A man finds himself inexplicably transported to Essos, armed with powers he cannot comprehend...
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The Accidental Liberator (ASOIAF,GOT SI)
- Thread starter Illusiveone
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The Arrival
Illusiveone
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A man finds himself inexplicably transported to Essos, armed with powers he cannot comprehend. He plans to exploit his newfound abilities to lead a life of leisure and excess in this very familiar realm.
But instead he becomes entangled in the chaos of Dothraki raids, slave revolts,forming a new nation and even the unintended emergence of a religion centered around him.
Jason strolled through the bustling street; the sun had begun its descent, casting a warm golden glow across the street. Navigating through the crowd with a backpack slung over his shoulder, he put his hands into the pockets of his hoodie to warm them to combat the increasing cold
"Can't wait to get out of this cold," he muttered. He spotted his go-to convenience store."Might as well grab some snacks for tonight."
Taking a slight detour from his destination, he walked towards the convenience store on the other side of the road.
'What to get…hmmm, maybe just some soda; I don't have much money on me anyway,' he thought as he crossed the street.
However, his thoughts were abruptly interrupted as the screeching sound of tires pierced the air.Instinctively, he turned to see a truck hurtling towards him, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.His heart raced as he took a quick step forward, narrowly avoiding the oncoming vehicle. The truck whizzed by, the incident sending a rush of adrenaline through Jason's veins. A mix of shock and relief washed over him as he steadied himself on the sidewalk.
"Whoa, that was too close," Jason muttered to himself, his pulse still racing.
"Damn, I almost got isekaied," he said, chuckling and laughing off the incident. Shaking off the close call, he continued on his way to the convenience store.
The neon sign of the store flickered overhead, and the entrance bell jingled as he walked in. The air inside was much warmer, and the shelves were lined with various snacks and drinks. Jason walked over to the beverage section. As he looked through it, he heard a familiar voice behind him.
"Hey, Jason! Long time no see!" It was Amanda, a fellow student from one of his classes; she stood behind him with a friendly smile on her face.
"Hey, Amanda, what's up?" he greeted her.
"I was just grabbing a snack. How about you?" Amanda replied, holding a bag of chips.
"Just getting some soda," Jason explained, holding up the pack of the beverage he had selected.
"You're going back to your apartment, right?" she asked, her eyes gleaming with excitement as if she had realized something.
He nodded.
"Perfect! I actually have something for you." She reached into her bag and pulled out some books.
"These are for your friend, Jake. I borrowed them from him a while ago. I was going to your apartment to give it to him, since you are here, I thought you could pass them along."
"Sure thing!" he answered, taking the books from her.
"Thank you. Also, let him know I'll give him the last one back next week," she said with a grin.
Jason chuckled, slipping the books into his backpack. "I'll let him know."
"I'll see you tomorrow," she said as she walked out of the store.
After paying for the pack of soda, Jason walked towards the glass sliding door of the convenience store. He noticed an unusual brightness emanating from the other side.
Shielding his eyes with one hand, he continued walking. Irritated, he muttered, "Seriously? Who is shining their car lights in front of the store?"
Sliding the door open, he stepped through fully expecting to confront the person in the vehicle. His hands were still on his face, shielding his eyes. Instead of the cold he expected when he stepped out, he felt heat not just any heat, but scorching heat. The air had changed as well. He opened his eyes as they adjusted from the blinding lights to a bright blue sky. He looked around in confusion, as he was no longer in the familiar cityscape but in the midst of a vast rocky desert.
"Uh, what the...?" Jason muttered, his eyes widening as he looked around at the endless expanse of sand and rocky terrain stretching in all directions. He blinked, thinking that this must be some sort of a vivid dream or a hallucination.He looked behind him, expecting to see the store, but it was the same expanse of desert.
"What in the hell is going on?" he said to himself as panic started to set in.
As the initial shock passed, he tried to make sense of what was going on.
"Okay, this has to be some kind of a joke," he muttered to himself.
His legs started to give way as he sank into the ground, trying to comprehend what had happened.
'Holy shit, did I just get Re:Zeroed,' he thought, remembering the anime he had been watching since last week. He sat there in silence, the reality of the whole situation sinking in. After a while, he stood up.
"No use in sitting here. Might as well figure out where I am," Jason said to himself. With newfound determination, he surveyed the desert landscape around him. The heat was intense, the vastness of the terrain was intimidating, and taking a deep breath, he walked into the unknown, hoping this was just an elaborate dream that he might wake up from soon.
.
.
.
.
Jason had been walking for hours—or that was what it felt like to him. He had lost track of the flow of time. His head was aching, the relentless sun beating down upon him, its scorching rays reflecting off the vast expanse of the sand dunes and casting long shadows behind the imposing rock that protruded from the ground.
He trudged through the unforgiving terrain; each step sent tiny plumes of fine dust into the air, adding to the oppressive atmosphere. He felt the heat radiating from the ground, creating a shimmering mirage in the distance that played tricks on his tired eyes.
The air was dry, and the heat made it difficult to concentrate. He touched his forehead, feeling the beads of sweat forming on his skin. The exhaustion weighed on him, and a sense of disconnection from reality settled in.
His mind wandered between delirium and desperation, and illusions danced on the horizon, teasing him with false promises. The silence of the desert was only broken by the occasional gusts of wind, carrying with them the whispers of distant sand grains. His throat was parched, his lips cracked, and the taste of dryness clung to his mouth.
"I am going to die here," he muttered, the words escaping as a hoarse whisper barely audible in the vast emptiness surrounding him.
He had been walking in the direction of a large mountain in the distance; it was the only thing that stood out in the landscape that surrounded him. The sun had reached its zenith, and the heat was becoming unbearable. Seeing the large rocks in the distance, he walked towards them, hoping to find some refuge from the heat.
He fell to the ground below the rock, relieved to have escaped from the heat. Leaning against it, he sat there, closing his eyes, finding solace in the still cool surface of it. He took a deep breath, feeling the dry air sting his lungs. The determination to get out of this he had found before was slowly waning, now replaced by desperation and despair.
Despair soon turned to anger. He was angry at whoever brought him here.
'What random omnipotent bastard had decided to make his life a living hell? Who decided that had decided that I suffer in this hellhole,' he thought as anger surged within him.
He clenched his fists and pounded the ground with one hand. The grains of sand scattered, and a muted thud echoed in the vast emptiness around him. With an abrupt burst of emotion, he screamed into the vast emptiness around him. The sound of his own voice seemed foreign, as if the desert itself had absorbed the essence of his anguish.
For a moment, he sat there, his chest heaving as the echoes of his scream dissipated into the hot, still air. The vastness of the desert seemed to mock him, indifferent to his struggles.
He was ready to give up. There was no energy left within him to continue; he didn't even have enough to open his backpack and drink the soda he had bought from the store. He laid there on the ground, looking at the base of the rock above him.
That was when he saw it. At first, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him—a small pebble was floating in the air.
"Huh," he said dumbly as he reached out to grab it. Then he saw more stones and pebbles floating in the air. He slowly stood up and realized that they were floating around him.
"What the hell is going on?" he said to himself. Thinking that it was caused by dehydration, he opened one of the cans and drank the soda and sat there for a while thinking he will stop seeing the floating rocks, but he didn't stop seeing them.
'Am I doing this?' he thought.
"Maybe I've finally lost it," he said to himself, cackling like a madman. He started moving his hands like one as well, and to his astonishment, the stones moved as well.
Seeing this, he started taking the situation seriously. He slapped his face to make him focus.
"Maybe I am not seeing things," he said out loud, seeing a small rock to his side. He raised his hands, trying to make it float as well, and to his surprise, it started levitating from the ground.
A mixture of awe and trepidation filled him. His laughter echoed through the vast emptiness of the desert, a wild and unrestrained sound that carried both madness and triumph.
"Holy shit, I have the force… is this the force?… ah, who cares, this is amazing," he said, moving the rock around him.
He experimented with his newfound powers for a while, amazed at what he could do. Now he looked around and saw a large boulder.
"Why limit myself to pebbles and small rocks?" he thought.
He extended his hands towards the large boulder and tried to do the same thing he had done with the smaller rocks, he tried to replicate and bring forth the same feeling he felt before. To his delight, the boulder started to rise up from the ground.
"Wooooo," he said as his voice echoed through the rocks scattered around the desert. Suddenly, he started to feel weaker; he started to sweat immensely, and exhaustion clawed at his every fiber. His arms trembled under the immense effort, and the boulder fell down with a large sound to the ground with Jason following. He laid there for a while, gathering his strength.
"Ok, I... may... have... gone too... far," he gasped out. It looked like he needed more practice with his newfound power.
"I need to find a road or something that will lead me to civilization," he said to himself as he laid there on the cool rock. He slowly stood up; the weariness that had weighed him down had evaporated, leaving him strangely invigorated. Guided by an instinct he didn't quite understand, he set off in a direction that felt right.
But instead he becomes entangled in the chaos of Dothraki raids, slave revolts,forming a new nation and even the unintended emergence of a religion centered around him.
Jason strolled through the bustling street; the sun had begun its descent, casting a warm golden glow across the street. Navigating through the crowd with a backpack slung over his shoulder, he put his hands into the pockets of his hoodie to warm them to combat the increasing cold
"Can't wait to get out of this cold," he muttered. He spotted his go-to convenience store."Might as well grab some snacks for tonight."
Taking a slight detour from his destination, he walked towards the convenience store on the other side of the road.
'What to get…hmmm, maybe just some soda; I don't have much money on me anyway,' he thought as he crossed the street.
However, his thoughts were abruptly interrupted as the screeching sound of tires pierced the air.Instinctively, he turned to see a truck hurtling towards him, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.His heart raced as he took a quick step forward, narrowly avoiding the oncoming vehicle. The truck whizzed by, the incident sending a rush of adrenaline through Jason's veins. A mix of shock and relief washed over him as he steadied himself on the sidewalk.
"Whoa, that was too close," Jason muttered to himself, his pulse still racing.
"Damn, I almost got isekaied," he said, chuckling and laughing off the incident. Shaking off the close call, he continued on his way to the convenience store.
The neon sign of the store flickered overhead, and the entrance bell jingled as he walked in. The air inside was much warmer, and the shelves were lined with various snacks and drinks. Jason walked over to the beverage section. As he looked through it, he heard a familiar voice behind him.
"Hey, Jason! Long time no see!" It was Amanda, a fellow student from one of his classes; she stood behind him with a friendly smile on her face.
"Hey, Amanda, what's up?" he greeted her.
"I was just grabbing a snack. How about you?" Amanda replied, holding a bag of chips.
"Just getting some soda," Jason explained, holding up the pack of the beverage he had selected.
"You're going back to your apartment, right?" she asked, her eyes gleaming with excitement as if she had realized something.
He nodded.
"Perfect! I actually have something for you." She reached into her bag and pulled out some books.
"These are for your friend, Jake. I borrowed them from him a while ago. I was going to your apartment to give it to him, since you are here, I thought you could pass them along."
"Sure thing!" he answered, taking the books from her.
"Thank you. Also, let him know I'll give him the last one back next week," she said with a grin.
Jason chuckled, slipping the books into his backpack. "I'll let him know."
"I'll see you tomorrow," she said as she walked out of the store.
After paying for the pack of soda, Jason walked towards the glass sliding door of the convenience store. He noticed an unusual brightness emanating from the other side.
Shielding his eyes with one hand, he continued walking. Irritated, he muttered, "Seriously? Who is shining their car lights in front of the store?"
Sliding the door open, he stepped through fully expecting to confront the person in the vehicle. His hands were still on his face, shielding his eyes. Instead of the cold he expected when he stepped out, he felt heat not just any heat, but scorching heat. The air had changed as well. He opened his eyes as they adjusted from the blinding lights to a bright blue sky. He looked around in confusion, as he was no longer in the familiar cityscape but in the midst of a vast rocky desert.
"Uh, what the...?" Jason muttered, his eyes widening as he looked around at the endless expanse of sand and rocky terrain stretching in all directions. He blinked, thinking that this must be some sort of a vivid dream or a hallucination.He looked behind him, expecting to see the store, but it was the same expanse of desert.
"What in the hell is going on?" he said to himself as panic started to set in.
As the initial shock passed, he tried to make sense of what was going on.
"Okay, this has to be some kind of a joke," he muttered to himself.
His legs started to give way as he sank into the ground, trying to comprehend what had happened.
'Holy shit, did I just get Re:Zeroed,' he thought, remembering the anime he had been watching since last week. He sat there in silence, the reality of the whole situation sinking in. After a while, he stood up.
"No use in sitting here. Might as well figure out where I am," Jason said to himself. With newfound determination, he surveyed the desert landscape around him. The heat was intense, the vastness of the terrain was intimidating, and taking a deep breath, he walked into the unknown, hoping this was just an elaborate dream that he might wake up from soon.
.
.
.
.
Jason had been walking for hours—or that was what it felt like to him. He had lost track of the flow of time. His head was aching, the relentless sun beating down upon him, its scorching rays reflecting off the vast expanse of the sand dunes and casting long shadows behind the imposing rock that protruded from the ground.
He trudged through the unforgiving terrain; each step sent tiny plumes of fine dust into the air, adding to the oppressive atmosphere. He felt the heat radiating from the ground, creating a shimmering mirage in the distance that played tricks on his tired eyes.
The air was dry, and the heat made it difficult to concentrate. He touched his forehead, feeling the beads of sweat forming on his skin. The exhaustion weighed on him, and a sense of disconnection from reality settled in.
His mind wandered between delirium and desperation, and illusions danced on the horizon, teasing him with false promises. The silence of the desert was only broken by the occasional gusts of wind, carrying with them the whispers of distant sand grains. His throat was parched, his lips cracked, and the taste of dryness clung to his mouth.
"I am going to die here," he muttered, the words escaping as a hoarse whisper barely audible in the vast emptiness surrounding him.
He had been walking in the direction of a large mountain in the distance; it was the only thing that stood out in the landscape that surrounded him. The sun had reached its zenith, and the heat was becoming unbearable. Seeing the large rocks in the distance, he walked towards them, hoping to find some refuge from the heat.
He fell to the ground below the rock, relieved to have escaped from the heat. Leaning against it, he sat there, closing his eyes, finding solace in the still cool surface of it. He took a deep breath, feeling the dry air sting his lungs. The determination to get out of this he had found before was slowly waning, now replaced by desperation and despair.
Despair soon turned to anger. He was angry at whoever brought him here.
'What random omnipotent bastard had decided to make his life a living hell? Who decided that had decided that I suffer in this hellhole,' he thought as anger surged within him.
He clenched his fists and pounded the ground with one hand. The grains of sand scattered, and a muted thud echoed in the vast emptiness around him. With an abrupt burst of emotion, he screamed into the vast emptiness around him. The sound of his own voice seemed foreign, as if the desert itself had absorbed the essence of his anguish.
For a moment, he sat there, his chest heaving as the echoes of his scream dissipated into the hot, still air. The vastness of the desert seemed to mock him, indifferent to his struggles.
He was ready to give up. There was no energy left within him to continue; he didn't even have enough to open his backpack and drink the soda he had bought from the store. He laid there on the ground, looking at the base of the rock above him.
That was when he saw it. At first, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him—a small pebble was floating in the air.
"Huh," he said dumbly as he reached out to grab it. Then he saw more stones and pebbles floating in the air. He slowly stood up and realized that they were floating around him.
"What the hell is going on?" he said to himself. Thinking that it was caused by dehydration, he opened one of the cans and drank the soda and sat there for a while thinking he will stop seeing the floating rocks, but he didn't stop seeing them.
'Am I doing this?' he thought.
"Maybe I've finally lost it," he said to himself, cackling like a madman. He started moving his hands like one as well, and to his astonishment, the stones moved as well.
Seeing this, he started taking the situation seriously. He slapped his face to make him focus.
"Maybe I am not seeing things," he said out loud, seeing a small rock to his side. He raised his hands, trying to make it float as well, and to his surprise, it started levitating from the ground.
A mixture of awe and trepidation filled him. His laughter echoed through the vast emptiness of the desert, a wild and unrestrained sound that carried both madness and triumph.
"Holy shit, I have the force… is this the force?… ah, who cares, this is amazing," he said, moving the rock around him.
He experimented with his newfound powers for a while, amazed at what he could do. Now he looked around and saw a large boulder.
"Why limit myself to pebbles and small rocks?" he thought.
He extended his hands towards the large boulder and tried to do the same thing he had done with the smaller rocks, he tried to replicate and bring forth the same feeling he felt before. To his delight, the boulder started to rise up from the ground.
"Wooooo," he said as his voice echoed through the rocks scattered around the desert. Suddenly, he started to feel weaker; he started to sweat immensely, and exhaustion clawed at his every fiber. His arms trembled under the immense effort, and the boulder fell down with a large sound to the ground with Jason following. He laid there for a while, gathering his strength.
"Ok, I... may... have... gone too... far," he gasped out. It looked like he needed more practice with his newfound power.
"I need to find a road or something that will lead me to civilization," he said to himself as he laid there on the cool rock. He slowly stood up; the weariness that had weighed him down had evaporated, leaving him strangely invigorated. Guided by an instinct he didn't quite understand, he set off in a direction that felt right.
Shaedy Hoe
Thicc Shaedy
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Why is this story being reposted?
Illusiveone
POWER! UNLIMITED POWER!
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I just realized i could have just used the old thread.
Well....now that i have started this one might was well keep using this.
Shaedy Hoe
Thicc Shaedy
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So.... is this a re-write?
Illusiveone
POWER! UNLIMITED POWER!
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The Wandering Maester
Illusiveone
POWER! UNLIMITED POWER!
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Garth Flowers had called the Citadel his home for most of his life. He was a bastard of a nobleman from the Reach, and he barely remembered his mother and father, as his father had decided to send him to the Citadel to train as a maester at a young age. The towering walls of the Citadel became his world and the only knowledge of the outside world to him came from the books.
Garth was one of the best and brightest in the Citadel. He was even considered to be sent to one of the great houses after completing his training when a spot became available. However, by the time he finished his training, Garth had become disillusioned with the maesters' order. The rigid structure, the secrecy, and the resistance to pursue new knowledge left him questioning the purpose of all the years he spent within the Citadel's walls. His favor among the archmaesters had decreased over the years because of his interest in the more mystical aspects of the world, so he found himself at odds with most of his peers.
Garth had always been enamored with the travels of Lomas Longstrider. He had read both of his works many times, and he wished to do something many maesters were reluctant to do: travel the world as Lomas did and write about his experiences and findings. He wished to surpass Lomas and go further than any Westerosi had gone before.
Making up his mind about leaving the Citadel, he began his preparations. He would travel the entirety of Westeros first, then to Essos, and step into the vast and mysterious East. He planned to go even further beyond and try to expand the map of the known world to reach its very edges. However, for this, he needed to prepare. He needed to learn new languages, chart his course, and procure the money required. He prepared for years in secret, knowing the other senior maesters wouldn't like his plans. He had only told his most trusted friends, and even they tried to dissuade him at first. Eventually, he convinced them to help.
In 272 AC, Garth Flowers announced his plans to the rest of his peers. His teachers and seniors had not taken it well.
"You are throwing your life away, boy," one archmaester said.
"You are the brightest in your generation, and you would throw it all away — years of learning wasted," another one said.
"It will not be wasted; I shall return," Garth replied.
"Ha! He will return, he says. It seems I was wrong about you, young Garth," the man he considered his mentor fired back.
That one hurt Garth more than the others, but he was set in his ways, and he would not just abandon years of planning. He left the Citadel that day; the first steps out were liberating, but he also felt great sadness. He knew he might not return; the world was full of danger, and anything could lead to his end, but he was determined to face them head-on.
The first leg of the journey would be seeing the entirety of Westeros. He planned to visit his homeland of the Reach first, then he would travel to Dorne. From Dorne, he would take a ship to the Stormlands, then to the Crownlands. From there, to the Westerlands, Riverlands, and the Vale. Finally, he would go to the North and end his journey at the Wall.
Journal of Garth Flowers
The Reach
Passing through the lush fields and fertile landscapes of the Reach, I couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of the land. The Reach, my homeland, welcomed me with open arms. The lush landscapes and friendly faces offered a comforting embrace. The journey has not been without challenges. The terrain grew more rugged as I ventured towards the borderlands. I finally crossed into Dorne; this would be the most difficult part of the journey through Westeros, aside from the North, of course.
