Lys had pick wisely. The notability of Lys had accepted my surrender term and submitted to me becoming vessels of the freehold once again.
Their envoy arrived within a day of my fleet appearing on the horizon a slender man with silver-gold hair and the pinched features of the Old Blood, clutching a scroll sealed with the collective marks of Lys's noble houses.
The terms were generous by design. I had no desire to reduce every city to ash, a empire built on nothing but terror was an empire that would crumble the moment its master's gaze wandered. The magisters would retain their titles and a measure of their authority. As a reward for their swift compliance, they were even permitted to keep their wives and favored concubines a concession that had prompted visible relief among the envoy's retinue.
In exchange, they would bend the knee to Valyria Reborn. They would pay tribute and they would accept my garrisons and they would send to me their unwed daughters and sisters, every woman of Valyrian blood who was not already bound in marriage.
The houses of Lys competed to comply. Daughters who had been destined for marriages to Volantis or Myr were instead dressed in silks and jewels and presented at my court. The Rogares sent three sisters, all with hair like spun moonlight. The Ormollen sent their only daughter, a quiet girl with violet eyes who did not weep. Others followed second daughters, nieces, cousins, each one a pale flower plucked from the gardens of Lys and laid at my feet.
But it was not only the noble houses that sought to curry favor. The valyrian magisters, eager to prove their loyalty, emptied their pleasure houses and their private collections. They sent to me the most exotic women their city possessed dancers from the Summer Isles with skin like polished ebony, maidens from the Basilisk Isles with eyes like molten gold, a slender Tyroshi with hair dyed a dozen colors.
And among them, one who made me pause.
She was tall for a woman, with hair the color of honey and autumn leaves, and eyes the pale blue of a winter sky. Her features were those of the Andals, not Valyria. She wore a gown of green silk that matched her eyes.
Her name was Lynesse Hightower.
The daughter of Leyton Hightower, the Lord of Oldtown. The wife of Jorah Mormont, the exiled Lord of Bear Island.
I wanted to ask her about the Hightower. But that was a conversation for another time. Here, in the great hall of Lys's palace, with a hundred magisters watching and a dozen scribes recording every word, there was only one matter to address.
"Every Valyrian slave in Lys was to be freed" I said the announcement rippled through the hall.
The freed slaves would not be permitted to remain in Lys. They would be transported to Valyria. The men would be trained some as soldiers, some as craftsmen and other trades.
I needed more than undead legions. I needed an army of the living, men who could spread my name and my message, who could serve as a bridge between my rule and the common folk of the cities I would claim.
The women would join my household or be trained as ladies to wed the dragon knights I would one day raise. Not all of them, of course. The most beautiful would be added to my collection of concubines I was, after all the Emperor of new Valyria.
But the rest would become the foundation of a new warrior class.
The magisters' faces had grown pale at the mention of freeing the slaves. The mention of transporting them to Valyria had made them paler still. But when I opened a golden portal and withdrew a couple thousand chest of Valyrian steel weapon.
Enough that even selling one a couple of these swords were set up most of these men for generations.
Of course, every single weapon of these were enchanted it the user went against my empire the sword would magically go against his wheeler.
-later-
My undead labor battalions, tireless and obedient, had worked tirelessly. And the [Dragonhome Fortress] itself, became the main seat of my new empire.
Below me, the city sprawled across the volcanic peninsula that had once been the epicenter of the Freehold. The Fourteen Flames still smoldered in the distance, their peaks wreathed in smoke and ash, but the lands between them had been tamed. There were now streets paved with obsidian, aqueducts carrying fresh water from the mountains, and fields, ready for planting.
The slave pits of old Valyria had been remade.
It was a deliberate choice, that name. I could have called them barracks, or training grounds, or any of a dozen euphemisms that would have softened what they were. But I had spent twelve years in those pits, had felt the lash and the chain and the slow erosion of everything that made a man human. I would not pretend that the price of empire was anything other than what it was.
