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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:
I envy you mutants who are apparently more evolved than the rest of us. My sister's best friend was born without any wisdom teeth at all. /envy

I couldn't even use the pain medication they gave me. Turns out that Oxycodone makes me violently nauseous, which I didn't know before taking them for pain after having my wisdom teeth removed. That wasn't a fun experience...
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Get us his DNA, we shall splice that coding into our children!

(Pretty sure that the chance of complications is outweighed by the ethical value of "your kids won't have wisdom teeth")
 
zxzx24 said:
Then what does constitute prayer for Viserys?

Open question to everyone as well I suppose.

Also @DragonParadox give us a!!!! Royce interlude, yeah.
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Submitting to the god as the higher authority, knowing in your heart that they know better, and so if they choose not to answer your request, it was the right decision(which don't necessarily mean your request was better off not being fulfilled, but you acknowledge that if they choose not to bless you, then that's not because of callousness, but because they need the power for more important things, or want you to do it yourself) Basically prayer is when you ask something you see as a higher power for a favor.
 
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Canon Omake: Brothers in Woe
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    • Brothers in Woe​

    Most who saw their fight in the Circle of Battle would have never thought that Mors Umber and Bonifer Hasty would be happily talking and drinking together in the Golden Hearth. The two opposite in nearly ever way from what people could see, a northerner giant of a man who seemed to live up to his savage First Men origins and a southron knight dedicated to the Seven, by all rights they should have at least avoided each other when possible. However the two men were more alike than what their surface forms would show.

    Both were honorable warriors who had come to Sorcerer's Deep to take part of the tourney not for simple gold and glory, but with deeper purposes in mind born of the losses of those they cared about.

    Mors Umber was a old man who had lost his family due to events that all his skill as a warrior could not stop, his daughter captured by wildlings years ago while he was away, his sons lost fighting in Robert's Rebellion for a cause he didn't truly believe in, and his wife passing due to sickness beyond what the maester could do. He had been content to slowly die off as much of what he loved was gone before learning of Sorcerer's Deep and the possible chance of finding his daughter with the Dragon's magic if she still lived, if she did and he learned where she was he planned to cross the Wall himself if he had to and slaughter all the wildlings in his way until he could return her safely to Last Hearth or die trying.

    Bonifer Hasty in comparison was in love with the past queen of Westeros, Rhaella Targaryen, and in his youth had foolishly hoped that they would be wed together. However she was married to the Mad King and died fleeing Robert's Rebellion leaving him heartbroken and hollow, only his faith in the Seven keeping him going and now the promise to serve her son and daughter to preserve her legacy. He would never love another woman like he did her again and knew his line would end with him, leaving him conflicted on he could best serve the King in his final years.

    For hours did these two men speak of their hopes, dreams, drives, failings, regrets, and more while deep in their cups as many men are wont to do. Where before they respected each other's honor and skill at arms they soon learned to respect each other's character as well. Despite their origins, their faith, and so many other things that separated the two men born halfway across a continent from each other their friendship was one that was fast growing.

    These two old men who were sure they would have killed each other anywhere and anytime else under different circumstances slowly started to become friends in truth.

    After a night of hearty drinking and more than a few drunken exploits, one of which involved signing up for the team battles together, Bonifer swore to Mors that if he did learn that his daughter still lived he would assist in returning her home. Whatever oaths he would take having to be left on hold as he did not just was right as a knight, but as a friend.

    In turn Mors swore to Bonifer that he would always be welcome in Last Hearth and to repay the favor one day in any way he could.

    From that day forward a strong bond was built that would see the men through many a future hardships and who knows what more. Long has it been said that man's greatest strength was not strength of arm or intelligence, but the bonds they forged with each other to confront even the greatest challenges presented to them.

    And pity the foes who sought to block the path of these two brother in woes.
     
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    • Mors: "We need to go beyond! BEYOND THE WALL!"

    Bonifer: "Let's not be too..."

    Mors: "Don't you dare."

    Bonifer: :cool:

    Bonifer: "Hasty."
     
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    Well if I wasn't tempted to push to send the Scholarium's best and brightest out beyond the wall to get some practical experience before I sure as hell am tempted now. Give the old men some help.
     
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    Massgamer said:
    Brothers in Woe​

    Most who saw their fight in the Circle of Battle would have never thought that Mors Umber and Bonifer Hasty would be happily talking and drinking together in the Golden Hearth. The two opposite in nearly ever way from what people could see, a northerner giant of a man who seemed to live up to his savage First Men origins and a southron knight dedicated to the Seven, by all rights they should have at least avoided each other when possible. However the two men were more alike than what their surface forms would show.

