Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods

POV: A Man Born with a Diamond Spoon.

The front row of spectators.

A few minutes after a master was forced to accept...

The match was decided. Gelledo was just a wounded worm crawling on the ground stubbornly, not declaring surrender and begging to be killed...

But most spectators seemed to disregard the Braavosian's already decided fate under torture. Instead, what most caught the audience's attention was the sword of the referee named Recallio Sodal.

King Robert continued to harass poor Lord Eddard Stark with questions, who seemed immovable in his decision.

Ned Stark even ignored the drunken King's false threats to have him imprisoned for a month in the black cells of King's Landing.

The King's childhood friend kept giving the same answer:

"You will sooner cut off my head. I have sworn to the Old Gods not to reveal anything until and not before the tournament begins. So you will have to wait like everyone else, Robert."

None of this mattered at that moment. Now the swordsman's attention was focused on another, far more troubling matter...

The Knight did not understand why Duncan Tallhart kept looking at him with hatred a moment before he tortured his victim with his bare hands.

'What have I done? Why do all the goddamn people I admire and respect keep looking at me like that?! Was it all a charade your doing, Duncan Tallhart?!' Thought the Knight this time, responding to the boy's menacing stare.

Bloody Snow scrutinized him badly for the last time, and... a moment before the torturer thrust his bloody claws into the victim's open wounds for the umpteenth time, he heard a:

"Nooo!!! Stop!! I give up!!! Sigh... Sigh... I invoke the mercy of the God of Death! Enough! I give up! Leave me alone!... Mercy! Someone help me! ... ugh... sigh... Please! Sigh..Sniff!

SAVE ME FROM THIS MONSTER!!!"

The gods proclaimed the winner.

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POV: Duncan

Circle of Duelists.

A few minutes before a knight witnessed a man's pitiful surrender...

I used about three net minutes of energy of the nine limits imposed by Master Zick.

Using only eight manoeuvres focused solely on defence had reduced the physical and mental setbacks by a good 40-45%. Gelledo attempted about 20 assaults in the short interval of nearly six actual minutes of fighting. He had to be at least partially rehearsed...

The Water Dancers were known for agility, reflexes and endurance. Without the burden of armour and heavy weapons, a Braavosi swordsman could last even three times as long as a Westerosi knight.

I could show no signs of letting up. The appetizer had been served-and now it was time for the main course.

I moved closer and closer, gripping the searing blade tightly. Gelledo instinctively stepped back a step while keeping his guard well up.

I inhaled more firmly and released some of the blood lust I chose to hold back...

The Braavosian widened his eyes and roared instinctively, "Don't come to any closer, Demon! I warn you, the tip of my blade-" *Skiin!*...a thin palm of blade fell on the soft grass.

"But how-" *Sffiiizzz!*, "Uaaaarghhh!!! Aaaargh!" the blood sizzled on my blade's tip at the brachial plexus level, where the trapezius muscle had the highest concentration of nerve bundles.

It had not been difficult to cut cleanly through the metal at the spot already weakened and worn out.

And Damascus's magic steel of scorching Royal Quality penetrated Acromantula's silk wonderfully well...

"Surrender." I intimated in a guttural voice with a hint of sadism in my tone.

Gelledo involuntarily dropped the defective sword to the ground using both hands to press on the cauterized wound and retreat to the opposite side of the circle.

The pain must have been tremendous; I knew well the brachial plexus's tribulations could and could not endure...

I allowed my opponent to retreat while I approached another brazier to heat the cooled blade further.

"Sword!!!" a Braavos valet in the guise of Gelledo's squire promptly answered the call by handing his master a replacement thin long sword.

It took only about ten seconds for the bright red tip to flare up again, and I slowly approached my opponent, who bravely chose to flee to the opposite side.

"You may leave if you wish, Gelledo Antaryon... You need only utter the words 'I surrender', and the agony will end." I suggested, provoking my opponent, still unsure of what to do.

"Shut up, monster! I will never surrender!!!" The fearless Braavosian remained firmly in his secure position over forty feet away.

"I was hoping you would respond like this... I had only started. You and I are going to have a lot of fun." I doubled my murderous eagerness by frightening the victim and a dozen impressionable noble spectators.

"Oh, but the look-the blade has cooled again. Fear not, milord, I'll be with you in a minute.

The left femoral nerve will be next. You have my word of honour."

****

A minute later...

I sprang forward, smiling with unsheathed jaws. The victim, caught off guard, tried to discard widely to the left, but I anticipated the moment...

