112 AC
Bloodstone
Third-Person POV
XXX
Thwack! Pop!
Shaggapulled his axe out of the skull of a strange-looking pirate man and let his body fall into the waves, brains spilling across the surf. In the past, he would have taken everything the weaker man had on his corpse but now he didn't need to do so. Under his new master, he had been given an axe of real steel and covered in magic runes.
Shagga had once been a member of the Stone Crows. Now he was the chief of the Blood Burners and proudly bore the mark of his master as many of them did. Sure he was no high chief of the Dragon Scales, but he was just as loyal as any of the other chiefs.
Shagga scowled as he stomped forward before seeing another pirate running at him. He readied his axe only for a massive war hammer to come crashing down and cave in the man's skull. Shagga glanced over at the killer; he was a knight in proper lordly armorโthe Royce black and orange with those fancy runes all over them.
Shagga knew this one; the Mad Hammer they called him. He stood there in shining Royce armor, part bronze, part black plate, covered in runes, and in his hand a great hammer so heavy it's said it took ten men to lift. That was a lie though; Shagga had seen three strong men lift it together and clearly this Mad Hammer could lift it himself.
"Oi Hammer how many are left?" Shagga asked as the massive brute in rune-blessed steel turned to him. The man's helmet turned to face the tribal chief, then his head tilted to look past him. Shagga turned only to see another pirate charging him from behind with a spear, Shagga stepped back but it would've been too late if it wasn't for the morning star slamming into the face of the pirate.
Shagga turned his head again only to see another man in bronze and black plate armor covered in the special runes of the Royces. In one hand he held a massive morning star. In the other, he held a maul which was painted with the blood and brains of his enemies. On his arm, a small shield was directly attached to his armor, and unlike most of the others, he had his helm completely removed.
Shagga nodded his thanks to the Dornish men since he wasn't fully an asshole and the lowlander knight nodded back in respect. The knight's name was Ser Criston Cole specifically recruited by the prince after winning the melee of Prince Baelon's tourney. He wanted to become a Kingsguard only for the king to forget to award the winners for a few days. During that time the young prince had personally approached him and made him an offer he couldn't refuse. It was the chance of a lifetime and he had to take it, the chance to be more than just a steward's second son but instead to serve a prince and a man closer to the gods than men like him. The chance no Dornish son from the Stormlands marches could ever have dreamed of, so of course Cole had taken it and did everything in his power to excel in the prince's service. From that fabled day onward, Prince Aemon had been the light Criston followed and he had become almost frantically loyal to him.
Since then he'd become one of the prince's most loyal warriors and had even proven himself a shockingly good commander on the battlefield. Suddenly, House Cole had gone from a family of stewards for a house that nobody cared about to landed knights and vassals of House Royce. Oh, their old lords had made a bit of a fuss but hadn't openly dared to challenge the premier prince of the realm of the strongest and wealthiest house in the Vale. One with a dragon at that, it honestly just wasn't worth it. Luckily for the family, their small keep and lands were up and running quickly and House Cole albeit nowhere near the upper echelon of noble houses in the Vale, was still small but respectable. Now through his efforts in the Stepstones Criston had elevated the house to lordly status and due to some later misfortune his older brother had died and he had become heir to their house.
Cole had grieved his elder brother's death deeply. But thanks to the brand new war in the Stepstones Criston had plenty of enemies to take his anger out on, and the prince had provided pirates in droves. It had been a while now since the triarchy had stopped pretending that the Stepstones were just infested by the Crab-Feeder pirates but truly sponsored by the kingdom of the three daughters. So they'd gotten the chance to tumble with and by tumble with he meant trample through soldiers from Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh in a war that had been the perfect excuse to privateer tons of money and free plenty of slaves at the same time which had been tanking the Triarchy's profits even harder than purposely breaking each of their monopolies on each of their goods had.
