Dorne, Sunspear
Year 115 BC
Nymeria Nymeros Martell,
Princess of Dorne
With tired eyes she looked through the documents and letters from the Lords of Dorne informing her about the state of their lands over the past four moons.
On the one hand, it was one of her least favourite activities related to the management of the Principality of Dorne; on the other hand, it was necessary for its smooth functioning.
After reading the last one, from Lord Manwoody of Kinsgrave, informing her about the escalation of skirmishes on the border with the Stormlands, she began to write her response to him.
In the meantime, someone quietly entered her solar but remained silent, and she did not stop writing. He tried to emphasise how important it was for the Dornish not to escalate the fighting, because now was not the right time to wage a potential war.
In case the situation further inflamed, she promised to take steps and send her uncle Morgan to control the situation. It was meant to be both an assurance of possible support and also a warning that Manwoody and the other border lords should not seek war to satisfy their own goals and desire for revenge.
She rolled up the letter and sealed it with wax, placing her family signet ring with the symbol of a spear in the middle of a sun disc on it.
Then she looked at the person who had entered the chamber earlier and, as she expected, saw Morgan Martell, her uncle and younger brother of her deceased father, leaning against the wall just by the door.
Morgan, who was in his early thirties, was the archetypal Dornish man, with olive skin, black eyes, and shoulder-length black hair of the Martells. Despite his average height and slim build, he was a warrior few dared to compete with.
He had served as her mentor and a solid foundation on which she had built her rule. The last two years since the deaths of her father and brother, when she had been forced to assume the responsibility of ruling Dorne, had been incredibly difficult for her. If it weren't for him and her cousins, she probably wouldn't have made it.
"I understand you've received news from the border?" Morgan spoke, his tone as serious as ever.
He sighed and nodded, then replied, glancing at the carefully rendered map of Dorne and its bordering lands hanging on the wall, "As your spies have reported, the border is becoming restless again, but then again, it's not an uncommon sight in that region."
"The feuds between our lords and the lords of the marches, going back thousands of years, are as natural to them as breathing. Not a year goes by without something happening. I'm more concerned about the situation on Stepstones," she admitted, biting her lip nervously.
Morgan shook his head, "I don't think the pirates will be a problem for much longer. The Valyrians will not allow themselves to be hindered in their trade. Tyrosh, Myr, and Lys may use them in their quarrels, but even they will not tolerate the growing power of the Pirate Lords of Stepstones."
She wished she had her uncle's optimism, but she couldn't shake the problems that were appearing from all sides from her mind. She stood up from the chair and stretched, stretching her body, stiff from sitting in one position.
Walking over to the table, she poured herself a goblet of heavily diluted wine, which she drank with relief, quenching her thirst. As her eyes fell on the stuffed shadowcat head on the wall, she remembered another important issue she had to ask her uncle about.
"What about the iron mines east of Skyreach? Lord Fowler didn't mention them in his letter?" She asked, frowning in worry. The last thing they needed was to lose access to their largest iron deposits.
Her uncle shook his head. "No news. Celan didn't mention anything because he probably still doesn't know. The men he sent to deal with the problem still haven't returned."
Nymeria looked at him more closely. She couldn't shake the feeling of unease she had about the situation. It seemed too similar to the one in Sandtower. But while the old fort could be abandoned, the mines were essential to them.
Noticing Morgan's worried expression, she said, "You are also troubled by this situation."
He seemed to deny it at first but finally nodded. "Too many similar situations have occurred in the last thirty years all over Westeros. Suddenly, out of nowhere, news of some terrible beasts, taken from some nightmare. From the North to Dorne and from the Vale to the Westerlands."
Nymeria narrowed her eyes at him, asking, "You're saying that something bigger is at play here? Someone is playing a role? For what purpose?"
"Do you remember me telling you and your brothers when you were younger that there was a place that even the Valyrians, with their love of ritual magic and slavery, tried to avoid, even though it was theirs?"
