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

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Azel said:
@Goldfish

Raising fortresses for the Legion and campuses for the Scholarium is something we don't need Viserys for. Just assign Titan Tool time for that. Though it will still need some money for furnishings. I will add that to the economics portion of the turn-plan.

Same for raising ships. We can send water typed Arcanums with Tritons to do that.

Delegation is key.
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For raising ships, we can just have Lya scribe scrolls of Raise from the Deep, along with scrolls of Make Whole. Just make ~30 of those and have our minions get to work.
 
Rumors from the East:

Fleet of the Damned: They say that the Blood Dragon, Viserys Targaryen, cursed be his name, has raised a fleet of ships from the bottom of the ocean practically overnight. Ships that have not plied the Narrow Sea, some for centuries, with their dreadful history so bestowed, now sail again, crewed by a navy said to encompass every cutthroat and scoundrel in the world. How can honest men ever hope to sail again?

Edit: Holy shit guys!

We can restore the sunken Meerenese navy!!!
 
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Duesal said:
Make Whole is perfectly serviceable for getting them seaworthy enough to limp back to a port. Afterwards they can be repaired.
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That's what I was referring to yes.

Also we should hthrow fat sttacks of dragons at Relath so he can supplement our navy with aquatic creatures.

Hopefully elementals. And more humanoids.

Because seriously we are not prepared for an ocean war against the squidwards.
 
Azel said:
@Goldfish

Raising fortresses for the Legion and campuses for the Scholarium is something we don't need Viserys for. Just assign Titan Tool time for that. Though it will still need some money for furnishings. I will add that to the economics portion of the turn-plan.

Same for raising ships. We can send water typed Arcanums with Tritons to do that.

Delegation is key.

Edit: Also, Lys is happening next turn. We've send out instructions to our puppet.
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Viserys doesn't necessarily need to do the construction himself, but I bet he would enjoy doing some of it. It would be a nice change from constantly putting out fires, fighting Archdukes of Hell, destroying Alchemist's Guilds, etc.

There's also a decent PR angle to exploit. "When the Dragon King wills it, fortresses rise from the earth."
Duesal said:
For raising ships, we can just have Lya scribe scrolls of Raise from the Deep, along with scrolls of Make Whole. Just make ~30 of those and have our minions get to work.
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Terribly inefficient use of Lya's time and our money. 5th level spell scrolls aren't hugely expensive, but neither are they so cheap as to be trivial. Lya can only produce a single scroll a day without cutting into her actual free time or crafting time, and I would rather devote scroll scribing time to building up a stockpile of a variety of scrolls, both for our use and for the Scholarium.

It would be much, much faster for her to simply Teleport to a location marked by the Tritons, along with a suitable work crew to get the ship seaworthy, cast the spell, then Teleport back to SD.

Or we could equip a specialized vessel with a much larger than necessary crew, then have Tritons lead the ship to a sunken vessel. They signal arrival, Lya Teleports in to cast the spell, then Teleports back to SD. Meanwhile, the crew of the salvage vessel, numerous Tinker Fey among them, are conducting band-aid repairs sufficient for the newly raised vessel to reach SD for a full refit. They then sail it back to port.

Actually, this might be a nice maiden voyage for the Queen Rhaella. Among her crew will be an Arcanum specialized for ocean operations and aquatic Leshy which would further ease the salvage process.
 
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Goldfish said:
Viserys doesn't necessarily need to do the construction himself, but I bet he would enjoy doing some of it. It would be a nice change from constantly putting out fires, fighting Archdukes of Hell, destroying Alchemist's Guilds, etc.

There's also a decent PR angle to exploit. "When the Dragon King wills it, fortresses rise from the earth."

Terribly inefficient use of Lya's time and our money. 5th level spell scrolls aren't hugely expensive, but neither are they so cheap as to be trivial. Lya can only produce a single scroll a day without cutting into her actual free time or crafting time, and I would rather devote scroll scribing time to building up a stockpile of a variety of scrolls, both for our use and for the Scholarium.

It would be much, much faster for her to simply Teleport to a location marked by the Tritons, along with a suitable work crew to get the ship seaworthy, cast the spell, then Teleport back to SD.

Or we could equip a specialized vessel with a much larger than necessary crew, then have Tritons lead the ship to a sunken vessel. They signal arrival, Lya Teleports in to cast the spell, then Teleports back to SD. Meanwhile, the crew of the salvage vessel, numerous Tinker Fey among them, are conducting band-aid repairs sufficient for the newly raised vessel to reach SD for a full refit. Actually, this might be a nice maiden voyage for the Queen Rhaella.
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We should have her learn Make Whole while we're at it.

Also, Viserys making fortresses is a HUGE waste of his time and I'm against it.
 
Duesal said:
We should have her learn Make Whole while we're at it.

Also, Viserys making fortresses is a HUGE waste of his time and I'm against it.
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It's just a potential activity I mentioned as something he might like to do as a way to relax. Lots of other things he could do instead.
 
Guys. Idea. May have been proposed, dunno tell me how this sounds:

The problem is that our crafter ritual costs two perm con. What if we make it so that the two perm con loss can be restored via a wish (5k xp per point) or a ritual that does the same thing for 5k xp (per con point) in such a way that does not prevent us from getting the full +5 Con from wishes!! That was my problem, the fact that it was a permanent loss. What if we treat the con loss as down payment, or rent-then-buy sort of thing, like a sofa.

That way, it's not a forever loss, it's a temp loss until the person get access to a wish (x2), or 5k xp (x2) and a bunch of friendly casters to help heal the damage. I mean a +2 Con belt on our crafters for a bit, and then heal the inquisition ones sooner so they don't be 2 points behind of their con enhancements forever.

