Chapter 1
High on the summit of the throat of the world, a voice thunders forth, echoing throughout the land.
A warrior hears the call, and sets out for High Hrothgar.
Reaching the base of the mountain, Duraorn Agurolg begins the climb. Several days later, he arrives at the temple of the greybeards.
Further still, he climbs, until he reaches the summit. There, Paarthurnax is waiting.
"Drem Yol Lok, Dovahkiin. It is good to see you are well."
"Why did you summon me, Paarthurnax?"
"There is something you must do. A quest you must take on. Nii los do zoklot nizraadom. It is of the greatest importance."
"What could be so important for you to summon me like this? You have never done such a thing before."
"Ko himdah gut nol het, kruziik vokul alok. In a land far from here, an ancient evil stirs. An evil that, if unchecked, shall sweep across that land and all others."
"What is it, and how can I destroy it?"
"Hi nis. You cannot, not alone. You must rally the land behind you. But the land where the evil dwells is trapped in civil war. You must unite them to fight what is coming, or it shall roll over everything in its path".
"What in all of Nirn has such immense power?!"
They did not come from Nirn. They were born from dark magic, which has long since been forgotten. In the dragon tongue, they are known as Sot paagoliik. White walkers. They wield powerful black magic, an ancient form of necromancy. They can raise the dead."
"I shall stop them. Where in Nirn must I go?"
"They do not dwell in Nirn, Dovahkiin. The land is known as Westeros. It is far across the sea. You must go to King's Landing, the nation's Capital. But beware, Dovahkiin. The city is rooted in evil. You must trust no one."
"I don't trust anyone now."
"Then you must leave. Call Odahviing. He shall take you there."
Duraorn shouted into the sky, his voice echoing off of the mountaintop.
"OH...DA-VIING!"
Soon, a great red dragon joined them on the mountain. As Duraorn mounted him, Paarthurnax spoke again.
"One last warning, Dovahkiin. The Westerosi people have not seen dragons in many years. If Odahviing is seen, you will most likely be attacked. You must be careful. Odahviing must remain out of sight.
"Yes, Paarthurnax. We shall be watchful."
The dragon spread his wings and drove them down, driving his body upward. He could the gales that blew around the mountaintop in his wings and soared away, towards the sea. To Westeros.
*Kings Landing*
An old man kneels before Joffrey Baratheon, King of Westeros.
"And why have you brought this old man before me, Ser Meryn?"
"He was insulting you, your grace. When we arrested him, he insisted upon seeing you."
"And why is that?" The king asked.
"I do not know, your grace. He would not say."
"Well, old man? What is it that is so important that you must waste my time?"
The old man mutters something under his breath.
"What's that? Do speak up, old man." The king said, a hint of disgust in his voice at the thought of a dirty old man being around him.
The old man muttered again, slightly louder this time.
"If you won't tell me what it is you want to say, then I shall not have you waste any more of my time!" the King said spat angrily. "Ser Meryn! Get him out of my sight!"
"Of course, your grace."
"Of course your grace", the old man said in a mocking tone.
"What did you say?"
"You are a cruel king, your grace." The old man said, staring right at Joffrey, a fire in his eyes.
The king sat back, eyes wide in awe that anyone would DARE to speak to him in such a manner, much less a feeble old man.
"You are a cruel, vicious king who does not care for his people. The only reason you are King at all is because you were lucky enough to be born as a son of Robert Baratheon. I have heard the stories, your grace. Attacking an unarmed boy, running at the first sight of danger back into the arms of mommy dearest. You are not fit to wear a crown boy. Much less sit on the iron throne of Westeros."
The king had now gotten over the initial shock and was furious that this man was speaking to him in this way.
"How DARE you? I am the King of all the seven kingdoms, and I will not tolerate such insolence!" He yelled, standing up off the throne he sat on. "Guards! Behead this man!"
The knights of the Kingsguard exchanged glances, then quickly walked over to the old man and prepared to chop off his head.
The old man spoke again. "The people of Westeros will not have to tolerate your rule much longer. He comes. The hero of old. He of dragon's blood. Not a Targaryen, one of those imbeciles that dare to say they share the blood of dragons. The animals the control are not true dragons. He who is truly of dragon's blood comes now. He will save us. For you are too blind to see there is a greater threat. You would rather squabble with the other "Kings" who vie for the throne. He shall save us soon. For he comes, he comes, the dragonborn comes.