"Nooo!!!" squealed Gelledo like a sissy attempting a desperate defensive assault.

*Clang*, *Tiihin*,*Kiiin*,*Sffiiizzz!*, "Kiiiaaaaaarrghh!!!" I used the ninth manoeuvre to give sufficient momentum to the third slash and shear the brand-new hardened steel blade.

I had hit the second susceptible nerve without affecting the bone.

I wanted Gelledo to be able to limp away for a while longer ... Burning the nerve ending served to amplify the instant pain but at the same time disable the pain over the long run that could knock the enemy unconscious.

"Surrender!" I roared with more intensity and lust for bloodlust.

"Noo!!! Arrghh!!! Get away from me, you monster!!!" Gelledo amazingly managed to leap away.

A small trail of urine lezzo was left behind.

"Sword! Urgh... Give me another sword!!! Move, you imbecile!!!" The valet took twice as long to provide a second replacement sword for his lord.

Master Recallio, the referee, publicly intervened, loudly announcing:

"The challenger, Gelledo Antaryon, has requested the second and last replacement weapon allowed by the rules! Requesting a third will be interpreted in the eyes of the men and the Many-Faced Gods as an official declaration of surrender!" The Braavosian did not appear to know the 'Three Weapons' regulations.

The First Men wielded bronze weapons, far less durable than iron and hardened steel. In a Trial By Combat it was typical for the first or second weapon to become unusable after a heated and sustained exchange.

However, Gelledo seemed to be lit by a tiny spark of hope after he peered at his damaged robes.

"He's cheating! Duncan Tallhart's cheating!!! He is using a steel blade from Valyria!!!

Referee! Check his sword!!!" Voices and murmurs began to spread among the spectators.

'Perfect. Thanks for the publicity, Gelledo Antaryon...' I thought as Recallio stepped forward, shushing the murmurs.

"Challenger Duncan of House Tallhart is wielding no Valyrian blade, Gelledo Antaryon." The Braavosi referee's testimony caused a ruckus of murmurs and more heated comments.

"What! Are you blind by any chance?! That vile cheater effortlessly sliced cleanly through two brand new hardened steel blades!!! Bloody Snow purposely dipped the sword in the fire to blacken the blade and disguise the dark features of Valyrian Steel!!!" Shrieked my opponent with indignation.

"Do you accuse an acolyte of the Many-Faced Gods of lying before the deity he worships and serves, milord?" Replied Recallio with equal indignation shushing the murmurs again.

"N-no, honourable Recallio, I just wanted to point out-" the referee hushed the coward's groans by retorting:

"It just so happens that that sword has been thoroughly checked and certified before. Therefore, I can affirm it without fear since it belongs to me." Gelledo paled, and Recallio penetrated the icy blade deeper.

"The sword I chose to lend to the warrior of the North who had decorously agreed to pay honour to the noble art of the 'Water Dance' thus renouncing wielding his legitimate steel and wearing his own armour...

Resume your duel, 'noble' Gelledo Antaryon." Recallio.

"B-but-no way!" The poor traumatized Braavosian must have had blind faith in his acromantula silk...but alas, it could not be brought to the test bench without causing a considerate uproar that would force the Iron Bank to pay a hefty price to the organization that monopolized the world's most sought-after and secret fabric...

All three Guardians and representatives of the top treaty guarantors would knock on the Titan's door with the fine to be paid in hand.

Tycho Nestoris would personally step into the ring to force his champion to surrender and eat every word spoken before such a disaster befell the Iron Bank.

"It's the radial nerve's turn, milord. Fear not, you can safely do without wielding the sword correctly with your right hand..." I did not give Gelledo time to despair. I simply pounced on the enemy.

[More pain... He deserves it... Use my power, Duncan! Unleash all our strength, and together we will teach the world that no one can ever stand against us!!!]

My inner demon began to rebel by shooting adrenaline discharges into my brain and muscles. Time in that condition, combined with the breathing technique, seemed to slow down by at least ten times...

I could observe in detail every change in Gelledo's expression, from surprise to realization, to despair. I had all the time in the world to where, when and how best to strike...but I should not allow myself to indulge in those privileges. On the contrary, they were intoxicating corruptions to give more and more space to the demon!

