Dreadfort
Theon Stark, Magnar of the northern, and largest, kingdom slowly drank from his cup. Holding his gaze on the men celebrating in House Bolton's keep, like death was overcome with a miracle. Which was true, Gods was that ever true.
The miracle was to his left as the giant of a man, if he even was a man, leaned back. The mane of auburn couldn't hide the smile on his lips, Haakon took a cup - one comically small in his thick palm, and downed the wine in one gulp. A servant quickly skipped over to fill the chalice with barely hidden awe on their face, which Theon thought was justified.
No mere man gulps down three barrels of mead and still has his faculties.
As if knowing what he was thinking, Haakon looked down at his cup and blinked. Surprise radiated from him as he stared.
"Oh, sorry." He apologised in his bone quaking voice. "I shouldn't drink you out of hearth and home. Can't get drunk from these anyway." Haakon finished by pushing the chalice away.
Theon was…in crisis.
When he was just a pup, all of the shamans always proclaimed the Gods did not walk like them. They were higher than them; the Gods never talk and never interact with mortals, unless they needed something from humanity: a sacrifice of blood or prized possessions, or a task was ordered - plant a weirwood acorn, block off a stream that he would hear just a few days later helped spawn a community of animals. But some tasks were harsh: kill this young boy or tell a family to move away from a fertile area - leading them to starvation or cannibalism in desperation.
Gods were cruel and unseen, demanding sacrifice for something, or nothing, in return.
Then came this Stranger. Wielding lightning and a hammer of exotic metal like a warrior out of legend. Smiting the invaders with ease in brilliant and petrifying blue, only to bring those that died back from the Gods' grasp with a simple click of his fingers.
Maybe his men were correct and this…Haakon was a God in a physical body. Yet Theon could not believe what his men did, the King of Winter could hear his father's voice scolding him for such heretical thoughts. Rationalising that Haakon was simply a powerful sorcerer of tremendous might with giant's blood in his veins.
Despite Theon's feelings on his faith, Haakon had won them the battle at Weeping Water and made sure men would come home to families - for that, Theon was thankful this Stranger had come in their time of need. Theon needed to act like a King to his men, give them leadership and joy after a battle.
The King stood and the hall turned silent as their leader raised a glass to his men.
"Men of winter!" He called out to the soldiers inside the keep and he hoped his voice was carried to the ones outside. "Today, the Gods shine on us. For not a single man of faith has been slain!" The fortress, inside and out, roared with cheers and banging tankards and chalices. "And better yet! Every single invader has been slaughtered to drown in their false God's hell!" The roars deafened the area from miles around and the Northern Kingdom felt their men's joy and pride. Theon Stark then turned to the Stranger, who quickly gained a deep look. "And finally, to you Haakon! For no man here would be alive to drink, sleep, piss and fuck a woman tonight!"
"Haakon!" Thousands of voices ringed out, looking upon the half-giant with reverence and respect, fit for a religious figure or a celebrated hero.
Haakon simply gripped his chalice and raised it in silent thanks, a growing smile underneth fire-kissed hair - Theon went to speak, proclaiming a future counter-invasion to make the invaders from the east pay in blood.
And take back his people. His sister.
Only for the words to stop at the gates when the half-giant glazed towards the main doors.
"So, the little ones are here."
Haakon's words were quickly forgotten as the doors were slowly pried open, and a group of six Forest Children strode in. The joyful mood turned near sour for the Northmen, Theon included. They had expected the Forest Children to help against the fight against the invaders but they stood alone, no Giant or Forest Child stayed to slay the invaders nor a single healer was offered to help the wounded.
The six Forest Children walked through the glares and angry mutters to stand in front of the long table.
The Forest Child leading the group was familiar to Theon, and the King snarled.
"Oak." He greeted, for politeness' sake.
Oak bowed. "King Wolf. It is good to see you alive and unarmed."
"Is it?" He responded through clenched teeth and tensed fists. "I might have been slain by those fuckers from the east, our families slaughtered and our trees cut down. If not for help, we could have failed in our defence. Where were you?"
Many soldiers and civilians grew more confident as their King demanded answers, mummering unkind words and hissing foul curses at the Forest Children.
Oak spoke first, his eyes flickering to Haakon for a brief glance before answering. "We were north of the Wall."
Stark grew cold despite the fireplace behind him roaring with delight at its wooden feast. No curses or mummers continued as speech died in its crib. For the Wall was evidence. Evidence of an ancient enemy that was a hair's width away from shrouding the land in snow and darkness; from raising their corpses to join their army of ghouls and undead, and to forcibly transform the young into one of their own abominable elite guard.
The Night King and his Others.
"T-The Others?" Theon admitted he was scared. Tales and stories of his ancestors fighting for their lives and the lives of their descendants always described the enemy. White skin pulled over bones, icy stars for eyes and blades made of glaciers that would freeze a man in an eye blink. "They have returned?"
