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

Eighteenth Day of the Second Month 294 AC

If someone had told Garin Drekelis that he would be plumbing the depths of a Flesh Forge infested by the Far Realm on the word of Zherys of Volantis, he would have likely called them mad. The erstwhile High Speaker of the Mysterium was the kind of man to send his potential rivals into a deathtrap with a polite smile and a cup of tea for the road. But much to Garin's surprise, there had been no new annotations, no 'just remembered' accounts to add when he had thrown in with Viserys in full. The offer had been sincere from the start and he had always been expecting them to, if not triumph, at least survive the experience.

Somehow the thought was not as comforting as it could have been as he, Xor, and Lashare passed unseen through the narrow cobbled streets looking for the entrance that had been there over twenty years ago. The young Braavosi knew all too well how quickly Flesh Forges could change once they had woken, and that was without being driven mad and spitting out life-sucking nightmare infants. Hopefully, this hidden way was hidden still.

They found the green door Zherys' instructions had mentioned easily enough. It had once belonged to one of the most skilled and prolific smiths in all Qohor, but now the paint was flaking and a heavy lock and chain barred the way. A sign that the hosts knew there was an entrance here, or simply a mark that the previous owner had been an enemy of the regime, his property sealed?

Beyond the entrance, there was only darkness and dust. Half a year's worth if Garin was any judge, but from the empty shelves and forlorn hooks upon the wall of the smithy, he guessed that either the former owner had time to pack up his most prized belongings before leaving or he had not left willingly. If this city were in the thrall of fiends, he would guess the latter far more likely than the former, but he recalled Xor's words all too well. The priests were mad and the One they prayed to may not even acknowledge their existence. He did not even want to contemplate what it must be like for any seers seeking answers hidden from mortal sight.

"Count six bricks left from the corner of the pantry door and three up," Xor's reminder of their instructions of passage interrupted his thoughts.

"We can translocate past it. No reason to give anything that might feel tremors in the earth a warning," Garin was aware that the Flesh Forge in Gogossos did have such protections, delicate fungal filaments threaded through the soil and stone roots burrowing through the bedrock to give warnings of any unexpected burrowing.

Of course, if they had been that careful how could they have missed a back way? Garin shook off the thought. There was no way to tell unless they tried. "I'll go first," he said to the others.

Shadow here and Shadow there.. all were one. In less than the span of a breath Garin was past the hidden trap door and into the empty space beyond.

For the first time since he had woken in that bed in Wind House four years ago, Garin Drekelis would have preferred not to see in the dark.

The thing before him was too horrifying to name, a creature of oily black pustules and pink glistening flesh, a circular maw ringed in needle-sharp teeth expanding and contracting to show a second insectoid mandible, slitted cat's eyes looking through drooping folds of flesh, and worst of all, perfectly formed human arms reaching out blindly among writhing tentacles almost as if in supplication. Garin wanted to believe this was some alien horror that had taken on the superficial form of humanity, but the pulse of its blood called out to him. This had once been a man, or several of them.


Thankfully, it did not seem to be able to see him wrapped in glamors as he was, but some instinct warned him to wait and watch, however little his eyes might wish to linger upon the thing. A moment later, the air pulsed with a silent scream and spark of pain shivered across Garin's temples. The arcane veil he wore gave way like withered leaves in an autumn gale. Garin did not move a muscle, still as death. The walls here were not stone but warped dark glass, sharp and easily broken, he realized.

It still could not see him.

Why did it use the spell then? He wondered as much to himself as to Xor whom he could steel feel at the back of his mind. A moment later another pulse answered him, like the beat of a heart, this time aiming to strip away all enchantments, though not near as powerful for its lack of focus.

As the horror moved away, the High Inquisitor estimated the...being's watchfulness. He had no doubt that he could get past it on mundane skills alone, but he was not certain if his companions could say the same.

The Reborn One pulses Eradicate Invisibility and Dispel Psionics alternatively at three seconds intervals, filling the entire 30 ft diameter corridor. Due to the constrained nature of the tunnel and the layer of glass on everything, one cannot take a reflex save against the first power without sound giving one away.

What does Garin do?

[] Go on alone

[] Try to get the others through with him

[] Turn back, it's not worth the risk

[] Write in

OOC: If Garin did not have an inhuman hide skill he would not be confident he could get past this thing on the basis of that alone, but he does.