Dorne
Leaving the bountiful Reach behind, I stepped into the sun-soaked realm of Dorne. The climate's shift was immediate. The land was dry, and there was less and less green as I ventured inwards. Venturing into the heart of Dorne, I marveled at the Water Gardens of Sunspear. It was a testament to the ingenuity of the Dornish, a sanctuary nestled amid the unforgiving sands. Dornish cuisine was great. From the succulent heat of spiced dishes to the cool relief of Dornish wine, each meal felt like a celebration of life. I bid farewell to Dorne, though I will miss its food and people; I will not miss the heat. I left on a ship towards the Stormlands.
The Stormlands
It was a mistake taking a ship here. I mean, there is a bay called Shipbreaker's Bay for seven's sakes; why did I even decide to do this? The ship had almost sunk a dozen times, but by the blessings of the Mother, I arrived there safely. The Stormlands were a formidable domain. The air was thick with moisture, hinting at the tempestuous nature of the region. The people, too, reflected the land. Storm's End proved to be a very intimidating structure, just as it was written in the books. It rained constantly, though I have to admit there was a certain beauty to it.
Crownlands and King's Landing
I entered the heart of the realm and went straight to King's Landing. I expected great things from the capital of the realm, but by the time I left the city, I was sorely disappointed. The Red Keep was great to look at from a distance, as was the city, but as I got closer, the smell became unbearable. How was it that the capital of the realm be in such a state? The city was a melting pot of all peoples from the Seven Kingdoms but also from the Free Cities. Despite its grandeur as the seat of the king, the reality of the city was far from glamorous.
The Westerlands
Casterly Rock was a grand sight. The sheer majesty of the rock spoke of the wealth and power the Lannisters possessed. The lands also seemed most at peace. Of course, it would be the kingdom which was most peaceful; the lord of the West was Tywin Lannister, after all. I saw Castamere; thinking of that incident sent shivers down my spine. The villages, cities, all seemed to be thriving here. I half expected gold to rain down.
The Riverlands
It was a monstrosity. I do not know what Harren was thinking when he ordered Harrenhal built; the charred remains of the castle haunted me. It was as if I could hear the screams of the burning men and women when Aegon had Balerion burn the castle. The rest of the Riverlands were more pleasant, though the travel was easier because of the rivers. I wondered why the River Lords never bothered connecting the rivers using canals. They could have built a system of canals that connected the Narrow Sea and the Sunset Sea... oh yes, the Ironborn, that's why.
The Vale
Entering the Vale of Arryn, I was immediately struck by the breathtaking beauty that unfolded before me. The towering mountains, their peaks lost in the clouds, meandering valleys, and high waterfalls. It was also here I almost died because of an attack from a mountain clan of the Vale. But luck was on my side as I was traveling with a group of knights headed for the Eyrie; they even captured some clan members alive which allowed me to talk to them. After visiting the Eyrie, I descended the mountain to the city of Gulltown. From there, I found a ship that would take me to White Harbor.
The North
It was freezing cold. I did not know how the Northerners lived here, but that just spoke of their resilience . Winterfell was old; one would know that by looking at Bran the Builder's second most significant work. The greatest would be my next destination. The first leg of my journey ended at the Wall. I took a glance at the lands beyond it. Who knows what lies there? Even I am not brave enough to venture there.
Braavos and Lorath
The second leg of my journey began with me arriving at Braavos. Immediately, I was engulfed by the vibrant chaos that defines this Free City. The scent of salt and sea air mingled with exotic spices as I traversed the bustling streets and labyrinthine canals. The Titan of Braavos loomed over the entrance, a sentinel guarding the secrets of the city. The Faceless Men, an enigmatic guild with their House of Black and White, intrigued me. The notion of a group dedicated to the art of assassination and the mysterious Faceless God left me both fascinated and wary.
It looked like Lorath was under the control of Braavos. I was immediately struck by the sense of mystery that cloaked this Free City. The architecture, unlike anything I had encountered in Westeros or other Free Cities. The Isle of Tears, a small island off the coast of Lorath, housed the city's famous Maze. This labyrinthine structure, said to be a relic from the time of the Mazemakers. Oh, how I wish I could learn more about the Mazemakers.
Norvos, Qohor, and Pentos
It was here I started to see the ugly side of Essos - Slavery. Each city had its form of slavery. It is claimed by the Pentosi that they had abolished it, but the practice continued by using loopholes. Norvos and Qohor practiced it openly. Norvos was famous for its carpets and tapestries, while Qohor was famous for its smiths. What attracted me most during this leg of the journey was the Valyrian roads that connected all the Free Cities—all cities except Braavos, that is. I wish the Targaryens had built them in Westeros, but it seems the knowledge was lost in the fires of Valyria.
Myr, Tyrosh, and Lys
Myr was the city of glassmakers and lace weavers; the craftsmen were the best in the world. Lys, the Perfumed City or the City of Love, was intoxicating. The city smelled the exact opposite of King's Landing, as it smelled of sweet-smelling perfumes. Tyrosh was the center of trade in the region; it controlled the trade in the Stepstones. But I still couldn't ignore the great tragedy that unfolded behind the scenes of these cities. In Lys, I saw pain in the eyes of the enslaved courtesans; in Tyrosh and Myr, there were slaves everywhere. My journey through Essos seemed to get harder and harder. I have been greatly affected by the cruelty I have come to witness.
Volantis
The First Daughter of Valyria, the city was magnificent. The black walls were imposing; they divided the city's elite from the slaves and the common rabble. Here, I saw the worst of slavery, more than what I had seen in the other cities. I left quickly as I arrived. I am not looking forward to the next place I am going to visit—Slaver's Bay. What acts of cruelty will I have to witness there as well?
Final Journal Entry Until I Leave Essos
I plan not to write much until I pass through Slaver's Bay. I arrived at Astapor, and there I witnessed inhumanity in such a way I couldn't even comprehend. The city was beautiful, but ultimately it was ugly because of its inhabitants, those who run the city. It was the same for Yunkai. I didn't stay long, and I don't plan to stay in Meereen as well. I will update this journal more when I am more sound of mind. The brutality of the institution of slavery had reached depths I cannot even comprehend in Slaver's Bay, and I wish to be away from it as soon as possible. The entire region seems to exhale an atmosphere of misery and desperation. I write this as I travel to Meereen with a trade caravan; there have been talks of bandits in the area. I hope to reach Meereen safely.
Garth closed his journal; it was almost full. The caravan was about to move again, and he had become friends with some of the people he was traveling with, including a fellow Westerosi named Garth, an old man who had seen many battles. When they first met, they bonded over the fact that they shared a homeland and the same name.
"Stay close, Garth. We spotted some riders in the distance. Something's not right here," the other Garth warned him.
"Why move now? Why not go look if there's trouble?" he inquired.
"Because our great leader over there is a greedy cunt who wishes to reach Meereen as soon as possible," the other Garth explained, glaring at the said leader.
The caravan made its way to the city through harsh and unforgiving terrain. Rocky landscapes with jagged cliffs and large boulders were scattered everywhere. Thorny shrubs clung to life in the soil, their twisted branches casting long shadows. The distant horizon shimmered with heat. After a while, they came to a stop. Garth, who was in the back of the caravan, walked to the front to see what had caused them to stop.
His heart sank as he saw the road being blocked. Garth looked around to see large rocks scattered in the area, a perfect place to hide.
"I know what you are thinking," the other Garth said, looking at him. "It's a perfect place for an ambush."
He nodded as fear started to take hold of him. The caravan guards were on alert, assuming a fighting stance. A hushed silence fell upon them, broken only by the distant cawing of birds. The air became thick with tension as the guards exchanged wary glances.
Without warning, a group of bandits emerged from their concealed positions among the jagged cliffs, descending upon the caravan like moths to a flame.
The caravan guards swiftly formed a defensive line, their weapons at the ready, prepared for the impending onslaught. He, along with the other travelers, huddled around the caravan. The clash of steel echoed through the cliffs as the guards valiantly fought. Sparks flew as steel met steel, but the bandits pushed ahead, and the guards fell one by one, their swords clattering to the ground.
He watched in horror as his friend was cut down. Realizing they had lost, the remaining guards surrendered. The bandits started stripping them of their valuables, and to his great shock, they also started to put them in chains.
It looked like he would never make it to his next destination; his journey was to end here. He considered the fate that awaited him—a life of slavery, to be sold in some market to the highest bidder. He had never felt this helpless in his life before. The bandits huddled them together, and he closed his eyes, thinking back to his life at the Citadel.
"Huh, maybe the old man was right. I was a fool to go on this journey," he thought.
As they were preparing to move, Garth heard something. He looked in the direction the sound was coming from. In the distance, he could see a man running towards them, flapping his hands, shouting and yelling to get their attention.
"What is that madman doing?" he heard one of his fellow travelers say.
"He wishes to join us," another one said with a bitter smile.
One of the bandits rode towards the man. Garth wanted to yell back, telling him to run away, but no sound came from his mouth.
But the man slowly came to a halt; he seemed to have realized the danger he was in. He sprinted back to where the large rocks were, trying to hide from his pursuer.
It was only delaying the inevitable, he lamented. They would either kill him or capture him. A shameful part of him wished that he would be killed; slavery, as he witnessed in his travels, was worse than death.
Garth was one of the best and brightest in the Citadel. He was even considered to be sent to one of the great houses after completing his training when a spot became available. However, by the time he finished his training, Garth had become disillusioned with the maesters' order. The rigid structure, the secrecy, and the resistance to pursue new knowledge left him questioning the purpose of all the years he spent within the Citadel's walls. His favor among the archmaesters had decreased over the years because of his interest in the more mystical aspects of the world, so he found himself at odds with most of his peers.
Garth had always been enamored with the travels of Lomas Longstrider. He had read both of his works many times, and he wished to do something many maesters were reluctant to do: travel the world as Lomas did and write about his experiences and findings. He wished to surpass Lomas and go further than any Westerosi had gone before.
Making up his mind about leaving the Citadel, he began his preparations. He would travel the entirety of Westeros first, then to Essos, and step into the vast and mysterious East. He planned to go even further beyond and try to expand the map of the known world to reach its very edges. However, for this, he needed to prepare. He needed to learn new languages, chart his course, and procure the money required. He prepared for years in secret, knowing the other senior maesters wouldn't like his plans. He had only told his most trusted friends, and even they tried to dissuade him at first. Eventually, he convinced them to help.
In 272 AC, Garth Flowers announced his plans to the rest of his peers. His teachers and seniors had not taken it well.
"You are throwing your life away, boy," one archmaester said.
"You are the brightest in your generation, and you would throw it all away — years of learning wasted," another one said.
"It will not be wasted; I shall return," Garth replied.
"Ha! He will return, he says. It seems I was wrong about you, young Garth," the man he considered his mentor fired back.
That one hurt Garth more than the others, but he was set in his ways, and he would not just abandon years of planning. He left the Citadel that day; the first steps out were liberating, but he also felt great sadness. He knew he might not return; the world was full of danger, and anything could lead to his end, but he was determined to face them head-on.
The first leg of the journey would be seeing the entirety of Westeros. He planned to visit his homeland of the Reach first, then he would travel to Dorne. From Dorne, he would take a ship to the Stormlands, then to the Crownlands. From there, to the Westerlands, Riverlands, and the Vale. Finally, he would go to the North and end his journey at the Wall.
Journal of Garth Flowers
The Reach
Passing through the lush fields and fertile landscapes of the Reach, I couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of the land. The Reach, my homeland, welcomed me with open arms. The lush landscapes and friendly faces offered a comforting embrace. The journey has not been without challenges. The terrain grew more rugged as I ventured towards the borderlands. I finally crossed into Dorne; this would be the most difficult part of the journey through Westeros, aside from the North, of course.
Dorne
Leaving the bountiful Reach behind, I stepped into the sun-soaked realm of Dorne. The climate's shift was immediate. The land was dry, and there was less and less green as I ventured inwards. Venturing into the heart of Dorne, I marveled at the Water Gardens of Sunspear. It was a testament to the ingenuity of the Dornish, a sanctuary nestled amid the unforgiving sands. Dornish cuisine was great. From the succulent heat of spiced dishes to the cool relief of Dornish wine, each meal felt like a celebration of life. I bid farewell to Dorne, though I will miss its food and people; I will not miss the heat. I left on a ship towards the Stormlands.
The Stormlands
It was a mistake taking a ship here. I mean, there is a bay called Shipbreaker's Bay for seven's sakes; why did I even decide to do this? The ship had almost sunk a dozen times, but by the blessings of the Mother, I arrived there safely. The Stormlands were a formidable domain. The air was thick with moisture, hinting at the tempestuous nature of the region. The people, too, reflected the land. Storm's End proved to be a very intimidating structure, just as it was written in the books. It rained constantly, though I have to admit there was a certain beauty to it.
Crownlands and King's Landing
I entered the heart of the realm and went straight to King's Landing. I expected great things from the capital of the realm, but by the time I left the city, I was sorely disappointed. The Red Keep was great to look at from a distance, as was the city, but as I got closer, the smell became unbearable. How was it that the capital of the realm be in such a state? The city was a melting pot of all peoples from the Seven Kingdoms but also from the Free Cities. Despite its grandeur as the seat of the king, the reality of the city was far from glamorous.
The Westerlands
Casterly Rock was a grand sight. The sheer majesty of the rock spoke of the wealth and power the Lannisters possessed. The lands also seemed most at peace. Of course, it would be the kingdom which was most peaceful; the lord of the West was Tywin Lannister, after all. I saw Castamere; thinking of that incident sent shivers down my spine. The villages, cities, all seemed to be thriving here. I half expected gold to rain down.
The Riverlands
It was a monstrosity. I do not know what Harren was thinking when he ordered Harrenhal built; the charred remains of the castle haunted me. It was as if I could hear the screams of the burning men and women when Aegon had Balerion burn the castle. The rest of the Riverlands were more pleasant, though the travel was easier because of the rivers. I wondered why the River Lords never bothered connecting the rivers using canals. They could have built a system of canals that connected the Narrow Sea and the Sunset Sea... oh yes, the Ironborn, that's why.
The Vale
Entering the Vale of Arryn, I was immediately struck by the breathtaking beauty that unfolded before me. The towering mountains, their peaks lost in the clouds, meandering valleys, and high waterfalls. It was also here I almost died because of an attack from a mountain clan of the Vale. But luck was on my side as I was traveling with a group of knights headed for the Eyrie; they even captured some clan members alive which allowed me to talk to them. After visiting the Eyrie, I descended the mountain to the city of Gulltown. From there, I found a ship that would take me to White Harbor.
The North
It was freezing cold. I did not know how the Northerners lived here, but that just spoke of their resilience . Winterfell was old; one would know that by looking at Bran the Builder's second most significant work. The greatest would be my next destination. The first leg of my journey ended at the Wall. I took a glance at the lands beyond it. Who knows what lies there? Even I am not brave enough to venture there.
Braavos and Lorath
The second leg of my journey began with me arriving at Braavos. Immediately, I was engulfed by the vibrant chaos that defines this Free City. The scent of salt and sea air mingled with exotic spices as I traversed the bustling streets and labyrinthine canals. The Titan of Braavos loomed over the entrance, a sentinel guarding the secrets of the city. The Faceless Men, an enigmatic guild with their House of Black and White, intrigued me. The notion of a group dedicated to the art of assassination and the mysterious Faceless God left me both fascinated and wary.
It looked like Lorath was under the control of Braavos. I was immediately struck by the sense of mystery that cloaked this Free City. The architecture, unlike anything I had encountered in Westeros or other Free Cities. The Isle of Tears, a small island off the coast of Lorath, housed the city's famous Maze. This labyrinthine structure, said to be a relic from the time of the Mazemakers. Oh, how I wish I could learn more about the Mazemakers.
Norvos, Qohor, and Pentos
It was here I started to see the ugly side of Essos - Slavery. Each city had its form of slavery. It is claimed by the Pentosi that they had abolished it, but the practice continued by using loopholes. Norvos and Qohor practiced it openly. Norvos was famous for its carpets and tapestries, while Qohor was famous for its smiths. What attracted me most during this leg of the journey was the Valyrian roads that connected all the Free Cities—all cities except Braavos, that is. I wish the Targaryens had built them in Westeros, but it seems the knowledge was lost in the fires of Valyria.
Myr, Tyrosh, and Lys
Myr was the city of glassmakers and lace weavers; the craftsmen were the best in the world. Lys, the Perfumed City or the City of Love, was intoxicating. The city smelled the exact opposite of King's Landing, as it smelled of sweet-smelling perfumes. Tyrosh was the center of trade in the region; it controlled the trade in the Stepstones. But I still couldn't ignore the great tragedy that unfolded behind the scenes of these cities. In Lys, I saw pain in the eyes of the enslaved courtesans; in Tyrosh and Myr, there were slaves everywhere. My journey through Essos seemed to get harder and harder. I have been greatly affected by the cruelty I have come to witness.
Volantis
The First Daughter of Valyria, the city was magnificent. The black walls were imposing; they divided the city's elite from the slaves and the common rabble. Here, I saw the worst of slavery, more than what I had seen in the other cities. I left quickly as I arrived. I am not looking forward to the next place I am going to visit—Slaver's Bay. What acts of cruelty will I have to witness there as well?
Final Journal Entry Until I Leave Essos
I plan not to write much until I pass through Slaver's Bay. I arrived at Astapor, and there I witnessed inhumanity in such a way I couldn't even comprehend. The city was beautiful, but ultimately it was ugly because of its inhabitants, those who run the city. It was the same for Yunkai. I didn't stay long, and I don't plan to stay in Meereen as well. I will update this journal more when I am more sound of mind. The brutality of the institution of slavery had reached depths I cannot even comprehend in Slaver's Bay, and I wish to be away from it as soon as possible. The entire region seems to exhale an atmosphere of misery and desperation. I write this as I travel to Meereen with a trade caravan; there have been talks of bandits in the area. I hope to reach Meereen safely.
Garth closed his journal; it was almost full. The caravan was about to move again, and he had become friends with some of the people he was traveling with, including a fellow Westerosi named Garth, an old man who had seen many battles. When they first met, they bonded over the fact that they shared a homeland and the same name.
"Stay close, Garth. We spotted some riders in the distance. Something's not right here," the other Garth warned him.
"Why move now? Why not go look if there's trouble?" he inquired.
"Because our great leader over there is a greedy cunt who wishes to reach Meereen as soon as possible," the other Garth explained, glaring at the said leader.
The caravan made its way to the city through harsh and unforgiving terrain. Rocky landscapes with jagged cliffs and large boulders were scattered everywhere. Thorny shrubs clung to life in the soil, their twisted branches casting long shadows. The distant horizon shimmered with heat. After a while, they came to a stop. Garth, who was in the back of the caravan, walked to the front to see what had caused them to stop.
His heart sank as he saw the road being blocked. Garth looked around to see large rocks scattered in the area, a perfect place to hide.
"I know what you are thinking," the other Garth said, looking at him. "It's a perfect place for an ambush."
He nodded as fear started to take hold of him. The caravan guards were on alert, assuming a fighting stance. A hushed silence fell upon them, broken only by the distant cawing of birds. The air became thick with tension as the guards exchanged wary glances.
Without warning, a group of bandits emerged from their concealed positions among the jagged cliffs, descending upon the caravan like moths to a flame.
The caravan guards swiftly formed a defensive line, their weapons at the ready, prepared for the impending onslaught. He, along with the other travelers, huddled around the caravan. The clash of steel echoed through the cliffs as the guards valiantly fought. Sparks flew as steel met steel, but the bandits pushed ahead, and the guards fell one by one, their swords clattering to the ground.
He watched in horror as his friend was cut down. Realizing they had lost, the remaining guards surrendered. The bandits started stripping them of their valuables, and to his great shock, they also started to put them in chains.
It looked like he would never make it to his next destination; his journey was to end here. He considered the fate that awaited him—a life of slavery, to be sold in some market to the highest bidder. He had never felt this helpless in his life before. The bandits huddled them together, and he closed his eyes, thinking back to his life at the Citadel.
"Huh, maybe the old man was right. I was a fool to go on this journey," he thought.
