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

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Hey guys do you think we are going to get some pcs after the festival?

Oh and by the way we need to make a holiday for the founding of our empire and maybe the freedom of the slaves in the cities that had them. Call it freedom day or something.
 
FREEDOM fUCK YEAH SAVING MOTHERUCKING SLAVES FROM SOME MOTHERFUCKING DEViLS. THE DRAGON KING KULLS SOME NOKBS AND FREES US FROM OPRESSION.
 
MTB said:
So, you want to enforce a dream sequence?
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Click to shrink...
*stands at the border of reality*
*screams furiously*
FFFFUUUUUUCK YOOOOOOU INEVITABLES!!!
SUUUUUCK MY CONTINUITY-BREAKING AAAAAASS!!!

(All else aside, I'd stil llike to expirience some time-travel in this quest, fey bullshit aside of course)
 
Familiar face... familiar face....

It's not Varys. It's not Tor.

Could be Sseth?

Perhaps Tia-chan?
 
egoo said:
*stands at the border of reality*
*screams furiously*
FFFFUUUUUUCK YOOOOOOU INEVITABLES!!!
SUUUUUCK MY CONTINUITY-BREAKING AAAAAASS!!!

(All else aside, I'd stil llike to expirience some time-travel in this quest, fey bullshit aside of course)
Click to expand...
Click to shrink...
I meant something like Bobby Ewing in the shower ...
 
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Interlude CCCLXXI: As the Sands Part
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    • As the Sands Part​

    Fifteenth Day of the Eighth Month 293 AC

    It is as though the desert itself is whispering with the voices of the damned, as though the violated earth hated the living, the beating hearts, and the blood flowing freely in their veins, Rina thought as she trod upon the alleyways of lost Quthresh. The others sensed it too of course, the knight who wore his resolve like a banner upon the field of war, the woman who walked with the power of order and chaos, air and water, earth and flame woven into her soul, the sorcerer priest of lost Valyria, the slave turned lady and master sorceress. Each in their own way had faced that timeless gnawing loathing, but Rina Cox alone among them had felt it, had drowned in it until there was nothing in the world but hate. Her sole rebellion against the evil that had taken her was that she had remembered to hate it as well.

    She knew that Lord Vanor had confided in the others over the sleepless night whose vigil had come to naught that he hoped to bargain with whatever dwelt here, to claim the treasure the king desired and then go in peace, though he did not have much hope of it. Rina had none.

    As they approached the temple, turned mine in ignorance and desperation, sands swirled and arose that earth and sky could not be told one from the other. When the cursed wind howled in agony she only gripped the haft of her mace all the tighter, taking comfort in the feeling of living weirwood under her fingers. Where had that girl gone who feared the anger of her father, the judgement of the gods? she wondered in that fleeting moment when the power of the sandstorm battled against the Lady Lya's mastery of the air. Who was she that she would stand here at the ends of the earth holding a desecrated weapon forged of the Seven themselves?

    The dead came, dark figures against the sand, only the eyes of molten gold giving lie to the illusion that they were living men caught in the madness. They cried out in the tongue of these lands which she had never learned and yet she knew their words as surely as she knew her own name. She knew the agony beyond words, she knew their hearts' desire to rest in death at last. This she would give them, Rina vowed.


    They died pierced by conjured ice and reaped by blade of dragonsteel wrought, yet on they came wave after wave until it seemed to Rina almost as though all the waste were filled with the unquiet dead. Wherever they drew close they choked the life from foes, drowning them in sand and the salt of unshed tears.

    Dark lightning flashed from Lady Strycos' fingers as she twisted shadows to her will, piercing wraiths through the hollowness where their hearts once beat. Through bloodied lips spoke Malarys, his battle prayer ripping through the insubstantial hole like the sound of brazen horns and all at once the battle fell silent, the dead fought no more but drew back, not in fear, for who could such as them feel fear. They were waiting, Rina knew as she gasped for breath alongside her companions.

    "You dare step here, little worm?" a voice painful like needles behind Rina's eyes spoke. "Lord of ashes, master of nothing, heir to madness that blighted the world."

    "Come forth and say it in flesh not as a spirit upon the wind, if you would dare it!" the mage lord called, his words cold and cutting mockery.

    "Flesh?" The laughter was like unto the breaking of bone. "I have not worn flesh since before your kindred forgot yourselves, since before you thought yourselves lords of the earth and not the sons of slaves and beggars." A ragged salt crusted horror, shinning with a dreadful inner light rose from the dunes, as though birthed from some desiccated womb. Pale maggots shone in the hollows of its eyes. It bore a whip longer than it was tall.


    A sphere of amber flew towards it from Lady Lya's hand, but the sands rose up and cast it aside as the horror spoke its torment into being. Rina felt it leech the strength of her limbs, but her wind was undaunted, the endless cold she had so long drawn from with fear now her bulwark, hers in truth.

    As the lesser dead swarmed in again to guard their lord only Ser Lonmouth moved with uncanny swiftness to tear through them, but it was not enough for he seemed poised to dive back into the sands before doom fell upon him on dark wings and blades of Adamantine. The Sisters of Vengeance had come.

    Seeing them, Rina knew no fear and no disdain, she saw only her chance. Half lunging half-rolling through the sand, she swung her mace alight with light bright and cold as the Dawnstar, smashing one of its knees asunder. As it toppled she could see fear in the ancient's face, and she despised it for clinging to this wretched mockery of life. Yet just as Oathkeeper fell she heard from its withered lips words she did not expect: "She comes, she comes, beware..."

    The wind grew silent, the dead departed, but as the curtain of sand fell away the five travelers saw that they were not alone. There before them stood a women in the red robes of a priestess of R'hllor the Red from whom power shone like the light of a great unquenchable flame. Young she seemed yet ancient were her eyes, words soft as poisoned honey: "So it has been foretold that the Dragon shall open the way, that I may know him to be true or false. Tell me then, why is he not here to be judged?"


    "You presume much on scant acquaintance, my lady," Lord Vanor said dryly, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. "If you would try to best us where the creature who guarded this place could not then do so, but do not presume that we are under the dominion of whatever fate you think yourself the servant of."

    She looked upon them each in part, weighing them by some strange measure: "The servant of a fallen god, a mummer who has lost herself in shadow, a knight so very far from home, a child who takes upon herself the craft of souls..." Then her eyes fell on Rina, alight with loathing: "And a spy for the Enemy. Such an ill-timed gathering..."

    "If you know what dwells in the North, if you know to call it Enemy, then I will ask of you, not from fear but for sanity's sake, to bide a while and speak to the King before you would make an enemy of him. Let flames old and new not consume each other that the Lord of Nothingness will hold dominion over all," Lord Vanor spoke.

    She had waited for them to fight the guardian, to be killed or weakened. How could he even think...     Rina gasped in surprise as the priestess nodded slowly, almost as though against her will.

    OOC: Malarys needed to roll a 50 after bonuses to get her to talk... and he did. Divine Insight is a hell of a thing.
     
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    • ... Melisandre was near the Orb of Dragonkind?

    If she makes any moves we don't like, she dies. This is the kind of threat that we cannot tolerate.
     
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