The Accidental Liberator (ASOIAF,GOT SI)

Illusiveone · Jan 25, 2024

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.
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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.

Illusiveone · Jan 26, 2024

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.

Illusiveone · Jan 28, 2024

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?"

Illusiveone · Jan 29, 2024

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.

Illusiveone · Jan 31, 2024

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.

Illusiveone · Feb 4, 2024

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.

Illusiveone · Feb 5, 2024

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.

Illusiveone · Feb 9, 2024

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.

Illusiveone · Feb 17, 2024

Jason glanced back at the large group of people trailing behind him. They had been on the move for some time now and would be reaching the city soon.

He looked in the distance to see Cregan returning. He had dispatched Cregan and a team of volunteers to scout ahead for potential dangers after he had cautioned him about there being survivors of his devastating attack on the Dothraki camp.

He tried not to think about what he had done there; instead, he focused his thoughts on the pressing needs that awaited them upon arriving at the city.

Garth had advised him on procuring food and medical attention for the weary and traumatized group. He was surprised how easily he had adapted to the leadership position. Then again, the people he had saved either feared him or looked at him with reverence.

Jason's thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of horses; it was Cregan and the men he had sent ahead.

"Any trouble?" Jason asked.

"Aye, a small band of Dothraki is coming this way," Cregan informed.

"I'll deal with it," Jason's response was calm.

"What will you do?" he heard a voice from his side.

Jason was startled and looked to his side to see Irina standing near him.

'Damn, when did she get here? Need to put a bell on her or something,' Jason thought.

Irina had been shadowing him ever since their journey began. He was starting to get a bit creeped out by her constant presence.

Jason remained silent and watched for the Dothraki to appear. Soon, he saw the dust clouds in the distance marking the Dothraki advance.

With only a mere gesture, he tapped into his telekinetic powers and focused on the charging horses. The Dothraki riders found themselves suddenly lifted off their mounts and tossed aside like rag dolls. The horses, freed from their riders' control, scattered in different directions, trampling on some of their riders in the process.

He could hear the reaction of the people behind him. He turned to Irina to see a large smile on her face.

'She looks like she's having a great time,' he thought.

"We could use those," Cregan said, eyeing the now riderless horses.

"Round them up," he replied. Cregan nodded and quickly rounded up the riderless horses with some help from the Lhazareen.

"Let's move," Jason commanded as they continued their journey to Kosrak.

They reached Kosrak, and they were greeted with expressions of sheer astonishment from the city's inhabitants who had remained.

Jason watched as scattered groups began to recognize each other. Tears streamed down their faces as tight embraces reunited families and friends who had thought each other lost forever.

Children ran to their parents, who scooped them up and held them tightly, as if they might disappear from their hands. Laughter broke through the tears as people reunited with loved ones.

Jason looked at Irina standing beside him.

"Umm, why don't you go and help them?" Jason asked, wanting to get her away from him.

"Yes, of course," she responded, her voice soft. With a hesitant glance back at Jason, she moved towards the gathering crowds, offering her assistance where she could.

Jason turned to Garth and Cregan, who were walking towards him.

"We need to take stock of the supplies we managed to gather from the Dothraki camp," he stated.

"Aye, I'll do that, but I think we should return there to search for more," Cregan replied.

Jason nodded, agreeing with Cregan's advice.

"What now?" he heard Garth ask.

Jason thought about what to do next. He knew Garth would like to continue their journey, yet a small part of him wanted to stay.

The idea of forging a new life here, one where he could make a real difference, was appealing. There was also the temptation of an easier, more luxurious life that staying promised.
He could easily envision himself as a revered figure, living comfortably on the gratitude of those he had saved.

But that meant taking on greater responsibility. It meant defending these lands, possibly even leading them. It meant facing endless challenges, from the threat of future raids and other incursions.

"We can stay for a while, you know, to help out," Jason suggested.

"We need to talk later, after everything calms down," Garth said and went to join Irina in her efforts.

They joined efforts to aid the city's recovery. Jason, with his abilities, helped in clearing debris and repairing damaged structures.

Though people were wary at first, Jason noticed that the fear in their eyes had disappeared after some time. Garth, leveraging his knowledge as a maester, organized medical aid for the injured, setting up a temporary infirmary with the help of Irina.

Jason and Cregan returned to the camp with some volunteers to look for more supplies and loot.

"Looks like no one's been here since we left," Cregan said as he looked around.

"Search the camp," Jason ordered. They spread out, scouring the remains of the Dothraki camp.

As Jason and Cregan walked through the camp, Cregan's gaze inevitably fell upon the fallen warriors scattered about.

"Never thought I'd see the day the Dothraki brought low like this," he remarked.

Cregan's eyes then met Jason's. "You did what had to be done. It's a hard thing, taking lives, but you've saved many more by ending theirs."

"So, what is next for the great liberator?" Cregan asked.

"The great what…" Jason asked, puzzled by the title Cregan had used.

"The great liberator," Cregan repeated with a smirk. "That's what the people have been calling you. You can thank the godswife for that."

"Uh, that sounds cool, I guess," Jason replied with a chuckle.

"So, what will you do now, Jason?" Cregan repeated.

Jason sighed. "I don't know," he admitted. "I hadn't thought that far ahead."

Cregan clapped a hand on Jason's shoulder. "If I were you, I'd stay. You've become something of a legend to these people. You'd be treated like a king here."

Jason mulled over Cregan's words. It was the same idea he had been thinking about for some time.

He could stay here and, just like Cregan said, be treated like a king. The only thing he had to do was defend these people against any threats they might face, and he had proven to be very good at it.

'He does make a good point,' Jason thought, as staying here became more and more attractive by the minute.

If he was going to live out his days in this world, why not do it in luxury, have people at his beck and call for all his needs? That was what he wanted right?

It's not like they wouldn't benefit from this. He would be offering them protection. Hell, he could take over the entire region if he wanted to.

Though he'd need help, especially Garth's.

'I'll need to make sure Garth stays here for a while at least,' Jason thought, making up his mind.

As the others loaded up supplies into makeshift wagons, Jason couldn't help but marvel at the wealth the Dothraki possessed. He remembered Garth telling him about the Dothraki being paid off with valuables.

"Good thing we came back. All the loot from Jhoggo's raids are here, even those he plundered from Khal Tenmo," Cregan said with a hearty laugh.

As they rode back to Kosrak, Jason began thinking of things to do for his extended stay here in Lhazar.

He couldn't keep defending the place alone; they needed a proper defense force, a small army.

He broached this subject to Cregan, asking him about recruiting some locals to make a militia. The only response he got was a booming laugh.

"The Lhazareen…" he laughed again, "…fight… you must be jesting, Jason."

Cregan caught his breath after his laughter subsided, noticing Jason's confused expression. He composed himself.

"Alright, Jason, let me explain something to you," he said, adopting a more serious tone. "The Lhazareen are peaceful people by nature. They're shepherds, not warriors. Their entire way of life, their beliefs, even their religion, revolves around peace and nurturing life, not taking it."

Jason listened intently.

"I understand. But after what happened, don't you think they might be more open to the idea?"

"Ha, this has been happening for centuries, and nothing has changed here."

"But," Cregan continued, "if you can find volunteers willing to learn, I'll train them. It won't be easy, and it'll take time, but I'll try my best."

They continued their slow journey back to the city. Jason wanted to speak to Garth as soon as possible. He hoped that Garth would stay with him here and help him with his plans.

Illusiveone · Feb 18, 2024

Jason and Garth finally had a moment to talk after things had calmed down. The only problem left to deal with was the news of small bands of Dothraki roaming around villages beyond the city. Jason had a plan for dealing with that, but first, he had to convince Garth to stay.

Jason and Garth walked to the bank of the Skahazadhan. The people they passed on their way there bowed to Jason.

"You're starting to like it, aren't you?"

"Like what?" Jason feigned ignorance, though a smile crept onto his face.

"That," Garth gestured towards another couple that bowed as they walked past. "The reverence, the admiration."

"I guess I am," he admitted, his gaze lingering on the clear waters of the river.

"Where I came from, I was just another guy. Nothing special. But here... it's different. There's something about being seen as something more."

"I guess I now know how the famous people back home feel," Jason added.

Garth sighed. "Well, just don't let it go to your head. Remember, Jason, with great power comes great responsibility," Garth said seriously.

Jason let out a bellowing laugh. He had to stop and steady himself as he laughed uncontrollably.

"What… What's so funny? I was being serious, Jason," Garth said, confused by his friend's actions.

Jason continued laughing. "I'm sorry, but I can't believe you said that," he said through the laughter.

"What did I say?" Garth asked.

"Nothing. You wouldn't get it."

"Let's go to that spot over there," Jason said, recovering from the laughs and pointing to a large tree by the river.

Garth shook his head and followed Jason, who still kept laughing, much to Garth's annoyance.

"Look at that," Jason said, pointing to some children playing near the river. They saw him and cheered and waved.

Jason waved back.

He then used his powers to manipulate the water from the river, forming small orbs that floated towards the children, eliciting gasps of delight and laughter from the young ones. The orbs danced around them before gently splashing back into the river, leaving the children clamoring for more.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Jason asked Garth, who was observing him.

Garth took a deep breath.

"Ever since you used that ability on me, I've noticed changes," Garth began.

"I feel... sharper, more perceptive. Learning comes easier to me now, and I can process thoughts and actions at a speed I never thought possible."

Jason listened intently.

"So, you believe the memory extraction has somehow enhanced you?" he asked.

Garth nodded. "Yes, it's like my senses have been heightened. And not just my mind. My entire being feels more attuned."

"So, I didn't do the memory extraction on you. I did something…"

"New," Garth said, interrupting.

Jason paused, considering the implications. "If what you're saying is true, then I can enhance people. That's incredible."

"And dangerous," Garth added.

"Yes, dangerous. I'd rather find a way to pass on skills than enhance a person," Jason muttered.

"Pass on skills? Why?" Garth asked.

"Ah, I'll tell you that later, but I also have something important to ask you," Jason said, looking at Garth with a serious expression.

"Garth, I've been thinking," Jason started. "This place... it's grown on me. I think we could do some real good here."

"Are you saying…"

"Yes, I wish to stay here," Jason admitted.

"Why? I thought we could continue our journey after a few weeks," Garth asked.

"Think about how much good we could do here, Garth," Jason argued.

"Oh please, Jason, like I'm going to believe that's the only reason for your decision," Garth retorted.

"Ok, fine, I admit it. Yes, the idea of being treated like royalty is appealing. I like it. Think about it, Garth. We could create something new here. We can protect these people. Isn't that worth staying for?"

Garth, however, wasn't easily swayed. "Jason, you're talking about a monumental task. We're strangers in a strange land, and you more than me. You can't just decide to play lord over these people because they see you as some kind of savior."

Jason sighed, realizing he needed to approach this differently. "Garth, you've seen what I can do. You've seen the difference we've already made. I'm asking you, as my friend, to help me. Think of the good we can do together."

"Is't that your duties as a maester. Look at those children Garth how long do you think they are taken away by another raid or their parents"

"Think of the lives we can save."

Garth was silent for a while, he looked out over at the river, watching the children play with the water orbs Jason had created.

Jason could see his words taking effect it was a good thing he saw the children here.

"Alright, Jason," Garth finally said, turning back to face him. "I'll stay, but I don't think you know what you're getting into."

A broad smile broke out on Jason's face, relief and gratitude mingling in his expression. "Thank you, Garth. And don't worry about it. I mean, how hard can it be?"

Jason had taken residence in one of the city's grander abodes—a small mansion that once belonged to a wealthy merchant.

As he explored the house, he was impressed. A mansion like this could only belong to someone immensely wealthy; the view was amazing as well, allowing him to see the entire city since the mansion was built on the side of the mountain that loomed over the city.

Walking around the house, he realized the only sounds he could hear were his footsteps.

"Can't even hear the sounds from the city anymore," Jason thought.

"What am I doing here?" Jason wondered, confused about his presence in the mansion.

Suddenly, Jason was jolted from his thoughts by a soft, whispering sound. It seemed to beckon him, a barely audible murmur that felt both distant and intimately close.

Intrigued and slightly apprehensive, he followed the sound, which led him to a spacious chamber at the heart of the mansion. Dominating the room was a large, ornate Brazier, ablaze with a roaring fire that cast dancing shadows on the walls.

He slowly approached, realizing he did not remember a room like this in the mansion.

The whispering grew louder and clearer.

"I see you," the voice hissed.

Jason stumbled backward, his heart racing. The voice, ethereal and disembodied, filled him with dread.

He woke up gasping for breath in his bed, the morning sun casting a soft glow through the windows of his room.

Laying in the soft bed for a moment, he tried to steady his racing heart.

"It was just a dream," he thought.

It was a dream unlike any he had ever experienced before. It left him with an unsettling feeling, a sense of being watched even after he woke up.

Jason walked outside the mansion to the courtyard, where the cool morning air brushed against his skin as he watched the sunrise.

He sensed movement to his side and was surprised to see two young women approaching him. Their eyes widened as they realized he was looking at them.

"Can I help you?" Jason asked.

"We were sent by lady Irina to serve you," one of the girls explained as they bowed to him.

"Alright, I suppose I could use some help," Jason conceded, deciding to accept their offer. It was a big house; someone had to look after it.

"Could one of you fetch me the swords I have inside the house?" Jason asked, remembering something he had been planning to do today.

Without hesitation, they scurried off to fulfill his request, returning moments later with the swords in hand.

"Thank you," he said, levitating the swords from their hands. They gasped at this show of power.

"Oh, how rude of me. What are your names?" Jason asked, realizing he had not yet asked for their names.

"Cyra," the girl with fair skin and brown eyes answered.

"Dara," the girl with olive skin and black eyes responded.

"Well, Cyra, Dara, thank you for helping me. Why don't you get me something to eat?"

Cyra and Dara nodded eagerly. Jason couldn't help but feel a twinge of discomfort at the way they looked at him; it was the same look the woman who sent them here gave him. They quickly made their way into the mansion.

Alone again in the quiet of the courtyard, Jason turned his attention back to the swords. He held them up, examining them closely. Levitating them again, he concentrated and tapped into his ability to manipulate matter.

The metal began to soften and became malleable; the swords had now lost all form as they began to merge together into a single entity. The process was silent, almost serene. Metal flowed like water under Jason's will, and within moments, the transformation was complete. In his hands, he now held a single, beautifully crafted spear.

"Ha ha, it worked!" he shouted in triumph.

He admired the spear as the light of the rising sun reflected off its surface.

"I should add some patterns to it; it would make it look cooler," Jason thought.

He saw Dara and Cyra returning with a tray laden with food.

He could get used to this: a large mansion, servants at his beck and call, and powers that defied the laws of nature.

They set down the tray of food before him.

"Thank you, both of you. This looks delicious," Jason said, offering them a smile to put them at ease. They smiled back and took a respectful step back, waiting to see if he needed anything else.

As he was eating, he saw Garth and Cregan approaching.

"Ah, just on time," Jason shouted out.

Jason gestured towards the freshly prepared food laid out on the table. "Please, join me. There's plenty for everyone," he encouraged.

Garth and Cregan exchanged a look before taking their seats and joined Jason for breakfast.

"So, about this army you're planning to build," Garth started.

"What's your plan?" he added.

"Aye, I'm curious too. You told me you have a way to turn these men into masters of the sword in minutes," Cregan asked.

"Wait, minutes! Jason, you can't mean..." Garth said with a look of shock on his face.

Jason nodded, a serious look on his face. "Yes, that is exactly what I mean to do."

"Are you not the man who agreed with me yesterday that it was too dangerous?" Garth said, standing up and getting angrier as he spoke.

"Calm down, Garth, you haven't heard the whole thing yet," Jason said, trying to calm his friend down.

Cregan was confused by the whole interaction; he simply kept eating and waited to see where all this was going.

"Garth, I understand your worries, but I've thought this through. I intend to transfer only my skills with weapons. It's more of a skill share than an enhancement."

Garth, still skeptical, sat back down. "And you're sure this can be done without the... side effects I experienced?"

Jason nodded confidently.

Cregan, who had been quietly listening, chimed in, "Have you found any volunteers yet?"

Jason smiled. "Actually, yes. I've asked someone to help gather some willing participants."

"And who might that be?" Garth inquired.

"Irina," Jason replied.

"Of course, it's her," Garth said, looking annoyed.

"What? What's wrong?" Jason asked.

"She is dangerous, Jason. Do you know what she has been spouting to the people of the city?"

"Irina dangerous?" Jason began laughing. "Yeah, she can be a bit creepy with the staring, but she has been a great help."

"Look at this mansion; she's the one who pointed it out to me. She even sent me those two," Jason said, pointing to Dara and Cyra.

Garth was about to say something when Jason spotted Irina approaching with ten men following behind her.

"Ah, there she is," Jason said, standing up.

"I have done as you requested, great one," Irina said, bowing her head. The others did as well.

Jason observed the ten men Irina had brought before him.

Turning to Irina, he offered a genuine smile. "Thank you, Irina."

Irina beamed at the acknowledgment. She sent a smug smile Garth's way, to which he responded with a glare.

"Let's see who we have here," Jason said, motioning for the first man to step forward. A man younger than him stepped forward.

"Your name?" Jason asked, his tone friendly to ease the man's nerves.

"My name is Anoush great one," the man replied.

"Anoush, that is a nice name," Jason complimented.

"You are all to be granted a gift, and Anoush here will be the first," Jason said, looking at the ten men.

