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

Twenty Fifth Day of the First Month 294 AC

"Very well," you nod graciously, but not too deep, in the manner of your supposed home. "I depart in the hopes that our next meeting shall be profitable for all." With a spell of translocation you free Eshyr from his cage of flesh in amber bound before turning your attention to the handmaiden. You would rather not risk that in Ser Richard's pouch, but the cloak is not the most inconspicuous of artifacts, even without the presence of the envoy of Minauros. Turning your attention to the glamor you bear, you change one small thing.

A false pouch opens, enchanted gold shifts and envelops without a sound heard.

Glancing quickly at the mages in attendance you are relieved to notice no spark of undue interest in any of their gazes. The fact that the oracle is correct, they will soon be facing off against the Blessed Guard, likely plays a part in it.

"I hope to see you all also just as soon," you add with just a hint of challenge in the word, the certainty that you would claim the final prize of the aborted auction. After all, one does not rise to the heights of sorcerous power, nor trek to the accursed walls of Heaven's Shore, out of humility.


You walk quickly out of the defiled temple, changing your guise whenever you find a corner where you can be reasonably certain you are not observed as you once did through the shadows of Braavos and a dozen other cities. The city is more vast than any under the sun, but not so great that you and Ser Richard cannot cross it swiftly and inconspicuously if you must. Or so at least you had hoped. Just as you cross a narrow bridge, carved with trellises of stone and images of lost abundance, a voice much accustomed to being obeyed calls out from behind you, "Halt! In the name of the Exarch of Heaven's Shore and all its environs, we ask that you answer in peace where the chance for peace is given!"

Turning to meet the dark appraising gaze of a horned archon, fallen like many are in this age, still possessed of a deer-like mien and much of the beauty of his first making, but the expression upon it now is twisted into something altogether darker, haughty and demanding that all the world should bend to to his rightful command. Though he bears the golden insignia of the Blessed Guard, he wears more crimson than you have ever seen on any of their officers and an officer indeed this one clearly is. A full eight shield bearers and, eight more bearing swords of blessed fire are arrayed behind him, some fallen and others not, but all still cleaving to their duty. A larger patrol than one usually sees in the Court of History.


Given the errand you are currently upon, the show of force alone is enough to raise your hackles. Still, though you had left Hassan behind six streets ago, you certainly did not take on the guise of one poor, lonely, or easily intimidated. Your newest mask, still nameless for you had not expected to speak while wearing it, is of a mercenary battle mage of devil blood, a veteran of the Blood War, just as Ser Richard is playing a warrior of like history. "For what cause?" you ask, an edge of frustration in your voice.

"We have cause to believe that some highly dangerous contraband would be passing by this bridge around this hour. We were empowered by our lord to search all who pass through here."

A lie so blatant you are surprised the stench of it does not pollute the air. The captain is better at hiding his feelings on the matter than his subordinates, but that does not mean he is good at it, only that most of them are terrible. The only reason the Blessed Guard would be ahead of you, and in such strength, would be if you had been tracked somehow from the auction, some sort of stealthy watcher at the door all along. Or perhaps someone there had been a traitor. You hope, if that is the case, Heronious can deal with them as well as the Guard heading his way.

Passersby begin to notice the confrontation and react each by their own experience and inclination. A young couple ducks their heads and quickens their pace, meanwhile a small crowd of urchins watches from the shadows, eyes blessed to see in darkness by Hell's touch flashing among hair of gold and silver, the legacy of Heaven writ in flesh. An elderly oread opens the window shutters of his shop carefully to watch the confrontation.

Hopefully they will not see too much today. Fighting is not an option, though you are reasonably certain you and Ser could win, you could not do so without maintaining this or indeed any cover worth the name. Flight might be an option, you could do that without giving away over-much, slipping into the stone beneath your feet for instance and emerging in some random direction having hopefully shaken off any watchers.

Or... you look across the patrol of archons behind the captain. They seem less eager and more resigned to the task. If you made a good enough argument for why you should not be searched on suspicion, you might be able to just walk away. The officer will not likely speak the true reason he wishes to search you in the middle of a reasonably well traveled street

What do you do?

[] Flee without using unduly powerful magic

[] Talk, try to convince the patrol to let you be, then shake whatever spy you have acquired

[] Write in

OOC: Just to be clear the archon is not wearing skull armor, but he is wearing an unusual amount of red with the uniform. Not yet edited.