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

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Goldfish said:
"Scholarium Mage" is a very broad category, though, one which encompasses basically the entirety of our mages.

I agree that Imperial Mage would be a better fit for those who get their juice straight from the Viserys tap, but the PRC needs to be differentiated from the more general term.

Maybe something similar to what inspired it? Mage of the Imperial Order? Mage of the Imperial Scholarium?
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Maybe give the Spellpool some fancy name and then name the class after it?

"Poolbound Mage" sounds like a water based class.
 
Goldfish said:
"Scholarium Mage" is a very broad category, though, one which encompasses basically the entirety of our mages.

I agree that Imperial Mage would be a better fit for those who get their juice straight from the Viserys tap, but the PRC needs to be differentiated from the more general term.

Maybe something similar to what inspired it? Mage of the Imperial Order? Mage of the Imperial Scholarium?
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We could call Viserys' off brand divine casters Imperial Clerks, and use Imperial mage for the spell pool casters. :V
 
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Interlude MLII: Dark Wings Arising
  • Threadmarks
    • Dark Wings Arising ​

    Sixth Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC

    Looking down at the egg, grey and black against the blood-red pillow it had been set upon in a restrained attempt at ceremony fit for private consumption, Brynden Rivers found himself without words upon his tongue in the presence of a king for the first time in what felt like ages. There were some dreams that followed you down through the years, from the bright morn of childhood and past all the shadows of your life untarnished, those desires that show themselves first to the soul untroubled by the whys and wherefores of the world, by what could be done and what should be done. For Brynden, one had always been the desire to fly.

    Even now he could still recall his mother's voice gently explaining that the dragons had passed from the world and there would be no wings for him, and then she would tease him gently and say the mark upon his face showed a soul born too late. She had been more right than she could ever know. Before his tenth birthday he had taken wing in spirit upon wings not his own, though upon a bird less portentous than those he would in the fullness of time be known for, only a common swift of the sort that was kin to swallows and who only lightly and seldom set foot upon the ground or even the branch of a tree. It had died soon after, crushed by his too heavy will bent upon its simple mind, and bitterly he had wept. Then he had learned to care more for that which he did not mean to break, and later taught himself to care less for that which must be broken.

    "I never thought this day would come, not truly." His words were soft, but he had no worry that they would not be heard—a dragon's ear was fine indeed, and both the Imperator and the Princess were that and more. "At first it was for seeing too many attempts to revive the dragons end in ruin, like pouring steam back into the cauldron from whence it had boiled away, it seemed to me. And by the time I learned that it was not so, by the time I had heard the truths of the world, I was in no fit state to ride anything save in mind."

    Even now he could feel, though distantly, the aches and pains of a body sustained against the ravages of age only by the throne upon which it sat, like a dying spider pinned to the ground by some cruel child. Yet here he walked in flesh, here he was whole, in body if not in power, strong enough by far to ride the dragon that from the egg would rise.

    "Thank you, Your Majesty, Your Highness..." he began.

    Young Viserys opened his mouth to speak, likely to dismiss the need for thanks, but his sister was swifter. "I have a name, you know, and so do you for that matter. I'm not in the habit of giving gifts to stodgy old 'Lord Bloodraven' when my uncle Brynden is still without that which his heart desires."

    A sniff of hastily stifled laughter came from beside her. "I would not put it quite that way, but yes. Consider this not a gift of the throne, for those most often just come with more duties to fulfill, but a gift of family long overdue. May it bring you as much joy as Balerion does me, and may it serve you faithfully and well as ever you have served the Realm."

    The last words hurt like the twinge of an old wound in the side. He had not always been skillful and he had not always been as loyal as he could have been to the throne over his own grudges and ambitions, and it was only upon being forced away from the morass of the court as the bird sent upon the wing that he could have seen the truth of it. Still, he kept the emotion off his face. It would be ill done of him to reward kindness and generosity with old guilt long curdled into melancholy.