The pits had been cleansed, of course. The chambers had been expanded, the walls reinforced with fused stone and steel. The air, once thick with the stench of death, now carried only the scent of clean earth and the distant tang of volcanic sulfur.
The freed men of Lys and Volantis, along with the scattered Valyrian-blooded slaves that my agents had been retrieving from across Essos, had been divided into cohorts. Each cohort was housed in its own section of the pits, given uniforms of black and crimson, and put through a regimen that would have killed lesser men.
I watched from my spire as a cohort of trainees filed into the Dragonpit that had been carved into the base of the fortress. There were three hundred of them today, their silver-gold hair cropped short, their bodies already hardening under weeks of relentless training.
I turned from the spire and descended through the fortress. Albedo found me in the great hall, her heels clicking against the obsidian, a scroll in her hand.
"My lord, reports from our scouts in the east. The khalasars have begun to gather."
I took the scroll from her, scanning its contents. It was as I had expected. The Dothraki, those horselords who had filled the void left by Valyria's fall, had finally taken notice of what was building in their west. The reports spoke of tens of thousands of screamers converging on Vaes Dothrak, drawn by the whisper of a new power rising from the ashes of the old.
They meant to crush me before I could grow strong enough to threaten them.
They were too late.
"How many?" I asked.
"Estimates vary. Forty thousand. Perhaps fifty. The Dos Khaleen have called for a great khalasar, the largest since the Century of Blood. All the khals who wish to prove themselves against the dragonlord who rises from the east."
I handed the scroll back to her and I moved to the great table that dominated the center of the hall, its surface a map of Essos rendered in gold and obsidian. My finger traced the contours of the Dothraki Sea, the vast grassland that stretched from the Free Cities to the Bones of the East. It was an empire of horse and blood, built on the bones of a hundred civilizations that the horselords had trampled under their hooves.
I would destroy them by myself. I had the power to do it so I might as well use that power finally.
"I will go alone," I said.
Albedo's composure cracked. "My lord…"
"Fifty thousand screamers," I interrupted, turning to face her. "What are they to me? I am a child of Placidusax. I wield the power of the Dragonlord. I have the Gate of Babylon at my command, and the fires of a god burning in my blood." I let my power flare, just for a moment, and saw Albedo's eyes widen as the pressure of my presence filled the hall. "I have spent months training, learning, growing. And I have not yet tested myself against a true enemy."
"The undead legions…."
"Will remain here. The Dothraki are not an enemy that requires an army. They are a pestilence, a plague of locusts that believes itself the master of this land." I walked to the edge of the terrace, looking out over the city below, the fields, the aqueducts, the skeleton of an empire rising from the ashes of its predecessor. "I will show them what true mastery looks like."
Albedo's jaw tightened, and I saw the warring impulses behind her eyes.
"When will you go?" she asked finally.
"Tomorrow. Before dawn. I will ride out to meet them on the plains, where they think themselves strongest. And when the sun rises over the Dothraki Sea, they will see what comes for them."
I turned back to her, and for a moment, I allowed the mask to slip. "You will hold the Freehold in my absence. The freed men continue their training. The undead patrol the borders. And if any of the Free Cities think to test us while I am gone..." I let the words hang in the air.
"They will learn the price of presumption," Albedo finished, and there was a dark satisfaction in her voice.
I nodded. "Good now leave me. I have preparations to make."
She curtseyed again, deeper this time, and I watched her go. The great hall fell silent, and I was alone with my thoughts.
-random Dothraki-
Fifty thousand screamers had gathered on the plain where the Mother of Mountains cast its shadow over Vaes Dothrak, their painted vests bright against the endless green, their arakhs sharpened and their horses restless. They had come from a hundred khalasars, summoned by the dosh khaleen who had seen a vision in the smoke of the sacred flame a dragon rising from the east, a fire that would consume the world if it was not stamped out.
