A Sword Without a Hilt: A Song of Ice and Fire/D&D 3.5 Crossover
- Thread starter DragonParadox
- Start date
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- Tags
- a song of ice and fire a sword without a hilt d&d 3.5 dungeons & dragons 100% high octane dragon fuel ave corvidae battle action dragon diplomacy best sister bureaucromancy delicious soul-stuff dragon dreams come true dragon ta'veren greatest uncle hubris is a coward's word in defiance of gods and men mammon's folly mutually assured mage's disjunction qm murderhobo top tier coatl
- Location
- Brazil
F!Renly - Presumably a Knightly build as he is supposed to embody the perfect westerosi lord.
Vesill the Shadow Drake - A Dragon Sorcerer for marketing purposes. Can serve as secondary rogue. Has UMD, so out of combat healer too.
That Minotaur and Little Valyrian duo that won a tournament a while ago - Barbarian and Rogue PC bait.
Now, what kind of sort-of-distinctive full caster could we stick there? Perhaps a Bard and and a Druid? A CotF for the latter?
Vesill the Shadow Drake - A Dragon Sorcerer for marketing purposes. Can serve as secondary rogue. Has UMD, so out of combat healer too.
That Minotaur and Little Valyrian duo that won a tournament a while ago - Barbarian and Rogue PC bait.
Now, what kind of sort-of-distinctive full caster could we stick there? Perhaps a Bard and and a Druid? A CotF for the latter?
- Location
- United States
I'm against risking a CotF here. We still need to breed them.
- Location
- Brazil
Hm, Volantine Druid Twins?
- Location
- United States
They're only level 1 at the moment, and even ignoring that I wouldn't risk them on this.
What about a plant creature? Maybe one of the wolves?
Horde Thief Chapter XXV
Snowfire
Polyglot of Chimera
- Location
- Wordcats
<< Previous
Securing the Fomor prison hadn't been difficult, there'd been few enough of the creatures present, and they'd been reeling from the noise and vibration of the helicopters opening fire from above. The mantle of starlight and fire had made you easy to pick out, but you'd been able to see your foes just as easily. They'd died in spurts of flame and the rough snapping of necks, swarmed under by the servitors that were now guarding the place. Perhaps fortunately, all of the prisoners had been under some form of magical compulsion, keeping them docile. When you got them out, it would break with the dawn. For now, it kept them calm and out of the way. Not the most pleasant way of looking at things, but also a true one. They were out of the line of fire, that was what mattered, leaving you free to seek the master of this dark place. Tremors shake the earth even now, as your allies above ground pour fire into structure, but nothing more than that. The caverns are well made, if nothing else.
Well made for more than just surviving attacks from above, too. You'd walked into a trap that should have been perfect for who you'd shown the world that you were. An incomplete circle, sealed from the outside just as a horde of Fomor beasts drop from the ceiling to attack you. For any wizard of this realm, it would be a lethal trap. For you and the Winter Knight, it was…not. No magic could go beyond the empowered circle, and it cut away a wizard's ability to draw power from anywhere but the space inside it. Unfortunately for the Fomor, such traps had no effect on you. Your power was in your blood, not drawn from the world beyond it, and a thrust of telekinetic force sent one of the shrieking creatures sprawling across the ring of magic to break it. The rest closed in regardless, but met opposition that could keep up with them. Twitching bodies, and pieces of bodies, litter the ground around you now, and the scent of blood and fire is thick in the air.
"That is quite enough," the voice comes from the darkness beyond the circle cast by the fire around you, the same rasping growl of the other Fomor you'd encountered, but with none of the anger or fear. This voice is full of irritation instead, like a parent with an unruly child. And with it, a figure steps into the light. Darkness ripples around its body, and you recognise in it the elder brother of the defences so often deployed by the Sorcerers you'd defeated before today. It glares at you both, and its face is that of an unearthly graceful man, more similar to the Sidhe who you'd bested than the malformed presences of its lesser kin. And they had been lesser, you had no doubt of that now. There is power in its words, unlike anything you've felt in this realm, and they roll over you like a wave of dreary mist, pulling at your limbs, forcing them to lower. It speaks its will, and in a way you never thought possible, the universe bows to it.
Then there's a burst of power from deep within you, a knot of potential coming loose, turning fate back upon itself, and you are abruptly free of the creature's power.