As they were preparing to move, Garth heard something. He looked in the direction the sound was coming from. In the distance, he could see a man running towards them, flapping his hands, shouting and yelling to get their attention.
"What is that madman doing?" he heard one of his fellow travelers say.
"He wishes to join us," another one said with a bitter smile.
One of the bandits rode towards the man. Garth wanted to yell back, telling him to run away, but no sound came from his mouth.
But the man slowly came to a halt; he seemed to have realized the danger he was in. He sprinted back to where the large rocks were, trying to hide from his pursuer.
It was only delaying the inevitable, he lamented. They would either kill him or capture him. A shameful part of him wished that he would be killed; slavery, as he witnessed in his travels, was worse than death.
First Kill
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The landscape grew rockier as Jason approached the large mountain in the distance. He scanned the surroundings from atop one of the many boulders in the area.
"Come on, anything," he whispered.
Then, in the distance, he saw a road. Excitement coursed through him as he climbed down from the boulder and ran towards it. The road looked like one of the old Roman roads he had seen on his vacation to Italy a year ago. He had to make a decision now and choose which way to go.
"What was that?" Jason said, turning his attention to a noise from the opposite direction.
It sounded like a horse. Realizing there might be people in that direction, he began following the winding road. After a few minutes, he spotted a group of figures in the distance. The heatwaves distorted the view, but he could make out human shapes.
Eager to attract their attention, Jason cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled.
"Hey! Over here!" His voice echoed across the desert. He started flapping his arms around, hoping the erratic movement would make him stand out.
To his relief, one man separated from the group and spurred his horse into action, riding toward him. However, as the rider got closer, Jason's initial relief turned into unease. The man had a sword drawn at his side.
"Fuck, I don't think he is friendly," Jason said to himself.
All his senses told Jason to retreat. Spotting a cluster of rocks nearby, he bolted towards them, seeking cover. He looked behind to see that the man was still following him. His heart raced as he darted behind the rocks, his breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps.
Crouched down and hidden from view, Jason saw the rider dismount and begin searching the area.
"Wait... wait, I have the fucking Force; why am I hiding?" he said out loud as he realized he could fight the man with his new found powers.
As the man slowly approached where he was hiding, Jason stepped out from behind the rocks, his hands raised, attempting to look as non-threatening as possible.
"Skorī daor, jorrāelagon," he said in a language Jason didn't understand.
"What did you say?" Jason replied back with a look of confusion.
"Dārilaros, ñuhaan," he said as he stepped forward.
"Oh, you are messing with the wrong person, buddy," Jason said confidently.
He raised his arms against his would-be assailant, trying to summon his power, but nothing happened. He tried again, making different gestures with his hand, but nothing seemed to manifest.
"Oh," he said in a small voice.
The man seemed to be amused by this. "Skorī avy ivīlībagon, ñuhaan," he said, cackling.
The man continued to mock him. Sensing his distraction, Jason looked at a large rock at his feet. "Well, plan B then." He grabbed the rock from the ground and threw it with all his might.
Even he was surprised at how fast he threw the rock. It sailed through the air, catching the man by surprise. The rock struck him on the shoulder, momentarily throwing off his balance, and his sword fell from his grip, clattering to the ground.
Seeing the sword, Jason sprinted towards it. The man, recovering quickly, also lunged for the weapon, and a struggle ensued.
The two grappled for control, each determined to claim the sword as their own. Jason fought with determination, fueled by the desperation to survive.
The man, however, proved to be a formidable adversary, and Jason found himself on the brink of defeat. In a last-ditch effort, Jason resorted to striking the man's head, desperately trying to free himself from his grip.
As his hand made contact with the man's forehead, an electrifying jolt surged through him. It was as if a door had been thrown wide open; he found himself assaulted by a barrage of images.
He witnessed scenes from the man's past, like fragments of a dream playing out before him. A village nestled in a lush landscape, the sound of clanging swords in a training yard, the warmth of a hearth shared with comrades, the honing of his skills through years of training, his first battle. It was as if Jason had absorbed the very essence of the man's skill he had acquired in his entire life.
"What did you do, boy? What did you do to me?" he screamed out loud, but this time Jason could understand him.
"What the fuck," Jason said as he slowly stood up.
He quickly went for the sword again and picked it up. He pointed the sword at him, his hands shaking as he did.
"Can you even use that, boy?" the man said as he lunged at Jason.
To Jason's surprise, his hands moved on their own, as if he had done it a thousand times before. He thrust the sword forward, its blade finding its mark in the man's chest. The man's eyes widened in shock, and a gurgled gasp escaped his lips as he crumpled to the ground.
For a moment, Jason stood frozen, the weight of what he had just done settling on his shoulders. The reality of taking another person's life hit him like a wave. His hands trembled as the sword fell to the ground.
"Holy shit… he's dead," he said in shock, his voice barely audible against the vast backdrop of the desert. The gravity of the situation sank in, and a sickening feeling twisted in his gut. He stared at the lifeless form before him.
"He was going to kill me… I was just defending myself," he said to himself as he sat down on the ground.
The distant sound of hoof beats reached Jason's ears, snapping him out of his shocked stupor. His hand trembling as he tried to steady himself. The realization that more danger was approaching fueled a surge of adrenaline. It was then he noticed rocks floating around him again.
"Oh, now it's working," he said to himself as he stood up and turned to the direction of the approaching riders. He raised his hands towards them.
Garth watched in surprise as the man killed the bandit.
"Zykagon onon, ynomaan ao zykorverdrivar. Skorverdon ao ñuhaan," the leader yelled out as he led the other bandits to the man.
"Well, looks like he won't be joining us, but at least he killed one of them," Garth heard someone say behind him.
What happened next would change the way he saw the world forever. He had read about magic in ancient tomes within the Citadel, but those were regarded as mere legends—stories from a bygone era.
He was taught that magic had been gone from the world, but he and his fellow Maesters were proven wrong when he saw the man raising his hands against the men riding towards him.
He felt the ground shaking below him as the bandits were flung up from their horses into the sky. Panic spread through the remaining bandits near him.
Seizing the opportunity, the remaining caravan guards subdued the panicked bandits near them. Garth looked at the man again; the bandits were suspended in mid-air, their limbs flailing helplessly.
The air echoed with their desperate screams, and the oppressive weight of the invisible force seemed to crush the life out of them.
The once-silent desert now echoed with the sounds of their anguish; he could hear their pleas. The ground beneath him trembled once more as screams of the suspended riders intensified, and then suddenly they stopped and dropped to the ground like marionettes whose strings had been severed.
The desert had once again reclaimed its silence. The man dropped to the ground along with them.
"We have to go quickly before that monster kills us too," the caravan master said as they were freed from their bindings.
"Without him, we wouldn't have been saved. We must help him," Garth said, looking to the others for support but received none as they looked terrified of what had transpired.
"Are you mad? You want to help that monster? Did you not see what he did?" one of the guards exclaimed.
"Did you not see what he did?" another man chimed in.
"Maester, we are leaving with or without you. I am not staying anywhere near that thing."
Garth looked at the man on the ground in the distance. He was afraid as well, but the chance to learn of the unknown magic that the man possessed was too enticing to ignore.
"Fine, you can go without me," he said as he took his possessions and walked to where the man lay.
Garth walked towards the mysterious man. He quickly walked over the dead bandits; their limbs had been crushed. It was not a great way to die. Garth slowly approached the man. Suddenly, he shot up from his prone position, his hands pointed towards Garth.
"I am here to help; I am a Maester," Garth said quickly with his arms up in the air.
The man looked confused and seemed to calm down. He studied Garth for a moment and spoke.
"What the fuck is a Maester?"
"Come on, anything," he whispered.
Then, in the distance, he saw a road. Excitement coursed through him as he climbed down from the boulder and ran towards it. The road looked like one of the old Roman roads he had seen on his vacation to Italy a year ago. He had to make a decision now and choose which way to go.
"What was that?" Jason said, turning his attention to a noise from the opposite direction.
It sounded like a horse. Realizing there might be people in that direction, he began following the winding road. After a few minutes, he spotted a group of figures in the distance. The heatwaves distorted the view, but he could make out human shapes.
Eager to attract their attention, Jason cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled.
"Hey! Over here!" His voice echoed across the desert. He started flapping his arms around, hoping the erratic movement would make him stand out.
To his relief, one man separated from the group and spurred his horse into action, riding toward him. However, as the rider got closer, Jason's initial relief turned into unease. The man had a sword drawn at his side.
"Fuck, I don't think he is friendly," Jason said to himself.
All his senses told Jason to retreat. Spotting a cluster of rocks nearby, he bolted towards them, seeking cover. He looked behind to see that the man was still following him. His heart raced as he darted behind the rocks, his breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps.
Crouched down and hidden from view, Jason saw the rider dismount and begin searching the area.
"Wait... wait, I have the fucking Force; why am I hiding?" he said out loud as he realized he could fight the man with his new found powers.
As the man slowly approached where he was hiding, Jason stepped out from behind the rocks, his hands raised, attempting to look as non-threatening as possible.
"Skorī daor, jorrāelagon," he said in a language Jason didn't understand.
"What did you say?" Jason replied back with a look of confusion.
"Dārilaros, ñuhaan," he said as he stepped forward.
"Oh, you are messing with the wrong person, buddy," Jason said confidently.
He raised his arms against his would-be assailant, trying to summon his power, but nothing happened. He tried again, making different gestures with his hand, but nothing seemed to manifest.
"Oh," he said in a small voice.
The man seemed to be amused by this. "Skorī avy ivīlībagon, ñuhaan," he said, cackling.
The man continued to mock him. Sensing his distraction, Jason looked at a large rock at his feet. "Well, plan B then." He grabbed the rock from the ground and threw it with all his might.
Even he was surprised at how fast he threw the rock. It sailed through the air, catching the man by surprise. The rock struck him on the shoulder, momentarily throwing off his balance, and his sword fell from his grip, clattering to the ground.
Seeing the sword, Jason sprinted towards it. The man, recovering quickly, also lunged for the weapon, and a struggle ensued.
The two grappled for control, each determined to claim the sword as their own. Jason fought with determination, fueled by the desperation to survive.
The man, however, proved to be a formidable adversary, and Jason found himself on the brink of defeat. In a last-ditch effort, Jason resorted to striking the man's head, desperately trying to free himself from his grip.
As his hand made contact with the man's forehead, an electrifying jolt surged through him. It was as if a door had been thrown wide open; he found himself assaulted by a barrage of images.
He witnessed scenes from the man's past, like fragments of a dream playing out before him. A village nestled in a lush landscape, the sound of clanging swords in a training yard, the warmth of a hearth shared with comrades, the honing of his skills through years of training, his first battle. It was as if Jason had absorbed the very essence of the man's skill he had acquired in his entire life.
"What did you do, boy? What did you do to me?" he screamed out loud, but this time Jason could understand him.
"What the fuck," Jason said as he slowly stood up.
He quickly went for the sword again and picked it up. He pointed the sword at him, his hands shaking as he did.
"Can you even use that, boy?" the man said as he lunged at Jason.
To Jason's surprise, his hands moved on their own, as if he had done it a thousand times before. He thrust the sword forward, its blade finding its mark in the man's chest. The man's eyes widened in shock, and a gurgled gasp escaped his lips as he crumpled to the ground.
For a moment, Jason stood frozen, the weight of what he had just done settling on his shoulders. The reality of taking another person's life hit him like a wave. His hands trembled as the sword fell to the ground.
"Holy shit… he's dead," he said in shock, his voice barely audible against the vast backdrop of the desert. The gravity of the situation sank in, and a sickening feeling twisted in his gut. He stared at the lifeless form before him.
"He was going to kill me… I was just defending myself," he said to himself as he sat down on the ground.
The distant sound of hoof beats reached Jason's ears, snapping him out of his shocked stupor. His hand trembling as he tried to steady himself. The realization that more danger was approaching fueled a surge of adrenaline. It was then he noticed rocks floating around him again.
"Oh, now it's working," he said to himself as he stood up and turned to the direction of the approaching riders. He raised his hands towards them.
Garth watched in surprise as the man killed the bandit.
"Zykagon onon, ynomaan ao zykorverdrivar. Skorverdon ao ñuhaan," the leader yelled out as he led the other bandits to the man.
"Well, looks like he won't be joining us, but at least he killed one of them," Garth heard someone say behind him.
What happened next would change the way he saw the world forever. He had read about magic in ancient tomes within the Citadel, but those were regarded as mere legends—stories from a bygone era.
He was taught that magic had been gone from the world, but he and his fellow Maesters were proven wrong when he saw the man raising his hands against the men riding towards him.
He felt the ground shaking below him as the bandits were flung up from their horses into the sky. Panic spread through the remaining bandits near him.
Seizing the opportunity, the remaining caravan guards subdued the panicked bandits near them. Garth looked at the man again; the bandits were suspended in mid-air, their limbs flailing helplessly.
The air echoed with their desperate screams, and the oppressive weight of the invisible force seemed to crush the life out of them.
The once-silent desert now echoed with the sounds of their anguish; he could hear their pleas. The ground beneath him trembled once more as screams of the suspended riders intensified, and then suddenly they stopped and dropped to the ground like marionettes whose strings had been severed.
The desert had once again reclaimed its silence. The man dropped to the ground along with them.
"We have to go quickly before that monster kills us too," the caravan master said as they were freed from their bindings.
"Without him, we wouldn't have been saved. We must help him," Garth said, looking to the others for support but received none as they looked terrified of what had transpired.
"Are you mad? You want to help that monster? Did you not see what he did?" one of the guards exclaimed.
"Did you not see what he did?" another man chimed in.
"Maester, we are leaving with or without you. I am not staying anywhere near that thing."
Garth looked at the man on the ground in the distance. He was afraid as well, but the chance to learn of the unknown magic that the man possessed was too enticing to ignore.
"Fine, you can go without me," he said as he took his possessions and walked to where the man lay.
Garth walked towards the mysterious man. He quickly walked over the dead bandits; their limbs had been crushed. It was not a great way to die. Garth slowly approached the man. Suddenly, he shot up from his prone position, his hands pointed towards Garth.
"I am here to help; I am a Maester," Garth said quickly with his arms up in the air.
The man looked confused and seemed to calm down. He studied Garth for a moment and spoke.
"What the fuck is a Maester?"
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The Adventures of Garth and Jason pt.1
Illusiveone
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They were nearing Meereen, Garth could tell, as he noticed small patches of greenery emerging defiantly from the cracked and sun-baked ground. He could also see trees in the distance. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw his new friend walking towards him.
"By the Seven, the man moves like a tortoise," Garth muttered.
He continued walking, looking around for a place to sit and rest. After a while, he found a large rock surrounded by what the Ghiscari called Neem trees. There was ample shade, so he walked towards it, waiting for Jason to catch up.
The last two days had been life-changing for Garth. He was almost sold into slavery, only saved because of the man trudging towards him in the distance. Jason was not what he expected. Garth didn't know what to expect when he went to help him, leaving the safety of the caravan.
He thought the man to be a practitioner of mystic arts from a faraway land, a traveler like him, maybe even a native of Essos, a member of a secret cult hidden from the rest of the world. The answer he received from Jason when he questioned him was inconceivable to him.
Jason claimed to be from another world, and his powers, well, he himself didn't know much about it either.
At first, Garth believed Jason was making a fool out of him. When he was fit to travel, they decided to travel together to Meereen.
He continued to question Jason, yet the answers remained unchanged. Frustration grew within Garth. Did Jason believe him to be some peasant to believe his fanciful tales? But how wrong he was. It was the same day when they stopped for the night that Jason produced enough evidence for him to believe his claims.
"Enough of these absurdities, Jason!" Garth exclaimed, his tone edged with irritation.
"Another world? Am I to believe such rubbish? Are you jesting, or has the desert sun addled your senses?"
"That is the hill you're choosing to die on – the fact that I am from another world?" Jason said, seemingly irritated by his questioning as well.
"Unless I see proof of your claims, yes, I find it hard to believe you," Garth replied.
Jason seemed to think for a while. "Aha! I have the perfect thing that can convince you," he exclaimed as he opened his strange satchel.
Garth watched as Jason brought out a peculiar object. It was a shiny cylinder painted red, and there was something inscribed on it.
"Behold, Garth!" Jason exclaimed, standing up and striking a dramatic pose. "I now hold in my hand something your primitive mind can't even comprehend," he said, grinning.
"Primitive... did you just call me primitive? I'll have you know that I am a fully trained maester," Garth retorted angrily, his brows furrowed.
Jason chuckled, holding the shiny cylinder aloft. "Oh, apologies, Maester. I didn't mean to offend you, but I doubt you have ever seen anything like this."
Garth squinted at the inscriptions on the cylinder. "Coca-Cola… what is this Coca-Cola?"
"Oh, my friend, you are going to love it. I doubt you will taste anything like this ever again," Jason said as he handed the object to him.
"Taste," Garth repeated in confusion. He was even more perplexed when he took hold of the cylinder; it was smooth and made of some kind of metal.
"This is fine craftsmanship," Garth said, examining the object. He then realized there was something inside it.
"There's something inside it," Garth muttered as he began to shake it.
"Wait, don't shake it," Jason said, grabbing hold of Garth's hands.
Garth shot him a questioning look. "Why not? What is this strange container, and what is its purpose?"
"See the tab on top of it, the small metal piece."
"Yes," Garth responded, locating the tab.
Jason grinned. "Open it by pressing down."
Garth hesitated, but curiosity got the better of him. With Jason's guidance, he carefully opened it and heard a faint hiss as the tab was pressed down. Suddenly, the air was filled with a burst of fizzing sound, and a strange aroma wafted out of the can.
"What is this strange liquid?" Garth asked as he smelled it.
"Drink it," Jason replied, excitement evident in his eyes. Garth, still wary but curious, brought the can to his lips and took a cautious sip. The effervescence and sweetness burst on his tongue, creating a sensation unlike anything he had ever experienced.
"This… this is unlike anything I've ever tasted! What kind of magic is this?" Garth exclaimed, forgetting his initial skepticism.
"Glad you enjoyed your first and last time tasting a soda," Jason said, putting his hands on Garth's shoulder.
Garth took another sip, trying to comprehend the combination of sweetness and bubbles. "It's a marvel, truly. How is it made? What are its ingredients?"
Jason shrugged.
"What is this can, as you call it, made of? It must have taken a blacksmith days to make something this smooth and shapely, and what is this metal? It is not iron or steel…."
"Whoa, whoa, slow it with the questions. We can make like millions of cans every day; it doesn't take days, Garth," Jason said, chuckling at the poor man's expression.
"Millions," Garth said in a small voice. "You people use magic, then, like you possess," he added.
"No, no, I already told you; it's new to me as well," Jason said, emphasizing his point.
"What else do you have in that strange satchel of yours?" Garth asked, looking at the said object.
Garth was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard Jason approaching; he could hear his shallow breaths as Jason slowly made his way to him.
Garth reached into his satchel and took out the object that finally made him believe Jason's claims. It was a tome or a book, as Jason called it. Garth couldn't stop marveling at it.
The tome was something he had never seen before; the words were written neatly, and the parchment was smooth.
Jason had explained to him the process called printing, and the pages were not parchment but called paper. When Garth heard about printing, he wondered why the great maesters of the Citadel, his peers, never discovered it; it sounded so simple.
He read the title of the book, 'Warfare in the Seventeenth Century.' Jason had no knowledge of what was in the three books; he had told him that he was simply bringing them to his friend.
The book contained knowledge of military advancements and strategies of the seventeenth century in Jason's world. It also contained a map of his world. They had mapped the entire world. It was this that finally convinced him.
The other two books were about philosophies and scientific discoveries of the same age. He was aching to get to Meereen so he could properly examine them.
Garth turned his attention from the book to see Jason stumbling towards him.
"Missing your horseless carriages and flying vehicles, Jason?" he quipped. He couldn't help but poke fun at Jason's struggle.
Jason seated next to Garth and took a moment to catch his breath; he was wearing a cloak on his head, his lips were dry as he tried to wet them with his tongue.
"Walking…. is…. Overrated," Jason said, shooting Garth a mock glare.
Garth handed him his waterskin, from which Jason drank greedily.
"Why do you look so tired? The heat isn't that bad," Garth asked, examining the man from another world.
"I was practicing," Jason replied.