Khal Drogo had not come. He was far to the south, his khalasar moving through the lands near Lhazar, his mind on other matters. But there were others who sought the glory of being the one to bring down the dragonlord. Khal Moro of the Jhaqo khalasar, his hair long and braided with bells that sang of his victories. Khal Qerro of the Motho, whose riders were said to be the finest archers in all the Dothraki Sea. And Khal Temmo, the oldest of them, whose bells hung heavy with the weight of a hundred raids and a thousand slain.
They had argued for three days about who would lead the attack. Three days of drinking fermented mare's milk and boasting of their deeds while the sun beat down on the sacred city and the crones of the dosh khaleen waited in their painted wagons. It was Khal Temmo who finally silenced them, rising from his place by the fire with the authority of a man who had seen fifty winters and killed a hundred men.
"The dragonlord comes alone," he said, his voice carrying across the encampment. "He is one man, whatever sorcery he may have learned in the ruins of his dead city. We are fifty thousand. The grass drinks the blood of the brave and the fool alike. We will meet him on the plain, and we will show the world what happens to those who think themselves greater than us."
The other khals had agreed. One man could not stand against fifty thousand. It was not possible.
Haggo was a bloodrider of Khal Temmo's khalasar, a man who had ridden with his khal since he was old enough to hold an arakh. He had killed his first man at twelve, had taken his first horse at thirteen, had earned his bells at fifteen. He had crossed the Bones of the East and returned with gold and slaves. He had ridden through the burning cities of the Sarnori and laughed at the flames. He had never known fear, not truly. The Dothraki did not fear. Fear was for the lamb men, for the cowards who hid behind stone walls and called themselves civilized.
They had ridden out at dawn, fifty thousand horsemen spread across the plain in a formation that had shattered armies from Qohor to the Kingdom of Sarnor. The scouts had reported the dragonlord riding east from the ruins of Valyria, a single figure on a black horse, no army at his back. Haggo had expected to see a man with silver hair and a sword, perhaps a dragon flying overhead if the stories were true. He had expected to feel the thrill of the hunt, the familiar surge of bloodlust that came before a kill.
He had not expected the sky to split open.
It began as a flicker on the horizon, a shimmer of heat that might have been a mirage. Then the flicker grew, and grew, until it was not a flicker at all but a light, a fire, a sun rising in the west to challenge the sun rising in the east. The horses felt it first, their hooves faltering and nostrils flaring as they caught a scent that none of them had ever smelled before. Haggo's own mount began to rear, and he saw the same happening across the line, the perfect formation crumbling into chaos as the animals screamed and bucked and tried to flee from something they could not name.
"What is it?" he shouted, but the wind had risen, hot and dry, and it carried his words away.
Then the shape resolved itself from the light, and Haggo understood why the horses screamed.
It was a dragon. This creature was vast, its body sheathed in scales of gilded gravel that caught the morning light and threw it back in sheets of gold. Its wings blotted out the sky when it passed overhead, casting a shadow that swallowed the plain. And it had five heads.
Five.
Each head rose from a neck as thick as a cedar trunk, each jaw large enough to swallow a horse whole. The central head was the largest, its horns curling back from a skull the color of molten bronze, its eyes burning with a light. The other four turned in different directions, each one scanning the line of horsemen with an intelligence that Haggo had never seen in any living thing.
"Ride!" Temmo screamed. "Ride! We are Dothraki! We do not…."
The dragon's central head opened its mouth, and the world turned to gold.
-Aurion-
He shifted back to his human form, feeling the power of the Dragonlord settle back into his bones. The transformation was seamless now, natural, as easy as breathing.
He raised a hand, and a golden portal opened before him, revealing the great hall of the Dragonhome Fortress. Albedo stood within, her eyes widening as she saw the ash on his clothes.
"My lord," she breathed. "It is done?"
"It is done," he said, stepping through the portal. "The Dothraki will trouble us no more. The khals are dead, their khalasars scattered." He walked to the great table, his fingers tracing the map of Essos. "They will not be a threat to anyone for a generation. By the time they recover, there will be nothing left for them to threaten."
