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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] Goldfish

If one thing hasn't changed, it's our absurd pettiness even in the face of grandeur and power.
 
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Interlude MCCII: The Last Sting
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    • The Last Sting ​

    Twenty-Fifth Day of the Eighth Month 294 AC

    The wedding of the Imperator and his sage bride awoke all manner of feelings across the capital and the realm. For many of the common citizens if was cause for pride at the new sign of Imperial pageantry and power, for others if was relief at the implication that heirs could not be far behind. Dragons were supposed to be long lived after all, but just how much so had not yet percolated far into the understanding of the layman. For the High Lords of the realm, Dukes and Archons, princes and merchant lords who had not yet understood that the old game of dynasties had changed forever it was reason for carefully veiled disappointment.

    Yet not even the blackest pit of disappointment could match the feelings of the woman who who among those attending was of the least rank and import. Horror, dread, jealousy and sheer ambition had battled in the soul of Tyrina of Braavos for weeks... months. Should she come or should she stay? Should she pretend to have never seen the curling script above the Imperial Seal, the dawning horrified understanding of what had happened to the girl who spent too much time in the archive, or not enough time there depending on where you saw that from?

    In the end ambition had won out, it always seemed to do so with Tyrina, she arrived in the capital one day before the wedding hoping that she could take the chance to see and speak to the great and good of the Imperium without actually being seen by... she could hardly even think the words, Empress Lya. They just did not seem to fit together, her memories of the snotty girl with her nose in a book totally at odds with any notion of Imperial power and grace.

    A part of her hoped that she would get to Sorcerer's Deep and conclude that there had been some mistake, that her invitation was a clever fake made by some petty mage. There were plenty of other things to do in the capital after all. Peronius would be upset of course, but she wuld bear her husband's displeasure more lightly than...

    The invitation was not a false, a fact with surprised the palace clerk in charge of checking it as much as it did her. There was on relief, and no answer.

    Why? Why Why? Why?

    That question hammered at the Tyrina's mind like the drums of some savage land in the night, incomprehensible as they were loud. And then she saw them... she saw her.

    If one were to ask a mage trained to recognize works of glamor and enchantment, if she had the courage to speak to the great lords and ladies, the high priests who were in attendance then perhaps she could have realized that the terrible grandeur of the hour was as much a manufactured thing as the paper streamers that now littered the streets, but she would never know, because she had never dared to ask. The sight which to people filled with more uplifting feelings would have seemed merely majestic was to one already filled with awe and dread the final straw. She rose from her seat and in the middle of the ceremony started to flee.

    What she might have said or done on her way no one would know for there were fortunately quite a few seers in attendance and eyes that were sharp and wary of attack were instead turned to the task of avoiding embarrassment.

    Tyrina was spared the embarrassment that her outburst would have caused, not that anyone truly cared. The lawmen did not even bother to make her pay a fine. It would have taken too long to actually get it signed off and she wanted to get off duty to enjoy the feast that had been laid out in honor of the wedding for the citizens of the Deep

    OOC: Just barely got this out, not sure if it is any good, but since it was not that important I figured it would be OK yo post as is tonight. Not yet edited.
     
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    • DragonParadox said:
    The Last Sting ​

    Twenty-Fifth Day of the Eighth Month 294 AC

    The wedding of the Imperator and his sage bride awoke all manner of feelings across the capital and the realm. For many of the common citizens it was cause for pride at the new sign of Imperial pageantry and power. For others it was relief at the implication that heirs could not be far behind. Dragons were supposed to be long-lived, after all, but just how much so had not yet percolated far into the understanding of the layman. For the High Lords of the realm, Dukes and Archons, princes and merchant lords who had not yet understood that the old game of dynasties had changed forever, it was reason for carefully veiled disappointment.

    Yet not even the blackest pit of disappointment could match the feelings of the woman who among those attending was of the least rank and import. Horror, dread, jealousy, and sheer ambition had battled in the soul of Tyrina of Braavos for weeks... months. Should she come or should she stay? Should she pretend to have never seen the curling script above the Imperial Seal, the dawning horrified understanding of what had happened to the girl who spent too much time in the archive, or not enough time there, depending on where you saw that from?