"That was incredibly stupid, Jason. You haven't completely recovered from your last 'feat' yet," Garth admonished him.
"It's fine; it wasn't for nothing, though," Jason said, grinning.
"What is it? Have you found something new?" Garth asked, curiosity evident in his eyes.
A spark of excitement lit up Jason's eyes as he glanced at Garth. Rising from his seated position, he extended his hands towards the ground, focusing on the sand and stones beneath. The stones and sand stirred and lifted, forming a swirling dance in the air.
Jason seemed to be in great concentration as the stones and sand turned into even finer particles. Garth watched all this in astonishment; he was still not used to seeing Jason using his abilities.
Jason made the particles into a cohesive shape, a solid rectangle. "All done," Jason said, taking deep breaths.
Garth reached out and grabbed the floating rectangular object; it was solid and perfectly shaped.
"Amazing," Garth muttered under his breath.
"Great is't it imagine me with more control I could build a fucking castle out of nothing," Jason exclaimed.
"Yes, yes it is," Garth replied, wondering what new abilities Jason might discover next.
"Come on, if we keep the same pace, we will arrive at the outskirts of Meereen by tomorrow morning," Garth added as he stood up.
"Oh great, more walking. Why couldn't I have the ability to fly or teleport?" Jason said as he stood up.
"Who knows, maybe you will. Come on, the sooner we get to Meereen, the better," Garth said as he led the way, with a tired Jason following behind him.
"By the Seven, the man moves like a tortoise," Garth muttered.
He continued walking, looking around for a place to sit and rest. After a while, he found a large rock surrounded by what the Ghiscari called Neem trees. There was ample shade, so he walked towards it, waiting for Jason to catch up.
The last two days had been life-changing for Garth. He was almost sold into slavery, only saved because of the man trudging towards him in the distance. Jason was not what he expected. Garth didn't know what to expect when he went to help him, leaving the safety of the caravan.
He thought the man to be a practitioner of mystic arts from a faraway land, a traveler like him, maybe even a native of Essos, a member of a secret cult hidden from the rest of the world. The answer he received from Jason when he questioned him was inconceivable to him.
Jason claimed to be from another world, and his powers, well, he himself didn't know much about it either.
At first, Garth believed Jason was making a fool out of him. When he was fit to travel, they decided to travel together to Meereen.
He continued to question Jason, yet the answers remained unchanged. Frustration grew within Garth. Did Jason believe him to be some peasant to believe his fanciful tales? But how wrong he was. It was the same day when they stopped for the night that Jason produced enough evidence for him to believe his claims.
"Enough of these absurdities, Jason!" Garth exclaimed, his tone edged with irritation.
"Another world? Am I to believe such rubbish? Are you jesting, or has the desert sun addled your senses?"
"That is the hill you're choosing to die on – the fact that I am from another world?" Jason said, seemingly irritated by his questioning as well.
"Unless I see proof of your claims, yes, I find it hard to believe you," Garth replied.
Jason seemed to think for a while. "Aha! I have the perfect thing that can convince you," he exclaimed as he opened his strange satchel.
Garth watched as Jason brought out a peculiar object. It was a shiny cylinder painted red, and there was something inscribed on it.
"Behold, Garth!" Jason exclaimed, standing up and striking a dramatic pose. "I now hold in my hand something your primitive mind can't even comprehend," he said, grinning.
"Primitive... did you just call me primitive? I'll have you know that I am a fully trained maester," Garth retorted angrily, his brows furrowed.
Jason chuckled, holding the shiny cylinder aloft. "Oh, apologies, Maester. I didn't mean to offend you, but I doubt you have ever seen anything like this."
Garth squinted at the inscriptions on the cylinder. "Coca-Cola… what is this Coca-Cola?"
"Oh, my friend, you are going to love it. I doubt you will taste anything like this ever again," Jason said as he handed the object to him.
"Taste," Garth repeated in confusion. He was even more perplexed when he took hold of the cylinder; it was smooth and made of some kind of metal.
"This is fine craftsmanship," Garth said, examining the object. He then realized there was something inside it.
"There's something inside it," Garth muttered as he began to shake it.
"Wait, don't shake it," Jason said, grabbing hold of Garth's hands.
Garth shot him a questioning look. "Why not? What is this strange container, and what is its purpose?"
"See the tab on top of it, the small metal piece."
"Yes," Garth responded, locating the tab.
Jason grinned. "Open it by pressing down."
Garth hesitated, but curiosity got the better of him. With Jason's guidance, he carefully opened it and heard a faint hiss as the tab was pressed down. Suddenly, the air was filled with a burst of fizzing sound, and a strange aroma wafted out of the can.
"What is this strange liquid?" Garth asked as he smelled it.
"Drink it," Jason replied, excitement evident in his eyes. Garth, still wary but curious, brought the can to his lips and took a cautious sip. The effervescence and sweetness burst on his tongue, creating a sensation unlike anything he had ever experienced.
"This… this is unlike anything I've ever tasted! What kind of magic is this?" Garth exclaimed, forgetting his initial skepticism.
"Glad you enjoyed your first and last time tasting a soda," Jason said, putting his hands on Garth's shoulder.
Garth took another sip, trying to comprehend the combination of sweetness and bubbles. "It's a marvel, truly. How is it made? What are its ingredients?"
Jason shrugged.
"What is this can, as you call it, made of? It must have taken a blacksmith days to make something this smooth and shapely, and what is this metal? It is not iron or steel…."
"Whoa, whoa, slow it with the questions. We can make like millions of cans every day; it doesn't take days, Garth," Jason said, chuckling at the poor man's expression.
"Millions," Garth said in a small voice. "You people use magic, then, like you possess," he added.
"No, no, I already told you; it's new to me as well," Jason said, emphasizing his point.
"What else do you have in that strange satchel of yours?" Garth asked, looking at the said object.
Garth was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard Jason approaching; he could hear his shallow breaths as Jason slowly made his way to him.
Garth reached into his satchel and took out the object that finally made him believe Jason's claims. It was a tome or a book, as Jason called it. Garth couldn't stop marveling at it.
The tome was something he had never seen before; the words were written neatly, and the parchment was smooth.
Jason had explained to him the process called printing, and the pages were not parchment but called paper. When Garth heard about printing, he wondered why the great maesters of the Citadel, his peers, never discovered it; it sounded so simple.
He read the title of the book, 'Warfare in the Seventeenth Century.' Jason had no knowledge of what was in the three books; he had told him that he was simply bringing them to his friend.
The book contained knowledge of military advancements and strategies of the seventeenth century in Jason's world. It also contained a map of his world. They had mapped the entire world. It was this that finally convinced him.
The other two books were about philosophies and scientific discoveries of the same age. He was aching to get to Meereen so he could properly examine them.
Garth turned his attention from the book to see Jason stumbling towards him.
"Missing your horseless carriages and flying vehicles, Jason?" he quipped. He couldn't help but poke fun at Jason's struggle.
Jason seated next to Garth and took a moment to catch his breath; he was wearing a cloak on his head, his lips were dry as he tried to wet them with his tongue.
"Walking…. is…. Overrated," Jason said, shooting Garth a mock glare.
Garth handed him his waterskin, from which Jason drank greedily.
"Why do you look so tired? The heat isn't that bad," Garth asked, examining the man from another world.
"I was practicing," Jason replied.
"That was incredibly stupid, Jason. You haven't completely recovered from your last 'feat' yet," Garth admonished him.
"It's fine; it wasn't for nothing, though," Jason said, grinning.
"What is it? Have you found something new?" Garth asked, curiosity evident in his eyes.
A spark of excitement lit up Jason's eyes as he glanced at Garth. Rising from his seated position, he extended his hands towards the ground, focusing on the sand and stones beneath. The stones and sand stirred and lifted, forming a swirling dance in the air.
Jason seemed to be in great concentration as the stones and sand turned into even finer particles. Garth watched all this in astonishment; he was still not used to seeing Jason using his abilities.
Jason made the particles into a cohesive shape, a solid rectangle. "All done," Jason said, taking deep breaths.
Garth reached out and grabbed the floating rectangular object; it was solid and perfectly shaped.
"Amazing," Garth muttered under his breath.
"Great is't it imagine me with more control I could build a fucking castle out of nothing," Jason exclaimed.
"Yes, yes it is," Garth replied, wondering what new abilities Jason might discover next.
"Come on, if we keep the same pace, we will arrive at the outskirts of Meereen by tomorrow morning," Garth added as he stood up.
"Oh great, more walking. Why couldn't I have the ability to fly or teleport?" Jason said as he stood up.
"Who knows, maybe you will. Come on, the sooner we get to Meereen, the better," Garth said as he led the way, with a tired Jason following behind him.
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William Seymour
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Looking forward to the growth and development of the story, along with our mc and his co companion. Along with figuring out what his new powers are and what they can do exactly. No matter how many isekai stories I have come across and read, I always feel that there should be a bit of wonder when being able to do magic. Especially for someone who has never done anything magical(outside of fictional writing or science or very rare occassions mystical/faith means) a day in their lives.
But to be able to do magic? The dream of millions of people?There is a childlike giddiness that should follow in the wake of awakening or being gifted such a treasure. A chance to be greater today than you were before. Its a detail that sadly far to many authors overlook or deem not important enough. But I am glad that you did not do so.
I am rather curious as to Jason intends to do in this world, as he can approach alot of medieval problems in many ways. But it all falls back to what his powers are and what he can. From the looks of it, he can absorb the skills and experience of the dead?(Might not have to be dead as a requirement, we will need to see more testing from him.), Levitating people and rocks with no issue and using said memories and skills to his advantage.
I'm glad you didn't do the whole "He killed someone for the first time and threw up in disgust." In a medieval fantasy, its necessary for him to grow and adapt to the world that he lives in. Especially when the laws of this new world does not follow the laws of his old world, and death can come very swiftly. Whether it be the weather(hot or cold), a noble who hired an assassin to kill you because of some insult or whatever, not believing or following a particular faith, etc.
Anyway best of luck to your story and be encouraged. Your hardwork has not gone unnoticed!
But to be able to do magic? The dream of millions of people?There is a childlike giddiness that should follow in the wake of awakening or being gifted such a treasure. A chance to be greater today than you were before. Its a detail that sadly far to many authors overlook or deem not important enough. But I am glad that you did not do so.
I am rather curious as to Jason intends to do in this world, as he can approach alot of medieval problems in many ways. But it all falls back to what his powers are and what he can. From the looks of it, he can absorb the skills and experience of the dead?(Might not have to be dead as a requirement, we will need to see more testing from him.), Levitating people and rocks with no issue and using said memories and skills to his advantage.
I'm glad you didn't do the whole "He killed someone for the first time and threw up in disgust." In a medieval fantasy, its necessary for him to grow and adapt to the world that he lives in. Especially when the laws of this new world does not follow the laws of his old world, and death can come very swiftly. Whether it be the weather(hot or cold), a noble who hired an assassin to kill you because of some insult or whatever, not believing or following a particular faith, etc.
Anyway best of luck to your story and be encouraged. Your hardwork has not gone unnoticed!
Illusiveone
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Thank you for your support
ATP
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Well,knowledge from 17th century is not bad - he could made it with existing technology.
But,books about,let say,1850 technology and warfare would be better - technology still possible to made,but much better.
Well,better that then notching.
But,books about,let say,1850 technology and warfare would be better - technology still possible to made,but much better.
Well,better that then notching.
Illusiveone
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Garth will be first and last person to know Jason's origins
The Adventures of Garth and Jason pt.2
Illusiveone
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The landscape underwent a noticeable change as Garth and Jason neared the outskirts of Meereen. The arid desert began to give way to a more fertile terrain marked by vast fields stretching into the distance.
The air carried the scent of rich soil, and fields of green spread across the land, tended by slaves with bent backs and wearied expressions.
The sun beat down on them as they toiled, their movements rhythmic. It was a scene of both abundance and suffering, the land yielding its fruits while those who tended it reaped little more than exhaustion.
As they traveled past the fields, Garth ignored the slaves, as he always tried to in his travels through Essos. However, Jason could not; he was shocked by the sight, he had only read of such things but now it was one of the many harsh realities of the world he found himself in. They could hear the distant sounds of overseers barking orders and the occasional crack of a whip.
"I think we are in someone's estate, Jason. I think we may be lost," Garth said as he scanned the surroundings.
"Jason, did you hear what I said?" Garth asked, but he received no answer. He looked behind him to see Jason eating grapes right out of the vines.
"What are you doing, you fool?" Garth shouted.
"Just sampling the local goods," Jason said as he too plucked another grape from the vine.
Frustrated, Garth marched over to Jason and swatted his hand away. "I told you we are lost. I think we are in some private estate," he said, looking around.
They heard someone yell in the distance, and they turned to see two burly-looking men making their way towards them.
"It's time to go, Jason," Garth said as he ran in the opposite direction. Jason did so as well.
"Wait," Jason said, stopping in his tracks.
"What is it?" Garth asked, alarmed.
Jason extended his arms towards a cluster of grapes on the vine, and with a swift motion of his hands, the grapes floated into his open bag.
"By the Seven, Jason," Garth said, sighing.
"What? You can have them too," Jason replied as they resumed running in the opposite direction to escape the approaching men.
They found the main road again, and soon Meereen was in sight.
Jason looked at the city. It had towering walls, but the sight that drew him in was the large pyramids that dominated the city's skyline. The largest of them stood out the most it was as big as the one in Giza; the three pyramids bore the markings and emblems built with white bricks, and their apexes seemed to touch the sky.
"Those are some big pyramids," Jason said, marveling at the sight.
"That they are. The elites of the city live in them," Garth explained.
"Of course, they do," Jason deadpanned.
"Each pyramid is marked by the colors and emblems of the noble family that inhabits them," Garth explained.
"Oh, look at the walls; they are bigger than the ones in Yunkai and Astapor," Garth added.
"You know, there are pyramids back home as well," Jason said, looking at Garth.
"Truly?" Garth asked, curious to know more about Jason's world.
"Well... not like this one; ours were tombs built for kings that lived like 4000 years ago," Jason explained.
"Tombs," Garth muttered.
"Let's go; I want to get something to eat," Jason said as he led the way to the city.
After finding an inn and resting for a whole day, Garth and Jason decided to explore the city. Jason was overwhelmed by the sights; the city was a whirlwind of colors, scents, and sounds.
Garth guided Jason through the city, having planned out beforehand what to do in Meereen. The markets were filled with exotic wares: spices of every kind, vibrant hues of fabrics, and the clamor of merchants and people haggling filled his ears. The variety of people, their attire, and the unfamiliar architecture captivated him.
Jason had seen slaves in the fields outside the city, but it was inside the city that he saw firsthand the brutality of slavery in Slaver's Bay.
Slaves, marked by their simple attire and often branded, moved about their tasks with an air of resignation, their spirits seemingly crushed by the weight of their chains.
The markets had their own grim spectacle, where slaves were put on display like commodities, examined and auctioned off to the highest bidder.
The slave trade operated with cold efficiency; chains rattled as traders led groups of slaves, presenting them to potential buyers.
Jason had come to the realization of where he was the day he met Garth—the world he was in, a world he once thought was fiction.
So, he knew the dangers it posed, and that was why he wished to be away from Westeros as soon as possible. He wished to live out his life in peace if he was going to be stuck here, but a small part of his mind told him that might not be possible.
Still, he was going to try regardless, but not here, not in this hellscape. Garth was heading to Yi Ti, if he remembered correctly; it was basically the fantasy China of this world, so he might give that place a try.
After witnessing the brutality of the fighting pits, Garth and Jason decided to return to their room in the inn.They planned to head towards Lhazar and then pass the Bone Mountains to Yi Ti.
Witnessing the extent of slavery in the city had taken a toll on Jason. He laid on his makeshift bedroll, staring at the dark canvas of the night sky above Meereen through the small window.
The city's sounds, a blend of distant chatter and the occasional clang of metal, echoed in the background. The images haunted him, flashing in his mind like a series of cruel paintings.
Jason closed his eyes, hoping for a night of restful sleep, but the scenes played back with vivid detail in his dreams.
Suddenly, he jolted awake, his body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. The nightmare had clung to him, refusing to release its grip even in the waking world. Breathing heavily, Jason looked around the dimly lit area and saw Garth sitting nearby, engrossed in the book he had given him.
"Couldn't sleep?" Garth asked, glancing up from the book.
Jason sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Nightmares."
Garth put the book down. "Want to talk about it?"
Jason hesitated for a moment. Eventually, he decided to open up to Garth.
"It's all bearing down on me now, Garth," Jason admitted, his voice low. "The last few days have been..... I never imagined I'd find myself in a situation like this."
Garth listened attentively, sensing the weight in Jason's words.
"I killed people, Garth. I never thought I would be capable of that, but I get it. It was either me or them...but it's going to take a while for me to adapt to all this. It's all too real now," Jason continued.
"I understand," Garth replied after a moment of silence.
"Do you?" Jason asked with a hint of skepticism.
"More than you think. I was sent to the Citadel at a young age. I barely remember my mother and father. The Citadel was all I ever knew until I decided to leave it to explore the world."
"It was shocking at first to witness the harshness of the world firsthand. It got even worse as I traveled through the Free Cities."
"I have come to accept that the world is not what I imagined it to be in all those years living in the Citadel."
"It will take some time to get used to everything but you will eventually.You have already shown remarkable resilience Jason."
Jason stayed silent and nodded, glad to have someone to talk to about his troubles. He stared out the window to see the night sky; it was strangely calming.
After buying the supplies for their journey to Lhazar, they set out from Meereen. Jason was glad to be out of the city. They followed the Skahazadhan to the Khyzai Pass, and from there, they would travel through the land of Lhazar to the Bone Mountains. Garth was excited to see the fallen kingdom of the mythical figure known as Hyrkoon.
After a week of traveling, they encountered a merchant caravan who informed them of what was happening in Lhazar.
"I'd advise you to tread carefully," the merchant warned.
"Why?" Jason inquired. He spoke more fluent Ghiscari than Garth, a skill he gained from the first bandit he fought along with his sword-fighting skills.
"Two Dothraki hordes are warring. They have been attacking each other's tributaries for over a month now. I advise not even traveling there until things settle down," the merchant replied.
They left the merchant and continued their journey Jason asked Garth what he knew about Lhazar and the Dothraki.
They made their way through the desolate landscape. The Skahazadhan stretched ahead of them, its dark waters reflecting the harsh sunlight. Garth spoke as they walked, providing Jason with information about Lhazar.
"The lands of Lhazar are inhabited by the Lhazareen. They are a peaceful people who have learned to live in harmony. They are mostly sheep herders and farmers. They have three trade centers, or cities as some call them, where merchants from Qarth and the Bone Mountains pass through to get to Slaver's Bay."
"However, their peaceful existence is constantly threatened by the Dothraki hordes, who raid their settlements for slaves, resources, and plunder." Jason noticed a lot of contempt in Garth's voice as he talked about the Dothraki.
"The Lhazareen are also skilled farmers, cultivating the arid land to grow crops that can withstand the challenging conditions. They have developed unique techniques to make the most of the scarce resources in Lhazar. Despite their relatively peaceful lifestyle, the Lhazareen live in constant fear of the Dothraki, who see them as easy targets for raids due to their peaceful nature" Garth continued.
"The Dothraki are evil, Jason; those savages have destroyed so much and caused much suffering," Garth spoke with a mix of anger and frustration in his voice.
"Their hordes are like locusts, sweeping through the land, leaving destruction in their wake. It's difficult to fathom the extent of the damage they've done to entire civilizations."
He paused for a moment. "One of the most notorious examples is the Kingdom of Sarnor. It was a powerful and ancient realm, spanning vast territories. The Dothraki hordes invaded and decimated Sarnor. They left nothing but ruins and ashes in their wake, wiping out entire cities and depopulating the once-thriving kingdom."
Garth's tone grew darker as he continued, "The Dothraki they take what they want, leaving chaos and suffering behind. The people of Lhazar are just one of their many victims."
They walked in silence for a while. The Khyzai Pass loomed ahead, the gateway to the lands of Lhazar. Jason couldn't shake the sense of foreboding after hearing the merchant's warning, but they pushed on, not knowing what danger they might face ahead.
The air carried the scent of rich soil, and fields of green spread across the land, tended by slaves with bent backs and wearied expressions.
