Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods

Hello everyone, here is a new chapter.

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I'll try to catch up before the big day arrives.

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POV: Paladin of Drowned God;

Enemy ship.

About two seconds after the enemy commander gave an attack signal...

There were less than twenty-five feet of distance between the two opposing front lines. The ship, in its entire length, measured about seventy-five to eighty feet. Not among the largest and longest in the Fleet.

The Iron Victory measured over a hundred and ten feet and was at least ten feet wider. The marauders of the Iron Islands' seas were unmatched in battles fought on the water. They lacked coordination and discipline, but they made up for it greatly in their ability to move and fight on a ship. Axes were the best weapons to use in that confined, undulating space.

And no one could use short axes better than the Ironborns. They were not seasick and they knew how to keep their balance. Sea air was the best those warriors could breathe during a battle.

But now... unfamiliar, much more inhospitable and unexpected terrain was coming their way.

Victarion could see through the slit in his helmet, half a dozen orbs descending over their heads.

'Oil? Do they want to set us on fire on their ship?' He thought instinctively, believing that his enemy had made a major misstep.

"SHIELD!!!" Roared the captain. A score of men wielding the rectangular shield with Greyjoy crests raised their shields to protect their heads and those of their comrades in arms.

The spheres shattered as if nothing had happened... The containers were very fragile.

Several greyish clouds flared up in several places... The effect was instantaneous.

Victarion felt a blazing fire form in his mouth, throat, and lungs. His eyes stung and burned like never before...

Beyond that, the stench of those clouds was unbearable. Even rotten fish mixed with horse dung and left to rot for days in the sun couldn't compare to that unbearable stench. It was certainly the most unpleasant smell that had ever touched his nostrils in his entire life... and Victarion rarely lived among the smells that the upper classes of Westeros rated as 'Pleasant'...

"MY EYES!!!", "Bleeearghh!", "Burn!!! Cough! Cough! Argghh!!!", "I CAN'T SEE!!!", "What the fuck is that smell of shit?!" "Sputh! Blearghh"...

A cacophony of harassing, suffering, and cursing noises erupted between the first three lines led by Victarion...

At least thirty of his fellow soldiers had been seriously affected by the poisonous cloud. Another dozen men were desperately trying to get as far away from it as possible. A couple of men even charged forward in the direction of their enemy as desperate and confused as they were.

Aggressive gagging, which prevented many from even breathing, undermined at least half of that vanguard. Some even began to vomit blood - chaos, pain, stench, and despair everywhere.

Others threw themselves into the sea...

The protective spell his brother Aeron cast on him before the battle began helped Victarion to a great extent... But he was suffering damage as well. And if he was suffering, it meant that his brother was also in the grip of the same damage.

His divine support was transmitting half the damage to the spellcaster protecting him.

He had to do something, and fast.

'FUCK! I CAN'T RESIST! ...' Victarion thought, instinctively activating one of his divine abilities.

{LAY OF HANDS!}

The Drowned God Paladin immediately used 2/5 of the reserve of that skill. Two adverse conditions: blinded, and poisoned, were instantly cured. However, the captain was still in the middle of that fog, which not only continued to poison him and his men but also made his vision obscured.

Victarion was forced to use a second circle spell as well.

{Protection from Poison}

A feeling of relief washed over the paladin's entire body. Now the poison was completely neutralized, and his body would withstand further doses of poison much more effectively than before. It was as if, before the spell, he was walking barefoot on a beach full of small sharp stones instead of sand, and now that the spell was active, he was wearing stiff leather boots.

"CROSSBOWMEN... SHOOT!" thundered a voice familiar from who knows where.

Victarion instinctively raised his shield, though he did not know from which direction the arrow darts might come.

A dart impacted Victarion's shield, one of the few still left in the front line. The enemy had no clear target either, but they would have decimated his men if they had stayed there long. They were at an absolute disadvantage...

"BACK!!! RETREAT TO THE STERN!" Victarion roared.

He only saw three or four figures who still managed to find the strength to obey the commands. At least twenty men remained on the ground, groaning or even vomiting their entrails.

