Near the waters of Braavos, its structured town ports glistening under the suns rays, illuminating the inhabitants of the ships that come and go from the city states diverse array of features, from the identifying features of valeriya, the sun scorched skin of the dornish, the pale and queer hair colours of tyoshi, and all inbetween stalked the ports streets, and its massive halls.
The waters gently caress the parted boats hulls, splashing back and returning to where they came. The calm water sputters from the continuous movements of on coming ships and departing crews. The bright morning breeze slides across the wooden masts of the banked ships, providing much needed relief from the scorching sun.
Buckets of water filled barrels were filled, and then refilled within minutes of distribution. Getting cleaned to the last drop. All in all, nothing new to the streets of braavos and its accompanying ports.
Sealord Ferrego, a man of little repute, but well known for his 'facilities' scattered around braavos. His most well known being his pleasure barge. But no matter, as he walked the shores of the braavosi coastline, his face scrunched in a pudgy frown. He squinted.
He always had the time, and the right to do things as he pleased. He was the sealord for sevens sake. He muttered barely beneath his lips. Not wanting for his accompanying guards to overhear. He knew his health was not as it should be, just looking at his plump girth, he could tell that he had, maybe, just a little tad bit too much of his cups.
Who could blame him, the job was stressful. The officials? An irritating requirement. The people, who have nothing but complaints? An afterthought.
The things that he would do on his downtime should not be their concern. He was proud, and, if he was arrogant as to say he was good at his job, then well, so be it. It was but a fact.
He ruled Braavos fairly and well. He did his job as he should, he cared for its citizens. He upheld his pledges. He did everything the job had asked of him.
And ok, he may be a little bit drunk during his rule, but, as evident by his career's success. It has no to little downsides. He even thinks it helps clear his mind when ruling. It keeps him on his toes.
Walking with smooth steps, his large robe flowed in the misty winds, blistering his face from the cold. Causing him to shiver. Rubbing his gloved hands together,warming them from the cold, he continued. His ship was within view. Docked carefully, and well maintained. It floated serenely atop the calm waters. Specks of dew, their glistening water pours seen from the distance. Making his ship glow from the sun's rays.
It was something, if he were to tell people, he was not proud of. He didn't make it, he would say. It was his fathers, he would tell.
And while that is true, he actually is, just a little bit proud of it. It signifies that his family is well off. And he knows, deep down, that it could have been a significant reason for his ascension to sealord. But he tells himself, internally of course, that it was his political plans for braavos that actually made the people elect him. Not his familial wealth. And not his fathers reputation.
Stalking aboard his ship with guards nodding in his direction, he mused. Servants took his robes off of his back as he sat on his chair within the ship's quarters. Legs bobbing up and down while he thought.
He knew, objectively, that Braavos was the strongest of the various free cities. Their fleet practically rivalled all the rest of them combined. But he knew if he were to threaten westeros and the iron throne, he would not stand a chance. Their combined might outright crippling braavos in its entirety. Let's not even mention the lannisters.
The thought frightened him.
His rule would then be known as the man who destroyed Braavos standing in all of Planteoss. He would be humiliated in the annals of history. Historians would spit his names, chew out his 'disgraceful election' and all in all, dislike him. Possibly even hate him. Their eyes squinted in contempt as they read his biography in their books. Maesters taking his actions, and spouting warnings of never doing such a thing again, using it as a tool to place ever more fear into the rest of the world of the iron throne, and its ruling dynasties.
Possibly even persuading, and or conquering parts of Essos into their hegemony. Something he knows, or at least has an understanding of. For instance, he knows the varying ruling cities, like Lys, myr, and possibly Volantis will once again unite to stop such an action.
If he were to be completely honest, he thinks there should be some form of 'state' that actually managed the varying politics with the city courts. Making it easier for the cities interest to align. And have the possibility to stop the kingdom's encroachment.
Speaking of encroachments, he knew his policies for braavos would not be well liked, already he has heard from his people within the city that there is some discontent, and they are wishing for him to perish. Ready for their elect to take office upon his death.
Not even to mention the nobles.