The sun beat down on them as they toiled, their movements rhythmic. It was a scene of both abundance and suffering, the land yielding its fruits while those who tended it reaped little more than exhaustion.
As they traveled past the fields, Garth ignored the slaves, as he always tried to in his travels through Essos. However, Jason could not; he was shocked by the sight, he had only read of such things but now it was one of the many harsh realities of the world he found himself in. They could hear the distant sounds of overseers barking orders and the occasional crack of a whip.
"I think we are in someone's estate, Jason. I think we may be lost," Garth said as he scanned the surroundings.
"Jason, did you hear what I said?" Garth asked, but he received no answer. He looked behind him to see Jason eating grapes right out of the vines.
"What are you doing, you fool?" Garth shouted.
"Just sampling the local goods," Jason said as he too plucked another grape from the vine.
Frustrated, Garth marched over to Jason and swatted his hand away. "I told you we are lost. I think we are in some private estate," he said, looking around.
They heard someone yell in the distance, and they turned to see two burly-looking men making their way towards them.
"It's time to go, Jason," Garth said as he ran in the opposite direction. Jason did so as well.
"Wait," Jason said, stopping in his tracks.
"What is it?" Garth asked, alarmed.
Jason extended his arms towards a cluster of grapes on the vine, and with a swift motion of his hands, the grapes floated into his open bag.
"By the Seven, Jason," Garth said, sighing.
"What? You can have them too," Jason replied as they resumed running in the opposite direction to escape the approaching men.
They found the main road again, and soon Meereen was in sight.
Jason looked at the city. It had towering walls, but the sight that drew him in was the large pyramids that dominated the city's skyline. The largest of them stood out the most it was as big as the one in Giza; the three pyramids bore the markings and emblems built with white bricks, and their apexes seemed to touch the sky.
"Those are some big pyramids," Jason said, marveling at the sight.
"That they are. The elites of the city live in them," Garth explained.
"Of course, they do," Jason deadpanned.
"Each pyramid is marked by the colors and emblems of the noble family that inhabits them," Garth explained.
"Oh, look at the walls; they are bigger than the ones in Yunkai and Astapor," Garth added.
"You know, there are pyramids back home as well," Jason said, looking at Garth.
"Truly?" Garth asked, curious to know more about Jason's world.
"Well... not like this one; ours were tombs built for kings that lived like 4000 years ago," Jason explained.
"Tombs," Garth muttered.
"Let's go; I want to get something to eat," Jason said as he led the way to the city.
After finding an inn and resting for a whole day, Garth and Jason decided to explore the city. Jason was overwhelmed by the sights; the city was a whirlwind of colors, scents, and sounds.
Garth guided Jason through the city, having planned out beforehand what to do in Meereen. The markets were filled with exotic wares: spices of every kind, vibrant hues of fabrics, and the clamor of merchants and people haggling filled his ears. The variety of people, their attire, and the unfamiliar architecture captivated him.
Jason had seen slaves in the fields outside the city, but it was inside the city that he saw firsthand the brutality of slavery in Slaver's Bay.
Slaves, marked by their simple attire and often branded, moved about their tasks with an air of resignation, their spirits seemingly crushed by the weight of their chains.
The markets had their own grim spectacle, where slaves were put on display like commodities, examined and auctioned off to the highest bidder.
The slave trade operated with cold efficiency; chains rattled as traders led groups of slaves, presenting them to potential buyers.
Jason had come to the realization of where he was the day he met Garth—the world he was in, a world he once thought was fiction.
So, he knew the dangers it posed, and that was why he wished to be away from Westeros as soon as possible. He wished to live out his life in peace if he was going to be stuck here, but a small part of his mind told him that might not be possible.
Still, he was going to try regardless, but not here, not in this hellscape. Garth was heading to Yi Ti, if he remembered correctly; it was basically the fantasy China of this world, so he might give that place a try.
After witnessing the brutality of the fighting pits, Garth and Jason decided to return to their room in the inn.They planned to head towards Lhazar and then pass the Bone Mountains to Yi Ti.
Witnessing the extent of slavery in the city had taken a toll on Jason. He laid on his makeshift bedroll, staring at the dark canvas of the night sky above Meereen through the small window.
The city's sounds, a blend of distant chatter and the occasional clang of metal, echoed in the background. The images haunted him, flashing in his mind like a series of cruel paintings.
Jason closed his eyes, hoping for a night of restful sleep, but the scenes played back with vivid detail in his dreams.
Suddenly, he jolted awake, his body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. The nightmare had clung to him, refusing to release its grip even in the waking world. Breathing heavily, Jason looked around the dimly lit area and saw Garth sitting nearby, engrossed in the book he had given him.
"Couldn't sleep?" Garth asked, glancing up from the book.
Jason sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Nightmares."
Garth put the book down. "Want to talk about it?"
Jason hesitated for a moment. Eventually, he decided to open up to Garth.
"It's all bearing down on me now, Garth," Jason admitted, his voice low. "The last few days have been..... I never imagined I'd find myself in a situation like this."
Garth listened attentively, sensing the weight in Jason's words.
"I killed people, Garth. I never thought I would be capable of that, but I get it. It was either me or them...but it's going to take a while for me to adapt to all this. It's all too real now," Jason continued.
"I understand," Garth replied after a moment of silence.
"Do you?" Jason asked with a hint of skepticism.
"More than you think. I was sent to the Citadel at a young age. I barely remember my mother and father. The Citadel was all I ever knew until I decided to leave it to explore the world."
"It was shocking at first to witness the harshness of the world firsthand. It got even worse as I traveled through the Free Cities."
"I have come to accept that the world is not what I imagined it to be in all those years living in the Citadel."
"It will take some time to get used to everything but you will eventually.You have already shown remarkable resilience Jason."
Jason stayed silent and nodded, glad to have someone to talk to about his troubles. He stared out the window to see the night sky; it was strangely calming.
After buying the supplies for their journey to Lhazar, they set out from Meereen. Jason was glad to be out of the city. They followed the Skahazadhan to the Khyzai Pass, and from there, they would travel through the land of Lhazar to the Bone Mountains. Garth was excited to see the fallen kingdom of the mythical figure known as Hyrkoon.
After a week of traveling, they encountered a merchant caravan who informed them of what was happening in Lhazar.
"I'd advise you to tread carefully," the merchant warned.
"Why?" Jason inquired. He spoke more fluent Ghiscari than Garth, a skill he gained from the first bandit he fought along with his sword-fighting skills.
"Two Dothraki hordes are warring. They have been attacking each other's tributaries for over a month now. I advise not even traveling there until things settle down," the merchant replied.
They left the merchant and continued their journey Jason asked Garth what he knew about Lhazar and the Dothraki.
They made their way through the desolate landscape. The Skahazadhan stretched ahead of them, its dark waters reflecting the harsh sunlight. Garth spoke as they walked, providing Jason with information about Lhazar.
"The lands of Lhazar are inhabited by the Lhazareen. They are a peaceful people who have learned to live in harmony. They are mostly sheep herders and farmers. They have three trade centers, or cities as some call them, where merchants from Qarth and the Bone Mountains pass through to get to Slaver's Bay."
"However, their peaceful existence is constantly threatened by the Dothraki hordes, who raid their settlements for slaves, resources, and plunder." Jason noticed a lot of contempt in Garth's voice as he talked about the Dothraki.
"The Lhazareen are also skilled farmers, cultivating the arid land to grow crops that can withstand the challenging conditions. They have developed unique techniques to make the most of the scarce resources in Lhazar. Despite their relatively peaceful lifestyle, the Lhazareen live in constant fear of the Dothraki, who see them as easy targets for raids due to their peaceful nature" Garth continued.
"The Dothraki are evil, Jason; those savages have destroyed so much and caused much suffering," Garth spoke with a mix of anger and frustration in his voice.
"Their hordes are like locusts, sweeping through the land, leaving destruction in their wake. It's difficult to fathom the extent of the damage they've done to entire civilizations."
He paused for a moment. "One of the most notorious examples is the Kingdom of Sarnor. It was a powerful and ancient realm, spanning vast territories. The Dothraki hordes invaded and decimated Sarnor. They left nothing but ruins and ashes in their wake, wiping out entire cities and depopulating the once-thriving kingdom."
Garth's tone grew darker as he continued, "The Dothraki they take what they want, leaving chaos and suffering behind. The people of Lhazar are just one of their many victims."
They walked in silence for a while. The Khyzai Pass loomed ahead, the gateway to the lands of Lhazar. Jason couldn't shake the sense of foreboding after hearing the merchant's warning, but they pushed on, not knowing what danger they might face ahead.
William Seymour
Versed in the lewd.
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Thank you for the chapter. Looking forward to the next one.
The Raid
Illusiveone
POWER! UNLIMITED POWER!
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It took Jason and Garth a month to reach Hesh, one of Lhazar's three main cities. Afterward, their path led them towards Kosrak.
As they navigated through lands marked by conflict, the reality of the merchant's warnings became apparent; the Dothraki were indeed embroiled in warfare, casting a shadow of unrest across the land.
They even stumbled upon some razed villages on their way to Kosrak. Yet, undeterred, they pressed forward.
Throughout their travel, Jason honed his burgeoning abilities while Garth meticulously documented these developments. He understood the importance of understanding the full scope of Jason's burgeoning talents, recognizing both their potential and the dangers they posed.
They had stopped to rest for a while, and Jason took this opportunity to show off some new techniques he had mastered.
Jason focused his attention on the earth beneath them, coalescing the scattered particles into a sharp, pointed shape. With a gesture, he summoned the object into the air, controlling its movement with his mind. He marveled at his own growing control.
Not far off, a bird caught his eye, and on a whimsical impulse, he decided to startle it with his creation. But to his dismay, the object veered with unnerving accuracy, striking the bird down.
"That was unnecessary, Jason," Garth observed, his tone laced with disappointment.
Jason winced, regret laced his words. "I didn't intend for that... It seemed to lock onto it on its own."
Garth opened his journal and noted down the incident.
"Jason, I've got a proposition," Garth mentioned, tucking his journal into his bag. His gaze fixed on Jason with a look of curiosity. "There's one skill of yours we haven't explored yet."
"The ability to extract memories?" Jason queried, tilting his head slightly.
"Exactly," Garth confirmed. "You managed to pick up the local dialect in Hesh using it."
"Yes, I did.... What do you want to do with it?" Jason's interest piqued.
Garth nodded, his demeanor serious. "What if, instead of drawing out memories, you could share yours with me?"
Jason blinked, taken aback. "Share my memories? Why would you want that?"
Garth pressed on, earnestness threading through his voice. "Imagine if you could let me see your world—the technologies, the marvels you've described, like airplanes, caaars, and what you call the 'intoornoot.'"
Jason corrected automatically, "The internet."
But Garth was undeterred, his expression a blend of longing and frustration. "I want to witness those wonders through your eyes. It's been making me mad, knowing they exist yet being unable to see them. Could your powers allow for that—a reversal of sorts?"
Jason pondered, the weight of Garth's request settling in. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "It could be risky."
Garth met his hesitation with a determined look. "Isn't it worth a try, though?"
Jason hesitated, but the curiosity about whether he could achieve this filled within him.
"Alright," he conceded, rising to his feet, ready to attempt the unknown.
"Truly? You accept?" Garth asked, clearly surprised by Jason's immediate agreement. Given Jason's earlier reservations about using his abilities in Hesh, Garth had braced for some pushback.
"Absolutely, let's give it a shot," Jason affirmed, positioning his hands on either side of Garth's head.
"Wait, Jason, I—" Garth's protest was cut short as Jason initiated the memory transfer. An intense wave of energy suddenly enveloped them, far stronger than either had anticipated. Garth's eyes shot open in shock and began to glow white, a silent cry escaping him as the force of the connection overwhelmed him.
Realizing the danger, Jason quickly severed the link, his heart racing with fear. Garth stumbled backward, and Jason caught him before he could fall.
"Garth, talk to me. Are you okay?" Jason's voice was laced with worry as he steadied his friend.
"My head...it...hurts," Garth managed to say, clutching his temples in a vain attempt to ease the throbbing pain.
Seeing Garth's eyes flutter shut as he slipped into unconsciousness, Jason cursed under his breath.
"Hang in there, Garth. I've got you," he said, with concern in his tone.
With Garth unresponsive, Jason wasted no time. He knew they needed help, and fast. Harnessing his telekinetic abilities, he gently lifted Garth's limp form, creating a cushion of air beneath him.
Grabbing their essential belongings with one hand and ensuring Garth was securely in his telekinetic grasp with the other, Jason set off towards the nearest village, looking for aid.
"Where am I?" Garth's voice was weak, his eyes fluttering open to unfamiliar surroundings. A Lhazareen woman approached, her hands extended in a calming gesture. "Rest now," she gently urged, guiding him back to a lying position.
Garth complied, though confusion clouded his senses. He caught sight of Jason entering the room, relief washing over him at the sight of a familiar face.
"You're going to be okay," Jason assured, taking a seat beside him.
Concern furrowed his brow as he asked, "Do you feel any different?"
Garth paused, a sense of unfamiliarity coursing through him. "I feel...changed. It's hard to explain," he admitted, his fingers massaging his temples.
Jason's expression softened with guilt. "This wasn't supposed to happen, Garth. I'm sorry."
Garth offered a weak smile in response. "It was my idea, Jason. I'm still here, aren't I?" he tried to reassure his friend, despite his own disorientation.
Attempting to rise, Garth listened to the healer's words. He could understand some of it. "What's she saying?" he asked, puzzled.
"She's advising you to rest," Jason translated.
"I just need some air," Garth insisted, pushing himself to stand, albeit unsteadily. Outside, the world seemed different, his perception seemed altered.
Walking alongside Jason back to the camp Jason had made, Garth felt a clarity unlike before, his mind buzzing with newfound insights.
As day gave way to night, Garth found himself immersed in a state of heightened awareness. Conversing with the locals in their tongue came effortlessly; he could understand some Lhazareen before, but now it was as if he had lived here all his life.
"It's as though I can recall everything now," he shared with Jason, excitement lacing his voice. "My memory was sharp, but now, it's as if it's expanded."
Jason, trying to keep up, repeated, "Expanded?"
Garth began to explain, his words tumbling out too fast for Jason to follow.
"Garth, slow down!" Jason exclaimed, concern evident in his shout.
Garth halted, catching Jason's worried gaze. "I have so many thoughts, Jason. How can I possibly explore them all?" he pondered aloud, his mind swirling with thoughts.
"You need more rest, Garth," Jason suggested, guiding his friend back to a semblance of calm. He laid Garth on his bedroll and returned to sit on his own.
Eventually, Garth's exhaustion caught up with him, and he succumbed to sleep, leaving Jason alone with his thoughts. The guilt of what had transpired weighed heavily on him, the fear of having irrevocably altered Garth's mind lingering. After a while, he too drifted off to sleep.
The Lhazari village, along with Jason and Garth, was woken up by the thunderous sound of hooves. A sense of dread swept through the air as the villagers hurriedly gathered what few possessions they could.
"What's going on?" Jason asked, looking at the village, which was in a state of chaos.
"The Dothraki," Garth stated grimly, gathering their belongings. "We need to leave. Now."
"But what about the village?" Jason protested, unwilling to abandon those who had shown them kindness.
"We can't help them, Jason," Garth interjected, a hard truth in his voice.
"Like hell we can't," Jason said as he ran towards the village. He could hear Garth calling him. He had spent time with the people there when Garth was unconscious; they had welcomed them and helped them, and he couldn't just leave them to the fate of the razed villages he had seen before.
Jason raced towards the village, his heart pounding in his chest. The early morning mist still clung to the ground, but the scene that unfolded before him was anything but serene.
The Dothraki had already begun their raid, their screams slicing through the quiet. Jason could see the villagers scrambling, a desperate bid for safety against the relentless tide of horsemen who seemed to materialize from the mist itself.
Drawing his sword, he took a deep breath, centering himself amidst the turmoil. His other hand twitched slightly, ready to unleash his kinetic abilities. He didn't have to wait long.
A Dothraki rider, spotting Jason's lone figure, let out a bellowing war cry and charged, arakh gleaming in the rising sun. Jason's response was immediate; his left hand shot out, and a pulse of invisible force struck the horse's legs. The beast stumbled, throwing its rider off balance.
He repeated this with multiple riders around him.
Those who weren't hurt by the fall charged Jason on foot. Jason met them with his sword. Their blades met with a clang of steel, the Dothraki's arakh swinging in a wide arc aimed at Jason's head. He ducked, feeling the rush of air as the blade missed him by inches. With a swift upward motion, Jason's sword found its mark.
He quickly disposed of the others and ran towards where the villagers were gathered.
More riders approached, drawn by the commotion. Jason knew he couldn't take them all on in close combat. His gaze flicked to the ground, concentrating on the loose earth and stones. With a sweeping gesture, he sent a wave of debris hurtling towards the incoming Dothraki, knocking them from their mounts and creating a barrier of confusion and dust.
One particularly daring warrior broke through the makeshift barrier, his arakh swinging down in a deadly descent. Jason met the attack with his sword, the impact sending shockwaves up his arm. He pushed back, leveraging his telekinesis to amplify his strength, and the Dothraki was sent flying, crashing into his comrades with enough force to knock them to the ground.
The battle raged on, a chaotic dance of steel, dust, and blood. Jason moved with purpose, his sword an extension of his will, his kinetic abilities allowing him to manipulate the battlefield to his advantage. He created shields of air to deflect arrows, used telekinesis to unbalance his foes, and when necessary, wielded his powers with lethal precision, sending sharp projectiles of rock hurtling towards the Dothraki.
Despite his formidable defense, the Dothraki were relentless. For every rider he felled, two more seemed to take their place, their cries of rage and challenge filling the air. Jason fought with desperation he knew he was the only thing standing between the villagers and their doom.
Jason spotted a man who seemed to be giving out orders. Their eyes locked, and the giant of a man, who had scars crisscrossing his face, rode towards him, looking to end Jason himself.
"Vezhofoonoon anhaan mae yeraan, Andal?" the Dothraki leader bellowed, his voice echoing across the battlefield, his arakh poised for attack.
Jason, gripping his sword tightly, remained silent.
The leader laughed, a sound as harsh as the clash of swords. "Anhaan majin azhat mae vekhat, Andal."
With a fierce cry, the Dothraki leader spurred his horse forward, arakh descending in a lethal arc towards Jason. Jason called upon his kinetic abilities to pull him off his horse.
He quickly recovered and decided to face Jason on foot. He began a display of skill and intimidation, twirling his arakh with deadly precision, a dance of steel meant to unnerve his opponent.
"Anhaan vezhofoon, vekhatar haji athdrivaroon!" he taunted, advancing with the confidence of a seasoned warrior.
Jason stood his ground, watching the display with a calm detachment that only served to infuriate the Dothraki leader further.
As the leader lunged forward, arakh slicing through the air aimed directly at Jason's heart, Jason remained unmoved. He tapped into his kinetic powers. Jason extended his hand, focusing his energy with pinpoint accuracy. The Dothraki leader, caught mid-charge, suddenly found himself immobilized, the force of Jason's power crushing him.
The leader's eyes widened in shock, his mouth open in a silent scream as he realized the futility of his situation. There was no grand clash of steel, no epic battle of warriors—just the quiet, overwhelming assertion of Jason's will.
With a final exertion of his power, Jason ended the threat, the Dothraki leader collapsing under the invisible force. Jason quickly moved to deal with the rest but he was stopped when he heard a familiar voice.
"Jason! Help!"
It was Garth, his voice laced with panic, being dragged away by a Dothraki.
"Garth!" Jason yelled.
In that moment of distraction, a Dothraki warrior took advantage, his heavy boot connecting with Jason's side. The force of the kick sent him stumbling back, crashing through the fragile wall of a burning house.
He hit the ground hard, the air knocked from his lungs, and before he could recover, a large wooden beam from the collapsing structure above fell, pinning him down. Pain flared through his leg, a stark, white-hot sensation that left no room for doubt—his leg was broken.
Fighting through the pain, he tried to get the beam off him, but it was no use. Smoke filled his lungs, disorienting him further, blurring his vision and clouding his thoughts.
'I can't let it end like this,' Jason thought as he drew from a well of strength he hadn't known he possessed. Jason focused on his kinetic abilities.
