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

[DragonParadox]

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.

 

[DragonParadox]

A Twist of Fate ​

Twenty Fifth Day of the Eighth Month 294 AC

There is a certain expectation to passing through one's wedding, soft music, softer sheets, the japes of friends and the expectations of strangers. With Lya at your side you pass through them all and more. In halls filled with those great and good of the realm much is made of the day and its meaning and vials of cordial and jugs of wine are drunk, mugs of bear are toasted with and fine liquors tasted. Yet in the end all that falls away like a mantle from the shoulders of the night, softly and quietly without ceremony and fanfare.

People are still celebrating in the streets, their voices drifting through the open window on the wind that tugs playfully on the curtains. Neither you nor Lya notice enough to care until the night is well past its zenith.

"Well if I had known being married would do that I would have pledged to it sooner..." You can hear the smile in Lya's voice, almost purring in satisfaction. The moonlight plays in her hair

"Ah you have torn the words from my lips ere I could speak them," you reply with mock formality that make all the more incongruous by your manner of dress or undress as the case may be.

"Now there is a power I did not know I had," Lya replies. "Don't tell me I have struck you dumb from the lack of words."

"Never," you proclaim. "Why I have quite a few more words to share if you would hear them, suggestions if you will..."

That takes a while, speaking to doing passing, but even the most enjoyable of activities must needs pause, if not for any exhaustion of the body then because there are other words to share as well that night.

***​

"Did you ever wonder that life would have been like without all of this?" Lya asks softly as she looks up at the canopy of the bed, soft blue like the evening sky, studded with pearls from the depths of the sea. One of the stewards had suggested your House colors, you recall amused, though less at the fact itself and more at the reaction of the man when you had dryly replied that Fire and Blood both had their place, but one's bed was not in.

"Without the crown or..." Once you might have been uncertain, unsure if she is having second thoughts now that she is bound by vow to spend her nights in a bed where the crown must occupy at least half the pillow. But now you cannot suspect her of that, you have been through too much and seen each other too closely to for deception, be it of the self or of each other.

"Magic, where we would be if there was no magic to change the world, or us, if it had all just died long ago and left the Sphere a hollow thing floating in the void alone," she replied. "I know I would not be sharing this bed for one...."

"And I would be all the poorer for it, immeasurably so," you reply before melancholy can slip into the night where it does not belong. "The world would have been a dull place filled with the ringing of steel and the boasts of fools and braggarts. I would like to think I would have stayed away from the Seven Kingdoms and not inflicted more war on a realm that would not have been so poorly ruled..."

"You cannot really pretend to be the sort of person who would turn his back on ambition without pretending to be someone else altogether," Lya says gently. There is still sadness there, though of a different sort, almost you might call is sympathy. "I would probably just be boring in a world without sorcery, you would be lost I think. Sorry for bringing it up."

"No, no," you shake your head. "If you want to talk I'm more than happy to talk. What made you think of that?"

"Just thinking about what I wished that day when I cast my first spell. I was looking for knowledge, but what I was really hoping for was a change in my life another future." She laughs, breaking the tension of the moment. "I did not expect it to get quite so out of hand."

What next?

[] Write in

OOC: It is past 1 AM again and I do not trust myself to roll an action so have some fluff to tide you over until the morning. Not yet edited.

 

[DragonParadox]

In a Queen's Eye ​

Eighth Day of the Ninth Month 294 AC

Far more so than the Red Keep of Rhaella's youth, the Imperial Palace was more administrative headquarters than it was simply a royal residence. Its rhythms thus had more in common with the daily lives of bankers and solicitors, engineers and architects, than it did with those of what she understood to be courtiers. There were of course representatives from all the major lords, cities and governors in residence, the staff of the Curia members high and low, but though many of these people were used to sleeping until noon, the better to burn the midnight oil in feasts and dances, they would not find much of that entertainment here, at least not ordinarily.

In the place of the common stream of petty entertainments to fill the void between affairs of state the new capital was a place of exuberant displays of wealth and power, broken up by long stretches of what she could now call ordinary life. It was more regimented and more predictable than the ebb and flow of petitioners and minor sycophants who were the mainstay of the court in King's Landing. People did not rise and fall in the favor of the throne here, here is where they came to trade in that influence, for a few borrowed moments, for the chance to bring ideas forward to the consideration of the Ministers in an informal setting.

Factions cut deals and discussed trade and expansion plans, betrothals were set and guardianship settled—that was one Westerosi custom that seemed to be crossing the sea at full speed, helped no doubt by Viserys' habit of collecting wards of the Crown, though if Rhaella were to judge she would say that had more to do with her son's soft spot for the young and vulnerable, moved by powers beyond their own than political calculus.