Now, during the latest raid of many from the Essosi failures Cole had been systematically ripping through his opponents on the battlefield as he had the best battle of his life. Hadn't truly been caught off guard, as more they'd been luring them for weeks now into a battle to desperately try and take Bloodstone once again only for them to fail once again. Not to mention Cole had been refreshed, armor repaired, and fully ready to be in the headspace for war. He'd entered a battle flow like never before this time and had somehow found himself barely than winded when the battle had mostly ended.
"That's nearly the last of them; the rest ran back to their ships," Cole said lifting his maul to point at the distant retreating ships. Shagga and Hugh lined up beside him to look at the retreating sight only for an echoing roar to blaze through the clouds. The sun had already been setting when the pirates attacked, and though it wasn't quite dark yet, the sky had already changed into a beautiful gradient Shagga had only thought to see in the nights of the mountains.
He remembered climbing near to the top of one with his father and brothers and seeing the magnificence of just how small it all was below then when he looked out at the setting sun. That brilliant sight had stayed with him his whole life; this next one would scorch into his memory for the rest of it, as would it the men beside him.
Screaming like a demon out of the dark clouds above a dark figure of a dragon whose wings made nearly no sound came for the escaping ships and men.
The demon's name was Ancalagon, the Night Fury.
The unholy offspring of the Bronze Fury Vermithor and Silverwing the Good Queen's old dragon. Descended from the line of Vhagar the Queen of Dragons and Balerion the Black Dread, who it's said the black beast has a remarkable resemblance to. Ancalagon had grown to be the largest and fastest of the mated dragons' children. More swift than Meleys, and beyond the size of both the Red Queen and Caraxes the Blood Wyrm. As of 112 AC, Ancalagon is tied with Dreamfyre for the title of the fifth-biggest dragon alive, and should the pace of his growth continue, he would quickly surpass her.
Spiraling down from the near night sky, Ancalagon opened his maw, a pitch-black cavern of teeth black as Valyrian steel, and opened fire.
If there was one thing that the black beast had over every other dragon alive it was flames. Heat crackled to life as tubes of living death let out a stream of near-pure plasma power into the air. Bright shimmering energy poured out of the dragon's back and instead of going for a strafing run to blaze away all the ships below, the Night Fury pulled up and pulled open into a blazing ball of death. Like a miniature star of evil on the dark red and black background of the near night sky. Ancalag's infamous light had illuminated the entire battlefield before sucking it back in and casting a shadow over all. A demon star between its jaws the dragon of Prince Aemon considered to be the undeniably strongest knight in all the realm, reared up.
[image here]
Letting out an evil cry of wrath the condensed ball of death came down with a screech of air and a roar of rage, Ancalagon leaned down and let the death break over all, igniting the entire sea killing every single pirate retreating from Bloodstone in one go. All three ships were caught in an explosion so massive it incinerated all three of them.
BOOOOOOOOMMMMMM!!!
The only remains of the three vessels were smoke, flaming sea, charred splinters of wood smaller than a man's hand, and the horrid stench of charged wet flesh flung away from the epicenter. The explosion was so hot that every remaining man on that beach flinched away; it was so bright that every single one of them either covered and closed their eyes or had the sight of it etched into their retinas. The beach rocked and rumbled as the waves rose, steamed, and sprayed away from the epicenter of the blast. Sand spewed like a cloud into the faces of the nearby soldiers.
Shagga stepped back as he stared up at the beast he considered to be the manifestation of his flaming god. The fury of the old gods unleashed on earth soared past them. Just one of the prince's plasma bolts, as he calls them, had destroyed the entirety of their remaining enemy; the rest had already been long gone but that wasn't the only group of sheep who would meet dragon fire. For in the distance, the current ruler of this island came down from the sky and began to burn the rest of the remaining fleet.
Blazing blood-red flames caught the rest of the fleet and soon after a bright silver-blue and grey flame joined them. Caraxes and Seasmoke soared across the waters between each of the islands in the archipelago.
Meanwhile, Ancalagon spiraled up and away into the air. A trail of purple-white flame followed him up in a twist of scorching hot hate.
[image here]
He soared forward towards the fray, the dragons blasting past bolts and spiraling around hook shots tied to anchors as they tore through what remained of the pirate fleet. It was only one of many led by the Crabfeeder and the Myrish prince wasn't fool enough to come out where dragons could easily turn him to a pile of ash sinking to the bottom of the narrow sea.