He envisioned the force he needed, a kinetic blast powerful enough to shatter the weight pinning him down, to tear apart the house that threatened to become his pyre.
With a cry that was more a roar of defiance than anything else, he unleashed his powers. The resulting blast tore through the burning structure, sending splinters and debris flying in all directions. The beam that had trapped him was hurled away, and the flames were momentarily blown back.
Jason dragged himself out of the ruins, pure adrenaline fueling him, his broken leg dragging uselessly behind him. The battle was not yet won. The Dothraki, though many had retreated, still posed a threat as those who stayed behind to secure the retreat regrouped for another charge.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Jason raised his hands towards the remaining Dothraki warriors. His powers, though diminished from the exertion and his injuries, responded to his call. With a final, desperate effort, he sent a wave of kinetic energy towards the enemy, crushing their resolve along with their bones.
As the last of the Dothraki fell, silence descended on the battlefield, broken only by the crackle of fire and the labored breaths of the wounded. Jason's strength ebbed away, his vision dimming as he collapsed.
The remaining villagers, who had watched in awe and terror, now emerged from their hiding places. Though fear still gripped their hearts, gratitude and a sense of duty propelled them forward. They ran to Jason's side. As Jason lay unconscious, the villagers worked together to carry him away from the smoldering ruins.
When Jason once again regained consciousness, his senses were immediately assaulted by the acrid smell of smoke and the distant cries of pain and despair.
His eyes fluttered open.
"Ugh, what happened?" Jason groaned, pushing himself up with considerable effort. Every movement sent waves of pain coursing through his body, but it was the throbbing in his leg that screamed the loudest.
"You're awake," a familiar voice said, a mix of relief and worry lacing the tone.
Turning his head, Jason saw a figure—a silhouette that gradually took the form of the healer, one of the few who had survived the raid.
"How long was I out?" Jason asked, squinting against the brightness of the day.
"Not long," the healer replied.
Jason looked at his leg.
"You heal quickly... too quickly for a man... Are you a god?Did the great shepard sent you" the healer asked quietly.
Jason ignored her question's and stared at his leg.
'So that's one more to add to my growing list of powers,' he thought.
"Garth," he said abruptly, the memory of his friend reigniting a fire within him. "They took him. I have to find him."
The villager's face fell, a shadow of despair passing over her features. "The Dothraki... they took many."
Ignoring the pain, Jason steadied himself, determination setting in. "I have to go."
"But you are still injured," the healer said, trying to stop him.
"I am fine," Jason said as he went outside.
As he navigated through the rubble, surveying the remnants of what was once a vibrant community, his attention was caught by a solitary figure—a Dothraki warrior, battered but alive. He was tied up to a pole.
"We found him alive," the healer said, pointing at the tied-up Dothraki.
An idea sparked in his mind, a way to gain an advantage.
Approaching the Dothraki, Jason knelt beside him, his presence causing the warrior to stir.
"Where have they taken the captives?" Jason demanded, his voice firm, leaving no room for refusal.
The Dothraki remained silent.
Jason put his hand on his head, his intent clear. Leveraging the little energy he had left to tap into the warrior's mind, he began the memory extraction. The process was draining, but in the end, he could do what any Dothraki could do now.
"Thank you for your help," Jason replied in Dothraki.
"How?" the Dothraki uttered just before Jason snapped his neck with his powers.
He hastily mounted a horse that belonged to one of the many dead Dothraki scattered around the village , the basics of riding now clear in his mind thanks to the extracted memories.
"I'll bring them back," Jason promised, more to himself than to the villagers watching him prepare to leave.
As he rode off, the village became a blur behind him, his focus singular: to rescue Garth and the other captives if he could from the Dothraki.
As they navigated through lands marked by conflict, the reality of the merchant's warnings became apparent; the Dothraki were indeed embroiled in warfare, casting a shadow of unrest across the land.
They even stumbled upon some razed villages on their way to Kosrak. Yet, undeterred, they pressed forward.
Throughout their travel, Jason honed his burgeoning abilities while Garth meticulously documented these developments. He understood the importance of understanding the full scope of Jason's burgeoning talents, recognizing both their potential and the dangers they posed.
They had stopped to rest for a while, and Jason took this opportunity to show off some new techniques he had mastered.
Jason focused his attention on the earth beneath them, coalescing the scattered particles into a sharp, pointed shape. With a gesture, he summoned the object into the air, controlling its movement with his mind. He marveled at his own growing control.
Not far off, a bird caught his eye, and on a whimsical impulse, he decided to startle it with his creation. But to his dismay, the object veered with unnerving accuracy, striking the bird down.
"That was unnecessary, Jason," Garth observed, his tone laced with disappointment.
Jason winced, regret laced his words. "I didn't intend for that... It seemed to lock onto it on its own."
Garth opened his journal and noted down the incident.
"Jason, I've got a proposition," Garth mentioned, tucking his journal into his bag. His gaze fixed on Jason with a look of curiosity. "There's one skill of yours we haven't explored yet."
"The ability to extract memories?" Jason queried, tilting his head slightly.
"Exactly," Garth confirmed. "You managed to pick up the local dialect in Hesh using it."
"Yes, I did.... What do you want to do with it?" Jason's interest piqued.
Garth nodded, his demeanor serious. "What if, instead of drawing out memories, you could share yours with me?"
Jason blinked, taken aback. "Share my memories? Why would you want that?"
Garth pressed on, earnestness threading through his voice. "Imagine if you could let me see your world—the technologies, the marvels you've described, like airplanes, caaars, and what you call the 'intoornoot.'"
Jason corrected automatically, "The internet."
But Garth was undeterred, his expression a blend of longing and frustration. "I want to witness those wonders through your eyes. It's been making me mad, knowing they exist yet being unable to see them. Could your powers allow for that—a reversal of sorts?"
Jason pondered, the weight of Garth's request settling in. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "It could be risky."
Garth met his hesitation with a determined look. "Isn't it worth a try, though?"
Jason hesitated, but the curiosity about whether he could achieve this filled within him.
"Alright," he conceded, rising to his feet, ready to attempt the unknown.
"Truly? You accept?" Garth asked, clearly surprised by Jason's immediate agreement. Given Jason's earlier reservations about using his abilities in Hesh, Garth had braced for some pushback.
"Absolutely, let's give it a shot," Jason affirmed, positioning his hands on either side of Garth's head.
"Wait, Jason, I—" Garth's protest was cut short as Jason initiated the memory transfer. An intense wave of energy suddenly enveloped them, far stronger than either had anticipated. Garth's eyes shot open in shock and began to glow white, a silent cry escaping him as the force of the connection overwhelmed him.
Realizing the danger, Jason quickly severed the link, his heart racing with fear. Garth stumbled backward, and Jason caught him before he could fall.
"Garth, talk to me. Are you okay?" Jason's voice was laced with worry as he steadied his friend.
"My head...it...hurts," Garth managed to say, clutching his temples in a vain attempt to ease the throbbing pain.
Seeing Garth's eyes flutter shut as he slipped into unconsciousness, Jason cursed under his breath.
"Hang in there, Garth. I've got you," he said, with concern in his tone.
With Garth unresponsive, Jason wasted no time. He knew they needed help, and fast. Harnessing his telekinetic abilities, he gently lifted Garth's limp form, creating a cushion of air beneath him.
Grabbing their essential belongings with one hand and ensuring Garth was securely in his telekinetic grasp with the other, Jason set off towards the nearest village, looking for aid.
"Where am I?" Garth's voice was weak, his eyes fluttering open to unfamiliar surroundings. A Lhazareen woman approached, her hands extended in a calming gesture. "Rest now," she gently urged, guiding him back to a lying position.
Garth complied, though confusion clouded his senses. He caught sight of Jason entering the room, relief washing over him at the sight of a familiar face.
"You're going to be okay," Jason assured, taking a seat beside him.
Concern furrowed his brow as he asked, "Do you feel any different?"
Garth paused, a sense of unfamiliarity coursing through him. "I feel...changed. It's hard to explain," he admitted, his fingers massaging his temples.
Jason's expression softened with guilt. "This wasn't supposed to happen, Garth. I'm sorry."
Garth offered a weak smile in response. "It was my idea, Jason. I'm still here, aren't I?" he tried to reassure his friend, despite his own disorientation.
Attempting to rise, Garth listened to the healer's words. He could understand some of it. "What's she saying?" he asked, puzzled.
"She's advising you to rest," Jason translated.
"I just need some air," Garth insisted, pushing himself to stand, albeit unsteadily. Outside, the world seemed different, his perception seemed altered.
Walking alongside Jason back to the camp Jason had made, Garth felt a clarity unlike before, his mind buzzing with newfound insights.
As day gave way to night, Garth found himself immersed in a state of heightened awareness. Conversing with the locals in their tongue came effortlessly; he could understand some Lhazareen before, but now it was as if he had lived here all his life.
"It's as though I can recall everything now," he shared with Jason, excitement lacing his voice. "My memory was sharp, but now, it's as if it's expanded."
Jason, trying to keep up, repeated, "Expanded?"
Garth began to explain, his words tumbling out too fast for Jason to follow.
"Garth, slow down!" Jason exclaimed, concern evident in his shout.
Garth halted, catching Jason's worried gaze. "I have so many thoughts, Jason. How can I possibly explore them all?" he pondered aloud, his mind swirling with thoughts.
"You need more rest, Garth," Jason suggested, guiding his friend back to a semblance of calm. He laid Garth on his bedroll and returned to sit on his own.
Eventually, Garth's exhaustion caught up with him, and he succumbed to sleep, leaving Jason alone with his thoughts. The guilt of what had transpired weighed heavily on him, the fear of having irrevocably altered Garth's mind lingering. After a while, he too drifted off to sleep.
The Lhazari village, along with Jason and Garth, was woken up by the thunderous sound of hooves. A sense of dread swept through the air as the villagers hurriedly gathered what few possessions they could.
"What's going on?" Jason asked, looking at the village, which was in a state of chaos.
"The Dothraki," Garth stated grimly, gathering their belongings. "We need to leave. Now."
"But what about the village?" Jason protested, unwilling to abandon those who had shown them kindness.
"We can't help them, Jason," Garth interjected, a hard truth in his voice.
"Like hell we can't," Jason said as he ran towards the village. He could hear Garth calling him. He had spent time with the people there when Garth was unconscious; they had welcomed them and helped them, and he couldn't just leave them to the fate of the razed villages he had seen before.
Jason raced towards the village, his heart pounding in his chest. The early morning mist still clung to the ground, but the scene that unfolded before him was anything but serene.
The Dothraki had already begun their raid, their screams slicing through the quiet. Jason could see the villagers scrambling, a desperate bid for safety against the relentless tide of horsemen who seemed to materialize from the mist itself.
Drawing his sword, he took a deep breath, centering himself amidst the turmoil. His other hand twitched slightly, ready to unleash his kinetic abilities. He didn't have to wait long.
A Dothraki rider, spotting Jason's lone figure, let out a bellowing war cry and charged, arakh gleaming in the rising sun. Jason's response was immediate; his left hand shot out, and a pulse of invisible force struck the horse's legs. The beast stumbled, throwing its rider off balance.
He repeated this with multiple riders around him.
Those who weren't hurt by the fall charged Jason on foot. Jason met them with his sword. Their blades met with a clang of steel, the Dothraki's arakh swinging in a wide arc aimed at Jason's head. He ducked, feeling the rush of air as the blade missed him by inches. With a swift upward motion, Jason's sword found its mark.
He quickly disposed of the others and ran towards where the villagers were gathered.
More riders approached, drawn by the commotion. Jason knew he couldn't take them all on in close combat. His gaze flicked to the ground, concentrating on the loose earth and stones. With a sweeping gesture, he sent a wave of debris hurtling towards the incoming Dothraki, knocking them from their mounts and creating a barrier of confusion and dust.
One particularly daring warrior broke through the makeshift barrier, his arakh swinging down in a deadly descent. Jason met the attack with his sword, the impact sending shockwaves up his arm. He pushed back, leveraging his telekinesis to amplify his strength, and the Dothraki was sent flying, crashing into his comrades with enough force to knock them to the ground.
The battle raged on, a chaotic dance of steel, dust, and blood. Jason moved with purpose, his sword an extension of his will, his kinetic abilities allowing him to manipulate the battlefield to his advantage. He created shields of air to deflect arrows, used telekinesis to unbalance his foes, and when necessary, wielded his powers with lethal precision, sending sharp projectiles of rock hurtling towards the Dothraki.
Despite his formidable defense, the Dothraki were relentless. For every rider he felled, two more seemed to take their place, their cries of rage and challenge filling the air. Jason fought with desperation he knew he was the only thing standing between the villagers and their doom.
Jason spotted a man who seemed to be giving out orders. Their eyes locked, and the giant of a man, who had scars crisscrossing his face, rode towards him, looking to end Jason himself.
"Vezhofoonoon anhaan mae yeraan, Andal?" the Dothraki leader bellowed, his voice echoing across the battlefield, his arakh poised for attack.
Jason, gripping his sword tightly, remained silent.
The leader laughed, a sound as harsh as the clash of swords. "Anhaan majin azhat mae vekhat, Andal."
With a fierce cry, the Dothraki leader spurred his horse forward, arakh descending in a lethal arc towards Jason. Jason called upon his kinetic abilities to pull him off his horse.
He quickly recovered and decided to face Jason on foot. He began a display of skill and intimidation, twirling his arakh with deadly precision, a dance of steel meant to unnerve his opponent.
"Anhaan vezhofoon, vekhatar haji athdrivaroon!" he taunted, advancing with the confidence of a seasoned warrior.
Jason stood his ground, watching the display with a calm detachment that only served to infuriate the Dothraki leader further.
As the leader lunged forward, arakh slicing through the air aimed directly at Jason's heart, Jason remained unmoved. He tapped into his kinetic powers. Jason extended his hand, focusing his energy with pinpoint accuracy. The Dothraki leader, caught mid-charge, suddenly found himself immobilized, the force of Jason's power crushing him.
The leader's eyes widened in shock, his mouth open in a silent scream as he realized the futility of his situation. There was no grand clash of steel, no epic battle of warriors—just the quiet, overwhelming assertion of Jason's will.
With a final exertion of his power, Jason ended the threat, the Dothraki leader collapsing under the invisible force. Jason quickly moved to deal with the rest but he was stopped when he heard a familiar voice.
"Jason! Help!"
It was Garth, his voice laced with panic, being dragged away by a Dothraki.
"Garth!" Jason yelled.
In that moment of distraction, a Dothraki warrior took advantage, his heavy boot connecting with Jason's side. The force of the kick sent him stumbling back, crashing through the fragile wall of a burning house.
He hit the ground hard, the air knocked from his lungs, and before he could recover, a large wooden beam from the collapsing structure above fell, pinning him down. Pain flared through his leg, a stark, white-hot sensation that left no room for doubt—his leg was broken.
Fighting through the pain, he tried to get the beam off him, but it was no use. Smoke filled his lungs, disorienting him further, blurring his vision and clouding his thoughts.
'I can't let it end like this,' Jason thought as he drew from a well of strength he hadn't known he possessed. Jason focused on his kinetic abilities.
He envisioned the force he needed, a kinetic blast powerful enough to shatter the weight pinning him down, to tear apart the house that threatened to become his pyre.
With a cry that was more a roar of defiance than anything else, he unleashed his powers. The resulting blast tore through the burning structure, sending splinters and debris flying in all directions. The beam that had trapped him was hurled away, and the flames were momentarily blown back.
Jason dragged himself out of the ruins, pure adrenaline fueling him, his broken leg dragging uselessly behind him. The battle was not yet won. The Dothraki, though many had retreated, still posed a threat as those who stayed behind to secure the retreat regrouped for another charge.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Jason raised his hands towards the remaining Dothraki warriors. His powers, though diminished from the exertion and his injuries, responded to his call. With a final, desperate effort, he sent a wave of kinetic energy towards the enemy, crushing their resolve along with their bones.
As the last of the Dothraki fell, silence descended on the battlefield, broken only by the crackle of fire and the labored breaths of the wounded. Jason's strength ebbed away, his vision dimming as he collapsed.
The remaining villagers, who had watched in awe and terror, now emerged from their hiding places. Though fear still gripped their hearts, gratitude and a sense of duty propelled them forward. They ran to Jason's side. As Jason lay unconscious, the villagers worked together to carry him away from the smoldering ruins.
When Jason once again regained consciousness, his senses were immediately assaulted by the acrid smell of smoke and the distant cries of pain and despair.
His eyes fluttered open.
"Ugh, what happened?" Jason groaned, pushing himself up with considerable effort. Every movement sent waves of pain coursing through his body, but it was the throbbing in his leg that screamed the loudest.
"You're awake," a familiar voice said, a mix of relief and worry lacing the tone.
Turning his head, Jason saw a figure—a silhouette that gradually took the form of the healer, one of the few who had survived the raid.
"How long was I out?" Jason asked, squinting against the brightness of the day.
"Not long," the healer replied.
Jason looked at his leg.
"You heal quickly... too quickly for a man... Are you a god?Did the great shepard sent you" the healer asked quietly.
Jason ignored her question's and stared at his leg.
'So that's one more to add to my growing list of powers,' he thought.
"Garth," he said abruptly, the memory of his friend reigniting a fire within him. "They took him. I have to find him."
The villager's face fell, a shadow of despair passing over her features. "The Dothraki... they took many."
Ignoring the pain, Jason steadied himself, determination setting in. "I have to go."
"But you are still injured," the healer said, trying to stop him.
"I am fine," Jason said as he went outside.
As he navigated through the rubble, surveying the remnants of what was once a vibrant community, his attention was caught by a solitary figure—a Dothraki warrior, battered but alive. He was tied up to a pole.
"We found him alive," the healer said, pointing at the tied-up Dothraki.
An idea sparked in his mind, a way to gain an advantage.
Approaching the Dothraki, Jason knelt beside him, his presence causing the warrior to stir.
"Where have they taken the captives?" Jason demanded, his voice firm, leaving no room for refusal.
The Dothraki remained silent.
Jason put his hand on his head, his intent clear. Leveraging the little energy he had left to tap into the warrior's mind, he began the memory extraction. The process was draining, but in the end, he could do what any Dothraki could do now.
"Thank you for your help," Jason replied in Dothraki.
"How?" the Dothraki uttered just before Jason snapped his neck with his powers.
He hastily mounted a horse that belonged to one of the many dead Dothraki scattered around the village , the basics of riding now clear in his mind thanks to the extracted memories.
"I'll bring them back," Jason promised, more to himself than to the villagers watching him prepare to leave.
As he rode off, the village became a blur behind him, his focus singular: to rescue Garth and the other captives if he could from the Dothraki.
krahe
Versed in the lewd.
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- Feb 19, 2013
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And here we go
ATP
Well worn.
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Indeed.All he need now is to persuade locals to fight,and he could made his own kingdom.
The Godswife
Illusiveone
POWER! UNLIMITED POWER!
- Joined
- Jun 23, 2020
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Irina was a godswife at the temple of the Great Shepherd in the city of Kosrak. She had been one since she was given to the temple at the age of ten. For the last nine years, she had dedicated herself to the service of the Great Shepherd.
She rose from her modest bed, clothed herself in the simple yet dignified robes, and then made her way to the temple's inner sanctum. There, she joined her sisters in prayer. They prayed for the well-being of Kosrak, its inhabitants, and all of Lhazar.
"Great Shepherd, guide us through this day," Irina whispered. "Protect your flock from harm."
As daylight seeped into the city, breathing life into its streets, Irina and the other godswives busied themselves with the care of the temple. They moved with grace and purpose, cleansing sacred spaces, adorning altars with flowers, and lighting incense that filled the air with its heady fragrance.
Soon, the temple doors were opened, and worshippers began to arrive, seeking blessings and solace. Throughout the day, she offered counsel, listened to the burdens of those who came to her, and provided comfort with a compassion that embodied the teachings of the Great Shepherd.
"May peace find you today," she often said, her eyes reflecting the depth of her sincerity.
Her presence was a soothing balm to the troubled, her words a light in the darkness for many.
As dusk fell and the temple gathered the faithful for the evening worship service, Irina's voice joined the chorus of prayers and hymns that filled the sacred halls. This communal act of devotion, a shared expression of faith, bound the community closer, reaffirming their collective belief in the Great Shepherd's guidance.
