Izembaro had blessed by being born and raised in Bravos. His home was a proper city, the wealthiest, and arguably the most powerful city in all Essos. Bravos is a city of seafarers men, of master swordsmen, whose wharfs sparkled with the lanterns of hundreds of ships. He grew up listening to the conversations of seafarers from all over the world. Men who spoke a hundred different languages and came from places so distant the children's stories did not even name them.
The lands of the Sunset sea were queer and very different from Bravos. Even queerer was The North, the winters were long and harsh, and whole villages disappeared beneath the snow. It was sparsely populated and isolated, and those who lived here prayed to pale threes instead to proper human gods.
He was a mummer and a merchant, back in Bravos people loved his art, he was named Izembaro the Great and the King of mummers. But what was a King of Mummers doing a continent away from home? Deep in the land of nowhere? The North was hard, its citizens even harder, piss-poor, worshipers of pagan gods. For all the legends going on in this wasteland, Izembaro and his troupe should be dead, eaten and the women taken away to breed more barbarians.
Moreover, Izembaro was not even in White Harbor the only proper city in the North, but in Winterfell the seat of House Stark.
The Lord of White Harbor had hired them as a gift to celebrate the namesake of his Lord daughter; the show has been a complete success, and little Sansa Stark had enjoyed his troupe performances. "The Titan Dance." Which presents how his city was founded. "The Sun and Moon." About two lovers. While the rest of the people appreciated recreations like Theon the Hungry Wolf and his epics against the Andals, even the grim-faced Lord Stark enjoyed the entertainment.
Izembaro had been pleasantly surprised, the First Men were like their cousins the Andals and the Rhoynar. They loved and enjoyed entertainment like any other man, and Winterfell was a magnificent castle.
The locals were poor in coins, but their pockets were not empty. They valued food and drink more than gold, and the little coin they had was not wasted. Where to waste it? They had nothing to squander but drinks and whores. They were more than happy to fat his pockets with gold and silver if present with little true entertainment. They could die of freezing at any moment it was as much a part of life as work, as food and drink, as company and love. On the stages of the northern lands, a man might speak of his love or his skill at arms or trade. Men would bet on which storyteller's tale was true or which singer could pour forth the most beautiful notes from a stringed instrument. Drinks and more food were provided for every patron who stepped into the bar, with no expectation other than a smile and a warm hello from whoever worked behind the counter.
Izembaro was already planning on returning.
"Moon and stars! This place is cold!" Shriek Phario Forel the playwright of his mummer's show.
Izembaro rolled his eyes. "You reckon? I didn't notice. So what should we do now? The sun is high to go to bed and I don't fancy a walk around the castle!" Impressive as it was Winterfell was not Bravos, not much to see here but endless snow.
Phario harrumphed. "Would you like to go to the whorehouse? I don't even have to get hard, my cock is frozen solid as it is!"
Izembaro shook his head, he had already tasted what north whores had to offer, it wasn't bad, but he already warmed his bed every day since arriving here. This Northmen lot needed to get some damn entertainment! He conceded that Winter is Coming and all that, but could it hurt to get some excitement? Aside from not losing your life to the cold.
"Hey look." Phario pointed at a small shop at the edge of the town. "The Milky Way to the Stars and Dreamworlds? What on the City is that supposed to mean?"
"Games and more?" Read Izemabaro, it was also written in big fat red letters, it was a small shop, perhaps the smallest in all Wintertown.
"I'm not surprised we didn't notice the shop before, is empty! The Northmen-only game is a constant of not being the first to drop dead to the cold! We should go and see. Whatever games and more are! I'm sure it would be funnier than walking around in the snow."
Izemabaro shrugged, Phario was right, he could use some fun or at least warmth right now.
XXXXXX
Occasionally life could be funny. One day you're a nerd, minding your nerd business, not bothering anyone. Then Poof you are a shopkeeper in the middle of frozen nowhere. He would be beaming but the possibility that you'll die of hypothermia seemed startlingly close.
Except here he was, in a lifetime opportunity. A scary land filled to the brim with dread and despair, where a horse has more value than a person. He might as well become the amusement of some degenerate at a moment's notice.
So, what was the only thing between him and his ultimate horrible future? Why of course his very curse and savior, this damnable shop!
He had arrived here, roughly a month ago, in Wintertown. With the very simple mission of introducing Gorge R.R. Martin's little grimdark world to the joys of the future!
It was simple. Introduce Westeros and beyond to modern culture.
Or would have been simple, if the Northmen were less superstitious!
They were calling him a Sorcerer!
It was a good thing the shoop shielded him, or he would have been dragged out and sacrificed to appease the old gods.
Though he had to admit that everything was unquestionably bad, this VR game set of ultra-realistic gaming was incredible. Even he, a modern man, had to admit it. The game appeared to be even more real than real life! He would never be able to return to normal gaming after experiencing Dark Souls-the only game available in her store-on this ultra-realistic set of gaming.
For the love of God! Not only was he amazed, but he could also feel herself improving with a sword despite having never touched a real sword in his life!
It was a shame, he was probably going to starve to death before learning more about how useful this gaming system could be for him
The bell above the door of his little shop sang his welcome tune as two men entered. Short and dressed in white furs, the two men introduced themselves, eyes fixed on him as he regarded them.
"You don't have a very Northman appearance, I'm sure your journey to get here is a fascinating one." Reply the older man. Perhaps he is from Dorn?
His skin was tan and his hair bushy enough to make a lion jealous.
"Oh," He said, leaning forward and smirking, showing his white teeth. "So you must be the smart one. What gave it away?" He lay backcrossing his legs "You can't even imagine such a tale friend... You two don't look very Northmen either." The men in front of him were short, with no beards, while everyone here was tall and with a growing beard to shield themselves against the cold.
Phario laugh. "What gave it away?" He strode forward until he was a couple of feet away from him. "My handsome face?"
He smiled.
"We are from Bravos," he said, bowing deep as he removed an imaginary hat. "Phario Forel at your service." He smiled wide and passionately.
