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

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[X] Crake

What do you even say to a stranger you just resurrected because they died on the job? "you forgot your clock out before leaving the plane", maybe "this is definitely counting against your sick days"?:V
 
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Adhoc vote count started by DragonParadox on Dec 11, 2020 at 3:41 AM, finished with 26 posts and 12 votes.
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Interlude CMLXVI: Old Ways, Old Foes
  • Threadmarks
    • Old Ways, Old Foes ​

    Eleventh Day of the Fourth Month 294 AC

    Oldtown had not changed from the last time Ceria saw it. On the surface it was a bustling city filled with life, light and color, the smell of the sea salt mingling with the tang of spices and teas from the east, mostly enough to cover the less pleasant spells of city life at least if your stuck close to the better quays. But if you scratched that fine-varnished surface, if you walked less crowded streets, where the silences hung heavy and the widows werebared with iron then you might catch the whiff of rot, fish and something stranger still that mortal senses were not quite adept at understanding. Almost without meaning to her eyes slid to the dark shape of the Hightower. A shit place to build a city and always had been. From above her and around her a voice without sound like the memory of thunder and the gasps of dying wind agreed.

    "Denys, take Ting, Ser Kennos, Mors and Wisdom Velen and speak to the guards while the rest of us look up the Lantern Bearers... oh, and try to stay out of trouble this time as much as you possibly can," Ceria said without much hope. Denys could find trouble like a loadstone drew iron, especially if there was magic to unravel or damsels fair to save. Gods and Powers preserve them if he ever found both in one.

    He had the grace to look sheepish, not that she had any expectation of that keeping him back for long. Still, between the monk and the phoenix there should be enough wisdom not to charge into trouble at the drop of a hat. It would take at least two hats...

    Ceria headed out with all the confidence and poise the guise of wealthy foreign traveler would allow, quite satisfied she would not have to explain why she had a phoenix following from above.

    Though the Lantern Bearers were about what one expected from an organization that had been dealing with monsters crawling from the sea and dark places for years with hardly any help, which is to say suspicious as septons in a whorehouse and about as ill-disposed, a letter from the King was enough to get them to share what little they knew about Ceria's quarry.

    "Ain't many fey spirits bold enough to linger in this city. We've had run-ins with the blue ones, mostly to help than to harm. They care more for killing monsters than keeping folk safe but that ain't an altogether uncommon sentiment in the ranks either. Other fey crazy enough to stay in town... start at the fish market, that's where a lot of odd things wash up eventually, a lot of desperate people selling things they don't really understand..."

    "Sounds delightful," Ceria sighed. She had not been expecting the thought about fish guts to be prophetic. "Do you have anyone who can guide us so we don't step on too many toes, being that we are 'Servants of a Pretender King and all'?" Her smile said all there was to say about the supposed rule of Joffrey Baratheon and the regency of his mother.

    The grey haired Lantern Bearer gave a brief horse laugh, the sound of someone who hadn't found cause to do so in a while. "Oh aye. Lord Hightower hasn't put up the Dragon banner yet, must still be washing the bloodstains off from the last time."

    ***​

    "Guide me," Ceria whispered in the Old Tongue, speaking not to any mortal being, but to the One she knew was always watching her from Above and Beyond. She had not forgotten what he had sought to make her, nor had she forgiven in full, but Ceria had learned young that you did not have to like your allies, merely to trust them and she trusted the God of Storms with her magic if not herself.

    She was floating above the city like a bird, like a cloud, a certain tenement sharper in her gaze than all the others around it. She was listening to whispers, barely heard over the creak of rotting boards, certain words coming to mind to coax the answer she needed. A tavern sign creaked in the breeze. She smelled the mingled reek of spilled beer, vomit and unwashed bodies and knew just the time to feign swaying to draw the eye of a spotter looking for an easy meat...

    "And you still claim you do not serve this 'Storm God'..." Thoros' soft almost amused voice drew Ceria back into herself.

    "Did the King serve those gods he had smite the Court of Stars?" Ceria shot back, feeling a strong mix of giddiness and annoyance.

    The priest had no easy answer to give.

    ***​

    Sixteenth Day of the Fourth Month 294 AC

    It quickly became apparent that Swift Eye had long since moved on from the sort of easily traced trade that had been his downfall in Flea Bottom, no more 'honey' to mark the way, no more bees to trace, just a whisper in the right ear, or if the pay was good enough a knife in the right back. Thus it was all the stranger when upon entering the cave they knew the band to be working out of Mors spotted the marks of shoes in the crystalline dust, human sized marks besides. For a moment there was no sound save the enchanted spring burbling beside the path as the ten companions considered there might be more than just fey at the tunnel's end.


    "Who would they be bringing down here?" Ser Criston mussed, rubbing his recently healed jaw. "We had to work our way up their chain of informants for days to find out this place even existed and then track the blood-drinker here. She almost raised the alarm besides..."

    "Mayhap a spirit who chooses to walk in the guise of men or near enough," Ting offered, peering down at the marks, careful not to slip on the slick rocks besides the stream.

    "Would such fey be the sort to wear chains?" Denys asked, pulling out a glittering piece of metal, a copper link from a maester's chain.

    What do your agents do?

    [] Continue on and capture as many as they can, no matter their affiliation

    [] Wait until the morrow when the maester will have finished his business so as not to alert the Citadel too soon

    [] Write in

    OOC: This is why I did not roll for the Misfits last night, I knew the situation could get complicated enough as to require a vote and as seen above, it did.
     