    Both were honorable warriors who had come to Sorcerer's Deep to take part of the tourney not for simple gold and glory, but with deeper purposes in mind born of the losses of those they cared about.

    Mors Umber was a old man who had lost his family due to events that all his skill as a warrior could not stop, his daughter captured by wildlings years ago while he was away, his sons lost fighting in Robert's Rebellion for a cause he didn't truly believe in, and his wife passing due to sickness beyond what the maester could do. He had been content to slowly die off as much of what he loved was gone before learning of Sorcerer's Deep and the possible chance of finding his daughter with the Dragon's magic if she still lived, if she did and he learned where she was he planned to cross the Wall himself if he had to and slaughter all the wildlings in his way until he could return her safely to Last Hearth or die trying.

    Bonifer Hasty in comparison was in love with the past queen of Westeros, Rhaella Targaryen, and in his youth had foolishly hoped that they would be wed together. However she was married to the Mad King and died fleeing Robert's Rebellion leaving him heartbroken and hollow, only his faith in the Seven keeping him going and now the promise to serve her son and daughter to preserve her legacy. He would never love another woman like he did her again and knew his line would end with him, leaving him conflicted on he could best serve the King in his final years.

    For hours did these two men speak of their hopes, dreams, drives, failings, regrets, and more while deep in their cups as many men are wont to do. Where before they respected each other's honor and skill at arms they soon learned to respect each other's character as well. Despite their origins, their faith, and so many other things that separated the two men born halfway across a continent from each other their friendship was one that was fast growing.

    These two old men who were sure they would have killed each other anywhere and anytime else under different circumstances slowly started to become friends in truth.

    After a night of hearty drinking and more than a few drunken exploits, one of which involved signing up for the team battles together, Bonifer swore to Mors that if he did learn that his daughter still lived he would assist in returning her home. Whatever oaths he would take having to be left on hold as he did not just was right as a knight, but as a friend.

    In turn Mors swore to Bonifer that he would always be welcome in Last Hearth and to repay the favor one day in any way he could.

    From that day forward a strong bond was built that would see the men through many a future hardships and who knows what more. Long has it been said that man's greatest strength was not strength of arm or intelligence, but the bonds they forged with each other to confront even the greatest challenges presented to them.

    And pity the foes who sought to block the path of these two brother in woes.
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    Yes! Team Greybeards, to arms!
     
    Azel said:
    [X] Do an interview with Yrael
    -[X] Who is he? Lord of Mantarys, sworn to Viserys. Formerly grunt in the celestial hosts.
    -[X] What's he doing right now? Bringing peace and prosperity to the people along the Demon Road, slaying monsters and raiders who plagued them since the time of the Doom.
    -[X] For those people from afar, what is Mantarys like?
    -[X] Any comments on the vile Masters of Slavers Bay, their attacks on the realm and their assassins?
    -[X] Any personal goals or dreams for the future he would share with the audience?

    Never underestimate the power of a literal angel speaking your propaganda for you.
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    I love it. A mere legion archon is going to wield influence. Direct, real influence over the lives of not thousands, but millions of people.

    We could build a castle out of all the bricks pit fiends, solars, star Archons, and other high powered outsider are going to shit.

    @Massgamer that was fantastic by the by.
     
    Interlude CCCLXXXIX: Eyes of the Secret City
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    • Eyes of the Secret City ​

    Twentieth Day of the Eighth Month 293 AC

    Relor 'the Lucky' took pride in the name he had been given by friend and foe alike, though not for the reason one might think. He did not believe in luck or fate. He believed in odds, he played the odds, and when others called it luck he smiled to himself and called it triumph, yet on days like this it was hard to keep that fact firmly in mind. Here he was taking tea with a lord of the old blood who had likely never gambled more than five marks in his life, though he could have frittered away five thousand without noticing. Relor was also looking out the window of what had briefly become one of the most sought-after rooms in all of Braavos.

    The roar of the distant crowd filtered in from the great enchanted mirror.

    "Though we know not their names, you have seen their deeds. With spear and sword they have bested mighty opponents, many shields splintered and armor rent, though through it all they have fought with gallantry and skill..."

    The sort of bets they would be making in the stands... Relor held back a sigh of disappointment. He was playing a longer game, and for a wonder one in which one needed to lose for him to win.

    "Have you been there in person?" Tormo Fregar asked, motioning at the mirror.