He had a thick Italian accent, if he remembered correctly Bravos was indeed Italian-influenced.
"That is far away."
"Not as far away as you"
The older man added, curious eyes watching everything in the shop, then scoffed. "What games are here man? I see no games."
"If you're looking for drunken games, head to the next tavern. But if you want something that's exceptionally fun, stay." He wouldn't describe it in words anymore. The first day he arrived in Martin's little fantasy world, he had a hard time describing it in words, and he found no purchase with locals, no one believe him.
"Aye? And what is that you offer that is so fun?"
"Videogames."
"Vi-what?" The word sounded too foreign for Izembaro to pronounce.
"Videogames, have you two ever read a novel?"
"Absolutely!" Izembaro said proudly. He was the leader of a traveling show of actors and musicians, and novels were his lifeblood. He had read no more than four novels just in the time it had taken him to get here.
Phario nodded. He was the lead actor, and he knew of many novels just like his letter and numbers. "What about it?" he asked.
"Have you ever wanted to become the hero in a story? Have you ever wanted to wield a legendary sword and rescue the kingdom?"
Both men nodded, of course. They were accustomed to these flights of fancy, fantasies that they'd had since they were children. In those fantasies, they slay The Dragons Lords of Valyria, and they had saved the city and get the beautiful girl.
"What if I tell you there is a way for you to become the protagonist, for only one silver coin, and one silver coin each hour you stay in, you can be a hero on an adventure."
Izembaro unleashed a rich belly laugh.
Phario stared at him with polite skepticism. "But how is that possible?"
He shrugged. "Why would I lie? This is my shop, and I'm not going anywhere. If you're unsatisfied, destroy my shop."
"You have a point there, very well, if I'm not satisfied I'm going to smash your shop," said Izembaro, handing two silver coins.
He grinned, finally, his first customer! This Braavosi was going for a ride with Dark Souls.
Both followed the shop owner until they were in front of a weird-looking helmet thing, another thing that look like glass. It seemed very expensive. That can be right, glass is too expensive for this place.
"Sit."
The shop owner pointed at the chair, it looked very comfortable to sit on it.
As Izembaro sat in the chair, he felt relaxed. He had always imagined what it would be like to sit in a cloud, and now he realized that this was the closest he would ever get to feeling like he was actually sitting in one.
"Okay, let me help you... Right, everything is ready," He said after helping the older Braavosi with the VR. "Just remember, nothing is truly real, is just a gam-novel."
[Welcome new user! to the super-advanced gaming virtual reality!]
Izembaro recoiled back in shock at seeing those white letters appearing suddenly in front of him. He'd never seen letters appear like that, hovering in the air. His sense of shock vanished quickly, replaced by fear.
A hand touched him on the shoulder. "Easy pal, just select the option that reads: Dark Souls."
Dark souls? Such an ominous title for a novel. It took Izembaro a while to get a hold of the little thing like an arrow that moved around at its beck and call. Not because was hard it was really funny to watch the thing, almost like seeing a mouse play around. Finally, Izembaro clicked on Dark Souls.
Izembaro's jaw dropped, his eyes widening as he stared at a faceless character and a variety of icons. It looked so alive, it was even breathing. Is that music? What kind of magic artifact is this! He asked himself. He tweaked around noticing he could change the faceless man. Hair, facial hair. He could make the man as thin as a feather, as fat as a Magister, or have him full of muscles like a Bravo. He lost himself in his hero creation, and by the time he was finally done the hero looked like a heroic version of himself.
"This is incredible!" He heard Phario exclaim. "Shop owner! Please activate this novel for me too!" Izembaro chuckled it has been some time since he had heard Phario genuinely happy and excited about something.
The hour is up! Please remember to pay for more time if you like to keep playing!
What? Everything went black. He desperately tried to go back. Oh, right... He realized. It was time to pay for the novel he had been playing. He reached into his pocket and took out some silver. He eagerly gave it to the shopkeeper and returned to his seat. The game was exactly where he had left it.
In the age of ancients, the world was unformed, shrouded by fog, a land of great crags arch threes, and everlasting dragons
Izembaro looked right and left, and he even looked down at the ground, but he did not see an old lady in the shop. Then the scenery changed, fog, gigantic trees, and enormous crags. It was impossible to create anything with such detail and realism.
[But then there was fire, and with fire came disparate, heat and cold, life and death, and of course... light and dark]
He clung to the closest thing his hands could reach, feeling his stomach drop as the world sped up. Everything was moving so fast, so rapidly he shut his eyes and a yelp escaped his mouth. A warm hand landed on his shoulder, steadying him.
"Calm down old man, nothing is real, let go and enjoy."
[Then from the dark they came and found the Souls of Lords within the flame]
Visible through the fire was a line of people, gasping moans escaped their lips as they stumbled through the flames and disappeared into the dark. Their flesh was black, and their eyes and teeth gleamed in the firelight like those of half-dead animals. Their mouths were open with an expression of despair like that of a dying man
[Nito the first of the death]
Another cry escaped his lips as he realized that the monstrous thing holding a bright flame was made out of human bones.
[The witch of Izalith and her Daughters of Chaos]
Now it was a hooded woman, surrounded by more hooded women, holding a flame, her hands burned. Izembaro supposed they were the daughters of the witch.
[Gwyn the lord of sunlight and his faithful knights]
A Lord, no, a King mighty like the legends, surrounded by silver-plated knights in full regalia. Their armor gleamed in the sunlight, and their swords hung from their belts like the summer rain drips from the roof.
[and the furtive Pygmy so easily forgotten]
Izembaro frowned deeply, another of the weird starving men, this Pygmy was not like the mighty rest of the Lords. He looked fragile, weak. His arms and legs were as thin as tree branches, and his skin seemed stretched across his bones as if he had been hanging from a gibbet for much too long.
[With the strength of Lords they challenged the dragons, Gwyn's mighty bolts peeled apart their stones' scales]
Izembaro had never seen dragons before, but they looked invincible as they flew around the battlefield. Lord Gwyn commanded lighting that shot forth from his hands. The dragons thrashed in agony as the lightning hit them.