Yet, as night descended and she retreated to the solitude of her quarters, Irina confronted the doubts that shadowed her heart. The Dothraki raids, a scourge upon their lands, had taken much from her, including her parents. The memory was a wound that time had not healed.
"Why ? Why do you allow such suffering?" she found herself questioning in the silence of her room. "Why must your flock endure such pain?"
Her questions hung in the air, unanswered.
As she lay down to sleep, Irina's prayers took on a new tone, not of devotion but of a plea for understanding. "Show me the way, Great Shepherd," she whispered into the darkness.
The city of Kosrak faced an unprecedented threat. For years, Kosrak had thrived under the protection of Khal Tenmo, a powerful Dothraki lord whose favor ensured the city's safety from the marauding horse lords of the vast grasslands.
Yet, the tides of fortune had turned. Khal Tenmo, embroiled in a fierce conflict with Khal Jhoggo, was on the brink of defeat. The city's lifeline, its bustling trade, had dwindled as caravans ceased their visits, paralyzed by fear of the advancing danger.
The residents, trapped between the warring khals, found themselves caught in an inescapable predicament, too terrified to venture beyond the city into the perilous unknown.
Khal Jhoggo, known for his brutality and destruction, and his khalasar were riding towards the city.
Hearing the news, Irina immersed herself in prayer along with her sisters.
"Great Shepherd," she whispered, her voice echoing softly in the hallowed space, "guide us through this dark hour."
Her prayers were met with silence, the silence seemed to mock her pleas for divine intervention.
In her most desperate moments, Irina found herself before the elder godswives, seeking solace in their wisdom.
"Why does He allow this?" she implored, her voice tinged with desperation.
Their answers were always the same. They spoke of trials and divine tests, of strength found in suffering, and the mysterious ways of the Great Shepherd. But to Irina, these answers provided little comfort.
Jhoggo arrived and unleashed his khalasar upon the city. His forces, known for their brutality and thirst for destruction, swept through the streets, leaving a trail of chaos in their wake. Homes were razed, markets plundered, and the cries of the people filled the air.
In the temple, Irina and her fellow godswives joined together, their voices melding in prayer, desperately seeking divine protection to shield their city from the encroaching terror.
The response they received was nothing but silence. The Great Shepherd offered no response.
The Dothraki breached the inner sanctum. The sacred space, a haven of worship and peace, became a scene of horror as the invaders committed unspeakable acts against her and her sisters.
As Irina was dragged away, her heart heavy with grief, she found herself abandoning the prayers she had known all her life. She realized the Great Shepherd was uncaring and indifferent to the suffering of His flock.
In her moment of deepest despair, Irina's prayers shifted away from the god she had known all her life. Instead, she reached out in hope for a new protector,a new god, a divine force that might deliver her and her people from the nightmare they faced. Her call was a desperate plea for intervention, a raw and earnest beckoning to any presence that might offer salvation in their darkest hour.
She rose from her modest bed, clothed herself in the simple yet dignified robes, and then made her way to the temple's inner sanctum. There, she joined her sisters in prayer. They prayed for the well-being of Kosrak, its inhabitants, and all of Lhazar.
"Great Shepherd, guide us through this day," Irina whispered. "Protect your flock from harm."
As daylight seeped into the city, breathing life into its streets, Irina and the other godswives busied themselves with the care of the temple. They moved with grace and purpose, cleansing sacred spaces, adorning altars with flowers, and lighting incense that filled the air with its heady fragrance.
Soon, the temple doors were opened, and worshippers began to arrive, seeking blessings and solace. Throughout the day, she offered counsel, listened to the burdens of those who came to her, and provided comfort with a compassion that embodied the teachings of the Great Shepherd.
"May peace find you today," she often said, her eyes reflecting the depth of her sincerity.
Her presence was a soothing balm to the troubled, her words a light in the darkness for many.
As dusk fell and the temple gathered the faithful for the evening worship service, Irina's voice joined the chorus of prayers and hymns that filled the sacred halls. This communal act of devotion, a shared expression of faith, bound the community closer, reaffirming their collective belief in the Great Shepherd's guidance.
Yet, as night descended and she retreated to the solitude of her quarters, Irina confronted the doubts that shadowed her heart. The Dothraki raids, a scourge upon their lands, had taken much from her, including her parents. The memory was a wound that time had not healed.
"Why ? Why do you allow such suffering?" she found herself questioning in the silence of her room. "Why must your flock endure such pain?"
Her questions hung in the air, unanswered.
As she lay down to sleep, Irina's prayers took on a new tone, not of devotion but of a plea for understanding. "Show me the way, Great Shepherd," she whispered into the darkness.
The city of Kosrak faced an unprecedented threat. For years, Kosrak had thrived under the protection of Khal Tenmo, a powerful Dothraki lord whose favor ensured the city's safety from the marauding horse lords of the vast grasslands.
Yet, the tides of fortune had turned. Khal Tenmo, embroiled in a fierce conflict with Khal Jhoggo, was on the brink of defeat. The city's lifeline, its bustling trade, had dwindled as caravans ceased their visits, paralyzed by fear of the advancing danger.
The residents, trapped between the warring khals, found themselves caught in an inescapable predicament, too terrified to venture beyond the city into the perilous unknown.
Khal Jhoggo, known for his brutality and destruction, and his khalasar were riding towards the city.
Hearing the news, Irina immersed herself in prayer along with her sisters.
"Great Shepherd," she whispered, her voice echoing softly in the hallowed space, "guide us through this dark hour."
Her prayers were met with silence, the silence seemed to mock her pleas for divine intervention.
In her most desperate moments, Irina found herself before the elder godswives, seeking solace in their wisdom.
"Why does He allow this?" she implored, her voice tinged with desperation.
Their answers were always the same. They spoke of trials and divine tests, of strength found in suffering, and the mysterious ways of the Great Shepherd. But to Irina, these answers provided little comfort.
Jhoggo arrived and unleashed his khalasar upon the city. His forces, known for their brutality and thirst for destruction, swept through the streets, leaving a trail of chaos in their wake. Homes were razed, markets plundered, and the cries of the people filled the air.
In the temple, Irina and her fellow godswives joined together, their voices melding in prayer, desperately seeking divine protection to shield their city from the encroaching terror.
The response they received was nothing but silence. The Great Shepherd offered no response.
The Dothraki breached the inner sanctum. The sacred space, a haven of worship and peace, became a scene of horror as the invaders committed unspeakable acts against her and her sisters.
As Irina was dragged away, her heart heavy with grief, she found herself abandoning the prayers she had known all her life. She realized the Great Shepherd was uncaring and indifferent to the suffering of His flock.
In her moment of deepest despair, Irina's prayers shifted away from the god she had known all her life. Instead, she reached out in hope for a new protector,a new god, a divine force that might deliver her and her people from the nightmare they faced. Her call was a desperate plea for intervention, a raw and earnest beckoning to any presence that might offer salvation in their darkest hour.
William Seymour
Versed in the lewd.
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- Apr 19, 2022
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Thank you for the prelude to what is to come. Looking forward to the mc's rise as he does more and more deeds and the like. Rooting for him!
Mightymutt
Know what you're doing yet?
- Joined
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He has the books to lead a nation well, the experience as an orator and more he can take.
The Liberator
Illusiveone
POWER! UNLIMITED POWER!
- Joined
- Jun 23, 2020
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- 7,283
Garth's head throbbed painfully as he slowly regained consciousness. His eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the fading light of dusk. He found himself within a makeshift enclosure.
Memories of the Dothraki raid flashed through his mind, Jason trying to fight them off, being captured.
A distinct voice, notably not of Lhazar but instead carrying the familiar tones of home, called out from his side.
"You're finally awake," said a man with a thick Northern accent. Garth turned to see a sturdy figure, unmistakably a Northman, observing him with a mix of curiosity and concern.
"It'll be good to have someone to talk with until... well, you know," the Northman said, his tone grim.
Garth's throat felt parched as he attempted to speak. "How long have I been…?" he managed to croak.
"About a day now," the Northman replied. He then nodded toward a Lhazareen woman who was attentively caring for another captive.
"She's the one you should thank. She's been tending to your wounds ever since you were brought here."
Garth's eyes followed the direction indicated, landing on the godswife.
"Their healing skills are renowned," the Northman commented, admiration in his voice.
"What's a Westerosi doing so far from home?" he added looking at Garth.
Garth struggled to sit up, his body protesting with aches and pains from the ordeal.
"I'm... I'm a maester," Garth managed to say, his voice weak.
"A maester, huh? That's a rare sight out here. You're a long way from The Citadel," the Northman said.
"Yes, I suppose I am," Garth acknowledged, his thoughts still somewhat muddled. "And you? What brings a Northman so far from home?"
The Northman's demeanor hardened slightly as he recounted his tale. "I've been here guarding merchant caravans for about ten years without issue. Then this cunt of a khal came along and decided to mess everything up."
Introducing himself, Garth extended his hand as best as he could, given their confinement. "I'm Garth."
"Cregan," the man returned the introduction.
"Don't fret too much, Maester. You, the girl, and I, we're valuable. I might end up in the fighting pits, she could fetch a good price for her knowledge of healing, and you—a trained maester from The Citadel—you'll be quite the prize once they recognize what you are," Cregan said, offering a grim piece of reassurance.
"We might not even make it to the auction block," he said with a hint of a smile.
Cregan looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "And why's that?" he asked, skepticism evident in his voice.
Garth leaned in, lowering his voice despite the unlikely chance of being overheard in their confined space. "My friend, he's out there. He'll come for us."
Cregan's response was a booming laugh. "One man will come and save us?" he continued laughing. "The gods must have sent me a jesting maester to keep spirits high in these grim times."
"He's more than just a man," Garth insisted, his tone earnest. "He has...abilities. Things you wouldn't believe even if I told you."
This elicited another round of laughter from Cregan, who shook his head in amusement. "I'll play along, Maester. And what makes this friend of yours so special?" he asked.
Garth remained unfazed, meeting Cregan's gaze. "He has abilities, magic… He's not just a man; he's something more."
"I've heard some tall tales in my time, but this one might just take the prize."
Garth, undeterred, pressed on. "I know how it sounds, but it's the truth."
"You truly believe he's going to march into a Dothraki camp, filled with hundreds of warriors, just to save us? And with what? This magic you claim he possesses? I'm starting to think you are truly mad."
"He will come for us; then you'll see," Garth said as he leaned on the wooden bars of the cage they were in. He knew Jason would not abandon him. He could easily handle the Dothraki with his powers; he just hoped he survived the raid.
Jason's journey to the Dothraki camp where Garth had been taken was long, marked by intervals of rest as his leg, broken in the earlier skirmish, gradually mended itself, allowing him to ride longer stretches without the gnawing pain that had initially plagued him.
He arrived at the city of Kosrak, having seen it besieged in the memories extracted from the Dothraki warrior. The sight that greeted him was one of desolation and sorrow.
Jason reined in his horse, surveying the aftermath of the Dothraki raid. The city, once full of life, now lay in ruins, its buildings reduced to smoldering rubble, and its streets eerily silent. He dismounted, his gaze scanning the devastated landscape for any sign of life.
To his relief, amidst the destruction, there were survivors—haggard, frightened souls who had somehow managed to escape the Dothraki's wrath.
Knowing the camp was near, he decided to ask them if they knew where it was.He approached the survivors, they were wary of him, but he managed to get the location of the camp from one of them.
"The Dothraki camp," the man began, his voice trembling, "is to the east, not far from here. They've set up near the banks of the Skahazadhan, where the land dips into a shallow valley."
Jason nodded, committing the details to memory. "Thank you," he said.
"Wait, you're not thinking of going there, are you?" the man asked.
Jason met the man's gaze. "I am."
The man looked at him with a mixture of awe and concern. "You're either brave... or mad," he muttered.
"More mad than brave, I guess," Jason replied before jumping on his horse and riding to where the camp was.
As dusk painted the sky in shades of orange and purple, Jason arrived at the camp. The encampment was vast, a sea of tents stretching across the open plain, illuminated by the flickering lights of numerous large fires. Their glow cast long shadows on the ground.
He dismounted, his injured leg protesting slightly at the action, but he ignored the discomfort. Stealth was essential, and he needed to understand the layout of the camp and the position of its guards before making any moves.
Jason moved with caution, using the tall grass and occasional outcrops of rock as cover. His eyes darted from one point to another, taking in the locations of the tents.
The large and ornate one was likely the abode of the Khal and the ones near it must belong to his inner circle.
"What did Garth call them again?" Jason wondered.
"Yes, Bloodriders," he remembered.
The camp was arranged in such a way that the largest tent was in the middle, with the rest made in a circular formation around it.
The captives' pens caught his attention, located on the far side of the camp, away from the central commotion of the Dothraki's evening activities. He could make out figures, some standing, some sitting, all confined within a makeshift enclosure guarded by a handful of Dothraki warriors.
With night rapidly approaching, Jason knew the cover of darkness would provide an advantage, but it would also bring its own challenges. He retreated to the shadows, formulating a plan to infiltrate the camp under the veil of night.
Qotho was a seasoned warrior of the Dothraki, priding himself on his vigilance and often assigned to guard the camp's perimeter. His keen senses were attuned to the night, yet tonight, a puzzling unease crept into his heart.
As he patrolled the edge of the camp, every rustle of the grass, every shift of the wind, seemed amplified, as though the night itself whispered warnings. Qotho shook off the feeling, chiding himself for allowing such thoughts to take hold. He was Dothraki; he feared nothing.
Then, without warning, a sharp, searing pain exploded at the base of his skull. Before he could react, before he could even utter a sound, unseen forces gripped him, dragging him into the darkness.
The world around him faded, the sounds of the camp, the crackle of fires, and the distant laughter of his brothers-in-arms disappearing as if swallowed by the earth itself. He was alone, utterly alone, in a darkness so complete it threatened to consume him. And then, there was nothing. Qotho's consciousness slowly slipped away.
.
.
Haggo, ever vigilant in his duties, stood guard near the pens. It was a normal night until he heard a sound inside the nearby tent.
Curiosity piqued, Haggo moved towards the source of the disturbance, his hand on the hilt of his arakh, ready for any threat. Yet, as he approached, the air around him grew inexplicably cold, a chill that seeped into his bones.
Then, there was a sensation, a feeling of being watched by unseen eyes, a presence lurking just beyond reach. Haggo spun around, his warrior instincts on high alert, but found nothing but the empty night staring back at him.
Before he could shout, before he could even raise his arakh in defense, he was propelled backward with terrifying force. Haggo's world became a whirlwind of motion as he was hurled into the darkness of the tent.
The fabric of the tent enveloped him like a shroud, twisting and tightening around his body in an unyielding grip. Haggo fought, his screams muffled by the thick cloth that seemed to come alive, wrapping around him tighter and tighter, suffocating him in its embrace.
Panic surged through his veins as he clawed at his fabric prison, but to no avail. The more he struggled, the more the tent seemed to consume him, dragging him deeper into its folds. After a while, he stopped fighting and gave in to the approaching darkness.
.
.
Zollo, tasked with the solemn duty of guarding the pens holding the captives, felt an unease he couldn't shake. The night was eerily quiet, the usual sounds of the camp muffled, as if the land itself held its breath.
It was this silence that heightened Zollo's senses. The stillness was abruptly shattered by the sound of metal clanging. Zollo spun towards the noise, his hand reaching for the hilt of his arakh, expecting to face a tangible foe. Instead, his eyes found nothing but the empty air and the shadows cast by the flickering light of the nearby torches.
That's when it struck—an invisible force, cold and oppressive, wrapping around him like the coils of a giant serpent. Panic surged as he felt himself being squeezed, the air forced from his lungs, his struggles futile against the relentless grip.
In a desperate bid for air, Zollo's mouth opened in a silent scream, but no sound emerged, the invisible force smothering him in its embrace. As his vision began to blur, the last thing Zollo saw was a dark figure making his way towards him.
With the last Dothraki taken care of, Jason moved closer to the pens. They were crude enclosures of wood and rope.
Navigating the camp had been a perilous task, fraught with the danger of discovery. Yet, Jason had managed to neutralize the guards one by one, using his telekinetic abilities with precise and silent efficiency.
The bodies were hidden away in the shadows, ensuring no immediate alarm would be raised. It was a grim task, but necessary for what he had come to do.
He approached the pens, his gaze sweeping over the captives until it landed on Garth. The sight of his friend, alive but worn, brought a wave of relief.
"Garth!" Jason called out softly, not wanting to startle the others.
Garth, recognizing Jason's silhouette against the dim light, called out his name, a mixture of disbelief and joy in his voice.
"Jason! By the Seven, you actually came!" Garth exclaimed.
Garth's head shot up, his expression one of disbelief morphing into joy.
"Of course. Did you think I was going to leave you behind?" Jason said.
Jason saw another man staring at him with an expression of disbelief. Seeing this, Garth introduced them.
"This is Cregan," Garth introduced, nodding towards the Northman.
"Nice to meet you, Cregan," Jason said, nodding in acknowledgment.
"I am going to get you out of here," Jason said as his gaze then fell on the crude locking mechanism that held the pen's gate shut.
He concentrated, extending his hand towards the lock. The captives, including Cregan, watched in stunned silence, their disbelief shattered only by Garth's laughter at their astonishment. The rope binding the gate fell away, allowing the gate to swing open freely.
Cregan's eyes widened in amazement, and he took a step back, his earlier skepticism replaced by a mix of fear and wonder. "How did you...?"
he started to ask, but Jason cut him off with a gesture for silence.
"There's no time to explain. We need to move fast," Jason said, his voice low but urgent.
As the gate swung open, Jason stepped aside. Garth approached Jason, attempting an awkward hug despite his restraints.
"Let's remove those," Jason said, effortlessly freeing Garth from his shackles.
The rest of the captives kept their distance from Jason. Cregan and a woman remained close. The woman, a godswife from Kosrak, couldn't tear her eyes away from Jason, it was as if he was the embodiment of every answer she'd ever sought.
Jason turned to Garth, "We need to get these people organized if we're going to make it out."
Cregan, hearing this, approached the godswife who was staring at Jason.
"Godswife, tell these people there's nothing to fear. This man is here to help us," Cregan asked, but he received no answer as the woman kept staring at Jason.
Cregan and Garth tried to talk to her, only to be met with silence. However, the godswife remained fixated on Jason, breaking her silence only to question him directly.
"Are you a god?"
Jason, taken aback by her intense gaze, responded half-jokingly in English, "Sure, let's go with that," before switching back to Lhazareen to assure her.
"Yes, I am a god. Tell everyone to stay calm and do the same for the others when I free them."
Motivated by Jason's command, the godswife sprang into action, soothing the captives as Jason proceeded to liberate the rest.
"What now?" Garth inquired. Jason noted that Cregan was now armed with an arakh, likely acquired from one of the dispatched Dothraki.
Jason's eyes were set on the camp's heart. "Wait for my signal. I'm heading to the center," he declared, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Garth protested, "Are you mad? We can leave now!"
Jason shook his head. "No, they'll see us. I'm ending this once and for all," he affirmed.
Garth's concern was evident. "You can't mean..."
"Yes," Jason interrupted, firm in his decision.
"But there's too many," Garth argued, the worry clear in his voice.
"Don't worry. I have a plan. Wait for my signal, then make your move," Jason instructed, turning away to face the tents.
"And what signal will that be?" Garth called after him.
"You'll know when it starts," Jason assured, disappearing into the shadows of the camp, ready to enact his daring plan.
Jason made his way to the center of the camp, abandoning any pretense of stealth. He moved with purpose through the camp, his presence initially unnoticed amidst the raucous celebrations of victory. However, when discovered by Dothraki warriors, he dispatched them quickly with his powers, leaving no obstacle in his path.
Reaching the center, Jason's gaze locked onto the Khal, seated upon a makeshift throne.
"Hello," Jason called out in Dothraki.
He was not heard.
"Ah, well, plan B then," Jason said to himself.
To draw the Khal's attention and that of the entire camp, Jason decided to employ a dramatic display of power. He found a Dothraki man nearby and levitated him directly into the heart of a large fire.
Screams of the Dothraki filled the camp. The spectacle seized the immediate focus of all within the camp, their revelry replaced by stunned silence.
