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

Goldfish said:

Here's an edited version of the chapter, DP.

Did Teana get a rough estimate of how many Undead were visible who may have been sentient? As least out on the streets?

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DragonParadox said:

As far as she can tell the entire population is sentient, they would not be producing rumors for the spell to catch otherwise.

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Jack vile Ripper said:

But this is an amusing niche. Kidnapping a Princess is one thing, kidnapping a Prince is quite an another.

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DragonParadox said:

Unraveling Secrets ​

Fourth Day of the Second Month 294 AC

One final time you peer into the future's eddies and find them filled with answers and with battle in equal measure. Should the magic upon the gates be dispelled and any of the inhabitants of Mardosh be freed from their delusion, the guards would begin to weave spells to restore it while others yet would ride out upon chariots with wheels of fire and molten bronze to hunt the ones responsible. What the reaction of the hapless wraiths may be depends from one mind to another. Heavy would be the burden of truth but not assured madness... which you begin to suspect is the assumption of the ones who wove this strange enchantment.

As to slipping in unseen, there the portents are more favorable. Far see the eyes of the dead and no rest do they need, but still the walls are long and the city tumbled in ruin, wide and full of places to slip into the shadows. But the strangest and most telling prophecy is the one Dany makes last:

Seek out the Nameless Prince, by his birth betrayed,
Shacked to high and lonely throne, by kith and kin scorned
He who speaks truth to deathless madness
Before he should tumble into endless blackness ​

"There is someone in there who sees through all this but is not part of whatever power worked the spell, someone in the palace maybe..." Tyene muses. "Highest throne, that could mean a tower right?"

The trouble is that Teana's shadows reveal a palace in ruins with not a single tower standing through the passage of the ages. "There are still servants working and petty nobles palely walking through roofless corridors among shattered climbs, but I could not tell you if there is a prince in there, imprisoned or otherwise. Not without sending a seeming close to investigate..."

"I think I may have the answer, or part of it at least," Eskil interjects. "The folk of Mardosh were always proud of their martial skill, to be a noble was to be a soldier, to be a king was to be a general, but just as in other lands, not all were able to live up to that image. There were always tales of deaths in training and what they truly meant, but for those who could not even begin such an arduous task by weakness of body or the mischance of birth..."

"They didn't kill them did they?" Waymar asks horrified.

"No," the dead herald shakes his head sharply with the sound of bone scraping on bone. "To kill one's own flesh and blood is an affront not just to the gods but to all right thinking Sarnori. They were forgotten, left to wither away in obscurity, not even named for to name one such is to acknowledge them."

"So we have a forgotten prince in blood but not in name railing against the madness that has overtaken Sarnor somewhere." Dany sighs and slumps against a tree. "What does it matter if no one will listen to them?"

"The dead do not usually fall under the thrall of enchantment," you begin, speaking slowly even as the thought still takes shape in your mind. "Someone must have had some authority over them all to have been able to put this into place. A crowned head acknowledged and annointed could have done so...."

"And what royal will has wrought to hide the shame of the Fall, royal will may undo," Teana interjects. "Hopefully in a way that does not cause mass panic."

"That's a thin reed you're hoping to hold your weight," Vee speaks up in turn. "Why not just go to whoever's king now. Even if they had a part in making up this big lie, maybe they were doing it to stop folks suffering. Mayhap Viserys can talk 'em out of it if there's another path."

What do you do?

[] Seek out the Nameless Prince in the hope of enacting a coup and revelation all in one

[] Attempt to parlay with the current lords of Mardosh

[] Write in

OOC: The rhyme is not as good as it could be but I figured it was not worth another hour to try to polish it, since it gets the point across fine. Not yet edited

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egoo said:

Eh, a prince is fine too.