[The witches weaved great firestorms]
The hooded women summoned terrible storms of fire.
[Nito unleashed a great miasma of death and disease]
Then the many faces god rose, weapon high, rising the death on its foes.
[And Seath the Scaleless betrayed his own and the Dragons were no more]
Izembaro try to cover his ears and almost roared in his own, a pale dragon roared in a mountain of its brethren.
[Thus began the age of fire, but soon the flames would fade and only dark would remain, even now there are only embers and man see no light but only endless nights And amongst the living are seen carriers of the accursed Darksing, yes indeed, the dark sing brand the undead, and in this land the undead are corralled and lead to the north where they are lock away to await the end of the world, this is your fate]
Izembaro watched a body fall on the cell, looking up he stared at a knight who stared back at him, and before he could say anything the knight was gone. He could move now. He gape like a fish, he could move. Everything around him looked so real. If not for the hand firmly on his shoulder Izembaro would be scared out of his humor. Like a newborn fawn, he took his first step around the cell. God is horrible. Inside and outside of it, filled with rats and larger-than-life cockroaches. He was sure the famous drowned cells in Braavosi were like this.
He had a broken sword in his right hand and a key to get out in his left. The place was even more horrible outside somehow.
The ground shocked and Izembaro barely preserved wits die.
It was a demon, a grotesque creature tall as a tower and bloated like a dead body that had washed ashore and carried a hammer the size of a boat. Izembaro stood there, waiting for it to strike him down. But the strike never happened, the demon just keep trouting slowly around. The demon merely trudged slowly around, as if waiting for just the right moment.
He felt another squeeze on his shoulder.
"Come on man! Even if the thing strikes you down a hundredth, nay thousandth time! You're not gonna die, this is a game, storytelling, keep moving!" That seemed to snap him out and he did that keep moving.
"Shopowner, please! Begin one of your storytelling devices for me too!" The younger man eagerly requested,
He smiled at him "But of course! follow me, don't forget to pay up!"
XXXXXXXXXX
Wintertown was a small city on its right: it had taverns, a market, smiths, and a great number of the northern population lived and die.
One of the many taverns by name of "Surefoot" Legend says it was founded by an Umber bastard generations ago, the gigantic shoe of that Umber bastard was still hanging at the entrance of the tavern.
Inside the tavern, people were laughing and talking, and music played at a level that made it impossible for anyone to make sense of what anyone was saying, just as on every other night.
Ralof was seated in his favorite spot far in the corner of the tavern, hidden behind a log post with a tankard of golden ale on the table. His eyes were wide, alert. He couldn't decide which conversation to listen in on so he soaked up everything around him. It was amazing the number of gossiping one could be heard when listing in silence. The voices and the laughter were drowned out by music from the fiddle and lyre and lute. The smells of fresh baked bread and ale and sweat filled the air. Men and women pushed past him to fill their own mugs from a row of barrels along the back wall or to take a bite from the roast pig on a spit above the fire that roared in a brick oven where Marise stood cooking.
The Matriarch of the Sicklehands was pregnant, again, and nobody know who the father was.
Somebody claimed she was the real mother of the bastard of Winterfell, Jon Snow.
A hunter was planning on going hunting deep in the Wolfwood.
Some horrific things about Lord Bolton.
Aye, Ralof knew many things, and not all of them were good. Two of his nameday ago two southrons, from Kingslading given they stink his place of shit, offer him coin and favor in exchange for information and gossip. One had claimed to be coming in the name of the spider and the other of the mockingbird, those names didn't make sense to him, he had turned them down, after giving them a good thrashing. He hadn't gone to young Ned, the man didn't like playing with the south as his father did. The current Wolf father had entertained friends from the south too often, much to Ralof's distaste.
"Doubt my honor again barbarian and I would cut your tongue!"
Aye, those little Braavosi had balls as big as those pretty war galleys they make. They had chosen to stay in his tavern for the remainder of their stay here in Winterfell.
Tonight two of them had come, all excited and bragging about that new shop, "The Milky Way to the Stars and Dreamworlds." The story they had was notably wild, in what only they could describe as having Been inside a novel. Ha! Most of the people here couldn't even read. Moreover, they told how they had fought against a gigantic demon that crushed them time and time again but they did not lose their lives.
It was all really strange.
"I would cut off your balls and use them as doorbells! My friend almost die because of that Sorcerer!"
Exclaimed his son. He was a man of passion, with more than a bit of youthful bluster. There was a childlike sense of wonder inside of him that had no measure of caution or wisdom. Ralof did not approve of those friends of his, the Sicklehands were anything but honorable, and if there was one thing Ralof could not stand, it was those who cared for nothing but themselves. And when he looked at the Sicklehands, he saw nothing but creatures who only thought about themselves.
Since that encounter with the Sicklehands some moons ago, nobody wanted to approach that shop. Ralf didn't believe the claims, but he had heard the gossip. The Sicklehands brothers had tried to mug the shop's new owner, only to be thrown away with lightning conjured from inside the shop. The folk claimed that either a Sorcerer or a Warlock from far had claimed the place, and Ralf snorted at such rumors.
He had journeyed south with old Rickard Stark in the war of the Ninepenny Kings and had met a real witch who had read his fortune, then he traveled again south with young Ned to avenge the death of his friend and Lord.
The world goes beyond the North, beyond the wall and the neck. So many interesting things to do and learn beyond just traveling a couple of miles from where you were born.
He raised his hand, and bring it down with all the strength he could muster. The sound stopped everyone on its track including his son and the Braavosi about to draw steel. He did not want to explain in front of the Warden of the North how guest rights were broken inside the tavern.
"My boy," Ralof's said, and his voice was heavy with disappointment. Honestly, his son needed to go out and explore the world a bit before he grew old enough to take the tavern.
