Emissaries of the Divine

~~~(Location:The Dothraki sea,Essos)~~~

~~~(Date:12AC)~~~

The stars burned bright in the inky velvet sky above the Dothraki sea. A thousand pinpricks of light dotted the celestial canvas, their glow painting eerie patterns as the heavens slowly turned. It was then, against this starry theater, that the Great Stallion stirred in the night.

A rumble rose from the distant horizon, growing in strength and tempo until the grasses bowed low as if caught in a mighty wind. But there was no breeze - only a mounting vibration that seemed to emanate from the very bones of the earth itself. Something was emerging, pushing forth from the womb of the very world.

At dawn, the wise women found a newborn babe nestled in the tall grasses. His skin was the burnished bronze of the steppes, perpetually kissed by the sun, his eyes shone black as obsidian. They named him Maro, meaning "Earthborn", for none could say who his mother was only that he came as a portent, delivered straight from the land.

nestled protectively in the child's tiny arms was a winged stallion foal the size of a dog, its coat the color of stardust. white wings unfurled from its back, a sight never before seen. The mystical creature remained calm as guardian to the strange child borne from the earth.

The winged stallion heralded Maro's destiny. He grew with preternatural speed and strength, standing taller than men by 10 years.

The winged stallion stayed by Maro's side, aging in sync. Only Maro could ride upon its glittering wings as it flew. When Maro came of age and a vision of the Great Stallion demanded he assume his role, the mystical mount remained his constant companion.

Maro's rise began. By defeating the oldest tribe's Khal in single combat, he proved the strength of the Great Stallion flowed through his earthborn limbs. More victories followed each swelling his ranks as the defeated pledged their loyalty.

Within a decade, Maro's mighty khalasar swelled to 50,000 strong riders - an immense horde, greater than any the Dothraki plains had ever borne witness to. None dared oppose Khal Maro, for wherever his standards flew, the winged stallion soared above as a sign of the Great Stallion's blessing upon its earthborn champion.

It was said only the famed khalasar of the Pale Khal, came close to matching the number and ferocity of Maro's savage host.

Maro sensed his destiny to unite all the wanderers of the endless plains under a single law. The words of the dosh khaleen's prophecies spread far and wide-Maro, born where land meets stars, will unite all beneath the Stallion's herd.

Yet dark forces schemed against Maro and the true faith of the Great Stallion. The weakened older gods of stone and timber, seeing their dominion over the people coming to an end, chose desperate mortal champions in a last bid to restore the old ways.

It was then the omens came to Moro in his dreams, the messages relayed by his ever-faithful winged stallion. He must hunt down these champions before they turn the people from the worship of the one true deity. A great trial was coming that would determine the destiny of the plains for all time.

~~~(Location: Beyond the wall,Westeros)~~~

~~~(Date:12AC)~~~

Deep in the primal heart of the frozen north, where no man had set foot, a change was stirring. In the oldest of weirwoods that stood solitary and dire, its pale roots whispered of a child prophesied to defend the nameless gods in their fading hours.

As the blue dusk fell in this hidden grove, the elders of the forest gathered - the last of the children, dwindling remnants of the ancient race.

Then from the weeping wood issued a babe unlike any seen before. His skin had taken on an ivory hue, almost luminous like the pale bark of weirwood, with mosses anddendritic patterns in shades of green seeming to flow beneath in twisting veins. Pale as hoarfrost was his skin, and from his head cascaded locks of the darkest pine green, traces trailing down his back. His eyes glowed in the twilight with an emerald light, framed within a delicate leafy lacery, as deep as the frozen earth

Among the snow-shrouded sentinels, they raised the boy, dubbing him Raven for the dark branches etched across his flesh, and raised him as one of their own vanishing race.

It was with the children that Raven spent his formative years, the only family he knew in that ancient grove. They taught him the hidden ways of leaf and loam, passing down memories from when their people still ruled the woodlands.

He also learned their magic - the old songs and rituals that stirred the green dreams. He mastered the ancient magics of the elements, controlling wood and water, earth and fire. Raven absorbed their nature-bound powers swiftly, his gifts amplified by the markings etched across his face skin.

Through the watchful eyes of ravens, he saw all that passed and held dominion over beasts both wild and tame. An aura of cool scents lingered around him as plants reached toward his guardian essence.

Raven fashions a powerful black yew longbow, its limbs slender yet strong, decorated with carvings of roaming harts and windblown pines. His aim is deadly and precise, able to drop prey from great distances with a single-winged shaft.

All who enter the forest glades are soothed by Raven's singing among the trees. His voice carries lithe melodies in the tongue of the children, melodies that invoke scenes of starry glades and shadowed brooks. Animals gather calm at the edges of his songs.

Raven voyaged greenwood dreams spanning the sea of pine. He bore witness as the nameless gods and old forest lords diminished their dominion. By ten long winters, the child stood tall as ancient yews. The children knew his gifts must be honed to defend the final strongholds of the nameless powers from those who would see them abolished forever.