    He could feel the life below the shell. It was old and slumbering, taken from under the shadow of the Doom in the City of Syrax, by foresight guarded, by fortune kept whole. A fitting companion if ever he had known one, and the slumbering mind within seemed to agree, driven by some half-understood instinct, some kinship beyond the gulf of years and leagues uncounted.

    "Wake!" commanded the Last Greenseer and last of the Great Bastards, Last Hand of the King yet living for a kingdom that was no more. In this he was the first. Never before had a skinchanger called a dragon from stone with naught but the strength of his will and the voice of his thoughts. "Blood for the spilling waits, flesh for the feasting waits, sky bright and wide waits! Your time has come!"

    If pressed, Brynden would admit he had not expected the egg to explode outwards like an alchemist's grenade with a crack of thunder and the smell of smoke and ash.

    "What the hells..." the Imperator gestured imperiously to the curtain of grey, and with a thought dispelled it to reveal a young dragon looking oddly fine boned, its body grey, its wings black as soot, though that was likely not the first thing one would notice about it. The coloring of the hatchling's head gave the impression of a skull, as though it had been born with a foretelling of death already upon it. Not its own death, Brynden knew, but that of its foes.

    "Thou shall be Deathwind, and thy foes shall fear you as deeply as they fear their own demise," Bloodraven proclaimed as he gently reached for the dragon's mind, finding it more welcoming and far wider than that of any bird. Thus they took flight.

    Bloodraven hatches Valyrian Dragon Deathwind (Due to his extraordinary skills at skinchanging and the particular affinity with the egg, the Valyrian Dragon counts as a Familiar for him for the Familiar Bond and delivering Touch Spells)

    OOC: Bloodraven crit his roll to make the Valyrian Dragon wake without blood sacrifice so he got a small extra bonus... well small by the standards of someone who is already the chosen of a major god-mind.
     
    Last edited:
  • Threadmarks
    • Azel said:
    Maybe give the Spellpool some fancy name and then name the class after it?

    "Poolbound Mage" sounds like a water based class.
    Click to expand...
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    Alternatively, we could keep the Imperial Mage name for the PRC and call Viserys' Clerics something else, perhaps the Imperator's Hand? Imperator's Talon?
     
    DragonParadox said:
    Dark Wings Arising ​

    Sixth Day of the Fifth Month 294 AC

    Looking down at the egg, grey and black against the blood-red pillow it had been set upon in a restrained attempt at ceremony fit for private consumption, Brynden Rivers found himself without words upon his tongue in the presence of a king for the first time in what felt like ages. There were some dreams that followed you down through the years, from the bright morn of childhood and past all the shadows of your life untarnished, those desires that show themselves first to the soul untroubled by the whys and wherefores of the world, by what could be done and what should be done. For Brynden, one had always been the desire to fly.

    Even now he could still recall his mother's voice gently explaining that the dragons had passed from the world and there would be no wings for him, and then she would tease him gently and say the mark upon his face showed a soul born too late. She had been more right than she could ever know. Before his tenth birthday he had taken wing in spirit upon wings not his own, though upon a bird less portentous than those he would in the fullness of time be known for, only a common swift of the sort that was kin to swallows and who only lightly and seldom set foot upon the ground or even the branch of a tree. It had died soon after, crushed by his too heavy will bent upon its simple mind, and bitterly he had wept. Then he had learned to care more for that which he did not mean to break, and later taught himself to care less for that which must be broken.

    "I never thought this day would come, not truly." His words were soft, but he had no worry that they would not be heard—a dragon's ear was fine indeed, and both the Imperator and the Princess were that and more. "At first it was for seeing too many attempts to revive the dragons end in ruin, like pouring steam back into the cauldron from whence it had boiled away, it seemed to me. And by the time I learned that it was not so, by the time I had heard the truths of the world, I was in no fit state to ride anything save in mind."

    Even now he could feel, though distantly, the aches and pains of a body sustained against the ravages of age only by the throne upon which it sat, like a dying spider pinned to the ground by some cruel child. Yet here he walked in flesh, here he was whole, in body if not in power, strong enough by far to ride the dragon that from the egg would rise.