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DragonParadox said:

One final time you peer into the future's eddies and find them filled with answers and with battle in equal measure. Should the magic upon the gates be dispelled and any of the inhabitants of Mardosh be freed from their delusion the guards would begin to weave spells to restore it while others yet would ride out upon chariots with wheels of fire and molten bronze to hunt the ones responsible. What the reaction of the hapless wrath may be depends from one mind to another. Heavy would be the burden of truth, but not assured madness... which you begin to suspect is the assumption of the ones who wove this strange enchantment

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Massgamer said:

Hunting on the Open Sand​

As the grand vessel crested the massive sand dune likely taller than some castles and crashed back into the water like ground, Jorar Ostos, Wisdom of the Empire, held on for dear life, equal parts scarred to death and more alive than at any point in his whole life. All around him on the deck of the ship the native sand nomads were bustling around in controlled chaos, not unlike a sea going vessel, at the collective task at hand the fleet was working towards.

It truly it was a fleet, for while the ship Jorar was on, after much diplomacy/begging alongside proving his worth to the naturally distrustful natives of this harsh desert, was the largest one of said fleet, the work of various large and rich tribes collectively pooling resources to build it, all around him smaller sandships were also in quick motion.

There were smaller boats manned by at most ten nomads at a time that while lacking in mass and weaponry made up for it in speed, but even they were slow and clunky beasts in comparison to the even smaller vessels that were more raft than boat in design, but were pushed along at incredible speeds due to the fact the local tribesmen shamans conjured up small dust devils to accelerate them.

All told there must have been near twenty ships in total present, many of whom who were from different tribes that rarely worked together if they could avoid it. The reason for so many of the usually divided sand nomads to work together?

A great tower of sand suddenly explored out of the ground from the port side and from it revealed a massive worm-like monster roaring in equal parts anger and pain from the various wounds littering it's body that the fleet had inflicted on the beast, having started hunting it hours ago and chasing it down.

And what mighty prey it was. It swam through the sand like a whale and smashed into ships just as hard, spat lighting that when it hit the desert created plumes of glass, it's skin and bite highly venomous to those unlucky enough to touch either, and even it's very blood was highly corrosive to anything made of metal! This was a great that had been a great deal of trouble to various tribes for some time and so they had finally decided to do something about it, and if Jorar understood correctly once properly harvested was worth a fortune to the many tribes, making it well worth the risk.

Of course, when Jorar saw the worm reduce another smaller boat to splinters with a mouth full of lighting he couldn't help but naturally fear for his life even as he contributed what battle magic he could alongside the shamans and the more mundane weapons of the various crews.

A rain of bolts, spears, and even the large carved bone spike in front of the large vessel were unleashed on the beast, and even as it was surely nearing it's death throes it fought like a small force of nature. The shamans called to the ancestors of their folk for skill, for swiftness to strike the creature down, and the world trembled with their coming. Jorar had never felt power of that sort, but he could feel it in its bones. No mere mummery this.

Hells below, and according to legends and tales of the Sand Nomads this beast is only middling in the danger it poses to those of the desert, that worse and more powerful things dealt deeper within. The journeying mage did not want to think about that too deeply.

However, as much as Jorar would love to research the matter more he was currently focused most on making sure the worm died before them did!

And died it soon did, under the ruthless hunt and assault by all those involved the worm would finally succumb to it's wounds and die, it's face impaled upon the prow of the ship as the vessel's captain maneuvered the ship in such a way to pull off a daring charging action. The battle was won, and despite the vessels and lives lost the Nomads were already celebrating, even Jorar getting pats on the back for his contributes made and for not dying.

So it was that the fleet dragged their prey home, Jorar closer to the native people in one day than the weeks it took for hem to even speak to him in more than a few words.

---

"I must say, you're people certainly know how to harvest their well-earned prizes." Jorar commented as he watched nearly all the members of various tribes work together to break down the worm for every piece they could get at, generations of knowledge making it so nothing would go to waste. Even the corrosive blood was collected, apparently used in metal working!

"While there is much life in this desert it does not give itself up easily, therefore we must gain as much from it when we can and waste nothing in the process. Still, with this the various tribes' needs will be well tended to." Sha-Mo, the chief and shaman of some power of the tribe who allowed Jorar among them, stated with pride and a small smile. "For a Wetlander you sure held your stomach well. Victory is found not through the deeds of one, but the many working together, and today you added to our strength as well as any of us. For that you have earned my, and many others', respect."