"Don't be afraid," Jason said as he took Anoush's hands.

Jason closed his eyes, focusing on the knowledge and skills he intended to share. After a moment, Jason released Anoush's hands.

"Test him," Jason said, turning to Cregan.

Cregan, with a curious glance at Jason, nodded and stepped forward, drawing his sword. "Alright, Anoush, let's see what you've got." he said.

Jason gave Anoush a sword. He hesitated for a moment before instinctively grabbing it.

Cregan launched a series of controlled attacks, each designed to test Anoush. To everyone's astonishment, Anoush parried and countered with the skill of a seasoned swordsman. His movements were fluid, precise, and executed with confidence.

After a few minutes of sparring, Cregan stepped back, sheathing his sword with a grin. "Well, I'll be damned. He's as good as any trained soldier."

"Well, who's next?" Jason said, looking at the remaining nine.

Illusiveone · Feb 21, 2024

Essos three months after Jason's Arrival
It is 277 AC in Westeros

Illusiveone · Feb 25, 2024

Bharbo was one of the many sons of Khal Jhoggo, who led one of the largest Khalasars in the Dothraki Sea.

His father was a skilled rider and a fearsome warrior.He possessed a keen understanding of the complex dynamics that governed the Dothraki. It was his father's ambition to unite all the Khalasars in the Dothraki Sea to become a Khal who ruled over other Khals.

It was this ambition that led him to attack Khal Tenmo; it was supposed to be the first of many his father had planned to fulfill his ambition.

Their victory was swift and brutal, doubling the size of their Khalasar and laying waste to Tenmo's forces.

Then his father led a great raid against one of the three cities of the Lamb Men as a demonstration of his power and dominance and also to assert his rule . It was all supposed to be the start of glorious conquests that would end with his father as the Khal of all the Dothraki.

We reveled in our triumph and planned to scour the lands, pillaging villages and enslaving the weak lamb men.

Then it happened. Bharbo was not present in the camp that night; he would piece together the night's horrors from the accounts of the terrified survivors.

A single man had destroyed everything his father had built. A Maegi, the survivors began calling the Dark One.

They say spears rained down from the sky, striking and killing everyone in sight. They claimed his father bravely fought the Maegi and was even close to defeating him, but the Maegi had struck him down with his tricks.

Bharbo was able to rally some of the survivors of his father's once mighty Khalasar; many had split into smaller hordes and were raiding the lands. Some cowards had even fled, calling these lands cursed.

Bharbo swore vengeance against the Dark One. He was going to build a Khalasar that would surpass his father's and make war against the trickster Maegi, take his powers, and finally fulfill his father's dream of being the Khal of all the Dothraki.

******

As dawn approached, a thick mist shrouded the landscape. Bharbo, mounted on his horse with his bloodriders by his side, surveyed the area.

"This is the largest village in the region," Aggo, his oldest friend and chief bloodrider, noted.

"Capture as many as you can alive; we need more slaves," Bharbo commanded.

"But what of the Dark One? If the rumors are true, he is heading this way," Qarro, the youngest bloodrider, inquired.

'He was right' Bharbo thought.

Some of the warriors who had recently joined his Khalasar had spoken of the Dark One's rampage; they said he was following the river down to Hesh and slaying any Dothraki he encountered.The very mention of him filled Bharbo with rage.

Bharbo turned to Qarro with a stern look.

"This Maegi, he bleeds like any other man. I will kill him myself should he dare to face us," Bharbo declared, his intense gaze silencing Qarro.

"Your father was a great Khal, and you are destined to surpass him, Bharbo," another bloodrider proclaimed, affirming his loyalty.

"Prepare the men. We ride at dawn. And if the Dark One comes. I will greet him with my blade," Bharbo announced, earning the cheers of his bloodriders.

*****

As the first light of dawn broke through the horizon, Bharbo led his raiding party through the thick mist. The village was in sight, its inhabitants still wrapped in the false safety of their dreams. With a thunderous roar, Bharbo signaled the attack, and like a tempest unleashed, the Dothraki descended upon the village. Bharbo led the charge with his arakh raised high.

To Bharbo, the chaos was a symphony, each cry of terror and clash of steel a note that stirred his blood. The thrill of the hunt, the exhilaration of combat—it was in these moments that he felt most alive.

He reveled in the destruction, and with a smile playing on his lips, his arakh cut through the air, finding its mark again and again.

The villagers were no match for them. He watched with satisfaction as his men rounded up the survivors; they would make good slaves for his expanding Khalasar.

Bharbo quickly turned towards the direction from which he had heard something—a strange, unfamiliar sound that seemed out of place on the battlefield, leaving him momentarily puzzled. He couldn't identify its source or purpose until he saw one of his warriors in the distance suddenly collapse to the ground.

It was then he saw it amidst the chaos and the clamor of battle: a spear slicing through the fog with unnatural precision.

Bharbo's eyes widened in shock as the spear found its mark, impaling one of his bloodriders. But the horror did not end there; the spear continued its deadly dance, moving of its own accord, striking down his men with ruthless efficiency.

Panic began to spread among his men as they tried to defend against the unseen terror.

"He is here," Bharbo said in a low voice.

Aggo rode near him, an expression of fear etched on his face. "The Dark One," he said, echoing Bharbo's realization.

"We have to retreat," Aggo finally found his voice.

But Bharbo had no plans to do that. His heart surged with wild, dark joy. He would face the cowardly Maegi right here and avenge his father.

He saw the spear turn towards him, its tip gleaming menacingly in the dim light. In a split second, Aggo acted, pushing Bharbo out of the path of the deadly projectile.

Bharbo hit the ground hard, his breath knocked out of him. As he looked up, he saw Aggo impaled by the spear that was meant for him. Anguish and rage filled Bharbo as he watched his friend fall.

Rising to his feet, his face a mask of vengeful wrath, Bharbo bellowed into the dense mist.

"Maegi! Coward! Face me, if you dare!"

He let out a guttural roar that tore through the mist. The battlefield fell eerily silent for a moment as Bharbo stood tall and defiant, his eyes scanning the shifting fog for any movement.

It was then he saw it. From the depths of the mist, a figure emerged, followed by other shadowy forms. The figure extended a hand, and the spear flew back to it as if called by some dark magic. Bharbo's heart froze as he realized who it was.

He wanted to charge and attack, to fight this Maegi, this Dark One who had brought such devastation upon his people. But before he could move, one of his remaining bloodriders grabbed him, urging him onto a horse.

"We must flee, Khal! We cannot win this battle," the bloodrider urged, panic evident in his voice.

Bharbo's eyes remained fixed on the figure in the mist, the embodiment of his hatred and vengeance. The figure, now holding the spear, began to laugh, a cold, mocking sound that chilled Bharbo to his core.

"No! I will not run like a coward!" Bharbo screamed, his voice filled with fury. But his bloodrider was insistent, pulling him onto a horse. As they retreated, Bharbo's gaze stayed locked on the figure until the mist swallowed him whole.

Vengeance burned within Bharbo as he rode away from the battlefield.

"I will kill you, Maegi," Bharbo swore under his breath, the vow burning in his chest. "This I swear upon the blood of my ancestors."

Jason watched as his troops decisively overpowered the Dothraki warriors. They had used the dense mist to surprise the Dothraki raiders.

Garth was proven right in his predictions, as the hundred men he had used his power to share skills exhibited signs of enhanced capabilities.

Garth, who had monitored these men for a month, noted their transformation into what could only be described as super soldiers.

Their agility, strength, and reflexes surpassed ordinary human limits, every maneuver was executed with unmatched precision and every strike proving fatal.

While Garth was monitoring them, Cregan was putting them through a rigorous training regime. Due to this, they worked together as a cohesive unit.

Garth and Cregan had studied the books I had brought with me, especially the one on military strategies. The hundred were equipped with mostly leather armor now, as metal was in short supply.

They used a spear as their primary weapon; Jason had made them himself so the smiths could focus on the armor. The training Cregan provided, combined with Jason's enhancements, had forged a formidable army.

Jason, leading from the front, bolstered his troops' morale merely by his presence. He used his kinetic powers to turn his spear into a deadly projectile; sometimes, the sixty men he had brought with him didn't even have to fight sometimes.

Cregan shouted orders, his voice booming over the clash of steel. As the last of the Dothraki fell, the battlefield fell silent, save for the labored breaths of the weary yet victorious men.

"Victory is ours!" Cregan's voice thundered across the field, igniting a wave of cheers among the ranks as they celebrated their victory.

"Excellent work," Jason commended, approaching Cregan.

"Aye but you did all the work," Cregan responded, giving Jason a hearty slap on the back.

"Now, where's my spear?" Jason murmured, scanning the vicinity. His gaze locked onto two Dothraki at a distance, eyeing him intently. One of them was glaring at him with intense loathing.

"Looks like we missed some" Cregan said to Jason.

Finding his spear nearby, he launched it at the Dothraki glaring at him, but he was pushed away, and the spear struck the other one.

"Maegi! Coward! Face me, if you dare!" he heard the surviving Dothraki shout.

"This is a brave one," he said to Cregan.

Jason walked towards the man with his personal guard following him. Sensing an opportunity to look as menacing as possible, he summoned his spear to him with a dramatic pose, something he had been practicing a lot to be more intimidating during their campaign along the Skahazadhan.

"Ah, damn it, the spear's covered in blood now," Jason noted, trying to get the blood off his hands.

"That tends to happen when you use it to impale people," Cregan quipped dryly.

As Jason was distracted, the Dothraki was able to escape. Cregan began issuing commands, but Jason halted him.

'He was so confident before,' Jason thought. He let out a laugh, seeing the fleeing Dothraki.

"Let them go. They'll spread the word of what happened here," Jason decided.

"Are you certain?" Cregan inquired.

"Yes," Jason affirmed.

"Allow me to clean the blood off the spear, Great One," offered one of Jason's guards.

The initial ten enhanced men had become his personal guard. Something like his own Kingsguard, as Cregan commented.

"Here," Jason said, giving the spear to the guard he had been calling Sam, since his name was too difficult to pronounce for him. This had started a whole thing with the others, which ended up with him giving names to the rest of them as well.

Sam took the spear from him as if it was the most important thing in the world and sprinted to the river to clean it.

Cregan was watching the whole encounter in amusement, then turned to Jason.

"We should head back; we've ventured farther than intended," Cregan suggested.

"We've secured all the crucial farming villages along the river. Advancing further would lead us to Hesh," he added.

"I agree. Well, you know the drill," Jason ordered, turning to the guard near him, who Jason was sure was the one he named Jim.

"Yes, Great One," Jim responded, before departing. Jason had implemented a strategy of stationing soldiers in key villages. They would be replaced later by new regular soldiers trained by the forty men he had left behind in Kosrak. This approach was designed to maintain the security of these villages and solidify his dominion over the territory.

'Maybe I should change the name of the city,' Jason thought.

'Kosrak sounds weird to me,' he added in his mind.

"Are you sure the ones we left behind will be able to handle any more raids once we leave?" Jason asked.

"Yes, more than enough. I am half tempted to have you do the same to me," Cregan said.

"I can do that if you want," Jason offered.

Cregan shook his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Tempting as it might be, I'd rather stay as I am till I die."

"I'd rather have you make more of them," Cregan said, pointing to the men helping around the village.

"Oh, no, I'm not going through that again. The hundred will train others in the normal way," Jason said, quickly dismissing the idea.

Cregan let out a booming laugh.

"You are laughing. I was out of commission for a month, and you are laughing," Jason said in a joking tone.

"Well, it was a good thing, as it gave me more time to instill some discipline in the hundred, and Garth had the opportunity to conduct his studies on them," Cregan explained.

Jason had begun enhancing the people Irina brought to him after the first ten were successful. Even Garth, who was hesitant about the whole thing, had decided to select people himself as Jason reached the fortieth man.

As he reached the sixtieth person, he began to feel weak, yet he persevered, determined to enhance at least a hundred. Upon enhancing the hundredth individual, he was on the brink of collapse.

The following morning, he found himself unable to rise from his bed, as if paralyzed, his head throbbing as though he had a thousand hangovers at the same time.

It took a full month for Jason to recover completely. Garth had theorized that his condition was caused by overusing the ability.

Jason had operated under the assumption that this power was devoid of the drawbacks associated with his other abilities; it was something he found out the hard way.

His thoughts were interrupted by a woman approaching; she was one of the five women Irina had sent with him. They had been a great help in calming the populace of the villages they had passed through.

Whenever they reached a major village or town, one of them would ask to stay behind, and now, Jason assumed, as the last of the women remaining, she was here for his permission to stay as well.

The woman bowed to him and was about to speak, but he interrupted before she could say a word.

"Let me guess, you wish to stay?" Jason asked.

Her eyes went wide and she gave a silent nod.

"You have my permission. Help these people any way you can," he said, offering her a supportive look.

"Thank you, great one. This one will not fail you," she said as she bowed deeply once more and backed away from him.

'I really have to talk to Irina when I get back,' thought Jason. He knew of the cult that had formed around him and seeing how fast it was spreading alarmed him a bit.

"I am going to lay down by the river and watch the sunrise," Jason said as he left Cregan to coordinate their return.

He found a nice place beneath a tree and watched the sunrise over a now mostly peaceful land.

Illusiveone · Mar 3, 2024

Asshai

Quaithe's steps echoed through the empty streets of Asshai. She was no stranger to the city's eerie silence, but in the wake of recent events, the silence offered a comforting assurance of safety.

Quaithe was a shadowbinder. Asshai was home to many like her, as the city had always been a sanctuary for those who delved into the dark arts. Ancient beyond measure, some believed Asshai was there at the dawn of creation, while others whispered it was the capital of a long-forgotten empire.

The dark arts were a perilous path, one that Quaithe had walked with utmost caution. Yet, nothing could have prepared her, or the city's inhabitants, for the horrors unleashed in recent months.

Shadows, once subdued servants of Asshai's shadowbinders, had escaped their master's control to roam freely. The initial onslaught claimed many lives; novice shadowbinders were no match for the unleashed demons.

She, alongside others, managed to fend them off, yet many shadows still roamed, killing indiscriminately. The city had fallen; It was something she never imagined she would witness in her lifetime.

She knew of a ship that was supposed to arrive here in a few months. She and five others had planned to get out of the city on that ship, but now she was the sole survivor. Two had fallen to the shadows, while the remaining three had been swayed by a newly formed cult to journey to the city of Stygai.

She had heard rumors of happenings in the city of Stygai; they were very disturbing, to say the least. Many had left upstream along the Ash to join their ranks.

Her musings were abruptly cut short by a piercing shriek, causing her to stumble against a wall nearby.

"A shadow is nearby," she thought looking at the oily black stone most of the city was built with.

They were getting stronger, but thankfully, they were not able to leave the city. To her shame, she did not know the reason. The last few months had been a humbling experience for her, as she learned the true extent of the power of the shadows and the dark arts she had dedicated her life to mastering.

She navigated through the labyrinthine alleyways, taking a detour to the docks. She stopped suddenly as she felt a shadow stalking her. It was not long before it made its move, a formless entity lunging towards her with a chilling screech.

Quaithe quickly conjured a protective aura around herself, a skill only mastered by the most adept shadowbinders. The shadow recoiled as if burned and retreated. Steadying her breath, she pressed on.

She emerged from the maze of alleyways; the docks came into view. The ship that awaited her was a modest vessel. The crew, visibly terrified and confused, were prepared to depart.

She approached the ship and, without a backward glance at the city, she boarded it.

"We must leave quickly," she told the captain.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice trembling.

"We have to leave now, lest the shadows consume us all," she replied sharply.

The captain quickly nodded, understanding the urgency in her tone. He barked orders to his crew, who scrambled to prepare the ship for immediate departure.

Standing on the deck, Quaithe watched Asshai shrink into the distance. The city's ominous silhouette, with its towering black spires, seemed to dissolve into the darkness it was born from.

She wanted to find the source of all this chaos; she wanted to find who or what caused this small resurgence of magic, and she knew exactly where to start.

The five forts

The five forts were colossal structures of ancient and mysterious origin. It was manned by soldiers who guarded the lands of yi ti from the dangers from the Shrykes and beyond, into the ominous expanse known as the Grey Wastes.

Lately, the men in these forts have been on edge due to reports of sightings of beings that seemed neither alive nor dead; the undead, some claimed, had risen. Initially dismissed as the exaggerated tales of weary soldiers, these sightings soon became too frequent and too consistent to ignore.

When a large group of men were sent to investigate, only five returned alive, telling tales of necromancers and an army of the undead.

This forced the commanders of the five forts to hold an urgent meeting, a rarity that had not occurred in centuries, not since the War of the Six Emperors.

Five men sat at a round table: Commander Liang Wei of the First Fort, known for his strategic acumen; Zhang Jie, the stoic and resolute commander of the Second Fort; Commander Huo Guang, the youngest of the commanders but renowned for his bravery, of the Third Fort; Wang Feng, the wise and composed commander of the Fourth Fort; and finally, Commander Zhao Ming, the veteran leader of the Fifth Fort, known for his decades of service.

The meeting was tense, with each commander sharing their reports of the eerie sightings and the disturbing news trickling in from the scouts and patrols in the Grey Wastes. The descriptions of the undead-like beings were eerily similar across the accounts: lifeless eyes, decaying flesh, and a great violence when the living were nearby.

After much deliberation, it was decided that the gravity of the situation warranted immediate attention from the highest authority in the land—the imperial court of Yi Ti.

