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

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Azel said:
Bronze King Robar II Royce:
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I said King of Westeros not King in Westeros, that is just the glorious Targ Kings :V
 
Quest said:
Also the one Baratheon King. :V
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there was never a Baratheon King merely an illegitimate squatter who occupied the former royal capital and sized the treasury in order to finance a decadent and indolent life style while being propped up by over ambitious nobles in the name of ever greater personal freedoms and ruinous special privileges while the kingdom verged on collapse , bankruptcy and religious strife due to sheer misrule
 
Uh, @DragonParadox, the threadmarks are fucked. The first part of Getting the gang back together cant be found by browsing through the arrows on the post totles, but can be found if you go there from the threadmark list. You can navigate from there but it points to the wrong update and uou cant navigate back to it. Its like a Schrodinger's omake.
 
Solar Saiyan said:
Uh, @DragonParadox, the threadmarks are fucked. The first part of Getting the gang back together cant be found by browsing through the arrows on the post totles, but can be found if you go there from the threadmark list. You can navigate from there but it points to the wrong update and uou cant navigate back to it. Its like a Schrodinger's omake.
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Er... does anyone know how to fix this? I'm kind of afraid to touch it in case that makes it worse/
 
Vote closed.
Adhoc vote count started by DragonParadox on Mar 20, 2021 at 6:30 AM, finished with 47 posts and 9 votes.
  • [X] Plan Post-War Order - Vale
    -[X] Have Dalla swear to you too. She will now be a noble Lady too, becoming Countess of Northweald. Unless she prefers a different styling. High Speaker as a elected Count-level title or something?
    --[X] Throw a few social buffs on her before that.
    -[X] The traitors keeps and lands are seized and will be kept under Crown authority for the time being. // Bunch of backbencher keeps without location. No idea what to do with those.
    -[X] Spin: The Imperium now rules over the Vale and for the first time since the Andal conquest, that statement is true. No longer will the Vale be at war with itself, no longer will fields be wet with blood year after year. It is time to mend the land the wounds left by the long war, so that all Valemen can prosper.
    [X] Imperial Administration will stretch far further than the domain of the kings in the Red Keep had ever done, bringing the wild lands under the plow
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Edit: Update in beta.
 
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Part MMMDCCXXIII: Oaths Rooted Deep
  • Threadmarks
    • Oaths Rooted Deep​

    First Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC

    It could not be said that the throne room went silent when Dalla enters, rather the timber of the discussion changes in surprise not so distant kin to shock. Dozens of eyes turning to those beside them, for a clue as to how they might react, dozens of tongues set wagging into the ears of those very same neighbors. Not that you can really blame them. The young woman who called herself the Godspeaker, a dark rumor and whispered fear among the Vale of Arryn, makes no secret of who she is. Though she garbed in a simple green dress, one of Vee's you think, that is the only concession for the place she finds herself in. A crown of living weirwood leaves rests upon her head and in her hands is a pale staff tipped with dragonglass tapping along on the stone, not quite a spear, though it could likely serve as much in a pinch. At least you had managed to convince her not to bring the sacrificial knife.

    She stops at just the right distance from the throne, neither so near as to seem she is trying to huddle close, but not so far as to be inconvenient to speak over the sounds of the hall. Her bow could be called as austere as her dress, though by grace of arcane blessings and spells of insight it is clearly willfully so.

    "I come with words from the Clans of the Mountains of the Moon, the First Folk of that realm. I was born to the Mist Walkers and them I rule, I speak as herald with leave from Yrga, chief of the Black Ears who dwell among the caves at the source of the Whitewater..." On and on she speaks, neither too swift nor too slow, giving each clan that had survived the battles for leadership its name, its chief and the place of their hall, that none of that prickly folk might count themselves forgotten. "I come here to give a pledge in the sight of gods and men that all the Mountains and the Vale should dwell in peace, old feuds forgotten under just and honorable rule."

    As she spoke surprise quickly turned to anger in the hardening gazes of many lords and ladies of the Vale. How many had lost kin or kith to the raids raging down from the highlands you could not say, but surely not as many as 'wildlings' who had died to blade and fire and hunger's cruel bite over the years. Still, you could hardly expect them to count their enemies' hurt equal to theirs. You expect many things of your bannermen, but not sainthood.

    "Justice I shall give, with honor I shall treat you as I do all other citizens of the realm." The word, so strange and jarring to many noble ears, has been perhaps unsurprisingly welcomed among the folk of the hills and highlands when you had called them such. 'Folk of the city', much like the dwellers in a chief's high fort, not simply 'subjects' defined by how they kneel. "Let there be none between Mountains and Vale that fears to walk the roads lest they be caught in quarrels of old."

    For all that Dalla kneels smoothly, as though she had been doing it all her life rather than it being for so long anathema to her and her kin. Gasps go up and down the hall from those who know enough to realize the importance of the gesture, but many others... far too many look on with apathy tinged with dislike.