Sound fair? Sounds fair to me :D Gimme your pros/cons on this plz @thread, unless this is an idea that has already been dismissed, I'm actually pretty hopeful that this will pass muster.

And if that's not enough, make the ritual to heal it cost like 1-2k IM or something.

Regarding make whole: Make Whole :: d20srd.org
Transmutation
Level: Clr 2
Casting Time: 1 standard action
Range: Close (25 ft. + 5 ft./2 levels)
Target: One object of up to 10 cu. ft./ level
This spell functions like mending, except that make whole completely repairs an object made of any substance, even one with multiple breaks, to be as strong as new. The spell does not restore the magical abilities of a broken magic item made whole, and it cannot mend broken magic rods, staffs, or wands. The spell does not repair items that have been warped, burned, disintegrated, ground to powder, melted, or vaporized, nor does it affect creatures (including constructs).
Can make whole be used on objects bigger than 10 ft cube/caster level, like do front half then back half of a ship? From in game stuff where Dany has fixed ships, I'd say so, myself.

Warped by undersea damage over time?
We also need: Warp Wood :: d20srd.org
Transmutation
Level: Drd 2
Components: V, S
Casting Time: 1 standard action
Range: Close (25 ft. + 5 ft./2 levels)
Target: 1 Small wooden object/level, all within a 20-ft. radius
Duration: Instantaneous
Saving Throw: Will negates (object)
Spell Resistance: Yes (object)
You cause wood to bend and warp, permanently destroying its straightness, form, and strength. A warped door springs open (or becomes stuck, requiring a Strength check to open, at your option). A boat or ship springs a leak. Warped ranged weapons are useless. A warped melee weapon causes a -4 penalty on attack rolls.

You may warp one Small or smaller object or its equivalent per caster level. A Medium object counts as two Small objects, a Large object as four, a Huge object as eight, a Gargantuan object as sixteen, and a Colossal object as thirty-two.

Alternatively, you can unwarp wood (effectively warping it back to normal) with this spell, straightening wood that has been warped by this spell or by other means. Make whole, on the other hand, does no good in repairing a warped item.

You can combine multiple consecutive warp wood spells to warp (or unwarp) an object that is too large for you to warp with a single spell.

Until the object is completely warped, it suffers no ill effects.

So these are cleric 2/druid 2 spells. We're better off getting an item of infinite uses per day, unless DP thinks that 600 castings of make whole an hour is a bit much ;)
 
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Omake: Horde Thief Chapter XII
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    Horde Thief
    Chapter 12​

    The inside of the building was a study in contradictions, even for one like you, who had not so many days ago been able to look out over your capital and see the architecture of a dozen worlds without turning your head. The stone and metal and wood were all familiar to you, the craftsmanship itself both remarkably accurate and yet somehow…off. As if the entire building had been painstakingly pulled apart and then reconstructed again. Perhaps that was the easiest way to move something this large in this realm. Dresden's comments about teleportation seemed to support that idea. That didn't make the whole process any less inefficient in your eyes, but you were quite aware that relocating the Golden Hearth and other buildings later had…reoriented your sense of scale. This keep was probably small enough for you to pick up as your Draconic self.

    The contradictions were the 'modern' conveniences, much of which was as mysterious to you as magic had been when you'd first awoken to it all those years ago in Braavos. You'd grown a lot more used to dealing with the unknown since then. On the one hand, you'd had to. On the other? Power helped a lot.

    "You must understand that Mr Marcone generally doesn't welcome guests without appointment," your new guide told you, Dresden had called her Ms Gard. She was tall, if not quite as tall as Harry, but it was the way she moved that made you pay attention. She didn't walk like a civilian. The reaction of your previous escort had made it clear she wasn't one, but it went deeper than that. There were remarkably few people you knew who walked like she did, and all of them were combat experts. Something to keep an eye on.

    "I will be sure to thank him for his generosity," you said blandly, though quite sincerely. "I was told to expect the need to make an appointment, in fact, so this is a welcome surprise." That was the other interesting thing about the place, though. Beyond the technology everywhere, there was a feeling to the place that you recognised. Marcone wasn't well liked by Harry Dresden, you'd known that when you'd asked him to take you there. But it was the presence of the place that told you why. This wasn't just his turf, not really, but he was its most present master. And that made it easy for you to pick out the little details that pointed to exactly one thing. Marcone was a criminal. And a good one.

    You could respect that. And you'd restocked your bag shortly before your unfortunate encounter with the Elder Brain, which meant you were in good shape to say thank you in a way that would be appreciated. Once you worked out how much everything you had was worth, that was. Maybe Marcone could help you with that. For a price, no doubt. The thought brought a thoughtful smile to your face. So long as it was humanity involved, some things truly didn't seem to change

    "Here we are," Gard stopped, turning to open the door for you. Her hand slipped to her side, but there was no tension in the arm that would have been there if she'd grasped something. She was good. "Mr Targaryen for you, sir."

    The door opened into a room that was clearly an office. Enough time spent in one yourself made it easy to match. A large desk, well organised letters and files, although the paper was far thinner than what you were used to. A man sat at the side of the room, fingers moving steadily across the keys of what you now could recognise as a computer. Not who you were here to see, but your instincts screamed bodyguard the moment you saw him.

    Your eyes skimmed the bare walls, then settled on the man behind the desk, looking up from a letter with every appearance of indifference. His hair was short, like most men you'd seen so far, and scattered with spots of silver. He wore a crisp suit, that was the right word, that did little to hide the fact that he was in far better shape than anyone who just sat behind a desk could be. With a change of clothes, he wouldn't have looked out of place among the clerks of your many companies. He was also, undeniably, exactly what Dresden had not told you he was and that you'd worked out in the short walk to his office.