    In the end, ambition had won out, as it always seemed to do so with Tyrina. She arrived in the capital one day before the wedding hoping that she could take the chance to see and speak to the great and good of the Imperium without actually being seen by... she could hardly even think the words, Empress Lya. They just did not seem to fit together, her memories of the snotty girl with her nose in a book totally at odds with any notion of Imperial power and grace.

    A part of her hoped that she would get to Sorcerer's Deep and conclude that there had been some mistake, that her invitation was a clever fake made by some petty mage. There were plenty of other things to do in the capital, after all. Peronius would be upset, of course, but she would bear her husband's displeasure more lightly than...

    The invitation was not a fake, a fact which surprised the palace clerk in charge of checking it as much as it did her. There was no relief, and no answer.

    Why? Why? Why?

    That question hammered at the Tyrina's mind like the drums of some savage land in the night, incomprehensible as they were loud. And then she saw them... she saw her.

    If one were to ask a mage trained to recognize works of glamor and enchantment, if she had the courage to speak to the great lords and ladies, the high priests who were in attendance, then perhaps she could have realized that the terrible grandeur of the hour was as much a manufactured thing as the paper streamers that now littered the streets, but she would never know, because she had never dared to ask. The sight, which to people filled with more uplifting feelings would have seemed merely majestic, was to one already filled with awe and dread the final straw. She rose from her seat and in the middle of the ceremony started to flee.

    What she might have said or done on her way no one would know, for there were fortunately quite a few seers in attendance and eyes that were sharp and wary of attack were instead turned to the task of avoiding embarrassment.

    Tyrina was spared the embarrassment that her outburst would have caused, not that anyone truly cared. The lawmen did not even bother to make her pay a fine. It would have taken too long to actually get it signed off and she wanted to get off duty to enjoy the feast that had been laid out in honor of the wedding for the citizens of the Deep.

    OOC: Just barely got this out, not sure if it is any good, but since it was not that important I figured it would be OK yo post as is tonight. Not yet edited.
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    Here's an edited version of the chapter, DP.

    Ah, that was delicious. 😈
     
    It's almost too bad that she fled; sure she was rude, but now we don't have anyone to get drunk and tell embarrassing childhood stories about Lya.

    Rhaella can cover that job for Viserys, but Lya's probably going to have to have her other body do it for her or something. :V
     
    BronzeTongue said:
    It's almost too bad that she fled; sure she was rude, but now we don't have anyone to get drunk and tell embarrassing childhood stories about Lya.

    Rhaella can cover that job for Viserys, but Lya's probably going to have to have her other body do it for her or something. :V
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    There's her Moonsinger mentor who we shortly interacted with to try and curry favor w/ the church before we did that sort of thing more directly
     
    A_Somebody said:
    There's her Moonsinger mentor who we shortly interacted with to try and curry favor w/ the church before we did that sort of thing more directly
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    I'm sure she's in attendance both as a prominent religious leader and as Lya's old mentor. She's one of the few people Lya could legitimately claim closeness to as a child.
    Cheap Orange Knofe said:
    We could track her down. Magic and the inquisition. A whim with a bounty attached for whoever has time for the errand.
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    If you're referring to Lya's old mentor she's not missing.
    TonedMite said:
    Is she even still alive? I thought that there was something about her getting too old for her job.
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    Unless a demon or something got her then I doubt she died. Healing magic raised general life expectancy quite a bit. Also her line of work wasn't dangerous. Alysanne Redsail for example died because she was hunting down a demon terrorizing Braavos, while the saner people were hiding in their homes hoping someone else would deal with that mess.
     
    Duesal said:
    Unless a demon or something got her then I doubt she died. Healing magic raised general life expectancy quite a bit. Also her line of work wasn't dangerous.
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    She's implied to be dead. I recall something like Lya shared that she offered to heal her or make her younger but she preferred to join her goddess.
     
    Interlude MCCIII: Mercurial Messengers
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    • Mercurial Messengers ​

    First Day of the Ninth Month 294 AC

    One might be forgiven for thinking that an elderly clerk in rumpled robes of office, silver spectacles slightly askew, was prowling the Goblin Market on his own business and not that of the realm. He looked with suspicion at the mirth and play that echoed and shadowed the wedding celebrations which had filled these very streets. He sniffed at the sight of cartwheeling gremlins with more limbs than four and cursed when a swarm of serenading sprites dived low in some aerial dance known only to them.

