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

Sixth Day of the Second Month 294 AC

Perhaps you can carve a better path for this city than battles fought anew and old tragedies disinterred under the sun of present days, you judge upon considering the prince's words and what you had guessed of them. Perhaps there is a path you can thread where all or at least most in Mardosh can find some semblance of peace.

When you bid Varys to tell Zadin that you would be leaving for a short time so as not to risk alerting his guards you steel yourself against pleas of release, but they do not come. The grave claws at the young prince not with claws of rage or madness but of fatalism, of despair. It leaves a bitter taste upon the tongue to leave him here with naught but vague assurances, but if you are to have any hope of negotiations there is no other path to walk.


"Most people do not infiltrate the most well guarded dungeon of a city to obtain information before launching a diplomatic mission," Teana notes, more amused than upset to see you discard secrecy for a direct approach to the city's lord.

"It would be a touch less obvious if I went alone..." you try for what must be the sixth time.

"No," Dany interjects. "You said yourself the Queen of Sathar walked mantled in her own legend. This Lord Protector might as well, and lest we forget he is in the middle of an army of the dead. If things go poorly we'll need to be together to hold them off long enough to retreat and come back with an army or however many are needed to finish the job."

You do not need to look at Ser Richard to sense his vehement agreement, but even Vee, usually content to keep silent on 'reconnaissance in force', is nodding firmly. Tyene and Waymar now quietly in agreement, though you suspect in the case of the young knight it might be at least in part motivated by the desire to do something beyond talking and sneaking about.

Rather than argue a lost cause further, you glance at Eskil and his guard. "So it's understood, we are a delegation from Sathar seeking words with the lord of the city. Offer up enough veiled remarks to make it clear which Sathar we are referring to, while keeping things palatable for the facade. No mention of dragons or empires until we are in a private audience. In the meantime, we just ride along?"

You have never ridden in a chariot before. Given how unstable they look it is a surprisingly easy ride, though that may simply be the untiring undead steed yoked to it.


You pass openly under the arch of the gate and ranks of dead warriors close around you, maintaining a polite distance, though wary of treachery or perhaps some unintended slip to shatter the facade they have forged. Fear and shame gnaws at them deeper than the bite of time upon their bones.

There is no labyrinthine palace awaiting you, only the ruins of what must once have been a vast armory, barracks, and from the looks of some of the towers, a granary. From here were waged the wars of Mardosh and here they counted the dwindling grain that marked its doom. That at least explains why the people did not know the food was running out until it was too late. You would have expected organized rioting long before the army could march out and massacre the whole population. As a rule, people do not go quietly into the night.

Before you can ponder that sad reality any further, you come upon the private audience chamber of the one you seek. Gurtukul, Lord protector of Mardosh, could not strike a more different pose than his nephew. Broad shouldered even in death, he wears the marks of office and authority proudly, from crown of purple to a periapt of gold. but beneath all that is the armor of a soldier and over them a cloak of patched horsehide, trophies from dead khals he had venged himself upon.


"Speak then, emissary of my sister queen. What cause have you do be here and ask for such secrecy?" he rasps, motioning to Eskil.

The ancient diplomat, not the least perturbed by the brusque question, replies simply. "There were matters to discuss that would be troubling if left to many ears to hear. Not all of them are mine to tell..."

Your cue if ever there was one. Time to see if you can truly thread the needle.

What do you propose to the Lord Protector of Mardosh?

[] A chance to regain his honor battling the evils of the Long Night

[] A chance for his people to live again in truth and not in seeming, though in bodies of metal

[] Write in

OOC: Finally found an undead that looks at least a little Mesopotamian rather than Egyptian. Not yet edited.