What kind of weapon is this! I've never seen anything like it! Will they have more spheres at their disposal?!!' Thought the captain urgently.

Victarion was backing away, trying to breathe as little as possible. His eyes continued to be bothered by a slight burning. Now that he was clearer, Victarion recognised similarities to the effects of hot chilli peppers. A spice that, when used in high doses, could even blind you for brief moments.

He had raided many a spice ship in the past. The most expensive spice on the market was the chilli pepper. One of the most sold ingredients in Dorne.

"STEP FORWARD!... AIM... SHOOT!" About twenty figures were within thirty feet of Victarion...

The enemy was approaching the cloud. Now they had a better view...

"ARGH!!", "UGH!", "HELP ME!", "DART!!!"...

The huddled ironmen began dropping like flies.

Victarion parried another pair of arrows. Another pierced a sheet of metal in his shoulder strap. The point did not reach flesh, but it was close.

Even for the paladin's heavy armour, reinforced by a protective spell, the penetrative force of a close-up dart was too much.

'Shit! I have to retreat!!!' He shouted a veteran warrior's instinct when he saw that at least five crossbows were aimed at him and ready for a third offensive discharge.

Victarion threw himself behind mast for cover, and immediately activated a second spell from the first circle.

{Expeditious Retreat}

The paladin's walking speed doubled. He had no choice, he wouldn't have wanted to leave his men at the mercy of the enemy, but he couldn't face twenty enemies armed with weapons capable of wounding him alone. Not to mention the fact that another paladin armed with the Steel of Valyria was waiting to greet him somewhere.

The battleground was too much of a disadvantage for Victarion.

He had yet to execute a single slash, and already he was forced to use almost a third of his supernatural abilities...

'Damn that vile brat...

Only cowards, women, and dornians use poison!!!

YOU WON'T GET A QUICK END, BLOODY SNOW!!!'

End POV.

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POV: Paladin of Olds God;

On the Lighthouse of Hope ship.

About ten seconds after the third volley of arrows was fired...

It was time for the melee attack.

William and Blade[3] were at my side.

We were the three best blades among the eighteen warriors who were about to face the bewildered enemy.

Six were left behind with bows. Soon the fog would be lifted. The two ships were still moving, albeit slowly, and a light wind was blowing from the east. It was a matter of seconds before Qyburn's weapons were thwarted.

We had only two more smoke bombs. Each had two separate mixtures inside it, which, as soon as they came into contact due to the breaking of the glass sphere, would immediately change from liquid to gas. A biochemical weapon mainly composed of two plants:

'Peponia Rancida', a rare herb that only grew in the bordering marshes of the Sea of Sighs, near the ruins of Valyria. A grass that had adapted to the high concentrations of sulphur in the air. No herbivorous animal approached such a plant. Its secretions gave off a stench far more ferocious than those produced by a skunk...

If someone had generated fumes by burning that plant and had inhaled at the top of his lungs, he would have vomited his soul even if that man had been born without an olfactory apparatus. Vomiting is more ferocious than a stomach pump.

And 'Zamettar pepper'. Chilli is more unique than rare, which would have driven the Scoville Scale crazy. Probably even three times hotter than the 'Carolina reaper', the hottest chilli in my old world...

It was only grown among the nefarious and inclement savannahs of Sothoryos.

With a current market price of four hundred golden dragons an ounce...

Even a veteran fire-eater from Dorne would cut out his tongue if it so much as touched the skin of such a berry.

Having particles extracted from Zamettar's chilli oil in my eyes and digestive tract must not have been pleasant. I could already see the beginnings of swelling on the faces of many of the ironmen. Those two dozen men who had had the misfortune to inhale a couple of puffs of the poisonous mist were already doomed.

If they had not been killed by a blade, it would have been by dehydration and lack of oxygen due to the constriction of the pharynx. Less immediate than the Wolfbane, but just as effective in the long run.

I activated a Buff spell on myself, William and Blade [3].

{Bless}

Now our trio was deadlier than ever. Our blades were bloodthirsty.

Now we were ready...

"ATTACK!" I shouted, pointing my sword forward.