"Will!" Harry gasps out, catching the claws of a lesser monstrosity on his staff just in time. "It can enforce its will around us." There's fear in his voice, but nothing more than is sensible, a match to your own at your realisation that whatever the Fomor had done, it had broken through every protection laid upon you. Black eyes glisten with anger as you look back at it, slicing through the torso of another octokong and stepping aside to let it fall in a writhing heap. The air shrieks as fire blooms to life around Harry's staff, blazing an icy blue as he swings it in an arc, laying down a wall to cover one of your flanks. He slumps a little from the effort, but it's a momentary thing, and an instant later he's moving again. The Fomor Lord raises one hand, and blackness congeals around it, a sickly, creeping darkness that a distant part of your mind howls it wants nothing to do with.
"I said," the same presence descends, pulling at you, slowing you, "that is enough." And it looses the bolt of darkness. You try to summon a protection, but you're too slow, the power of the Fomor deadening your fingers as they try to move. The spell begins to slip, the words coming too quickly, and then white fire pours into you from your right hand, and your hand finds the right movement. Wings of pure force slam closed around you, and the blackness splashes against it like thick oil, running down into the ground. Your enemy's too-perfect face twists in annoyance, but the direction of its gaze confuses you, until you look down at your hand. The same fire you felt rip away the being's numbing power burns between you fingers, trailing up your arm in a curtain of pure white flame, and you recognise it. The same fire that had caught at the edges of Dark Sister when you struck down the Fomor Sorcerer in Chicago.
"That is not for you to decide." Dark Sister's voice is the ringing of steel and the hiss of fire quenched in the blood of your family's enemies. Blackness spews again from the Fomor, and an unknown instinct brings Dark Sister up instead of a warding, red and gold coursing out across the pure white that has wreathed the dark steel. You feel the ancient blade's presence solidify around you in that moment, stronger than it has ever been, and it strikes the spell apart in a hissing roar. You can feel Harry staring at you for a moment, and you know you're doing the same to Dark Sister, but there's no time.
"We're going to have a talk after this is over," you tell the blade firmly, shock clear in your thoughts, and the blade's laugh is the grinding strike of a whetstone.
"Of course, my lord." She replies, and you start striding forward, a spell coming to your lips, enhanced by the knowledge of your ancestors to spring between your foes with only your power to limit it. A chain of curses streaks forth, to strike the Fomor before you, and all of its remaining servants in the circle of the light, cast now much wider by Dark Sister. It resists you, the darkness around it striking the magic out before it touches it, but it cannot catch the other threads of power. The shrieking of fleshcrafted monsters dies to nothing, and where once was the remains of an army only seven and ten turtles remain. And a singularly unlucky octakong less affected by the magic, that shrinks just as it strikes Harry with its tentacles, staggering him instead of throwing him back. He recovers as the creature howls fury, its limbs shrinking almost comically down towards the stubs of a turtle's legs, and then cuts off completely as the glowing staff crushes its skull.
"You," the Fomor makes a gesture and blackness tears from the ground at your feet, hissing as it pushes through searing flame to grab your ankles. A swift cut of Dark Sister's blade frees you, but more tendrils of inky black continue to rise, snapping at your feet and lower leg. "You are not what you appear." A fan of darkness scythes out from its hands, and Harry is at your side before you can speak. He gives his left wrist an odd shake, and then a half dome of shimmering blue light interposes itself between the two of you and the Fomor's attack. Harry staggers as the magic crashes home, but he doesn't fall, and the shield holds.
"And you," it spits, "the Winter Knight, acting against the Fomor! An act of war, I say."
"I am not the Winter Knight in this," Harry growls back, even as you take the moment to gather a spell in your left hand, trailing sparks it forms so swiftly.
"Oh." The Fomor says, almost pleasant in its surprise. Then its face darkens. "Good."
A wave of night rushes out of the darkness, monstrous forms bounding within it, and you spare a moment to smile. So predictable. You bring the hand to your mouth, and a roar like a falling mountain bursts forth, shaking the air with its passing. A line of red on Harry's hand smooths away to nothing, and he straightens, bolstered by the magic. The Fomor's creatures aren't so lucky. Again, the Lord resists much of the spell, the slippery inky black forming a protective curtain between it and your voice, but you see the thundering bellow strike holes through the shield and it staggers back. It is one of the lucky ones. Its creatures are thrown away, many shaking completely apart, and land in stunned heaps. Some begin to pull themselves back up, but you pay them no mind. Your attention is fixed on the true Fomor in front of you.