    "Mr Targaryen," his greeting was much like the one you'd give a stranger who you weren't sure of. "A pleasure to meet you. Please, take a seat." Something in his eyes sharpened as you stopped across the threshold. "Gard tells me that you wish to introduce yourself to me, in my status as Freeholding Baron of Chicago," he pronounced the title with a lawyer's diction. "Is that correct?"

    You took the seat and nodded comfortably. "It is, Lord Marcone." Being polite was only good manners, and it was clear that it won something from him. "It seemed sensible to introduce myself once I was caught up on the Accords." Technically true. You had needed to catch up, just from a base of nothing.

    "I see," Marcone placed the letter down on the desk and leaned back, folding his hands together. "May I ask your intentions in this city?" He knew something.

    "I would prefer a quiet stay, but I feel that that might not be possible." A shrug, and you noticed the bodyguard's lips twitch. Perhaps the company you'd kept on your way here. Dresden didn't seem much a man for the quiet life. "If nothing else, I would be grateful for aid in finding a more permanent residence." From experience, a place you could properly call your own was key.

    "You are aware that this is not a charity," Marcone began, only to stop as you chuckled.

    "I entirely expect that such a request would come with a cost." You told him in way of answer, the chuckle dying away to a firm smile. Reaching into your cloak, you called a ruby the width of your thumb to your hand, ignoring the sudden heightening of attention as your hand disappeared. It vanished quickly as you placed the stone down on the desk, a single finger pushing it towards your host. "A down payment, if you will, and also thanks for your willingness to make time to see me so quickly."

    Apparently a ruby like that was worth a great deal, given how carefully Marcone took the stone, though not before a subtle look at Gard. He held it up, appraising it with an expert's eyes. "I will need to have this checked, you understand."

    He didn't, but that was acceptable. You nodded again. "Of course." As expected, he didn't ask where it came from.

    "Then I have only one question," Marcone smiled icily, showing very white teeth. "What did the Fomor do to draw your ire?"
     
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    • Explanations for how Marcone knows this will come up in the next section, but you might consider something I said quite a while back about Viserys and the modern world. You'll probably be waiting until Sunday or early next week for the next part, PW is keeping me occupied and I have some work projects that need to be finished off as well. But still, I made the update I needed to, so writing this out and posting it is therefore ok. Please tell me if I got Marcone right (or wrong), I'm working off of limited data (Even Hand, mostly) and doing him justice is pretty important. Also I did some random rolls to see how much material directly translatable into cash that Viserys has, as well as a few other things. They were (mostly) very kind.

    I should stop trusting my dice with these decisions...

    Edit: also, I looked up how much high quality rubies are worth (considering sourcing from the Opaline Vault, I expect very high quality) and truly fine rubies can sell for millions per carat. Once Viserys has gotten a handle on things, he's highly unlikely to need to worry about money.
     
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    Viserys: "What didn't they do? Extinction is the remedy, Marcone. Extinction is the medicine. Extinction is the solution. Now it need only be applied."
     
    Viserys: "Relax... I already have targets in mind."

    Bad Guy: :o

    Viserys: "Oh, you're not included in the genus I have in mind."

    Viserys: "Because you're not important enough."
     
    Azel said:
    Edit: Also, Lys is happening next turn. We've send out instructions to our puppet.
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    @Duesal, how's the Dawnfruit orchard's harvest looking at? Also, we need to fabricate a few million stone arrows. We need all of them to execute the Unending Arrow maneuver.

    The rumour mill will be horrific for Westeros. For a day and night, the sky rained arrows non-stop. And when the fool of a general stepped up to challenge the Khal, the Dragon appeared beside him, hiding all this time as his trusted adviser.
     
    We also need to. Uh. Thing. What was it.

    Raid efreeti ships?

    Support salamnder rebellion? Start building fort doom hell smash?

    Edit: have Lya study runes and wardi g schemes and dragon tablets. That thing in the opaline vault..
     
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    Snowfire said:
    << Previous
    Horde Thief
    Chapter 12​

    The inside of the building was a study in contradictions, even for one like you, who had not so many days ago been able to look out over your capital and see the architecture of a dozen worlds without turning your head. The stone and metal and wood were all familiar to you, the craftsmanship itself both remarkably accurate and yet somehow…off. As if the entire building had been painstakingly pulled apart and then reconstructed again. Perhaps that was the easiest way to move something this large in this realm. Dresden's comments about teleportation seemed to support that idea. That didn't make the whole process any less inefficient in your eyes, but you were quite aware that relocating the Golden Hearth and other buildings later had…reoriented your sense of scale. This keep was probably small enough for you to pick up as your Draconic self.

    The contradictions were the 'modern' conveniences, much of which was as mysterious to you as magic had been when you'd first awoken to it all those years ago in Braavos. You'd grown a lot more used to dealing with the unknown since then. On the one hand, you'd had to. On the other? Power helped a lot.

    "You must understand that Mr Marcone generally doesn't welcome guests without appointment," your new guide told you, Dresden had called her Ms Gard. She was tall, if not quite as tall as Harry, but it was the way she moved that made you pay attention. She didn't walk like a civilian. The reaction of your previous escort had made it clear she wasn't one, but it went deeper than that. There were remarkably few people you knew who walked like she did, and all of them were combat experts. Something to keep an eye on.

    "I will be sure to thank him for his generosity," you said blandly, though quite sincerely. "I was told to expect the need to make an appointment, in fact, so this is a welcome surprise." That was the other interesting thing about the place, though. Beyond the technology everywhere, there was a feeling to the place that you recognised. Marcone wasn't well liked by Harry Dresden, you'd known that when you'd asked him to take you there. But it was the presence of the place that told you why. This wasn't just his turf, not really, but he was its most present master. And that made it easy for you to pick out the little details that pointed to exactly one thing. Marcone was a criminal. And a good one.