'A cage fluid as water, supple, retroactive and elastic as rubber, and stronger than steel... Bungee Gum!' I did not tell Zick that I had changed the metaphor of 'resin' to 'gum,' nor of the Nen power of my favourite character from a story that did not exist in this world... Zick was aware of my improvement in technique and, as always, did not investigate more than necessary matters I preferred 'not to reveal.'

["No!!! You idiot!!! Set me free! I said, Release me!!! Arrrgghh!!! I will kill your master!

DO YOU HEAR ME, BOY?!!!

ONE DAY I WILL FORCE YOU TO RIP OUT THE HEART OF YOUR BELOVED MASTER!!!"] He managed to hush the voice, and time resumed running three times faster.

Gelledo tried a desperate and inaccurate lunge...a parry and a slashing lash were enough to split the blade in half again. The crowd roared a roar of astonishment at the third piece of evidence corroborating the Braavosian theory.

These were the best ways to advertise a product: songs, exaggerations and word of mouth...

All Westeros and Essos had to do were set off a diatribe of logic, theories, and false accusations.

It was not the merchant who had to extol the peerlessness of his wares, but the buyer...

I sank the tip of the still-hot blade firmly within millimetres of the radial bone, unleashing screams and agonies agonizing to the human ear.

Gelledo rolled to the ground clutching his injured forearm. As always, I allowed my valiant opponent to give vent to tears and all thoughts such as hatred, fear and despair that might incentivize the idiot to take the most reasonable path.

"Surrender!" Gelledo did not arrogantly retort to the advice this time. Instead, he crawled away, casting murderous glances and clinging to the last fragile thread of hope left to him.

"Did you all see that!? No one could shear a forged steel blade with mere skill! It is humanly impossible!!! Duncan Tallhart and the referee are in cahoots to deceive you all!

Admit it, Recallio Sodal! How much did Bloody Snow promise you?!" The rumours spread, but no one seemed so swaggering nor interested in supporting the theory of a coward...

It was the second referee witness of the Old Gods who stepped forward to answer.

"Even if your false and pathetic accusations had a kernel of truth, no rule in the eyes of the Gods would still be broken.

Any challenger has the right to wield weapons made of obsidian, bronze, iron, dragon steel, or different unknown material you wish... Even the 'poison' you chose to 'not declare' is permitted.

Duncan Tallhart has promised you before the Gods not to benefit 'Red Rain,' Gelledo Antaryon, and not any other Dragon Steel weapon.

Therefore, stop dishonouring yourself, your city or the Gods and keep fighting." Oak Green Welk cut the last thread.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Director Nestoris asking Master Zick for clarification. At the same time, Chai Duq eavesdropped shamelessly, purposely provoking the poor curious High Tower lord who was too far away to be able to glean essential information.

It was time...

"Gelledo Antaryon is partly correct, my lords and ladies...This is no ordinary weapon of a forge.

However...it is not of Valyrian Steel, but instead of 'Damascus Steel'." Amidst the burst of surprise and confusion, I saw King Robert pounce on poor Ned, tugging him ungracefully to wrest the truth from his lips.

"Speak, wretch! It is your king who commands you! Is your sword made of that Damascus Steel, Ned?!" So he managed to hear, while from the master's direction:

"Move aside, Usurer! Go screw your bet!" Chai Duq nudged Nestoris and roared in what I assumed was the ancient language of the Empire of Dawn: "Zick, anemhouru gàbiù Khawerdi Damascus?! Porikurtha rorubhài Khawerdi Valyrian?! Urabothi, Zick!!!" Thundered the sorcerer in an accusatory tone, pointing his index finger at me--personally, I found their secret dialect rather useless in this situation.

About twenty years ago, Zick was forced to accept the position of Guardian of Love.

Madame Zishua, the No Dau brothers and the Nine Demons had done everything to try to conceal as long as possible the epicentre of the revolutionary earthquake that was destabilizing the balance of the World.

But finally, the voice of a mad and fragile man, endowed with unique abilities of infinite potential, reached the ears of the Titan and the High Tower; aware that the Confederation of Mages had been benefiting from the privileges of that entity for years and that a new organization was climbing (at speed never imagined) the ranks of world forces...

The factor that most terrified House Hightower and the Iron Bank was the possible applications of Zick's powers over magic...

Who could tell what was, or was not, possible to discover in the sight of The Watcher?

What magical objects could he replicate? What forgotten magical runes could he decipher?

Would he have been able to unlock the secret behind the Steel of Valyria?

Would he have been able to recreate or even improve the Mana Stones? These and other endless questions haunted the sleep of the Citadel's best minds...