One could hope that the inclination would move him to secure the succession sooner rather than later, but she was not going to press the matter. Gods knew she of all people knew what it was like to be pressured into trying to produce an heir. Granted her gooddaughter was not likely to have those troubles, but there were other subtler perils in her path which personal power and skill alone would not ward one from.

For now there seemed to be a sort of general confusion on the person of the new Empress, not on who she was or what she might do. Her love and loyalty to Viserys was both crystal clear and one of the things that endeared the girl to Rhaella the most, but an Empress was more than just the Imperator's wife, she was the defining ideal of womanhood in the budding realm, the subject of song,poem and soon to be of plays also, though a touch more veiled in the latter respect.

That presented something of an issue, since the person of Lya the Sage Empress was about as far from the bounds of ordinary experience as one could go without shape-shifting out of the human form altogether. Viserys at least projected an understandable image. Larger than life, yes, but still something that could be imitated writ small; clever, charismatic, slow to take offense when none was meant and happy to jest when jests could be had. But what exactly was one supposed to make of a woman whose principal claim to fame was the ability to bend the world to her will with word and gesture, of one who could be in two places at once and who had crafted 'daughters for herself' like some ancient goddess molding the primordial clay.

Some of the young women of the court had taken to reading and making public shows of it. The genuinely studious were likely exhilarated and even some of those who had not the chance to take to books beyond the needs of their basic education had found a new passion for some aspect of scholarship. There are more books on the shelves of the Dragon than there are stars in the sky, the saying went, and not without cause underneath the flattery. Books also made for portable and compact ways to refuse unwanted company, particularly suitors, among the more spirited set of young women who had made their way to the capital in the wake of the wedding... a habit which had not taken long to expend to the male half of the young aristocrats.

'I have courses early' had grown into such a formulaic rejection there were jests circulating about it already, though in truth those very classes did odd things indeed to notions of what was 'proper' among the circles of the high nobility. One could not take a chaperone to class in any of the institutions of public learning in the Deep, and traveling all the way to the capital just to learn from a tutor was seen as unsophisticated at best.

So it was that the academies and schools of the Deep became hotbeds of flirtation and rumor that one would normally expect of court functions, to the annoyance of some of the professors and the intrigue of the populace. It was unlikely indeed that it would have gotten so far so fast were it not for the fact that proponents of education could hold up the image of the Empress like a warding talisman. The words 'knowledge is never wasted unless it is lost' were often bandied about, though Rhaella happened to know Lya herself considered them little more than a rhetorical flourish in a speech given before a library opening in Lorath.

Alas, the obvious counter to that from those who feared youthful promiscuity and ruined marriage plans were reminders that Lya and Viserys had hardly waited to consummate their marriage after the bed was made, a fact which no one could deny and it would be absurd to even try. There was, the former queen was starting to realize, a building sentiment against Lya, not for what she actually was, but for what she represented in the minds of the younger sons and especially daughters of the nobility. Her matter of fact trespass against old norms was a threat in a way the challenging deportment of say, Tyene Sandviper, could never be. She was playing a familiar part, however brazenly, that the Empress was making up the lines as she went along.

What do you do about the subtle but growing anti-Lya sentiment among the more conservative nobles at court?

[] Ask Lya to lean into it—it is not quite what you were expecting, but she could do worse then being emblematic to the 'New Noble' among the younger generation

[] Ask Lya to carefully distance herself from the perception, no sense indirectly dragging the throne into inter-generational conflict

[] Write in

OOC: Interlude brought to you by the new turn system. There was no way enough time would have passed IC for these kinds of cultural developments without the faster passage of time.

 

[DragonParadox]

From Banked Embers ​

Ninth Day of the Ninth Month 294 AC

"Are you sure you don't want me to do anything about it?" It is admittedly the third time you have asked the question in the last half hour, but you do not think it deserves quite that look from Lya.

"About what?" she snorts. "Gossips and gabbers impugning my 'virtue', truthfully I might add? That is not a crime, unless you want to fill every jail in the realm with people who criticize the throne and the changes it has made to their lives."

"Technically it is a crime if they say it too loudly and with the intention of undermining the state," you note. Though you had gotten rid of the overly formal aspects of lèse majesté from the earlier law codes, which were in any case more concerned with ensuring the smallfolk scraped and bowed so low you could not see their faces, that does not mean there is no echo of the crime in Imperial jurisprudence. The Lannisters had taught you well how perilous a few poisoned words can be. The crime is however far more rigorously defined, and with enough teeth to it to affect even the nobility in case of a concerted campaign of slander. Granted what you had heard was going around court was not that, but...

Lya has the same thought at the same time. "Being snide does not undermine the prestige and authority of the throne, and if they are going to make me the villain of their little morality play than I shall pay them in kind. I think I will do a lecture tomorrow on the educational system of lost Valyria, purely from an academic perceptive you understand..." And fish would not smell in her mouth, as they say in Braavos.