"Father! these foreigners-"
"Shut the fuck up before I do it for you." With his son sufficiently cowered he continue. "The bloody Sicklehands try to mug somebody. If old Rickard was here, he would take their heads, young Ned is too busy with his daughter's birthday to do so."
His son grimaced and Ralof turned to the Braavosi.
"Aye I would go to this new shop, I hope is as good as you say. Something new to do before next winter before I have to go hunt."
His son grimaced worsened.
The Braavosi bow. "I swear it on the honor of the city greybeard, you would not be disappointed."
Ralof nodded, going back to his ale, and everyone else to his business.
XXXXXXXXXXX
There was something incredibly amusing about watching an old man screaming his lungs out like a child on fire. His face was red. The veins on his neck bulged, and it was clear that he was going to have a heart attack if he didn't stop. But it was clear the old man would never stop.
"Winterfell!"
"Have at you demon!"
"For Robert Baratheon King of the seven kingdoms!"
Those were honest-to-good authentic battle cries.
Early in the morning, when he just opened the shop this old man had all but demanded to let him play, not even complaining about the money. The old man-unlike the Braavosi who had chosen both the wanderer as initial characters- had chosen the barbarian.
He was a genuinely cool old man with all the screaming. His name was Ralof a nameless character in the books or show.
Not long after the old man began to play. The two Braavosi had come again, eager to play again, boasting how they would defeat the Demon this time.
However, he frowned, the three were failing, miserable. Just like the old man. Not even she when she began playing was this bad.
He decided she would help a bit.
"You all are doing it wrong."
"The thing is a demon, I don't think it can be easily defeated," say Pharios still playing.
The old man only snorted in agreement.
He grunted. "Yeah, the weakest of all of the demonkind."
That brought up the attention of the three.
"What? you seriously thought the fat-ass demon was special? Wait until you meet its brothers or their mommy."
The three men stare at her in wonder, excited that killing this demon was not the end of the story.
"Why are you trying to block the big-ass powerful demon?" He asked, he was being a hypocrite when he first began playing Dark Souls he blocked every attack, and his whole playthrough was nothing but having his cleric character always with a tower shield and the biggest armor he could find, refusing to even try any other style of play. These men didn't need to know that though.
The three of them look at each other, not sure who will say something first.
"You two are playing with the wanderer, with no armor, and using a rapier with a tiny shield better to parry attacks, you have not even tried to use the buckler shield to parry." He pointed out.
Th Bravossi look down on shame, they have chosen the wanderer for their type of weapon which is favored in the city, a buckler or a parrying dagger, and a rapier, the shop owner was right.
Ralof began to laugh uproariously.
"You are even worst old man, your character is a barbarian for god's sake! You forsake your shield altogether and began using your ax double-handed and you are trying to block using your ax!"
That quickly shot down the old man his already pink cheeks began to go even pinkier.
"Roll away or dodge! you're no knight in full plate. Hit the thing and roll away!" He said and left to his favorite spot, which had basically become the reception. The three men returned to their game, eager to use their newfound wisdom on the game.
At that moment something popped up in front of him.
Congratulations user! your first mission has been completed!
Mission: Have three people enjoy Dark Souls 1 in the ultra mega super realistic VR!
Reward: Basic commodities, shampoo, soap, toothpaste, toothbrush, and a shower with hot and cold water have been installed; commodities would replace each day as long as you have a customer enjoying the shop.
He let out a soft squeak of pleasure. He had not bathed or brushed his teeth since arriving here, so he hurried up the stairs of his shop, where he slept, and eagerly turned on the water to take his first bath in weeks.
XXXXXXXXXXX
It was a lovely morning in the North, the sun was... well he could not see the sun. The sky was full of thick grey clouds, and it was raining outdoors. Luckily for him, upstairs in his small abode, there was a very real hot shower fully equipped, so he was in a good mood. He didn't understand how it worked. He hasn't seen pipes or anything. But she did not question either, ignorance was bliss after all.
He did not know why he had been chosen to do this, he was just a nerd and a gym enthusiast.
Still, he had to admit been here had its perks. Like watching those three play Dark Souls, they loved the game as much as any other fan back home, and it was good to have them here. Human interaction was nice.
Interacting with people was what he wanted the most. He had been terrified when he landed in Westeros and was tasked by some unseen force to bring art and culture to this world, armed only with a small shop, five VR sets, and a new version of Dark Souls.
His brain didn't have time to process what was happening when the local gang decided to mug him. They weren't leaving until he handed over everything to him, but all he had in her pocket was his weekly shopping list. The leader of the gang was grinning as he grabbed his shoulder. He would do worse if no one stepped in to stop him. Then all of them had been expelled from the shop by some kind of blue lighting. The lightning bolt had only knocked them unconscious—they weren't cocked dead like real lightning would do, and he wasn't dead at the hands of a lynch mob. But people were now calling him a Sorceror and he was too afraid to go outside.
He turned around and read again the rules of the shop
1 - Don't cause trouble inside the shop.
2 - Only eight hours of play per day.
3 - If you cause trouble, you will never be able to play again.
He loved those rules, easy to read, and simpler to follow. He was exempted from the second rule, it was the third one that make him pause. Does that mean that the gang that came and caused trouble could no longer play? That was a shame, Dark Souls was not only an incredible game but the VR set was amazing. He had been playing with his character using a claymore. He had never wielded a claymore before or any other type of sword or weapon. But now he was sure he could wield one as well as in the game. Not only it was fun to play but you're also learning from playing. Hopefully, he could get a sword soon, he would feel far better outside his shop with something to defend herself. He now felt confident about stabbing someone without stabbing himself in the process. That actually happen to him inside the game trying to kill a hollow, it was amazing how much freedom the game allowed.
This raised a question. Could he learn Dark Souls' magic?
It was an interesting question, one he intended to answer. First, he wanted to finish his first playthrough with the strength/dex character. He wanted to know as many weapons as possible. Time was on his side since he had been given an exemption from the second rule while his three customers had not. They had complained about it, a lot.
The door of his shop opened, and Ralof walked inside, his shoulders hunched in mockery.
