Early 290 Summer Quarth
Greatjon's mouth hung open as he stared at a trio of Quartheen women seated nearby us at the seaside winehouse overlooking the busy port. More precisely he stared at the breast each woman left bare, as is the fashion among the locals. One would think that a man as sexually experienced as he would feel a certain level of immunity to casual nudity, but something about the way the women just hung a teat out on display while going about their everyday activities somehow skipped right over any walls the man may have built up over time, and left him with little else going through his mind but the singular succulent word: tiddies.
"Act like you've been there before, Jon." I pat the big idiot on the back and went to continue our planning session if not for his sudden interruption.
"Tiddies." He groaned like a man dying from thirst with drink just beyond his reach.
"I think Jon might be compromised." Robett Glover joked, but the rest of the men at the round table didn't find the giant man's distraction humorous, not while we plotted what must be the heist of the age.
"I don't know why you guys are so worried, we already have put the crew together, that's like six tenths of the job already done." I told the worried would be thieves, "The other forty percent is revealing that we already pulled off the heist."
"Wait, we already kidnapped the Undying?" Roger Ryswell exclaimed full of disbelief.
"What? No." I shook my head in denial, "If we'd already done that there would be a major panic in the city."
The women nearby looked at us like a pack of very suspicious individuals.
"But you said…" Roger frowned.
"I know what I said, Roger, it was sarcasm." I snapped back then slapped the table, "You know what… let's just go grab these mummy looking fucks and get out of here."
Mid 291 Summer Volantis
The crew that cleared out the House of the Undying cased the Temple of R'hallor from a top a multi story mansion inside the Old Blood community hidden away from the outside world by the Black Walls of Volantis. The men hardened from years of sailing, fighting, and heisting.
Big Bucket pulled the rich cigar from his lips and grimaced, "This is definitely the worst idea we've done yet. Stealing a bunch of priests and priestesses of R'hllor in the middle of the most locked down district in the world… How the hell did we even manage to get here in the first place?"
I kept my gaze fixed on the temple, my grip tight on the Fell Axe, "You think this is bad, just wait till we are stealing Imperial Court Sorcerers in Yi Ti next year.
Late 292 Yi Ti
Dawn cleaved through four Imperial Guardsmen as the Fell Axe sailed through the air catching a ninja in the chest before she could leap onto the back of Great Jon.
"I think we bit off more than we can chew this time!" Jon screamed to be heard over the wails of the dying, "Even if all these guys are the size of children, there's fucking thousands of them. How many little men does it take to guard one Emperor."
"A million!" I snarled and cleaved through a half dozen of the little fuckers in their laquored paper armor.
"Well FUCK!" Jon shouted and got back to swinging.
Early 293 Asshai
"What brought you beneath the Shadow?" the warlock holed up in one of the many oily blackstone towers of the dark city of Asshai asked as he watched me with the paranoid eyes so common in this cursed land.
"I have come to kidnap a great many shadowbinders, and any other magical folk I can get my hands on." I informed him, and the shadows around the room darkened.
"So bold." The man sneered, "Whatever use could you have for us."
I took a sip of the lightly poisoned tea he served me and took a moment to savor the complex flavor, then responded, "You'll all look so good as kindling on my funeral pyre."
The Fell Axe leapt off my hip and into my hand as I swung it to cleave a Shadow Assassin in twain, the smokey specter screeching like a Nazghul when slain.
"What do you even have to live for?" I asked as the man sought to fend me off with his dark magic.
My hand blazed with a psychic green fire as I grabbed onto his head.
"You should feel honored." I told him as I snuffed out his ego.
Mid 293 Leng
After the hectic magic battles of Asshai, I found relaxing in Leng a much needed comfort. A man can make a full fortune on a trip to Leng and I certainly sought to do so, filling my hulls with exotic goods. I even got to hang out with apes of near human intelligence and ride zorses.
Leng was nice.
