Dezòd Destriksyon

She’d had another dream … this one was even more vivid than the others.

She dreamt of the man from the village again and this time, she saw his fall. It wasn’t from the tops of a wall, as she had imagined, but from the back of a mighty dragon. Down, down, down he’d gone, until the earth rose up to meet them.

He had been a dragon rider. He had been the enemy.

It was just a dream, she reminded herself. Just a dream. Cassius Montagu had killed all of the traitors: he would not have let one go. Still, there was a nagging part of her wanted to say something to someone – what if it wasn’t just a dream? What if one of them had survived? What if she knew where they could find him? But part of her felt silly for even considering it. Not all of her dreams were true, she reminded herself. It only felt that way, because she had dreamed of a man she’d never met before. It was more likely, she was sure, that they had met once before, but neither of them had remembered.

She’d been too deep in thought to pay much attention to where she was going. She only missed one turn, but it was enough. She found herself in an unfamiliar part of the castle. It was poorly lit down this particular corridor. She knew she wasn’t going the right way and turning, she moved back to come the way she came when Dezód emerged from the shadows. She gasped, startled but his sudden appearance.

“I am. Very.” She admitted, unsure even at what side of the castle she was on, “I was trying to find my way back to my rooms but … I think I must have missed a turn, a while back.”

She had met him only once. It had been sometime after her parents death, but before she was sent to the East. She was scared of him then and, even now, even as she knew how he was a trusted member of her sister’s council, there was something about him that made her uneasy. She felt that it must only be his appearance: only she hoped she wasn’t as unkind as that.

“It is good to see you, too.” She said, “I know how much my sister relies upon you. I cannot thank you enough for the support and guidance you have given her.”

Cruel fate, it’s skeletal hand pulling taut around her throat.  Strange that this girl should have any power over him, strange that he, an immortal being, should strand in danger of outliving this doomed little waif only by months.  He almost shrieked his laugh out to the air between them, inhuman eyes glowing in the dim firelight like cat eyes.  He blinked, the effect lost, and smiled instead.  There were but four beings now living whose choices could impact Dezòd’s own fate.  It seemed almost absurd - and therefore, strangely sane - that this sheltered girl should be one of them.

He thought of the first time he’d seen her, big blue eyes streaming with tears, and he’d known, then, that her doom was the first step towards his own.  He’d known as he laid his hand upon, known as power coursed over her, a solemn curse that would bind them forever, sealing up all the serpentine paths by which she might have lived, her life bound to the equally doomed Order of the Dragonriders.

Dezòd‘s head tilted, the firelight refracting from the slick burn marks across his form.  “Yes,” he agreed, narrowing his eyes, evaluating the tide of fate roiling around her.  “You did take a wrong path.”

Her eyes were limpid and Dezòd wondered if Charles Degrey had felt their power.  Best he does, he thought, a half-smirk lighting the corner of his face.  Best she feel his, too.  History must unfold.

Dezòd held out one hand, half-gesturing to her.  “Come with me, little one,” he said.  “I’ll see you get where you are going.”

What remained of his lips since the fire curled upwards and Dezòd bowed, slightly, hands drifting outward.  “You are too kind, Highness.”  His fractured eyes found hers, resting there for a moment.  “Her Majesty has, indeed, come a long way.  And,” he added with a smile.  “She has so much further to go.  Your sister is a capable and intelligent leader, but even capable and intelligent leaders must be allowed to have hearts.  I am glad her sister is here for her, now, to comfort her heart.”

The World Ender by Lord Huron except playing while you and some friends are chilling around a campfire in the woods of a backwater town whose residents have been reporting worrisome phenomena - missing people, cryptids, seemingly satanic rituals, etc. You’re all fairly skeptical and thought you’d come check the place out for funsies, and so as you camp you remain oblivious to the thing stalking your group, just outside the light of the campfire.

Until it’s just about too late, that is.

lol another couple that we never???? talked about??? somehow???? even though they are literally???? council members together??? #facepalm 

us, probably: they only see each other every single week - why would they ever interact????????