Albedo moved to his side, her hand hovering near his arm as if she wanted to touch him but did not dare. "The Free Cities will hear of this. Volantis, Lys, the others who surrendered... they will know now that they chose wisely. And those who have not yet bent the knee..."
"Well in time or will burn" I finish as I grab chair sat down.
For all my actions, I've been actually gaining rolls rapidly. 17 to be exact for all my actions, including my recent one.
[Blood of the World-Eater - Mythical Racial Evolution]
Your draconic bloodline has awakened to its full potential. You carry within you the spark of the World-Eater itself, the primordial force from which all dragons were born. Your dragon form grows in size and power, your scales becoming as black as obsidian veined with molten gold. Your fire can melt stone. Your lightning can split the sky. And you can now sense every dragon within a thousand miles and call them to you.
[The Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows - Mythical Grimoire]
A book of forbidden knowledge, containing the rituals to open gates to nine realms that exist between life and death, light and darkness, being and unbeing. Each gate offers a different power: the gate of secrets, the gate of silence, the gate of forgotten names, and six others. To open a gate is to risk what lies beyond. But what lies beyond may be worth the price.
[Six Eyes (Partial Awakening) - Legendary Perk]
Your perception has expanded beyond the limits of mortal sight. You can now perceive the flow of all magical energy within a hundred meters, see through any illusion, track the movements of your enemies before they make them, and process information at speeds that make combat a slow-motion ballet. This is not the full power of the Six Eyes that would require a level of control and precision you have not yet achieved but it is enough to make you nearly untouchable in battle.
[Seed of Yggdrasil - Divine Item]
A seed from the World Tree itself, planted in the earth of a new world. When it grows and it will grow, fed by the magic you have unleashed upon this land it will become a tree that touches the sky, its roots reaching into the foundations of the earth, its branches spreading across the heavens.
And as ridiculous of power, those items gave him that wasn't even the best stuff he had received from his new rolls.
He truly could now call himself a god.
-Eddard stark-
The great windows that should have let in the autumn air were sealed against the chill, and the hearthfire crackled with a heat that seemed to press against Eddard temples.
He sat at the long table of carved oak, his hands folded before him, and listened as Grand Maester Pycelle read from a scroll that made his blood run cold.
"The rumors from the east," Pycelle began, his voice a tremulous whisper that somehow filled the chamber, "are, I fear, more substantial than we initially believed. The Volantene trading fleet has confirmed that the city surrendered without a battle. The Old Blood bent the knee to this... self-proclaimed Dragonlord."
"Surrendered," Renly repeated, his tone light. "Volantis were talking about that the city that boasts of never having been conquered by any army."
"The Lysene confirmation arrived this morning," Varys said, his voice soft as silk. "Their submission was even more complete than Volantis. The noble houses sent their unwed daughters to the Dragonlord's court. The slaves of Valyrian blood were freed and taken to Valyria itself."
"Valyria," Robert growled. He had been silent until now, staring into his wine cup.
"The Doom is a smoking ruin. Nothing lives there but demons and fire worms. Everyone knows this."
"Everyone knew dragons were dead as well," Varys replied. "Yet here we are."
Robert slammed his cup down. Wine sloshed across the table, dripping onto the maps spread before them. "You believe this nonsense? A man who raises the dead? A dragon with five heads? Tales told by sailors who have drunk too much rum and obvious bullshit."
"I believe," Varys said carefully, "that Volantis and Lys now answer to a man who calls himself Aurion Vorysion. I believe that man has gathered to himself every living soul with Valyrian blood he can find. And I believe he holds Daenerys Targaryen in his custody."
The silence that followed was different from the ones before. This one had teeth.
Eddard watched Robert's face change. The drunken flush drained away.
"Daenerys," Robert said. The name was a curse on his lips. "The last of the dragonspawn. And now she belongs to some... what did you call him? Dragonlord?"