"You aren't like the rest," you ponder, and its face radiates disgust too great to be anything human.
"I am of the High Nobility! Those you faced before were but petty lordlings, not of the true Peerage. And guardian spirit or not, you will not withstand me!" You appear to consider the words for a moment, ignoring the sudden indrawing of breath from the man beside you. Then you smile. It's not a nice smile.
"So said all the rest." You raise your left hand. The pain of wishcraft presses against you, harder than it has ever been, and then the spell coalesces. You'd used it before on occasion, but here it was meant to break open the creature's defences, to let you close in and finish the job, maybe even in a way that would let you take it alive. You still have many questions about the Fomor, and few would be better suited to answer them than a high noble. You had expected the rays of fire to come as they usually did, pulsing with the strength of a darker power, but no more than that.
So it comes to you as a surprise when three rays of hellish crimson leap from your outstretched fingers, spewing a trail of stinking brimstone as they lance into your enemy. Its shield of darkness writhes, absorbing one blast, another, but the third is too much for it and a high scream cuts the air as at least some of the final blast lands. You're already moving, and Harry calls out again. "Ventas Servitas!"
The smoke billows away in the sudden gust, and pure hate shines from the eyes of your opposition. There's no warning this time, darkness simply boils out of the ground in a vast wave, rising up, and up, and up, before crashing down with the force of a vengeful hurricane. Harry calls out another word, raising the dome of shimmering light, but again some unknown instinct calls for another path. You're close to your enemy, so very close, and it's hurt. No time to take it alive, hesitation could cost Harry his life, and maybe even yours too. This creature is powerful, as strong as any you faced with your Companions at your back, and you're alone but for the wizard beside you.
You squeeze your eyes shut, trusting in yours and Dark Sister's senses to guide you, and reach for the power that anchors your very soul. The light of dawn itself shatters the darkness in front of you and you press your eyelids tighter, squeezing away the tears of pain. The Fomor howls in fury, and pain, flailing back from the sudden intrusion of pure sunlight into its domain.
"You," Dark Sister snarls, more emotion in the word than you've ever heard from the blade, and you barely feel the vibration as she drives forward through a splintered darkness to sheath herself in inhuman flesh. A hand closes around your wrist, and you muffle a scream as dark magic tears at your protections, leaking through in places you thought were locked and barred, but are no more secure than an open shutter. "Will not have my charge."
You feel the sudden heat in front of you, a strange feeling beside it, as if the spirit is asking for power. You don't hold back. All the might of a spell of the Ninth Circle pours into the blade of Old Valyria and the heat in front of you intensifies, searing through even your own prodigious resistance. Then the sword drops through empty air.
When you finally blink away the spots of light from your eyes, there is nothing but floating embers before you.
Horde Thief
Chapter 25
Chapter 25
Fire blazes in the dark, and monsters howl as they crash against it, their claws and tentacles and…other appendages erupting as they try to strike you or Harry, the wizard moving with the skill of a survivor and speed far beyond human. His staff burns with light as he brings it around in a vicious arc, crushing the skull of the tentacled gorilla that had tried to bring him down. The shield of crimson fire had protected him, his long leather coat doing the rest, its mantle flaring behind him as he moved. For yourself, Dark Sister sang in your hands, cutting through the dark that is as day to your eyes, and dismembering octokongs – you were certain that wasn't their name, but you weren't about to argue – with terrifying ease.Securing the Fomor prison hadn't been difficult, there'd been few enough of the creatures present, and they'd been reeling from the noise and vibration of the helicopters opening fire from above. The mantle of starlight and fire had made you easy to pick out, but you'd been able to see your foes just as easily. They'd died in spurts of flame and the rough snapping of necks, swarmed under by the servitors that were now guarding the place. Perhaps fortunately, all of the prisoners had been under some form of magical compulsion, keeping them docile. When you got them out, it would break with the dawn. For now, it kept them calm and out of the way. Not the most pleasant way of looking at things, but also a true one. They were out of the line of fire, that was what mattered, leaving you free to seek the master of this dark place. Tremors shake the earth even now, as your allies above ground pour fire into structure, but nothing more than that. The caverns are well made, if nothing else.
