Curse and Claim
Thirteenth Day of the Twelfth Month 293 AC
"Let all your pride be ashes and all your power spent, forgotten and accursed be!" you shout, the words heavy with the
magic of your soul, with the will that carried you to this far off place to deal death and ruin. Madness it is to think that you can curse a goddess, and yet you attempt it. Perhaps only the mad would dare face the mother of dragons. So it had been in lost Valyria so it would be now.
Some nameless skein of the world tears, behind you and all around, as your magic washes over Her and for a moment she recoils as though you had struck some physical blow against her titanic form. You had not overcome her will, the mind and might of the Mother of Dragons, who was a godless when the world was young, but you had struck and wounded her just the same. Pride floods over you and you know it is of Her, you hate it and you love it, but you cannot deny it.
She hears you of course, the curse is more than sound passing through the air, it is a challenge Five heads turn to regard you, then pairs of hateful eyes:
"I made you child, I shall unmake you." Five voices speak as one. In one clawed talon a ruby glitters brighter than her scales. Even as Lya begins to weave an arcane
harmony so too does Tiamat, the azure head coiling through the sky almost as if dancing... or laughing
Pressing your hands against the air you spin a wall of power into being, and intangible barrier to all
magics... all lesser in power than yours at least. As you look into eyes bright as crimson flame you know it is not enough.
"Viserys Targaryen," She hisses your name just as she had on that long ago death when your sister had bargained with Her for your life.
"Bound thy be."
With those three terrible words you know the ruby is not the only thing she is holding, besides it there is something else too small to see, a shed scale, a silver hair wrapped tight. You feel the pull of the ruby through silver and through magic, even through the cloak of devil's hide forged.
You raise the ring to deny the spell... time
twists against you. Though Dany tries to counter it, voice desperate in your ear, Her spite proves stronger and the band of gold is nothing but a
dead weight upon your hand. Only your will remains to fight the pull.
Feeble mortal will... relent...
It is such a small spell, one you have heard used a thousand times before, a
finger placed on the scales of fate, Dany too must have cut herself free from the threads of time too to be able to cast another spell so soon, practically overlapping with her last attempt. Her wing is a soft touch upon your face.
It is enough.
You shudder, a film of cold sweat across your face, the ivory rod is slippery in your hand. "Your Grace," Ser Richard's voice sounds shaken as you have rarely heard it in a fight. You have rarely heard him speak beyond calling out instructions, or asking how best to fight the foe.
What does he see in your face? You are not sure you want to know.
Tiamat's jaws snap in vicious rage at having been denied her 'prize' so narrowly, then open to spew out the roiling destruction deeper than any spell, but before the tide of ruin can flow over you the ground cracks with a sound like thunder and for the first time you see
it. The weapon of Ancient Qarth, meant to fight the rebellious get of Tiamat not turned against her.
If one takes each feature in part the Worm should not look impressive, skin of pitted marble like the walls of crumbling temples, over which flows sand, soil and the blood of the fallen, eyes of black onyx flat and without luster, dead and empty. It cannot know fear for it has no will, only a purpose. It wraps around Tiamat, coil upon counter coil, the fire, frost, vitriol and poisoned breath of her breath turns against the interloper.
"It's breaking!" Lya calls urgently, as a web of cracks races through the ancient stone, as avatar and construct smash into the earth with a titanic crash that dwarfs the sound of the Worm's emergence.
"It's
cracking, we don't need to hold it forever, just long enough..." Dany holds the Well of Eternity in her hands.
How do you make use of the Well of Eternity?
[] Write in any contingencies and buffs (1d3+2 Rounds Until Timat breaks free)
OOC: Not going to lie I was hoping I could include the words 'you are Daenerys Targaryen' in this update. I liked the symmetry of echoing Viserys death with something that would leave his body cold and empty, hinging upon a single roll. Fortunately for you guys Viserys passed.