    Humpty humbug, hump-ty humbug, hump
    Humpty humbug, hump-ty humbug, hump     ​

    A lemkin hopping about on her rabbit's feet dogged the annoyed visitor while from the shadows shaggy figures bearing baggy cloaks whose contents glittered invitingly called out with voices strange and fair. First time visitors were always the easiest to distract into agreeing to more bargains than they had meant to give.

    Arthur Ambrose, head of the division for non-human relations of the Ministry of Information, ignored them all, even the damn rabbit fey somehow. He had, after all, been trained on how to deal with the deathless fey and their 'mischievous' ways, although in his opinion that word really needed to have more heft to it. Like trying to catch eels with your bare hands, it was.

    Humpty humbug, hump-ty humbug, hump
    Humpty humbug, hump-ty humbug, hump     ​

    The song kept going, at least until one crossed some unseen divide in the middle of what seemed to be a perfectly normal street, at which point it fell silent as though it had been cut with a knife. Alas, it was too much to hope that the singer had suffered such mischance. The peace of the Imperium reigned here as much as it did among all the fey spirits that came out under the sun between the Narrow Sea and the Painted Mountains.

    So distracted had Arthur been at the singer that he had not even noticed that one of the would-be acrobats had actually been following him, cartwheeling all along only to smash into his leg, bounce off and somehow land backwards into a courtly bow in the time it took him to curse and stumble. "Glyra the Gremlin at your service, fair fellow. Need some help coming up with better curses? That one's a little old and musty, eh?"

    The frustrated functionary wanted to reply with many a snide question, starting with 'why the hells couldn't we meet at the ministry headquarters or at some other public venue?' and getting more specific from there. Alas, he had learned that to test the pride of the fey got you nothing and less than nothing in return. "Mistress Glyra, I wished to speak to you on the matter of expanding the employment of troupes such as yours into the service of the Imperium. There has been a distinct lack of enthusiasm among the wild fey for public service and you have been recommended as an expert in such matters..."

    "Are they payin' ye by the word?" she interjected in a thick and almost indescribable accent that seemed to have been designed to contrast with her bow.

    "No, damn it, they are paying me by the hour and at this rate I will soon be rich!" Arthur finally snapped.

    "Fucking finally, thought I'd have to needle you some more before I got the point across," the strange not-child replied. "You are the one trying to get wild fey folk to be singers and heralds for the throne, right? Well here's your first lesson, push back some when they are yanking your chain or you are going to look about as interesting as a wet turd and so's your offers. No one wants the story of how they took on a new part to be boring."

    "That's..." Arthur checked himself, then he unchecked himself, because apparently that was considered a good negotiating tactic. "Insane."

    "I don't make the rules," the gremlin shrugged and pulled out what looked like a pink blob glistening with sugar from one of her pockets, tore it in two and offered half of it. "Cloud Candy?"

    "Thank you," the man sighed and took it. It actually tasted decent, much to his surprise. He had been expecting another lesson.

    "Near as I can figure it, from what I have read in those reports your office has been making..." The idea that the whimsical being before him had been reading reports was almost enough to make Arthur choke. "The trouble is you are treating this as just buying and selling services instead of a bargain."

    "Those words appear to mean the same thing," the clerk replied, adjusting his spectacles as he followed her into the light of what looked like a sweet shop so filled with strange and arcane sweets it would have tempted a less wary man to distraction.

    "Nah. See, a bargain has risk. Like, make it a contest and only the best singer gets to work for the Imperium and gets paid the prize...."

    "But we would like as many helpers as possible to get the message across," Arthur interjected.

    "So just have lots of contests, has to be different ones too. They should be tailored to the sorts of wild fey you want to take on, like do you want a lot of little ones or fewer of the three-string wonders, muses and nymphs and stuff?"

    This was going to be an even longer night. Arthur was glad indeed for his calligraphy wyrm assistant.

    Fey Helpers - Wild Fey: 15 (Failure)

    No Progress made as efforts require a major overhaul in approach

    What sort of fey should future efforts go into recruiting primarily?

    [] Many lesser fey like sprites and gremlins

    [] Fewer of the more skilled singers

    OOC: So yeah, it turns out the bureaucracy and the fey are not what you would call a good match. Still not a crit fail so you did not lose more than time.
     
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