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

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Winning vote (slightly re-ordered so it's sequential):

[] Tentatively agree to arrange a holdfast for her and her husband somewhere at a later date.
-[] Ask Maege to visit the Werebear Cave. If she agree, examine the cave with the full weight of our magic, including Greater Arcane Sight and a Wild Arcana duplicated Vision spell.
-[] Contact Brynden's simulacrum in King's Landing after divining whether or not it would be busy/watched via Whispering Brazier to ask about the Bear Cave. Chances are he's not operating it right now, though, and it would probably take him hours to dream sift for the right lore regardless. Unless he just predicted which questions we would ask months in advance based on which Houses we were likely to contact, because that is totally an Uncle Brynden thing to do.
 
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Part MMDCCXXXIX: Tale of Stone and Blood
  • Threadmarks
    • Tale of Stone and Blood ​

    Twenty-Ninth Day of the Eighth Month 293 AC

    "That can certainly be arranged," you agree, somewhat tentatively. You certainly do not have endless lands to dispose of, but Alysane's services, both in your studies and in battle, would be of marked worth, and her husband is an experienced mage if one of no great power.

    Both Northerners recite their oaths clearly and accept your pledge in return, though the solemn moment does not last very long as their daughter bursts back in the room having heard her father singing and wanting to hear stories of her own. So tales you tell her, snippets here and there from your adventures in Braavos and beyond, the sort of things a venturesome child might want to make into games. She seems particularly impressed by your accounts of Vee, though thankfully you do eventually manage to persuade her that a snake would not be a good pet to have.

    ***​

    Maege Mormont does not seem surprised at your request to see the cave, perhaps having reasoned that any sorcerer would be as eager as Walter to descend into a place of magic. Just as with him she asks that you change nothing, for it has endured as a place of refuge and of hidden strength for House Mormont from time out of mind.

    Skinchangers are part of the green magic of the Old Gods, and Bloodraven would have warned us of any peril here when he spoke of the North, Varys whispers in your mind, the thoughts echoing your own.

    You give your word and follow Alysane from the chamber, down the long narrow corridors and winding steps, through the great storehouses meant to carry Bear Island through the winter, filled with the smell of roots, smoked meat, and salted fish. None of them are anywhere close to full.

    "We are doing all we can," Alysane says, noticing your measuring gaze. "Jorah was more concerned with that bitch's whims than doing his duty, and mother is still cleaning up after him."

    "I was not casting judgement, only getting a measure of what is here. As I told your mother, there will be a Braavosi trader looking to help grow Bear Island with coin and new ideas soon."

    Her eyes widen in understanding. "Oh... right, the passage is this way."

    The trap door opens with a crack to reveal a dark passage descending into the bedrock beneath the keep. The rush of air that greets you is surprisingly fresh, hinting that there may be other entrances to the complex and indeed not a hundred steps down the ground levels off and starts branching into three, then five, and seven, some of the openings bearing the mark of ancient picks and chisels.

    "More storerooms?" you guess.

    "From a long time ago, centuries before the Starks knelt," she nods. Not 'before the dragons came', you note. You imagine your family must have hardly seemed real in this distant corner of the North. The most they would have seen of any dragon would have been Good Queen Alysanne flying to the Wall.

    On she leads you through the dark, her eyes piercing the blackness as easily as yours while Ser Richard makes use of the power bound in enchanted silver, the walls grow close, the path so tight in places the stone has been worn by the scraping of uncounted visitors passing by, but it is only after the tightest choke point of them all that you begin to see markings upon the walls, faded and worn by time and water trickling from above, you catch a glimpse of what might be lions or some of those 'saber-cats' and great rams crowned with curling horns.

    "Come on, it's a little father ahead," your guide calls, her voice thickening with a hint of a growl, though her form is fully human.

    The tunnel opens suddenly into a vast empty space, wider and longer than even your gaze can pierce, though what you can see is certainly remarkable for the paintings here have withstood the passage of time much better, the chamber is filled with them, not just the walls but even the ceiling some ten feet above. Among the familiar beasts you spot a humped beast with a single curling horn, much more solidly built than a Skagosi unicorn, bringing to mind some of the beasts one might find in a master's menagerie in Volantis or Tyrosh.


    Beside it are whole herds of beasts that are to cattle what dire wolves are to sheep dogs, every line of their forms screaming peril, the wrath in their eyes almost seeming to come alive off the stone.