You laugh. "Far be it from me to stand between you and your vengeance."

Both of you of course know it is about far more than any petty slight, the decision had ultimately been a political one. Lya's first move upon the proverbial board since she had become Imperatrix. It is for a cause she believes in and one she is well suited to championing, but still... You like to think one should be allowed a touch of unreasonable protectiveness of one's new wife, particularly when you were guilty of the same supposed transgression and no one seems to be raising any concerns of your character.

Behold the king who is troubled that he is not blamed for enough misdeeds, Varys hisses, amused in the silence of your thoughts. Take care what you wish for, for thy wishes have weight.

***​

You could not say for certain if your familiar was touched by some shadow of prophecy or just proven skilled in guessing, but whatever the case you receive word that very afternoon of strange doings in Volantis. There had been an attack on Benerro, not to kill but to capture. Though your first thought goes to the Lord of the Ninth and your second to the Red God's ancient foes, none of them are to blame from what little the diviners can see through the haze of glamor and false trails.

The hand of the Brazen Throne, the Heir of Iblis moves again, though this time with a more insidious purpose. You doubt His agents would have tried to capture a sorcerer-priest as skilled as Benerro simply to kill him in some out of the way alleyway, you cannot foresee in this matter for the agents are warded, but you can guess. The Red Faith is powerful, prevalent and linked to fire, and Benerro knows many of the secrets of his god, secrets that could well serve those seeking to infiltrate the faithful.

The question that now yawns before you is if the servants had dared to aim so high, how many others had not been as blessed or as skillful as Benerro in casting off their would-be abductors?

How do you deal with the possibility of infiltrators targeting the Red Faith?

[] Make it public, set as many eyes as you can on the problem before it can grow

[] Work discretely with the Faith in Volantis and elsewhere to eliminate the threat

[] Write in

OOC: More background rolls. Don't worry about the chance to hit back, you will be getting a delegation from some shaitans with an opportunity to do just that.

 

[DragonParadox]

On the Fire's Edge ​

Ninth Day of the Ninth Month 294 AC

At the heart of a dream that is beyond Dreams a fire smokeless fire burns eternal in hues of gold and crimson and from that fire a Great Voice speaks in tones of a mortal man long dead whose face only you can recall: "So the Usurper shows his hand, high shall be his pyre, slow shall be his burning."

On hearing that word spoken with such malice and loathing you start not so much at the anger of the god, but at the odd familiarity it evokes, but you dismiss it with a shake of your head, if one could be said to have one in this formless place. The comparison does an injustice to the memory of Robert Baratheon for all his faults. He was a failure yes, but not a monster as the Great Sultan on his throne of brass and broken sous is. "What do you wish done Holy One?"

Your words in this place carry more than sound alone could have, plans and permutations, considerations of politics and faith.

Much to your surprise the form of the Red God seems strangely unmoved, his long dead face fixed not merely in patience, but almost in frustration. "I am not the lantern on short and winding paths to measure each step as it is made.." he says at last. The answer is slow, halting, almost as though he is struggling to recall something or as though it pains him to say them. "Matters of tactics are not for me to decide, it is too small... There are too many."

Were it not for the tone, were it not for the last words you might have thought the One before you haughty, perhaps even uncaring for the fates of His faithful. But you do hear his tone and after a moment of confusion you understand it.

R'hllor the Red is a god of many who would be a god of all, He cannot lay down the law in small matters, particularly when it is not even a matter of principle but instrumentality. Though you have long known that gods have their own limitations to see them thus laid out before you in stark colors of flame is disturbing and oddly flattering. He did not have to reveal a weakness here, but chose to as a show of trust

"I may raise up my right hand and make War, I can open my left hand to make Peace," He Who is the Lord of Light continues, in a slightly less strained tone. "Yet I am not a warrior until the Sword of Fire if drawn and I am not a ruler until the Kingdom that is to Come."

"I hope you do not begrudge of it me Holy One, but I shall do all in my power to ensure that Kingdom shall never be," you reply, only realizing after the last word has passed your lips that this might not be the best time to try to break the tension with humor.

Thankfully the One across from you smiles, though the flash of it seems as distant as the glow of dying embers. "How could I begrudge the helpping hand unlooked for?" He shakes his head, the gesture filled with weariness far beyond the age of the face he shows the world. "Go in peace now and seek out the Lady Melisandre. She will give good counsel in this matter."

***​

The lady in question is not the least in doubt, not that you had expected her to be. "Act boldly, act openly, Your Majesty. There will be some who object, some who do not embrace the structures of the hour, but they are fools and it is good to know where the foolish are as much as the wise. The Heir of Iblis will not be so lightly cast off from his throne as Ymeri was and it is best not to fight the long war with one hand tied behind our backs." She pauses a moment in thought "It would be wise to spread the word to the faithful not just through the priests, but also the arcane mirrors. The memory of false fire will be strong, best to focus and wield that fear ere if fades."