Well made for more than just surviving attacks from above, too. You'd walked into a trap that should have been perfect for who you'd shown the world that you were. An incomplete circle, sealed from the outside just as a horde of Fomor beasts drop from the ceiling to attack you. For any wizard of this realm, it would be a lethal trap. For you and the Winter Knight, it was…not. No magic could go beyond the empowered circle, and it cut away a wizard's ability to draw power from anywhere but the space inside it. Unfortunately for the Fomor, such traps had no effect on you. Your power was in your blood, not drawn from the world beyond it, and a thrust of telekinetic force sent one of the shrieking creatures sprawling across the ring of magic to break it. The rest closed in regardless, but met opposition that could keep up with them. Twitching bodies, and pieces of bodies, litter the ground around you now, and the scent of blood and fire is thick in the air.
"That is quite enough," the voice comes from the darkness beyond the circle cast by the fire around you, the same rasping growl of the other Fomor you'd encountered, but with none of the anger or fear. This voice is full of irritation instead, like a parent with an unruly child. And with it, a figure steps into the light. Darkness ripples around its body, and you recognise in it the elder brother of the defences so often deployed by the Sorcerers you'd defeated before today. It glares at you both, and its face is that of an unearthly graceful man, more similar to the Sidhe who you'd bested than the malformed presences of its lesser kin. And they had been lesser, you had no doubt of that now. There is power in its words, unlike anything you've felt in this realm, and they roll over you like a wave of dreary mist, pulling at your limbs, forcing them to lower. It speaks its will, and in a way you never thought possible, the universe bows to it.
Then there's a burst of power from deep within you, a knot of potential coming loose, turning fate back upon itself, and you are abruptly free of the creature's power.
"Will!" Harry gasps out, catching the claws of a lesser monstrosity on his staff just in time. "It can enforce its will around us." There's fear in his voice, but nothing more than is sensible, a match to your own at your realisation that whatever the Fomor had done, it had broken through every protection laid upon you. Black eyes glisten with anger as you look back at it, slicing through the torso of another octokong and stepping aside to let it fall in a writhing heap. The air shrieks as fire blooms to life around Harry's staff, blazing an icy blue as he swings it in an arc, laying down a wall to cover one of your flanks. He slumps a little from the effort, but it's a momentary thing, and an instant later he's moving again. The Fomor Lord raises one hand, and blackness congeals around it, a sickly, creeping darkness that a distant part of your mind howls it wants nothing to do with.
"I said," the same presence descends, pulling at you, slowing you, "that is enough." And it looses the bolt of darkness. You try to summon a protection, but you're too slow, the power of the Fomor deadening your fingers as they try to move. The spell begins to slip, the words coming too quickly, and then white fire pours into you from your right hand, and your hand finds the right movement. Wings of pure force slam closed around you, and the blackness splashes against it like thick oil, running down into the ground. Your enemy's too-perfect face twists in annoyance, but the direction of its gaze confuses you, until you look down at your hand. The same fire you felt rip away the being's numbing power burns between you fingers, trailing up your arm in a curtain of pure white flame, and you recognise it. The same fire that had caught at the edges of Dark Sister when you struck down the Fomor Sorcerer in Chicago.
"That is not for you to decide." Dark Sister's voice is the ringing of steel and the hiss of fire quenched in the blood of your family's enemies. Blackness spews again from the Fomor, and an unknown instinct brings Dark Sister up instead of a warding, red and gold coursing out across the pure white that has wreathed the dark steel. You feel the ancient blade's presence solidify around you in that moment, stronger than it has ever been, and it strikes the spell apart in a hissing roar. You can feel Harry staring at you for a moment, and you know you're doing the same to Dark Sister, but there's no time.
"We're going to have a talk after this is over," you tell the blade firmly, shock clear in your thoughts, and the blade's laugh is the grinding strike of a whetstone.