All the Frost Blades threw down their crossbows and drew their new short blades of Damascus steel, following me in battle formation at a rapid pace.

We had to draw attention to ourselves...

Twenty-six ironmen left at the mercy of the fog were slaughtered like cattle. The fog was almost completely lifting...

Fifteen feet away, the enemy was also regrouping. Of the formerly valiant seventy warriors, about half had already been neutralized by poison, arrows, and blades. A couple had even thrown themselves into the sea in a panic.

Victarion managed to regroup by gathering more men. About forty or so. Plus another dozen aft who were setting up with bows and arrows. I still couldn't catch a glimpse of Aeron...

"ARCHERS! DISCHARGE!" Our eight bows were already in position, and ready to fire unlike them.

The eight archers fired a volley at the enemy bows, destabilizing the line of fire. At least three were hit, giving us precious seconds.

All my fellow soldiers had been warned not to engage Victarion in battle. He was mine...

Our blades reached the target.

An enemy with a blue [9] at the height of its size and brightness was waiting for me. That number was more peculiar than all the others....

The nine was positioned in the middle of five bright circles of different sizes. Each circle was an acquired paladin level, while nine was his basic fighter level.

Even without the divine abilities, Victarion was a slightly stronger fighter than Denys.

"COME TO ME BOY! TASTE THE FURY OF THE DROWNED GOD!" Shouted Victarion, bringing down his first slash from above.

His one-handed axe was wider than ordinary. I dodged the blow, moving to my right side. I was forced to plunge my blade into another enemy ready to support his captain from behind.

I pierced his throat without hesitation...

But Victarion took advantage... he had activated his second paladin skill:

{CHANNEL DIVINITY}.

The effect of that ability was obscure to me until his shield struck me from the side...

It was a battering ram to my left side. I have swept away for almost ten feet and bumped into one of my companions.

"Argh"... I groaned in pain Blade[18].

I touched the man briefly, giving him a minimum of care. I was also bruised, but the damage wasn't as extensive. He even managed to keep his concentration on my spell.

"GENERAL ALERT!" Blade[18] sidestepped me and interposed himself between me and my opponent.

All I saw was a blue-lit axe sweeping away my faithful comrade-in-arms...

Victarion had immediately sought a winning blow by even activating [Divine Smite].

Blade [18] died with a single slash.

"BASTARD!" I directed all the adrenaline of my rage at my legs to get up.

I charged at that seven-foot-high pillar of steel named Victarion...

This was no time to hold back.

[Eleven Gate Closures]

My joints lengthened and flexed in an almost unnatural way. I spun around, taking four sword blows in quick succession. One of them was parried, the other three reached the joints of my armour.

With Zick and Bless' technique, those blows were more accurate than ever...

However... an unnatural repulsive force stopped each of those slashes.

It was as if there was another invisible armour protecting Victarion's body.

'He's got [Shield Of Faith] on him!' I thought immediately.

Now Victarion was a real living tank.

But I didn't give up. I pelted Victarion with blows. The man could not keep up and almost gave up the fight.

Nine... Ten... Eleven... No slash could penetrate that defence...

I even managed to decapitate an ironman in range of my Deathzone, but barely managed to leave a few scratches on Victarion's armour...

At least my opponent was backing away.

"AHAHAH! Hit all you want, boy! Nothing will hurt me!!!" Victarion.

"Watch your step, my lord," I said, cleaving a whiplash from the Eighth Gate on one leg. There was a thick pool of blood with some guts less than a few inches away from Victarion's left foot.

The Captain lost his balance.

With incredible survival instincts, the ironborn rolled over in an instant, dodging a lunge that could have hurt him.

But now I had the upper hand - it was time for more lethal blows. I wasn't going to let him get up without paying a blood toll...

After another burst of six blows, all set to create an opening, I sunk a seventh aimed at the joint of his left shoulder holding the shield.

I gave up one of my three remaining first spell slots...

[DIVINE SMITE!]

The blade passed through and sank into Victarion's flesh at least half a foot in length.