"Vorysion is not a name known to the histories," Pycelle said, consulting a parchment with trembling fingers. "But it is Valyrian in form. The histories speak of an Aurion during the Century of Blood a dragonlord who survived the Doom and gathered an army to reclaim Valyria. He marched into the Smoking Sea and was never seen again. This new emperor has claimed his name, it seems."
"A pretender," Littlefinger said. His voice was light, almost amused. "The east is full of them. Men who claim to be this or that, who weave stories of magic and dragons to frighten the gullible. Volantis surrendered because they have grown soft. Lys surrendered because they are merchants, not warriors. The Dothraki were scattered by a clever trick with wildfire, no doubt, or perhaps the horselords simply grew tired of waiting. The simplest explanation is usually the correct one."
"Perhaps but there is something rising in the east. Something that has brought the Free Cities to their knees without a battle." Eddard decided to add on.
Robert's hand tightened on his cup. "What do you think, Spider?"
"The Valyrian bloodline is thin," Varys said. "This Aurion has gathered what remains. He has freed the slaves of Valyrian blood and taken the daughters of the nobility into his household. He is collecting the dragon's children, Your Grace. And Daenerys Targaryen is the greatest prize of all."
The room went silent, the implication of Varys entering their minds.
"I killed Rhaegar Targaryen," Robert said. "I smashed his chest in with my hammer on the Trident. I watched the light die in his eyes I thought that would be the end of the dragons but now because I listen to Jon and I kept those two inbred fucks alive. I have to deal with the consequences."
"But now," the King continued, "I hear tales of a new dragonlord rising from the east. I hear that he has gathered the blood of my enemies to himself. I hear that he holds the last Targaryen girl in his hands, and means to put children in her belly. Children who may, one day, come for my throne."
"Your Grace," Pycelle began, "the threat is distant. Even if this man has some small power, he is far to the east. The Free Cities are his concern, not Westeros. We have years, perhaps decades, before…"
"Years?" Robert rounded on him. "Do you think I am fool enough to believe that? That little whore will whisper into that man's head, convincing him eventually to come west for my throne."
He turned to Varys. "You have spies in the east. What do they tell you of this man? What does he want?"
Varys spread his hands. "He calls himself Dragonlord of Valyria Reborn. Master of the Freehold. Lord of Dragonhome. Conqueror of Volantis. Liberator of Lys. Destroyer of the Great Khalasar. He styles himself Emperor of New Valyria. The only thing I can assume is what he wants, Your Grace, is what his ancestors wanted everything and his numbers are increasing with men of Valyrian blood are flocking to his banner from every corner of Essos. And I have learned that the Velaryons have sent a son. Not the heir, but a bastard brother of Lord Monford. He sailed from Driftmark three moons past, before the fall of Volantis, and now serves in the Dragonlord's court. Others have followed. Men with the blood of Old Valyria, however thin. They see in this Aurion what their ancestors saw in Aegon the Conqueror."
The room once again once silent.
"The Velaryons have not declared for him," Varys said quickly. "Lord Monford remains loyal. He sent word of his brother's departure and offered his regrets but they haven't been the only house."
This meeting was going to be long wouldn't it?
XxX
Now this at most will probably only have three more chapters at best. At this point Aurion is too overpowered to not win. I know, I literally said last chapter they wouldn't be anymore roll but I decided against it at least for this chapter there won't be any more rolls after this and that I truly promise since there's no possible growth for him using the system. More of the roll weren't actual roll but I picked them myself the other stuff that I show in the character sheet blame my friends on discord who gave me the ideas.
Character Sheet
Aurion Vorysion
Dragonlord of Valyria Reborn, Master of the Freehold, Lord of Dragonhome, Conqueror of the Dothraki Sea, Emperor Of New Valyria, King of dragon.