He was about to greet the old man when he notice another man that stood as still as a statue. He realized quickly that he was not Izembaro or Phario. This made his heart jump to his throat. The three never arrived separately. He was a short comparable with Ralof. Dressed all in greys, with dark hair that fall to his shoulders. He had a serious look on his face but a soft and approachable expression. He was as tall as he was, and he estimated that at the beginning of his mid-twenties. Just like him, he was beginning to grow a full beard to shield his face.
"Old gods lad, what were you doing? Playing with your prick?" Ask Ralof, the shopkeeper wore nothing but his trousers, he was panting heavily and was sweating a river.
"A pleasant day to you." Said the new man, in a quiet voice.
"Oh, good morning." He replied. "And yes Ralof I was playing with my prick."
The greybeard was ready to articulate something, but the man spoke first.
"This is the shop you wanted to show me, Ralof?" Eddard "Ned" Stark asked the old man. Ned has been surprised when Ralof had come all the way from Wintertown to Winterfell-which is at least one hour and a half on foot- Ralof was the oldest man alive in the Stark lands, which means he was bitter, and as Greatjon put it one time, so old he pissed vinegar. It was a surprise when he barged inside his solar, demanded to see him, and then proceeded to rant about how he had found the best thing that happen to the north since the glass gardens.
The man was all sense. He had been a friend to his Lord father, marched south to the Ninepenny Kings war, marched south again with him in the rebellion, and would march south again if the need arises at the head of the outriders. So he was compelled to listen to the man and follow him into Wintertown to check on this shop.
In the many things he had to do as the Lord of Winterfell, he had to hear constant complaints from his smallfolk, many of them had come to him to let him know how a Sorcerer had opened a shop in Wintertown and was wreaking havoc, even as far a to hurt the poor sons of the Sicklehands. The tales became more outlandish with every smallfolk. Before Ralof asked to him come he was going to come here anyway.
And like all outlandish rumors, he found them not to be the truth.
The bane of his people was a man. No older than him, tall as Robert, and with the same complexion. The Sorceror took care of his body, and feed himself properly. His hair was light brown and if not properly shortened it would cover his brown eyes, a light stubble was beginning to form on his face. The most Sorcerer something on him was that he wore what looked like expensive Myr glasses, they had a magic look on them.
All rumors, tales, and legends have an ounce of truth in them. He did not acknowledge any of the outlandish whispers of the Sorcerer with powers and curses. But who did this person build this lodging? By all accounts, this place just appeared one day. Something that he would answer for.
"Aye my Lord, hey lad!" Ralof turned to the man. "Have the Lord of Winterfell play the storytelling of Dark Souls!"
The man only raised an eyebrow at that announcement, most likely he did not know what his title implied, he looked foreign enough. He then proceed to tap at what seemed to be the rules of the establishment.
"How much is it?" Eddard asked.
"One silver coin."
He replied in perfect common. Eddard frowned, that was expensive for a game.
"My lord I swear you, the coin is worth it." Promise Ralof already taking his punch to pay for his game. "Better than the finest of wines or whores."
Ned sigh. "I didn't bring any coin with me Ralof, I pay you later, give me one." So eager was the old man to leave, he forgot to bring any coin with him.
The old man shrugged and hand him one silver coin, and Eddard pay to the man. He thanked him and proceeded to guide him to the nearest helmet thing.
"It's called VR, put it on, everything that you see inside is not real. Nothing would be able to hurt you, enjoy your ride."
Once the thing was secured in his head he couldn't see anything, only blackness.
[In the age of ancients, the world was unformed, shrouded by fog, a land of great crags arch threes, and everlasting dragons]
Hearing the voice was a shock. It was the voice of an old woman, but it seemed to come from everywhere. Soon Ned's world turned gray and he wanted to vomit, but he tried to remain calm. A dragon stood in front of him. Big as Belarion the black dread, or bigger—and completely ignoring him.
[But then there was fire, and with fire came disparate, heat and cold, life and death, and of course... light and dark]
Say the crone moving him underground where he stood on a massive inferno. He jerked away, desperately trying to get away from the flames. But the painful bite of the flame never came, not even a little heat.
[Then from the dark they came and found the Souls of Lords within the flame]
Horrible famished men rose from the dark and stood there looking more like corpses, perplexed and afraid?
[Nito the first of the death]
Death rose, his form an amalgamation of human bones and raven feathers. Ned stared, ready to cry and beg. Death was the oldest of the old gods; all answered to it.
[The witch of Izalith and her Daughters of Chaos]
But the death was no more, in its place, an inhumanly tall woman stood, pale as snow, both hands charred by the flame she was holding.
[Gwyn the lord of sunlight and his faithful knights]
It was a king, grim and tired yet shining like the sun, full of ash and grey holding the biggest of the flames. Behind an army of knights in full plate stood ready to obey their liege.
[and the furtive Pygmy so easily forgotten]
Another fragile corpse holding a flame its hands surprisingly human. Perhaps out of four, this furtive Pygmy was the most human.
[With the strength of Lords they challenged the dragons, Gwyn's mighty bolts peeled apart their stones' scales]
A war was raging. Even god-like beings were not immune to that curse. The sun Lord created gold lighting from his hands and the Dragon's mewl.
[The witches weaved great firestorms]
Everything was a world of fire and flames, as the witches commanded fire.
[Nito unleashed a great miasma of death and disease]
Death raised its arms and everything die.
[And Seath the Scaleless betrayed his own and the Dragons were no more]
The Kinslayer Dragon stood atop a mountain of corpses. It howled at the heavens, its face twisted in rage. Ned shuddered to compare this heavenly war with the Rebellion. But this war was about power and dominion. To topple the Dragons, the rebellion has been about bringing them to justice.
