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

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DragonParadox said:
The Lost Flock ​

First of the Eighth Month 294 AC

"Old Mother, old mother, some King's men are here to see you?" the boy's voice was high and thin, not just with his age, but more so with the worry that filled the camp ever since the good septon had left with the easterners. The Brotherhood knew they walked in the light of the Seven and that they would be rewarded in paradise for their faith, but they knew also that the favor of the Seven was no guarantee of a peaceful life in this fallen world. All of them had been drawn to the truth of Septon Gregor's words even into the wilds where those rich in honors and gold had been deaf to them.

Adara was old indeed, the eldest person in the camp by the Wailing Caves and rare was the smallfolk, man or woman, who lived to see as many winters as she, so lacking their shepherd the folk turned to her for guidance, or at least for reassurance.

"They don't call him a king anymore," she said gently to the boy. Noble folk were very particular about their titles. It was so she had lost a brother many years ago when he had not shown the right sort respect. He had been whipped and the wounds had gone sour. It had taken him three weeks to die.

It took her a while to trundle down the steep path from the cave, though not near as much as it did to shoo away those who wanted to escort her down. What good would those men with crooks and slings, with clubs and knives, have done against men armed and armored in blood-forged steel?

"What do you think you are going to do to them, eh? Make them fall over themselves laughing and break their necks?" If there could be said to be one virtue to growing old it was that you could speak your mind in full, no longer having the time to sweeten the tongue.

The men bristled, especially her own two sons standing at the fore. Tall and proud, they were like elm trees, but they could still do with more of their mother's wisdom. They were no warriors, no more than most of the Brotherhood, poor tillers of the soil and herders of goats, wood cutters and charcoal makers, and so she must go, and so she must speak to these men alone. She did not fear death, for by now she had felt his cold breath on the back of her neck many times and she knew as well as she knew her own name that she would not live to see another winter.

The news was grim, the Septon had plead his case before the throne and he had been taken away in chains for breaking the new law, but the young easterner said if they gave themselves over to the Imperator's mercy and 'went through the proper channels' they would be given permission to worship the Seven and the One on Earth.

"The septons will never let us spread the word, them and the lord of the Tooth," Adara said firmly. "All they care about is getting the gods to carry water for their greed and their lusts."

"The decision to allow and accredit a religion is neither of the local count and certainly not of any priest," the dragon man seemed offended at the mere notion. "In depth investigations will be undertaken by the inquisition with the aid of the Scholarum should there be any miracle-working involved. If all is found to be in order, a license will be granted to your preacher to be a formal part of the estate of the clergy with all the rights and obligations therein."

"Well our preacher is in jail, ain't he?" the old woman could not keep the bitterness out of her voice. How were they meant to know they needed a parchment from across the sea.

"Choose another then," the man shrugged. "Look, the internal running of your, er... Brotherhood once it has been authorized, if it is authorized, is none of my concern. Now we are fine with you staying up here if you like, but you are going to have to give free passage to all of our investigators and answer questions honestly..."

Adara nodded and was surprised at how reasonable he seemed, even if he did sniff at the smell of honest sweat and sheep like most townsfolk. She would never know that most the investigation had come and gone over the past two weeks in secret by glamored agents and secret signs, and that the nice young man in front of her had been responsible for interrogating and then dosing with memory moss as many as half a dozen of her fellow believers, including one of her sons.

Deal with the Brotherhood of Huor: 68 (Success)

OOC: Vote is open for Psion sheets. I did not put it in explicitly because it would have been rather jarring. Not yet edited.
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Here's an edited version of the chapter, DP.

Is it supposed to be the Brotherhood of Huor or Hugor? I can't recall.

The old lady seems like a sensible sort. Someone should drop a Panacea spell on her to clear up any lingering health issues she might have. That could extend her life at least a few more years. The longer she's around to keep these folks in line, the better.
 
Goldfish said:
Here's an edited version of the chapter, DP.