    "To Sorcerer's Deep?" Relor asked.

    "No, to the festival," the nobleman replied. "I know sorcerers have a way to travel in an instant from place to place just as you speak with your sand. That is how the banner of the Silver Serpent came to fly so far, is it not?"

    It was only the reminder that the man before him could send assassins after his head that kept Relor from laughing, even so it was a close thing. Relor had only been in the employ of Silver Serpent Enterprises for a little over two moon turns, but in that time he had learned that there was surprisingly little magic to it, certainly not having sorcerer lords carry cargo about like mules. "Honorable lord, we carry goods by ship just as any other merchant company does. It is the quality of our goods and the depth of our contracts in far off places that has enriched the company so."

    The portly Keyholder did not look convinced, but neither did he press the matter. Being under the Silver Serpent was not quite as good a protection as proclaiming direct allegiance to the Three-Headed Dragon these days, but in Braavos at least it came close. The rich did not want to risk overturning the source of profits flowing into the Purple Harbor like the proverbial 'river of milk from the Moon's own tits,' and the poor had found a new hero far more impressive than the bravo of the hour to cheer for. Cheer they did down in the square, and not just for the show of blood and sweat brought so close so swiftly, but for the promise of the future. Men feared the unknown but they desired it also, Relor had long since learned.

    For a time brooding silence was the only accompaniment to the founts of distant battle and applause close at hand, before being abruptly shattered: "My second-born son went to this festival, this gathering of the bizarre, seeking fame and fortune, seeking land in the east of all things rather than helping his bother manage the family holdings when I die. Will the Dragon King grant such a thing?"

    "I just work for his company, I don't know the man," Relor shrugged, the lie passing his lips with practiced ease. As a matter of fact he had known him for almost four years, or at least he had known Corlys Waters. However, that had to do with the part of his work that was never supposed to reach the light of day. His crew had come a long way from the dockside thugs of Gorthos' day. These days they were peddlers of information more than blood, though they did not shy away from it when they needed to.

    Seeing that his latest answer had also left the nobleman unsatisfied, Relor added: "It is said he rewards all those who are competent in his service as it is proper. I cannot imagine a son of a House as illustrious as yours not being so skilled."

    "Yes, that is what I keep hearing," Tormo grimaced, his mustache seeming to catch a brief life of its own with the gesture. "Let us hope he seems more than skill in brute fighting in my son. That..." he motioned to the mirror that now showed the spearman pushing the other man to the ground and leveraging his weapon to slip between the gaps in his armor, "...is a waste of a good mind and of coin to host it."

    Relor briefly wondered if the man was deaf or just stupid. Either way his money would still spend well, and his secrets would be worth no small amount. Plastering a commiserating smile on his face, Relor began slowly moving the conversation to the sale he had hoped to do tonight.

    ***​

    Aleso Fregar smiled instinctively at the silk clad beauty looking at him through the pink tinted glass of the brothel... then he noticed the small sharp horns poking out of her forehead. In any other place he would have taken that as just sign of mummery to squeeze a bit more coin from the customer, but Sorcerer's Deep deserved well its name. Here it seemed the otherworldly was commonplace and magic only a breath away. It was not just the conjurers plying their trade, strange priests proclaiming the powers of their gods, or tiny dragons flying lazily overhead.

    The rope they used here was too hard to cut with a dagger, he'd seen it with his own eyes. The sails were hardy enough to last through any storm that left the ship afloat, not that there could be storm here according to the locals. He had not spotted the flying serpent yet, but he was not about to deny its existence either.

    "You coming or going?" a man with a strange strong accent called from behind him.

    Turning to answer, Aleso noticed something in its own way even stranger then the bull man who head beaten him in the Circle two days ago—a Dothraki warrior, bare-chested and in horsehide pants, his braid still intact... here on an island. He'd seen sellswords from the Great Grass Sea before, but those had been men who turned their backs on the khalasars to dare the 'poison water'. This one looked like he had just gotten off his horse to raid some piss poor village in the Disputed Lands... which weren't disputed anymore. Maybe the Dothraki being here wasn't so strange after all.

    "Pondering my options, friend," Aleso replied with a smile.

    "Much to see, much to do here, whores not even best part," the Dothraki replied, a surprisingly deep sentiment from one who could barely speak the trade tongue.

    Then again, here perhaps you just needed eyes to see and ears to hear.

    OOC: Sadly, I could not think of a way to put the rumors in here without it feeling forced so they will be in the next update.
     
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