A delegation was selected from all forts for the mission to the imperial court. Among them were messengers, scholars, and a few seasoned warriors, each chosen for their unique skills. As they were leaving, Commander Zhao Ming addressed the group.

"What you bear is not just a message, but the safety of our empire in your hands. The sightings of these undead beings from the Grey Wastes could herald a threat unlike any our empire has faced. You must reach the imperial court with all haste and deliver our report to the Emperor's advisors."

The delegation saluted and set out on their mission, understanding the full weight of the responsibility they carried.

Volantis

Inside a small room in the Temple of the Lord of Light in Volantis, Melisandre sat in prayer, seeking guidance from the Lord of Light.

For months, the priests and priestesses of R'hllor had been receiving visions, but only a few had been able to make sense of them. Some claimed R'hllor was trying to warn them; others claimed he was guiding them towards something. There were even some heretics who claimed it wasn't R'hllor sending them visions, but the Great Other.

This had caused a great rift between the followers of R'hllor, many factions had been formed and the temple was always in some form of discord.

She had been praying to her lord for a clearer vision that would illuminate the path the Lord of Light wished her to follow.

She gazed into the flickering flames dancing wildly before her. Melisandre focused her gaze into the heart of the fire, letting the world around her fade away.

Then she saw it: the Lord of Light had answered her prayers. The vision was vivid, more so than any she had received in recent months.

A golden man with a spear appeared, his presence commanding and powerful. The vision changed, now showing the man freeing people from shackles. It changed again, showing the golden man taming a wild stallion with ease. The next vision shook Melisandre to her core; it was the golden man again, but this time he was fighting against the cold that sought to devour the world.

As the images faded, Melisandre sat back, her mind racing with questions.

Was the golden man a champion chosen by R'hllor to lead the fight against the darkness? Had R'hllor showed her Azor Ahai.

Or was her lord warning them of a rival, one that could challenge him?

Conflicted, Melisandre went to share the news with the high priest, hoping he could offer her some insight into the visions.

Beyond the Wall

Brynden was in the lands of Always Winter he had never been able to come here but ever since the surge in magic eight months ago he had been growing in power as well. It was his first attempt coming here, as his companions had warned him not to do it.

He walked upon the snow that never melted, under a sky devoid of warmth.The world around him was an endless white wasteland where life dared not whisper. Ice formations, towering like ancient, frozen sentinels, pierced the skyline, their surfaces shimmering under the light of the moon.

As Brynden ventured deeper into this frozen abyss, the air grew colder, a cold that seeped into his bones, a reminder of the unnatural force that held dominion here.

Then he saw him, sitting on a throne of ice: the Night King. His armor was like the night sky, adorned with frost that sparkled like stars. His skin was as pale as the moon, and his eyes, deep blue, were glaring at him.

The Night King raised a hand, and the wind howled louder. He began panicking as the Night King stood up from his throne and walked towards him. Suddenly, he was pulled from his vision, his heart racing in his chest. He was back in the cave, the ancient weirwood roots embracing him.

He saw Leaf looking at him with a grave expression.

"What did you see?" she asked.

"The Night King," Brynden replied. "He grows stronger. It's too soon."

Leaf nodded, a somber expression on her face. "Something has arrived in this world, something that has upset its balance."

"What?" Brynden asked.

"I do not know, but I think we shall find out soon," she said.

Brynden closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. The battle for the dawn was near. He hoped that whatever had come to this world would be an ally to the living.

Jason reclined in the chair, the courtyard of his mansion offering a perfect vantage point to watch the sunset. He felt the cool air brush against him as he watched the sun disappear over the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange, pink, and gold.

The sound of footsteps interrupted his thoughts as he saw Cyra and Dara approaching. They were bringing him the food he had asked for. He had found that there was a dish similar to shawarma here, so he had asked them to prepare it, with some changes, of course.

"You've outdone yourselves. This is fantastic," he praised, drawing bright smiles from Cyra and Dara.

Jason returned his gaze to the sunset. Everything was going according to his plans.The city and the lands under him were at peace; his rule was solidifying, and the people served his every need.

"This is the life," Jason said, taking another bite and enjoying the beautiful sunset.

Illusiveone · Mar 9, 2024

Zahir was a humble blacksmith from a fairly large village near the city of Hesh. He and his family—his father and younger brother—came from a long line of blacksmiths.

His mother had died when he was young, and it was his father who raised them. He had known how to work a forge since he was a child. He enjoyed working the forge; the Great Shepherd guided their hands, and they were the most sought-after blacksmiths in the region.

Zahir was an ardent follower of the Great Shepherd and led a life of pacifism, a trait he inherited from his father. His brother was not as faithful as he and his father were, but still would regularly pray with them.

He knew life in Lhazar was perilous. They were peaceful people, and that pacifism had been exploited by the Dothraki. Though he had not witnessed a raid in his lifetime, he was always suspicious that his mother had died or was captured in one.

It was a day like any other that Zahir and his brother Darab set off for Hesh. They were traveling there to buy supplies. His father would travel there every six months or so for buying valuable ores and other tools; this time, he had entrusted them to do it alone.

They bade farewell to their father and set off. In Hesh, they learned of the coming Dothraki threat. They heard rumors of villages along the river being raided. Zahir decided to return home immediately. To their horror, they saw their village in flames; it had been raided by the Dothraki. They rushed to their home to find their father.

Darab had found him lying lifeless in the street. Zahir stood there, staring at his brother clutching their father's body. He did not know what to do; his life was turned upside down.

Life went on after that, just as it did in Lhazar. Raids were a part of life, his father had told him; they had to move on.

Grief filled him during these dark times. Zahir found solace in the teachings of the Great Shepherd. He took advice from Godswives.

Forgiveness, they preached, was the path through which peace could be reclaimed. It was a bitter pill, yet Zahir forced himself to swallow it, his faith the only light in the engulfing darkness.

His brother's reaction, however, was a stark contrast to his own. Anger consumed him; his already waning faith in the Great Shepherd shattered. He relentlessly began to question their beliefs.

"How could the Great Shepherd allow this? Where was his protection when our father needed it the most?" he raged.

"Darab," he scolded.

"No, brother. The Shepherd is a weak god; he is not worthy of our worship if he cannot protect his flock," Darab retorted bitterly.

The rift between them grew over the years. Zahir became more devoted to the great shepard and this enraged Darab. Zahit tried to get his brother to understand the teaching of their god but they fell on deaf ears. His brother's heart had hardened; there was only hate vengeance there now.

The village was left a husk of its former self after the raid; survivors like Zahir had to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives and start over again. Just like many others in Lhazar, over time, they rebuilt and survived.

Three years later, the village had almost returned to its former self; peace had once again returned. His brother was speaking to him but was still adamant about his opinion on their god. However, Zahir still tried, but that always led to heated arguments.

Zahir was preparing to leave for the city of Hesh to buy more supplies; there had been rumors of Dothraki again that had put the villagers on edge.

"Brother, perhaps it's wiser to delay your journey to Hesh," Darab suggested.

"I have delayed long enough, brother," Zahir responded.

"The Great Shepherd will watch over me," he added.

"Yes, like he watched over our father," Darab retorted, his voice tinged with bitterness.

Zahir stayed silent, knowing responding would only lead to an argument.

"At least take this with you," Darab said, offering something covered in cloth. He unfurled it to reveal a sword.

"Where did you get that from?" Zahir asked, his anger rising.

"I forged it myself," Darab declared, pride evident in his stance.

"So that's why there was a shortage in the supply of iron," Zahir observed dryly.

"Please brother, take it with you. For protection." Darab pleaded.

Zahir's anger flared at the sight of the sword, a symbol of violence.

"This goes against everything we believe in, Darab. How could you?" he asked, disappointment lacing his voice.

"No, brother, only your beliefs," Darab fired back.

"We will talk about this when I return," Zahir said, leaving the house.

Zahir arrived in Hesh without any trouble. After securing his cart and horse, he went to the markets to get the supplies. It was in the market that he heard startling news.

"You headed to Kosrak?" the shopkeeper asked the merchant who was buying a lot of products.

"Yes," the merchant replied.

"Are you mad? I heard Jhoggo is planning to attack the city," the shopkeeper claimed.

"Ha, it seems you are behind on the news, my friend," the merchant said with a smile.

"Has Jhoggo sacked the city?" Zahir asked, interrupting their conversation.

"I heard that he did," the merchant replied. Zahir felt great sadness for the people of Kosrak, but then the merchant continued.

"But it seems fate had other plans. Jhoggo's Khalasar has been defeated," the merchant added.

"How? By what army?" the shopkeeper asked in disbelief.

"Not by an army," the merchant said, leaning in as if sharing a secret.

"But by one man."

Zahir's heart skipped a beat. "One man?" he repeated.

"Yes, they say he is a powerful sorcerer. Some even claim he is a god."

"The road to Kosrak is still dangerous, but I am willing to take the risk," the merchant said, leaving with a cart full of goods.

The shopkeeper shook his head in disbelief. Zahir's expression mirrored his.

Buying more than he usually did, Zahir left the city and it took him a while to travel back to the village as his cart kept breaking down.

What awaited him there was a scene he still had nightmares about. His heart dropped when he saw smoke over the horizon.

"No, nooo!" Zahir yelled, leaving his cart and running towards the village.

He ran to his house, not caring for anything else; images of his father's lifeless body filled his mind.

"Darab... DARAB..." he shouted. Zahir's voice cracked with desperation as he burst into his home. It was then he realized that his house was not damaged. He walked outside; only a few houses nearby had small signs of damage.

'Was this not because of a raid?' he thought.

"ZAHIR!" he heard his brother's voice. Darab was running towards him.

"You won't believe what happened," Darab exclaimed.

Zahir's heart, still racing from fear, began to slow as he took in his brother's unharmed appearance. "What happened, Darab? I thought... I feared the worst."

Darab grabbed his shoulders, his eyes wide with wonder. "It was incredible, Zahir. The village was attacked, yes, but we were saved."

"Come with me. I will take you to see her," Darab said, leading his brother away.

"Who saved the village, and who is 'her'?" Zahir asked.

"You'll see. It was a miracle, Zahir. I didn't see it, as I was hiding in the house, but many saw him defeating the Dothraki," Darab said.

Zahir, still trying to process, allowed himself to be pulled along. He could see that the village was barely harmed and only one house had been burned to the ground.

They stopped in front of a woman who stood confidently, her presence demanding attention. Flanking her were two individuals, their stances alert and watchful. Zahir's gaze lingered on them, noting their unusual demeanor.

"Brother, this is Mariam. She's a priestess of the god who saved us," Darab introduced with reverence.

Zahir looked at Mariam, skepticism etched across his face. "A god? Saved you? How?"

Mariam stepped forward. "Greetings, Zahir. Your brother has told us all about you. Your help will be needed for the village's recovery.

"Your village was on the brink of destruction, but our god, the Liberator, intervened. By his divine will,your village was saved; he left us here for further protection."

Zahir's eyes went to the two men flanking her.

"They are his champions, blessed with his strength," Mariam explained.

"It's true, brother. They have the strength of a hundred men," Darab chimed in.

Zahir turned back to Mariam. "And now? What happens now?"

"We will wait for further men to arrive. The Liberator has decreed all villages to have a small defense force,"

"This is just the beginning, soon all of Lhazar will be under the eternal protection of our God" she declared.

Everything changed after that day. His brother and others became ardent followers of this new god.His brother and many of his friends had urged him to join them to hear Mariam preach, but he had refused. He believed no one would turn their back on the Great Shepherd—how wrong he was. In a few months, he had become part of a small contingent of people who still followed the old ways. Yes, they called it "the old ways" now.

He walked through the village, observing the changes over the past few months. He passed by the small temple dedicated to the Great Shepherd at the edge of the village and noticed a small group still gathered there— a few loyal followers of the Great Shepherd who had not abandoned their faith.

More armored men arrived in the following months, fulfilling the promise of protection for the new god.As he arrived at the center of the village he saw Mariam preaching to some newcomers from a neighboring village.

"Our god, the Liberator, has shown His might. He has delivered us from the Dothraki when the Shepherd did nothing. Embrace His strength, and you shall know peace," Mariam proclaimed.

"Those who cling to the past, to a god who has forsaken them, will find themselves left behind. Our god offers protection and strength. The Shepherd offers only silence."

Zahir could not contain himself anymore; he stepped forward. "The Great Shepherd teaches us peace, forgiveness, and love. Your god teaches only violence," he declared.

A murmur ran through the crowd, some nodding in agreement with Zahir, while others looked to Mariam for reassurance.

Mariam smiled, a cold, calculated expression. "Violence? No, Zahir. It is not violence we spread, but hope. Hope for a future free from the terror of the Dothraki. Our god has proven Himself. What has the Shepherd done for you? Your father is dead, and your brother would have joined him if the Great One had not intervened."

His anger only increased when she mentioned his father and brother.

Zahir looked around at the faces in the crowd,some glared at him, some looked afraid . They had decided to embrace this new god of violence.He realized there was no use in arguing further he was alone.

His brother now seemed a stranger to him, drawn into the fold of the new religion. He attended Mariam's sermons daily. Their conversations became fewer and strained. Conversations at home now served as battlegrounds where words clashed more fiercely than swords. His brother echoed the woman's teachings with a zeal that brooked no dissent.

"Our god has shown His power, His willingness to protect us. What has the Great Shepherd done?"

"The Great Shepherd teaches us compassion, Darab. To forgive, to love, to find peace. Does this new god of yours teach the same?"

"Peace? Love? Where was that peace when the Dothraki attacked? No, brother, this god, our god, He fights for us. He protects us. That is the truth you refuse to see," Darab replied, his voice rising with each word.

"Darab, please, remember father, everything he taught us. He believed in the Great Shepherd, in His guidance."

"Times have changed, Zahir. Our father... he didn't live to see the Liberator's might. We have. I have. And I choose to stand with Him."

The village, too, mirrored this familial divide. Those who embraced the teachings of the new god looked upon Zahir and the few remaining followers of the Great Shepherd with suspicion and veiled hostility. The new faith demanded conformity, and those who resisted found themselves isolated.

The final blow came not from the village at large but from within the walls of his own home. His brother turned against him, coming to him one day to seize the family forge.

Zahir stood in the forge, the heat from the flames unable to protect him from the coldness in his brother's eyes. "You can't do this, Darab. This forge has been in our family for generations," he pleaded.

"It now serves a higher purpose, Zahir. Our new protectors need weapons, and you refuse to forge them. You leave me no choice."

"But to turn against your own brother?" Zahir's voice broke with emotion.

"We are on the path to greatness, under the protection of our new god. You chose to stand against that. You chose this," Darab countered, his voice devoid of the warmth it once held.

Zahir was dragged away from the forge by the men his brother had brought with him. With nowhere to go, he gathered what little he could carry and left the home he had known all his life.

He joined up with others like him, those who had been cast aside for their faith, in the outskirts of the city.

"It seems Hesh is our only hope now," one of them said.

"This might be happening there as well," another added.

And so, they set out, a small caravan of the faithful, seeking refuge in a city that might no longer welcome them. Zahir looked back one last time, the village shrinking in the distance, and wondered if the Great Shepherd was watching over them, guiding them to safety, or if they were now truly alone, adrift in a changing world.

Illusiveone · Mar 17, 2024

In this chapter Garth gives exposition, Jason writes cringe fanfiction, Irina disappoints her god.

Garth was tired, which was strange since he didn't need much sleep or rest since Jason had enhanced him. He had been awake for the past twenty hours, overseeing everything. He followed the flurry of activity as workers removed the last of the furniture and scrolls, moving them out of the room he had been using as his base of operations for the last two years.

After arriving back in the city, having defeated and driven away the Dothraki plaguing the lands, Jason immediately granted him a title and dumped all the responsibilities of running the city and organizing his new fiefs onto Garth. In his opinion, one of the few things Jason was good at, other than making up the most outlandish tales and doing absolutely nothing, was making up grandiose titles.

"Garth, I name you my Grand Vizier," Jason said to him in a hastily assembled ceremony.

"The grand what?" he replied in a low voice.

"As the Grand Vizier, you will be my second in command. You will oversee the daily operations of our city and the territories under our control," Jason explained.

"What a great honor," Garth responded with a forced smile.

He then proceeded to name Irina as the Arch Priestess and Cregan as the Supreme Commander. His 'friend' had seemingly dumped all the responsibilities on them and retreated to his mansion.

Garth took his role seriously; he quickly gathered the small group of students he had been teaching to help him run the city; he also found help with what was left of the city's leadership. Together, they had steered the city and its surrounding lands through a year of rapid change and growth, all while dealing with Jason's detached approach to leadership, Irina's zealous religious activities, and Cregan's demands for military resources.

Garth had meticulously set about organizing the hierarchy of governance for the expanding territory. Jason occasionally chimed in, providing titles for various positions, much to Garth's annoyance. He sometimes wondered if Jason had a list of titles lying around, given their grandiose nature.

Jason created the title of 'Nomarchs' for the leaders of the newly integrated villages. Aware of Irina's growing influence in the religious and cultural spheres of the villages, Garth ensured he himself selected Nomarchs for the largest and most influential villages, securing their loyalty to him.

His selections were calculated to balance Irina's influence as religious fervor was sweeping through the populace. Jason, while seemingly detached, was not ignorant of the potential issues that the new religion could cause. He had created a set of rules for her to follow, most of them taken from faiths from his world; he was also filling her head with stories about him, something Jason had confessed to him were just popular stories from his home.