Is it supposed to be the Brotherhood of Huor or Hugor? I can't recall.

The old lady seems like a sensible sort. Someone should drop a Panacea spell on her to clear up any lingering health issues she might have. That could extend her life at least a few more years. The longer she's around to keep these folks in line, the better.
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Probably Hugor, as in Hugor of the Hill who was their Abraham.
 
Can someone link me to the first update of the tourney? I think it was the eight month in which case we should be moving right along now, but I can't seem to find it with the search engine since I cannot think of a term unique enough to get me there.
 
DragonParadox said:
Can someone link me to the first update of the tourney? I think it was the eight month in which case we should be moving right along now, but I can't seem to find it with the search engine since I cannot think of a term unique enough to get me there.
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I don't think this counts, but from what I recall Mors was the first named character to show up specifically for the Tourney. He arrives in this update: That Crows Might Wait

Then this is an update where Nettles is pestered by some random boy in the streets on how to be a dragon rider: Of Common Clay

This is an update where Gendry Waters is confirmed as Robert Baratheon's bastard and meets his older sister Mya Stone: Of Kith and Kin

And here is where Ser Bonifer Hasty shows up: A Knight's Quandary

Here's a Ser Alliser Thorne interlude: Of Oaths and Fellowship

Ah, found it. I think we can call this the official start of the Traitor's Tourney: Empire's Forging

Problem is we were doing like five things in the middle of this. Hunting Varys, scheming against Baelish, scaring the shit out of Pycelle, getting the Red Orb of Dragonkind and having a standoff against Melisandre, etc. It took a while to finally find it.
 
DragonParadox said:
Can someone link me to the first update of the tourney? I think it was the eight month in which case we should be moving right along now, but I can't seem to find it with the search engine since I cannot think of a term unique enough to get me there.
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A Sword Without a Hilt: A Song of Ice and Fire/D&D 3.5 Crossover

A Sword Without a Hilt: A Song of Ice and Fire/D&D 3.5 Crossover In a world where magic has all but guttered to ashes, becoming the fare of charlatans, petty conjurers, and ragged illusionists, a mighty change is stirring. From small and fragile sparks a great blaze will be reborn and men will...
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Dammit, not only ninja'ed, but with more variety as well.
 
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Interlude MLXXXVII: Horses Lead to Water
  • Threadmarks
    • Horses Lead to Water ​

    Seventh of the Eighth Month 294 AC

    Tyene sorted though the last of the letters with an expression so sour Waymar was concerned for the pitcher of milk that had come with their tea. "What's the matter, is it war, ruin, pestilence or death this time?" The words were light as the soft breeze that slipped past the curtains of the bedchamber. He knew well that anything truly urgent would not come by letter, but by sand-whisper or by having one of their friends pop into their room in the middle of the night to summon them to a battle on the other side of the world, as some embarrassing moments stood in mute testament to.

    "It is the little known Fifth Archdaemon, Misplaced Self-importance, riding its dread steed, Ignorance," she huffed. "Here I've been working with the Ministry of Education to try to get the nobility of Westeros an actual education so they won't all be out-thought by ambitious butchers' sons in a generation or two and I get this shit..."

    Waymar's expression must have shown at least a bit of the discomfort he felt at the flippant remark because she swiveled around on her new twirling chair, gifted by a grateful bulabar she had helped get a court job in Sunspear, and asked plainly: "Why do you care if they can't find their asses with a map and a wayfinder? Just because they have 'lord' and 'ser' in front of their names doesn't make them like us, not really. They have not seen the things we have seen, nor fought the battles we fought. You cannot say you have more in common with Lord Kettle-fucker than you do with Vee, who I will remind you comes from a long line of bog-treaders."

    "It's not that, just..." Waymar groped for words for a moment. "You just seem to be having so much fun pointing out all the ways the old Houses are going to get left behind..."