The King tried to stay strong, he had to be. For if the Others were coming and somehow bypassed the Wall, then they had to stop them, somehow kill them. There was no point in trying to erect another wall, for if they could pass the original - then they could easily push through theirs. A wall that would never hold a candle to Brandon the Builder's masterpiece.
To his relief, and to the relief of many, Oak shook his head.
"No." He said, only to point to Haakon. "It is thanks to the God beside you, that the ancient enemy has been vanquished."
Fayharbour
Greysor Sevenstar, brother to Argos, clenched his teeth as he waited on the docks of the port city - the slaves around him cowering in their rags and chained ankles. Two months had passed since his brother's departure, too long for a simple raid of the heathens that inhabit the Western Lands. Greysor knew Argos was thorough but the Lord of Fayharbour should've sent a message by boat or bird from the lands westward, and that message should be in Greysor's hands; his eyes engulfing the details of his brother's raid.
Yet not a single word had come from his brother and Greysor couldn't help but worry. The Brothers, Sisters and even the High Septon would tell Greysor to be patient and to never fret - for Argos Sevenstar was protected by the Seven-Who-Are-One: strength given to him by the Father, courage gifted by the Warrior, strategy by the Crone, protection from the Mother, the Smith for strong weapons and armour, encouragement by the Maiden, and finally for the Stranger to be mindful and let them live instead of taking the faithful, but the heathens, away.
The youngest Sevenstar knew his brother was strong and he knew that the Seven would protect Argos and bring him home. However, doubt crept into his heart and so Greysor turned towards the church and marched forwards - no longer waiting for his brother at the docks, letting doubt and anxiety destroy him, but to the Seven, who he hoped could provide answers.
The church was a majestic building. Strong seven walls of iron inlaid with beautiful tapestries and wood carvings filled with glorious images of the Seven - The Father, stern and strong. The Mother, loving and protective. The Warrior, courage and warfare incarnate. The Smith, gifted and creative. The Maiden, uplifting and cheerful. The Crone, curious and wise. The Stranger, unknowing and dangerous. Above the seven was a dome with a hole in its centre, shining down sunlight, starlight and moonlight, allowing the Seven-Who-Are-One to enter the sacred hall at their pleasure.
Greysor took a moment to collect himself, and entered the Great Sept. The judging, creative, wise, unknown and encouraging carvings stared silently, wondering why this mortal stepped into their holy place. It was empty except for the Seven, the High Septon, Holy Brothers and Sisters, and Silent Ones were all retired as the day was nearing its end - the guarding of the hall by the Militant was never needed, for who would ever think of defiling this sacred place.
He walked towards the centre, facing the Father and fell to his hands and knees. Praying to all of the Seven.
"Please, the Seven-Who-Are-One, I beseech you for aid." He pleaded. "I only ask if my brother, Argos Sevenstar, a faithful and righteous man, is safe. He has sailed to the Western Lands with four thousand of our strongest, and no word has been sent back. I…The Septons, Holy Brothers and Sisters say to not worry for they follow your wisdom and strength…but I cannot help this terror that something has happened." The Seven were silent, hurting Greysor in the bottom of his soul and he lashed out. A little brother scared for his kin had overcome his god-fearing sensibilities. "Please! Please tell me!"
Once again, the Seven were silent.
His voice reverberated back to him, and Greysor nearly broke his nails as they clenched and clawed at the ground - leaving behind faint groves in the flooring. The fingers unchecked slowly and Greysor stood, dejected at their silence, before turning to leave the Sept.
"And why do you leave, mortal?" A croaked, womanly voice struck Greysor, a voice that should not have been inside the hall - Greysor knew no one entered with him.
He drew his sword and quickly circled on the spot, scanning the hall, blade point following his eyes' scan.
"Aww, you must not blame the poor man." Came a voice, a soft voice, from the other end of the hall. One that pulled blood into his cheeks, and Greysor tried, and failed, to stamp the red away.
"He draws a weapon at us?" An angry, iron-bending boom erupted from another direction.
"Be understanding, Warrior." Spoke the voice. Harsh but just. "This mortal has not seen our power before, we have been away for far too long."
'This voice came from…the carving?' Greysor's mind didn't find the conclusion until the brightness nearly blinded him.
He dropped to his hands and knees, prostrating as the light around him faded - and even then he continued to stare to the floor, burying his forehead a quarter-inch.
Greysor felt a pressure. A pressure that was ready to crush him flat and spread his insides across the Sept. The younger Sevenstar now knew who these voices belonged too.
The Seven-Who-Are-One. They had answered his pray.
"Greysor Sevenstar." Roared the Father, or spoke, the man would never know which one. "You ask us about your Brother and so we shall. He is dead, murdered by heathens in the Western Lands, body desecrated and unfit for burial, and last rites."
Greysor was frozen in wrath and sorrow. His brother lay desecrated in a foreign land and could not be given a proper funeral.