She thought for a moment, but then the proper name came to the surface of her thoughts. "You mean Gogossos?"
Morgan nodded, "A place where, according to rumours, the most disgusting and cruel acts and rituals in the known world are performed. The darkest magic, unimaginable tortures on slaves, forcing women to mate with beasts, creating nightmarish hybrids."
Nymeria wanted to throw up at the thought, but then she realised what her uncle meant.
"Do you think the Valyrians had something to do with this? That they are somehow sending the results of these disgusting practices to Westeros?"
Morgan looked at her grimly, "The Valyrians have been at war for thousands of years, but they have never attacked Westeros before. Why, I have no idea? We would have no chance against them. But when you are at war with a fairly strong opponent, you first try to weaken them."
"You destabilise the economy, trade, production, and harvests. You weaken morale, etc." she added, nodding thoughtfully, increasingly convinced that there was indeed something to it.
However, if the Valyrians were planning an attack on the Seven Kingdoms and these were the effects of their actions, Nymeria had to admit that they were incredibly patient. It did not change the fact that suddenly the burden of power resting on her began to weigh even more heavily on her.
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Dorne, Sandtower
Year 115 BC
Neferion
With a firm and confident step, he went in that direction and entered through the ruined building into a large hollowed-out tunnel, which, however, soon turned into a large corridor, clearly carved by people, that could accommodate three people side by side. However, it was not very high.
How did the beast move in it given its size? He could only guess.
He cast the Clairvoyance spell for a moment, thinking about the beast, and it showed him the direction he should go. However, he stopped it immediately so as not to waste magicka. The spell consumed a specific amount of it per second.
Following the beast's trail, he cast the spell a few more times. Finally, it led him to a large chamber, which he assumed had once been some kind of treasury or armoury. Or both.
He saw numerous gold coins scattered on the ground but also a lot of weapons and armour. However, these could simply have belonged to the victims.
The most important element in the room was undoubtedly the beast limping and hissing in pain in the corner.
What he had to emphasise was that despite the beast being crouched and hunched, it was still several feet taller than himself, who, with his seven feet, was not exactly short.
At the sight of him, the monster rose furiously to its full height, easily reaching 15-16 feet. However, this was not its full size. The lower part of its body was indeed snake-like and was another 20-25 feet long.
The upper part from the waist up was already more human, although still covered in the same yellow scales. The beast had four long arms, or rather would have, if one were not missing. Each held different weapons in its hand. A mace, a sword and a halberd, which seemed quite small in its hands.
The almost human body had once belonged to a woman because he could clearly see the outline of breasts under the scales, and the head, although bestial and also covered in scales, had once been undoubtedly female.
Its mouth was filled with rows of sharp teeth adapted to tearing flesh, and its eyes, which seemed to glow an unnatural purple, were filled with fury and hatred but also suffering. Long, dirty, and tangled silver or grey hair grew out of her skull.
Neferion looked at the creature and couldn't help but feel pity. He didn't want to imagine what this creature, who was probably once a woman, had to go through to become what she was now.
Locked in a grotesque body, driven by an insatiable hunger and hatred for what had been done to her. He knew the best thing he could do was kill her to end her suffering but also to prevent her from making any more victims.
Neferion didn't hesitate. He aimed the tip of his staff at the beast, from which a stream of cold air and ice particles emerged. It tried to dodge the attack, but the attack followed it.
She was fast, but he was even faster. When the attack slowed her down, he was already on her with Dawnbreaker coming down in an arc to strike.
Slightly slowed by the attack, he swung his long, powerful tail at him, twisting her snake body to avoid the attack.
He stopped the blow and sent the staff back into the bag for a moment, then with his now free left hand, he grabbed the advancing tail in an iron grip, and since he couldn't encompass it completely, he dug his fingers deep into the scales and muscles, immobilising it in place.