    You could respect that. And you'd restocked your bag shortly before your unfortunate encounter with the Elder Brain, which meant you were in good shape to say thank you in a way that would be appreciated. Once you worked out how much everything you had was worth, that was. Maybe Marcone could help you with that. For a price, no doubt. The thought brought a thoughtful smile to your face. So long as it was humanity involved, some things truly didn't seem to change

    "Here we are," Gard stopped, turning to open the door for you. Her hand slipped to her side, but there was no tension in the arm that would have been there if she'd grasped something. She was good. "Mr Targaryen for you, sir."

    The door opened into a room that was clearly an office. Enough time spent in one yourself made it easy to match. A large desk, well organised letters and files, although the paper was far thinner than what you were used to. A man sat at the side of the room, fingers moving steadily across the keys of what you now could recognise as a computer. Not who you were here to see, but your instincts screamed bodyguard the moment you saw him.

    Your eyes skimmed the bare walls, then settled on the man behind the desk, looking up from a letter with every appearance of indifference. His hair was short, like most men you'd seen so far, and scattered with spots of silver. He wore a crisp suit, that was the right word, that did little to hide the fact that he was in far better shape than anyone who just sat behind a desk could be. With a change of clothes, he wouldn't have looked out of place among the clerks of your many companies. He was also, undeniably, exactly what Dresden had not told you he was and that you'd worked out in the short walk to his office.

    "Mr Targaryen," his greeting was much like the one you'd give a stranger who you weren't sure of. "A pleasure to meet you. Please, take a seat." Something in his eyes sharpened as you stopped across the threshold. "Gard tells me that you wish to introduce yourself to me, in my status as Freeholding Baron of Chicago," he pronounced the title with a lawyer's diction. "Is that correct?"

    You took the seat and nodded comfortably. "It is, Lord Marcone." Being polite was only good manners, and it was clear that it won something from him. "It seemed sensible to introduce myself once I was caught up on the Accords." Technically true. You had needed to catch up, just from a base of nothing.

    "I see," Marcone placed the letter down on the desk and leaned back, folding his hands together. "May I ask your intentions in this city?" He knew something.

    "I would prefer a quiet stay, but I feel that that might not be possible." A shrug, and you noticed the bodyguard's lips twitch. Perhaps the company you'd kept on your way here. Dresden didn't seem much a man for the quiet life. "If nothing else, I would be grateful for aid in finding a more permanent residence." From experience, a place you could properly call your own was key.

    "You are aware that this is not a charity," Marcone began, only to stop as you chuckled.

    "I entirely expect that such a request would come with a cost." You told him in way of answer, the chuckle dying away to a firm smile. Reaching into your cloak, you called a ruby the width of your thumb to your hand, ignoring the sudden heightening of attention as your hand disappeared. It vanished quickly as you placed the stone down on the desk, a single finger pushing it towards your host. "A down payment, if you will, and also thanks for your willingness to make time to see me so quickly."

    Apparently a ruby like that was worth a great deal, given how carefully Marcone took the stone, though not before a subtle look at Gard. He held it up, appraising it with an expert's eyes. "I will need to have this checked, you understand."

    He didn't, but that was acceptable. You nodded again. "Of course." As expected, he didn't ask where it came from.

    "Then I have only one question," Marcone smiled icily, showing very white teeth. "What did the Fomor do to draw your ire?"
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    Seems like Viserys would prefer to use Miracle to cast Mage's Magnificent Mansion as a place of residence. Completely secure, exquisitely comfortable, and an excellent place to host guests.

    As for the Fomor, "What you call the Fomor are merely a single faction of Aberrant monsters who plague all of reality. Among my people they are known as the Deep Ones. The Deep Ones refer to me as the Unquenchable Flame, for I burn them from existence, root and branch, wherever they turn up."
     
    Omake: Unkindly Scattered Part II
  • Threadmarks
    • Unkindly Scattered
    Part II
    ​
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    That man's a killer, Blake knew after she first laid eyes on the carnage ahead. Every contour, every sharp edge, the casual manner in which his rapid and sure movements, even weighed down by heavy armor so black that it drank in light on each plate's facing as much as it gleamed like the fire of a kindled forge from within, seemed to scream one word: death. He demonstrated his immense strength like any of the four girls lived and breathed, but existing in a perpetual state of readiness for violence in a way that reminded her of... Adam.

    Except more... contained. In control. No great satisfaction or pleasure in the act of reaping of life or cockiness over their own victories. An experienced Huntsman could fight with little wasted energy she knew, and he made it look so easy. That just reminded Blake of how far she yet had to go before reaching her own goal.

    A Beowulf latched onto one of his arms and tore fruitlessly with claws that could have sheared right through steel under ordinary circumstances, but they just glanced off that smoky cuirass he bore like rain upon a stone. A dark-grey, unadorned dagger appeared on-hand in a flash, the limb in question pinning the Grimm in place against his chest and the implement was driven up through their jaw with calm nonchalance, like a baker taking bread out of the oven, or perhaps more accurately a butcher preparing a cut of meat, ripping half their lupine head open by raking it forward with an eerie strength. Once he regained full movement of both arms he swung his large flaming sword again, carving through three more of the swarming Beowolves filling the ruin... with more drawn in from the surrounding Emerald Forest. Were they attracted to the sound of the fight? Blake thought. She tried not to think that maybe the Huntsman was experiencing so much negativity right now that they were being drawn to him like a bonfire in the dark, or that their attempt to rescue him--an idea looking more and more ridiculous as she observed him at work--might be completely fruitless after all.