"Of course, my lord." She replies, and you start striding forward, a spell coming to your lips, enhanced by the knowledge of your ancestors to spring between your foes with only your power to limit it. A chain of curses streaks forth, to strike the Fomor before you, and all of its remaining servants in the circle of the light, cast now much wider by Dark Sister. It resists you, the darkness around it striking the magic out before it touches it, but it cannot catch the other threads of power. The shrieking of fleshcrafted monsters dies to nothing, and where once was the remains of an army only seven and ten turtles remain. And a singularly unlucky octakong less affected by the magic, that shrinks just as it strikes Harry with its tentacles, staggering him instead of throwing him back. He recovers as the creature howls fury, its limbs shrinking almost comically down towards the stubs of a turtle's legs, and then cuts off completely as the glowing staff crushes its skull.
"You," the Fomor makes a gesture and blackness tears from the ground at your feet, hissing as it pushes through searing flame to grab your ankles. A swift cut of Dark Sister's blade frees you, but more tendrils of inky black continue to rise, snapping at your feet and lower leg. "You are not what you appear." A fan of darkness scythes out from its hands, and Harry is at your side before you can speak. He gives his left wrist an odd shake, and then a half dome of shimmering blue light interposes itself between the two of you and the Fomor's attack. Harry staggers as the magic crashes home, but he doesn't fall, and the shield holds.
"And you," it spits, "the Winter Knight, acting against the Fomor! An act of war, I say."
"I am not the Winter Knight in this," Harry growls back, even as you take the moment to gather a spell in your left hand, trailing sparks it forms so swiftly.
"Oh." The Fomor says, almost pleasant in its surprise. Then its face darkens. "Good."
A wave of night rushes out of the darkness, monstrous forms bounding within it, and you spare a moment to smile. So predictable. You bring the hand to your mouth, and a roar like a falling mountain bursts forth, shaking the air with its passing. A line of red on Harry's hand smooths away to nothing, and he straightens, bolstered by the magic. The Fomor's creatures aren't so lucky. Again, the Lord resists much of the spell, the slippery inky black forming a protective curtain between it and your voice, but you see the thundering bellow strike holes through the shield and it staggers back. It is one of the lucky ones. Its creatures are thrown away, many shaking completely apart, and land in stunned heaps. Some begin to pull themselves back up, but you pay them no mind. Your attention is fixed on the true Fomor in front of you.
"You aren't like the rest," you ponder, and its face radiates disgust too great to be anything human.
"I am of the High Nobility! Those you faced before were but petty lordlings, not of the true Peerage. And guardian spirit or not, you will not withstand me!" You appear to consider the words for a moment, ignoring the sudden indrawing of breath from the man beside you. Then you smile. It's not a nice smile.
"So said all the rest." You raise your left hand. The pain of wishcraft presses against you, harder than it has ever been, and then the spell coalesces. You'd used it before on occasion, but here it was meant to break open the creature's defences, to let you close in and finish the job, maybe even in a way that would let you take it alive. You still have many questions about the Fomor, and few would be better suited to answer them than a high noble. You had expected the rays of fire to come as they usually did, pulsing with the strength of a darker power, but no more than that.
So it comes to you as a surprise when three rays of hellish crimson leap from your outstretched fingers, spewing a trail of stinking brimstone as they lance into your enemy. Its shield of darkness writhes, absorbing one blast, another, but the third is too much for it and a high scream cuts the air as at least some of the final blast lands. You're already moving, and Harry calls out again. "Ventas Servitas!"
The smoke billows away in the sudden gust, and pure hate shines from the eyes of your opposition. There's no warning this time, darkness simply boils out of the ground in a vast wave, rising up, and up, and up, before crashing down with the force of a vengeful hurricane. Harry calls out another word, raising the dome of shimmering light, but again some unknown instinct calls for another path. You're close to your enemy, so very close, and it's hurt. No time to take it alive, hesitation could cost Harry his life, and maybe even yours too. This creature is powerful, as strong as any you faced with your Companions at your back, and you're alone but for the wizard beside you.
You squeeze your eyes shut, trusting in yours and Dark Sister's senses to guide you, and reach for the power that anchors your very soul. The light of dawn itself shatters the darkness in front of you and you press your eyelids tighter, squeezing away the tears of pain. The Fomor howls in fury, and pain, flailing back from the sudden intrusion of pure sunlight into its domain.