Garth was also in the process of establishing a network of informants to keep a watchful eye on any religious persecutions or extreme zealotry that might destabilize their fledgling realm. So far, he had not received any news of any incidents, something he was getting suspicious about.

Jason didn't remain idle for long, as about a year ago, his powers had grown enough that he could shape the earth using his powers on a large scale. He remembered a very excited Jason coming to him and telling him of the wonders he was going to make.

"It's going to be great, Garth, and here I thought I was going to be bored," Jason said, shaking Garth with barely contained excitement.

He began modestly, aiding with essential infrastructure to support the growing population. Although Kosrak lacked skilled craftsmen and artisans, Garth discovered that many of the freed slaves from the Dothraki were artisans, craftsmen, and builders with valuable knowledge and skills.

Once liberated, they eagerly contributed to Kosrak's development, Some hailed from the East Yi-Ti and beyond and others from the Free Cities in the West. They were among the first converts to the new religion centered around Jason, whose grand architectural projects only reinforced their faith.

Jason constructed aqueducts to replace the city's deteriorated water system and worked on new irrigation systems and improving the agricultural lands around Kosrak. This improved crop yields and variety, boosting the local economy and food supply. His efforts in reshaping the land for better irrigation and enriching the soil were viewed as miraculous,further entrenching their faith in their new god.

However, about nine months ago, Jason undertook a project that, in Garth's view, was purely a vanity project. Gazing out of the window, his gaze fell on this project: his new home for the foreseeable future.

It was a massive structure carved out of the mountainside, a city within the mountain itself, composed of multiple concentric levels, each encircled by white walls and stacked like steps into the mountain's core.

Each level served a distinct purpose: the lower levels had markets, workshops, and residences for the populace. Those who could had already moved there had started calling Kosrak the old city.

The middle tiers were dedicated to administrative and military functions, housing the offices of the Nomarchs, military barracks, and training grounds. Garth and Cregan had contributed to the design of these tiers, with Jason eagerly asking for their input, much like a child crafting a sandcastle.

The upper levels were reserved for opulent mansions, gardens, and temples but this remained barren for now and would be finished in a few years as Jason had only focused on the more important parts of the mountain city.

Initially Garth considered Lhazar a backwater but was surprised when he saw that it had it's own nobility and vert rich and wealthy merchant class. Many of whom were early converts to Jason's religion; they were already lining up to buy spots for their mansions there.

At the summit there was a palace that served as Jason's residence. Irina, ambitious as ever, proclaimed it the Grand Temple, intending it to be the spiritual center of their new faith. She began transferring her operations to its large, albeit incomplete, halls.

Despite his doubts about the project's extravagance, Garth had to admit the awe it evoked in both residents and visitors.

He was about to leave for the 'Grand Temple,' as it was called, when he saw Cregan enter the room and approach with a sense of urgency.

"Garth, we have some visitors," he said.

"Have another Nomarch come to pay tribute to Jason?" Garth asked dryly.

"No, they claim to be from Hesh."

"Hesh?" Intrigued, Garth followed Cregan to the entrance, where a small delegation stood, their faces etched with anticipation and reverence. They were richly dressed, signifying their elite status in their city. As they spotted Garth, they immediately kneeled, heads bowed low.

"We come from Hesh, Grand Vizier," one of them spoke, his voice trembling. "Our city has renounced the weak guidance of the Great Shepherd and has been enlightened by the teachings of the Great Liberator. We, the council of elders of Hesh, are here to offer the city's service to his divine realm."

Garth's initial surprise turned to irritation, his brows furrowing. "Rise, please. There's no need for kneeling," he said sharply, masking his rising anger at Irina for her lack of communication about her activities in Hesh.

"So, Hesh has renounced the Great Shepherd?" Garth inquired.

"Yes, Grand Vizier," the leader of the delegation replied. "Our people have seen the truth. We seek to formally join the realm of the Great One and serve under his divine guidance."

'Damn you, Irina, why wasn't I informed of this? Is this the same situation in Lhazosh? Should we expect another delegation from there?' Garth thought.

Cregan, who had been silent, spoke up, "Aye, this is great, Garth. I was already preparing for our expansion to the other branch of the Skahazadhan. Hesh could be the perfect base of operations."

Garth sighed and nodded. "Darius," he called to his assistant.

"Yes, Grand Vizier?" Darius responded promptly, stepping forward from behind him.

"Prepare the appropriate lodging for our guests," Garth ordered. He then turned to the delegation, "Your request will be relayed to the Great One," he declared.

The delegation seemed pleased with Garth's response, bowing respectfully. "We thank you, Grand Vizier. We await the Great One's decision and are ready to assist in making the transition as harmonious as possible."

As they departed, Garth turned to Cregan. "Should we expect one from Lhazosh as well? What else has Irina been doing?"

"That is for you to worry about." Cregan said, chuckling. " Inform me if you want some troops moved into Hesh," he added before leaving.

Garth's gaze shifted to the summit of the mountain city where he knew Jason and Irina would be. As he was about to leave, he paused, seeing the approaching form of the two immortals assigned to guard him.

The Immortals were another one of Jason's grandiose titles, this time given to the hundred men he had enhanced. A fitting name, in Garth's opinion; they were truly an unstoppable force.

Their armor, a mix of gold and ebony, glinted in the sunlight, made by Jason himself using his powers. Neither he nor the blacksmiths in the city could figure out what metal it was; the blacksmiths had taken to calling it 'divine metal,' as it was made by Jason himself. Intricate designs swirled across the surface of the armor, creating mesmerizing patterns that seemed to dance and shift with each movement.

It was the helmets they wore that Garth found unnerving, especially the metal masks that hid their faces, molded to resemble Jason's visage. It gave the impression that Jason's gaze was always upon you through the Immortals.

The Immortals themselves had become part of the power struggle between him and Irina. While the Immortals were fanatically loyal to Jason, Irina was the one who had chosen the first of the hundred to be enhanced. Realizing the danger posed by this, he had convinced Jason to let him choose the other half. He had been the one to choose forty-five of them so now most of the Immortals held secondary loyalties to both him and Irina.

Garth made his way to the mountain and eventually reached the summit, where he saw Jason and Irina sitting around a table, surrounded by the first ten immortals, Jason's preferred personal guard. As he approached, he overheard their conversation.

"Select ten and bring them to me," Jason commanded.

"Yes, my lord. I will have them ready by morning," Irina responded.

"This isn't a trivial matter Irina, take your time…. that is unless you already have ten in mind," Jason added.

Garth cleared his throat as he approached, drawing the attention of both Jason and Irina.

"Garth, just the man I wanted to see," Jason exclaimed, standing up to greet him.

"Grand Vizier," Irina acknowledged with a nod, her expression unreadable.

"I heard you talking about selection. You are not planning on enhancing more people, are you?" Garth inquired with concern in his voice.

"Indeed, we are," Jason confirmed, smiling.

"Why?" Garth asked, alarmed.

"We already have the immortals," he added.

"That is the problem, Garth. They are all men. The ten I am going to enhance are women," Jason explained.

"Our lord has already decreed men and women to be equal. Questions about the absence of female immortals have arisen," Irina said.

"I've heard nothing of this. What purpose will these enhanced women serve?" Garth pressed.

"They could serve the temple..." Irina started.

"I have not decided on that, Irina," Jason said, interrupting her. He looked a bit annoyed by her suggestion.

"I hope you consider the request, my lord," Irina implored.

"Thank you, Irina. You may leave. Garth and I need to discuss some things," Jason said, dismissing the Arch Priestess.

Irina bowed and left, leaving Garth and Jason alone.

"Now that she is gone, cover your face with this and follow me," Jason said, throwing a piece of cloth to Garth. Garth noted that Jason had one as well.

"Why?" Garth asked, his enhanced mind pondering what Jason had planned.

"I built an amphitheater in the lower levels," Jason began.

"Yes, I have seen it," Garth responded.

Jason guided Garth to a more private place by the edge of the terrace, away from the immortals. They could see the city of Kosrak and its surroundings in the distance; it was a breathtaking sight.

"Remember when I told you about how I made up stories about myself when Irina asked me about my origins?" Jason said with a huge grin on his face.

Garth nodded.

"Irina has told me that the temple has produced a play about my origins," Jason continued.

"Yes, I have heard about that as well," Garth replied. He had been wanting to know what Jason had filled the woman's head with.

"So, you and I are going to watch it. Irina offered me a private viewing, but it would be much better seeing it with the audience," Jason said, covering his face with the cloth.

"I have been wanting to know what rubbish you have been filling our arch priestess's head with." Garth said, chuckling.

"Hey, it was very compelling from what I remember. She even teared up," Jason said, slightly offended.

"Wait, you don't remember what you told her?" Garth asked.

"Some parts. I was getting very drunk by the end of it," Jason admitted.

"Fine, let's go see the origins of the Great Liberator," Garth said, covering his face.

Jason ordered the immortals to stay; they protested but could not disobey a direct order from him.

They made their way to the large theater, where Jason found seats he deemed the best. The semi-circular arrangement provided an unobstructed view of the stage from every seat.

"This is going to be great," Jason said excitedly.

Garth turned his gaze to the stage as the curtain rose, revealing a modest village setting. A young man wandered onto the stage, going about his daily life.

"Oh, that's me," Jason commented.

More scenes followed as the mummer playing Jason lived his life in the village. His kind nature was especially shown through the scenes.

Suddenly, from stage left, an actor garbed in robes and holding a staff walked in, introducing himself as Gandalf.

Gandalf, with a deep, resonant voice, addressed Jason, "Young one, you believe yourself to be just a man, but within you flows the blood of the divine."

Jason, taken aback, replied, "A god, me? But how? My life is here, among these fields and streams. I am no one of consequence."

Gandalf continued, his gaze intensifying, "Your father was a hero, a beacon of light in dark times. He fought against the ruinous powers that seek to enslave us all, but alas, he was struck down before his quest was complete."

Jason, now visibly shaken, questioned, "My father? I was told he was but a simple farmer."

The scene continued as Gandalf talked to Jason.

"The acting is very bad," Jason said to Garth. He could not respond as the woman in front of them shushed them.

Gandalf moved closer, placing a hand on Jason's shoulder, "It has everything to do with you. You are the key to ending the darkness that plagues our lands. The same blood that coursed through your father's veins, the blood of a god, runs through yours. It is your destiny to take up his mantle and free our people from bondage."

Jason, stepping back, still struggling with disbelief, responded, "But I am no warrior. I don't know the first thing about fighting or leading armies."

Gandalf, with a knowing smile, reassured him, "Fear not, for I will guide you. Together, we will journey to unlock your true potential and gather allies. The path ahead is fraught with danger, but it is one you must walk. Are you ready to accept your destiny?"

The audience applauded as Jason accepted Gandalf's offer.

The play never referred to Jason by his true name Garth noted only he, Cregan, Irina and the immortals knew of it.

The curtains closed, and when they opened again, the stage transformed to depict a grand hall of gods, where Jason, now more confident and determined, sought the wisdom and aid of the pantheon.

"I wonder where she is going with this," Garth thought.

The mummers playing the deities were arrayed in magnificent costumes, each representing their divine aspects. Among them was the mummer playing the Great Shepherd, draped in robes of pale green, with a staff in hand.

Jason approached the assembly. "My lords, I come before you seeking your guidance and your strength. The land suffers under the yoke of darkness, and I wish to end this tyranny," he proclaimed boldly.

The mummer playing the Great Shepherd stepped forward, his voice gentle. "Your quest is noble, young one, yet fraught with peril. The forces you wish to challenge are beyond even our might. We have... reached an accord with them, for the sake of peace."

Jason, with disbelief and frustration in his tone, responded, "An accord? You mean to say you've bowed to them, allowed their cruelty to go unchecked, all in the name of peace?"

The Great Shepherd, with a sorrowful look, replied, "It is not a matter of cowardice, but of survival. To challenge them directly would bring untold suffering upon us all."

"No. I cannot accept that. There must be another way. A way to fight back, to protect those who cannot protect themselves. If you will not stand with me, then I shall stand alone."

There was thunderous applause from the audience.

"Of course, she portrays the Great Shepherd as a coward," Garth muttered.

"I don't remember telling her that," Jason responded.

There were scenes of Jason adventuring and defeating monsters; he was named the liberator by the people. Gandalf then tragically dies.

"Yeah I don't think he is coming back" he heard Jason comment.

The next scene was Jason's confrontation with Morgoth, the champion of the ruinous powers and the man who murdered Gandalf.

"This is going to be great," Jason said, shaking with excitement.

Jason and Morgoth locked in combat, their weapons clashing with a sound that echoed throughout the theater. The audience watched, breathless, as the struggle intensified.

Morgoth, towering and malevolent, voiced by a mummer with a deep, menacing tone, halted the combat abruptly. "There is no escape. Don't make me destroy you."

"You do not yet realize your importance. You have only begun to discover your power. Join me, and I will complete your training. With our combined strength, we can end this destructive conflict and bring order to the world," Morgoth continued.

Jason, panting and wary, responded defiantly, "I'll never join you!"

"If you only knew the strength of the ruinous powers. Gandalf never told you what happened to your father," Morgoth said with a sinister laugh.

"He told me enough! He told me you killed him!" the mummer playing Jason on stage and Jason sitting next to Garth said at the same time.

"No, I am your father."

The words hung in the air, a palpable shock rippled through the assembled spectators. Jason staggered, as if struck by an unseen force. "No. No. That's not true. That's impossible!"

Morgoth stepped closer, the malice in his eyes softening. "Search your feelings; you know it to be true!"

Jason let out an anguished cry. As the scene closed, the audience erupted into a mix of applause and hushed conversations.

"I did not see that coming," Garth said, genuinely surprised.

The stage was set with darkness, a backdrop for Jason's final stand against the ruinous powers. Surrounded by many dark figures, one of which was a horse,

'Ahh the great stallion I see what you're doing Irina' Garth thought seeing a horse which at first he thought was out of place.

Chained and defeated, Jason, with a mix of despair and resilience, addressed the audience directly.

"The darkness has won," he began, his voice echoing in the hushed theater.

The mummer playing the Great Shepherd, this time portrayed with a sinister grace, stepped forward. "I did what was necessary for peace. Your rebellion has brought only chaos. Accept your fate."

Jason, straining against his chains, retorted, "Peace built on the bones of the innocent is no peace at all."

"Though I may be bound, my spirit remains unbroken. I will break free from this prison one day, and I will destroy the ruinous powers once and for all," he declared.

The Great Shepherd, cloaked in darkness, responded with a cold laugh. "You are but one man against the might of the gods. What hope do you have?"

Garth could hear crying among the audience.

"Wow, this got very cheesy by the end," Jason muttered.

Garth thought, 'What does this have to do with cheese?'

"I am the hope of the universe. I am the answer to all living things that cry out for peace. I am the protector of the innocent. I am the light in the darkness. I am the truth... Ally to good! Nightmare to you!" Jason declared in defiance as the shepherd was blown away by the power of the weakened and bound Jason.

"YEESSSS!" Jason exclaimed, leaping up. Garth had to forcefully pull him back down to ensure their disguises remained intact.

"Quiet down," Garth hissed, pulling Jason back into his seat.

"I can't believe she remembered that," Jason remarked happily.

The play ended with a voice declaring that the Great Liberator was free and here to set things right.

The audience, along with Jason, stood up and gave a thunderous applause. Garth couldn't help but join in; it was a very entertaining play.

"That was surprisingly entertaining," Garth admitted, looking at Jason.

"It was a cringe fanfiction but you are right it was entertaining" Jason said applauding.

"You know, my sister used to write fanfiction," Jason said with a smile.

"She used to..." Jason trailed off. "My sister..." he repeated in a more subdued tone.

Garth noticed the change in Jason's face; he looked distressed, his earlier enthusiasm fading.

"Jason, are you alright?" Garth asked, concerned.

Jason was silent for a moment, then shook his head as if to clear it. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he finally said, but his voice lacked its usual cheer. They walked out of the theater.

Garth remained silent as they walked through the winding streets of the new city; the silence between them remained until they reached the summit.

"Jason, if there's anything you wish to talk about..." Garth finally broke the silence.

Jason gave him a small smile. "I am fine, Garth. I just remembered something that's all," he said.

"Are you sure?" Garth pressed.

"Yes, I'll see you tomorrow," Jason said, walking away.

Garth lingered for a while, watching Jason disappear into the large entrance. The night had ended in an unexpected somber tone.he saw the two immortals assigned to him walking towards him. Garth walked towards his new manor in the still unnamed city.

In the morning, Garth found Jason in the unfinished throne room, a vast space with high arched ceilings. The room was bathed in the soft glow of dawn. At the far end, he could see a raised dais where a throne would be placed. The walls, sculpted from the mountain itself, bore intricate half-finished carvings of Jason and the immortals freeing slaves and captives.

"Irina's doing, no doubt. The sculptor from Qarth, who had been a captive of the Dothraki, had been hard at work here," Garth thought.

Jason stood confidently at the center, having just finished enhancing ten women whom Irina brought to him. The women were tall and beautiful, their eyes filled with a mix of awe and reverence towards Jason. He could not tell if Jason was uncomfortable or extremely happy by the looks they were giving him.

Seeing Garth approach, Jason dismissed them. Garth then asked for a meeting, to which Jason led them to another large room. It was empty, with a large table in the middle. Scrolls and architectural plans were strewn across it, their voices echoed as they spoke.