    The Knight leapt up suddenly upon re-engagement with a far stronger opponent, using the bony plates on a Alpha Beowulf to climb higher, twisting in mid-air as that ominous black blade of his arced and lopped off their head. Blake hadn't seen an advanced variant of Grimm killed with that kind of laughable ease pretty much ever. While it rolled away, the body had yet to realize it had died. He crushed the standing corpse beneath his iron heel, obliterating the plated Grimm with a unstoppable tread. Two more were struck with such great force from that black sword that their body parts almost made it to Team RWBY before dissipating entirely. Every time he swung that weapon, it was to kill something, or render a Grimm combat ineffective... whichever proved more expedient. It never erred in approach, almost like it was alive.

    "Holy..." Yang gaped, pointing at the twitching bulk of a Deathstalker, still alive but stuck in place by its own tail, now pierced through their thick shell. The armored huntsman almost seemed like he was playing with the Grimm... but closer observation made Blake reconsider. He used no more force than necessary to eliminate one as a threat--and he never seemed to discount a single enemy within range of that deathly burning sword, unerringly seeking neck, joint or darting forward and crushing them under darksteel-clad fist, methodically, like someone hammering in nails.

    Blake leapt ahead, Gambol Shroud flung forward to wrap around an Ursa's neck, before slicing at their hamstrings and toppling it just as it began to rear up. A clone was dispatched by a rogue Beowulf, only to have it fall a moment later to a sniper round, courtesy Ruby's dead eye. Ruby struck the downed Ursa with a bullet between the eyes before it could make a grab for Blake.

    "Ruby!" The reaper flung herself above the melee with great speed, with a shrill call of 'got it!', before descending in a tornado of red petals, her scythe clearing a space three-hundred and sixty degrees around herself while gathering further momentum by expending more Dust ammunition, a storm of red petals surrounding their team leader as she stood atop her massive scythe. Dropping backwards to avoid the swiping arm of a younger Ursa, the weapon shot forward with a cacophonous mechanized transition and stabbed through the lunging jaws that followed in rare spear-form, the beast's weight doing most of the work, then decapitated with one high-caliber round fired and a switch back to her scythe mode, a decision that couldn't have been better timed as Ruby rode that momentum into a full circular swing which cut down encroaching Beowolves. What she lacked in size and strength, she more than made up for in creative use of a complex weapon.

    She smoothly transitioned into a shooter's stance, a wall of ice securing her back when her partner dropped down from a glyph to impale the Beowolf trying to ambush them with one simple thrust through the eye socket, most of her attention on dust weaving another glacial barrier.

    "Ice Flower!" Ruby called, eyes on the dark warrior standing off what seemed like a tide of Grimm.

    Weiss backed her partner up as practiced, a glyph appearing to shroud her large caliber bullets in ice dust, the rounds impacting with the mountain of Grimm scrambling to pull the armored Huntsman down to the ground. He embedded his sword into the new-made mound of ice and hauled himself above the spoiled pack, embedding his sword into the new-made icy mound, hanging over the slavering maws of a dozen Beowolves, the flaring heat of his armor beginning to die down. He cursed, then glanced in their direction. "Make the ice higher and flatter!" He had a deep baritone, curt, Blake thought, yet mildly appreciative.

    Blake lost track of them as the Deathstalker unpinned itself from the ground, charging at the blonde and black-haired duo, shotgun shells blazing away and impacting against scarred-bone plated chitin. "Bumblebee!" called the brawler, and Blake swung and threw her chain with feeling. Yang grabbed ahold of the other end just in time and moved forward at a blistering pace, before impacting the front of the Elder Grimm, cracking their protective shell. Two claws began to descend to rip her in half...

    An explosion sounded a second later at the point of impact, knocking the maimed Grimm over.

    Blake brandished her blade, eyes narrowed at the horde of Grimm gathering in unnatural numbers. The group was still calm, and there weren't any other people here... what could possibly be bringing them toward them? Her back met her partner's, and the horde circled around the group to fill the newly made gap the Deathstalker had left. Yang crouched and Blake jumped without a word, the brawler giving her a lift and tossing her high above the bedlam, while she let loose one half of Gambol Shroud to be swung around behind her Partner, slashing and slicing as she went. Yang aimed higher before lowering the chain, and Blake fell down with the force of a meteor and broke through the vulnerable Elder Grimm's underside with a fatal stab, their legs twitching violently before it crumpled to black mist in a single, terrible blow.

    Yet their situation still seemed hopeless...

    ***​

    Gods damned blood-drunk sword, Richard thought scathingly. A tide of enemies couldn't do much to discourage the Knight, but worse than that, it merely encouraged Oathkeeper's thirst for further battle. And these enemies were thick and thoroughly inundated with the kind of hell-stuff that he supped upon as much as they could get it. The blood of fiends had made Oathkeeper mighty. Richard cut down one shadow-beast only to have two more take their place--which might worry almost any other sane warrior, but then he would simply switch to cutting down two at a time. When two would not yet suffice, skill so pure that one immediately thought of tall peaks which hermits resided upon for forty-nine days and nights to forge and hone a single blade, allowing him to cleave through three living shadows at once.

    Still, his black blade drank deeper, the flame upon it brighter, the eyes of the golden skull pommel flashed with every kill. The Knight was not miserly with the gift thusly dispensed. The beasts were felled... again and again.

    If only they would not disappear so thoroughly, Richard could have hoped to build a wall of bodies. He did not fear he would be surrounded, torn apart limb from limb--least of all because they found it difficult to gain purchase upon Dragonsteel plate. But he was gaining more bruises than he was losing, even with a little help from his armor and its celestial-granted rejuvenation.