Ancalagon soared away to join the other dragons as they scorched the fleet to burning pieces. Ancalagon let off swaths of flame and the occasional plasma bolt while any attempt to shoot him down failed miserably; only one of the scorpion bolts even made it near the dragon but a lightning-fast sideways spiral in the air evaded the attack entirely.
Soon enough, all the ships were gone then Shagga, Cole, and Hammer finished off the last of the pirates on land. The final ten went quickly enough; there were no big names among them just hardened pirates ready to fight to the last and any who surrendered were soon to suffer the chains of the Iron Throne's army. Out of the last ten Hugh took three smashing the first one's skull in with his hammer and breaking open the second one's chest plate. Most pirates didn't wear full plate thanks to the whole drowning if they fell into the water thing but, on this land assault, those who could afford the expensive protection and didn't fear a fall into the water wore as much plate as they could.
That plate didn't exactly help against a Cole as he slammed his maul into one's head, cracked open the faceplate of another with his morning star, and push-kicked a third to the ground after shattering his arm with one swirling strike of his maul. The last four tried to run as fast as they could in a group; one fell to arrows, while two others had their throats slit open by Shagga's axes the last one almost made it away until Shagga drove his axe into the man's back. It didn't kill him but the desperate pirate crawled into the surf.
The poor bastard didn't make it far though as he continued to crawl; all three dragons had flown back towards the beach by then and the unlucky man got a face full of salt water as Ancalagon landed before him. Every man on the beach save the crawling pirate came forth and knelt before the black beast as it let out a roar. Normally Ancalagon was a near-silent dragon but when he did roar it was damn near deafening and caused all of the soldiers to flinch. Every single one of them kept their heads bowed because if there was one thing Ancalagon hated it was eye contact from any human other than his rider. So for their own safety, each of them kept their heads down and knees bent; the apex predator didn't eat them or burn them all alive. Of course, the kneeling was more of a formal thing but the smaller you were the less of a challenge you presented, and challenging a dragon isn't a very goon for a small knight in plate armor or a clansman in little to none depending on several factors of course.
The massive creature's neck bent down and the mythical rider atop its back slipped down and landed on one knee. His cape was black runes and Royce orange fluttered behind him; in its center, a cape with the sigil of House Royce-Targaryen shone in the purple light of the dragon's flames. As he rose so did the awe in the hearts of his men and the fealty and devotion in their hearts did as well like a wave of aura riding over the soldiers. The black knight rose to his feet and stepped across the beach to meet his kneeling supplicants; the massive dragon followed after him, eerily silent against the waves.
He stepped forward, pace unflinching, unhesitating, a warrior of legend in steel-clad flesh, only to meet the bleeding man below his feet. He looked down at the struggling pirate. Then, without even the slightest hint of a gesture, or a command. The great dragon swooped down, lowered its head, took the man screaming by the leg, and tossed him into the air. You blew a great plume, a scorching beam of heat, directly at the horrified survivor. His screams cut off quickly as he was turned to instant ashes; what remained of him fell into the dragon's open jaws as he was silently crushed between its terrible teeth. The black beast looked down once again over the prince's shoulder. We simply kept walking towards his men.
Stepping closer to the three kneeling warriors who led the forces guarding the Blood Keep, Prince Aemon's voice rang out strong and firm. It had deepened over the year of war; many things like that had changed about the prince. At only 15 years old he had become something closer to a man than any boy his age should be. A whirlwind of death on the battlefield, a storm of horror in the sky raining down destruction from above, and soon to be the lord of the wealthiest house in the Vale and a prince of the realm third in line to the Iron Throne.