New Action unlocked for the Ministry of Information: Anti-Efreeti propaganda

You do not have long to yourself to consider the implication of her words nor the words unspoken by her god for soon you must meet with the herald from the Opaline Vault, from Mahuroos Tepani himself. There is a chance to strike a blow against he Brazen throne, one that would be well dealt by a small company skillful an swift as you have made use of before

Who will you take with you to meet with the envoys?

[] Write in up to six companions (must all be under mind blank)

OOC: Not sure about the vote, on the one hand it makes sense to choose the companions after you get the mission brief, but on the other this will likely be the only update of the day and I did not want to make it one without a vote. Not yet edited.

 

[DragonParadox]

Tyrant's Pillar ​

Ninth Day of the Ninth Month 294 AC

The map unrolled on the table before the seven of you by the stone-faced shaitan is of no earthly vista, but a jagged peninsula reaching into the currents of the Sea of Fire, its battered workshops, harbors and patrol-routes all carefully inscribed. Its provenience is writ in the very threads from which it was woven. The vibrant reds and metallic blacks look more like some precious carpet than a simple depiction of terrain. Such is the fruit of the Qimisar Stalks, which the merchants of the Deep call Fire Flax. Not without some cause, for in the clear light of the chamber it seems as though the crimson threads hold still something of the fires from which they had been woven.

"Our agent was able to make this from some of the materials on site without any use of magic so as not to risk the attention of the guards. Slaves are not supposed to have magics for such fine work..." the envoy explains. Seeing Dany's wince at the thought of anyone spying on the servants of the Brazen Throne posing as a slave he explains: "His cover has served him well enough to travel around the whole installation to craft a map. Though I may not know precisely what that position is, it should be taken as an indication that it cannot be too onerous."

"So what are these circles?" Ser Richard asks, following the line of the outermost area drawn in complex geometric knotwork. It looks to mark about three miles from the center of the fortress. "Wards?"

The envoy nods, in recognition of a fellow soldier. You get the sense from the plainness of his dress and the stiffness of his posture that he is military intelligence, concerned with the doings on the front rather than one of the social chameleons of the more veiled networks. He did not give his name, though his certifications have passed all scrutiny and questions. "Yes, the Phase Ward. It makes translocation unreliable beyond the shortest of transits..."

"Like the Builder's Anchor, north of the Wall?" Lya asks intrigued. At the envoy's raised brow she goes on to explain the concept, but though he is impressed he shakes his head. This is not that mythical ward that has stood the passing of long ages. Instead of barring spells it uses the chaos intrinsic to ethereal travel to send one careening off course, or in the case of any who would attempt to pass many leagues in a step simply make the spell fail altogether.

Spoiler: Phase Ward - 3 Miles Distance

Phase Ward
This type of ward-stone inhibits Teleportation, planar travel and some special movement types within it's area of affect.

When either the start or endpoint of a Teleportation effect is within a Phase Ward, there is a 5% chance for every 5 ft. traveled that the spell fails and deposits the subject in a random location anywhere within the travel distance. Attempting to move 200 ft. or more by Teleportation instead has the spell fail automatically.

Casting effects such as Planeshift, Calling spells, most Summoning spells, Gate or similar automatically fails. However, when a ward-stone is activated in an area with an existing, permanent effect such as an open Gate, or an active ward-stone is moved so that it's area of effect covers such, then the existing effect is not dispelled. Some Summoning spells such as Summon Monster can still be cast within a Phase Ward, as they don't transfer a physical being, but create a temporary body from raw magic. Which Summoning spells still work is determined by the DM.

Ethereal, astral and earthglide travel in the area are similarly inhibited, with a 5% chance for the effect to fail for every 5 ft. a creature moves, even if the effect could normally not be negated, such as a xorns or an ethereal creatures movement. Such creatures suffer the same effects that a corporal creature without their special abilities would under these circumstances, such as being ejected from solid matter, but their innate abilities can be used again the next turn.

A creature or magical item can be attuned to a Phase Ward-Stone in a ritual that takes 5 minutes. Once completed, it is no longer inhibited by the specific Phase Ward. Take note that other Phase Wards affecting the same area might still prevent that creature or item from using it's abilities.

Phase Ward-Stones usually have a range of 1km to 10km.

"So wait, this place is one of the Outland Harbors?" Maelor interjects. "What are they bringing in? Weapons, reagents? Materials from the mines?" He pauses a moment. "I hope it's not slaves. It would be a bitch to try to organize a slave breakout under those batteries."

