Davos in one interlude. This is a good day.
 
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