"โ๐พ๐โฏ ๐๐ ๐๐ถ๐๐๐พโด๐๐; ๐๐ฝโฏ ๐ท๐ถ๐๐๐โฏ ๐พ๐ โด๐โฏ๐," He said; his voice was a royal rumble that could stir the loins of even the most frigid of women. The men rose in droves cheering their victory as Caraxes and Seasmoke flew back to the island overhead. The destination was Blood Keep named for the Blood Wyrm who rules if not in name then in deed. The great red dragon had grown much bigger over the years surpassing Meleys and only a little smaller than Dreamfyre. While it landed atop the Blood Keep on a specialised platform made for such an occasion Seasmoke landed near the edge of the fort for now.
Aemon permitted Ancalagon to start eating some of the corpses though he was clear not to eat too many so the metal wouldn't upset the beast's stomach. Meanwhile, the prince himself made his way forward through the crowd of men towards the castle until his horse came riding up to him tumbling through the army kicking up dust and chuckles from the rest of the army as Balerion the horse arrived.
The great stallion had quickly become both a favorite and sort of mascot for the army alongside several of the other animal companions of the Royce's. Many of the road bears, kept shadow cats, had pet falcons, or even went with them into battle and some of the wild clansmen and the Royce's themselves were actually skin changers although that fact was kept mostly under wraps.
But if one animal besides the dragons had become infamous among the men of the war fleet it was Balerion the black steed of the prince himself. Balerion was easily the most prized horse in the Seven Kingdoms, the perfect war horse with a massive size and beautiful coat, and a luxurious mane of hair. More than that just last year the horse had finally been allowed to breed creating a brand new generation of what were essentially super stallions. Of course, as most horses' pregnancies last around 11 months most of those foals weren't born yet. Even so, those who had strongly inherited Balerion's traits. The prince had even picked out a total of one hundred mares never before bred just for Balerion's personal herd. Besides the Great War horse's ability to rut like a literal stallion, it also had its great war armor with intricate costume runes on the inside of the war plate.
[image here]
The young war horse sped to a halt before the Bronze Prince or the Blood Prince as he was now known after his terrifying performance during the war. More particularly because when the Crabfeeder had fed a few of his men to the crabs for the first time Prince Aemon had flown into a rage attempting to save as many of his men as he could, killing the pirates in droves to the point that Prince Admiral Craghas Drahar had to directly call for reinforcements. Aemon had burned his fleet to mere ashes, cut his men to pieces, lined all of their bodies and every prisoner his men took alive up on the coast of every island they took, and impaired every single one of them in a raging fury so loud and long that even the rogue prince himself hadn't intervened. In fact, Prince Daemon had encouraged it. They said that the loop of impaled men was so long that the screams of the dying could be heard echoing as far as the islands next to them.
But tonight besides the screams of the dying the only thing that could be heard around the coast of Bloodstone was the ruckus cheers of the men as they celebrated yet another glorious. Victory over a year of war inside and around the concrete walls of the Blood Keep. From lord Corlys, to Prince Daemon and Aemon, every man on the island had a smile on their face for at least an hour so long as they weren't allies of Triarchy. Even Veamon known for his incessant complaints was utterly satisfied by their progress so far. Not to mention the loud moans of many freed slave women or in the particular case of Laenor Velaryon slave men.
And deep inside the brand new chambers of Aemon Targaryen, soon to be Royce Targaryen. Passionate moans had just stopped as the Prince stood bold and naked in his chambers a letter clutched in his hand.
"โ๐๐ ๐ฝ," he hummed deeply reading the letter then set it down on a nearby dresser he had imported. Then a pair of slim pale arms crept up behind him before softly wrapping him in their embrace. Plush breasts pressed against his well-muscled back covered in scratched marks. Perfect pointed pink nipples brushed against him as raven black hair draped against him. Her head shifted to look beside him her height too short to look completely over his shoulder.
During his time here Aemon had grown from 5'10 to well over that. Currently, he was 6 feet and two inches of Valyrian beauty and First Men muscle. Behind him however, was a woman he'd saved from disaster.
"What is it my love," She asked pressing kisses up his thick arms. He grunted and passed the letter to her; she stopped her sensual caresses in favor of taking the letter into her grasp.