"Only the Low Tribute normally, gathered from the satrapy of Sjaff," comes the reply. "But not all that is passed by common ways is common goods. There is a delivery of ward-stones planned to pass from the gate that leads to the City of Brass and out to new constructions in the Out Islands. The Sultan plans to pin the salamanders' tails as it were, but it might be he who is pinned instead."

"What is the second circle here then, the entwined one at two and a half miles?" Lya again. "If I'm reading this right it's inward blindness..." she shakes her head. "Sorry, I am not used to this tongue being so metaphorical..."

The envoy unwinds enough to smile. "Perhaps we are too used to it then, it is an old saying. It is a sight and magic ward. The first to keep you from knowing all things that may be done there, else there would be no need for spies, yes? The second is an anchor stone to banish great magics from the field of battle. There are limits to that, but still better to be defending the wardstone than attacking. Archmages are not so common as to throw away in the fray of things."

Spoiler: Uncertainty and Dispersal Wards - 2.5 Miles Distance

Uncertainty Ward
This type of ward-stone enhances the innate unpredictability of sentient life to foil attempts to use Divination to predict events in its area of effect. Any Divination spell that has a failure chance and is used while within an Uncertainty Ward's area of effect or to predict something happening within that area of effect has a 1% higher chance of failure for every creature with an Intelligence score of at least 3 within the are of effect. These ward-stones are often used to protect armies or hidden bases that are too large to be hidden by other means from being found by Divination.

Uncertainty Ward-Stones usually have a range of 1km to 10km.

Dispersal Ward
Designed to inhibit the powers of archmages, greater fiends and the abilities of artifacts, these ward-stones allow a mage to perceive the disturbances in the ambient mana of a large area and to use the stones to disrupt any magical effects. While technically capable of suppressing even the meanest cantrip in that fashion, even the greatest of archmages would be hard-pressed to perceive the minuscule echo of such a casting, let alone fast enough to prevent it. In practice, these ward-stones are usually tended to by a small coven of minor to middling mages, who monitor the area for massive spell effects such as time manipulation, large combat spells, ritual spellcasting or the activation of divine artifacts, as these effects are easy to perceive and to cancel.

When directly under attack though, the mages attuned to a Dispersal Ward can leverage it's power much more precisely. When having line of sight to the ward-stone, a mage attuned to it can spend a Full Round Action to prepare himself for counter-spelling. At any time until his next turn, the mage can cancel any one active magical effect to which he has line of sight off without needing a check, or use the spells Greater Dispel Magic or Chain Dispel at a Caster Level of 20.

To attune himself to a Dispersal Ward, the mage must perform a ritual that lasts 1 hour and which must be repeated once every month.

Dispersal Ward-Stones usually have a range of 500m to 5km.

What do you do?

[] Prepare an infiltration of the Fortress
-[] By Sea (Infiltrating a ship or swimming in the flaming oil)
-[] By Land (Pass through the carefully guarded and watched approach)

[] Ask more questions
-[] Write in

[] Write in

OOC: And here we are. Some insight into the hows and whys of the new mass combat mechanics and a chance to get your very own ward stones for deployment and study.

 

[DragonParadox]

Scales of War ​

Ninth Day of the Ninth Month 294 AC

Alas, the information you have about the Fortress of Izirlic is not as good as one might hope. A slave, even a favored one of Malik Shalhiaina, is not given the run of military installations. Brass hounds are a common sight, prized for their ability to scent out intruders and follow trails while many of their handlers possess in aid of their tasks sight equal to a fury. Between the two of them these alone make navigating the checkpoints difficult, all the more so the closer to the central bunker one gets.

Speaking of traveling, there are many rods of cold iron piercing the earth and the very fabric of the planes with fel forbiddance, a complement to the artillery positions that could help fight off a determined frontal assault one might care to bring forth, certainly for long enough to move the wardstones back to the vaults of the City of Brass.

"Why can't we just do a smash and grab on these stones when they are on the ships ready to be deployed against the salamanders?" Dany interjects as the envoy pauses for a rare breath.

"The wardstones, by their very nature, cannot be traced by magic, only known from such fortunate discoveries as this one," the shaitan shakes his head. "We would have no way of knowing which ships they are sent on and when they might arrive and be set up. One or two of the wardstones will perhaps find their way into the nets of the corsairs and they should make those captains rich enough to be made princes among their folk..."

Maelor whistles. "They are that valuable? I mean... I heard about wardstones, but I thought they meant, you know, any old thing you could use to express an enchantment over an area. That sounds a lot more particular..."

"Indeed, young master. It is far more than the work of common enchantment," comes the reply. "You must understand that while these wardstones are not artifacts, not works of loving-craft beyond other magics, in all respects on the battlefield they behave as such, tools of war between the Spheres perfected through millennia of toil and years or even decades of slow patient enchantment."

"Well I am definitely not doing that," Lya snorts, though her wide eyes betray what her light tone cannot. "When you say these things block powerful spells..."

