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

Eleventh Day of the Third Month 294 AC

Divinations of the moment show the feast you would be interrupting is not as grand as it might have been, but grand enough for trouble just the same. In attendance are the niece of the colonial governor and two merchants close to the Shadow Council that rules the isles.

"Midnight," you decide after a few moments' thought. You cannot think of anything the daemon could do in the next few hours that it would not have been capable of doing in the past several weeks, but you can well imagine the mess of an unexpected battle in the middle of a crowded feast. "But we should take a closer look at that feast, just to be sure we are making an informed decision."

"We?" Ser Richard asks. From the suspicious tone, you guess he already has an inkling of what is coming.

"Me, Dany, and Wisdom Zherys, if you will consent to such an unplanned journey Wisdom?" you add, nodding towards the Volantine mage, aware that not everyone is as ready to go into danger at a moment's notice as you and your companions.

"Of course," Zherys replies almost at once, but not before Ser Richard can ask, "Why?"

"One to watch over each person of interest, the more of us are present the more likely it is someone will notice we do not belong," you reply, but the knight will not be deterred.

"No one watches guards, especially ones that keep their mouths shut." Zherys watches the byplay with a touch of well hidden surprise behind his eyes, making Ser Richard's point all the stronger you realize.

"Alright, four then," you glance at Malarys.

"I am content to watch for a signal, my lord."


There are no children at the feast so Dany is forced to take on the form of a young woman, though she maintains it is not quite as disconcerting to do that for one of the Ibbenese because of their shorter height and differing proportions. As for the rest of you, enchantments give you the right forms, glamors garb you in lustrous furs and polished leathers that are the mark of the local nobility while wards guard against even true sight piercing them. Thus you simply manifest. Hopefully your faces are common enough and the spell meant to pick common gestures and cues from the ether does its job well enough.

Fortunately, these are waters you have swam in before. Though the surface may be different, the deeper currents are unchanged. Power draws company at places like this like flies to honey. Soon enough you find yourself if not in the company of Drong Vor of the North Ibben Blue Sails company, then at least in his vicinity. In less trying circumstances he might have been an interesting person to meet, armed with a ready smile and a tankard of beer that is never more not less than half full, he mingles freely with the guests, recounting tales and telling japes without ever letting himself be drawn too far into any one conversation. Now all you have to do is keep your head down through the next three servings and desert.


Alas, a mere half a bell later the bone compass vibrates in your pocket. Somehow you can't bring yourself to be surprised as your host approaches with heavy tread and hooded gaze. One could easily assume the pink in his eyes is due to a little too much drink, not being eaten alive by Daemonic corruption.

If he tries to pull the envoy with him into some dark corner, you will have to act, secrecy be damned. The daemon-host makes no move do do so, however, instead seeming interested in talking bruises, offering advice on how to deal with the 'leviathans' on the Shivering Sea, hinting at the presence of the Deep Ones. Though you listen closely enough to almost make your ears strain and your mind itch, the advice the daemon is giving on dealing with infiltration from the depths seems genuine. Watch out for disturbed sleep, new ticks developing, old ticks tipping over into obsession, people reporting hazy memory or seeming to go though the motions.

"Of course, in the end there is a limit to what living minds can bear. If the raids get much worse..." the daemon's voice is smooth as poisoned honey.

It takes you a moment to realize where this is leading but when you do you find yourself having to swallow an inappropriate and possibility dangerous laugh. It is much the same offer you sold to Rorick the Reader half a world away. Those already dead make fine guards against the Deep Ones and their compulsions.

It seems the daemon is playing mercenary sorcerer, one with a skill in raising the dead to serve in posts too dangerous for the living. When a trio of specters float in carrying the desert, you have to admit it has a fair flair for this sort of game. A pity you are going to have to kill it, or better yet feed it to Yss.

Once the daemon is alone what do you prioritize?

[] Kill it as swiftly as possible

[] Try to capture it, another sacrifice for this month will not go amiss

[] Write in

OOC: If you guys want to include a battle plan I won't say no, but I can do this without one too. Not yet edited.