Broken Heritage
Twenty First Day of the Fourth Month 294 AC
Asha remembered her father sitting on that wretched throne. She remembered when she was very young, and had not yet learned to hide her fear from the Lord the Iron Islands, how it had frightened her. She could almost hear he r thin young voice.
"It's like it's eating you papa..." Later, when she had taken up axe and shield, rudder and oar, she would think it a child's silly fright. Looking at it now in the light of witchfire turned warm orange passing through Aife's rippling fins, she had to wonder if perhaps young eyes did not see the horror that a more jaded gaze failed to grasp.
The Seastone Chair in all its horror had eaten Balon Greyjoy, as surely as if its stone limbs had sprung to life and torn him apart. Ambition for glories that never were and faith in a monster that deserved naught but death, those had killed her father as sure as Robert Baratheon's hammer.
But had there been more, she wondered, reaching out to touch the foul stone. Had there been some whisper in the back of his mind, pushing him on to recklessness akin to madness...
She felt nothing but slimy stone beneath her fingers, then a thudding in her ears like the sound of a distant tide... or more like a hangover coming on in the wee hours of the morning.
"What are you..." Theon began, even more ill at ease than she had ever seen him since he arrived in Pyke.
"Shh... give me a moment," said the new lady of the Iron Islands. She pushed against the feeling, and just like that it was gone, only damp stone beneath her fingers no worse than a hunk of polished basalt.
It couldn't be that easy... "That's how it gets you, I guess," she scoffed, deliberately taking her hand off the bilestone arm and turning to the king. It would
take a dragon to hoist this thing out of here. "Let's carry this to shore and send it into the embrace of a better god than the one who put it here..."
Such pragmatic concerns were sadly interrupted when the throne shifted in place as though in the grip of an earthquake, as though the polished stone floor had suddenly become a heaving sea.
Cold grey eyes opened.
Distantly, Asha realized everyone else in the room, the king, the queen-to-be, even Ser Richard bloody Lonmouth was not moving, which the latter would certainly be doing if the room and suddenly decided to start bouncing about. He'd have probably jumped in front of the king, never mind the latter was a dragon and didn't need it. It was all in her head.
A dream laid on cursed stone a thousand winters passed and more stirred.
There were eyes in the patterns. Why hadn't she seen them before, not the eyes of some strange beast, or eater of minds, but a man, an old man with a beard and a robe of seaweed, and a crown of weathered weirwood.
Who brings False Gods in my hall.
The words rang like a great bell of iron in Asha's mind and almost she answered, almost she deferred, as she would have done before her father sitting on this very chair, then she recognized the being in the vision, and far from awe, far from reverence, she was carried up on a tide of red rage. "So you're the squid-sucker who sold us all to the fucking monsters,
Grey King. Tell me, were you just an idiot buying their lies or were you fine serving up your kith and kin up so long as you stayed on that bloody chair?"
"You know... nothing of what we endured, wretched child..." the words scraped on the inside of her mind.
Asha did not listen. "I don't give a shit! Tell me if you were a fool to forget or a monster that we should remember to
hate?" Perhaps another might have lingered, might have listened, but the same will that allowed her to spit defiance at the memory of her forebearer made Asha Greyjoy most unsuited to questioning and prodding.
The conflict of the mind soon fell to the more familiar rhythm of clashing steel and straining muscles, a metaphor perhaps, but one the young Greyjoy was far more comfortable with. "I'll gut you, you son of a squid's whore!"
Her axe was still at her side... her axe was in her hand.... biting deep into false flesh and memory.
A roiling chaos of a thousand thoughts and more spilled into her mind, then dragon-fire swallowed her vision.
***
"Stop shouting, Theon!" Asha yelled, or at least she thought she yelled, as the throne room swam back into view. Her mouth tasted foul and her nostrils were filled with and even worse stink, like rotting fish and tar.
"I don't think it was a proper ghost, more like a haunt, a fragment of a fragment of a soul," Wisdom Lya was saying, of course she wasn't bloody shouting, so she could dissect spooks all she wanted as far as Asha was concerned.
"I'm not
shouting," Theon said disturbed, and only then did Asha realize his lips had not been moving before.
Asha has Awakened Psionically from defeating a Haunt of the Grey King in a battle of wills
What path will she follow (Full restructuring of classes possible but not stats)?
[] Wilder
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[] Psychic Warrior
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[] Soul Knife
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[] Write in
OOC: Well on one hand this makes the Seastone Chair a somewhat less potent sacrifice without the remnant of its first king, on the other hand you guys have been complaining about Asha's class for a while so seeing as she rolled really well, not just in the fight but the set up to even have a fight on her terms (93 vs 42) here you are. Not yet edited.