"I mean to say that not even your prodigious skill can find a loop in the weave, Your Majesty. Nay, even the fire of dragons cannot burn them. Do not set out on this task expecting to by cunning or might overpower the wards. They are thus precious to the Brazen Throne as they are precious to us all..."

"So we need to be like ghosts right until we get them or this Malik will take his stones and go," Garin interjects, his voice rising to innuendo on the last words.

Somewhat to your surprise a brief smile flashes across the face of the envoy, like the spark of diamond in deep places. "You assume Malik Shalhiaina dwells within the fortress when he could much more easily command it from the comfort and ease of the Sultan's Court? No, gracious lord of the night, he does not."

"Well then, it is good that we are not after his head then, only the stones," you note dryly before adding the question that is doubtless on everyone's mind. "How much time do we have before the stones are shipped out?"

"Our agent could not say, only that his master is pleased that the doom of the corsairs is near."

The doom of the corsairs, or the chance to gain a new ally, you muse. So far you have only been able to raid on the Plane of Fire, but none of your assets can stand and give battle, not when the archmages and great champions of the enemy would be sure to reap slaughter upon any force you are foolish enough to leave exposed.

Ser Richard is clearly thinking about more than the Imperial Armed forces being exposed. "So whatever reinforcements they send through that gate will have full use of magic and wishcraft, but we won't? Fuck, this will be a cast iron bitch."

The shaitan envoy may not understand the expression, but he clearly grasps the tone and gives the knight a somber nod. "There is peril in such a path to match the rewards."

"Wait," Dany cuts in. "Are we even sure the stones have arrived already? I mean, the efreeti would have to know they are exposed at Izirlic."

"They either have or will arrive very soon. The number of ships in harbor are unusual, preparing for a transfer," comes the reply, from the grimace that accompanies it clearly less precise than the speaker might have preferred.

"So it's a gamble." Maelor does not seem to mind the prospect...

But you do. "Or a chance to gain further intelligence in the matter." Yet your words are not as firm as you might have liked them to either. Failed intelligence gathering could risk the whole operation. The corsairs might all too easily fall to blade and chain, giving the Brazen Throne the chance to turn its attention towards the Imperium with even more vigor.

What do you do?

[] Launch the raid
-[] Write in plan and composition

[] Launch into intelligence gathering first
-[] Write in plan and composition

[] Write in

OOC: I know you guys would like to know more, but there is only so much information a single source can give.

 

[DragonParadox]

Of Felines and Foulness ​

Tenth Day of the Ninth Month 294 AC

Grey Whisper knew men made jokes about giving orders to cats, Gods of the Deep Woods knew many of his former handlers did and that was why they were former handlers. Yet Whisper and his kin were anything but unmindful to orders, they knew with the cold certainty that not even the scorching heat of the Sea of Flame could banish that. To fail here would be to die and that was if you were lucky, for there were torments of the mind and spirit that did not have to end with death. The servants of the Brazen Throne had leaned well under the tutelage of Hell.

The clanking of the brass hounds would have dissuaded them of any boldness, and if not that then the light of the watchtowers, like glaring eyes sweeping every approach from the small harbor into the fortress proper.

Thankfully those only had the power to dispel invisibility and not see through all glamors, though it was that realization itself that almost spelled their doom for in that light there dwelt flaming spirits like onto men without features save that their arms had been replaced with the wings of great eagles and they could and did see freely through all illusion, all shadow. Most were slow and cumbersome, but the sharp eyes of the shadowcats saw much even as they hid among the quays and meager hiding places of the warehouses. There was one path of light and flame that moved almost too fast to follow, ducking and weaving between the patrols of the others and always checking in to the highest tower of the fortress with a regularity almost like clockwork. In fact, the more Whisper watched the strange fliers the less convinced he was that they were even each their own creature and not one great swarm of lights that moved in time with the searching of the watchtowers.

It only got worse from there. There was only one bridge leading from the docks to the walls of the next defensive line and that bridge spanned a pit filled with black noxious vapor begotten of the worst admixture of tar and vitriol. A sufficiently well-warded soul might be able to pass through that. Whisper certainly was not that.

Then again, maybe the smoke just hid further devilry and guards for as the cat watched with back arched and tail lashing at the ground, ready to pounce, one of the dragonstone statues along the bridge suddenly came alive and opened eyes of hellfire. The brass travel-tube that had been running along that same bridge in the manner of the new railcars, though with its whole mass set in a groove in the stone instead of being placed upon rails, halted, its enslaved elemental spirit given a moment's respite.