[Thus began the age of fire, but soon the flames would fade and only dark would remain, even now there are only embers and man see no light but only endless nights And amongst the living are seen carriers of the accursed Darksing, yes indeed, the dark sing brand the undead, and in this land the undead are corralled and lead to the north where they are lock away to await the end of the world, this is your fate]
Ned felt so many emotions, his eyes wide with wonderment and bewilderment, his heart beating faster than he could count. This was like one of Old Nan's tales, the kind that she used to bewitch him and his brothers with when they were children. The thought of Old Nan made him feel fear-anxiety and excitement recalling all those tales. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make sense of it all.
It was a tale of epic proportions, of war and curses.
The warrior he had chosen was trapped inside a cell, one that make him remember the black cell in the Red Keep. A Knight threw him something from a small gap in the cell roof.
And then nothing, the warrior just stood there. Perhaps he was afraid. He would be in that situation. Grown men freeze in a battle even when somebody was running at them screaming bloody murder.
The warrior did not react. Still, Ned waited patiently until he grew concerned, he'd seen this behavior before.
A hand landed on his shoulder.
"Lord Stark," called the shop owner. "you have to move, it's your adventure."
Ned frowned, what did the shop owner mean by that? Yes, he could see as if he and the warrior shared a body. But how could be possible to move when this was not his body? Yet again, this whole affair was impossible, he did what the shopowner suggested.
He didn't know how all of this was possible, but he would ask the shop owner about it today or at least try to. For now, though…
He raised his hand before his face, and for a moment he thought it was his own. It was hard to describe it, nay almost impossible. Then the moment passed. It wasn't his hand, merely something that resembled it. Carefully he approached the body. Fortunately for him, his nose was not assaulted by the horrible odor of decay.
"It is a real tale," Ned said. He gazed out over the darkening hall and was struck with wonderment. He had never seen anything like this in his whole of his life. Bewildered by everything. When he ventured a look back into the sky, he clenched his fists and prepared himself for battle. Excitement and fear clawed at his spine.
Eddard's hands trembled as he grasped the key. The ground shook as he stepped outside the cell, and he choked as a horrible smell filled his nostrils. A monster larger than any he had seen before patrolled in circles: it was big, thick, and green with a small face and horns, and it carried a shiny mace in its left hand. It resembled nothing so much as a demon straight out of an old nightmare.
The demon had better things to do than smash him, so he kept walking. He finally made it outside and left the horrifying dungeon behind. He was greeted by a sword stuck in the ground. Or maybe it was a bonfire?
He sat by the bonfire, and a parchment with only a message appeared on his face.
Leave.
Ned shrugged and moved to the double doors that undoubtedly would lead him to the main hall of the prison or the exit.
Gods, this is so real. He could feel the heavy double door when he open it. A large crowd could easily be accommodated in the main hall. Ned noticed something bright, red, and black on the ground, he kneeled and touched it.
Run!
He had time to frown before the ground shook. It was the Demon, who most likely followed him to prevent him from escaping this Undead Asylum. A guttural voice exploded from it, raked and raw, and The Demon was upon him before he could blink.
He froze and that has been a mistake, the demon employ his mighty weapon to send him flying back to the double doors -which now were covered in a fog that he was unable to pass through.
Surprisingly that hit did not hurt. More surprisingly, he was alive. He did not have time to think about his luck because the demon was approaching intending to end his life this time no doubt.
He barely avoided the second blow and run to the other end of the hall, intending to escape. He was only armed with a broken sword. Speed was his sword and scaping would be his shield. He frantically try to open the doors, but they did not give in and the demon was upon him now. He jumped away from the blow barely spacing becoming a pool of gore and run to the side exit. The gate closed behind him and the demon roared in frustration, Ned released the air he was holding and promptly removed the helmet thing.
"I almost die." He calmly stated, his heart about to explode in his chest.
The owner raised a brown. "Lord Eddard, did you feel any pain?"
Ned shook his head.
"That's the thing about this game," He said. "You can never truly die. No matter how many times you die, this is not real life."
"Yea, the boy's right," said Ralof. "No matter how many times you die, you only go back to the last fire you rested at to try again." He went back to his game.
Ned looked puzzled, but he turned again without speaking. "What is your name?"
"Arthur, my Lord."
Ned frowned that name did not sound foreign at all.
XXXXXXXXX
Hidden Mission accomplished! Make one of the important players play in your store!
Reward: Ultra Super Mega Legendary Ticket; with this ticket, you would be able to enter a Gatcha system to obtain a broken ability or equipment with an equal broken drawback!
Use it well.
Would you like to use it now: YES/NO
Without thinking, Arthur clicked "yes" He would be able to protect himself in this horrible medieval world with a broken ability.
The world around him melted. Now he was surrounded by a beautiful starry sky, with a gigantic never-ending wheel appearing in front of him. It was full of powers.
Time Dragon Physiology, Balance Manipulation, Gravity Manipulation, Energy Manipulation.
He could read more, and he also could understand some of the concepts. Some were good, and others sounded so strange that even the most unjust and unkind of fortunes would seem like gifts. He had never been a particularly lucky or unlucky person when he played Gatcha games: they were a rollercoaster of emotions in which you could get unlucky, spend everything only to get nothing, or be lucky enough to give nothing only to receive everything.
You have three chances to spin the Super Ultra Mega Legendary Wheel to get a powerful ability. Choose wisely.
Would you like to spin the Super Ultra Mega Legendary Wheel? Yes/No
He had always been a superstitious person, so he closed his eyes and selected Yes.
He could hear the wheel spin. He counted until nineteen his lucky number and opened his eyes.
Theurgy.
My Name is Legion For We Are Many.
The ability to call upon gods, ancestors, or benevolent spirits to perform miracles. Magic variation of Mysticism and Divine Empowerment. The user can call upon gods and other divine forces to perform miracles and grant power. This allows the user to become more powerful than those who rely on their own abilities but are reliant on the beings that aid them.
Limitations
Spirits don't just give out power. They'll demand something in return. Perhaps your soul, service, personal energy, sacrifices, or a dozen other things, or perhaps nothing. The entity may have a limited amount of power and still be bound by laws other magic is. They might not even obey you.
Know users.