"โ๐ ๐โฏโฏ๐๐ ๐๐ฝโฏ ๐๐พ๐๐ ๐พ๐ ๐๐๐พ๐๐ ๐นโฏ๐๐ถ๐๐พ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐โฏ๐๐โฏ๐๐ ๐ปโด๐ ๐ถ ๐โฏ๐ธโด๐๐น ๐ธ๐พ๐๐ ๐ธ๐ฝ๐ถ๐๐โฏ๐ ๐ปโด๐ โฌ๐โดโด๐น๐๐โด๐โฏ๏ผ ๐ซ๐โด๐ท๐ถ๐ท๐๐ ๐๐ฝ๐ถ๐ ๐ท๐พ๐๐ธ๐ฝ ๐ฅโฏ๐๐โฏ ๐พ๐๐โฏ๐๐ปโฏ๐๐พ๐๐ ๐ถ๐๐ถ๐พ๐,๐ถ๐ ๐พ๐ป โ ๐นโด๐'๐ ๐ฝ๐ถ๐โฏ ๐ถ ๐ป๐พ๐๐ ๐๐๐พ๐ ๐ถ๐โด๐๐๐น ๐ฝโฏ๐ ๐โฏ๐ธ๐," He grumbled; it was as if his uncle hadn't already had it proven to him that Aemon could make a city already. Well in celebration of House Royce becoming House Royce-Targaryen, he'd done just that.
"Even after I built Runeport and built Bronzecastle all in less than a year, our king still seems to think I can't make Blood Keep work," Aemon sighed stepping away from her to pour himself a glass of brandy. It was his own make and less potent than usual but after living in Westeros as long as he had, it was very understandable to get tired of wine. He stared out of the castle window glaring down at his men as they celebrated outside. Some were playing tug-of-war; others sang loud drunk sailor songs while bards and other ladies' singers danced on set-up tables; a few told stories around pit fires and the largest of those pyres.
'You'd think they weren't at right now' he growled and took another sip. His lover came and slipped her calming arms around him again.
"And it seems you've conveniently forgotten to mention this request for you to return," She giggled waving the letter in the air behind him.
"Does your beloved princess still long for her prince hmm? Perhaps you lovely lady of the sea?" She ran her hands down his muscled chest and he could hear the teasing smile in her voice. He rolled his eyes exasperatedly; she already knew what this was, he had no plans to marry her at all; this was purely physical at least for him. He didn't love her although he didn't truly love Rhaenyra or Laena either; even so, dealing with another woman's jealousy was just another headache he didn't really need right now.
"Or perhaps?" She toyed, her hands trailing even lower the breathiness of her tone increasing. He'd started to harden when her next words came out.
"They're squealing in the arms of another," she teased him and her growled turning back around to face her. She saw the anger in his eyes and hesitated for a moment before she kissed him. She tried to deepen it but he pulled back and shifted past her. Talk like this is exactly why he didn't let her into his true secrets. He'd considered bringing her into the Sith order but that wasn't something her was entirely sure about at first and eventually he'd left the idea on hold. If she kept needling him like that though there's no way he ever would; the last thing he needed was her jokes ruining the Brotherhood of Darkness.
He pressed past her searching for his pants which were tangled with her black lace bra and panties, a demo invention that he'd been considering for release in Lys. He'd wanted the war to be over to truly enrich his Lyseni spy branch and the members of the brotherhood there but he didn't want to give the Triarchy an economic boost while they were at war. It was the whole point of saving her in the first place for the girl to be a Lyseni spy. Instead of just her becoming his spy and assistant she'd wiggled her way into his bed as well a clear mistake.
"โ๐ ๐โด๐พ๐๐ โด๐๐," he huffed out, thinking of what he should do, increase his skills; perhaps this war had given him more skill points from kills than anything else ever had; maybe feed Ancalagon as well, his next flame dragon fruit should be ready anyway.
"Wait I'm sorry my love. Come back to bed," she said following after him, he ignored her of course; he'd just used a few of the modern psychological techniques he'd learned off the internet in his past life. A little bit of love bombing along with some hot and cold plays and suddenly she'd been wrapped around his finger.