Bonded deeply to the fading children and their realm, in the uttermost boundaries of the world, in woodlands untouched by man, Raven still dwells - He was guardian to the nameless gods, and last heir to the eldest spirits that whispered in the roots below. grandson of the trees and champion of the old gods.

~~~(Location: Sunset Sea,Westeros)~~~

~~~(Date:12AC)~~~

In the frigid waters west of Pyke, the waves churned with preternatural force. all sailors fled as a massive whirlpool formed, its roaring drowned all other sounds. The Krakens of the deep sensed the coming and thrashed their great tentacles in reply.

From the abyss, the whirlpool belched a newborn babe unlike any seen before. His slick blue skin was toughened as leather hide while his black hair writhed like kelp strands. But most dreadful were his bulging golden eyes that saw all depths.

As he wailed, every sea creature answered - schools of skate and shark swarmed in a dance as dark as the depths. Krakens dozens strong abandoned their lairs to bow giant tentacles before the child. Even leviathans untouched by the memory of man surfaced to pay tribute, recognizing their lord reborn.

And so Kolbyr spent his formative years immersed in the bones and nightmares of sunken worlds. By ten he could breathe the green water, outpace sharks, and bend krakens to his will with a scream no sailor could endure. Only now did the Drowned God's champion emerge, heralded by signs no mortal eyes had witnessed in living memory. None but god and sea would ever know the true nightmares sculpting Kolbyr's soul. Now he rose to begin his terrible work, the wrath of the whirlpools made flesh. Destruction followed in his wake, as surely as the tides.

No ship dared sail the seas where Kolbyr made his domain. Any vessel unwise enough to stray within sight of his haunts would disappear beneath mounting waves as krakens and leviathans answered their lord's call.

No mortal navy stood against the wrath of such a primordial force, one whose form had been sculpted by the deepest terrors of the ocean since infancy.

Only once per year would the waters relinquish their grim prize, their roiling surges ejecting Kolbyr upon some hapless shore. Then would he emerge like a malediction given form, his coming heralded by the screams of gulls circling a darkening sky.

Villages and towns alike were reduced to smoldering ruins under Kolbyr's reaving, his longships vomiting forth hordes of reavers with an insatiable lust for slaughter. But these were no living men - any soul who met their end beneath the waves now answered solely to Kolbyr.

For in his pact with the Drowned God, all who drowned in the encompassing deeps were Kolbyr's to command. Their waterlogged corpses were reanimated to serve as his thralls, dead eyes agleam with seawater as hoarse voices echoed cries from the fathoms below.

Through his blasphemous rites, Kolbyr claimed dominion over not only the tempestuous waters but all who found final rest within its murky embrace. Any plunging beneath the waves swelled his dread hosts so that none escaping his wrath could evade damnation's inescapable pull back to the slavering depths.

No holdfast or stronghold could stand against their feral wrath, for stone and steel held no dominion over squads of resurrected drowners. Their numbers were ever replenished by each new soul consigned to the crushing brine. Under Kolbyr's magic, entire fleets of spectral crewmen slipped their hawsers to haunt any vessel daring to sail the surrounding seas.

Entire regions fell underneath Kolbyr's wrathful rule, his path leaving only scorched desolation in its wake. Any soul unfortunate enough to cross him was given to the depths, their broken bodies serving as a grim tribute to the Drowned God. Coastal hamlets and rich trading ports disappeared beneath the pounding waves, swallowed into a watery oblivion without a trace.

None remained who could challenge Kolbyr's savage dominion of the surrounding seas. From his aqueous throne in the halls of the drowned god, he commanded tempests and leviathans alike to do his violent bidding, unleashing floods, storms, and sea monsters to complete his works of devastation and terror. All prayed his annual surfacing would deliver surcease another year, lest the whole of the coast succumb to his doom-laden coming.

Kolbyr's slick blue skin was covered in swirling ink-black patterns like some vast primordial map etched upon his flesh. Tall and muscular, every inch of his formidable physique had been honed to lethal perfection through inhuman toils in the deepest octopus gardens and bowels of R'hllor's hells.

His face was striking, angular features chiseled as if from ocean-smoothed granite. Black hair hung in coarse locks down his back, kelp-like in texture yet flowing in its savagery. Lips parted to reveal pointed teeth filed to razor sharpness.

But most fearsome were Kolbyr's eyes, orbs of purest gold flecked with pinpricks of phosphorescence. They swam with cold alien vistas no mortal psyche was meant to witness, scanning armor-plated souls with predator's instinct. A single crimson-tinged stare stripped men down to their most plaintive terrors.

An arctic aura of primal ruthlessness and arcane depths emanated off his savage panther's frame, a blend of uncivilized allure and blunt horror no woman could withstand. Only the oldest primitive vestiges of man's saline ancestry could find a tribe in Kolbyr's magnetism, equal measures of potent danger, and salvation from a life of regret.

Through him, the Drowned God made plain His awful visage, the wrath of the fathoms given form, at last, to chastise the dry surface world with garrotes of kelp and ichor-drenched smiles. And smiles Euron did, for in carnage alone could his abyssal soul find crackling release.