Doctor Fate, Persona 3 protagonist.
It sounded like a stupidly powerful ability with an equally stupid flaw. He could call Arceus and be all-powerful. But Arceus might ask for something difficult to give, or just completely ignore him and bring the poke-apocalypse to Westeros. It was the very definition of a wild card.
He chuckled imagining Eddard Stark with a Lucario fighting against Balon Greyjoy Tentacruel.
Still, he would spin again the wheel and check what else he could get.
Would you like to spin the wheel again?
For the second time, he chose Yes
Apotheosis Eldritch Conversion.
Before there was time. Before there was anything... there was nothing. And before there was nothing... there were monsters.
Users can permanently transform other beings into an eldritch abomination. A user with this ability either is or can transform into an eldritch abomination, a being whose very existence defies the rules of nature and/or existence and is defined by its disregard for the natural laws of the universe as we understand them. They wield godlike powers and are, for the most part, not bound by the laws of the universe.
Limitations.
This may not affect the victim's mind, allowing them to maintain their individuality. One misstep and you are lost forever. Native deities and cosmic beings may seek to banish/destroy the user. Incredibly hard to master.
Users - God's Hand Berserk. The Lich.
A psychopath's wet dream uh... And it was undoubtedly not a power he wanted, it was too scary. This ability was beyond powerful, he was not a saint he would not hesitate to turn somebody that deserve it. There were plenty of people who deserved a new Eldritch makeup or meet one. Armory Loch, Euron Greyjoy-thought he was already halfway there- Lysa Arryn, Walder Frey, Ramsay Bolton, Gregor Clegane which actually become one, one named Robert Strong.
Still turning them would be idiotic. They could keep their minds and seek vengeance or just destroy everything on their way. Even the weakest of eldritch abominations was mighty. Yes, she could become powerful beyond imagining, but he might lose his mind in the process. Even if he did not lose himself, what would he do with all that power? Become some kind of tyrant? He not would like to be hunted down by other powerful or eldritch creatures. Westeros Cthulhu can stay wherever it is thank you very much!
He spun the wheel for the third and last time.
Imaginative Technomagic.
It's hard to say whether this is magical or mechanical. Or both.
Users can create any technological device just by imagining them. The created devices are permanent and their existence is irreversible. They are all under the users' complete control and may be remolded or merged the same way they were created to fit a different purpose to create them, users must come up with a rough idea of the appearance, function, and effects, the power filling in the blanks from there. Users may also apply the power directly to themselves, enhancing themselves via technological remolding, or entirely turning into a techno-magical shape-shifting amalgam with nigh-infinite possibilities.
Limitations.
Users need a rough idea of the devices' appearance, function, and effects. Are you trying to assemble a chair? Congratulations! You just created a Mechanical Abomination capable of destroying the galaxy and is completely out of your control! Incredibly hard to master.
Users - SCP-001 - Bright's Proposal - The Factory. All Perfect Gods Index
This sounded like a more restricted imagination-warping power, instead of only using your imagination to create things, you use technology and imagination to create things, it sounded powerful.
And yet the drawback...
You have no more spins to try your luck, please make a selection.
Theurgy - Apotheosis Eldritch Conversion - Imaginative Technomagic He felt cheated. The abilities were powerful, no doubt about it.
Theurgy was the most powerful of the three. It was like having the ultimate ability of an annoying kid that always has a counter for you. You can always call for a more dangerous and powerful foe than the one you're battling, or call for a god to come and help, but that god might not be too happy to see you.
Apotheosis Eldritch Conversion was a high-risk, high reward. You could become omnipotent or beyond that. Does your friend not smile often? Make them grow a tentacle and a gaping mouth in the chest, surely that would make them smile! If they don't lose their humanity...
Imaginative Technology was incredibly strong—I could become a superior Macgyver— I could create anything with nothing but materials, hopes, and dreams. Perhaps right now this was the most convenient power to have in this world. He could become one of those super-intelligent fanfiction characters that bring technology to the world.
Yeah, I believe this is my best option.
His mind made up, He select his new power, touching Imaginative Technomagic.
The world around him became again his humble gaming shop as if nothing had happened. Eddard Stark and Ralof were still playing, Ralof was traversing the Undead Burg and Eddard Stark, surprisingly, was doing better against the Asylum Demon.
He did not feel any different. He stared at his hands expecting something to happen. When he was little and still believed in magic, he wished for a wand to wave and a puff of smoke to show his parents he was magical. He opened his hands and looked at them, flexing his fingers trying to imagine a puff of smoke arising from them. Nothing happened. His hands were still the same, but he stared at them anyway. He needed to know how to use his powers.
She glanced for the nearest thing at hand, which was his currently empty and fragile mug, with enough strength he was able to break the handle free.
Focusing on the knife in his hand. His hand tightened around it, and he felt his muscles flex slightly.
"It is well known that by tearing off the handler of a man-made wood mug that recently was holding tea and by uh... keeping it in your hands, for ten seconds it would evolve in a mug." He slowly counted ten, then carefully, almost afraid, open his hands and grinned.
He had made a mug with nothing but a handler, hopes, dreams, and quasi-science/magic. It was not perfect, the shape was all off, and the handler was too. Anyone that looked at it would think it was many things but a mug, but to him right now it looked like the most beautiful thing ever.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
He swallowed; he felt sweat dribbling down his face. He raised his shield into an upright position and stepped forward, sword ready to attack. The Demon stomped forward and roared. His mind concentrated on a red bar almost depleted with the Demon's name on it.
Asylum Demon.
How many times he had been crushed under the weight of that wicked mace or sent flying? Ned moved away from the Demon, barely avoiding being crushed again. Even with his shield raised in front of him, the Demon was too strong. The Hellborne's monstrous strength ripped through it with ease like parchment.
Now it was his turn, one more blow.