'What manner of abominable actions were they doing to Argos' corpse?' He thought. 'Using his bones for their dark rituals? Eating his flesh like the animals they are? Or did they leave him to rot for the crows to eat away?' The list became longer and more detailed within Greysor's mind - and with each point, his fear for Argos' soul fattened until Greysor felt ready to rupture and spew his food out. Only thanks to his mind, remembering the Seven that came down from the stars just to answer him, did he forge iron gates to stop his stomach from exiting his lips.
"H-H…How did he die?"
"A foreign God."
"I-I am unsure what you mean, Father."
"It is as he says, Mortal." The Smith grumbled, the unofficial Lord of Fayharbour couldn't comprehend how his mind knew which aspect spoke. "Your brother was murdered by a God that was not from the lands to the west, but from far, far away - wielding terrible magic," Greysor scowled, magic was, of course, a wicked ability that was unnatural to the world of man.
Next came the Warrior. "A bloodstained hammer inside wide paws and wearing armour of terrible, heretical might. Eyes of earthly brown and lightning blue, fire-kissed hair and mane with monstrous blood in his veins."
"He who comes to protect those who are wrong, those who practise barbarous practices. So too shall he come to Fayharbour: to bring ice and pain, lightning and death, magic and strife." The Crone warned.
"You must protect your people, Greysor Sevenstar." The Maiden and Mother implored together. "And we shall give you the tools to strengthen the people when the followers of the foreign, and false, god come to take their childish vengeance."
Greysor went to speak, to proclaim that he shall do so, but could not. For six agonising burns strike at his body: hands and feet, heart and forehead. Greysor's screams felt far away, like he was just an outsider standing guard outside a locked torture chamber, listening like a voyeur. Looking down at his extremities, he was taken aback at the red-lined, golden-filled brands upon the back of his hands. A sword, strong and unbreakable, on his right - and a blacksmith's hammer, unyielding and inventive, on his left. Desperately, he tore off his boots to see the symbols of the Mother Above and the Maiden, on his left and right feet respectively.
Greysor knew that his forehead and the area above his heart were branded too. However, his brow bunched up and lips creased downwards, a silent murmur within Sevenstar's thoughts asked about the seventh aspect, the unknown one.
The Stranger. The one who guides the dead through the unknown.
"The Stranger does not speak to those still living." The Father Above said. His voice killed the birthing question in its womb and that was everything spoken shouting the matter. "These gifts we have given you: the knowledge of warfare, of metalworking, of maintenance, the courage to protect those who stand behind you, and a protection of your own. These are given to you, Greysor Sevenstar, as my degree that you shall be a new King of the Andals, like Hugor before you, and my second degree is your role shall be to wipe out this foreign god and its heathens! Go King Greysor of Fayharbour, unite the people and stand ready for the false god's assault!"
Thoughts? Please review, I live for that shit.
Just finished Neil Gaimen's: Norse Mythology and currently going through Rick Riordan's Heroes of Olympus series at the moment (currently on book 3), so that might affect my writing style a bit.
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[NSFW] A Travelling Deity (Multicross)
Tags:
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multicross
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Which Mjolnir design looks best from the 'Mjolnir Question' in the Extras section?
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Kris-71854Not too sore, are you?
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I seriously doubt the Andals have a chance if they keep going to the North. Westros is a large continent though. If they went to the South, they'd actually be able to make inroads.
Greysor Sevenstar is only interesting as being a local champion. It's rather sad. He got 6 gifts rather than 6 gods making six champions.
I agree our MC should be able to roll right over the seven if they came down themselves. Their worshipers/champions? They don't really stand a chance. Their only real chance of survival is landing in Dorne and working their way up.
Thinking about it, there is a massive coastline that they could actually land on and build cities and all that. I'd think that there would be First Men there already, but who knows?
It's not like the MC can be everywhere on the continent.
The really sad thing is that he might have left them alone. That they empowered a champion and made an annoyance of themselves? Well, that means the MC can go a full curb stomp over the Seven's religion. The only one remaining would Death.
I can see the MC telling the locals a bit about his friends and his personal pantheon and starting some worship of them locally. Hmm, if he actually writes some holy books and gets worship started up, could he make further contact with his home/friends?
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HeyaUser, A quite reader, BloodWolf752 and 3 others like this.

MorkailShado-Master
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Real torn on the faith of the seven having actually gods I feel the dragon riders across the sea would of been a better enemy in the long run, after all having a hard on for magic is literally in there blood.
thanks for the chapter.
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The_ExileLurker on QQ, Newbie at writing on QQ
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RinKaihou said: ↑
I'm kinda torn.
On one hand, God vs God(s) chess matches are always good fun.
On the other hand, I was looking forward to the catharsis of Haakon just stomping everyone.
Or maybe one side thinks they are playing chess. 
Last edited: Dec 29, 2022
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Mastersgt said: ↑
Hope that Death Sentence/Spell gets resolved soonish. I like multi-crosses, and I like OP slice-of-life/Adventure fics, but I dislike stories that leave unresolved issues causing constant background anxiety/suspense. Like someone being a slave, or in this case, having their entire being be bound to a prison that will kill them at any moment if it is broken.