"๐ฉโด,๐๐ฝโฏ ๐โด๐โฏ๐๐ ๐ฝ๐ถ๐ ๐ ๐ถ๐๐โฏ๐น, โ'๐๐ ๐โฏโฏ ๐โด๐ ๐พ๐ ๐๐ฝโฏ ๐โด๐๐,๐ โฏ๐๐ฝ๐ถ๐ ๐ ๐พ๐๐ ๐ป๐พ๐๐น ๐โด๐,๐๐๐โฏ๐๐พ๐๐ ๐พ๐ ๐๐ฝโฏ ๐ถ๐๐๐ โด๐ป ๐ถ๐โด๐๐ฝโฏ๐," He said, putting his pants and shoes on swiftly, he didn't bother with a shirt; there was nothing to hide anyway, gripping a his sword belt which he'd cast off earlier he secured not one but two blades to himself and opened the door. He knew it was pretty and that he was being possessive but she'd struck a true nerve and he needed some fresh air.
"It was but a jest my prince, please," She said sorrowfully, he turned back to face her; her eyes began to brim with tears. He turned away wordlessly stepping out the door. Johanna was being a pain tonight when all she was supposed to be was a pleasure.
[image here]
He made his way down a dark corridor grumbling under his breath the whole time while fiddling with his system. He was considering buying either two new dragon tames or a dragon steel great axe and three new skills when he heard something strange.
"๐ฎ๐๐๐ธ๐๏ผ๐๐ ๐๐๐น๐โฏ ๐ท๐พ๐๐ธ๐ฝ ๐ถ๐๐๐ถ๐๐ ๐ป๐๐ธ๐๐พ๐๐๏ผ๏ผ๏ผ๐๐พ๐๐ฝ, ๐โด ๐โฏ๐โด๐, ๐โด๐'๐โฏ ๐ฟ๐๐๐ ๐ถ๐๐๐๐;โ ๐๐ฝโด๐๐๐น๐'๐ ๐ทโฏ ๐โด ๐ฝ๐ถ๐๐๐ฝ," He said sighing as he lifted his head from the system panel and activated his Dragon eyes. His purple eyes glowed dimly and shifted to black slits looking for any trace or detail. He frowned seeing the faintest trace of some sort of magic in front of the stairs. It looked strange to him dark and foreboding and he immediately raised his guard. Now that he thought about it where was his honor guard? Then he remembered that he'd given the men the night off and had used regular guards tonight that should have been at the end of the hall; only they weren't.
"๐ฎ๐ฝ๐พ๐!," he frowned at the death flags, stopping his steps the moment he made the connection and pulling out one of his side swords. Lamentation's glow lit the dark hallway and in that moment he'd realised that all the hall's candles had gone out and that his sight as a magical being was just so good that it didn't really matter. Because right now he had bigger problems.
"I am so sorry," the whisper came from behind as soon as Aemon reached the stairs. He whipped around the moment he heard the whistle of a blade in the air batting away the rapidly thrown poison daggers Aemon noticed the gleam of poison on their tips. His narrowed he drew in air about to shout when there was noise from behind him again this time from down the stairs. He ducked his spatial awareness keen enough to dodge the attacks of what he had quickly identified as two and possibly more sorrowful men.
Aemon rolled forward and laid his eyes on the first of the two or rather four as he noticed two others throwing more blades towards him as he recovered. He grinned; a workout was just what he needed to get over that little spat. Spitting he rushed forward as the three men unleashed narrow blades that cleaned and clattered in the moonlight each of them dripping with fresh manticore poison. He went round after round with the shape-shifting assassins, blocking, parrying, and cutting them away; he fell two quickly and as the fourth came up behind him he spun around and sliced the last blade in half with his Valyrian steel.
He grinned wider, more wild than ever; it was a dragon's smile more than a human's, he was more dragon than human now and these magical warriors couldn't even make him break a sweat. The remaining two were far more skilled than ever, and as he battered one down the hall the other sputtered away and spun back throwing a smoke pellet on the floor.