    He would have his belt's charges to fall back on, come to that.

    Richard... honestly wasn't sure if he could fight an entire army of screaming nightmares alone. He felt some doubt if it would ever simply be practical enough for him to do so. A lucky foe could slay a man who thought himself invincible, for no one truly was. But he couldn't even begin to estimate any longer where his true limits would finally end. He could kill, and kill, and kill, find within himself that he could go past what his body said was finally enough. Oathkeeper grew stronger with each kill. And at times imbued him with some of that addictive false life, so that he could fight on despite being covered in blood or vitriol enough to fill buckets.

    If he still had his duty, he could hold to it, and he never needed more than that to convince himself to fight on. One more step. One more swing. One more kill. Not against Hell's greatest champions and mightiest rulers, not against abominations who could flense a man's mind to grains of sand, such that the earth beneath them might be churned by the passage of time, forever immortal so their dark secrets might echo forevermore, not mighty wyrms and dragonkin, empowered by maddened gods who could not abide the simplest truth the battle-forged Knight had discovered over years of fighting, that which claimed themselves unbeatable: All things strive.

    Not a one he would yield to.

    And they were thus stricken.

    He would never fail to uphold his oaths. Never again.

    And they were thus smote.

    And today, that meant he couldn't afford to die.

    And thus he did strive.

    He would kill fear of death itself in his heart, if that was the next wall put before him. And not against The End, come to it, would he fail his Kingdom, nor his King.

    He was Steel.

    And this would be his Fire.

    ...​

    "You alright?" Richard grunted, vaguely aware of the red-cloaked scythe wielding teen behind him. She had taken more than one painful blow it had seemed, though he did not see any blood and she had no trouble maneuvering that massive mechanical weapon, either. The four of them stood atop a veritable plateau of ice, surrounded by a horde of what appeared to be lesser "Grimm", as the girl, Ruby she had introduced herself as, called them. Occasionally one would leap or climb high enough to justify him interceding himself before one of the four flagging younger warriors--and he did not disparage their heroics, foolhardy or not, because it was clear they could handle themselves in a fight, which is mostly all that mattered given he had stood back to back with a boy hardly younger than he was when he fought in his first war, against far more dangerous things at that.

    "I'm..." she exhaled, panting for breath now that she could finally take a break--she had insisted they take turns once the more dangerous enemies had started to thin out on the ground--seeming to steel herself for how wispy and young she sounded then and there, "I'm okay. Do you have any ideas on how to get out of here?"

    Richard shrugged once, then considered how to answer without some dust dry dismissive remark. He normally wouldn't care about annoying the small rapier wielding woman with a bit of gallows humor, but it simply wasn't the time. "Hope they get bored and find an easier meal?"

    "That won't work," the black-haired teen responded immediately. "They're attracted to something about you." Her eyes were glued to the back of his skull any moment she wasn't defending herself and her friends, and she had never come within arms reach, unlike her apparent leader, who seemed perfectly comfortable fighting back to back with him, trust implicit despite never meeting. Smart girl, Richard almost spoke out in approval. You never can be too careful.

    Richard then frowned in thought. "Can you stop being so noisy for a bit?" He ignored the outcry from behind him, speaking to his sword instead, though he couldn't just say that. He didn't need them to think he was crazy, too. Something told him around these parts talking swords weren't as common as dirt. Or monsters, for that matter.

    "I was just getting started," the smith-spirit grumbled, but they did then reduce their presence until he only felt a faint connection in the back of his mind, one that emanated more of the fiery passion of his liege than not. It was a comfort in its own way, enough that the Knight hardly worried about being lost somewhere strange and unknown. Duty weighed heavier than a mountain.

    But fear cuts sharper than swords.

    Richard gazed up at the broken tower, then at the non-collapsed bridges connecting to other parts of the ruin still intact. Then at the cliffs in the distance.

    He considered if he could stand to bear the weight of the four behind him.

    The sword thought it deeply funny how he never considered just leaving them behind.

    He could have done that at any time, after all.

    He started the next conversation with the same words so many others he remembered had started with; "I have a idea..."
     
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    • There you are. Nearly 2,400 words, because it did really start to bloat.

    I also prefer "The Triumph" for that last intermission. It was so appropriate, but I really did mean to use a Season 1 RWBY song at some point near the start of this.

    But Richard makes things waaaay more defiant this chapter.
     
    Crake said:
    There you are. Nearly 2,400 words, because it did really start to bloat.

    I also prefer "The Triumph" for that last intermission. It was so appropriate, but I really did mean to use a Season 1 RWBY song at some point near the start of this.

    But Richard makes things waaaay more defiant this chapter.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    I wonder if he is going to train the kids. He has a very worldly experience to him considering the Grimm don't register as a threat compared to what he has faced.. Also Cinder is so screwed
     
    Crake said:
    Unkindly Scattered
    Part II
    ​
    That man's a killer, Blake knew after she first laid eyes on the carnage ahead. Every contour, every sharp edge, the casual manner in which his rapid and sure movements, even weighed down by heavy armor so black that it drank in light on each plate's facing as much as it gleamed like the fire of a kindled forge from within, seemed to scream one word: death. He demonstrated his immense strength like any of the four girls lived and breathed, but existing in a perpetual state of readiness for violence in a way that reminded her of... Adam.

    Except more... contained. In control. No great satisfaction or pleasure in the act of reaping of life or cockiness over their own victories. An experienced Huntsman could fight with little wasted energy she knew, and he made it look so easy. That just reminded Blake of how far she yet had to go before reaching her own goal.