Kind of spoils the ending I want for this fic, but I did want to address it, if people don't like it.
Spoiler: Death Sentence/Spell thing
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TheToFu said: ↑
this was a nice little surprise and I cant wait for more
Thank you, I hope that you enjoy my horrible writing. 
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Morkail said: ↑
Real torn on the faith of the seven having actually gods
I don't want to say anything about that as that will spoil a reveal later.
Morkail said: ↑
I feel the dragon riders across the sea would of been a better enemy in the long run, after all having a hard on for magic is literally in there blood.
Don't worry, we'll get to them.
Morkail said: ↑
thanks for the chapter.
No problem.
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TheToFuToFu
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The_Exile said: ↑
Thank you, I hope that you enjoy my horrible writing. 
Well, you did good for a first try. Keep it up.
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Extras: List of Worlds
<  The_ExileLurker on QQ, Newbie at writing on QQ New So I have a list of worlds that I feel confident that I can write about. I probably won't write about them all and I won't promise that I will, as life might get in the way or stop it outright. Just wanted to get this out there. If you think there is a universe that you would like to see, then please say so and I might put it on the list. Big Hero 6 Darksiders DC: Earth-12 (DCAU) DC: Unknown Earth (DCAMU) DC: Unknown Earth (Injustice: Gods Among Us) DC: Earth-16 (Young Justice) DOOM (Modern Era) Dragon Age Game of Thrones (Parallel Universe to the one Haakon is in now, but the MC will arrive when canon starts) God of War Harry Potter Highschool DxD Invincible Kuroinu Marvel: Earth-8096 (Earth's Mightest Heroes) Marvel: Earth-20051 (Marvel Adventures) Marvel: Earth-199999 (MCU) Marvel: Earth-1048 (Spiderman PS4) Marvel: Earth-12041 (Avengers Assemble) Mass Effect Mortal Kombat My Hero Academia Naruto Star Wars Witcher Percy Jackson << Index Tuesday at 5:30 PMReport Like+ QuoteReply UsernameNotFound, Tobi, A quite reader and 3 others like this.  BloodWolf752Not too sore, are you? New Taimanin Asagi? If you're doing one dark H setting in the form of Kuroinu, why not? Colourful cast of characters with a bunch of unique and interesting powers, deep interesting lore to play with and plenty of targets to smack upside the head without moral consequences. Tuesday at 8:07 PMReport Like+ QuoteReply Threadmarks: 04: A Deal Struck and a Late Nate Visitor <  The_ExileLurker on QQ, Newbie at writing on QQ New Author's Note: Will admit, I don't feel happy with this chapter, but what do you guys think? Staring at the fire, I nudged the logs softly with the poker - encouraging the flame to stay alive. Two days had passed since the Children of the Forest had ousted me as a God before simply leaving. The keep had fallen silent and the entire event was awkwardly halted by Stark, and the Northmen were ordered to leave, faces now permanently struck with awe and religious fervour - whispers within their minds all prayed to their Nature Gods. And to me. Their prayers were small, simple expressions of gratitude that only added pieces; each individual adding one-thousandth of a millimetre drop of water to a glass bottle ten thousand kilometres high and thirty thousand kilometres wide. The prayers were small, but they were something that I needed to happen. It was, after all, what Death said to do. To properly travel across the omniverse, and make sure I was powerful enough to stand against Khaos in case it escaped, I had to become stronger, to become higher than a 'High God' - and for that, I required the mortal's prayer. My lips curled, relatively, it wasn't that long ago that I was just a mortal myself. A human that went to school, had friends, had lustful thoughts about the history teacher and dreams of the future. There were days I wished to go back to that ordinary life. A simple life. Fate, however, seemed to have plans that overruled my wishes - forcing my lovers and I to go on dangerous quest after dangerous quest. I won't lie and say that I didn't enjoy my adventures, far from it. The battles? The women? The quests? I relished every second. A knock on the door alerted me, and using my sight, I spotted Theon Stark, Magnar of the North, outside the door. After the awkward stoppage of the celebration, I shifted towards a place to hide in and quickly found an abandoned tower on the outskirts of the fortress. A place of suffering, filled with haunted ghosts of the Bolton's victims - of which, many were allies to the Starks: Umber, Mormont, Dustin, Reed and a hundred other family crests that I could not identify. One quick exorcism later and I was inside an abandoned tower alone, absorbing the minuscule prayers from the people that inhabited the Dreadfort and its surroundings. "Come in," I grunted. Theon walked in and closed the door behind him. His thoughts were more than enough indication of what he wanted to talk about. "Why does your shaman want to talk to me?" I asked. Theon stuttered on nothing. "H-How…?" Wiggling my fingers at my head, I said. "I can read everyone's thoughts." With that piece of information revealed, Stark forced through his bafflement. "The men you saved, and the men you brought back from death. They demand answers. The Children have gone back to their forests and the Shaman's answers are unsatisfactory for them." Thinking quickly, I nodded and stood. "Alright, I shall speak to any and all that want to speak and know who I am, and what I represent." Exiting the tower with Stark by my side, we quickly found ourselves in the main courtyard. Servants went to and fro, trying to make sure every home was perfected