Braavos and Oldtown sent an ultimatum to the Three Guardians and all the forces that gave sanctuary and protection to The Watcher.

{Either the Abomination nicknamed The Watcher is erased with immediate effect from World history, or it will be a total war without quarter}.

The new Fourth World Organization, the Confederacy of Wizards, and other powers were coalesced and ready to unleash hell against all opposing forces in Westeros and Essos.

The Fourth World War was upon us...

It was only thanks to the sacrifice of the Former Guardian of Love, who volunteered the abdication of his role to offer it to the new candidate, that the loss of hundreds of thousands, if not millions of lives, was foiled...

The neutrality of Zick's new post was to remain strictly within and not beyond the limits of the only subject of his interest... {the Martial Art}. This was the covenant sealed with blood and magic twenty-two years ago. But all bonds had loopholes.

Braavos and Oldtown managed to find legitimate loopholes to weaken enemies who could not be attacked...

["There is no such thing as the perfect egg, my boy. However small or invisible, all shells possess at least one crack... The trick to being able to find it is not to ask 'If it exists' but rather 'Where is it hiding'."]

The finger for 'the magical appearance' of a new portentous metal had been pointed at first instinct in one direction.

'Only a few days, master, I promise. Soon we can give all the credit to master Mott.' After that, Zick would be haunted obsessively by questions to which he swore to me that he conferred no answers.

Tobho had managed to enchant the blade to withstand the wear and tear of high temperatures. However, only the forge masters of Qohor, Carcosa and Asshai possessed the magic formula to recast Valyrian steel into a malleable state.

Braavos held a monopoly on the processing and supply of Dragon Steel from Oldtown to Qarth. The Citadel required permission and agreed on tribute from the Titan, even for a small master's ring.

Thobo Mott was still bound by a blood oath with Qohor's upper echelons (agents loyal to Braavos); he could not work the steel of Valyria with Qohor's formulas without explicit authorization from the Council of forge masters, but nothing and no one could stop him from using personally revised spells to work Damascus Steel...

The Grand Master Blacksmith of Gauntlgrym was indeed a genius. However, resistance was the main reason gold, bronze, silver or steel could not act as a magical conduit.

Even bare Damascus steel was not strong enough for such a burden. However...Thobo had made small but significant changes in the formula to recreate a metallic conductor second only to Dragon Steel.

I had provided...or Seraphinus had provided 'only' the ingredients to synthesize an honest cola. Still, the credit for the winning 'Coke' formula lay with the genius forgemaster loyal to Torrhen's Square.

Soon the North would have to enlist the help of the Chief Sorcerer of Carcosa and the blessing of the Guardian of Magic to transform the Tower of Babylon into the Third Arcane Tower of the Known World...

Now that Zick and Chai Duq explained the nature of the power behind my cousin, I had a terrible plausible idea, not yet 100 % certain, of what kind the silvery-white light collapsed like a waterfall on the head of my uncle's eldest son belonged to, and the nature of the goddamned Knight born with a diamond spoon in his mouth...

The legendary semi-divine The-God-On-Earth, the greatest and most powerful Sorcerer, ever remembered from the history of the world, was worshipped as a deity in Asshai and Carcosa...

To be exact: {The God of Magic}.

And the only temple where The-God-On-Earth could be worshipped was a Magic Tower...

I turned my gaze toward Tywin Lannister's eldest son, and I couldn't help but cast him an unfairly envious glare filled with childish hatred.

Jaime fucking Lannister, he was not a Paladin of the God Estranged...

My mind wandered in a little flashback to the distant past.

{"Hey Matthew, what class and race have you chosen for tomorrow's new campaign?" My friend James.

"Half-Elf Paladin of Vengeance. Can't wait to get started." My 19-year-old nerdy me.

"Paladin again! Come on, Dude, you promised me you'd pick the wizard or the sorcerer this time! We already have two Healers and a Ranger. You know I chose the Fighter SubClass: Knight... So what do we need a useless Paladin for?" James.

"Are you kidding, Dude!? First, I would like to remind you that it was really thanks to the Critical Hit of my 'Useless Paladin' that we defeated Archimage Necromancer in the last campaign, and it is only thanks to my +5 on all bonus saving throws that you made it out of Vecna's Rain of Meteors alive!

I challenge any spellcaster to fight a Paladin in a 1 vs 1 match. Ahah!" Me.

"But at least he plays a new subclass-Jessica will choose Druid! How about the Paladin of the Ancient Gods?" James.