At the same time, all three arms of the beasts were heading towards him at the same time, from three different directions. Still holding her tail, he dodged a blow with his sword, blocked the mace with Dawnbreaker, which split the weapon in half, and then blocked the halberd with the beast's tail.
The polearm pierced her body, and she began to thrash, trying to break free of his grip. In response, he gripped her tighter and threw her into the opposite wall.
Of course, the fact that its snake body was so long, the force of this throw was not what he had expected.
The beast immediately recovered, but instead of attacking, it fled towards the corridor he had entered earlier.
He was not going to let it do that. The last thing he wanted was to play cat and mouse again. So he did the most natural thing for him; he used Thu'um.
"FUS!" (Force) shockwave escaped his mouth, and with great speed and power, it hit the beast standing right next to the exit, which was thrown against the wall like a doll. After which it seemed injured and slightly stunned.
However, he was unable to take advantage of his opponent's defencelessness, because as soon as he used Voice, the uninvited guest in his mind began to crawl out of the hole he had pushed it into again.
'DOVAHKIIN, MEY. NILO ZU'U STEEN. Fool. Let me out.' The Word-Eater's voice echoed in his mind again, and it took Neferion a moment to push the intruder back where he belonged.
As he had feared, any use of the Thu'um, which was tied to his Dovah nature, dragged the old lizard out.
This was a problem he would have to find a solution to sooner or later.
Of course, the few seconds it took him to deal with Alduin had already seen the serpentine beast begin to rise from where it had hit the stone wall of the chamber.
Without hesitation, he cast the Sparks spell, and a bolt of lightning burst from his hand, striking the beast, paralysing its nerves. Neferion didn't just become an Archmage; he was a master of many schools of magic, aided by his Aedric nature.
Although he had limited access to magicka, his control was second to none. He could manipulate the power of spells as well as the amount of magicka they required. In addition, the cost of using them was much lower.
The armour he wore also enhanced the regeneration of magicka and reduced the amount needed to cast Restoration spells.
The beast initially convulsed, but after a while it seemed as if it began to get used to or even become immune to the energy attack.
Neferion rushed again with Dawnbreaker in his hand, not stopping the spell. The blade, heated by the sunlight, glowed slightly cutting off the hand that was trying to block it with its sword.
At least a roar of pain escaped the beast's throat; the next blow deprived it of another hand, the one holding the halberd.
The beast tried to attack him with the hand holding the hilt of the mace that had been cut earlier, but he interrupted the Sparks spell, then grabbed its hand with his free hand, and Dawnbreaker did the rest of the work.
Bastia began to thrash with fury; the wounds inflicted by the sword blessed by his father burnt with the flames of the sun itself. And indeed, from the places where the hands had been cut off, the beast's body began to turn black as if slowly being incinerated.
However, he did not want it to burn completely because he wanted to examine its body later, and as the master of this blade, he extinguished its flames with flick of his wrist.
Shifting Dawnbreaker to his left hand, he summoned his ebony spear, which was enchanted to return to his hand and deal cold damage, to his right. Without hesitation, he threw it into the beast's chest, the force of the throw so great that the spear passed through the beast and buried itself almost entirely in the rock, pinning and immobilising the serpentine body in place.
Jumping back to a safe distance, out of reach of the thrashing serpentine tail. Soon, from the spot in the monster's torso where the spear had been embedded, the flesh began to slowly lose colour, then freeze.
The beast screamed, squealed, and writhed in agony, but it was too late. Neferion stood watching impassively as the flesh around the spear began to crumble and fall apart. Leaving a gaping hole a foot and a half in diameter.
He called back the spear, and the body of the dead beast fell to the floor helplessly.
"Well, that ended a bit anticlimactically," he threw into the air with a sigh. "At least that poor creature won't suffer anymore and won't kill anyone else."
"You are now free from this torment." He added.
Now all he had left was to examine the body and return to Sunspear for his reward. And the most important of all, find out who created this poor creature and kill him in the most cruel way possible.