down to the last detail; the soldiers milled about, trying to find or purchase any last-minute products that caught their fancy before leaving to go home. My body was the object of many an awe-filled stare. Servants, children and soldiers all let out whispers that were clear conversations to my ears. "Is that him?" One servant muttered. "He certainly looks like a God?" A blushing woman spoke. "Ya' think he a God of those Giants?" Asked a soldier to a man twenty years his senior. "No, you fool!" A smack was then heard. "Why would a Giant worship a God that was shorter than them?" "But the Shaman's said…" "The Shaman's said we would die!" The senior's voice grew loud for a brief moment before the veteran realised and hushed himself. Raising a brow, I asked Theon a question. "These shamans? They speak for your Gods?" "They are hermits." He said. "Living in huts near the great Weirwood Trees, to try and attune themselves to nature and the Gods. They…say that due to their connection to nature, they can read the unknown signs from the Gods, and what they are trying to tell us." I semi-grunted. These shamans sounded more like charlatans, those fake religious types that proclaimed they could cure the handicapped: restoring someone's walking ability or forcing an out-of-body experience into a person - where they would spazz out and the audience would gobble it up like pigeons to bread. I hoped that these shamans were not manipulators and were simply misguided in their attempts to understand their deities. Theon escorted me to another yard, one with three layers: the outermost, a cacophony of pines, alder and oak, with bushes doting between the trees like pikes in the shield wall; the middle, a loud burble from a gathering of men, women and children, kneeling shoulder to shoulder like it was a school assembly; and in the centre stood a mighty weirwood - proud with a smooth snow-white body and five-pointed, blood-red hair - the face of a man crying blood was certainly an image. For the Gods of these lands peered through their sacred tree, somehow more soul-squishing than when I met them in the Lands Beyond the Wall. As if they gorged themselves on prayer after a lifetime of fasting. "And here comes the false God!" Cried a smouldered old crone from on top of a stone as if a priest in a cathedral, declaring herself the main Shaman for the Nameless Gods. Time had not been kind to her: short, squat, wrinkles that wouldn't look out of place on a wrathful sea, eyes staring in opposite directions and stringy hair that looked ready to break free and escape. "Claiming it is equal to the Nameless! That the Gods needed to send a Champion!" Her sentences were short and ear-piercing, like metal screws on rock, but she did have an effect on the religious folk. Their discontent grew louder as they glared and hissed. Theon stepped forward, intending to stop whatever sermon the shaman was holding, only to be caught off guard by the crone. "And see the fruit of its actions!" She screamed, pointing towards Stark. "Casting illusions to take control of Magnar Stark's body, and use dark and monstrous magic to puppet the dead that died in the Whispering Water. See how it flaunts its power!" Stark was stuck, after all, if he spoke against the crone then it would put more credence to her words. Even I was befuddled about what to say. I normally left this type of talk to Aphrodite or Rachel, women who knew what to say in calling down a crowd or convincing a high-ranking politician to help us. Looking around, I could see why not a single person had come to my defence. The women that stood in this place of worship were wives, daughters and sisters; the men were brothers, sons and fathers of those that I did not resurrect. Tattoos of runes and symbols were prevalent on their skin, showing their utter devotion to their deities, but the most devoted can be the ones most easily swayed by the ones in power. Looking past them, past the old crone, I smirked and realised that I didn't need to say a single word. The Gods were looking through the weirwood tree, and they weren't happy. For they were nature itself. They had no corporeal bodies, no physical being to interact with the world, but that meant there was nothing holding their power back. See, a God was powerful already - with abilities that far exceed humanity that there was no need to forgo their bodies. It was unsure why this happened, why would physical matter hold a God or Goddess from becoming all-mighty? Many pantheons questioned and hypothesised and only one God had done so. YHWH. He was literally everywhere at every time. Even to a time when he didn't exist. Confusing a bit, I know. And now I had met an entire pantheon that seemingly did the same thing, forgoing their wants to try and be there for their followers and worshipers. Except there was an issue, a very good issue. You were everywhere, as in every star, every nebula, every galaxy, every supernova, every black hole, and every atom. You were every time, as in at the beginning of time and at the end of it. Every birth and at every death. Your mind would probably get scrambled for quite a long while. It seemed my arrival forged their minds straight - and the minds of those further east. The bright glow of waving, false gold and the destructive red and orange blaze scratched and slapped, screeched and yelled, at each other. Like two children moaning that it was their turn to play with the toy, and squabbling over it. It was weird to see the auras of deities, the Seven-Who-Are-One and the ones worshipped by the Valyrians, fighting as if they were toddlers. "Enough!" Brought back by the cawing of crows, I looked on as nature itself was awakened and chosen violence: wood groaned, wolves howled, clouds coiled, lightning boomed, rain fell, insects roared, and