"ARGHHH!... you snotty bastard... You're done dancing." Victarion relinquished his grip on his shield and weapon to grasp with both steel gloved hands, the red blade of my sword.

I hadn't expected such a move - it was a premeditated trap by Victarion.

I had certainly wounded him, and his hands were also bleeding... but it seemed the damage was less severe than expected.

'The asshole is also under the influence of Warding Bond!!!' I understood an instant later.

No human could have moved an arm when half of the shoulder joint had been severed... Unless half of the damage had been absorbed by someone!

"UAAARRR!" The man managed to lift me into the air simply by thrusting the blade.

I was forced to relinquish my grip on the hilt.

I rolled backwards... I saw my enemy tending to his serious wound.

"As if I'd let you!" I drew my dagger and threw myself with the full weight of my body into the most ferocious lunge he could generate.

I successfully plunged two inches of the blade into Victarion's right knee.

"The man was forced to urgently withdraw his leg on which too much weight was resting. I slid a sabre-rattling blow onto the new supporting leg, causing the giant to fall backwards onto the ground.

Red Rain escaped from my opponent's grasp. I managed to retrieve my main weapon.

Victarion managed to back away just enough to escape the imminent danger... Then a thunderous and incomprehensible voice reached the man, illuminating him with a blue glow.

I turned in the direction of the spring, and there I saw him...

The cleric of the Drowned God, Aeron Greyjoy.

He was less than twenty feet away on the stern stairs. Four men stood in front of him with their shields raised to act as a wall. Aeron had just used {Healing Word} on his older brother, healing him almost completely.

"Ahahaha.! Good exchange, Tree Paladin... Really, I didn't expect such a heated fight." Said Victarion calmly picking up the axe at his feet.

Around us, the battle continued to rage. Dozens of other Ironborn had fallen on the field. Three or four of my companions were also down.

William was fiercely fighting two opponents at a time on the port side, leading eight comrades. They were resisting twice their numbers. Blade [3] on the starboard side was facing a similar challenge.

It seemed that more reinforcements had arrived in the meantime... The enemy had lost at least fifty men in these barely two minutes of battle.

But... at least forty more Ironborn men were standing.

The enemy still had the superiority of numbers.

There was no longer any point in fighting with the mask on. Most of the men had thrown them down to breathe easier.

After all, I was going up against a paladin, a cleric, and four of their men by myself.

A 6 vs 1 battle...

"You fought well, Bloody Snow... I didn't expect such resistance. But now it's time to reach the bottom of the deep...

You don't stand a chance. You are outnumbered, and as soon as you fall, the morale of your men will fall along with you." Victarion explained, taking a step forward.

"... You are wrong, Squid Paladin." I replied, smiling.

Victarion removed himself paused for a moment. He didn't know if I was bluffing or not.

Aeron intervened.

"Let's finish this, brother. A great danger is approaching on the horizon. Stannis's fleet is less than three miles from us. We offer tribute to the Drowned God this miscreant and retreat." Aeron.

"... Or no, no, no... You are going nowhere, my lords..." Me.

"What are you rambling about, dead man walking? You have no chance of winning. That fleet won't be here for at least a quarter of an hour." Victarion.

"I'm not talking about the fleet, Lord Victarion... You're right, you are numerically superior here on the Lighthouse of Hope... but I fear you have left Iron Victory too unmanned.

You should look behind you..." I pointed to the stern.

"WE'RE BEING ATTACKED FROM BEHIND!" "FORM UP!" "ARRGH!" "DEFEND LORD AERON!"

"ATTACK!!!", "UUAARGH!!", "DEATH TO THE SQUID!!".

Everything happened in less than three seconds.

Ser Amon, along with four Frost Blades, the crannogmen, and fifteen other able-bodied fighting sailors had successfully assaulted the enemy ship by attacking from the water without being noticed as they swam to the stern of the Iron Victory. There were only a dozen or so axes left to defend that ship. It was an easy victory.

Only Ser Davos and a couple of sailors unfit for combat remained safely in their cabins. The remaining forty-eight sailors and warriors had taken the field.

Now not only were the numbers balanced but the enemy was surrounded...