    A Beowulf latched onto one of his arms and tore fruitlessly with claws that could have sheared right through steel under ordinary circumstances, but they just glanced off that smoky cuirass he bore like rain upon a stone. A dark-grey, unadorned dagger appeared on-hand in a flash, the limb in question pinning the Grimm in place against his chest and the implement was driven up through their jaw with calm nonchalance, like a baker taking bread out of the oven, or perhaps more accurately a butcher preparing a cut of meat, ripping half their lupine head open by raking it forward with an eerie strength. Once he regained full movement of both arms he swung his large flaming sword again, carving through three more of the swarming Beowolves filling the ruin... with more drawn in from the surrounding Emerald Forest. Were they attracted to the sound of the fight? Blake thought. She tried not to think that maybe the Huntsman was experiencing so much negativity right now that they were being drawn to him like a bonfire in the dark, or that their attempt to rescue him--an idea looking more and more ridiculous as she observed him at work--might be completely fruitless after all.

    The Knight leapt up suddenly upon re-engagement with a far stronger opponent, using the bony plates on a Alpha Beowulf to climb higher, twisting in mid-air as that ominous black blade of his arced and lopped off their head. Blake hadn't seen an advanced variant of Grimm killed with that kind of laughable ease pretty much ever. While it rolled away, the body had yet to realize it had died. He crushed the standing corpse beneath his iron heel, obliterating the plated Grimm with a unstoppable tread. Two more were struck with such great force from that black sword that their body parts almost made it to Team RWBY before dissipating entirely. Every time he swung that weapon, it was to kill something, or render a Grimm combat ineffective... whichever proved more expedient. It never erred in approach, almost like it was alive.

    "Holy..." Yang gaped, pointing at the twitching bulk of a Deathstalker, still alive but stuck in place by its own tail, now pierced through their thick shell. The armored huntsman almost seemed like he was playing with the Grimm... but closer observation made Blake reconsider. He used no more force than necessary to eliminate one as a threat--and he never seemed to discount a single enemy within range of that deathly burning sword, unerringly seeking neck, joint or darting forward and crushing them under darksteel-clad fist, methodically, like someone hammering in nails.

    Blake leapt ahead, Gambol Shroud flung forward to wrap around an Ursa's neck, before slicing at their hamstrings and toppling it just as it began to rear up. A clone was dispatched by a rogue Beowulf, only to have it fall a moment later to a sniper round, courtesy Ruby's dead eye. Ruby struck the downed Ursa with a bullet between the eyes before it could make a grab for Blake.

    "Ruby!" The reaper flung herself above the melee with great speed, with a shrill call of 'got it!', before descending in a tornado of red petals, her scythe clearing a space three-hundred and sixty degrees around herself while gathering further momentum by expending more Dust ammunition, a storm of red petals surrounding their team leader as she stood atop her massive scythe. Dropping backwards to avoid the swiping arm of a younger Ursa, the weapon shot forward with a cacophonous mechanized transition and stabbed through the lunging jaws that followed in rare spear-form, the beast's weight doing most of the work, then decapitated with one high-caliber round fired and a switch back to her scythe mode, a decision that couldn't have been better timed as Ruby rode that momentum into a full circular swing which cut down encroaching Beowolves. What she lacked in size and strength, she more than made up for in creative use of a complex weapon.

    She smoothly transitioned into a shooter's stance, a wall of ice securing her back when her partner dropped down from a glyph to impale the Beowolf trying to ambush them with one simple thrust through the eye socket, most of her attention on dust weaving another glacial barrier.

    "Ice Flower!" Ruby called, eyes on the dark warrior standing off what seemed like a tide of Grimm.

    Weiss backed her partner up as practiced, a glyph appearing to shroud her large caliber bullets in ice dust, the rounds impacting with the mountain of Grimm scrambling to pull the armored Huntsman down to the ground. He embedded his sword into the new-made mound of ice and hauled himself above the spoiled pack, embedding his sword into the new-made icy mound, hanging over the slavering maws of a dozen Beowolves, the flaring heat of his armor beginning to die down. He cursed, then glanced in their direction. "Make the ice higher and flatter!" He had a deep baritone, curt, Blake thought, yet mildly appreciative.

    Blake lost track of them as the Deathstalker unpinned itself from the ground, charging at the blonde and black-haired duo, shotgun shells blazing away and impacting against scarred-bone plated chitin. "Bumblebee!" called the brawler, and Blake swung and threw her chain with feeling. Yang grabbed ahold of the other end just in time and moved forward at a blistering pace, before impacting the front of the Elder Grimm, cracking their protective shell. Two claws began to descend to rip her in half...

    An explosion sounded a second later at the point of impact, knocking the maimed Grimm over.

    Blake brandished her blade, eyes narrowed at the horde of Grimm gathering in unnatural numbers. The group was still calm, and there weren't any other people here... what could possibly be bringing them toward them? Her back met her partner's, and the horde circled around the group to fill the newly made gap the Deathstalker had left. Yang crouched and Blake jumped without a word, the brawler giving her a lift and tossing her high above the bedlam, while she let loose one half of Gambol Shroud to be swung around behind her Partner, slashing and slicing as she went. Yang aimed higher before lowering the chain, and Blake fell down with the force of a meteor and broke through the vulnerable Elder Grimm's underside with a fatal stab, their legs twitching violently before it crumpled to black mist in a single, terrible blow.

    Yet their situation still seemed hopeless...