leaves bellowed. The Formless Gods were indeed not pleased with the women's sermon. A branch speared forward, ripping through the crone's back and out of her chest. Red vaulted towards the people, causing all to scream in ear-piercing pitches as they tried to flee, huddling over their children - some even abandoning them in the chaos - only to be stopped by a wall of earth and wood. "You believe in these tricksters' words?!" The Gods interrogated through the crone's mouth. Her voice now echoed in whispers, and the sounds of nature quietened to zero as if they never happened. "You who worship us fall prey to false words?!" All except me collapsed onto their hands and knees - even Stark joined them - heads embedded in mud and grass. Intrigued by the display of power, I caught a falling blood-red leaf and fell into the connection, finding myself exploring the lands of what would be called Westeros. Outside the area, inside the Dreadfort, Winterfell, the North and the lands below. In all believers of the Faceless, they heard their Gods' words: inside dreams, while they are working, fucking, pissing, shitting, birthing and killing. "Haakon, God of the Lands Beyond. We apologise for our followers' dishonourable words." They said as the sound of bones grinding caused many in the kneeling crowd to piss themselves. "You are the wronged party. The decision on what to do with the perpetrators, those who become sheep - easily swayed by the sounds of barking dogs - shall be decided by you." Whimpering from all but Stark pinged in my head like spam emails - drowning out the world until I could only hear their words. "Please!" "I beg of you, please don't kill me." "She led us! It was her fault!" "Stop that." Holding my nose bridge, I grunted out the order. The voices stopped and I looked towards the Faceless Gods. "They are ignorant and acted in that ignorance, you cannot blame them for following what they thought their shaman and wise people say when you have not spoken to them, to guide them." The sounds of nature returned after a quick minute and the Faceless Ones spoke - which certainly surprised me how quick they were, considering deities always dragged their feet. "We are in agreement, Haakon. We have been far away for too long, allowing honeyed, poisonous, words to seep into our worshipers' ears." The audience all cried and sniffled around me, relief and their bowels whirled around the area - the smell akin to acid created by the Greek Furies. "I do ask a boon of you, Nameless Ones," I called to them. "For this continued alliance between us." "Then what shall you ask?" "To be worshipped alongside you. My boon is two-fold. I suspect the beings who the Andals worship shall take more note since my arrival. You can also sense their growing power, even now they are uniting in their homeland, and they shall come with an army that will swallow these people in sword and blood." That was a bit of a lie, while it was mostly true as the Andals are actually uniting and the strength of the Seven was indeed growing - I was more or less implying I couldn't best them if I too didn't grow stronger. "The second part of the boon is that when I grow stronger. I can go back to my own home and pantheon." "Then it shall be so." 'That easy?' I thought, narrowing my eyes at their quick answer, and at the apparent apathy, as it amounts to sharing worshipers and power. Maybe the gods are different in this realm, or maybe they are playing a long game to stab me in the back. If the former, then it will be a pleasant surprise. If the latter, then I will be ready. "Then I shall go to the lands southward and free those who are enslaved by the Andals." "Then go, Haakon, God of the Lands Beyond, and know that you have our blessing." They roared with a unified voice, the sky, the animals and the wind all cried as the Nameless Ones declared to the land of Westeros. "Speak and announce yourself!" I will admit to being a bit caught up in the gravitas of it all. So, as I went to stand in front of the Weirwood Tree, nature losing its mind around me like the English parliament of a controversial meeting - I stared at the men, women and children who now turned from peasants with pitchforks and torches into people stricken with awe and a little fear. "People of these lands who still hold true to the Faceless Ones, hear me!" Calling upon my connection to the land and through the Old Ones. "I am Haakon, God of three domains: Strength, to those that need it to protect and destroy those who wish you harm; of Durability, to withstand against any danger that will seek to kill you; and of Longevity, to live long lives and see the future that you hope to protect with your arm and life!" As I spoke, my soul connected to the Faceless Ones, joining the cacophony as a bear, as a wolf, as a giant, as a God - the boom of my voice combined with nature: the wind turned violent like a beast happy as it spotted a fresh meal, the trees groaned and shivered with excitement and fear, and the earth shook as if some dog had finally met its owner after a year away. "Slavery, the ownership of another, and ritual sacrifice, to slaughter each other in my name, is abhorrent to me as it is for the Faceless Ones - no more sacrificing each other nor of your enemies! The practise of the first night is hereby forbidden and all who break this law shall be punished by both mankind and God!" The words just fell from my mouth, and I couldn't stop myself from trying to lead these people to what I perceived as more civilised. Looking back, I do believe I would be called cringe or a cliché to try and…what was the word… uplift, a medieval society. Once done, nature turned back to its apathetic state once again. "Come to the Isle of Faces, Haakon. We will need to discuss a boon that you can grant us there." The Old Ones