Name: Aurion Vorysion (formerly Aurion of House Targaryen, bastard son of Aenar Targaryen)
Titles: Dragonlord of Valyria Reborn, Master of the Freehold, Lord of Dragonhome, Conqueror of Volantis, Liberator of Lys, Destroyer of the Great Khalasar, Emperor Of New Valyria, King Of Dragon, Azor Ahai Reborn (self-proclaimed), The Last Son of Old Valyria
Age: Approximately 30 years physically (chronologically 430 years due to hibernation)
Race: Royal Ancient Dragon (Child of Placidusax) / Valyrian Dragonlord (merged)
Bloodline: Targaryen (bastard), Valyrian Dragonlord, Placidusax's Lineage
Appearance
Human Form: A man of striking presence, Aurion's features bear the unmistakable marks of Old Valyria silver-gold hair that falls past his shoulders, eyes the color of amethysts that glow, and sharp, aristocratic features.
Dragon Form: A leviathan of scales and fury, Aurion's dragon form is a terror to behold. His body is vast beyond mortal measure, armored in scales of black obsidian veined with veins of molten gold that pulse with inner fire. Five heads rise from necks that coil like serpents, each one crowned with horns of crimson lightning that crackle and dance. His central head is the largest, bearing eyes like twin suns and jaws that could swallow a horse whole. The other four turn independently, each one capable of independent thought and action, yet all bound to a single will. Golden fire and crimson lightning pour from his throats, and where he passes, the air itself shimmers with heat and ozone. His wings, when spread, blot out the sky, and his tail can shatter fortress walls with a single sweep.
Abilities & Powers
Draconic Nature
Blood of the World-Eater: Aurion carries within him the spark of the primordial force from which all dragons were born. His dragon form grows ceaselessly in size and power, his scales becoming denser with each passing year, his fire burning hotter, his lightning striking truer. He can sense every dragon within a thousand miles and call them to his will.
Royal Ancient Dragon Form: As the child of Placidusax, the Dragonlord who waited beyond time, Aurion possesses the ability to shift between his human form and his true shape at will. His dragon form is five-headed, a trait unique to his lineage, and its size scales with his power. He breathes incinerating golden flames and manifests crimson dragon lightning that can split the sky. His natural inclination toward time magic grants him the potential to learn spells that bend and shape the flow of moments, though such mastery will require centuries of practice.
Draconic Body: The might of a raging storm dwells within his flesh. His physical strength is sufficient to snap steel chains as if they were thread, shatter castle gates with his bare hands, and throw warhorses across battlefields. In dragon form, these abilities scale proportionally his claws rend fortress walls, his tail sweeps away companies of soldiers, and his mere presence shakes the foundations of lesser structures.
Dragon Tamer: An innate supernatural ability allows him to dominate, control, and command any creature with draconic bloodline, from wyverns to true dragons. His will forms an iron cage around their minds, enforcing absolute obedience. This does not grant loyalty, only unbreakable control.
Dragon Dreams (Awakened): When he sleeps, his consciousness travels along the bloodlines of all dragonkind. He can witness events through the eyes of any dragon that has ever lived or will live, speak to dragonlords across time, glimpse futures that may be, and walk the memory-paths of his ancestors. There are things in the dream that dream back.
Necromancy & Death Magic
Essence of the Necromancer (Tier 2): The knowledge of the greatest necromancers across the multiverse resides within his mind. He possesses millions of spells, rituals, and techniques relating to death and the summoning of the undead. His understanding of death itself is complete, allowing him to command the dead, summon them from their rest, bind them to his will, and reshape them into tools of war or labor.
Shadow Legion: A necromantic ritual of terrible power allows him to raise the dead as shadow-touched revenants undead that exist partly in the physical world and partly in the plane of shadow. These creations can pass through walls, move unseen in darkness, and are immune to all but magical fire and blessed weapons. Their number is limited only by the corpses available and his will to command them.
Soul Forge: A forge that burns not with fire but with the captured souls of the dead, summoned from his treasury when needed. Weapons and armor crafted within it can be imbued with the skills, memories, or cursed anguish of the souls used as fuel. A sword quenched in the soul of a great knight will never miss its mark; armor tempered with the soul of a stubborn blacksmith becomes unbreakable.