Late 294 Sothoryos
The men loaded up some brain dead brindled men and a few tamed basilisks and a wyvern. We didn't stay long as Sothoryos is a nasty place full of diseases.
Early 295 Jon Arryn
Jorah Mormont returned to King's Landing the richest man in Westeros after six years away, and likely richer than anyone in the Free Cities as well. He'd also become the most infamous man in the world, having plied the supernatural menace he displayed so readily in the Rebellion from Volantis to Asshai, and spared few in between. Some cities couldn't even survive his passing, the man's seemingly hairbrained schemes collapsing ancient regimes in fiery revolutions and revolts, meanwhile the man left quietly in the chaos with his ships full of treasure and anything or anyone else the man might have deemed to take.
Jon had thought before any day with Jorah out of the capital was a good one, but the man proved himself capable of stirring up so much trouble abroad that his Kingdoms shaking domestic achievements feel quite pedestrian. For the love of the gods, Westeros even received an envoy from the tightly isolationist Yi Ti bearing demands for the Lord of Bear Island's head after the man invaded the Imperial Palace and stole all the Emperor's Sorcerers and half his harem. The half that remained had to be executed ten months later as they all gave birth to 'blue eyed mongrels'
That had been revealed by a second envoy, and while the King laughed away the first, the second made him furiously wroth, and only the quick actions of the King's Guard pulling the man away from the throne room spared him a vicious and likely life changing beating after the man pulled out a clear glass jar filled with preserved blue eyed baby heads. The second envoy of Yi TI to Westeros went home with the message for the Emperor to wash his neck, for no one would hide the man's actions from Jorah Mormont, and if the man could infiltrate the Imperial Palace long enough to steal five hundred women and impregnated five hundred more, no one could stop him from coming to avenge his bastard children.
The man himself arrived at the Red Keep missing his usual procession of smallfolk as this time he came atop a flying full grown green and white brindled wyvern, the fearsome beast just over thirty feet from barbed tail to beaked snout with a wingspan nearly twice that. Its scaly body rippled with muscle capable of hauling away a warhorse in its mighty talons.
Jon hardly recognized the man who slid off the back of that wyvern. Pale, gaunt, haggard, Lord Mormont's muscles pressed against his skin with so little fat between them as to easily see the striations. Though he still retained those titanic slabs of powerful meat and dressed in his typical gaudy fashion, the deep lines on his face showed the passage of many pain-filled years. The old Lord of the Vale had taken to assuming that the gods of the world loved none more than Jorah Mormont, for how else could he survive so many impossible situations.
It appeared the gods demanded a heavy personal price for such favor.
Early 295 Robert
The King wanted to weep at the sight of Jorah. To see such a living legend wasting away cut his warrior's soul deeply. The man far too great for any in the world to ever hope to match, so the gods inflicted a cruel handicap. What's worse, Robert came to this meeting bearing grim tidings fit to ruin such an epic entrance.
The fucking wyvern was awesome.
"Jorah…" the King began, but the Lord of Bear Island put a lean hand on his shoulder.
"I know." He stated.
"When do we sail for vengeance?" Robert asked, ready and riled up for wielding his warhammer once again.
"We will not." Jorah answered, stunning the King.
"What? Why?" Robert growled with a furled brow under his golden crown.
"The Emperor will live all his days in fear of me." Jorah explained, "He will destroy his court, and eventually take his own life. Why would I stop this?"
Robert nodded seemingly unsure, but willing to accept the legend's word on it, then turned to look at the infamously ferocious cousin of the dragons, "How in the hells did you capture this beast?"
"It was a battle of wills." Jorah smirked as they both looked at the monster from the dreaded southern continent, "Mine is the strongest."
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Unless someone important like 4REEESEARCH says otherwise, I won't be writing a bunch of heists for Jorah and the boys to go on, and instead keep them as a two chapter montage. I don't feel much of a need to pad the content, as this story is already two novels long.
If you would like that kind of decision making clout you can donate at
ko-fi.com/jmanm