"It is I who should be thanking you, for taking in a stranger such as I among you and given me the opportunity to study your marvelous, if quite hostile, homeland." Jorar said back honestly.

"We have no need for flattery, especially when ill-deserved for even as you lived amongst us we did nothing to make you feel welcome and you barely complained. Now however, if you truly wish to know of us and our home you will be treated as one of our own for as long as you remain here." Sha-Mo promised him as he patted Jorar on the shoulder, "First, you need proper clothing to keep your skin safe from the harsh sun and warm during the chilling nights. Your magic might keep the worst from you, but I have a feeling you would prepare using it elsewhere."

"I do admit without it I fear the sun would have cooked me long ago..." Jorar admitted sheepishly.

"Haha! Of course, you Wetlanders tend to be soft of skin like that." Sha-Mo joked, "Come, let us assist in finishing the harvesting, and after that the tribes will feast in celebration before we go our separate ways. It is rare times such as these when we can put away our differences and join together that should be treasured after all."

"It is the same in my homeland, in fact the King is quite fond of it..." Jorar began as they walked off, his mind already partly focused on the fact he was one step closer to unlocking the truth of this desert land and what may lie in it's heart.

But like Sha-Mo said, the desert did not give up it's bounty easily and so he would be ready to earn it no matter what stood in his way or die trying!

... Ideally not dying of course.

AN: Don't take links to Sand Shapers too seriously mechanically, they are more lore/fluff inspirations for magical traditions of the Sand Nomads and a general description of their natural abilities over the sand and desert in general.

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Goldfish said:

This was neat. Thar be sandworms in them thar dunes! Arr! ☠ (closest thing to a pirate emoji on the list)

What part of the world is this?

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Crake said:

Probably Sothoryos, there's a big ole desert south of the jungle.

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Massgamer said:

Hunting on the Open Sand​

As the grand vessel crested the massive sand dune likely taller than some castles and crashed back into the water like ground, Jorar Ostos, Wisdom of the Empire, held on for dear life, equal parts scarred to death and more alive than at any point in his whole life. All around him on the deck of the ship the native sand nomads were bustling around in controlled chaos, not unlike a sea going vessel, at the collective task at hand the fleet was working towards.

It truly it was a fleet, for while the ship Jorar was on, after much diplomacy/begging alongside proving his worth to the naturally distrustful natives of this harsh desert, was the largest one of said fleet, the work of various large and rich tribes collectively pooling resources to build it, all around him smaller sandships were also in quick motion.

There were smaller boats manned by at most ten nomads at a time that while lacking in mass and weaponry made up for it in speed, but even they were slow and clunky beasts in comparison to the even smaller vessels that were more raft than boat in design, but were pushed along at incredible speeds due to the fact the local tribesmen shamans conjured up small dust devils to accelerate them.

All told there must have been near twenty ships in total present, many of whom who were from different tribes that rarely worked together if they could avoid it. The reason for so many of the usually divided sand nomads to work together?

A great tower of sand suddenly explored out of the ground from the port side and from it revealed a massive worm-like monster roaring in equal parts anger and pain from the various wounds littering it's body that the fleet had inflicted on the beast, having started hunting it hours ago and chasing it down.

And what mighty prey it was. It swam through the sand like a whale and smashed into ships just as hard, spat lighting that when it hit the desert created plumes of glass, it's skin and bite highly venomous to those unlucky enough to touch either, and even it's very blood was highly corrosive to anything made of metal! This was a great that had been a great deal of trouble to various tribes for some time and so they had finally decided to do something about it, and if Jorar understood correctly once properly harvested was worth a fortune to the many tribes, making it well worth the risk.

Of course, when Jorar saw the worm reduce another smaller boat to splinters with a mouth full of lighting he couldn't help but naturally fear for his life even as he contributed what battle magic he could alongside the shamans and the more mundane weapons of the various crews.