;D  No, but you’re so right we have to talk about them!!  So, as I mentioned...somewhere lkajsdfkjl I’m sort of revamping Dezod a lil.  So, for example, he still loves chaos 5000000% but now he also remembers his past tho, as a rule, he doesn’t really talk about it.  As we all know, Dezod is a good listener and never really talks about himself he just offers solutions for the present problems ;DDDDDDD  He’s also still v much erratic and a deal-w-the-devil sort but yeah he’s got more of a definitive plan rather than ~just knowing what’s coming and jumping in accordingly - he’s actively trying to influence events now, but just not for the normal reasons idk?????? he’s weird, Lizzy, idk what to tell you laksdjfkjd

ANYWAY!! wtf is ALWAYS an appropriate reaction to Dezod no matter waht alskjdfkljsdfjk RoMAYne sdakljfkljdf he’s fortunate tho bc Dezod doesn’t happen to give a flying fuck about things like that he’s too busy grappling w [ everything he knows ] and always has known and eddy between [ madness and genius ] esp bc everything that happens to him, now, is a blink of the eye.  He’s weird bc he sees ppl as movers and shakers in a world he’s just passing through (even tho in a sense he’s a more permanent resident than they are bc he’s so ancient) but he also sees them as tools more than anything idk??????  Like, even tho idk what’ll happen to Romayne, Dezod does and I feel like he doesn’t experience time the same way we do bc of it hahah so yeah all that to say, Dezod might not ~like what Romayne’s saying, but ultimately he doesn’t care bc he’s also simultaneously experiencing Romayne’s entire lifetime when he talks to him so any one moment gets lost in the shuffle alksdjfkljdsfjk

No, but obv these two are probs gonna...have some issues coming up lkdsjfkljsdkjf  I mean, idk if Rob’s going to tell anyone that he sort of hijacked a dragon via Dezod or if he’s gonna be like ‘im totally the chosen one’ *wink* which would obv have an impact w these two bc...yknow...y’made ROB a dragonrider and you stole my son?????? and killed my sister-in-law???? and like...that’s just for starters things haven’t even gotten rolling in the south yet laksdjflkjsdfd  

That being said, Dzod loves the idea of King Ned bc honestly the more the merrier when it comes for contenders for the throne!!!!  Like, he ~does wish that Ned were slightly more ambitious and wanted Rowena’s throne but stiLL this is good, too ;DDDDD  So he will both help and hinder them as it suits himself (no surprise there) particularly re: whatever goes down w Roran and w Ric bc those’re his two biggest priorities atm *throws confetti*  What a...truly dubious honor lakjdflkjsdlfjkskdljfklsjdf

Ramsey Bolton [about Theon Greyjoy], A Dance With Dragons (via

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When he heard Dezód say that it would not be easy, he felt himself all the more determined to go through with it. All of his life, he had felt as though no one around him saw him for what he was. He was told that he couldn’t and shouldn’t do certain things. And if he was said to have made any accomplishments at all, they were all overshadowed by those of his older brothers. If Dezód thought that this would be easy for him, Rob would prove him wrong, too.

“I can handle any challenge you put before me. Whatever the price, I’ll pay – so long as you hold up your end of the bargain.”

He was asking for a dragon, but he knew that with it, would come so much more. He would have power and influence. He would have respect. And all of Aragoth would look to him as the hero they had prayed for. He would go down as the First Dragon Rider of a new age.

But when Dezód began to describe what he needed to do: Rob did not understand. His brow furrowed in confusion and frustration. “Speak plainly! I do not have time for your riddles! Who is the dragon’s daughter?” All he could think of was Rhaegar himself: the only literal dragon he knew of. And he was certain that he had had no children: he was, after all, the last of them.

“Ric?” He asked, “Why do you want him? Because he’s supposed to be special?” He almost laughed when Dezód had said it. “Well, he isn’t. He just thinks he is. If you want the little brat, you can have him.” He’d never liked him. Ric looked at Rob like he could see through him, as though he knew (or thought he knew) exactly what Rob was thinking. Everyone loved Ric and everyone thought that his abilities would somehow aid them in defeating the Queen. They were all stupid if they thought that. Ric had never done anything.

“Is that all?” He asked, “Tell me who the dragon’s daughter is, and we have a deal.”