said within my mind and I was intrigued enough to nod. "Go now!" I said, hands raised as if talking to an army. "Spread the word that the people to the south shall be free and those that follow Gods of cruelty and slavery shall feel my might!" Without a word, or care that many had soiled themselves, the people hurriedly left - Stark joined them, shuffling back to the keep in a trance. Looking back towards the Weirwood, the old crone was gone, seemingly eaten by the tree itself, the Faceless Ones were gone as well - leaving the bark behind to go somewhere else. Unlike them, however, I stayed in that clearing for some time, letting its breeze wash over me, the birds chirped and the leaves rustled - letting the memory of my home in the forests of Scandinavia live. A time between quests that afforded myself and my fellow, at the time, demigods and Gods to rest: fuck, sleep, fuck again, drink, and eat before fucking once again. Thank me for magical spells that stopped pregnancies - as images of various teased breasts and arses spanked with red handprints forced melancholy to rise in my heart again. The forests were…quiet, an awe-inspiring sight that blessed the eyes with beautiful snow-covered trees and grassland, mountains and valleys stood strong and unbreakable with time being the only enemy. Animals loved and died as nature intended. The circle of life playing out without the interference of modern humanity was, strangely, a wonderful sight to me. A borealis added to the Night sky above only added a breathtaking cherry on top. Forcing the cool air to inhale and exhale my lungs, I started to walk back to the tower I called my temporary home. Only realising I had stood in the clearing for many hours as I saw the clouds darken from grey to black. Many a civilian stopped to look and bow. While I was thankful that they would worship me after the near-riot, I did feel a bit undeserving of it, a holdover from my humanity that clung to life despite my ascension to a demigod, and later, a High God. The small prayers inside their heads already gave me tiny smudges of power with every sentence. Entering my room, I found quite a messy room. Pillows and covers thrown about with desks, wardrobes and mirrors nudged in different directions. Not wanting to be a rude guest, I tidied up - putting the pillows and covers back in position, even moving the furniture back into their original locations when I first entered. And after a quick cleaning spell, I nodded a good job well done. Only to hear a knock on the door. Opening the wooden barrier graced me with a short woman, five foot even. Her hair, long and dark, framed the woman's youthful face while her ankle-length tunic was…loose at the top - teasing two great mounds that definitely caused her back pain. Spoiler: The Small Woman "Mi'lord." She muttered, face shifting to one of a nervous smile. "If it'll please you, I will comfort your bed tonight." A quick peek inside Brivild's head showed she wasn't fully here of her own will - ordered by her Lord Bolton to gain a child of my blood, with the obvious idea of gaining a weapon for his plan to become the new King of Winter. I will admit to being a little angry. This woman, while truly lusting after me, was told to act on that lust by Anther. Stepping aside, a silent command to Brivild, allowed her to enter my room. The servant did so, letting the long tunic flutter and pile onto the wooden floor - her lovely pale backside swaying to and fro. As Brivild stepped towards my bed, her scent of heat and trepidation, warring with one another, washed out of the servant like a cascade of water breaking through a dam - mind running through many scenarios on what I will do to her. Will I gain pleasure from causing her pain? Will I beat her? Bite her? Claw her? Will I impregnate her and leave? After all, she was just a servant, only one level above this world's lower class. The Clan Leaders and even the Magnar would not, and should not, care for her - in her's and everyone's mind? I was above even Magnar Stark, a God walking the Earth. However, before she could even lie down. I was already at her back, my hands caressing her flat stomach with gentle rubs - adding a smudge of magic I had learned from Aphrodite to calm her nerves. "I know what Bolton has ordered you to do." I bluntly told her. A spike of fear rose as she quickly shook. "Do not be afraid, Brivild. I am not a wrathful God to those like you, moved like chess pieces for others' gain." I paused, letting a finger push her chin upwards, allowing our eyes to connect. "If you want me to fuck you, you must tell me that you want me to. However, know that I will take you, and your family, away from this fortress even if you should decline the comfort of my company." Brivild was silent, our eyes still meeting. Anther Bolton was scum, truth be told, but scum that I will deal with once Westeros was free from the Andals and their cruel Seven. The man's thoughts were filled with dreams of flaying Stark and the other lords alive, and those memories remembered by his subconscious - of his training in the art of torture on poachers and criminals…and those guilty of perceived slights. After tonight, Anther's plan will explode in his face. You don't influence a God for your machinations, especially if you want to try and make weapons of their children. "Then let me thank you, Mi'lord." Brivild's voice brought me back. The woman's short stature required the servant to hop upwards to link her arms around my head, just to latch her lips onto my own. Giving the small woman some help, I gripped her pert cheeks to pull her tightly against me, allowing my power to automatically govern itself so Brivild wouldn't be killed. Letting my clothing and equipment disappear, my tongue penetrated through her weak defence, dominating