A rain of bolts, spears, and even the large carved bone spike in front of the large vessel were unleashed on the beast, and even as it was surely nearing it's death throes it fought like a small force of nature. The shamans called to the ancestors of their folk for skill, for swiftness to strike the creature down, and the world trembled with their coming. Jorar had never felt power of that sort, but he could feel it in its bones. No mere mummery this.

Hells below, and according to legends and tales of the Sand Nomads this beast is only middling in the danger it poses to those of the desert, that worse and more powerful things dealt deeper within. The journeying mage did not want to think about that too deeply.

However, as much as Jorar would love to research the matter more he was currently focused most on making sure the worm died before them did!

And died it soon did, under the ruthless hunt and assault by all those involved the worm would finally succumb to it's wounds and die, it's face impaled upon the prow of the ship as the vessel's captain maneuvered the ship in such a way to pull off a daring charging action. The battle was won, and despite the vessels and lives lost the Nomads were already celebrating, even Jorar getting pats on the back for his contributes made and for not dying.

So it was that the fleet dragged their prey home, Jorar closer to the native people in one day than the weeks it took for hem to even speak to him in more than a few words.

---

"I must say, you're people certainly know how to harvest their well-earned prizes." Jorar commented as he watched nearly all the members of various tribes work together to break down the worm for every piece they could get at, generations of knowledge making it so nothing would go to waste. Even the corrosive blood was collected, apparently used in metal working!

"While there is much life in this desert it does not give itself up easily, therefore we must gain as much from it when we can and waste nothing in the process. Still, with this the various tribes' needs will be well tended to." Sha-Mo, the chief and shaman of some power of the tribe who allowed Jorar among them, stated with pride and a small smile. "For a Wetlander you sure held your stomach well. Victory is found not through the deeds of one, but the many working together, and today you added to our strength as well as any of us. For that you have earned my, and many others', respect."

"It is I who should be thanking you, for taking in a stranger such as I among you and given me the opportunity to study your marvelous, if quite hostile, homeland." Jorar said back honestly.

"We have no need for flattery, especially when ill-deserved for even as you lived amongst us we did nothing to make you feel welcome and you barely complained. Now however, if you truly wish to know of us and our home you will be treated as one of our own for as long as you remain here." Sha-Mo promised him as he patted Jorar on the shoulder, "First, you need proper clothing to keep your skin safe from the harsh sun and warm during the chilling nights. Your magic might keep the worst from you, but I have a feeling you would prepare using it elsewhere."

"I do admit without it I fear the sun would have cooked me long ago..." Jorar admitted sheepishly.

"Haha! Of course, you Wetlanders tend to be soft of skin like that." Sha-Mo joked, "Come, let us assist in finishing the harvesting, and after that the tribes will feast in celebration before we go our separate ways. It is rare times such as these when we can put away our differences and join together that should be treasured after all."

"It is the same in my homeland, in fact the King is quite fond of it..." Jorar began as they walked off, his mind already partly focused on the fact he was one step closer to unlocking the truth of this desert land and what may lie in it's heart.

But like Sha-Mo said, the desert did not give up it's bounty easily and so he would be ready to earn it no matter what stood in his way or die trying!

... Ideally not dying of course.

AN: Don't take links to Sand Shapers too seriously mechanically, they are more lore/fluff inspirations for magical traditions of the Sand Nomads and a general description of their natural abilities over the sand and desert in general.

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Duesal said:

@DragonParadox, this reeks of King Kuei and Long Feng from Avatar: The Last Airbender. A weak king usurped by his advisors, the populace kept totally in the dark on the outside world, the soldiers or a faction of them in on the conspiracy, etc.

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Duesal said:

@DragonParadox, this reeks of King Kuei and Long Feng from Avatar: The Last Airbender. A weak king usurped by his advisors, the populace kept totally in the dark on the outside world, the soldiers or a faction of them in on the conspiracy, etc.

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