"Garth, what brings you here so early?" Jason asked.

"A group from Hesh has arrived, seeking to join our realm. They claim their city has renounced the Great Shepherd and embraced your teachings," Garth explained.

Jason's eyes lit up with interest. "That's good news, isn't it?"

Irina, who had been silently listening, nodded in agreement. "The seeds we planted in Hesh are bearing fruit."

Garth turned his gaze to Irina, his expression serious. "I was unaware of these 'seeds' you planted, Irina. Why wasn't I informed of your activities there?"

Irina met his stare. "My mission was spiritual, Garth. I was focused on spreading the divine word of my god."

Their conversation quickly heated as Garth pressed on the importance of coordinated efforts and transparency, especially in actions that affected the kingdom's expansion.

"Yes, transparency and coordination when it only suits you," Irina said in her usual calm demeanor, but Garth could note a bit of venom in her voice.

"What of Lhazosh, then? Have you planted your seeds there as well?" Garth asked.

Irina nodded, "Yes, we have made significant progress, but…" Her voice trailed off, a flicker of concern passing over her face.

Jason, who had been silent, picked up on the hesitation in her voice and leaned forward. "But?"

"There have been troubling reports from Lhazosh," Irina confessed. "One claim speaks of a hidden slaver ring operating within the city. I've been unable to confirm these reports myself."

"Why didn't you bring this to our attention earlier?" Jason exclaimed.

"I intended to, once… I had more information," Irina said, losing her calm demeanor under Jason's look of disappointment.

"I'll talk to you later. You can leave, Irina," Jason said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Irina looked at a smirking Garth and walked out of the room. Jason then turned to Garth.

"Garth, you are going on a tour," Jason announced.

"What?" Garth asked, surprised.

"I need you to tour the lands under my protection. Go to Hesh and welcome them into the fold," Jason said.

"There's no need to travel there…" Garth began to say, but Jason was not finished.

"Then you go to Lhazosh. Look into the slavery thing there; I will meet you there," Jason added.

"I don't think there is a slavery ring in Lhazosh, Jason," Garth said, trying to stop whatever Jason was planning.

"Garth, my whole thing has been about liberating and protecting people. What do you think will happen when people hear about slavery happening in the place I swore to protect? This whole operation will fall apart," Jason said with a bit of panic in his voice.

"I think you're heavily underestimating how much the people love you here, Jason. You are being worshiped as a god. What you command, they will do. If you say there is no slavery in Lhazosh, they will obey and listen," Garth said.

"It doesn't hurt to check. I mean, remember the first two months, just you and I traveling and beating Dothraki?"

"I remember being taken captive and all this happening," Garth said, motioning to the room and the immortals stationed outside.

"But I'll do it. You are right; I do miss traveling. I will go to Hesh and then I'll meet you in Lhazosh," Garth said, conceding to Jason's plans.

"Great, it's going to be fun," Jason said, patting Garth on the back.

Garth's gaze shifted to the table, where he saw a parchment littered with names all starting with Jason; he saw names like Jasonopolis, Jasonberg, and various others in a similar vein. As he picked it up for a closer look, Jason quickly snatched it from his hands, a sheepish grin on his face.

"These are all terrible, Jason," Garth remarked with a raised eyebrow, realizing that they were names for the structure they were standing in.

"Make it simple," he added.

Jason paced back and forth, muttering to himself, "Simple, simple…" Suddenly, he stopped, a light of inspiration in his eyes. "Haven!" he exclaimed. "We'll call it Haven, for it will be a sanctuary for the oppressed, a place of safety."

Garth considered the name, nodding approvingly. "Haven... I like it. It's simple, meaningful, and it conveys the right message. I'll make the arrangements for it to be known among the people."

"Haven it is then." Jason declared.

Illusiveone · Mar 24, 2024

I watched Dune and decided to look up the Arabic word for liberator
I found this one al-Muḥarrir (I might me wrong)
It means the liberator and sometimes the editor. It sounded cool, so the people of Lhazar will now use this title.

Jason found himself standing in the center of his opulent room in the newly built grand temple. It was lavishly adorned with the finest luxuries his newfound power and wealth could procure. The room was bathed in the soft glow of lamps and smelled of incense, an offering by a merchant supposedly from a faraway land beyond the Saffron Straits.

He was confused. What was he doing here? He rubbed his temples, trying to piece together the missing fragments of his memory. Hadn't he been discussing future plans for Haven and Kosrak with Garth in his new mansion just moments ago? Or was he training with the immortals? Shaking his head in confusion, he walked to his large bed and lay on its silk sheets, imported from Yi-Ti. His gaze fell on the nearby window; it was dark outside. He approached the window and saw no stars or the view of Kosrak in the distance he always saw; it was simply dark.

'What the fuck is going on?' he thought, taking a few steps back from the window.

"Sam," he called. Sam was one of the immortals, always posted to guard his door, but no answer came. They always appeared in an instant when he called, but now there was only an unsettling silence.

He slowly approached the door, expecting to see his loyal immortals stationed outside. They were just pranking him, he reasoned, but he was wrong. There was no one in the hallway outside; he could hear no sound as well. It was like he was the only living thing in the whole world. He traversed the empty hallway, shouting for the Immortals or anyone who could hear him. Each call he made echoed through the grand corridors, returning to him empty and hollow.

Reaching the end of the hallway, Jason arrived at the door that would take him to the throne room. As he got closer, the heat began to intensify. An unnatural warmth seemed to emanate from the very stones of the grand temple.

He opened the door but immediately had to shield his eyes due to the blinding light from the room. He walked inside, and as his eyes adjusted, Jason saw the source of the glaring light and oppressive heat: a colossal brazier stood on the dais, its flames dancing wildly, casting ominous shadows on the walls. It was on the spot where his throne was supposed to be.

'I've seen this before,' he thought, taking small steps towards the brazier. Whispers swirled around him, unintelligible at first but growing clearer as he drew nearer to the fire.

"Vessel... Vessel..." the voices echoed, each repetition more insistent than the last. Jason's mind raced. 'Vessel?' His unease grew.

As if compelled by an unknown force, he stepped closer to the flames, the heat starting to hurt a bit. The whispers grew louder, more demanding. "Closer... closer..." they urged.

Heart pounding, Jason leaned in, his eyes locked on the mesmerizing flames. To his surprise, he began seeing visions within the fire. A series of fragmented images and sounds flashed before him with dizzying speed.

It was horrifying. He saw mobs massacring people as they begged for the great shepherd for help, villages burning.

The scenes shifted to him with Garth, Irina, Cregan, and a silver-haired girl by his side, looking at a burning city as a dragon flew overhead. A large army assembled before him, chanting "al-Muḥarrir! (the liberator) al-Muḥarrir! (the liberator)"

The voice continued chanting the title as the heat in the room began to increase. Jason moved away from the flames and ran towards the exit, but to his shock, he saw the walls drawing near him; the room was decreasing in size. Every breath he took was one of agony as the heat continued to increase.

"al-Muḥarrir! al-Muḥarrir!" The voices continued to chant, getting louder and louder, the chant echoing in his skull like a relentless drumbeat.

The room continued to contract as he saw the brazier's flames reaching out to him. Just as the pain became unbearable, as his flesh felt like it would ignite from the intense heat, Jason let out a piercing scream, a desperate plea for escape from this nightmare. And then, suddenly, he was jolted awake, finding himself writhing in his bed, drenched in sweat. He felt the cool silk sheets on his skin a sharp contrast to the hell he thought he was in.

Gasping for air, Jason clutched at the sheets, his heart pounding against his chest. He could still feel the heat on his skin, the smell of burning flesh.

"It was just a dream... it was just a dream," he began to mutter. He knew he would not be able to get any more sleep after that; he was too afraid to do so.

Garth stood by the window of his solar, his gaze fixed on the distant city of Kosrak. This, in his opinion, was one of the best aspects of living on the summit of Haven. The room was filled with the quiet rustle of parchment as his aide, a young man named Darien, diligently read out the latest reports.

"The people are growing restless, my lord," Darien said, concern lacing his voice. "There have been small disruptions in Haven and Kosrak. The absence of The Great One is causing unease."

Three months ago, Jason began his seclusion in the Grand Temple, and since then, not even Irina or Garth had been able to see him. His disappearance was sudden and without explanation; only selected immortals were allowed inside.

Jason's disappearance was out of character for him; he enjoyed the attention he received and would regularly visit the people of Haven and Kosrak, sometimes even journeying to the nearby villages. He was also a constant presence while building his projects, some of which were a great boon for the people. Now, his sudden disappearance had begun to cause unease and speculation among the populace.

"Yes, Darien, I anticipated as much. His prolonged absence is not something we can simply brush under the carpet," Garth turned from the window, his expression contemplative. "We need to manage this carefully. Start spreading rumors that our god is on a secret quest. Tell them he will return soon."

Darien hesitated, adjusting the stack of parchment in his hands. "Is that wise, my lord?"

Garth's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. "Do as I command, Darien."

"Shall I request help from the priestesses? It would be easier with their help," Darien suggested.

"I doubt you will find any help there," Garth scoffed at the suggestion.

Garth had predicted something like this would happen; he even warned Irina about it a month ago. He had suggested a joint effort to calm the people's nerves, proposing they present a united front to assure the populace that Jason's absence was temporary and for a greater purpose, but she had rebuffed him, and now she was paying the price. Irina had taken the brunt of the blame for Jason's disappearance. As factions led by him and Irina had started to openly blame each other, increasing the tension within the city.

"Irina has been... difficult," Garth finally said, breaking the silence that followed his thoughts. "She believes we have angered our god, hence his withdrawal." he paused. " It's preposterous." he added, shaking his head.

Darien was silent for a moment. "Have we angered him, my lord?" he asked in a low voice.

Garth paused, even his aides were getting restless it seems. "No, Darien, I know him more than anyone. You have not angered him," Garth said firmly.

"His actions are often unpredictable, and his reasons his own; it is not our place to question his motives," Garth added, channeling Irina as much as he can.

"One more thing, my lord, about the tour, are you still…?"

Their conversation was interrupted by the sudden entrance of another of his aides. "My lord, Arch Priestess Irina is on her way here."

"Is she alone?" Garth asked.

"No, she brings the sisters with her," he replied, a hint of concern in his voice.

Garth's expression hardened. "Have the immortals here assembled in the hall. We'll meet her there," he commanded as he made his way to the large room in his mansion.

Garth stood in the room, with immortals lined up behind him. The doors to the hall swung open, and Irina entered. Behind her, the Sisters of Battle followed; a group of tall, beautiful women, their expressions stoic and their movements graceful. They wore no armor, as Jason had begun his seclusion before he could craft them one, something they took to mean he had not officially sanctioned them yet. So, they had turned to Irina for guidance, something she immediately exploited to consolidate her power and to get ahead of him.

As Irina and her entourage approached, Garth straightened, his gaze never faltering. The immortals behind him stood silent and motionless. She stopped a few feet away from him, and they stood in silence for a moment, their followers mirroring their leaders' standoff.

"Arch Priestess," Garth greeted, breaking the heavy silence, his voice steady but cool. He noted the anger flashing in her eyes, her posture rigid with barely contained fury.

Irina responded with a curt nod, her voice icy. "Grand Vizier."

"Why are you here, Irina?" Garth asked, getting straight to the point.

"I'm here because of the chaos you've sown!" Irina retorted sharply. "I know you spread rumors that I am the reason our god has disappeared!"

"They come to me for answers, but I have none. Now with your scheming, they are starting to blame me," she continued, her words laced with venom, her face a mask of barely controlled fury. "You have always tried to interfere in my work, always trying to undermine my efforts to spread the words of our lord."

Garth remained composed. "And another group is blaming me, and some blame Cregan. You are not the only one, Irina," he said, his annoyance growing.

"And my concerns have always been about the manner in which you 'spread the word', not the message itself. You can't force it upon people," he added.

She clenched her fists, the Sisters of Battle behind her shifting uneasily. "I did what was necessary for the glory of our god! And now, because of you, he's retreated from us all!"

"Oh, I'm to blame now? Let's hear it then," Garth challenged.

Irina remained silent.

"Remember when he commanded you to not discriminate against the followers of the old faith," Garth said looking at Irina. "But you did not listen, did you?" Garth continued.

"Lies! I have followed his every command. The old faith is practiced safely; there is no…" she protested.

"Yes, in Kosrak and Haven, but what of the villages, especially the new ones to be added, and what of Hesh? I have received some damning reports, Arch Priestess," Garth pressed.

"Yes, there have been some…" she began to say, trying to defend herself.

"No, there have been a lot, and we still do not know what is happening in Lhazosh. Maybe the people are right, Irina. Maybe you are the reason for his seclusion. Maybe you are the one who angered him," Garth said, his voice rising in intensity.

Garth's accusations hit a nerve. Her face reddened, and she took a step forward. "I am the reason he is free once more. I prayed for a new god in my darkest hour," she began, her voice rising with each word. "And then, that prayer was answered when he came, freed from his prison. He chose to walk among us because of my faith," she said, emphasizing 'my faith.' "I have done everything in my power to serve him faithfully. It cannot be me who displeased him…"

Garth almost laughed at her self-righteous proclamation, but before he could retort, an immortal walked in — not just any immortal but one from Jason's personal guard.

"The Liberator has requested your presence, Grand Vizier. He wishes to see you off personally," the immortal announced, his voice devoid of emotion.

Both Garth and Irina were taken aback, their argument momentarily forgotten. Garth, in particular, was stunned. "See me off? For what?"

"For your tour of the lands," the immortal answered.

"He... he wants to see me off? After three months of silence, this is how he makes…" Garth failed to respond comprehensively.

"The Great One has spoken," the Immortal interrupted firmly. "He has also decreed that the people of the city assemble to give you a grand send-off. It is his will that this message be relayed to the people immediately."

Garth and Irina exchanged a look of surprise and confusion, their argument forgotten. "This is... Has he said anything else? What has he been doing all this time?" Garth had a thousand questions needing answers.

The Immortal shook his head. "He has given no further details, only that he wishes to meet with you at the Grand Temple before your departure."

"And we shall do as he commands. I shall spread this joyous news to all," Irina said, walking out of the room with the sisters following behind her.

'Three months of silence, and now this,' he mused.

"Darian, resume the preparation for the tour. It seems we are going after all."

Haven was alive with energy as people from all corners of the city, as well as those from Kosrak, gathered in the streets. Garth's send-off had turned into a grand celebration. People adorned in their finest attire filled the city and lined the winding roads. After three months of silence and uncertainty, the news of their god's return had spread like wildfire, igniting fervor among the populace. Relief and joy were evident in their eyes as they waited for him to appear.

Vendors took advantage of the large crowds, selling food and drinks, while musicians and performers added to the festive atmosphere. Children ran through the crowds, laughing and playing, and soldiers patrolled the streets to ensure order and safety during the festivities.

As Garth made his way to the entrance of the Grand Temple, people parted ways, their cheers and chants filling the air. They called out his name and title. It was a feeling he was still getting used to; he had come a long way from being a bastard maester from the Reach.

The large terrace at the summit was filled with a sea of faces; people from all walks of life had assembled there. The immortals were in full force, forming a formidable line around the base of the stairs and up towards the entrance.

Garth ascended the stairs, his eyes catching sight of Irina waiting at the top. She ignored him, her gaze fixed on the massive doors of the Grand Temple. He stood beside her, reminding her that they were of equal rank. Oh, how he wished Cregan were here, but the man had left for Hesh two months ago in preparation for the campaign up the second branch of the Skahazadhan.

The doors of the Grand Temple swung open, and a wave of noise from the crowd surged forward, chants of "al-Muḥarrir! al-Muḥarrir!" filling the air.

Jason emerged from the shadows of the temple, flanked by his personal guard. The sight of him brought a mixed feeling of relief and apprehension. The once vibrant and energetic figure now appeared weary, with dark circles under his eyes. He had grown out his beard and hair, both neatly groomed, and donned a new set of golden armor. Garth noticed how he used his spear for support as he walked.

As Jason stepped into view of the masses, the crowd's roar intensified, their chants growing louder: "al-Muḥarrir, al-Muḥarrir, al-Muḥarrir"

Irina immediately bowed and greeted him with deference. Jason acknowledged her with a nod, his expression unreadable. Garth followed suit, though his eyes remained fixed on Jason, searching for answers.

Jason's eyes then met his; a small smile appeared on his face. He pulled him into an embrace. "It's been a while," he said, sounding tired.

Garth, concerned and bewildered, asked, "What happened, Jason? Why did you…"

"Later, Garth. Now smile and wave," Jason interrupted, as he walked forward to wave at the masses. He motioned for them to be silent, and they obeyed. As silence fell, he began to speak.

"Today we mark a momentous occasion. Our esteemed Grand Vizier, the most faithful servant of our realm and the bearer of my trust, embarks on a noble quest."

The crowd listened intently, hanging on his every word.

"He will travel to Hesh, a city that has accepted my enlightened rule, and then he shall travel to Lhazosh and offer them to join in my protective embrace, thereby uniting all of Lhazar under my divine rule," he proclaimed, gesturing with his hands.

The crowd's response was deafening; the chants of al-Muḥarrir filled the air once again as Jason raised Garth's hands into the air.

"Jason, you still haven't told us what you were doing for the last three months," Garth said, still smiling as he waved.