    And then of course there are the bears, the most common drawings in all the cave inked only in ocher, they show a distinctly unbear-like manner, following each other in a long line, not just mothers and cubs, but a long line following in each other's footsteps along the length of the cave, leading one on to the most unique mark of them all


    At the far end of the cavern not drawn upon the stone but imprinted upon it are thousands of hand-prints, the smell of blood hanging in the air around them. Instinctively Alysane places her hand on the freshest marking, the contours matching perfectly. "You smell strange when you are in here," she says faintly.


    You make a mental note to ask her about that as your gaze slides along the wall to the place human hands are replaced with bear paws. It is not an abrupt transition, more like a slow passing, the last bear's mark lost in a sea of fingers. It is not particularly hard to guess what had happened here, but the question of what had begun it all, what power lingers here remains.

    A wish you speak into the ether, reaching out to Bloodraven's construct host: "Do you know anything of the cave beneath Mormont Keep? It seems to have something to do with skinchanging into bears."

    After but a moment's pause he replies: "There was a bear-spirit there, it thought the Singers weak and men stronger. Beware lest it think you a rival, if it lingers."

    Yet as the Last Greenseer's voice fades you see no magic in the cave and feel no presence, whatever once dwelt here is either quiescent or in hiding. You lay your hand upon the stone and call your magic rushing in, a thousand whisperers in the still air, and shadows twisting to the form of times long past. Looking backwards down the thread of time you see the bloody touches grow more complex, words half understood...

    "The wolf has come as foretold. We bow no more to the Salt Men and their defilers..." An old man on his last legs, likely to die passing on but a little of his wisdom to the son or daughter who knelt before Rodrik Stark and was given the island.

    Then rituals spoken with confidence, calling upon the wrath of the bear to strike down their foes, and its wisdom to trap and slay them in the night. They wear no lordly seal those ancient wargs and shapechangers, but the pelts of their kills and blades of bronze that look much like the Thenns would mark it.

    At the very edge of your power, as visions fade and words falls to whispers a deep rumbling voice speaks: "What do you seek?

    What do you answer?

    [] Write in

    OOC: Some really good rolls to initiate communication without designing a ritual for the task.
     
    Last edited:
  • Threadmarks
    • Tale of Stone and Blood ​

    Twenty-Ninth Day of the Eighth Month 293 AC

    "That can certainly be arranged," you agree, somewhat tentatively. You certainly do not have endless lands to dispose of, but Alysane's services, both in your studies and in battle would be of marked worth and her husband is an experienced mage if one of no great power.

    Both Northeners recite their oaths clearly and accept your pledge in return, though the solemn moment does not last very long as their daughter bursts back in the room having heard her father singing and wanting to hear stories of her own. So tales you tell her, snippets here and there from your adventures in Braavos and beyond, the sort of things a venturesome child might want to make into games. She seems particularly impressed by your accounts of Vee, though thankfully you do eventually manage to persuade her that a snake would not be a good pet to have.

    ***​

    Maege Mormont does not seem surprised at your request to see the cave, perhaps having reasoned that any sorcerer would be as eager as Walter to descend into a place of magic. Just as with him she asks that you change nothing, for it has endured as a place of refuge and of hidden strength for House Mormont from time out of mind.

    Wargs are part of the green magic of the Old Gods and Bloodraven would have warned us of any peril here when he spoke of the North, Varys whispers in your mind, the thoughts echoing your own.

    You give your word and follow Alysane from the chamber, down the long narrow corridors and winding steps, though the great storehouses meant to carry Bear Island though the winter, filled with the smell of roots, smoked meat and salted fish. None of them are anywhere close to full.

    "We are doing all we can," Alysane says, noticing your measuring gaze. "Jorah was more concerned with that bitch's whims than doing his duty and mother is still cleaning up after him."

    "I was not casting judgement, only getting a measure of what is here, as I told your mother there will be a Braavosi trader looking to help grow Bear Island with coin and new ideas soon."

    Her eyes widen in understanding. "Oh... right, the passage is this way."

    The trap door opens with a crack to reveal a dark passage descending into the bedrock beneath the keep. The rush of air that greets you is surprisingly fresh, hinting that there may be other entrances of the complex and indeed not a hundred steps down the levels off and starts branching into three, then five, and seven, some of the openings bearing the mark of ancient pick and chisel.

    "More storerooms?" you guess.

    "From a long time ago, centuries before the Starks knelt," she nods. Not 'before the dragons came', you note. You imagine your family must have hardly seemed real in this distant corner of the North. The most they would have seen on any dragon would have been Good Queen Alysanne flying to the Wall.