    "Here do I swear fealty and service to the Imperium, and to the Imperator Viserys First of His name, to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go, in need or plenty, in peace or war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth, until death take me, or the world's dark ending. So say I, Dalla daughter of Braga of the Mistwalkers, so do I pledge in the name of the chiefs who have given me word to do so in their name, let they be bound no less slightly under the gaze of the Gods of Earth, Stone and Tree."

    "And this do I hear, Viserys Targaryen, Imperator and Lord and Protector of the Realm. I shall not not forget it, nor fail to reward that which is given: fealty with love, valor with honor, oath-breaking with justice swift and sure."

    "May the gods aid you in the doing," the Godspeaker says, the formality melting from her tone for a moment. "We are all going to need it come the Black Days."

    The Black Days are nothing less than the the coldest fiercest part of winter, you know, when it seemed as though the sun had forsaken the high places of the Mountains of the Moon, an old word for an old pledge.

    Now there is silence, the grim weight of her words seeming to touch even the most unburdened heart with a sense of namelesss dread. Not quite that you had wanted for the day, but for the Hillfolk the sort of solemnity you have just asked for is reserved only for the grimiest times when the chief must hold in his or her hands the lives of his folk without question. That you have been entrusted with.

    OOC: So funny story it took me a full 20 minutes to come up with the title for this, I just could not get past the block on that
     
  • Threadmarks
    • DragonParadox said:
    Oaths Rooted Deep​

    First Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC

    It could not be said that the throne room went silent when Dalla enters, rather the timber of the discussion changes in surprise, not so distant kin to shock. Dozens of eyes turning to those beside them, for a clue as to how they might react, dozens of tongues set wagging into the ears of those very same neighbors. Not that you can really blame them. The young woman who called herself the Godspeaker, a dark rumor and whispered fear among the Vale of Arryn, makes no secret of who she is. Though garbed in a simple green dress, one of Vee's you think, that is the only concession for the place she finds herself in. A crown of living weirwood leaves rests upon her head and in her hands is a pale staff tipped with dragonglass tapping along on the stone, not quite a spear, though it could likely serve as much in a pinch. At least you had managed to convince her not to bring the sacrificial knife.

    She stops at just the right distance from the throne, neither so near as to seem she is trying to huddle close, but not so far as to be inconvenient to speak over the sounds of the hall. Her bow could be called as austere as her dress, though by grace of arcane blessings and spells of insight it is clearly willfully so.

    "I come with words from the Clans of the Mountains of the Moon, the First Folk of that realm. I was born to the Mist Walkers and them I rule, I speak as herald with leave from Yrga, chief of the Black Ears who dwell among the caves at the source of the Whitewater..." On and on she speaks, neither too swift nor too slow, giving each clan that had survived the battles for leadership its name, its chief, and the place of their hall, that none of that prickly folk might count themselves forgotten. "I come here to give a pledge in the sight of gods and men that all the Mountains and the Vale should dwell in peace, old feuds forgotten under just and honorable rule."

    As she spoke, surprise quickly turned to anger in the hardening gazes of many lords and ladies of the Vale. How many had lost kith or kin to the raids raging down from the highlands, you could not say, but surely not as many as 'wildlings' who had died to blade and fire and hunger's cruel bite over the years. Still, you could hardly expect them to count their enemies' hurt equal to theirs. You expect many things of your bannermen, but not sainthood.

    "Justice I shall give, with honor I shall treat you as I do all other citizens of the realm." The word, so strange and jarring to many noble ears, has been perhaps unsurprisingly welcomed among the folk of the hills and highlands when you had called them such. 'Folk of the city', much like the dwellers in a chief's high fort, not simply 'subjects' defined by how they kneel. "Let there be none between Mountains and Vale that fears to walk the roads lest they be caught in quarrels of old."

    For all that, Dalla kneels smoothly, as though she had been doing it all her life rather than it being for so long anathema to her and her kin. Gasps go up and down the hall from those who know enough to realize the importance of the gesture, but many others... far too many, look on with apathy tinged with dislike.

    "Here do I swear fealty and service to the Imperium, and to the Imperator Viserys, First of His Name, to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go, in need or plenty, in peace or war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth, until death take me, or the world's dark ending. So say I, Dalla, daughter of Braga of the Mistwalkers, so do I pledge in the name of the chiefs who have given me word to do so in their name, let they be bound no less tightly under the gaze of the Gods of Earth, Stone, and Tree."

    "And this do I hear, Viserys Targaryen, Imperator and Lord Protector of the Realm. I shall not not forget it, nor fail to reward that which is given: fealty with love, valor with honor, oath-breaking with justice swift and sure."