The fat Demon seemed to feel this as well, its small wings carrying him into the air, it was going to make that droop attack again. Ned was ready again he raised high his shield and gritted his teeth when he felt the hit and the ground shook under him. For a moment he thought the ground would give up with both failing to their deaths. But that did not happen, Ned dropped his shield, holding his straight sword with both hands, and with a grim face, he bit deep into flesh, so deep that the guard of his sword was touching the demon.
The fat and green Demon roared, but instead of just dropping dead it exploded in white fog which promptly ran to him. The exploding body also dropped a key, Ned supposed it was for the other door of the main hall.
He pick up the key, but there was something else there, something black and white dancing. Ned close his hand around it, trying to pick it up, perhaps he put too much force behind it because it got crushed instead.
He felt a rush of something, and when it look in a nearby puddle his skin was not crispy and red like a corpse, but healthy and smooth. He had regained his humanity.
He scratched his new beard but gave no thought about it, he was eager to open that door.
When Ned finally open the door he was surprised. He was in a small cemetery on a hill? Slowly he began to climb up the ravaged stairs, they were in a mountainous zone that make him recall the Vale.
Then he lost control of his character, no longer watching through his eyes but lumbering like a ghost.
Only, in ancient legends, it is stated,
The warrior slowly approached the Clift.
that one day an Undead shall be chosen,
A gigantic crow swept forward taking the warrior with it.
To leave the Undead Asylum on pilgrimage, to the land of the Ancient Lords... Lordran.
And the crow flew away losing itself in the distance, and everything went black for Ned.
The next thing Ned saw was a city that reminded him of Kings Landing, the crow released the warrior in a sweep of black feathers.
Firelink Shrine.
If this was a shrine, then it has been long ago, now it was a ruin. Nature was reclaiming its due. A man was sitting nearby Ned watched him carefully, another bonfire in the middle and he made to ignite it.
Eddard "Ned" Stark your eight hours are up, if you wish to play again please come back again tomorrow, thank you very much for your patronage!
Everything again went black, Ned try to move to make anything, but only the same message keep showing. He then remembered one of the rules of the shop.
Ned removed his helmet, Ralof was already arguing with the shop owner.
"I have money lad, at least one extra hour. I was about to slay that bull Demon!"
Say the man, Ned thought about it, so there was another Demon, one that resembled a bull.
"Is not about money Ralof, and you were not close to killing it, it was kicking you so hard, I would be surprised if you have any balls left."
He said back at the big man, Eddard chuckled and Ralof's laughter resounded throughout the shop.
"So is really not possible to use it anymore but eight hours a day, Master Arthur?"
"No, Lord Stark, even if the King and Prince came here to play they would be required to abide by the rules."
"You would refuse the King?" Asked Ralof incredulously.
"All men must abide rules Ralof, especially Kings." The man was flustered red but said nothing. "Master Arthur, I am beyond fascinated with your... Machine? Magic? But what is that?" Ned pointed at the helmet-like thing that allowed him to experience a different life. "Is real? Or an illusion? How does it work? I have never seen nor heard of something like this."
The head of House Stark had many questions. If he had been born and raised in a Feudal society, and the most advanced technology he knew was a rake, he would have lots of questions... he was of course exaggerating, but he wanted to make a point.
Yet, he wouldn't be able to explain how video games work, he could not even explain how electricity worked. His last work had been as a call center agent, nor an Engineer. Maybe with his new powers, he could give a half-truth that was credible. While the boys were playing he experimented with his newfound powers.
"I don't believe I can't answer the question," the boy said, "but the answer is that it is, in a sense, an illusion of sorts." Eddard frowned at him for a moment before muttering to himself under his breath. The boy shifted in his seat as the King looked away and continued to speak, "So it is an illusion."
"Let me ask you a question, my Lord, what is a tourney?" He asked, concluding that examples were the best way to explain himself.
"A competition? Mock fighting? Game? That is also a hard question" He had been raised in the south, the Vale was the cream of chivalry in the Seven Kingdoms, so he had attended various Tournaments during his fostering with Robert, and he had participated in all of them. Here in the North, the land was not crowded with knights, because there were not that many of them around.
"Exactly a game! Archery, melee, and the joust, your wits, and skills tested against others. At their very core both, are games." He said with a smile, "my games are just trying to tell you a story, but you are using your wits, and your skills to overcome a challenge."
The wolf Lord did seem to think a little about her explanation.
"That makes sense to me, alright, lad. But how do you make it work, how is possible for me to not feel pain when struck, how is possible to fight monsters and more in your games." Said Ralof.
"That is even a harder question Ralof," he said, most likely they already believed this was magic, and they were not wrong. "In my homeland, there is an old saying. Any sufficiently advanced craft is indistinguishable from magic."
"Your kingdom must be very advanced if they are capable of constructing something like this. Are you from somewhere in Essos?" Asked Ned.
"No my Lord, the Technocracy of Wakanda is deep in what you call Ulthos." Yes, it would be more believable to just go ahead and say Shotoryos which was the equivalent of Africa in this world. But she was going to be lying for a long time, and perhaps inventing half-baked stories. It would make more sense if she did it from a place so far away that no one knew anything about it. People weren't even sure Ulthos existed.
Ned's eyes widened like plates.
"Thc-what?" Ralof try many times to pronounce it.
"Technocracy is not a kingdom, we don't have a King. Since the foundation of our nation, we have been governed by a group of the equivalent of what you call Maesters." He lied through his teeth.
"You let Maesters rule you?" Replied Ned. "No wonder your nation is advanced if that is the case. But why did you come here?"
"The Technocracy is on fire, a civil war enacted, destroying all and sparing none. My Lord? The reason I moved to another land is war, my family, they burned literally"
A pained look crossed Eddard's face as he struggles to not remember the horrors he had faced on the battlefield, of what had happened to his family. "A man can try, for all his life, to forget what he's seen in war. But some things remain burned into his memory forever."
Eddard might have asked more questions, but the mention of his "Family" burning gave him a pang, and he decided to stop for now. He would ask more questions later.
"Lad, I'm not understanding much about what is going on on Dark Souls, why are people going nuts on the land-"
"That Ralof is perhaps the most difficult question"