her mouth with swirls and exploring with abandonment. A hand couldn't be stopped to maul a breast, letting off a tiny amount of electricity between a finger and thumb, causing a loud squeal to come from her. Pulling from her mouth, I pulled Brivild up further to ravish her free tit. My mouth nipped and pulled at the mountain of flesh as if a vicious newborn demanding for milk. Unleashing more tantric energy within her, Brivild could only howl as her nerves were stimulated by pleasure taught by Aphrodite herself. Wetness squirted from the servant, a minute of my mouth tasting, and my hand teasing, her flesh had only passed. Letting Brivild experience her orgasm. I undercooked her legs at the knee and laid her pussy on my pillar. Sawing the woman on my cock from base to tip, back and forth. Dowsing her released over my cock, readying my weapon to pierce her with. Back and forth. Back and forth. She groaned, hands weakly attempting to push herself to stare at my face. "M-M-Mi-L-Lo-ord…" Brivild stuttered: drool escaped her smiling lips, eyes fought to not roll upwards, but the servant tried to be a dutiful partner - forcing her hips to move despite their protest. "Let me, Brivild," I told her, my eyes conveying a message - that she can trust me as I deliver her to Nirvana. My pillar pierced her. And her wails of ecstasy would stay with me. Brilvild's inner walls hoped to extract my release, pulsing as if a heartbeat with determination, only to fail in its task despite the fierce attempt. Brivild's consciousness was a hair's breadth away from fading, but she was a fighter. Whimpering and twitching her limbs to try and keep herself awake, hands and feet flopping gently in time with my short but firm thrusts. Flesh smacking against flesh as I took my own pleasure from the servant's body. Breathless moans, groans, and whimpers were all she could muster. Not even hoping to move her hips, control was lost and Brivild's body was mine. Mine to do whatever I wanted - and what I wanted to see something else bounce, or rather two things - I changed position again. Seizing her hips and kneeling on the bed, I rested the servant's head against the pillow and drove into her. The grunts leaping from her throat followed in tandem with the smack of meat firing off like a machine gun. And her breasts sloshing forwards and backwards, slapping her chin on the upswing, was a vision that I would remember forever. A pull within my stomach warned me of my immediate climax and my pride demanded one more orgasm from my partner. Hooking her legs one last time, I enveloped her small body with my own - forcing Brilvild's feet to stand next to her head - the machine gunfire transformed into a violent animal. I had become the lighting that I wielded, hips blurred and the earth shook with each bang and slam. Brilvild withstood each attack thanks, and only thanks, to her body absorbing the tantric energy from before - but I was sure her mind was fully gone, overrun with pleasure as I struck deep within again and again, and again and again. I dived one more time and growled at the sky. The wood splintered and the bed broke. We fell and I hurriedly checked on Brilvild, breathing a sigh of relief when I found she only suffered from minor brushing - which I fixed with a snap of my fingers. I had more to give, but I would not insult her womanly pride by grabbing another woman, or several, to sate my lust or forcing myself on the unconscious woman. Unsheathing myself from her and white rushed from her, pride ballooned in my chest at seeing the rolled-up eyes and the saliva gushing from the border of my partner's lips. Making sure to give her a comfortable place to sleep. I grabbed the covers and pillows, laid them down on the floor next to the fireplace, set off a simple spell to add extra cushioning to the fabrics - and sent a flick of flame to light the fireplace. Laying myself down, positioning Brivild to lay across my chest and draping the covers over us. I allowed myself to sleep. Thankfully it came easy, listening to the crackle of a fire and my partner's content breathing. Yes, tomorrow, I had some work to do, but tonight? I had a woman to cuddle with. << Index Last edited: 20 minutes ago Today at 2:01 AMReport Like+ QuoteReply João Max, Par Tzu, shinkijin and 40 others like this.  TheToFuToFu New Why is it always a Bolton, don't they know his hands are rated E for everyone. Today at 4:52 AMReport Like+ QuoteReply Par Tzu, shinkijin, Amos Martel and 4 others like this.  TobiExperienced. New There is always people that thing they can manipulate a god. Normally they get turned into ash or worst. Wonder what the Bolton's fate is going to be. I like the MC to go to Kuroinu or Samurai Jack after this. Mostly Kuroinu for the lewds and save people. A lot of people deserve to rot in hell over there. Samurai Jack for the nostalgia and Odin's there. Last edited: Today at 5:18 AM Today at 5:02 AMReport Like+ QuoteReply Par Tzu, shinkijin and Spireo like this.  Barter007Getting sticky. New Kuroinu before all "events" sounds promising in smut sense. Classic adventure with girl saving, evil trashing, girl lewding. Highschooldxd is a good place for a long stay or permanent residence, after a bit of clean up. Inevitable harem needs a comfortable home, after all. Today at 9:37 AMReport Like+ QuoteReply Par Tzu and BloodWolf752 like this. < Prev12 Threadmarks Extras Reader Mode Users Who Are Viewing This Thread (Users: 4, Guests: 0) DrDeth Gusfes joeshwanshon Celestial 244 Formats Words: 0 HomeForums>NSFW>NSFW Creative Writing>  Home Forums Watched Forums Watched Threads New Posts ... Menu Gusfes Inbox Alerts934 Search Blackend-BlueEnglish - 12 Hour Clock Contact Us Help Terms and Rules Privacy Policy Forum software by XenForo® XenForo add-ons by Waindigo™ Style By: pixelExit.com