Divine & Mythical Powers
Edict of the Dragon: His decrees carry the weight of natural law not only within his territory, but wherever his name is known. If he commands that no blade may be drawn against his herald, blades will rust in their scabbards across continents. If he declares a city cursed, its wells will run dry. This power is limited only by the strength of his legend and the reach of his name.
Authority of the King: Within the borders of his recognized territory, he can enact edicts that carry the force of natural law. He could decree that no one may draw a weapon in anger within his city, and those who try will find their arms frozen. This authority scales with the size and recognition of his domain and the conviction of his will. Overuse can be mentally draining.
Six Eyes (Partial Awakening): His perception has expanded beyond mortal limits. He can perceive the flow of all magical energy within a hundred meters, see through any illusion, track enemy movements before they occur, and process information at speeds that make combat a slow-motion ballet. While not the full power of the Six Eyes, it is enough to make him nearly untouchable in battle.
Limitless Curse Technique: He possesses the ability to control the concept of infinity, operating on principles of convergent and divergent sequences. The Infinity is the convergence of an immeasurable series anything that approaches him slows down and never reaches him, as the technique takes the finite space between subjects and divides it an infinite number of times. Mastery of this technique requires perfect control of curse energy, a goal he continues to pursue.
Voice of Command: His voice carries the weight of absolute authority. When he speaks, lesser wills bend. Soldiers hesitate to raise weapons against him. Rulers find their defiance crumbling when he addresses them directly. Those of exceptional will or magical power can resist, but common folk kneel before they realize they have done so.
Regeneration: A powerful regeneration factor makes him nearly unkillable by conventional means. Most wounds heal in seconds. Decapitation, dismemberment, and other catastrophic injuries would require significantly more time to recover from, but only the complete destruction of his being would end him permanently.
Anatomical Mastery: He possesses perfect understanding of mortal and immortal physiology. He can diagnose any illness at a glance, perform surgical miracles with his bare hands, and identify the weak points of any living creature. His knowledge extends to magical biology, allowing him to understand the physical structures that enable supernatural abilities. Wounds he inflicts are always critical; wounds he heals are always perfect.
Spiritual & Esoteric Arts
Reiryoku (Captain-Class): A massive reserve of spiritual power resides within him. This energy can be used for enhanced speed, defensive barriers, and raw energy attacks. His immense spiritual pressure can crush weaker beings, empower his existing magic, and make him highly resistant to spiritual and soul-based attacks. His presence alone can be felt for miles by spiritually sensitive individuals.
Tongue of the Firstborn: He has learned the language spoken before the world was shaped, the tongue of the Firstborn the beings who sang mountains into being and named the stars. With this language, he can speak to stone and sky, command fire to sleep or wake, and weave enchantments that cannot be broken by any power lesser than a god. The words are dangerous; to speak them carelessly is to unmake the world.
The Watcher's Gift: He can project his consciousness across any distance, to any place he has seen in dreams or visions. He can observe, listen, and learn, though he cannot act.
Eyes of Samael: He possesses the eyes of the first fallen angel, the serpent that tempted Adam and Eve to eat from the World Tree. Women are seduced much faster by him, and he can gain a weaker version of their abilities by sleeping with them. In time, he will also gain the serpent's body and other abilities.
Treasury & Artifacts
Gate of Babylon: An endless treasury containing the weapons of legends, each one an original belonging to the first hero of history. Every treasure ever forged by mankind now lies within his grasp, though not all can be wielded yet. The mightiest treasures, such as Ea, require him to prove himself worthy before they will respond to his hand.
Ring of the Eternal Forge: A ring forged in the heart of a dying star, imbued with the fire of creation itself. While wearing it, anything he crafts is blessed with a fragment of his power. A sword he forges will never break; a wall he builds will never crumble; a spell he weaves into an object will last ten thousand years. The ring grants instinctive mastery over all forms of crafting, from smithing to sorcery, and allows him to work materials that would be impossible for lesser hands starlight, shadow, the bones of dead gods.