"You," Dark Sister snarls, more emotion in the word than you've ever heard from the blade, and you barely feel the vibration as she drives forward through a splintered darkness to sheath herself in inhuman flesh. A hand closes around your wrist, and you muffle a scream as dark magic tears at your protections, leaking through in places you thought were locked and barred, but are no more secure than an open shutter. "Will not have my charge."
You feel the sudden heat in front of you, a strange feeling beside it, as if the spirit is asking for power. You don't hold back. All the might of a spell of the Ninth Circle pours into the blade of Old Valyria and the heat in front of you intensifies, searing through even your own prodigious resistance. Then the sword drops through empty air.
When you finally blink away the spots of light from your eyes, there is nothing but floating embers before you.
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Snowfire
Polyglot of Chimera
- Location
- Wordcats
I swear this was meant to be a fairer fight. I swear! And then Dark Sister slammed me out of the driver's seat and went on a rampage. There were several high level spells thrown around here, and Viserys had to think fast and hard to get things done in the end, but he comes out of it mostly intact – what the Fomor hit him with before DS vaporised it is going to take some specific magic to recover from, but he has access to that. He can also, quite fortunately, heal people of Blindness. Harry didn't know that was coming, and was a little too focused on his shield spell to be able to make his save. I'm aware that this combat might drag a bit, I actually never intended to show so much, but what do I know about what these characters want to do. Also….yeah. Viserys wasn't really in the mood for taking prisoners after he realised how potentially lethal what he was up against was, and Dark Sister definitely wasn't after the Fomor hurt her charge.
There's metaphysics going on here, which will be explained in the next chapter – coming tomorrow, if all goes well. But to try and explain simply, Dark Sister is a spirit. Spirits, in the world of the Dresden Files, have Power. The older they get, the more they have. Dark Sister is anywhere from four hundred to most of five thousand years old, and I'm tilting towards the thousands end of the scale. And she's the spirit of a weapon, forged to protect the Targaryen bloodline. That makes her rather…active, to my mind. This was one of the bigger metaphysical leaps I've made in this crossover, and I really hope it comes across well. I've been planning on bringing the changes to her forward for a while, and this just seems to be the moment it was meant to happen. Hopefully you enjoy it. Dark Sister certainly did
Edit: also yes, Viserys just threw around Hellfire. Because I found a fun spell he could Bloodwish that would have that metaphysical consequence quite by accident. It's literally in the name of the spell.
There's metaphysics going on here, which will be explained in the next chapter – coming tomorrow, if all goes well. But to try and explain simply, Dark Sister is a spirit. Spirits, in the world of the Dresden Files, have Power. The older they get, the more they have. Dark Sister is anywhere from four hundred to most of five thousand years old, and I'm tilting towards the thousands end of the scale. And she's the spirit of a weapon, forged to protect the Targaryen bloodline. That makes her rather…active, to my mind. This was one of the bigger metaphysical leaps I've made in this crossover, and I really hope it comes across well. I've been planning on bringing the changes to her forward for a while, and this just seems to be the moment it was meant to happen. Hopefully you enjoy it. Dark Sister certainly did
Edit: also yes, Viserys just threw around Hellfire. Because I found a fun spell he could Bloodwish that would have that metaphysical consequence quite by accident. It's literally in the name of the spell.
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- Location
- florida
Goldfish
Friendly Spider-Fish Abomination
- Location
- Formerly of the Far Realm
Dude, that was fucking awesome! It was no trouble at all for me to follow along with the magic being used there.
Really great fight scene. I would love to see the same chapter from Harry's POV.
- Location
- ?????????
The last one sounds amazing.
- Location
- Argentina
Psionics are just for aberrations...
But a bard or a sorcerer. That could work
Goldfish
Friendly Spider-Fish Abomination
- Location
- Formerly of the Far Realm
The Calpina are still children. I think they aren't really appropriate companions for Fey!Renly.
Snowfire
Polyglot of Chimera
- Location
- Wordcats
I think you'll get some of that next chapter, though more from a post-event perspective than a blow-by-blow. Once his eyes are cleared up though, Harry is going to be fucking impressed. And a little scared. Really glad it holds up for you, though. I was worried it went a little long.
Also, for those with some understanding of DF, that was a Lords of Outer Night scale enemy Viserys just went up against, which is why he had to pull out some of the big guns. If Dark Sister hadn't required me to involve her, he would have been using Mythic Power to break out of the will-based attacks. As it is, well, you can see what happened.