Slowly the sorcerer tilted his head as Rob issued his challenge: as long as you hold up your end of the bargain.  He stared at this brazen youth for a moment.  For all his centuries, few had ever questioned Dezòd’s capacities, but it rolled off his shoulders like water.  He did not view it as an insult so much as a gem.  A boy who was already prepared to blame someone else - Dezòd, himself, Aragoth’s most famed sorcerer - for his failure...in a plan that could not possibly fail.  Smirking, Dezòd clasped a hand to his breast.  “I’ll need fail ya,” he promised.  He drummed his sparkling green fingers thoughtfully there on his breast before pulling them away.  “Now it’s your turn, dearie.”

He narrowed fractured eyes and approached the boy, drawing his lips back into a snarl as he spoke.  “D’ya not know anyone who might qualify?”  Raising both hands, he gestured roundly with them.  “Y’know, someone who connected both with your family...and with dragons?”  He must spell it out, he realized staring into Rob’s frustrated face.  He pointed in the boy’s face, nodding, sneering.  “You need to pay more attention.”

Dezòd stalked away from the lad again, eyed the buoyant trees as the fingers of wind swirled through their green branches.  “I shall be clear then.  Yer brother’s bride.  On the night of their wedding, you must slice her open, reach into her side, and wrench her still-beating heart from her chest.  Then you must bear it here to me with your nephew.”  He snarled.  “D’ya understand now?  D’ya have the guts to murder your own sister?  If ya do not, do not waste my time.  Tell me, will ya do it, or will ya fade into obscurity?  Will you live in the shadow of your gallant older brothers, or will it be you who casts the shadow?  Tell me, now.”

Dezòd narrowed his eyes, thought of the boy who Rob now so foolishly belittled.  A thousand years from now, perhaps it would be Ric, rather than Dezòd who made these deals.  Never before had Dezòd ever encountered another sorcerer with the potential to be an equal to himself...not until now.  Not until Ric.  Dezòd‘s lips pulled into a deadly grin.  “D’ya might very much what I do?” he inquired.  “It doesn’t seem you’ve much love for the boy?”  

All at once, everything went fell silent.

Alexandir had been asleep, but it was the sudden quiet that roused him and made him feel uneasy. He stood from his bed and moved as quickly as his stunted legs would allow to the bars of his cell. He looked out into the darkness and thought, for a moment, that his eyes were playing tricks on him or that perhaps he had strayed into some strange dream when he thought he saw a heavy fog resting in every cell but his own.

Crazed laughter from behind him broken the silence.

Alexandir closed his eyes for a moment, his lips twisting into an ironic smile. “I knew Montagu would not be the last.” He turned to face Dezód. “There are dozens of cells filled with desperate men,” Alexandir said, “You would do better to visit them. You waste your time with me. Whatever patience I had, it has been exhausted. If you wanted to say something to me, you’ve come too late. I’ve been visited by two demons already, and do not care to entertain a third.”

He’d never trusted Dezòd and he felt that there was nothing he could say that would cause him to listen to a word he had to say. He was wondering how long he would have to remain silent before Dezòd simply grew bored and left him be, when Dezòd mentioned Aalis …

“You know where she is?” He almost choked on the words. There had been a time when Alexandir would have given anything to know, but now, he wondered, what good would it do? Dezòd seemed to want him to think that he would escape this cell, but Alexandir knew better than to trust him. Death, too, he knew, would be an escape he could grant himself. At the moment, he foresaw no other way out.

“Is she …. is she alive?” He asked. Or is it a sleeping death he speaks of?

After all that had happened, he wondered if Aalis might be better off not being found. He couldn’t protect her … even if he did escape, he’d be on the run all his life. And so would she. But he had searched and searched and searched for her almost half his life: what would he give now, to know where she was now? To know if she was happy? if she was safe?

Dezód’s deals always came with a price, he knew. A price which rarely, if ever, was worth what had been gained.

“And what would you ask of me for this knowledge, now that I have nothing?” He had neither freedom, nor gold, nor influence. He was trapped and there was nothing to trade. Was this why he had come to him with this offer now? When he had no way to pay?