    "Which old Houses?" She interrupted. "Mine and yours? They are on the steamship eating sponge cake and drinking this year's Purple. I did not just get in this to laugh at the fools left on the shore you know. I'm not above throwing a rope to the ones with the wit to catch it..."

    "And they've got greasy fingers then, I'm guessing?" the knight asked, stepping close to pluck the letter from the edge of her desk. He knew better than to open anything that was still sealed, but open correspondence was fair game.

    He read it once, twice, then a third time just to make sure his eyes did not lie to him somehow. "Uhm... they don't expect much, do they?"

    The letter was not from any particular house, but rather it was a report on the doings of the scions of several knightly and baronial houses, all of whom were doing somewhere from poorly to the sort of dismal you almost had to be trying to get. That in itself was not enough to draw Tyene's ire, nor Waymar's sigh. No, that was the general level of offense at the fact. Apparently a great many of the parents of said youngsters had expected their brood to get a cushy court position of the sort that simply did not exist in the Imperium, a sort of wardship at once-removed. Not so say hangers-on, whose sole qualification was who they happened to be related to and which friends they had made while at the hunt or the feast.

    Though the young knight would have liked to blame this particular scourge on the late Robert Baratheon he knew it went much deeper. They were expecting that beneath the magic and the mystery, the strange gods and stranger people, the new capital would be just like the old only with a better fragrance to it, that they could get by on trading favors first and doing work second. Not that the Ministry of Education was entirely above trading favors of course, there were such things as extenuating circumstances and slip-ups that could be swept under the rug... but there was no rug big enough for this, not even if it be woven by giants.

    "I'm starting to warm up to the nameless butchers' sons," he said at last as he read the dry summary of a particularly egregious complaint which even when transposed in the bland bureaucratic language of the local secretary for Higher Education left one with a bitter taste in one's mouth. "I think some of this might end up on a lawman's desk. I mean that is a credible death threat to one of the professors, isn't it?"

    "Hmm..." Tyene hummed. "I suppose so. I blanked out before I got that far. There is one ray of sunshine at least. We get to find out if Lady Starhoof has the money for the fine or if she will instead be gracing the nearest jail for six to twelve months."

    Waymar could not begrudge her the smile this time, even if it was rather venomous.

    Noble Studies: 24 (Failure)

    As the wedding draws near is there anything more you wish to add to the celebrations?

    [] Yes
    -[] Write in

    [] No

    OOC: And here is your third fail of the turn, not as bad as the crit fail, but certainly enough to annoy Tyene who took a hand in trying to get the project done.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • DragonParadox said:
    Horses Lead to Water ​

    Seventh of the Eighth Month 294 AC

    Tyene sorted through the last of the letters with an expression so sour Waymar was concerned for the pitcher of milk that had come with their tea. "What's the matter, is it war, ruin, pestilence, or death this time?" The words were light as the soft breeze that slipped past the curtains of the bedchamber. He knew well that anything truly urgent would not come by letter, but by sand-whisper or by having one of their friends pop into their room in the middle of the night to summon them to a battle on the other side of the world, as some embarrassing moments stood in mute testament to.

    "It is the little known Fifth Archdaemon, Misplaced Self-importance, riding its dread steed, Ignorance," she huffed. "Here I've been working with the Ministry of Education to try to get the nobility of Westeros an actual education so they won't all be out-thought by ambitious butchers' sons in a generation or two and I get this shit..."

    Waymar's expression must have shown at least a bit of the discomfort he felt at the flippant remark, because she swiveled around on her new twirling chair, gifted by a grateful bulabar she had helped get a court job in Sunspear, and asked plainly, "Why do you care if they can't find their asses with a map and a wayfinder? Just because they have 'lord' and 'ser' in front of their names doesn't make them like us, not really. They have not seen the things we have seen, nor fought the battles we fought. You cannot say you have more in common with Lord Kettle-fucker than you do with Vee, who I will remind you comes from a long line of bog-treaders."