"Let's go, Garth," he said, ignoring his question, leading him down the stairs. But as they reached the middle, he paused and turned to Irina, who was following them as well. His eyes lingered on Irina for a moment, to which Irina responded, "My lord, do you need anything from me?"

"Wait for me in the throne room; I'll return after seeing Garth off," Jason said, dismissing a clearly shocked Irina. He could see a mix of fear and confusion on her face. She nodded and walked back to the entrance.

Jason and Garth led the procession down through the winding streets of Haven, waved and cheered as they passed by. Their voices merged in a powerful chorus that echoed off the stone walls: "al-Muḥarrir, Grand Vizier, al-Muḥarrir, Grand Vizier…"

Garth noted that Jason had masked his weakened appearance by wearing his new golden armor and sometimes used his spear for support.

As they reached the base of the city, Jason turned to the gathered crowd, his demeanor shifting from that of a weary man to the benevolent god they knew and revered. He greeted the people with a warm smile, moving among them, even blessing a baby held out by its mother.

Jason then led Garth towards his horse. Seizing this opportunity, Garth pressed for more answers. "Jason, what happened? Why did you…" He did not let him finish his sentence this time as well.

"We'll have plenty of time to talk in Lhazosh," he said, interrupting.

"All this" he said, gesturing to the people. "Is your doing; if it weren't for you, this whole thing would have fallen apart. I promise I will involve myself more from now on," Jason continued, his voice carrying a hint of remorse.

Garth was stunned by the admission and the change in Jason's demeanor. He was too stunned to speak, wondering what could have happened to this man in the last three months to cause such a drastic change.

Jason's gaze turned serious. "We have new enemies, Garth, something I did not expect. I need to discuss this with Irina first, to plan our next move."

'What enemies? Jason, what are you talking about?' Garth thought, hearing his elusive responses.

Knowing he would not get any answers, Garth mounted his horse and rode out of the city with his retinue following him. There were a thousand questions swirling in his mind, but he put those thoughts to rest as he and his retinue had a long journey ahead of them.
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Illusiveone · Mar 26, 2024

Garth and his retinue had been traveling for three weeks. They could have reached Hesh earlier, but Garth decided to stop by some important villages and towns to meet with the nomarchs there. Then, as they traveled beyond their borders to Hesh and its surrounding villages, he stopped by the important ones, meeting with the elders or the councils that ran each village. He also scouted for nomarchs among them and invited them to travel with him to Hesh.

As they got closer to Hesh, the verdant greenery he had been familiar with for the last two years near Haven gradually gave way to a more arid, rocky terrain. The lush fields and plains slowly thinned out, replaced by sparse vegetation and the occasional stubborn tree, clinging to life in the harsher climate. The air grew hotter, the sun beating down more intensely with each passing mile.

His retinue consisted of five of his most trusted aides. Once his students, they had been with him through many challenges and had proven their worth time and again. There were also Ten Immortals, the enhanced warriors who were a legend in their own right in Lhazar. Irina had made them out to be the great protectors of Lhazar, an extension of Jason himself. There were also thirty regular soldiers; though not as awe-inspiring as the Immortals, they were selected for being the best of the best.

The last of the group were scribes,diplomats and other officials, their numbers decreased whenever they passed through a large village so that the integration of these territories into Haven's domain would be as smooth as possible.

Instead of going straight to Hesh, Garth had decided to visit the army camp Cregan had set up here first. He could see a village in the distance; the camp was only a few leagues away from there.

"What is this village called again?" he asked Darian, riding closer to him.

"Amol, my lord," he answered.

"Make sure your brother won't fall off. We can rest at the village," he said, motioning to Darian's twin, Darius, who was drifting off to sleep on his horse.

He cracked a smile as Darian smacked his brother awake and looked ahead to see a gathering of villagers waiting for them to arrive. Jason was worshiped as a god, and as his Grand Vizier, many had begun to see him in a similar way. He had to uphold an image of a divine emissary when he was amongst them, something he had perfected all too well over the past two years.

But he could not deny the allure of the power he now held. Jason had once commented that Garth would come to enjoy his new power. He was right. Only seven years ago, he was just a Maester at the citadel, destined to live out the rest of his days assigned to a castle and its lord. But now, he held more power than his lord father. He wondered if his mother was still alive; he had been thinking about her lately as after Jason enhanced him, he could finally recall her face, something he had been unable to do for years.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of people as he realized they were now almost at Amol. The villagers lined the dusty path, their eyes wide as they watched them ride in. As he dismounted, he heard whispers of his title, 'Grand Vizier,' and a new one to his surprise, 'Emissary of the Liberator.' He was welcomed by the leader, a middle-aged man, who declared that there would be a celebration held in his honor. Tired, Garth accepted, deciding to go to Cregan's camp early in the morning.

"You may leave," Garth said, dismissing the leader of the village. He had invited him to his tent to gather information and to evaluate him for the role of nomarch, something he had done in all the villages. More importantly, he asked them all for information about Lhazosh, other than things he already knew; there was no new information.

He thought back to his conversation with Irina three months ago, when he had approached her to learn more of Lhazosh, a few days after Jason announced the tour.

"The city, as you know, was built from the remnants of a Ghiscari city, destroyed by the Valyrians long before our time. Its most striking feature is the black pyramid, a relic from that ancient era," she explained.

"You spoke of a family that now rules the city; they've managed to keep the Dothraki at bay through agreements?" Garth asked, leaning forward, intrigued by the history of the city.

"Yes," Irina nodded. "For decades, they've negotiated with the Dothraki, ensuring Lhazosh remains untouched by their raids. Kosrak had a similar pact, which was negotiated with the help of Lhazosh and held until Jhoggo's assault."

"And this family, what more can you tell me about them?"

"Their past is shrouded in mystery, but their roots are undeniably Ghiscari. They've maintained a low profile, yet their influence is quite large. Their dealings have kept Lhazosh relatively prosperous and safe for decades."

"And these rumors of a slaver ring, are you certain of their validity?"

Irina's expression was grave. "It is not yet confirmed, but Priestess Mara, whom I sent to Lhazosh, has raised her suspicions."

"Could Mara be mistaken?" Garth challenged.

"Mara is not a person who would raise an alarm without good reason," Irina replied confidently.

He then shifted the topic slightly. "What about the conversion efforts? How receptive has Lhazosh been to the faith?"

"The process has been slow," Irina admitted. "Lhazosh is resistant to change. However, Mara's last message indicated that the ruling family showed some interest."

Garth stood up and began pacing in the tent, trying to piece together what was going on in Lhazosh. He suspected the Ghiscari family might have something to do with the slaver ring, if it existed.

There was also the report from his aides that there was a significant exodus of followers of the old faith to Hesh, a detail that piqued Garth's interest and suspicion. The consensus among the people in the villages was that their continued presence might provoke the wrath of 'the Liberator', and they would not be granted boons if they let the non-believers stay; and this was also subtly being implied by some priestesses. He wondered how life must be like for those of the old faith in Hesh.

Garth left for Cregan's camp in the morning. He had asked all the village leaders traveling with him to ride ahead to Hesh. After riding for two hours, the camp came into view. As he entered the camp he could see a large tent in the center, he observed rows of uniformly arranged tents that housed the soldiers, laid out in a grid. The camp was interspersed with watchtowers that stood sentinel over the surrounding area. Soldiers patrolled diligently, their eyes scanning for any signs of danger, ensuring the camp's security.

"Where is the supreme commander?" Garth asked the soldier who had joined them at the entrance.

"At the training grounds, my lord," he answered.

Garth dismounted and walked to the training ground, where he spotted Cregan drilling a group of soldiers. He watched as the group, each with a heavy bag strapped to their shoulders, ran in formation across the field, spears in hand.

He approached, and Cregan turned to greet him, a slight smile breaking through his stern demeanor. "Training the new blood," Cregan gestured towards the now-identified recruits. "Are they any good?" Garth asked, standing near him.

"They're getting there," Cregan replied, his gaze returning to the field.

"Has our glorious leader come out of his castle yet?" Cregan asked.

"Yes, just before I left," Garth answered, a bit annoyed as he remembered that he had to leave without any answers.

Cregan led Garth into the large tent in the center of the camp. This military campaign was decided on by all four of them, proposed by him a year ago.

He wanted to bring all the lands the Skahazadhan flowed under their dominion. These lands were beyond Lhazars borders and at the outer edges of the Dothraki Sea they were fertile but sparsely populated due to years of Dothraki raiding.

Garth's plan was more ambitious: he wanted to push east into the patrimony of Yinhsar and the Poison Sea. These two phases would secure new lands for cultivation and settlement and also open up lucrative trade routes with the cities of the Kingdom of Hyrkoon and give them freer access to Yi-Ti. If successful, they could also establish a military presence in the region; it was important since they could have direct access to Vaes Dothrak, the only city of the savage Dothraki.

Sometimes, he wished the Dothraki would try to invade Lhazar again, then Jason to finally finish them off for good.Essos would be far better without those savages.

"That book Jason gifted has been a great help in some matters," Cregan said as he led him through the camp. "We have been using tactics similar to the Ghiscari to fight the small bands of Dothraki we come across now and then."

"Are the Dothraki still coming?" Garth asked, surprised.

"Like I said, small hordes, no more than fifty, but it's been a great help in bloodying the troops, especially the new ones."

Inside the tent, Cregan led Garth to a large map on the table, showing the lands around the Skahazadhan. Cregan explained the current state of the lands they were going to annex.

"The territory is largely uninhabited now, save for some scattered settlements. The few who remain are constantly under threat from Dothraki raids and slavers from Slaver's Bay," he said.

He leaned forward, his expression serious. "With your permission, we can begin moving our forces into these regions. The priestesses have been very successful in preparing the locals for our arrival, so I don't expect any resistance."

"Do it," Garth said, giving the nod of approval.

Their conversation then shifted to other matters, one of them being about Lhazosh. Garth had asked Cregan to gather as much information as he could about the city, and it seems he was somewhat successful.

"In Hesh, I looked into the alleged slaver operations in Lhazosh," Cregan began. "I couldn't find out much there, but I did manage to get some information from another source."

"Where?" Garth asked.

"We captured a band of slavers near Hesh. They were capturing Lhazareen and transporting them to Lhazosh. From there, they planned take them to Port Yhos and then ship them to New Ghis."

Garth was disturbed as he listened to Cregan's report. It seems the slaver ring does exist. The mention of Lhazareen being abducted and transported to Yhos, and possibly to New Ghis, meant the Ghiscari family that ruled Lhazosh might have a hand in the operation; they could be the ones running it.

"Did the slavers mention any names, anything about the family that rules the city?" Garth inquired.

"No, this is all I have," Cregan responded.

He was now sure the Ghiscari family ran the operation. It seemed they were covertly abducting Lhazareen and transporting them to Yhos and from there shipping them to the markets of New Ghis and Slaver's Bay.

Garth began to think of ways to oust the family. He could wait for Jason, and he could use brute force, but it seemed the city's inhabitants had a deep-seated loyalty towards this family, making a direct confrontation risky and potentially turning the populace against them. Garth considered a more covert approach, one that would expose the family's illicit activities and undermine their standing among the city's inhabitants.

"Right, I'm off to Hesh then," Garth announced as he got up to leave.

Cregan chuckled.

"What?" Garth asked, confused by his reaction.

"Nothing, nothing at all," he said, still chuckling. This unnerved Garth. What was he going to find in Hesh?

Illusiveone · Mar 29, 2024

Zahir walked through the cramped streets of the most isolated part of Hesh. He and many others who followed the Great Shepherd had been living here for six months; the others had begun calling it the Shepherd's Quarter. The buildings were old and showed signs of neglect; some had temporary patchwork repairs. There was little space between houses.

Zahir was returning from the small market the quarter had; the goods there were second-rate, but that was the best they could get. They had a tight-knit community here, where people relied heavily on each other for support. The reason they were here was due to their faith; they were the last of the decreasing number of people in the city who still believed in the Great Shepherd. With most of the inhabitants turning to the new god and his ways, they were cast aside and mistreated. The only way back into their good graces was to accept the new god and cast aside the Great Shepherd.

It was not always this way. When they first arrived, they found the city in the same state as their villages; the new faith was spreading fast, but they faced no discrimination. Zahir found work in the forges, and others too started their new lives in the city. Things were going well, but then the crisis happened: a lack of water in the city, caused by mismanagement from the city officials. Fearing their loss of power and the anger from the people, they quickly looked for people to blame, and so, a few months after his arrival, Zahir's new life began to sour.

When he worked at the forge, he heard whispers and rumors among the city folk. They spoke of how the crisis was caused by the Liberator's anger at them, due to the followers of the Great Shepherd that called the city home. Zahir, like many others who clung to their old faith, found themselves increasingly ostracized. Many began to convert to avoid ruining their lives here.

He lost his job at the forge, and he and many others found themselves in a neglected part of the city.The residents of the city began viewing them with disdain as the crisis worsened, and there were many incidents of violence as well.

Seeking relief, Zahir and some of his compatriots turned to the priestesses of the new god, hoping for compassion or assistance. However, the help offered came with a heavy price: renounce the Great Shepherd and embrace the new deity. Faced with this ultimatum, many of Zahir's companions yielded, driven by desperation to abandon their ancestral faith for the promise of a better life.

But Zahir stood firm. Despite the mounting pressures and the growing allure of conversion as a means to escape their plight, he saw these trials as a testament to his faith's strength. To him, the hardship was a divine test, a measure of his devotion and resilience. In the face of this great adversity, Zahir's faith in the Great Shepherd remained unshaken.

He arrived at his small home, where in the corner there was a makeshift forge. He had become a leader of sorts in the quarter. There were even talks of moving to Lhazosh, but many feared they would be treated the same there, and some even believed they would be treated worse. His thoughts were interrupted by the approach of a small group, their faces etched with concern. The eldest among them, a wiry man named Eben, spoke up, his voice carrying a tremble of urgency.

"Zahir, have you heard the news? They say the Grand Vizier is coming to Hesh soon," Eben said.

Zahir stopped, his heart sinking. He had heard of this Grand Vizier, the right hand of the new god, his most trusted, if the priestesses were to be believed. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"It's not just rumors," a woman named Mira interjected. "My cousin works at the city gates. She told me they're preparing for his arrival. There's talk of a grand welcome for the Grand Vizier."

Zahir's hands clenched involuntarily. Eben shook his head, his eyes reflecting the fear that gripped them all. "I fear our days here might be numbered, Zahir. With Hesh formally joining their realm, who knows what they'll demand of us?"

Mira added, her voice barely above a whisper, "They might drive us out of the city or worse…"

"We must remain calm," Zahir said, trying to infuse his voice with confidence he barely felt.

"This is indeed concerning. Eben tell everyone to gather in the market in the evening. We should all take part in this discussion." Zahir said to the group. He walked out of his home; he needed to clear his head. He hid his talisman around his neck and walked outside the quarter. The city seemed to be in high spirits again; they had forgotten the crisis they faced.

He saw a priestess preaching to a large crowd. "...blessed be his name, offers mercy to all who seek his light," the priestess proclaimed. "...his compassion knows no bounds…"

As he stood there, hearing the priestess's sermon, a plan began to form in his mind. Perhaps, he thought, there was a way to use this visit to their advantage, to negotiate a better future for his people. If the Liberator was so compassionate, perhaps he would hear their pleas.

He returned as the sun was setting. The entirety of the Shepherd's Quarter had assembled in the small marketplace.

"Friends," Zahir began, addressing the anxious crowd, "I know we are all worried about what the Grand Vizier's arrival might mean for us. But I believe this is our chance to make our voices heard."

"We can't continue living in the shadows, ignored and forgotten," Zahir continued. "I heard a sermon today, speaking of the Liberator's mercy and forgiveness. It's time we sought that mercy for ourselves."

"Are you asking us to convert, Zahir? You, of all people…" someone said from the back.

"No," he said firmly. "I would like to request the Grand Vizier to allow us to continue practicing our faith in peace, to ask him for protection."

Murmurs of disbelief and fear rippled through the crowd. An elderly woman spoke up, her voice tinged with skepticism. "And why would the Grand Vizier listen to us, Zahir?"

"Because we are part of this city, part of his realm. If this new god is as merciful as they claim, then surely his right hand will hear our plea."

Many were not convinced, but they knew it was their only chance to return to a normal life. Zahir and four other community leaders decided they would go and seek an audience with the Grand Vizier.

Garth stood by the window of his spacious room in Hesh, gazing out at the bustling streets below. The residence, once owned by a wealthy merchant, had been provided to him during his stay.

His arrival in Hesh was marked by an extraordinary display of pageantry and celebration. The streets were lined with throngs of people, their faces alight with curiosity and awe, eager to see the Grand Vizier as he rode through the city.

As the day turned to evening, Garth found himself amidst the city's elites at a lavish gathering organized in his honor. The event proved to be a tedious affair for him. He navigated through a sea of merchants, local dignitaries, and sycophants, all vying for his attention and favor. The conversations, heavy with flattery, left him yearning to go back home to Haven.

Amid the dullness of the gathering, Garth's attention was piqued by discussions of Hesh's water crisis. He remembered the conversation he had with some city officials.

"Grand Vizier, we are so relieved you're here," one official said.

"We are in crisis, my lord. The city's water collection system has been damaged; we are at our wits' end," he added.

Garth, his curiosity piqued, inquired, "What exactly led to this failure? Was it not maintained properly?"

Another official chimed in, avoiding direct eye contact. "Well, you see, the system is quite old, and we've had some... administrative oversights."

