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

Seventh Day of the First Month 294 AC

Days are usually shorter in the vale of the Thenns than elsewhere, the sun is swift to sink past the western peaks and slow to climb back over those in the east each morning, but the folk of Thenn had a finer sense of when that time should be than most outlanders for when the sun was late in the lands of the Far North dead men walked and the damned flew on Winter's frozen breath.

Sand whispered from elders' lips to to the ears to officers' ears. Crews that had been drilled to wield the most powerful arcane weapons of a new empire but never yet faced battle prepared to embrace it, though they knew not the face of their foes. In her silver studded cabin aboard the first of the vessels, a new-made lady of the fey smiled in anticipation of the songs that would be sung of this day.


They came without fanfare in the early morning hours with only the dark as their herald for they knew dragons of flesh and steel were abroad in the high northern airs, and their masters did not wish to match power against power while summer held sway. They knew to be swift, to be silent and cunning on the wing for once longer ago than the histories of men told they too had been dragons. White had been their scales and savage their mien, the truer lords of the north before the world broke. When the Void had come onto them with poisoned promises most of the dragons of the north had succumbed and drank from the black cup until their hearts were ice, their eyes windows to Empty Night.

But there had been some wryms also too proud or too wise to take the bargain given to them and these the Lords of Night cursed to fly fleshless and without form, malice and madness upon the wind. These were the heralds of Winter come too soon, sent to wreak ruin upon the men who had stood defiant for too long behind their crumbling wards.

A sacred arch had been sundered.

A precious sword promised of old brazenly stolen.

A loyal servant entombed in lead and steel.

There would be a reckoning.


Nettles was no stranger to the wars of dragons, she had lived the best and the worst days of her life in their shadow. She had fought when she could and fled only when there was nothing worth fighting for, but the thing sweeping in from the north on wings of frost was no mere flight of dragons. Tattered spirits filled with a fel blue light like lightning flashes flew at the head of a host of specters like something out of the worst tales the Burned Men would speak around the fire when the winter winds howled.


It was a good thing, Nettles thought, that she was not just the shepherdess who had dared tame a dragon and ride it to war anymore, nor even the witch of the mountains who had heard those tales a hundred years or more ago. She was a dragonrider garbed in the armor of Old Valyria and armed with their magics. If battle was lost this day it would not be because the enemy had found her lacking.

A false raven flew up against the growing winds with news. The King would come return as swift as his wings could carry him and with him all those who had gone with him back to the strange tower. In the meanwhile they would have to hold off the foe and teach them to fear the flame once more.


Flying in a path not so far removed from dragon and rider a consciousness of steel and spell, one of eight left as part of the reserves for the defense of Thennhold, pondered the upcoming battle, weighing the strengths and weaknesses of ally and enemy alike. The possibility approached unity that the foe would seek to break the ward anchors first so they would not be forced to fight under their sapping power and perhaps even be able to summon more forces into the fray.

The Herald briefly considered what the logistics of the armies of Winter must look like, but dismissed it quickly. It would take months if not years to untangle the net of historical and arcane lore required to make even the barest educated guess. At the rate the unnatural storm was moving it would only be minutes before the first wardstone would be under attack.


How is the defense organized?

[] Write in

OOC: You guys pissed off the Others good and proper and of course your 'dishonorable conduct' is cause for them to 'seek restitution'. After all you could have not destroyed the arch, returned the sword to them and not destroyed the false weirwood, right?