How the hell they managed to get smoke bombs he didn't know but what he did know was that the hallway quickly started shifting and twisting around him like some sort of half-melted candle wax mixed with an abstract painting. Suddenly he was somewhere else, still shirtless black rune blade still in hand. In front of him, the sorrowful man still had a new sword somehow and the other behind him circled away. A shame because he'd almost finished that one off. Instead, he was now in some strange cut-off room of darkness with the two of them and the only thing keeping him alive was the blade in his hand and the pounding of his heart.
Then something unexpected happened, the two men stepped in a rhythmic echoing circle and then they started to multiply. They weren't just illusions; they were true clones of the sorrowful men.
"๐ช๐ฝ ๐๐โฏ๐ถ๐, ๐๐ถ๐๐โด๐ธ๐๐ ๐ถ๐๐น ๐ถ๐๐๐ถ๐๐๐พ๐๐, ๐โด๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐ถ๐โฏ ๐ฟ๐๐๐ ๐๐ถ๐๐พ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐น๐ถ๐," he laughed, then unleashed the second sword on his other hip. He pulled the sword with a raging screech and shouted a command.
"ลรฑosKenaz Azantys!" Thenboth blades in his hands ignited with blazing bright fire and light and the encroaching darkness was nearly completely dispelled. By now there were nearly twenty of the clones each of them holding poison blades.
[image here]
"๐ฒโฏ๐๐ ๐๐ฝโฏ๐,๐โฏ๐๐ ๐โฏ๐ ๐พ๐ โด๐ ๐ทโฏ๐ธ๐ถ๐๐โฏ ๐พ๐โฏ ๐โด๐ ๐โด๐โฏ ๐๐ฝ๐พ๐ ๐โด ๐โด๐๐ ๐๐ฝ๐โด๐๐๐ฝ,๐ท๐๐ ๐นโด๐๐ ๐โด๐๐๐ โ'๐๐ ๐โด โฏ๐ถ๐๐ โด๐ ๐โด๐ ๐ถ๐๐, โ'๐๐ โฏ๐โฏ๐ ๐๐พ๐โฏ ๐โด๐ ๐๐ฝโฏ ๐ป๐พ๐๐๐ ๐๐ฝโด๐, ๐โฏโฏ ๐ฝโด๐ ๐๐ฝ๐ถ๐ ๐โดโฏ๐ ๐ปโด๐ ๐โด๐, ๐ฟ๐๐๐ ๐๐ถ๐โฏ ๐๐๐โฏ ๐โด๐ ๐๐ถ๐โฏ ๐พ๐ ๐ธโด๐๐๐!" He said proudly but in reality he was buying time, what for you ask? Simply for what happened next.
One of the warlock assassins lunged to pierce his heart with a blade.
CLANG! SNAP!
The end of the sword snapped and bounced off against hardened obsidian scales, Aemon's scales. As he looked down at the attack then back up into the sorrowful man's widening eyes, he knew he'd fucked up.
Aemon grinned at him not a man's smile but a dragon's, with fangs instead of teeth. He grew taller; the whites of his eyes turned black as more black scales grew along his body. Then a quick swing took the lesser man in half and made him burst into flames.
"๐ดโด๐ ๐๐ฝโด๐๐๐น ๐ฝ๐ถ๐โฏ ๐๐ถ๐นโฏ ๐พ๐ ๐ธโด๐๐๐" He smiled then roared with fury and blazed into the fray."
But as soon as he threw himself into battle he wasn't alone as a shadow cat sprang from the darkness to aid his endeavors. But before we get to all that we need to figure out how exactly our plucky protagonist got here. Well that my dear readers started long ago in the far-away land of King's Landing, the night when everything changed for Prince Aemon and the Seven Kingdoms forever, and the night when Aemon had taken the biggest leap towards the throne he had since the unfortunate premature deaths of his aunt and nephew.
A night of dancing and dreaming and dining with dragons and royalty, a night covered in the kind of glitz and glamour only the Seven Kingdoms could provide.
[Chapter Image]
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Hey guys welcome to the new arc just to be clear Aemon's new font speech will only be used when it's not his perspective being used.