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

Cult fiction. An Omake of why Cults are dumb. Or how people are dumb.

It was not often that Garin Drekelis High Inquisitor and Companion ™ wanted to drink all his problems away. It did happen on occasion, usually whenever Viserys would do something Dragony™ . This was yet another such occasion. He would have to request the Inqusitions wine budget be doubled again.

With how deity like Viserys was in power and demeanor there would of course be plenty of citizens who would take it to the next logical step. Create a religion based around his worship. Or as the Inquisiton likened it to, a cult. That had been expected, plenty of Inquisitors had been on standby to infiltrate such an organization to ensure it did not turn into something dangerous. Small potatoes really for such agents.

They had not expected this....

"You can not be serious." Garin asked looking up from the report to stare at the Inquisitor that had hand delivered it. The agent looked mildly uncomfortable, as one should be when one's boss repeats a question thrice.

"I am afraid it has been verified from across the realm." The agent confirms wearily.

"How do we even fail this comprehensively? This is exactly the kind of thing the Inquisition was made for, we divine these kinds of problems away!" Garin should be angry, he really should. It was hard however to not be bemused at how massively they had underestimated the situation.

"We had 5 agents insert themselves into the leadership of the cult when it was born here at the Deep, we had no idea it could happen this way." The agent argues defensively.

"Yes, the keyword here is the... How did we miss it splintering like this, there are reports here about thousands of different cults." Granted most have less then a score members...

"We thought it was centered around the capital and the cults in other towns took direction from the central chapter. We... Misjudged, didn't foresee how different the people of the realm think compared to each other." The agent admitted frankly still looking pained.

"There was a riot in Tyrosh, over 200 people were killed, this is more then a mistake. What are they disagreeing on anyway?" Garin asked switching gears, the time now was for solutions not regret.

"The cult of Visdery's Light argued that in the words of the younger Viserys all devils were naught but evil. The cult of Visery's Radiance argued that the much wiser and older Viserys words on the usefulness of Devil's that have their ties to Hell cut were the true words of the King now God."

"What a load of shit." Garin sighed explosively looking down at the reports of deaths and damages over the last day. "Do we know how they are even getting these ideas?"

"Someone found a way to record all of the King's speeches through magic somehow. Even those from before the realm was born. Needless to say people have formed vastly different opinions on it, especially as some of the words from years ago vastly disagrees with some of his recent speeches." There was some humour now in the voice of the agent as he explained. "These speeches were spread across the realm and every cultist formed their own opinions... And then their own cults. And they are not having quiet disagreements. The Tyrosh brawl was the biggest so far but there are hundreds of skirmishes going on as we speak."

Garin drags a hand across his face. "So every big mouth out there suddenly has something to prove. This is because Viserys promised to hand out magic to those most loyal and devout to the idea of the empire isn't it?"

"I would wager that was the tip off point aye."

"So... We either need a ritual big enough to completely wipe the minds of these cults back to before things went insane or convince the king to stop giving speeches and feeding the fire of these nutjobs..." Garin pondered out loud.

Garin and the agent looked at each other for a long moment.

"Soo... Do you want me to ask Lady Lya what the costs would be for such a large ritual?"

"Obviously." Garin snaps rolling his eyes.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Next day

"Garin, why is half my realm on fire? Viserys asked the soot covered and tired looking High Inquisitor. He had come to ask his old friend expecting the Inquisition to know. Divinations had been very confusing, giving no clear answers. When he had asked Tyene she has just burst out laughing pointing at him. Dany was avoiding him and everytime he sent a thought her way he could feel her amusement.

"Because of you." Garin says bluntly leaning back against a wall. He had spent the entire night and day breaking up fights between small minded men and women. What did it matter what colour the King's clothes were, and how could two cults come to a clash to the death over that!

"Me? What did I do?" Viserys asked bemusedly.

"That, you talked, talk too much." Garin slides down the wall with a yawn, this could be a good nap place. It was nice and dark and the only impedient was Viserys.

"Garin?"

"I am going to sleep. Don't hold any speeches."

"What? Wh-"

"Sleep!"

"....Alright, I will go find Ser Richard." As he walks away." Maybe he can bring some sanity here."

First Day of the Third Month 294 AC

It was a rare traveler who dared the paths of Sarnor so soon after the armies had passed this way, for it was said the shades of the dead still lingered under the arches of ruined temples and waterlogged horrors still hungered beneath still waters, but it was said Namaaru, Queen of Sathar, hungered for news and lore of the living world as much as her fallen kindred hungered for the flesh of the living.

The caravan that set out from Volantis was by far the most ambitious of its kind, guarded not only by the spears of the best sellswords who had not yet taken the Legion's coin, but also by the sorcery of several black robed sorcerer acolytes of the Mysterium looking to make a name for themselves and a mated pair of griffons darting the skies overhead to give warning of peril or potential. It was to the credit of the caravan master, Magister Oreag, that he did not question the strange beasts looking for places to expand their cattle ranching, though perhaps even he might have looked in askance at the other flying protectors they had acquired.

The best way to flush a hungry beast out of its den was to dangle a piece of bloody meat in front of its nose, Leto had learned through the long years of the Blood War, and this caravan with its bright silks and braying mules would prove a better lure than anything she could have organized herself. Now if only she could keep the damn lenjths from breaking cover too soon to flay a couple of ill-fortuned ghouls while the rest of the dead stayed in their holes.


Eleventh Day of the Third Month 294 AC

Great Grass Sea, North of the Painted Mountains

The creak of chariot wheels through heavy fog was the first sign of the enemy the outriders had, then the howl of hollow voices and sparks of balelight through the night. Arcane oils glistened upon weapons, Myrish crossbows twanged blind, horns blew alarm and men began to die, scream after scream cut abruptly short.

"Accursed, those who would trespass upon the realm watered with the blood of my fathers," so spoke Andunil, Commander of Hosts and Slayer of Khalasars, new made servant of the Lords of Ruin, though none of his foes heard aught but the wail of words long dead. Little did he care for it, the lord of the dead. He could taste their fear with his fleshless mouth.

From the high airs far above the arcane mist black wings descended and the hunter became the hunted. Amid a hail of black arrows the warriors bearing weapons fused to flesh appeared in the midst of the foes and storms of shrapnel flew among them. So died the dead once more, though not without cost. A cornered beast could still draw blood.


When the mist cleared it was clear that most of the dead were not of the initial caravan but the long desiccated corpses of doomed Sarnor, though the Volantene traders were a touch disquieted to see the dark haired woman with wings black as raven's feathers holding the still helmeted head of her foe and wondering aloud: "Now what possessed you to come out and play, you aren't the sort of think with your stomach."


The mages who knew just what manner of being she was were far past disquieted, only the Imperial markings upon her armor kept them from raising the alarm. They would likely already be riding hard to Volantis if they knew what the woman had reported back to Sorcerer's Deep in the wake of investigating the bones.

"My Lord, we have found signs of the Tainted Daemon you mentioned..." A small silent laugh echoed without sound, there was little mirth to it. "Strange to think that one of them can even be tainted."

The Void-Touched Olethrodaemon has been working among the scattered remnants of the Sarnori armies

What do you do?

[] Allow the forces already working in Sarnor to deal with it

[] Send reinforcements
-[] Write in

[] Write in

OOC: And this is the reason why I did not mention the ritual to find that daemon until now, there was a chance someone would stumble over its work in Sarnor.