"Nah! That's junk. Paladin and Cleric of the Ancient Gods are one of the biggest flops of the game creators. You know me, James, I love arcane magic, but I'm also too much in love with melee combat." Me.

"Pick a freaking Eldritch Knight, then!!! I beg you, no more Paladin, but most of all...please...No-More-Paladin-of-Vengeance, Man!" James.

"But then I would lose Divine Smite, the most 'OP' skill in the game!

Tell you what, Dude... The Wizard of The Koast should create a 'Paladin of Magic'!

Yes, Man! Paladin of Magic would be The-Coolest-Class-Ever. Ahahah!

A melee attacker who is a user of Arcane and Divine Magic! That would be D-Y-N-A-M-I-T-E!

Top of the Top! My word, that's all I'd play!" Me.

"Yes... Maybe that wouldn't be bad." James.

"It wouldn't be bad?! You know what, James? I still have twelve hours before the new campaign starts. So I won't sleep a wink tonight!

I'm going to crawl through the Internet and manuals and create this subclass myself! Tomorrow I will submit to the Master the card of... mmm... Duncan 'Silver Blade,' the Paladin of the Goddess of Magic Mystra!

Yes, Man! I am more energetic than Jim Carry high on Red Bull! Ahah!

I already have all the background in mind! I'll be the secret bastard son of Elminster Aumar!"

"Duncan 'Silver Blade'?... But your former character's name was Duncan 'The Tall'...

Don't those names sound a little 'Assonant' to you?... Seriously, Matt, you need to work more on originality." James.

"Man, it's just a tribute to Big George! Everyone only remembers the A Game of Thrones book series, but no one talks about the finest fantasy masterpiece ever written: 'The Hedge Knight.'

And then look who's talking... Your former Character barbarian was named Sandor The Hound, and now 'Jaime' The Knight pops up." Me.

"Touché, 'Mr. Yes Man'...but see that you don't show up half asleep tomorrow." James.

"Ahahah! Don't worry, James! I'm too pumped up for this project!

'Operation D-Y-N-A-M-I-T-E' begins!!!"}

I sharpened my gaze toward the 'Bastard-Fortunate' again.

'Fuck you!!! Here's to me, the Class of Worthless Tree Worshipper, and here's to that Whiny-Ass-Fortunate-Bastard-FuckSisters the Paladin of Magic!!! ARRGGH!!! I practically created that Class!!!'

It took months to swallow that bitter and hard truth...

My cousin was not to blame... It was definitely a little joke of Metatron's that of the Word-Key-of-Power. I had branded Elminster with the weight of a probable Cleric/Wizard class...

But Jaime Lannister... No, I still could not accept that bitter pill of shit to swallow!

It was as if my old friend James had been reincarnated as the Young Lion to take revenge and spit in my face!

What was worse was that it had to be House Tallhart, aka 'I', who had to shell out a fortune in magical Damascus Steel to give that vile and dishonourable Kingslayer a chance to Level the Coolest Class Ever Conceived!!!

'Fuck you, Jaime Lannister!!! Do you hear me, Ser?! Yes! Fuck you! Fuck the town you saved!

And fuck your Ancestor-Hero of the Magicians-Founder!!!

Yeah, that's right! Fuck you too, Podrick Lann!!!' I admit I am not proud of such thoughts... but as my wise teacher used to say: [Nobody is Perfect].

I still thank Seraphinus for granting me the will necessary to prevent my mouth from exploding and giving birth to an unseemly No-Sense scene...

However... even a [24] in Will had limits. All that pent-up negative emotion had to be vented somehow... And fortunately for me, I had a suitable victim right in front of me.

"Do you give up?" I asked Gelledo for the last time...

"Kuarg...Spuuth! Fuck you, you dirty barbarian! That's the only answer you'll get from me, Northern Bastard!!!" I let the spit hit my foot...

"Fear not, Gelledo Antaryon... From now on, we shall fight on equal terms." I tossed the sword to its rightful owner, who nimbly grabbed it from the handle. A buckskin cloth and a little clove oil would restore the blade to its full glory.

Now that I was unarmed, I could afford to make the Bungee Gum a little more supple and allow the 'Beast' a few minutes of air.

"Now you will experience what 'True Pain' is, and I will not stop until you say the magic words..."

So much...'SO MUCH' anger and frustration had to be vented before he could give birth to the damned: {Operation D-Y-N-A-M-I-T-E}.

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End Chapter.