“For however little he may enjoy his constant brooding, he certainly enjoys sharing his misery with others, when given the chance,” commented Dezód, blinking his fractured eyes.

“Yet, for all those desperate men,” he replied, tilting his head.  “Only one you...for how ever many Alexandir Godivas there have been.  I admit, I’ve lost count.  Poetic, hmm?”  Stepping off Alexandir’s cot, he neared the other man, motions now fluid, now jagged, as always be seemed to be.  “I’ve a secret for yeh.  The dragons will come again.”  He giggled and left Alexandir to wonder whether he meant the literal or metaphorical variety - when, in fact, he most certainly meant both.  Dezód wrinkled his nose.  “I like yeh better without yer patience, dearie, and with nothing left to loose.”  He unleashed a shrieking giggle.  “Men are more honest that way.”

Dezód shrugged slowly with most hands, as though performing upon a great stage.  “Ah, but never fear on that account, dearie.  It is I that shall entertain you,” he added, pointing at Alexandir.  “I do,” he cooed when the Duke asked after his niece, and Dezód knew, as he had known from the beginning, that he had him, now.  His smile was half a sneer.  “But I’ll be needing something in return.”

It was easy, this, the stuff he lived for.  Dezód liked nothing better than reeling his prey in, knowing that at last they had heard him.  Alexandir had proven a particularly difficult mark, but that only made him all the more worth the waiting.  “I’ll give you a hint,” he added, narrowing his eyes.  “She is alive...for now.  But she needs someone to help her, desperately, or soon she won’t be.  Much like you,” he added with another shriek of laughter.  “Didja know, it’s the Godiva way.  All different, but all live lives just on the brink of death.  Yeh can’t help it.  Yeh live in Aragoth.”

Dezód licked his lips when he heard Alexandir’s query, and sank back onto his cot, crossing his legs.  “It’s not hard, nothing ye’d prize over dear Aalis’ life, surely,” he replied, narrowing his greenish eyes.  “Gods know, there’s few enough else who love her in this world and none of those particularly...” he scrunched up his nose.  “Trustworthy.  Who will she rely on,” he added, pointing to Alexandir.  “If not her dear, lost uncle?  I can ensure that she survives.”

I actually think she didn’t even consider using him, tbh?? Like, she’s a v DIY kinda person when it comes to murder ;DD But yeah, if he shows up all like “u really shouldn’t poison all of them. And Margery’s like “duh, i was totally gonna push a few off of the side of the wall” ;D But no, I can see where she’d def be willing to outsource especially so she can appear completely innocent in this. What do you think he’d ask of her though? Honestly, she’s a pretty heartless person so there’s not much she wouldn’t be willing to give up, haha.

DIY WHEN IT COMES TO MURDER LKAJFKLJDSJFJ 

Dezod: respect, dearie

DEZÒD DESTRIKSYON / robert carlyle 

1/7 SIGNIFICANT QUOTES →  a deal with the devil 

“Don’t be shy, dearie,” said Dezód. “State what you’re after and I’ll state what it’ll cost ye. It won’t be cheap! Achieving your dreams never truly is and y’know dark magic requires dark sacrifice. So! What will you give me? Speak up! You’re a desperate man in search of a desperate solution. I’ve seen your kind before.”

“There is a rumor that there are three dragon eggs that were salvaged fifteen years ago,” Rob allowed himself a smirk, doubting that Dezód expected him to know this. He would show him how much he knew. “And I want to find one. I want it to hatch for me and I want it to grow faster than any dragon ever has. Whatever your price for this, I assure you, I will pay it. That is, if this is not beyond your … talents to achieve.“ 

A little fight. There was something about the way he said it that made Rob stand a little taller. Anything that could be perceived as a compliment only went straight to his head. Perhaps it was because they were few and far between - unless he was spending his afternoon with Loys Mortain who dished them out as freely as their queen distributed death sentences to her subjects.

“You’ll find that I have more than a little fight in me,” He said. He was a determined fellow, if nothing else. He was blind to his own faults and failures: he did not think that failure was something that was an option for him. One way or another, he would get what he wanted.