    On she leads you through the dark, her eyes piercing the blackness as easily as yours while Ser Richard makes use of the power bound in enchanted silver, the walls grow close, the path so tight in places the stone has been worn by the scrape of uncounted visitors passing by, but it is only after the tightest choke-point of them all that you begin to see markings upon the walls, faded and worn by time and water trickling from above you catch a glimpse of what might be lions or some of those 'saber-cats', great rams crowned with curling horns.

    "Come on, it's a little father ahead," your guide calls, her voice thickening with a hint of a growl, though her form is fully human.

    The tunnel open suddenly into a vast empty space, wider and longer than even your gaze can pierce, though what you can see is certainly remarkable for the paintings here have withstood the passage of time much better, the chamber is filled with them, not just the walls but even the ceiling some ten feet above. Among the familiar beasts you spot a humped beast with a single curling horn, much more solidly built than a Skagosi unicorn, bringing to mind some of the beasts one might find in a master's menagerie in Volantis or Tyrosh


    Beside it are whole herds of beasts that are to cattle what dire wolves are to sheep dogs, every line of their forms screaming peril, the wrath in their eyes almost seeming to come alive off the stone.


    And then of course there are the bears, the most common drawings in all the cave inked only in ocher, they show a distinctly unbear-like manner, following each other in a long line, not just mothers and cubs, but a long line following in each other's footsteps along the length of the cave, leading one on to the most unique mark of them all


    At the far end of the cavern not drawn upon the stone but imprinted upon it are thousands of hand-prints, the hand smell of blood hanging in the air around them. Instinctively Alysane places her hand on the freshest marking, the contours matching perfectly. "You smell strange when you are in here," she says faintly.


    You make a mental note to ask her about that as your gaze slides along the wall to the place human hands are replaced with bear paws. It is not an abrupt transition,more like a slow passing, the last bear's mark lost in a sea of fingers. It is not particularly hard to guess what had happened here, but the question of what had begun it all, what power lingers here remains.

    A wish you speak into the ether, reaching out to Bloodraven's construct host: "Do you know anything of the cave beneath Mormont Keep? It seems to have something to do with skin-changing into bears."

    After but a moment's pause he replies: "There was a bear-spirit there, it thought the Singers weak and men stronger. Beware lest it think you a rival, if it lingers."

    Yet as the Last Greenseer's voice fades you see no magic in the cave and feel no presence, whatever once dwelt here is either quiescent or in hiding. You lay your hand upon the stone and call your magic rushing in, a thousand whisperers in the still air, and shadows twisting to the form of times long past. Looking backwards down the thread of time you see the bloody touches grow more complex, words half understood...

    "The wolf has come as foretold. We bow no more to the Salt Men and their defilers..." An old man on his last legs, likely to die passing on but a little of his wisdom to the son or daughter who knelt before Rodrik Stark and was given the island.

    Then rituals spoken with confidence, calling upon the wrath of the bear to strike their foes, and its wisdom to trap and slay them in the night. They wear no lordly seal those ancient wargs and shape-changers, but the pelts of their kills and blades of bronze that look much like the Thenns would make it.

    At the very edge of your power, as visions fade and words falls to whispers a deep rumbling voice speaks: "What do you Seek?"

    What do you answer?

    [] Write in

    OOC: Some really good rolls to initiate communication without designing a ritual for the task.
    Great world building here, DP. The atmosphere and cave paintings, along with the implied history, gave me the chills, especially the wall of hand prints.

    I made a few minor edits, mostly spelling corrections with an added comma or two. It's spoiler'd instead of quoted to make it easier to copy over due to the spoiler'd pictures.
     
    Goldfish said:
    Great world building here, DP. The atmosphere and cave paintings, along with the implied history, gave me the chills, especially the wall of hand prints.

    I made a few minor edits, mostly spelling corrections with an added comma or two. It's spoiler'd instead of quoted to make it easier to copy over due to the spoiler'd pictures.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    Thanks. Edits added in. Next up the inquisition/arcanum fight.
     
    [X] "The Long Night comes again. The people of Bear Island, and those who would call them allies, must prepare to fight the endless Winter. Would you lend them your strength?
     
    I've updated the Armory page to take into account what we gave Team Bear. We voted to give each of them a PfE ring, a Healing Belt, a Duskwood Longbow, and +1 weapons, including giving the +1 Quarterstaff to the Druid of the team.
     
    [X] Goldfish

    "Shit's going south and about to get a lot worse real quick. Get your best asskicking shoes on cause we've all got a lot of work to do."
     
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