    Last edited:
  • Threadmarks
    • Old Ways, Old Foes ​

    Eleventh Day of the Fourth Month 294 AC

    Oldtown had not changed from the last time Ceria saw it. On the surface it was a bustling city filled with life, light, and color, the smell of the sea salt mingling with the tang of spices and teas from the east, mostly enough to cover the less pleasant spells of city life, at least if you stuck close to the better quays. But if you scratched that fine-varnished surface, if you walked less crowded streets where the silences hung heavy and the windows were barred with iron, then you might catch the whiff of rot and fish and something stranger still that mortal senses were not quite adept at understanding. Almost without meaning to, her eyes slit to the dark shape of the Hightower. A shit place to build a city, and always had been. From above her and around her a voice without sound, like the memory of thunder and the gasps of dying wind, agreed.

    "Denys, take Ting, Ser Kennos, Mors, and Wisdom Velen and speak to the guards while the rest of us look up the Lantern Bearers... Oh, and try to stay out of trouble this time, as much as you possibly can," Ceria said without much hope. Denys could find trouble like a loadstone drew iron, especially if there was magic to unravel or damsels fair to save. Gods and Powers preserve them if he ever found both in one.

    He had the grace to look sheepish, not that she had any expectation of that keeping him back for long. Still, between the monk and the phoenix there should be enough wisdom not to charge into trouble at the drop of a hat. It would take at least two hats...

    Ceria headed out with all the confidence and poise the guise of wealthy foreign traveler would allow, quite satisfied she would not have to explain why she had a phoenix following from above.

    Although the Lantern Bearers were about what one expected from an organization that had been dealing with monsters crawling from the sea and dark places for years with hardly any help, which is to say suspicious as septons in a whorehouse and about as ill-disposed, a letter from the king was enough to get them to share what little they knew about Ceria's quarry.

    "Ain't many fey spirits bold enough to linger in this city. We've had run ins with the blue ones, mostly to help than to harm. They care more for killing monsters than keeping folk safe, but that ain't an altogether uncommon sentiment in the ranks either. Other fey crazy enough to stay in town... start at the fish market, that's where a lot of odd things wash up eventually, a lot of desperate people selling things they don't really understand..."

    "Sounds delightful," Ceria sighed. She had not been expecting the thought about fish guts to be prophetic. "Do you have anyone who can guide us so we don't step on too many toes, being that we are 'Servants of a Pretender King and all'." Her smile said all there was to say about the supposed rule of Joffrey Baratheon and the regency of his mother.

    The grey haired Lantern Bearer gave a brief hoarse laugh, the sound of someone who hadn't found cause to do so in a while. "Oh aye, Lord Hightower hasn't put up the Dragon banner yet, must still be washing the bloodstains off from the last time."

    ***​

    "Guide me," Ceria whispered in the Old Tongue, speaking not to any mortal being, but to the One she knew was always watching her from Above and Beyond. She had not forgotten what he had sought to make her, nor had she forgiven in full, but Ceria had learned young that you did not have to like your allies, merely to trust them and she trusted the God of Storms with her magic if not herself.

    She was floating above the city like a bird, like a cloud, a certain tenement sharper in her gaze than all the others around it. She was listening to whispers, barely heard over the creak of rotting boards, certain words coming to mind to coax the answer she needed. A tavern sign creaked in the breeze. She smelled the mingled reek of spilled beer, vomit, and unwashed bodies and knew just the time to feign swaying to draw the eye of a spotter looking for easy meat...

    "And you still claim you do not serve this Storm God..." Thoros' soft almost amused voice drew Ceria back into herself.

    "Did the king serve those gods he had smite the Court of Stars?" Ceria shot back, feeling a strong mix of giddiness and annoyance.

    The priest had no easy answer to give.

    ***​

    Sixteenth Day of the Fourth Month 294 AC

    It quickly became apparent that Swift Eye had long since moved on from the sort of easily traced trade that had been his downfall in Fleabottom. No more 'honey' to mark the way, no more Bees to trace, just a whisper in the right ear, or if the pay was good enough, a knife in the right back. Thus it was all the stranger when, upon entering the cave they knew the band to be working out of, Mors spotted the marks of shoes in the crystalline dust, human-sized marks besides. For a moment there was no sound save the enchanted spring burbling beside the path as the ten companions considered there might be more than just fey at the tunnel's end.


    "Who would they be bringing down here?" Ser Criston mused, rubbing his recently healed jaw. "We had to work our way up their chain of informants for days to find out this place even existed, and then track the blood-drinker here. She almost raised the alarm besides..."

    "Mayhap a spirit who chooses to walk in the guise of men, or near enough," Ting offered, peering down at the marks, careful not to slip on the slick rocks besides the stream.

    "Would such fey be the sort to wear chains?" Denys asked, pulling out a glittering piece of metal, a copper link, as from a Maester's chain.

    What do your agents do?

    [] Continue on and capture as many as they can, no matter their affiliation

    [] Wait until the morrow when the Maester will have finished his business so as not to alert the Citadel too soon

    [] Write in

    OOC: This is why I did not roll for the Misfits last night, I knew the situation could get complicated enough as to require a vote and as seen above, it did. Not yet edited.
    Here's an edited version of the chapter, @DragonParadox.
     
    [X] Wait until the morrow when the Maester will have finished his business so as not to alert the Citadel too soon
     
    Last edited:
    Crake said:
    [X] Wait until the morrow when the Maester will have finished his business so as not to alert the Citadel too soon
    -[X] Great question--is the Maester here divinable? Get a general comprehensive divination battery from the House of Mirrors while you wait, then have Ceria use Commune to narrow down who it is based on briefing of Old Town and the Citadel she's already received, what his business is and whether or not they should intervene or capture him on his way out.
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    He is not divinable or he woudl have show up in the divination they ordered beforehand
     
    So should we move in now or wait? Just getting this far required them to do a lot of investigation, so they could have already alerted someone to their presence here. Waiting could give them time to prepare for us, or to flee, but rushing in risks us running into something were not prepared for.
     
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