A third official quickly added, "We've done everything in our power, but it's a complicated issue. We're hopeful that with your presence, and perhaps the Great One's blessing, we can find a resolution."

The officials gave a thousand excuses, but to Garth, it was clear that their mismanagement had ruined the city, and now he had to step in and fix it. It wouldn't be solved by just infrastructural fixes; he needed to overhaul the entire administrative structure of the city.

His observations in Hesh confirmed his suspicions. Persecution was happening here; it was clear as day. There was a part of the city disdainfully referred to as the Shepherd Quarter. The water crisis and the officials were linked with this growing persecution, as Zara, the head of the temple here, had admitted that she was unable to maintain control of the growing religious fervor .

The officials blamed the crisis on the existence of the followers of the Great Shepherd, calling it a divine punishment. She even shamefully admitted to taking advantage of it to get more converts.

Garth's thoughts darkened. There was a lot of work to be done here, and who knows what was going on in Lhazosh.

The officials must be brought to justice, but he did not believe that would heal the divide between the two religions. Maybe in a few years, with the right propaganda, but for now, it seemed impossible.

He heard a knock at the door. "Who is it?" he called out.

"It's Darius, My Lord," came the answer from the other side.

"Come in," he responded.

Darius entered the room with a sense of urgency.

"My lord, we've made contact with some followers of the Great Shepherd in the city. They wish to have an audience with you," Darius reported, his voice low.

Garth's interest was piqued. "Bring them here. I want to speak with them personally," he instructed, his mind already considering the implications of their request for a meeting, no doubt to tell him of their plight.

Soon, a small group of people, led by Darius, entered the room. Garth noted their humble attire and the weariness etched on their faces; they looked like they hadn't had a good meal in weeks. One of them stepped forward.

"I am Zahir, and these are my companions, fellow followers of the Great Shepherd," he introduced.

Garth nodded.

"I know why you have come, and I have a solution for you," he began, cracking a small smile, seeing their shocked faces.

"Can you help us, then? We wish to live as equals to the followers of your god," Zahir said, hope lacing his voice.

"First, tell me, is there any truth in the officials blaming the water crisis on your people? Was this where it all began?"

"Yes, we were blamed for the crisis because of our supposed defiance of the Liberator," Zahir said, his anger rising.

"I will be bringing these officials to justice tomorrow, and I will have them publicly confess," Garth said, to the relief of the group.

"But I doubt there will be an immediate change," Garth added.

"But the people will see the truth," Zahir protested.

"Let me finish. I have a proposition for you," Garth continued.

"First, you stay and take a chance that things will change. I will try my best to make your lives easier, but it may take a lot of time for the people to accept."

"Second, you move to Kosrak. There are already a large population of the old faith there, living peacefully."

"Third, in a few months, we will conquer and annex the lands in the north. They are fertile and sparsely populated. I am planning to send settlers there, and you and your people can go there when it's safe to do so."

The man seemed to be contemplating the three options given to him. After a while, he spoke.

"You wish for us to leave the land of Lhazar?" Zahir asked.

"Those lands were part of Lhazar a long time ago. This is a chance to reclaim it," Garth said, further sweetening the deal.

"And we will be protected, offered equal status?" he asked, seeming desperate.

"Yes, I promise you," Garth assured.

A smile appeared on the man's face. "I knew this was the right choice. Thank you, Grand Vizier. We will inform you of our decision after talking with the others."

"Take all the time you need," Garth said before they were escorted out of the room. "Darius, have the Immortals gotten a confession yet?"

"Yes, my lord," he answered.

"Good. Tell Priestess Zara to organize a public trial. The entire city is welcome to attend." with the final command Darius left.

Garth was tired; he laid on the soft bed, his mind racing with the tasks ahead. Cregan was right, Hesh was a tangled web of corruption, prejudice and strife. The public trial of the officials would be a step in the right direction, but it was just the beginning of what he needed to address. It seems he will be here for longer than he expected.

Day 2 of Jason's Seclusion.

Jason had been having a tough time. He had remained secluded in his room ever since he had that dream two days ago, brooding over what it meant. The immortals stood guard outside; he had asked them not to disturb him, except for delivering meals.

He paced around the room restlessly, haunted by the vivid images and whispers from his dream. It had felt so real; he could still feel his flesh burning, even the smell, in vivid detail. For the first time since that encounter with the bandit in the desert—his first kill—he felt vulnerable. The notion that someone, or something, could infiltrate his mind and challenge him was deeply disturbing. He couldn't shake off the feeling of being watched or targeted by an unseen adversary.

"Think, Jason, think," he muttered to the empty room. "It's the fire god of Melisandre; it has to be him," he said as he wobbled around the room. He had started hearing voices in the room, something he attributed to not sleeping for the last two days. His body, as if moving automatically, moved to the bed. He could not take it anymore; he had to sleep. He closed his eyes, hoping the dreams wouldn't happen again.

He opened his eyes to see he was standing in a serene countryside. 'Not again, not again,' he thought as he looked around in panic. His gaze shifted toward the horizon to see a city surrounded by fourteen volcanoes.

The architecture of the city was unlike anything he had seen before. There were buildings that looked like skyscrapers back home, but what truly amazed him was the dragons that soared gracefully above the city, their scales glinting in the sunlight.

'This isn't that bad,' he thought as he walked towards the city, wanting to see it firsthand. As he walked closer, it started happening again. Whispers began to fill the air, indistinct at first, then growing clearer, as if converging on him from the city. His eyes darted around, searching for the source, but there was nothing—just the wind carrying what now was a chorus of menacing laughter.

"No, not again," Jason whispered, his voice laced with fear and frustration. "What do you want from me?" he shouted.

He saw birds flying away from the city, dragons began roaring loudly, and for a moment, the voices stopped. He could only hear the sounds of birds and dragons.

BOOM.

He clutched his ears, staggering as the world around him shook violently. He looked toward the city again, and to his horror, he saw that the volcanoes were erupting one by one. His ears were ringing, and he felt intense pain as blood poured out of them. He saw the volcanoes spewing ash and lava, realizing the danger he was in, he ran in the opposite direction. He looked back to see the infernal wave of ash and smoke racing towards him. Dragons fell from the sky, screeching in agony; one fell near him, causing him to stumble to the ground.

He could not hear it clearly but the ominous laughter had returned and echoed around him, growing louder and more derisive, as if mocking his plight. He could see the ash cloud getting closer. He tried to get up again, but his legs would not move. The gray cloud flowed closer, Jason's breath became ragged, his heart pounding in his chest.

"No, please!" he pleaded.

He screamed as the heat became unbearable. He gasped as the hot air seared his throat and lungs.

"Wake up Wake up," he said as the ash cloud engulfed him. He could feel the sulfur burning through his flesh and bone.

"Aaaargh!" he screamed, only silenced when his throat melted away. Then, just as suddenly, the torment ceased he awoke with a start, his body drenched in sweat. He laid there, trembling, with echoes of his screams still ringing in his ears.

Illusiveone · Apr 4, 2024

Mardez zo Rakzan could hardly contain his amazement as he approached the entrance of the Black Pyramid. It was a structure of legend, destroyed by the Valyrians thousands of years ago, and to see it almost restored was a sight to behold. The Pyramid was now the seat of House Kaazn, a family that was exiled from New Ghis decades ago.They had made their home in Lhazosh which was built on the ruins of an ancient Ghiscari city.

Mardez had met the young scion of House Kaazn, Odnil, when he visited New Ghis a year ago; they had become great friends, and he had invited him to Lhazosh. As he passed by the Lhazareen lining the streets, he observed their pitiful state. It confirmed his thoughts on how Hordik Kaazn, Odnil's grandfather, was able to take over the city.Their superior Ghiscari blood had proven true.

His smile widened as he spotted his friend Odnil waiting at the entrance of the Black Pyramid. His journey had been long and arduous, but it seemed worth it at this moment. His eyes drifted back to the pyramid, standing tall against the sky. While not yet at its former glory, the structure was impressively close to it. The black stone of the pyramid absorbed the sunlight, giving it an imposing presence. The once-crumbling tiers were now almost seamlessly rebuilt, echoing the grandeur of a bygone era. At the top of the pyramid, he could see work being done; they seemed to be building a capstone.

As Mardez arrived at the entrance, Odnil greeted him warmly. "Welcome, my friend, to my humble abode," he said as they embraced.

"Ha! Humble, he says," Mardez remarked, looking around. "I must admit, I doubted you when you said the pyramid was almost restored. But seeing it with my own eyes... it's remarkable," Mardez exclaimed.

"Thank you, my friend," Odnil said with a hint of pride. "Come, let me show you to your chambers. You must be tired."

Mardez nodded, then saw the Lhazareen gathering around them, curious, he gestured towards them. "I've noticed how the locals seem to hold you and your family in high regard."

"Of course, they love us," Odnil replied with a sardonic smile. "We've brought stability and prosperity to Lhazosh. And in return, they offer us their loyalty and respect," he added, letting out a laugh.

As Odnil led Mardez through the grand halls of the Black Pyramid, Mardez couldn't help but be impressed by the opulence surrounding him. The corridors were lined with ancient Ghiscari artifacts, and the walls were adorned with tapestries depicting the history of House Kaazn.

"This is quite the palace you've got here, Odnil. I can't help but wonder, how does your family afford such luxury?" Mardez remarked with a sly grin.

Odnil responded with a knowing smile, "All in good time, my friend."

He then showed Mardez to the lavish guest room prepared for his stay. "Rest up," Odnil suggested, "I'll come to fetch you for dinner. My whole family is eager to meet you."

Mardez thanked him and, once alone, approached the window, gazing out at the bustling city of Lhazosh below. 'The Kaazns are truly doing well for themselves here. I wonder if they will truly conquer all of Lhazosh.' he thought

As he settled into the guest room, his mind wandered to the history of the Kaazn family. The patriarch, Hordik, was once ridiculed for his exile from New Ghis. The reason for Hordik's exile was shrouded in secrecy, known only to a few. Over the years, Hordik had not only regained his wealth but also established dominion over Lhazosh, with some in New Ghis whispering about his broader ambitions to conquer all of Lhazar. Some believed this to be true since Qardal, Hordik's son, was reputed for his military acumen. There were rumors of him fighting off Dothraki hordes that tried to raid the city.

'No one wants competition,' he thought with a chuckle.

Odnil was Qardal's son, and he also had a half-sister, Odette. Mardez's own family was one of the greatest within New Ghis. When his uncle had learned of his friendship with Odnil, he quickly made plans to send him here, keen on forging a strong alliance with the Kaazns.

As the evening settled in, a well-rested Mardez was escorted to dinner by Odnil, where he would meet the rest of the Kaazn family. Odnil had mentioned that his step-mother would be absent, still recuperating from childbirth complications that had persisted since Odette's birth.

They entered a large, opulent dining hall. At the far end, Mardez saw a man who bore a striking resemblance to Odnil but more aged. Beside him, a little girl darted around playfully, her laughter echoing through the hall.

"Come, let me introduce you to my father," he said.

"Father, this is Mardez zo Rakzan, scion of the great house of Rakzan," Odnil said, introducing him.

"Welcome to our home, Mardez zo Rakzan," Qardal greeted warmly, extending a firm handshake. "It's a pleasure to host a friend of Odnil's, especially one from New Ghis."

Odette, curious, approached him. "Are you Odnil's friend?" she asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"Yes, little one, I am," Mardez replied, smiling down at her.

"Please sit, we are just waiting for my father to arrive," Qardal said, showing him his seat. They continued to make small talk, with Odette chiming in with her own questions. However, the cheerful atmosphere soon shifted as Hordik, the patriarch of the Kaazn family, made his entrance.

He was a large, imposing figure. His skin was pallid, almost as if it rarely saw the sunlight, and his eyes, sharp and penetrating, seemed to weigh Mardez in a single glance. The man's movements were limited, necessitating that he be wheeled to the head of the table, yet this did nothing to diminish his commanding aura.

Mardez couldn't shake off the feeling that Hordik's gaze held a hint of disdain, or perhaps suspicion, towards him. As Hordik settled at the head of the table, servants quickly attended to him, laying out a feast befitting his status. With dinner beginning, the cheerful atmosphere had subtly changed; he felt the elder's eyes on him throughout the meal, and he dared not look in his direction.

An uneasy quiet lingered between the adults. Odette, blissfully unaware, chirped happily to her father and grandfather about her day. As the main course arrived, Hordik turned his gaze to Mardez. "So, Mardez zo Rakzan, tell me, how is life in New Ghis these days?" His voice was deep and authoritative.

"New Ghis remains prosperous, my lord. The markets are thriving, and there is less feuding between families…" He couldn't finish as Hordik interrupted.

"It's strange to be called a lord by a Ghiscari noble. No one has called me 'Hordik zo Kaazn' in a long time. I have gone by just Hordik Kaazn for most of my life," he said, looking into the distance as if remembering something.

The nobility of Ghiscar are recognized by the usage of 'zo' in their name. When they were exiled, the Kaazns lost their title.He could see Odnil and Qardal's expressions changing; they seemed annoyed by Hordik's behavior.

Hordik paused, then his voice took on a sardonic edge. "Your great-grandfather was a great man, one I respected. But your grandfather, well, he was quite the opposite, wasn't he? One of the biggest cunts to walk this world."

Qardal, frowning, started to interject, "Father, I don't think—"

But Hordik raised a hand, stopping him mid-sentence. "Let the man speak, Qardal. Well, Mardez zo Rakzan, is it true?"

Mardez, maintaining his composure, managed a wry smile. "Yes, Lord Hordik. It's true. My grandfather had his... shortcomings, and my uncle has followed his example."

Hordik chuckled, the sound rumbling from his large frame. "See, Qardal? This one here is honest. I like that." He then turned to Odnil. "Your friend has a spine, Odnil. Make sure you keep him close."

"I know what you are trying to do, my son," Hordik said, turning to Qardal. As soon as the atmosphere had lightened, it returned to how it was.

"Father…" Qardal tried to say.

"You wish to go back and regain our status, isn't that right, my son?" Hordik's tone was growing dangerous by the minute.

As the father and son began their tense standoff, his gaze went to his friend, who seemed embarrassed by it all. Odette, oblivious, suddenly stood up on her chair, holding a spoon like a scepter. "I am the queen of Lhazosh!" she declared in her tiny voice.

Everyone at the table turned to look at her, surprised by the sudden outburst. Hordik suddenly forgot his anger at his son and cracked a smile. "Oh, is that so, my little queen? And what will be your first decree?"

Odette pondered for a moment, her brows furrowed in thought. Then, with a bright smile, she exclaimed, "More sweets for dinner!"

Laughter broke out around the table. Hordik chuckled heartily, his eyes softening. "A queen after my own heart," he said. "You heard her, more sweets," he called to the servants.

After dinner, Odnil escorted Mardez through the corridors of the pyramid. "I must apologize for my grandfather..." Odnil began.

Mardez waved off the concern with a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about it, Odnil. I have one back home as well," he said, chuckling.

"Ah, yes, your uncle," Odnil replied. Seeking to lighten the mood, Odnil shifted the topic to more personal matters. "So, will you marry that girl you fancied?"

Mardez's expression soured at the mention. "No, that's off the table," he said bitterly. "My uncle insists I marry one of his girls. I have little choice in the matter." he quickly calmed himself.

"Enough about my woes. I wish to see it," Mardez said, mentioning one of the reasons he had come here.

A sly grin spread across Odnil's face. "Of course, my friend." With that, he led Mardez to the lower levels of the pyramid. Reaching a concealed door, Odnil ushered Mardez into an expansive underground chamber. He could hear faint sounds of shackles clinking and calls for help from men and women. Odnil took out a torch, and now Mardez could see rows of cells, crudely constructed, each holding Lhazareen men, women, and children.

Odnil, with a gleeful tone, began to boast about the efficiency of their operation. "You see, Mardez, the Lhazareen are as foolish as they are weak," he sneered, gesturing towards the captives. "They fall into our traps like flies to honey. It's almost too easy." As they walked between the rows, Odnil elaborated on their methods: abducting villagers under the cover of night, deceiving travelers, and sometimes, orchestrating raids with local bandits. He spoke of the slave pens as a farmer would of his livestock.

"This batch will be transported to Yhos soon. They should have been gone weeks ago, but that priestess has been looking into our operations here," Odnil said, clearly annoyed. Whoever this priestess was.

"The priestess?" Mardez asked, confused.

"Ah, I see that you don't know of the new god here in Lhazar," Odnil said, clearly surprised.

"Yes, I have. I thought that was just tall tales from merchants," Mardez replied, his interest piqued as they continued to navigate through the shadowy underbelly of the pyramid.

Odnil laughed. "Oh, it's very real. The followers of this new god are increasing by the day. They're a nuisance, meddling in affairs they don't understand," he explained with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"The Great Liberator, or Al-Muḥarrir as the locals call him, is no god, probably some sorcerer from the east who tricked these idiots into believing he is one." he explained

"It's funny how quickly they gave up on their old god" Odnil added with a laugh

"And this priestess, she's causing trouble for you?"

Odnil's expression hardened. "Yes, she's been snooping around, freeing some of our... merchandise. It's bad for business. We've had to increase our security and change our tactics frequently because of her," he admitted, frustration evident in his voice.

"Sounds like you have quite the problem on your hands," Mardez commented.

Odnil smirked, leaning in closer. "Don't worry, we have plans for this priestess and her followers. They won't interfere for much longer," he said, his eyes then turning to a woman in the cell next to them.