    "Thank you, Your Majesty, Your Highness..." he began.

    Young Viserys opened his mouth to speak, likely to dismiss the need for thanks, but his sister was swifter. "I have a name, you know, and so do you for that matter. I'm not in the habit of giving gifts to stodgy old 'Lord Bloodraven' when my uncle Brynden is still without that which his heart desires."

    A sniff of hastily stifled laughter came from beside her. "I would not put it quite that way, but yes. Consider this not a gift of the throne, for those most often just come with more duties to fulfill, but a gift of family long overdue. May it bring you as much joy as Balerion does me, and may it serve you faithfully and well as ever you have served the Realm."

    The last words hurt like the twinge of an old wound in the side. He had not always been skillful and he had not always been as loyal as he could have been to the throne over his own grudges and ambitions, and it was only upon being forced away from the morass of the court as the bird sent upon the wing that he could have seen the truth of it. Still, he kept the emotion off his face. It would be ill done of him to reward kindness and generosity with old guilt long curdled into melancholy.

    He could feel the life below the shell. It was old and slumbering, taken from under the shadow of the Doom in the City of Syrax, by foresight guarded, by fortune kept whole. A fitting companion if ever he had known one, and the slumbering mind within seemed to agree, driven by some half-understood instinct, some kinship beyond the gulf of years and leagues uncounted.

    "Wake!" commanded the Last Greenseer and last of the Great Bastards, Last Hand of the King yet living for a kingdom that was no more. In this he was the first. Never before had a skinchanger called a dragon from stone with naught but the strength of his will and the voice of his thoughts. "Blood for the spilling waits, flesh for the feasting waits, sky bright and wide waits! Your time has come!"

    If pressed, Brynden would admit he had not expected the egg to explode outwards like an alchemist's grenade with a crack of thunder and the smell of smoke and ash.

    "What the hells..." the Imperator gestured imperiously to the curtain of grey, and with a thought dispelled it to reveal a young dragon looking oddly fine boned, its body grey, its wings black as soot, though that was likely not the first thing one would notice about it. The coloring of the hatchling's head gave the impression of a skull, as though it had been born with a foretelling of death already upon it. Not its own death, Brynden knew, but that of its foes.

    "Thou shall be Deathwind, and thy foes shall fear you as deeply as they fear their own demise," Bloodraven proclaimed as he gently reached for the dragon's mind, finding it more welcoming and far wider than that of any bird. Thus they took flight.

    Bloodraven hatches Valyrian Dragon Deathwind (Due to his extraordinary skills at skinchanging and the particular affinity with the egg, the Valyrian Dragon counts as a Familiar for him for the Familiar Bond and delivering Touch Spells)

    OOC: Bloodraven crit his roll to make the Valyrian Dragon wake without blood sacrifice so he got a small extra bonus... well small by the standards of someone who is already the chosen of a major god-mind.
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    Made a few additional edits to the chapter, DP.

    This interlude was awesome, dude. One of the best in a while, IMO, and that's really saying something. Great character building for Bloodraven, too.

    Also, Deathwind is adorable, though the name does reveal Bloodraven's inner chuuni. 🤓
     
    Well...

    I guess the Lord Inquisitor needed to be edgier, being the fucking Bloodraven was not enough apparently
     
    Duesal said:
    Good old Uncle Bloodraven, saving us the sacrifices. 👍
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    Well it was more than he genuinely wanted to show off. He is comfortable enough with his kin to do that sort of show of power for no purpose but to see it done and to test himself. Brynden is not immune to the Targ inclination to pride and showmanship, but rather cautious with it from experience.

    Do you guys want to see another interlude next, maybe the Dornish or return to Viserys?
     
    DragonParadox said:
    Do you guys want to see another interlude next, maybe the Dornish or return to Viserys?
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    [X]
     
    I can't wait for Bloodraven to be free of his tree in the future. A Mythic Praetorian Archmage and his Valyrian Dragon Familiar... Good god I want to see them in a fight.

    [X] Azel
     
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