They are absurd, he thought. They have so much beef with each other that makes officiating laws within the entirety of braavos without force difficult. The nobles objections clouding decisions
Of course, as sealord he has the right to force laws into motion without the slog that was the bureaucracy. But it was something that showed his character. If he was to always rely on such a flimsy law, he would never have the respect he deserved. People would think him power hungry or something like that.
With a shove, the boat jerked, making him slide off his chair just a bit. It was nothing unusual. The seas were known to be rough when just travelling. It was to be expected, even. The seas have been relatively calm, especially upon the shores. Where you would expect engulfing waves, freezing water and so on.
But, as unpredictable as the shivering seas are, it is well known that, for the past 4 years, the entirety of the 'braavos peninsula' has been seeing subtly rising waters, increased storms within the depths of the vast oceanic blues. And the nearing almost all encompassing winds that stagger people practically off their feet. Knocking them low.
The weather patterns have almost entirely amazed young maesters, and awed the old. Their jaws agape as they listened to their apprentices' findings. Their journals filled with new discoveries and such. Practically making them shiver with anticipation for what 'new' discoveries are to be made in the upcoming years.
Their jou- A bang, and a splash of a wave of water interrupted his inner monologue. The boat keened under the force of the blast, wooden chips flickering off of the outer hull's crusted surface, weakening the entirety of the ship's frame. Knocking hi moff of his seat, his desk flipping and rolling under the blow. Paper and his quill flying off of its surface, flung far and wide, splashing ink all over his quarters.
He was not left unscathed, his girthy body protecting him as he fell off his seat, crashing to the floor. Hair tangling together, sweat pouring from his pores in an equivalent of an adrenaline rush. Heart racing from the pain that was barely felt.
Winching as he stood, ankle sore from him smashing it against his seat leg as he tumbled. He limped to his quarters doors, pushing them open, grabbing his robe that his servants left for him near the doors entrance. Bracing himself for the cold, he exited.
And chaos is what he witnessed. The mast of the ship flung far and wide, laid floating in the freezing waters. The wood filled bridge lay wrecked. Humongous holes lay scattered around the outer layers foundation, seeming like they were blasted from beams of steaming flames. Up front, rope lay useless on the flooded deck, and what was clearly evident was the ship was practically cut in half. The ports side lay adrift, deftly floating on its last vestiges of life. The deck, where he was, was sinking as well. His crew screaming in terror and confusion.
Their faces pailing, as the waters surrounding the boat climbed into the sky, like it was ordered by the gods. It danced, twisting into a waterspouts filled with his, now, drowning crew. Bursting with torrents of steaming water. Melting their already bubbly skin to paste. Their existence ending abruptly. Mist, its fogging obscurity, obstructed his view.
An animal's call was heard. It sounded like those whales from the far west. The freezing temperature, now only just felt, stung his flesh, the winds not helping his chafing skin. And from the depths of the misty void. A creature came into view. Floating in the sky, like it was but swimming with the gods. Orbs of water periodically floated around its glowing head. Fins flapping like wings of a bird, mixed with a swish of a fish. Scattering the winds as if it was but an annoyance. Luminescent yellow, shined from its glowing eyes, blue strips of flesh trailed its entire body, with lines of red crossing its limbs. Large ovoid shaped flesh lay covered in slimy substances atop its sides, totaling three in all. And with a pause, it screeched out a call. Almost like it was in pain. Droplets of water falling from its flesh.
Red flashed in its eyes. Its gaze filled with something beyond rage, its claw like fins tensing as it eyed the surviving members of his crew, him included.
Powered energy condensed in front of the creature, the surrounding waters turning to a boil. The purple energy growing into a sphere. And with an exhale, purple lightning filled his vision. And a beam of pure 'void came next. Obliterating him and his crew. The ship sank and evaporated into the deep depths of the sea.
Waves came beyond, splashing meters around his ship. The power behind the beam's blast, evaporating tons of water, and was replaced with crushing force. Waves came together, flashing shining blue, as energy was provided to it from an unknown source. And then next thing you know. The water was calm. The sky was chilly. And the mist was all but gone. Replaced with the morning sky, the sun's rays warming the sea. The ship was gone, no evidence to be found, like it was never there.
He knew no more…