    ***​

    Gods damned blood-drunk sword, Richard thought scathingly. A tide of enemies couldn't do much to discourage the Knight, but worse than that, it merely encouraged Oathkeeper's thirst for further battle. And these enemies were thick and thoroughly inundated with the kind of hell-stuff that he supped upon as much as they could get it. The blood of fiends had made Oathkeeper mighty. Richard cut down one shadow-beast only to have two more take their place--which might worry almost any other sane warrior, but then he would simply switch to cutting down two at a time. When two would not yet suffice, skill so pure that one immediately thought of tall peaks which hermits resided upon for forty-nine days and nights to forge and hone a single blade, allowing him to cleave through three living shadows at once.

    Still, his black blade drank deeper, the flame upon it brighter, the eyes of the golden skull pommel flashed with every kill. The Knight was not miserly with the gift thusly dispensed. The beasts were felled... again and again.

    If only they would not disappear so thoroughly, Richard could have hoped to build a wall of bodies. He did not fear he would be surrounded, torn apart limb from limb--least of all because they found it difficult to gain purchase upon Dragonsteel plate. But he was gaining more bruises than he was losing, even with a little help from his armor and its celestial-granted rejuvenation.

    He would have his belt's charges to fall back on, come to that.

    Richard... honestly wasn't sure if he could fight an entire army of screaming nightmares alone. He felt some doubt if it would ever simply be practical enough for him to do so. A lucky foe could slay a man who thought himself invincible, for no one truly was. But he couldn't even begin to estimate any longer where his true limits would finally end. He could kill, and kill, and kill, find within himself that he could go past what his body said was finally enough. Oathkeeper grew stronger with each kill. And at times imbued him with some of that addictive false life, so that he could fight on despite being covered in blood or vitriol enough to fill buckets.

    If he still had his duty, he could hold to it, and he never needed more than that to convince himself to fight on. One more step. One more swing. One more kill. Not against Hell's greatest champions and mightiest rulers, not against abominations who could flense a man's mind to grains of sand, such that the earth beneath them might be churned by the passage of time, forever immortal so their dark secrets might echo forevermore, not mighty wyrms and dragonkin, empowered by maddened gods who could not abide the simplest truth the battle-forged Knight had discovered over years of fighting, that which claimed themselves unbeatable: All things strive.

    Not a one he would yield to.

    And they were thus stricken.

    He would never fail to uphold his oaths. Never again.

    And they were thus smote.

    And today, that meant he couldn't afford to die.

    And thus he did strive.

    He would kill fear of death itself in his heart, if that was the next wall put before him. And not against The End, come to it, would he fail his Kingdom, nor his King.

    He was Steel.

    And this would be his Fire.

    ...​

    "You alright?" Richard grunted, vaguely aware of the red-cloaked scythe wielding teen behind him. She had taken more than one painful blow it had seemed, though he did not see any blood and she had no trouble maneuvering that massive mechanical weapon, either. The four of them stood atop a veritable plateau of ice, surrounded by a horde of what appeared to be lesser "Grimm", as the girl, Ruby she had introduced herself as, called them. Occasionally one would leap or climb high enough to justify him interceding himself before one of the four flagging younger warriors--and he did not disparage their heroics, foolhardy or not, because it was clear they could handle themselves in a fight, which is mostly all that mattered given he had stood back to back with a boy hardly younger than he was when he fought in his first war, against far more dangerous things at that.

    "I'm..." she exhaled, panting for breath now that she could finally take a break--she had insisted they take turns once the more dangerous enemies had started to thin out on the ground--seeming to steel herself for how wispy and young she sounded then and there, "I'm okay. Do you have any ideas on how to get out of here?"

    Richard shrugged once, then considered how to answer without some dust dry dismissive remark. He normally wouldn't care about annoying the small rapier wielding woman with a bit of gallows humor, but it simply wasn't the time. "Hope they get bored and find an easier meal?"

    "That won't work," the black-haired teen responded immediately. "They're attracted to something about you." Her eyes were glued to the back of his skull any moment she wasn't defending herself and her friends, and she had never come within arms reach, unlike her apparent leader, who seemed perfectly comfortable fighting back to back with him, trust implicit despite never meeting. Smart girl, Richard almost spoke out in approval. You never can be too careful.

    Richard then frowned in thought. "Can you stop being so noisy for a bit?" He ignored the outcry from behind him, speaking to his sword instead, though he couldn't just say that. He didn't need them to think he was crazy, too. Something told him around these parts talking swords weren't as common as dirt. Or monsters, for that matter.

    "I was just getting started," the smith-spirit grumbled, but they did then reduce their presence until he only felt a faint connection in the back of his mind, one that emanated more of the fiery passion of his liege than not. It was a comfort in its own way, enough that the Knight hardly worried about being lost somewhere strange and unknown. Duty weighed heavier than a mountain.

    But fear cuts sharper than swords.

    Richard gazed up at the broken tower, then at the non-collapsed bridges connecting to other parts of the ruin still intact. Then at the cliffs in the distance.

    He considered if he could stand to bear the weight of the four behind him.

    The sword thought it deeply funny how he never considered just leaving them behind.

    He could have done that at any time, after all.

    He started the next conversation with the same words so many others he remembered had started with; "I have a plan..."
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Beautiful!

    What level is Richard at this point? I'm not sure what all gear he arrived with, but there are a number of items he doesn't have yet, but will in just the next few months; Scabbard of Keen Edges, Ring of Arming (added to another ring), and a Flight Item (Dragonscale Cloak, maybe?). There are other goodies I want for him, of course, but I don't know how long it'll be before he gets them. His gloves are going to get upgraded to at least +4 Strength next turn, too.

    BTW, @Duesal, @Crake, Richard's character sheet is missing the Ring of Freedom of Movement we got from Mammon's Avatar. He's supposed to be using it in place of the Swarmbane Ring, which is going to be upgraded to slotless next turn so he can go back to wearing it, too.
     
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