As the shock wore away, Dothraki warriors charged towards him, brandishing their weapons. Jason unleashed a powerful kinetic blast, effortlessly repelling their assault. This display of force instilled a sense of fear among the warriors.
The Khal, his face contorted in a mix of fear and defiance, spat out the word, "Meagi," an accusation and a curse rolled into one.
Jason, unshaken, met the Khal's gaze with a calm smile.
"You think your tricks will save you? Jhoggo will crush you himself and claim whatever sorcery you possess," the Khal retorted, his voice a mix of bravado and desperation.
"Will you now?" Jason's reply was smooth, almost amused.
"It's time to end this," Jason said in Dothraki.
The Khal let out a dismissive laugh. "End what? You are what is about to end."
Before the Khal's mirth could fade, a peculiar, unsettling sound pierced the quiet—a hum, soft yet ominous, that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. The Dothraki warriors found themselves glancing around nervously, unease spreading rapidly through their ranks.
With a swift command from the Khal, one of his blood riders, one of the most fearsome among the Khalssar, charged towards Jason. But before the blood rider could reach him, something unforeseen occurred: a spear-like object descended from the sky with deadly precision, impaling the rider and halting his charge abruptly.
A stunned silence fell over the camp. Even the Khal looked stunned.
Then, without warning, the night sky came alive with a barrage of similar spear-like objects. They rained down upon the camp, each strike with pinpoint accuracy, impaling Dothraki warriors with terrifying efficiency. The sounds of screaming Dothraki permeated throughout the camp as every Dothraki except the Khal, who was being held down by Jason, fell dead.
"Cease this madness!" the Khal bellowed, his voice cracking with fear.
Jason, unyielding, met the Khal's plea with a cold reply.
"No," he stated firmly.
A scream escaped the Khal's mouth as Jason broke the bones in his legs and arms.
He left him there alive and walked in the direction of Garth and the others.
Jason was getting tired, so he quickly made his way through the now empty camp; most of the Dothraki were either killed by him or had escaped.
Garth was the first to spot Jason emerging from the darkness, a mixture of relief and awe written across his face. "Jason!" he called out.
"You did it," Garth said, approaching him and pulling him into an embrace.
Jason nodded, his gaze sweeping over the faces of those he had freed. They looked at him with an expression he found difficult to decipher.
"Let's move," Jason commanded, his voice cutting through the silence that had fallen over the group. The Lhazareen, though weary and battered, rallied at his words, finding strength in his presence.
"Where do we go?" Garth asked.
"Kosrak. It's nearby. We can decide what's next after that," Jason said.
The mention of Kosrak sparked a flicker of hope among the Lhazareen.
Cregan, still clutching the arakh, stepped forward. "Lead the way, then. You've earned my trust, and likely that of everyone here."
The godswife came near him, still staring at him. "A god among us," she whispered, more to herself than to anyone in particular.
Understanding the need for leadership, Jason addressed the group. "We move to Kosrak. Stay close and don't wander off."
With that, Jason began leading the freed Lhazareen to the city.
Memories of the Dothraki raid flashed through his mind, Jason trying to fight them off, being captured.
A distinct voice, notably not of Lhazar but instead carrying the familiar tones of home, called out from his side.
"You're finally awake," said a man with a thick Northern accent. Garth turned to see a sturdy figure, unmistakably a Northman, observing him with a mix of curiosity and concern.
"It'll be good to have someone to talk with until... well, you know," the Northman said, his tone grim.
Garth's throat felt parched as he attempted to speak. "How long have I been…?" he managed to croak.
"About a day now," the Northman replied. He then nodded toward a Lhazareen woman who was attentively caring for another captive.
"She's the one you should thank. She's been tending to your wounds ever since you were brought here."
Garth's eyes followed the direction indicated, landing on the godswife.
"Their healing skills are renowned," the Northman commented, admiration in his voice.
"What's a Westerosi doing so far from home?" he added looking at Garth.
Garth struggled to sit up, his body protesting with aches and pains from the ordeal.
"I'm... I'm a maester," Garth managed to say, his voice weak.
"A maester, huh? That's a rare sight out here. You're a long way from The Citadel," the Northman said.
"Yes, I suppose I am," Garth acknowledged, his thoughts still somewhat muddled. "And you? What brings a Northman so far from home?"
The Northman's demeanor hardened slightly as he recounted his tale. "I've been here guarding merchant caravans for about ten years without issue. Then this cunt of a khal came along and decided to mess everything up."
Introducing himself, Garth extended his hand as best as he could, given their confinement. "I'm Garth."
"Cregan," the man returned the introduction.
"Don't fret too much, Maester. You, the girl, and I, we're valuable. I might end up in the fighting pits, she could fetch a good price for her knowledge of healing, and you—a trained maester from The Citadel—you'll be quite the prize once they recognize what you are," Cregan said, offering a grim piece of reassurance.
"We might not even make it to the auction block," he said with a hint of a smile.
Cregan looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "And why's that?" he asked, skepticism evident in his voice.
Garth leaned in, lowering his voice despite the unlikely chance of being overheard in their confined space. "My friend, he's out there. He'll come for us."
Cregan's response was a booming laugh. "One man will come and save us?" he continued laughing. "The gods must have sent me a jesting maester to keep spirits high in these grim times."
"He's more than just a man," Garth insisted, his tone earnest. "He has...abilities. Things you wouldn't believe even if I told you."
This elicited another round of laughter from Cregan, who shook his head in amusement. "I'll play along, Maester. And what makes this friend of yours so special?" he asked.
Garth remained unfazed, meeting Cregan's gaze. "He has abilities, magic… He's not just a man; he's something more."
"I've heard some tall tales in my time, but this one might just take the prize."
Garth, undeterred, pressed on. "I know how it sounds, but it's the truth."
"You truly believe he's going to march into a Dothraki camp, filled with hundreds of warriors, just to save us? And with what? This magic you claim he possesses? I'm starting to think you are truly mad."
"He will come for us; then you'll see," Garth said as he leaned on the wooden bars of the cage they were in. He knew Jason would not abandon him. He could easily handle the Dothraki with his powers; he just hoped he survived the raid.
Jason's journey to the Dothraki camp where Garth had been taken was long, marked by intervals of rest as his leg, broken in the earlier skirmish, gradually mended itself, allowing him to ride longer stretches without the gnawing pain that had initially plagued him.
He arrived at the city of Kosrak, having seen it besieged in the memories extracted from the Dothraki warrior. The sight that greeted him was one of desolation and sorrow.
Jason reined in his horse, surveying the aftermath of the Dothraki raid. The city, once full of life, now lay in ruins, its buildings reduced to smoldering rubble, and its streets eerily silent. He dismounted, his gaze scanning the devastated landscape for any sign of life.
To his relief, amidst the destruction, there were survivors—haggard, frightened souls who had somehow managed to escape the Dothraki's wrath.
Knowing the camp was near, he decided to ask them if they knew where it was.He approached the survivors, they were wary of him, but he managed to get the location of the camp from one of them.
"The Dothraki camp," the man began, his voice trembling, "is to the east, not far from here. They've set up near the banks of the Skahazadhan, where the land dips into a shallow valley."
Jason nodded, committing the details to memory. "Thank you," he said.
"Wait, you're not thinking of going there, are you?" the man asked.
Jason met the man's gaze. "I am."
The man looked at him with a mixture of awe and concern. "You're either brave... or mad," he muttered.
"More mad than brave, I guess," Jason replied before jumping on his horse and riding to where the camp was.
As dusk painted the sky in shades of orange and purple, Jason arrived at the camp. The encampment was vast, a sea of tents stretching across the open plain, illuminated by the flickering lights of numerous large fires. Their glow cast long shadows on the ground.
He dismounted, his injured leg protesting slightly at the action, but he ignored the discomfort. Stealth was essential, and he needed to understand the layout of the camp and the position of its guards before making any moves.
Jason moved with caution, using the tall grass and occasional outcrops of rock as cover. His eyes darted from one point to another, taking in the locations of the tents.
The large and ornate one was likely the abode of the Khal and the ones near it must belong to his inner circle.
"What did Garth call them again?" Jason wondered.
"Yes, Bloodriders," he remembered.
The camp was arranged in such a way that the largest tent was in the middle, with the rest made in a circular formation around it.
The captives' pens caught his attention, located on the far side of the camp, away from the central commotion of the Dothraki's evening activities. He could make out figures, some standing, some sitting, all confined within a makeshift enclosure guarded by a handful of Dothraki warriors.
With night rapidly approaching, Jason knew the cover of darkness would provide an advantage, but it would also bring its own challenges. He retreated to the shadows, formulating a plan to infiltrate the camp under the veil of night.
Qotho was a seasoned warrior of the Dothraki, priding himself on his vigilance and often assigned to guard the camp's perimeter. His keen senses were attuned to the night, yet tonight, a puzzling unease crept into his heart.
As he patrolled the edge of the camp, every rustle of the grass, every shift of the wind, seemed amplified, as though the night itself whispered warnings. Qotho shook off the feeling, chiding himself for allowing such thoughts to take hold. He was Dothraki; he feared nothing.
Then, without warning, a sharp, searing pain exploded at the base of his skull. Before he could react, before he could even utter a sound, unseen forces gripped him, dragging him into the darkness.
The world around him faded, the sounds of the camp, the crackle of fires, and the distant laughter of his brothers-in-arms disappearing as if swallowed by the earth itself. He was alone, utterly alone, in a darkness so complete it threatened to consume him. And then, there was nothing. Qotho's consciousness slowly slipped away.
.
.
Haggo, ever vigilant in his duties, stood guard near the pens. It was a normal night until he heard a sound inside the nearby tent.
Curiosity piqued, Haggo moved towards the source of the disturbance, his hand on the hilt of his arakh, ready for any threat. Yet, as he approached, the air around him grew inexplicably cold, a chill that seeped into his bones.
Then, there was a sensation, a feeling of being watched by unseen eyes, a presence lurking just beyond reach. Haggo spun around, his warrior instincts on high alert, but found nothing but the empty night staring back at him.
Before he could shout, before he could even raise his arakh in defense, he was propelled backward with terrifying force. Haggo's world became a whirlwind of motion as he was hurled into the darkness of the tent.
The fabric of the tent enveloped him like a shroud, twisting and tightening around his body in an unyielding grip. Haggo fought, his screams muffled by the thick cloth that seemed to come alive, wrapping around him tighter and tighter, suffocating him in its embrace.
Panic surged through his veins as he clawed at his fabric prison, but to no avail. The more he struggled, the more the tent seemed to consume him, dragging him deeper into its folds. After a while, he stopped fighting and gave in to the approaching darkness.
.
.
Zollo, tasked with the solemn duty of guarding the pens holding the captives, felt an unease he couldn't shake. The night was eerily quiet, the usual sounds of the camp muffled, as if the land itself held its breath.
It was this silence that heightened Zollo's senses. The stillness was abruptly shattered by the sound of metal clanging. Zollo spun towards the noise, his hand reaching for the hilt of his arakh, expecting to face a tangible foe. Instead, his eyes found nothing but the empty air and the shadows cast by the flickering light of the nearby torches.
That's when it struck—an invisible force, cold and oppressive, wrapping around him like the coils of a giant serpent. Panic surged as he felt himself being squeezed, the air forced from his lungs, his struggles futile against the relentless grip.
In a desperate bid for air, Zollo's mouth opened in a silent scream, but no sound emerged, the invisible force smothering him in its embrace. As his vision began to blur, the last thing Zollo saw was a dark figure making his way towards him.
With the last Dothraki taken care of, Jason moved closer to the pens. They were crude enclosures of wood and rope.
Navigating the camp had been a perilous task, fraught with the danger of discovery. Yet, Jason had managed to neutralize the guards one by one, using his telekinetic abilities with precise and silent efficiency.
The bodies were hidden away in the shadows, ensuring no immediate alarm would be raised. It was a grim task, but necessary for what he had come to do.
He approached the pens, his gaze sweeping over the captives until it landed on Garth. The sight of his friend, alive but worn, brought a wave of relief.
"Garth!" Jason called out softly, not wanting to startle the others.
Garth, recognizing Jason's silhouette against the dim light, called out his name, a mixture of disbelief and joy in his voice.
"Jason! By the Seven, you actually came!" Garth exclaimed.
Garth's head shot up, his expression one of disbelief morphing into joy.
"Of course. Did you think I was going to leave you behind?" Jason said.
Jason saw another man staring at him with an expression of disbelief. Seeing this, Garth introduced them.
"This is Cregan," Garth introduced, nodding towards the Northman.
"Nice to meet you, Cregan," Jason said, nodding in acknowledgment.
"I am going to get you out of here," Jason said as his gaze then fell on the crude locking mechanism that held the pen's gate shut.
He concentrated, extending his hand towards the lock. The captives, including Cregan, watched in stunned silence, their disbelief shattered only by Garth's laughter at their astonishment. The rope binding the gate fell away, allowing the gate to swing open freely.
Cregan's eyes widened in amazement, and he took a step back, his earlier skepticism replaced by a mix of fear and wonder. "How did you...?"
he started to ask, but Jason cut him off with a gesture for silence.
"There's no time to explain. We need to move fast," Jason said, his voice low but urgent.
As the gate swung open, Jason stepped aside. Garth approached Jason, attempting an awkward hug despite his restraints.
"Let's remove those," Jason said, effortlessly freeing Garth from his shackles.
The rest of the captives kept their distance from Jason. Cregan and a woman remained close. The woman, a godswife from Kosrak, couldn't tear her eyes away from Jason, it was as if he was the embodiment of every answer she'd ever sought.
Jason turned to Garth, "We need to get these people organized if we're going to make it out."
Cregan, hearing this, approached the godswife who was staring at Jason.
"Godswife, tell these people there's nothing to fear. This man is here to help us," Cregan asked, but he received no answer as the woman kept staring at Jason.
Cregan and Garth tried to talk to her, only to be met with silence. However, the godswife remained fixated on Jason, breaking her silence only to question him directly.
"Are you a god?"
Jason, taken aback by her intense gaze, responded half-jokingly in English, "Sure, let's go with that," before switching back to Lhazareen to assure her.
"Yes, I am a god. Tell everyone to stay calm and do the same for the others when I free them."
Motivated by Jason's command, the godswife sprang into action, soothing the captives as Jason proceeded to liberate the rest.
"What now?" Garth inquired. Jason noted that Cregan was now armed with an arakh, likely acquired from one of the dispatched Dothraki.
Jason's eyes were set on the camp's heart. "Wait for my signal. I'm heading to the center," he declared, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Garth protested, "Are you mad? We can leave now!"
Jason shook his head. "No, they'll see us. I'm ending this once and for all," he affirmed.
Garth's concern was evident. "You can't mean..."
"Yes," Jason interrupted, firm in his decision.
"But there's too many," Garth argued, the worry clear in his voice.
"Don't worry. I have a plan. Wait for my signal, then make your move," Jason instructed, turning away to face the tents.
"And what signal will that be?" Garth called after him.
"You'll know when it starts," Jason assured, disappearing into the shadows of the camp, ready to enact his daring plan.
Jason made his way to the center of the camp, abandoning any pretense of stealth. He moved with purpose through the camp, his presence initially unnoticed amidst the raucous celebrations of victory. However, when discovered by Dothraki warriors, he dispatched them quickly with his powers, leaving no obstacle in his path.
Reaching the center, Jason's gaze locked onto the Khal, seated upon a makeshift throne.
"Hello," Jason called out in Dothraki.
He was not heard.
"Ah, well, plan B then," Jason said to himself.
To draw the Khal's attention and that of the entire camp, Jason decided to employ a dramatic display of power. He found a Dothraki man nearby and levitated him directly into the heart of a large fire.
Screams of the Dothraki filled the camp. The spectacle seized the immediate focus of all within the camp, their revelry replaced by stunned silence.
As the shock wore away, Dothraki warriors charged towards him, brandishing their weapons. Jason unleashed a powerful kinetic blast, effortlessly repelling their assault. This display of force instilled a sense of fear among the warriors.
The Khal, his face contorted in a mix of fear and defiance, spat out the word, "Meagi," an accusation and a curse rolled into one.
Jason, unshaken, met the Khal's gaze with a calm smile.
"You think your tricks will save you? Jhoggo will crush you himself and claim whatever sorcery you possess," the Khal retorted, his voice a mix of bravado and desperation.
"Will you now?" Jason's reply was smooth, almost amused.
"It's time to end this," Jason said in Dothraki.
The Khal let out a dismissive laugh. "End what? You are what is about to end."
Before the Khal's mirth could fade, a peculiar, unsettling sound pierced the quiet—a hum, soft yet ominous, that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. The Dothraki warriors found themselves glancing around nervously, unease spreading rapidly through their ranks.
With a swift command from the Khal, one of his blood riders, one of the most fearsome among the Khalssar, charged towards Jason. But before the blood rider could reach him, something unforeseen occurred: a spear-like object descended from the sky with deadly precision, impaling the rider and halting his charge abruptly.
A stunned silence fell over the camp. Even the Khal looked stunned.
Then, without warning, the night sky came alive with a barrage of similar spear-like objects. They rained down upon the camp, each strike with pinpoint accuracy, impaling Dothraki warriors with terrifying efficiency. The sounds of screaming Dothraki permeated throughout the camp as every Dothraki except the Khal, who was being held down by Jason, fell dead.
"Cease this madness!" the Khal bellowed, his voice cracking with fear.
Jason, unyielding, met the Khal's plea with a cold reply.
"No," he stated firmly.
A scream escaped the Khal's mouth as Jason broke the bones in his legs and arms.
He left him there alive and walked in the direction of Garth and the others.
Jason was getting tired, so he quickly made his way through the now empty camp; most of the Dothraki were either killed by him or had escaped.
Garth was the first to spot Jason emerging from the darkness, a mixture of relief and awe written across his face. "Jason!" he called out.
"You did it," Garth said, approaching him and pulling him into an embrace.
Jason nodded, his gaze sweeping over the faces of those he had freed. They looked at him with an expression he found difficult to decipher.
"Let's move," Jason commanded, his voice cutting through the silence that had fallen over the group. The Lhazareen, though weary and battered, rallied at his words, finding strength in his presence.
"Where do we go?" Garth asked.
"Kosrak. It's nearby. We can decide what's next after that," Jason said.
The mention of Kosrak sparked a flicker of hope among the Lhazareen.
Cregan, still clutching the arakh, stepped forward. "Lead the way, then. You've earned my trust, and likely that of everyone here."
The godswife came near him, still staring at him. "A god among us," she whispered, more to herself than to anyone in particular.
Understanding the need for leadership, Jason addressed the group. "We move to Kosrak. Stay close and don't wander off."
With that, Jason began leading the freed Lhazareen to the city.
William Seymour
Versed in the lewd.
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An so it begins. Thank you for the chapter and I really like that though the mc is in over his head, he is at least willing to knuckle down and do what needs to be done. Especially in the world of a song of ice and fire. Jason being equipped with the Force(?) Is a very useful tool to have at his disposal due to its versatility.
As long as he practices and is willing to push his limits and grow from the experience, he will be able to do alot of great things. An also as a modern man who was set back to such medieval times, with the knowledge that he has will never stop being cool to me. Considering that though those times are harsh for the average serf, one would/should be capable of thriving. As long as they use their head.
An I felt Jason really used his head here and did the right thing by crushing the Dothraki. In this world having might and the will to enforce it is extremyly important, or you will end up at the mercy of strangers. An that is never a good thing at all.
I do wonder what this newfound position of leadership will help Jason grow and develop, with his newfound responsibility. Always good to see character growth! Keep up the good work and thank you again for your work!
As long as he practices and is willing to push his limits and grow from the experience, he will be able to do alot of great things. An also as a modern man who was set back to such medieval times, with the knowledge that he has will never stop being cool to me. Considering that though those times are harsh for the average serf, one would/should be capable of thriving. As long as they use their head.
An I felt Jason really used his head here and did the right thing by crushing the Dothraki. In this world having might and the will to enforce it is extremyly important, or you will end up at the mercy of strangers. An that is never a good thing at all.
I do wonder what this newfound position of leadership will help Jason grow and develop, with his newfound responsibility. Always good to see character growth! Keep up the good work and thank you again for your work!
Illusiveone
POWER! UNLIMITED POWER!
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He will take it easy at first, but slowly realize the gravity of the position he is in and what his actions have set in motion.