    "May the gods aid you in the doing," the Godspeaker says, the formality melting from her tone for a moment. "We are all going to need it come the Black Days."

    The Black Days are nothing less than the the coldest fiercest part of winter, you know, when it seemed as though the sun had forsaken the high places of the Mountains of the Moon, an old word for an old pledge.

    Now there is silence, the grim weight of her words seeming to touch even the most unburdened heart with a sense of nameless dread. Not quite what you had wanted for the day, but for the Hillfolk the sort of solemnity you have just asked for is reserved only for the grimmest times when the chief must hold in his or her hands the lives of his folk without question. That you have been entrusted with.

    OOC: So funny story it took me a full 20 minutes to come up with the title for this, I just could not get past the block on that
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    Made a few additional edits to the chapter, DP.
     
    Jack vile Ripper said:
    What I wouldn't give for a rendition of their gobsmacked face.
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    It's not their faces I want to see, but rather the sound that swept the hall from all of the Vale Lords and Ladies' puckers collectively tightening in outrage that I want to hear.

    I imagine it sounds somewhat similar to someone wearing leather gloves making a painfully tight fist.
     
    After the Westerlands the Vale is gonna be the most politically unstable location for awhile, most likely due to tensions between generational enemies now having the play nice with one another. Feuds will likely be the same, just the game is different.

    I am curious how clan-run areas will get along with more feudal model their neighbors will have. The Northern Mountain Clans make it work so no reason why it shouldn't here.
     
    Massgamer said:
    I am curious how clan-run areas will get along with more feudal model their neighbors will have. The Northern Mountain Clans make it work so no reason why it shouldn't here.
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    The Northern Mountain clans share a religion , culture and a language between them and the north making establishing a rapport easy while the Vale Mountain clans have a separate language(the old tongue) with some smatterings of common in it , an entirely different religion and are culturally opposed to the Valemen

    are more likely scenario is the Vale Mountain clans will settle the mountains and the hills they have raided from since the andels came with imperial engineers setting up terrace farming allowing them to sustain themselves without raiding(and conveniently keeping most of the mountain clansmen busy tending to their farms rather than raiding and making trouble) while massive castles and keeps are also set up in the mountains for their leaders to call home eventually becoming not too different from their Vale men neighbors only with a more Old gods and First man centric culture in comparison to the Valemen's andel and sevner one
     
    DragonParadox said:
    Though she garbed in a simple green dress, one of Vee's you think
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    I almost wish that those lords had a better understanding of magic and who the companions are. Just imagine what their reaction would have been if they recognized that the "wildling savage" had effectively borrowed a dress from a one woman army.

    It's like showing off a photo album of a globe trotting vacation you took with a tac-nuke at a dinner party.:V
     
    I'm pretty sure we will be hanging a bunch of people in the Vale before actual peace comes, but they will run out of idiots long before we run out of ropes.
     
    Personally, I'm a proponent of recycling our hanging rope. Many necks can be stretched by a single noose during its lifetime.
     
    Azel said:
    I'm pretty sure we will be hanging a bunch of people in the Vale before actual peace comes, but they will run out of idiots long before we run out of ropes.
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    speaking of hangings , I have an idea in order to maximize the gains from all those future executions cause waste not want not how about we develop an special line of enchanted hanging rope that harvests the the shadow of the person being hanged for use by the state pure soul essence(exp) is a valuable resource whom the condemned will have no use for doubly so since it will be squeezed out of them once they get to their intended destination in the lower plains
     
    Jack vile Ripper said:
    Hey, look at the bright side. We're gonna have so many fertilisers at the end of month that our Trees can finally cover Westeros.
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    Mortal crimes get mortal punishments, it's a key cornerstone to keeping our cross alignment allies and minions working with us. Flesh forge fuel is fair game however.

    I'm sure all the lords we hang on peasant ropes will appreciate the ambiguity of the "reduce, reuse, recycle" slogan written along the side of the noose in draconic though. :V
     
    BronzeTongue said:
    Mortal crimes get mortal punishments, it's a key cornerstone to keeping our cross alignment allies and minions working with us. Flesh forge fuel is fair game however.

    I'm sure all the lords we hang on peasant ropes will appreciate the ambiguity of the "reduce, reuse, recycle" slogan written along the side of the noose in draconic though. :V
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    Ah, nearly forgot that we recycled our citizen's corpses via the Flesh Forge.

    But yeah, the indignity of having the deceased not entombed in their Ancestral Home is going to be satisfying~.
     
    BronzeTongue said:
    Mortal crimes get mortal punishments, it's a key cornerstone to keeping our cross alignment allies and minions working with us. Flesh forge fuel is fair game however.

    I'm sure all the lords we hang on peasant ropes will appreciate the ambiguity of the "reduce, reuse, recycle" slogan written along the side of the noose in draconic though. :V
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    We can always deploy the guillotines instead.
     
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