"Look, a pretty one," he said, as his eyes roamed over her body.

"That she is," Mardez agreed.

"Do you like her, my friend?" Odnil asked.

Mardez nodded as his eyes met with that of the terrified woman.

"Have her cleaned up and sent to my friend's room tonight," Odnil barked to the guards nearby and turned to Mardez.

"Don't damage her too much," Odnil said with a sinister smile.

A convoy made its way through the lands south of Lhazosh, leaving a dusty trail along the road to the port of Yhos. The convoy consisted of thirty enslaved Lhazareen and ten armored men. This journey had been a simple affair for the longest time, but in the last two months, it had become more dangerous: three of the last convoys had been attacked, all their men killed, and the slaves freed.

The leader of the group, Shazar, a burly man with a scarred face, was annoyed by these recent incidents. He now had to worry about ambushes. His eyes scanned the surroundings, spotting the rocky terrain in the distance—a perfect place for an ambush. "Stay sharp and keep your eyes peeled," he growled, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

The group advanced cautiously through the path, their eyes searching for any movement among the large rocks. Suddenly, the sharp hiss of an arrow cut through the air, followed by a thud as it found its mark in the chest of one of the armored men.

"Ambush!" the leader shouted, drawing his sword as he desperately sought cover.

More arrows flew with deadly precision, each finding its target with unnerving accuracy. They were unable to pinpoint the attackers, who remained hidden among the rocks. In minutes, the armed escort lay defeated, their bodies scattered across the path. The captives huddled together, afraid; they saw men and women emerging from their concealed positions among the rocks, who moved swiftly to unshackle them.

It was then they realized they were being rescued, not captured by another enemy.

Illusiveone · Apr 12, 2024

Mara walked through the ruins of the ancient Ghiscari city, observing the crumbling buildings around her, scarred and melted by dragonfire long ago. The only structure that remained undamaged was the large palace built into the canyon itself, where men, women, and children awaited her arrival to hear the morning sermon. Today, they would be joined by the thirty they had rescued the previous day, their largest group yet.

Mara was the first to be sent to Lhazosh by Arch-Priestess Irina, tasked with spreading the word of her god and establishing a small group of converts until more priestesses arrived. She was also asked to report back everything she could learn about Lhazosh.

She had great success initially, converting many locals and even piquing the interest of the ruling Kaazn family, who invited her to share more about her god. She thought she had gained the support of the family, and with their conversion, her task would become easier.

How wrong she was.

Three months went by, and she started noticing a troubling pattern. Many of her new followers came to her out of desperation, seeking the help of her god to find loved ones who had mysteriously disappeared; her attempts at preaching also started being obstructed. As she heard more and more about the missing loved ones of her growing flock, she decided to investigate their disappearances and over time, she realized they were far from random but were systematic and orchestrated.

The more she delved into the mystery, the more it became clear that a sinister operation was at play.

Her suspicions began to fall on House Kaazn; they were exiled Ghiscari nobility, loved and respected by the populace, but she had to wonder where their wealth came from. It seemed to increase drastically every year.

Using her growing network of converts and the resources at her disposal, Mara formed a small but dedicated team to investigate further. They worked tirelessly, often at great risk, to track down the missing individuals and gather evidence.

The truth was only revealed when they found one of the missing men who told them how he was abducted and imprisoned along with many others in a dark prison. He claimed he saw one of the Kaazns there, planning to take them to Port Yhos to be sold, but he had managed to slip away unseen.

She immediately sent word to the Arch-Priestess but received no response. Determined to put an end to the Kaazns' reign of terror, she decided to take matters into her own hands, she put together a group of brave men and women and planned to raid the convoys that took the captives to Yhos.

No more Lhazareen would be sold to Slaver's Bay.

She was informed of secluded ruins known to only a few, which she transformed into a stronghold for their resistance movement. Naming themselves the Liberators, in honor of their god, they began to raid and free the enslaved men and women.

Each freed captive became a part of their cause; some wished to leave for the city to tell their friends and family the truth, but the Kaazn had begun increasing patrols around the city as the raids increased, claiming it was to protect the city from a Dothraki threat. She often wondered if she could even convince the people of Lhazosh of the Kaazns' treachery; they were too loved, even with the freed captives behind her, many would not believe her.

She climbed up to the raised platform and began her sermon. She first introduced the newly arrived men and women to the group; this time, there were some children as well. She then told them of her god's arrival here, his first acts, how he had saved the city of Kosrak and liberated its people. She then went into his origins, taught to her by the Arch-Priestess herself, how he was helpless to save them as he was imprisoned by the ruinous powers and deceitful gods who viewed mortals like them as playthings.

"Al Muharrir is the embodiment of mercy and compassion, strength and justice. His mission is to liberate the oppressed, to break the chains of bondage, and to bring peace to this troubled land," she proclaimed.

"The teachings of the Great Shepherd have guided many to seek peace through pacifism, something we have done for centuries; this is wrong. We were led astray in the face of relentless evil, like the Kaazns and the horsemen; pacifism alone cannot protect us."

"Al Muharrir teaches us that peace often requires strength, the courage to stand against those who exploit and oppress."

Mara's voice grew more intense, "You are all victims of House Kaazn; they stripped you away from your freedom, your family, and loved ones. Al Muharrir sees this, and his heart aches at your plight."

"He is not a distant being who will not hear your prayers and pleas. He walks among us, sharing our burdens, feeling our pain, and fighting alongside us."

"He reigns supreme above all other gods, his will unchallenged, his power absolute. He is the source of all justice and righteousness, guiding us through his divine wisdom and strength."

"His compassion extends to all who seek his light, yet his justice is firm, striking down those who oppress and harm the innocent."

She continued her sermon, facing some interruptions from the newly arrived who still had strong devotion to the Great Shepherd; she debated them, and they had no answers to her questions.

They would not truly give themselves to the Liberator until he arrived in the city himself, something she hoped would be soon. She wondered about his divine plans and why he was taking so long, but it was not her place to question him.

Mara completed her sermon with a passionate call to faith and action. As she stepped down from the platform, Aman, her first convert and right-hand man, approached her.

"I bring news from the city," he said.

"What is it, Aman?" Mara inquired.

"One of our spies in the pyramid sent word that the Grand Vizier is coming to Lhazosh," he revealed.

Mara's eyes widened. "This is a sign, Aman! It means Al Muharrir himself will be with us soon," she exclaimed.

Turning to the gathered crowd, she announced, "My brothers and sisters, I have wonderful news! The Grand Vizier of our god is coming to Lhazosh. This heralds the near arrival of Al Muharrir himself!" Her voice echoed through the ruins, sparking a cheer among the people, their faces alight with renewed hope and fervor.

"I must go to Lhazosh. I need to meet with the Grand Vizier and inform him of everything," she concluded.

As Garth and his retinue entered Lhazosh, he found the reception markedly different from what they had experienced in Hesh. The streets were lined with curious onlookers, their expressions one of confusion and intrigue; he quickly realized that Irina's influence, which she had boasted of, didn't extend to Lhazosh as much as she thought.

He was supposed to arrive here a month ago. It took him a long time to resolve the issues in Hesh. The city had been teetering on the brink of chaos after he exposed the deep-seated corruption within its leadership. He was forced to take swift, decisive action to stabilize the situation, appointing his trusted aide Darius to oversee the city's governance temporarily. He had to leave all his regular troops there as well.

His gaze was repeatedly drawn to the Black Pyramid, the ancient structure undergoing restoration. He hoped Mara, the priestess Irina had mentioned, would brief him on the situation here. There was no way this city was joining their burgeoning kingdom now; an alliance was all he could hope for, but all that depended on who was responsible for the slaver ring in the city.

As his eyes went to the Black Pyramid again, he saw a group of armored men approaching; the Immortals were on alert, but he motioned for them to stand down. As they approached, the leader of the group rode forward.

"I am Odnil Kaazn," the man announced with a respectful nod. "We are honored to welcome you, Grand Vizier, to Lhazosh."

Garth studied him for a moment before responding. "Thank you, Odnil Kaazn."

"As the Grand Vizier of the divine realm of Haven, I'm here to establish friendly relations with Lhazosh," he added.

"Let us talk more at my family residence. I assure you, my family is eager to meet you and discuss a potential alliance," he said, gesturing towards the Black Pyramid.

"Lead the way then, Odnil Kaazn."

Two days before Garth's arrival

Mara and her entourage, veiled in the garb of common travelers, made their way through the bustling streets of Lhazosh towards the modest residence she had called home for the last year. She hoped the Grand Vizier would arrive soon; she had to share the wicked plot she had uncovered as soon as possible.

As they neared the residence, a sense of unease crept over Mara. The streets seemed too quiet, the usual clamor of city life muted around her. Her instincts screamed danger, but before she could react, chaos erupted.

Figures emerged from the shadows. Her companions, including Aman, were swiftly overpowered, their attempts to defend themselves futile against the surprise assault.

She tried to escape, her legs pushing her forward through empty, narrow alleys. The attackers were well-prepared. They seemed to anticipate her every move, cutting off her paths and herding her towards a dead end.
In a final desperate attempt, Mara turned to confront her pursuers, ready to fight, to shout for help, but it was too late. A blunt force struck her from behind, sending sharp pain through her head, her vision blurred.

As the ground rushed up to meet her, Mara's last conscious thought was a silent plea for her god to watch over her flock, to guide the Grand Vizier to the truth. Darkness then enveloped her, the sounds of the city fading into a distant echo as she succumbed to the void of unconsciousness.

Illusiveone · Apr 12, 2024

Day ???? of jason's seclusion

Jason did not know where he was or when he was; he did not even know if he was awake or dreaming. He had been lying on the ground, looking at a cloudless sky for... he didn't know how long. He had lost track of time but didn't care. This was much better than dying.

He remembered dying a lot, with a lot of fire... yes, lots of fire... and the voices... Well, recently, it was just one voice. It always told him to give up, to submit.

He almost did a few times, but he didn't.

That was the only control he had now: the fact that he didn't give in to what the voice wanted, and he would never give up, no matter how horrible the next death would be.

He could hear the sound of the sea; the ground seemed to be moving as well. He stood up and saw that he was on a small boat, sailing through a serene sea. The sun shone brightly, reflecting off the calm, clear waters, and a gentle breeze wafted through the air. This was different from the fire and brimstone he had come to expect.

'What are you playing at?' he thought.

He enjoyed the peace for a moment. He felt a sense of tranquility, but this was short-lived. Without warning, the sky darkened as ominous clouds gathered.

'Ah, there it is,' he thought, as he prepared himself.

The sea, once serene, turned treacherous, with colossal waves rising high above it crashed over the boat with furious intensity. He struggled to maintain his balance as the vessel was tossed about like a mere toy in the clutches of the raging storm.

"Submit... submit... submit..." he could hear the voice again from the depths of the sea.

As the boat splintered under the assault of the storm, he was thrown into the icy grasp of the sea. He fought to swim upwards, to break through the surface and gasp for air, but he couldn't; something was pulling him down.

As much as he tried, he found himself being dragged down; the further he was dragged, the greater the pressure increased, and the water crushed against him. The light from above faded as he was pulled deeper into the ocean's dark, suffocating embrace. His lungs screamed for air; he could still hear the voice in his head telling him to submit and give up. His vision blurred and cold seeped into his bones, numbing his body as he descended into the silent, oppressive darkness. Finally, his instinct to breathe won over. Water filled his lungs, a painful, burning sensation that marked the final moments of his struggle.

When Jason woke up, he found himself lying on a beach, gasping for breath. He sat up, and his body convulsed as he expelled water from his lungs and stomach. It was a horrible feeling.

Calming down, he looked around; he was surrounded by the remnants of countless shipwrecks. The sky was dark with storm clouds, and splintered wood was strewn across the shore. He slowly stood up and, in the distance, perched atop a cliff, he could see a gigantic castle.

'That's a big castle. Am I in Westeros? Is that Storm's End...?' Before he could finish his thoughts, a bolt of lightning struck the ground near him, sending him to the ground again.

He staggered back to his feet and looked to the sky again, seeing sparks of electricity swirling ominously. Without hesitation, he sprinted toward the castle, knowing what was about to happen.

As he ran, lightning bolts struck the ground around him with increasing frequency, followed by deafening thunder. He expertly maneuvered through the lightning bolts striking near him. The castle was so close now.

'I am going to make it,' he thought happily. But he celebrated too soon, as a massive bolt of lightning struck him directly, sending searing pain tearing through his body as if it were being ripped apart piece by piece. It ravaged his body, burning his flesh, fracturing his bones, and it felt as if it scorched his very soul. Yet, he hadn't died; he was still conscious.

"ARRRGGHHH!!! UGHHH!!" he screamed.

The voice returned, this time booming from the sky; with each word, it sent lightning onto his prone body.

"Submit... submit... submit..." it thundered.

His spirit was battered, but it did not break. "NOOOOOOOOO!" he screamed, defiance fueling his battered body. His refusal was met with the full force of the storm's fury, sending a final, devastating bolt to finish him off, and then he met the familiar comfort of darkness once more.

When Jason woke up again, he was laughing like a madman, finding himself in a forest. He felt the cool air on his skin, and his laughter echoed through the trees.

His gaze darted around as he took in the dense canopy of ancient trees.

"Heh... heh heh heh..." he chuckled with a tinge of madness. He slowly stood up, taking deep breaths with occasional laughter in between.

He closed his eyes and calmed himself. "I control this," he muttered to himself. "This is my dream; it's in my head."

As he wandered deeper into the forest, the underbrush thickened, and the air grew heavy with the scent of earth and decay. He kept repeating, "I control this," like a mantra as he explored the forest.

Eventually, he stumbled into a clearing, his eyes drawn to a solitary white tree amid a sea of green grass. Its leaves were a deep, vibrant red, and as he approached, he noticed the face etched into the bark, with a stream of red liquid seeping from its eyes.

"A weirwood," he murmured, the realization dawning on him. "The old gods... they're supposed to be the good ones, right?" Hope flickered within him, the thought that perhaps these ancient deities could end his torment.

As he neared the tree, a voice whispered in his ear, a soft, sinister murmur that grew in intensity with each step. "Jason... Jason..." it called, drawing him closer.

Then, those haunting words filled the air, chilling him to his core: "Submit, submit."

Rage ignited within Jason, a fierce, burning fury that seemed to set his very soul ablaze. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms.

"No!" he shouted at the tree, at the forest, at the gods themselves. He then resumed his maddened laughter.

"What, nothing to show me? Is it because you are a tree?" he taunted, his laughter filling the air.

The forest seemed to respond, the wind whipping through the trees with sudden, violent force. Then, from the ground, roots burst out and tangled his feet, dragging him toward the weeping weirwood. His hands found his feet, and in a show of strength, he ripped the roots off. He stood up again with a smile on his face.

"I am in control," he growled, his voice barely above a whisper.

He stood there, waiting for the tree gods' next move, and he didn't have to wait too long. The ground beneath him erupted, sending roots spiraling toward him. But this time, Jason was ready. Raising his hands, he summoned his powers, something he could not use during his torment.

"I am in control," he said again, and the advancing roots halted in mid-air, quivering as if meeting an invisible barrier.

"HAHAHAHAHA!!! MWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!" he laughed out loud.

"FUCK YOU!" he shouted as he unleashed his full might against the tree, intending to uproot the very symbol of his torment.

Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his chest; he looked to see a solitary root impaled through it. His body went limp, the pain excruciating, but he did not scream; he was numb to it now. The roots once again caught him and dragged him to the tree.

"Submit, submit..." it taunted.

"NOOOO!" he screamed. The tree did not stop; he felt himself being drawn into the gnarled trunk, his body merging with the ancient wood. His face was the last to be absorbed, his screaming defiance etched into the tree.

Jason awoke to a cold he had never felt before. He was in a blizzard. Without waiting around, he fought his way through it, searching for shelter. After a while, to his relief, the blizzard lessened, gradually revealing the full moon in the sky.

He noticed a large structure in the distance; it was like a huge skyscraper made of ice. He walked towards it, and as he got closer, he could see a throne made of ice at its base, shimmering under the moonlight. His heart began beating faster as he saw a shadowy figure seated upon it.

'Ice, ice, throne... was that the Night's King?' he thought. Suddenly, he heard the figure laugh; it was as if it had heard his thoughts—a mocking laugh.

'No, no, this was something else, something more ancient,' he thought.

He prepared for their inevitable clash, but the figure did not move.

Frustration boiling over, he shouted into the howling wind, "What, not going to ask me to submit?" The shadowy figure simply laughed again, then slowly shook its head.

"Huh?" Jason managed to respond.

Suddenly, the world twisted and shifted around him; the cold, the snow, and the ice melted away as if they were mere illusions. He found himself back in a familiar setting, standing on the terrace of his grand temple, he felt the warmth of the sun on his skin.

'What now?' he wondered.

He then heard sounds of applause behind him. Turning, Jason froze; his breath caught in his throat as he saw the figure walking towards him. It was him—the man walking towards him was himself.

The doppelgänger wore his features perfectly and approached with a confident swagger. Dressed in fine clothes, it exuded a powerful, menacing aura; its eyes glowed like molten lava.

Stopping just a few feet away, the doppelgänger surveyed him with a look of amusement and superiority. It tilted its head slightly, a smirk playing on its lips, and said in a voice that was eerily familiar yet laced with malice,

"You have to admit, I wear this body better than you."

The Accidental Liberator (ASOIAF,GOT SI)

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