Spoiler: Fiend Infused Golems

"Insight... Investigation... Inspection!" the thing rumbled, a sort of rough malice in its voice. Whisper was suddenly very glad he had not tried to infiltrate any of his kin onto the piston train. In what seemed the blink of an eye ifrit half-caste soldiers were swarming among the cargo. Judging from the lack of screams and from the fact that the work at the pre-bridge checkpoints continued as normal they must not have found anything too bad, either that or they were trying to lull the guilty into a false sense of security.

Safest place to be is the one your enemy just turned away from, the saying went. Hopefully it would prove true, else Whisper would be much too dead to complain about it.

***​

Past the first 'wall', which as it turned out was more an enormous bunker bisecting the peninsula, there was a wide open air complex of training fields and holding pens for beasts and slaves, and beyond that another line of bunkers black and jagged, glimpsed only between the boards of a crate of 'salted' oil shark Whisper had hidden into. Well, less salt and more brimstone, but one supposed it was that thought that counted.

It really really did not.

The shadow-kin managed to map out as far as the kitchen, the mess hall and one of the barracks for the common soldiers before they could go no further. The doors were sealed with magic and from the wary ways in which even those allowed to go beyond opened, them trapped as well. Though they tried to eavesdrop the spies could not find out that which they had most wished to. Cooks and common soldiers did not know anything about wardstones or the shipment unfortunately.

How do you infiltrate the fortress and with whom?

[] Write in

OOC: Your spies actually rolled pretty well, but there are limits to what they can manage on their own.

 

[DragonParadox]

Faces of Fire ​

Eleventh Day of the Ninth Month 294 AC

It is considered unwise in cyvasse to try to take the pieces of one's opponent using the king, lest he be snared and the game lost, but the truly great player knows there comes a time and a place to break with caution if the prize is great enough, and this is great indeed. The fate of whole campaigns might be decided here as the battle can be won with a single stroke of the dagger. Of course, one might be forgiven for thinking the guises you have taken on are not precisely subtle or prone to stealth. Ser Richard makes for the grandest show, in armor of azer-forged steel, his face marked by the scars of a failed arcane brand, his hair a mass of flames. As is his wont when you play such games, he keeps one step behind you, hand on the hilt of his sword.

Spoiler: (Ser Richard)

Now and again he glares at the passing patrols of dervishes to give silent credence to the notion that he is a failed initiate of their order. It is uncommon for the Sultan's most faithful servants to let one in such a position live, but for the rare failures of the order that are allowed to do so, by reason of patronage or intercession by family, there is always a place to be found as sellswords and bodyguards. It is counted flattening to the Great Sultan to take his leavings and the part you are playing is certainly that of one who would have cause to flatter the Sultan by imitation.

The hawanar, or ember-born, are children of unhappy unions between djinn and efreeti, and any who should then find themselves in the service of the Brazen Throne made all the more bitter by the scorn of the Masters of Fire, yet they are not half-caste, not born of mortal blood and prone to mortal frailty, and so they are often used as spies and agents of the Throne, utterly dependent on the favor of the Sultan not just to thrive, but even to survive. Hopefully, this is the very last sort of person one might expect treachery form at least at first sight.

Spoiler: (Viserys)

Meanwhile, Garin plays the part of a far more lowly servant, one of the oath-bound. Not quite a slave in common parlance, for the arcane bond can all too easily be turned against the unwary master, he nonetheless walks with his head bowed as though not daring to look into the eye of any of the soldiers of the Eternal Guard. In truth, you have no doubt that your friend sees far more than even you can and he will put it to good use. The hardest part of that particular disguise had been actually investing him with the powers he should have as such a servant. No one would dare demand that you show magic after all, but they might for him. Thankfully, you do have your own ways to invest sorcery in allies, and with the inability to use spells of the higher circles you do not regret the loss of magic.

Spoiler: (Garin)

While the three of you march up towards the first checkpoint bold as brass, appropriately enough Lya and Waymar take Maelor's lead to more humble roles, having stolen the faces of several of the workers who actually load the piston train. It should be easy enough for them to slip inside even as the shadowcats had done, what they lack for in stealth they make up for in having magic and thumbs, or so you hope at least. A web of mind speech connects all six of you just to be certain.

If there is one major flaw in the guise you have taken, it is that one can only mock up actual efreeti documentation so well. Even with help from shaitan intelligence and the most careful arcane forging there is one aspect of a Decree from the Generals of the Brazen Hosts you cannot imitate, a wax seal that is supposed to match the magical signature of the bearer under careful divination. The last thing you can afford at the moment is careful study of your present form. Luckily, you are not expected to present that in 'public' before the first checkpoints, for to one with the habits of the Sultan's court it would be like stripping naked before a multitude of knives. You are to do so inside the fortress in the presence of an official greeter of genie-kind.

Unluckily, it seems as though the local garrison has some reason to suspect they should be on high alert even if the common soldiers know nothing of the wardstones. "This way kartula," the dervish in command of the outer harbor leads you towards the bridge and the inner fortress, flanked by seven more of her fellows. She does not seem hostile, or even overly suspicious, her gaze fixed on Ser Richard with the sort of scorn for the 'failures' of her order that seems to distract her just as you had hoped.