    "It's not that, just..." Waymar groped for words for a moment. "You just seem to be having so much fun pointing out all the ways the old Houses are going to get left behind..."

    "Which old Houses?" She interrupted. "Mine and yours? They are on the steamship eating sponge cake and drinking this year's Purple. I did not just get in this to laugh at the fools left on the shore, you know. I'm not above throwing a rope to the ones with the wit to catch it..."

    "And they've got greasy fingers then, I'm guessing?" the knight asked, stepping close to pluck the letter from the edge of her desk. He knew better than to open anything that was still sealed, but open correspondence was fair game.

    He read it once, twice, then a third time just to make sure his eyes did not lie to him somehow. "Uhm... they don't expect much, do they?"

    The letter was not from any particular house, but rather it was a report on the doings of the scions of several knightly and baronial houses, all of whom were doing somewhere from poorly to the sort of dismal you almost had to be trying to get. That in itself was not enough to draw Tyene's ire, nor Waymar's sigh. No, that was the general level of offense at the fact. Apparently a great many of the parents of said youngsters had expected their brood to get a cushy court position of the sort that simply did not exist in the Imperium, a sort of wardship at once-removed. Not to say hangers-on, whose sole qualification was who they happened to be related to and which friends they had made while at the hunt or the feast.

    Although the young knight would have liked to blame this particular scourge on the late Robert Baratheon, he knew it went much deeper. They were expecting that beneath the magic and the mystery, the strange gods and stranger people, the new capital would be just like the old, only with a better fragrance to it, that they could get by on trading favors first and doing work second. Not that the Ministry of Education was entirely above trading favors, of course, there were such things as extenuating circumstances and slip-ups that could be swept under the rug... but there was no rug big enough for this, not even if it be woven by giants.

    "I'm starting to warm up to the nameless butchers' sons," he said at last as he read the dry summary of a particularly egregious complaint, which even when transposed in the bland bureaucratic language of the local secretary for Higher Education, left a bitter taste in one's mouth. "I think some of this might end up on a lawman's desk. I mean, that is a credible death threat to one of the professors, isn't it?"

    "Hmm..." Tyene hummed. "I suppose so. I blanked out before I got that far. There is one ray of sunshine, at least. We get to find out if Lady Starhoof has the money for the fine or if she will instead be gracing the nearest jail for six to twelve months."

    Waymar could not begrudge her the smile this time, even if it was rather venomous.

    Noble Studies: 24 (Failure)

    As the wedding draws near is there anything more you wish to add to the celebrations?

    [] Yes
    -[] Write in

    [] No

    OOC: And here is your third fail of the turn, not as bad as the crit fail, but certainly enough to annoy Tyene who took a hand in trying to get the project done.
    Click to expand...
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    Made some minor edits to the chapter, DP.
     
    Like the religious issues in the Vale, this doesn't surprise me one bit. We knew Westeros was going to be a pile of hot shit when we annexed the continent. There's only so much working around Human nature we can do before the frothy sewage rises to the top.

    So, frustrating but expected. The nobility will learn, or those who cannot will eventually cease to be nobility.
     
    You'd think blasting a few keeps to ruin, flying metal ships blazing through the air, and all the other shit we managed to pull would make people think "Maybe I should learn how they did all that."

    Still stupid is as stupid does I suppose, and with any luck those butcher's sons (and daughters) will be ready to supplant them in a few years or so.
     
    This westeros stuff is definitely going to slow the conquest, but getting through this massive headache will pay off in the end, and we can live to see it eventually, unlike previous rulers who would not have the time, money, or incentive to do so.
     
    There are two key issues in Westeros that hold the Imperator's attention: the state of education within the nobility, and the clearing of Fleabottom. One involves a festering pile of trash that, for generations, was always deemed more prudent to ignore rather than fix, and now is taking considerable time and effort to bring up to the Imperium's standards, to the point where some people wonder if the endeavor will ever recoup its losses.

    The other, of course, has progressed in leaps and bounds with merely healers and soap.
     
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