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- Location
- Argentina
They are Fey. Don't apply our logic to them.
I foresee an interesting plot forming once one of them sets foot in the Feywild.
- Location
- United States
I agree with Goldfish, no sending kids on a mission like this.
Also no sending creatures that are too rare (we only have 17 CotF and 12 Pseudodragons). We need them to breed before we can comfortably risk them like this.
I think the following composition would be fine:
Renly -- party leader, knight analogue
Little Valyrian -- rogue (if we send him, we're going to need to give him a Ring of Tongues or give everyone else a Ring of Speak with Animals)
Minotaur -- Fighter/bordering on Occult Slayer
Archivist 5 -- perfect excuse to get a true PC out of this
Wizard 5 -- perfect excuse to get a true PC out of this
??? Verdant Wolves -- excellent backup and maybe also mounts if needed?
Advanced Druid Creature Lotus Leshy -- needed divine caster
Equip everyone with Feybane Double Crossbows as a standard item, deck them out with alchemical goodies and potions, give everyone Cold Iron and Adamantine gear, and we're all set. Not to mention the standard adventurer gear we tend to give all starting PCs (PfE, healing belt, etc).
Snowfire
Polyglot of Chimera
- Location
- Wordcats
This is your regular PSA that the following spell exists and is great for anti-Fae work: Iron Stake.
- Location
- Brazil
Oh my god, did you bring out the octokongs?
You did
I bet Harry is having fun with his revenge.
Oh, Hellfire Ray? It's ridiculously strong on its own, like a higher level Lightning Lance, but with Viserys, it's dealing... 3x 20d6+20 damage? Or there abouts. About 270 damage. Unresistable, too.
And then you literally damn their souls to hell. Could it be a nice little cheat when fighting immortals?
I'd be more impressed if they didn't go down like chumps in Changes
Tfw when Dark Sister is two and a half times older than most gods in the setting.
- Location
- United States
That reminder is appreciated!
That is an excellent spell for adventurers running through the Feywild. And also slightly more circumspect than Junglerazer which is just a line of pure devastation for all things fey.
Snowfire
Polyglot of Chimera
- Location
- Wordcats
I'd be more impressed if they didn't go down like chumps in Changes
In their defence, they went down like chumps to Lea. The third most powerful Fae in all of Winter after Granny Winter and Mab.
Can confirm. Was satisfying.
- Location
- United States
- Location
- Brazil
Mystic Power? Dragon Dreams?
Mystic Power? Did we Nat 1 a will save or something? Should be rocking a Will of +28 or so.
We will be asking for a refund on our Soulfire Bracers. Geez.
And I just realize how incredible that name is for DF.
No, fourth. Santa Claus outranks her, I believe. /nitpick
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Crake
I AM THE STORM THAT IS APPROACHING
- Location
- USA
Harry, upon learning Dark Sister's name: "That isn't ominous in the least."
Viserys: "I took it up because the thought of my sister wielding it terrified everyone else too much."
Harry: "Why learn to use a sword when you could do... whatever it is you do."
Viserys: "Because it was expected of me."
Harry: "You learned to wield the sword because it was expected of you?"
Viserys, playfully misinterpreting the context of the inquiry: "Responsibility can manifest in the smallest of things. Though I learned more of how to wield the sword from having them swung at me, if we are being completely honest..."
Dark Sister: "He grew to be... adequate, eventually. It is somewhat irritating how canny he is with me, when previous wielders took up the blade with a will of their own."
Harry: "I--"
Harry realizes he cheats too, because he's bullshit, just different bullshit: "Fair."
Viserys: "I took it up because the thought of my sister wielding it terrified everyone else too much."
Harry: "Why learn to use a sword when you could do... whatever it is you do."
Viserys: "Because it was expected of me."
Harry: "You learned to wield the sword because it was expected of you?"
Viserys, playfully misinterpreting the context of the inquiry: "Responsibility can manifest in the smallest of things. Though I learned more of how to wield the sword from having them swung at me, if we are being completely honest..."
Dark Sister: "He grew to be... adequate, eventually. It is somewhat irritating how canny he is with me, when previous wielders took up the blade with a will of their own."
Harry: "I--"
Harry realizes he cheats too, because he's bullshit, just different bullshit: "Fair."