Crown of Starlight: A crown that exists beyond the physical realm, woven from the light of a billion stars and the silence between them. When he wears it, he is not merely a king but an idea, a principle, a force of nature given will. His commands reshape reality within his domain. His presence inspires devotion or terror as he wishes. He can see the true shape of the world the threads of fate, the possibilities that might be, the futures that could come to pass if he chooses them. Crowns have weight, and starlight burns.
Demon King's Longsword: A giant sword wielded by a demon king that summons devastating thunderstorms from its blade with each swing. The stronger its wielder, the stronger the lightning storms become.
Berserker Armor: A magical dwarven armor that is exceptionally durable and shapes itself perfectly to its wearer. It enhances performance by suppressing pain and mental limiters, allowing the body to push to its utmost limits. The armor impales the wearer's body in the case of damage to pin bones and flesh back together. It repairs itself over time but amplifies negative emotions, requiring careful moderation to use effectively.
Orb of Dragonkind: A legendary artifact capable of dominating the will of any true dragon. Upon activation, the targeted dragon must make a near-impossible saving throw against his willpower. If it fails, it falls under his complete control for one week, after which it may attempt to break free. The Orb can only hold one dragon in its thrall at a time, and using it risks the fury of all dragonkind if word of its use spreads.
Magical Arts
Necromancy (Tier 2): Expert. Capable of raising armies, modifying undead, enhancing bones to steel-hardness, granting hivemind coordination to his legions, and soul-forging.
Blood Magic (Adept): Capable of drawing upon the latent power in the blood of others to amplify spells without draining his own reserves. Can perform rituals of binding, sacrifice, and enhancement.
Alchemy (Adept): Can transmute base metals into gold, purify poisons into elixirs, and has begun understanding principles that may allow replication of magical items and healing beans.
Ritual Magic (Journeyman): Competent in complex magical workings requiring preparation, sacrifice, and precise execution.
Structures:
Dragonhome Fortress: A castle carved from a colossal dragon-shaped mountain, impervious to conventional siege, radiating an aura that strengthens dragons and dragon-blooded while weakening all others. Contains hatcheries, forges, and a throne room that amplifies the ruler's magical authority.
The Crimson Court: A pocket dimension accessible only to him and those he permits. An opulent, ever-shifting palace of red crystal and veined marble existing outside time. Within its halls, time passes ten times faster than in the real world, allowing rapid training, research, and accelerated maturation.
The Black Library: A repository of forbidden knowledge within his pocket dimension. Texts stolen from dying worlds and fallen civilizations spellbooks of vanquished sorcerers, genealogies of extinct bloodlines, accounts of empires that reached too high and were struck down. The Library grows as he conquers, automatically cataloging magical knowledge from each territory. Bound spirits serve as librarians, tutors, and protectors.
Resources.
The Black Stone: A vast cache of mysterious oily black stone that forms the foundation of Asshai and the Seastone Chair. Intensely magical, it resonates with shadow and blood magic. The cache refills every five days and is sufficient to build a small city.
Valyrian Steel Production: Undead blacksmiths produce Valyrian steel swords using his dragon's blood, which regenerates rapidly enough to supply continuous production.
Undead Labor Battalions: Over 187,000 soldier-class undead, 417 knight-class undead, and 2 commander-class undead (including the pretender Aurion Varezys and his dragon) serve as labor force and military.
Freed Valyrian Population: Hundreds of Valyrian-blooded slaves liberated from Lys and Volantis, being trained as soldiers, dragon riders, and future nobility.
Goals & Ambitions
Immediate: Consolidate control over Volantis and Lys, Train the freed Valyrian population into soldiers and dragon riders, Send ultimatums to Myr, Tyrosh, and Pentos, Plant the Seed of Yggdrasil, Begin the slow process of mastering time magic
Short-Term: Conquer the remaining Free Cities of Essos, Awaken the sleeping magic of the world
Long-Term: Claim the Iron Throne of Westeros, Destroy the Others and save the world (or doom it, as he chooses), Walk the path of ascension to whatever lies beyond godhood