"I could slip into the slave barracks and then deeper into the fortress to try to find the vault while you wait for confirmation of your papers. They likely do not see me as a threat," Garin sends mentally.

You cannot deny the point, but he would be isolated when the mission begins in earnest. Alternatively, you could try to enchant your guards while waiting for the greeter. They have basic mind wards of course, but you are fast and quiet enough with your magic to both remove that and weave the enchantment while you are still on the bridge.

Which path do you take?

[] Plan Scout, send Garin to the common quarters 'so as not to bring insult to the local officers', giving him the chance to scout ahead

[] Plan beguile, take the chance to charm your guards into potentially revealing more than they should about the layout of the fortress

[] Write in

OOC: As high as your charisma is trying to get the guards to tell you were the vault is just by mundane means is simply is not going to work, it is too suspicious, at least not without some kind of write-in I have not thought of.

 

[DragonParadox]

Blowing Smoke ​

Eleventh Day of the Ninth Month 294 AC

The brass casting of the great hollow piston rattles on stone. Inside it smells of leather and oil, sharp and pungent. Little beads of it slide down the scarred cheeks of the dervishes guarding you. They are afraid, though not of your magic, not of your power. You do not doubt they would be able to slay one such as you are presenting as in moments. No, they are afraid of what your presence here might mean. Had plans changed, had their commander fallen out of the favor of the court and the Sultan chosen to show his displeasure by subtle smoke not sudden flame? One can practically read the questions in their eyes and by those questions they might be undone.

You really cannot afford to be affable or polite. The mask you wear is not made for smiles. Not honest ones, at least, but rather sly and knowing looks and innuendo, the game of push and pull, the attempts to tease out the threads of power and influence that define life here. Yes, that is expected... and of course reciprocated.

These are not the giants who keep the peace of the Bazaar, if peace it can be called. Fanatics they may be, these dervishes of ash and dust, but they are no man's fools, and they seek to discover your purpose and your manner. Carefully, patiently, you draw their commander aside, speaking in a soft voice and promising insight. Given a few hours you imagine he would be able to pick apart your hastily woven identity on their own.

A few hours from now you plan to be back home in the company of your new treasures.

Hes'izzit sherakat.... You do not speak the words of draconic, you instead think them, suppressing the magic of the warding talisman for but a moment. Not pausing for breath, not pausing in the stream of questions whose answers you do not care one whit for, you weave the second spell of enchantment subtle and snaring.

Garin stumbles forward as though he had lost his balance from the unfamiliar sensation of the floor moving with him as the piston lurches into motion. An adamant blade no longer than a single finger snaps in his hand without flash, the talisman falls with a clink.

"Ah, apologies for the carelessness of my servant. I shall have him whipped with a scourge of salt..." you proclaim grandly. At this point, if your victim was not thoroughly snared this would ring as hollow as their hearts.

But he is and so he accepts the words with a gracious nod as you 'recover' the talisman from the floor. and hand it to him. In truth it is a replica forged in the deep after the specifications given by previous scouting. Keeping the magic suppressed for any meaningful length of time would have drained even your magic all too soon.

"You there, Scarred One, why do you bend your shoulders as though for battle?" Another of the dervishes asks, his eyes on Ser Richard and that is when you realize your mistake. For all the times Ser Richard had hidden in plain sight, you had never left him knowing something risky was going to happen while an enemy's eye was on him. You can see the soldier's eyes slide in the direction the knight was looking... toward his commander, the same one you had drawn away from the group and who was now wearing a fake ward pendant which would only hold up to passing scrutiny .

Fuck.

Quick as you are able to, you send a blessing of foresight to the knight but the unexpected flash of sorcery seems more to befuddle than to help. "Maaybe it's your eyes and not my shoulders that seek battle where there is none!" he snaps.

"Captain," the soldier says carefully, suspicions now more fully aroused. "I believe we should be more careful of these visitors until their credentials are verified. Many stalks endure when one alone is broken."

The captain, now your 'friend', or at least what passes for one in such a place, flicks his wrist as though to banish the suspicion away like a buzzing gnat. "Do not quote the Creed at me, acolyte, and do not insult one who speaks with the voice of the Office of Sublime Works."

The guard relents, but his gaze is yet heavy with suspicion.

What do you do?

[] Try to keep the suspicious guard close at hand while you question his superior and then dispose of both before starting the infiltration in earnest

[] Let the suspicious guard leave and continue to question the charmed commander in private, the guard has nothing solid to base his suspicions on yet

[] Write in

OOC: Not as smooth as it could have gone, but given what you have to work with it could have been much worse. Not yet edited.