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

The Borderlands of the War of Two Flames

Yrael flew under banners of flame, the will of a Power like wind 'neath his wings. He flew with a will, a charge from his king and for the first time in an age, he marched with his kin. The tattered remnants of half a dozen legions had found themselves in the harsh light of the One mortals named R'hllor. Rekindled they named themselves and bright and terrible was their purpose.

Shields marked with the deeds of long ago glories, still pitted with the scars of the Breaking, blades that sang with wrath and with fire, and trumpets of gold to dread war calling. Prayers they sung, writ in hallowed blood upon living page, echoing higher than high through vaults of red stone and golden flame. Savior they called the god of slaves, and deliverer, he whom had watched his people lie in chains for an age.

Even in the joy of finding, of once more joining into common cause with kindred, there was a bitterness upon the steel-winged archon's tongue when he listened to flame shrouded Saramael speak in silence of the evils of the Queen of the Inferno and the harm done their Lord and his Faithful, of the battle to come.


Once these banners had been gold, things of beauty and grace. Once the trumpets' were silver, singing as much in sorrow of the souls they were to vanquish as heralding the hosts to war. Once the legions had been whole and marched in order ancient as it was hallowed. Once, but nevermore. Now flames shone on steel wings and he who was lord of Mantarys flew in respectful silence at the prayers of his sundered kin. Their choice may have been different from his, but he understood it well. Had he not slept through the long ages, perhaps he too would have found himself in this company rekindled.


Thrice-Forged Bloom knew the fear of battle. It was a familiar thing, like the ache of old wounds or the memory of lost friends, but she would not allow it to consume her. She had grieved for herself and for them. Now was the time once more to face the Fire that Devoured, whatever form it may take. Be it molten chains or smoke and trickery, they would not find her wanting.

Through seas of light and ripples of melody, she swam beside companions of a kindred she had never before met. Eyes of amethyst fire, grace like unto the dance to stars above. Young they seemed to her, yet old they were in the dreams of men, for they before all other spirits had called in the heart of life upon a newborn spark: Hail unto the Lord of Light.

Now a thousand times a thousand souls sang every note, and spirits gathered from the shattered corners of the spheres all in one voice were united.

So Bloom sang with them, adding her voice to the chorus that carried to the thrones of the Powers. She would not stay, she could not pledge herself, and wound not if she could, but this one song was worthy of becoming. Thus paths of light and paths of fire opened.


Twenty Third Day of the Third Month 294 AC

Across the Empire

There were no words for what unfolded on screen, the Hosts of a god, the will of a Power unfolding behind silvered glass. There had been other recordings of strange beings and far off realms presented through the mirrors, each with some manner of explanation appended for those watching, but this defied belief. It almost defied comprehension. The hosts of a god marched to war on plains of ash, through gates of flame. They flew against gales of their enemy's wrath and forged bridges over chasms that fell into the Madness of the Pit, and over all great ships of steel flew, ships with familiar names, some of those watching had seen off days before. The rumors had run rife then and now they seemed madness. Some of the priests whispered they were blasphemy, though few dared preach it. Illusion and trickery no doubt.

Now they could all see as for the first time in an age, men who were not sages nor sorcerers nor seers could witness the glories and the terrors of a life beyond flesh, before the stark truth of that. Across the Empire, tens of thousands burst into prayer and praise and the fires of the hosts seemed to burn all the brighter for it.

There was a tremble in the commentator' voice. "We approach the front, neither too swift nor too late, but precisely where we are needed. We are speaking now to the captain of the Dauntless..."

The perspective, the mirror on impossible truths shifted from the reflection to the interior of the Dauntless, familiar to some by now, yet to others among the watchers barely any less fantastic. "The Dauntless is designated in a support role, a hardened weapons platform, but more than that, a safe haven for the hosts to rally around at need..." the dark haired captain's voice did not shake, though he was a man like other men, an officer risen through the ranks by loyalty and skill.

To those watching, that seemed strangest yet most uplifting of all.
Do you address the religious and spiritual experience taking place all over the Empire?

[] No, wait until the armies have joined or even the battle has been decided

[] Yes, if ever there was a time to address the shape of the Spheres for all the world do see it is now
-[] Write in

[] Write in

OOC: When the armies of a god march to war, it is more than just a bunch of shiny soldiers going off to fight. It is the manifest will of the deity's wrath. Even second hand witnessing that can be a transcendent experience. To see that and then be reminded that Imperial ships are flying overhead to assist this impossible seemingly inexorable host is... very impactful to say the least. Not yet edited.