He wanted to roll his eyes when he told him that the price wouldn’t be an easy one. There wasn’t anything Rob would give to have this. This was all he had ever wanted. This was all there ever was. Everything else he had could be won once he was a rider. Whatever Dezód meant him to give up, Rob could take back once he was strong enough.

He paused, the confusion plain on his face, “Who do I know who is a dragon’s daughter?” He asked. Surely none of their resistance: slaves and orphans, all of them. Nobodies who didn’t know where they had come from. They were not the daughters of a Dragon Rider. And neither was Britta, for all of her charms and beauty. And Lia was an whore and an orphan both.

“Doesn’t matter. Tell me her name and you shall have your heart.”

He paused. “You want Ric?” Rob had no affection for the boy, but he was his blood: Ned’s son. That was something his brother would never forgive him for, if he found out. Rob did love his brothers, in his own way. “What will you do with him? Are you going to kill him?”

But what did Ric matter, really? Ned could find another woman (Rob was shocked he hadn’t found one already) and have more sons. Ned would want him to do this. It was Ric against all the lives he could save. Ric was weak: he spent almost as much time shut indoors as Loys Mortain did. What good would he do?

“You can have the boy, too.” He said, before even hearing what Dezód had in store for him. He didn’t care, he found.

“But it will grow large?” He asked, “As large as Rhaegar?” He did not care that it was called weak. He had been called weak, too, by nearly everyone he had ever known. But he wasn’t weak. He was strong. And his dragon would be the same, despite what this shiny little man thought.

Dezód watched as the boy drew himself to his full height, eyes glinting.  He was biting back a kind of smile and the arrogance in his eyes had somehow trickled out to fleck his entire person.  Drawing his lips back in an impish grin, Dezód laced his fingers thoughtfully as he watched the boy.  “Very good,” he commented, furrowing the bridge of his nose.

“You’ll need all the fight ya can get and all ya can borrow, beside.”  He thought a little of the spark might go over into him.  In truth, this was a spell not even Dezód could recall ever having undertaken.  The closest enchantment ever enacted had been that cast by Rowena over Cassius and Rhaegar - but Cassius was indeed dragonborn and Rhaegar his true dragon.  Dezód found he was eager to see just how this would come off.  He wondered how much of the intended dragon rider would be stripped away and how much would simply founder, deprived of its true destiny. 

Fixing Rob with weird eyes, his grinned again.  “Never fear, you’re of the bloodline, at least.  I don’t believe this’ll kill you...the spell, that is,” he added with a hideous giggle.  “Fiercer warriors than you have died within days of acquiring a dragon.  All ya need do is ask your natural rival, Cassius Montagu, if ya’re disinclined to believe me.”

Another gale of laughter pierced the air when Rob asked who the dragon’s daughter was.  “D’ya really not know?  Why, that’d be your good sister, Ana Moysaunt.  Her mother was a great dragon rider, in her day, before Cassius cut her down in her prime and left her daughters fugitives and orphans.”  Dezód snickered.  “Your brother swore,” he added, raising a dramatic hand.  “He swore he’d protect her.  But he’ll be her doom, instead.  So, how ya feel about ripping out the maiden’s heart?  I’d say it won’t hurt, but...then I’d be lying.”  The sorcerer tilted his head.  “Tell me, young Barret, have ya enough fight to do that?”

Dezód nodded.  “The boy is non-negotiable,” he snapped, impatient.  "What’s it matter what I want with him?  Have ya never heard of a spell before?  I need ingredients!  The heart and the boy, unharmed.  D’ya want to be a Dragon Rider or no?”  In truth, the heart he needed for the spell, but Ric would merely serve as Dezód‘s payment, and Dezód didn’t know what sort of future awaited the nephew.  Training or death, most like.  He nodded softly when Rob allowed that he’d bring the boy.  In truth, it grated on him, this need to somehow obtain permission.  Of course, finding a weak uncle was a boon to Dezód.  He doubted that anyone else of the boy’s blood would have handed him over and that was, of course, what the laws of magic required.  But, Dezód had always been most adept at discovering these little loopholes.

A shriek of laughter cut the air and Dezód‘s fractured eyes peered at Rob with irridescence.  “As great as Rhaegar and greater, still, given time,” he said.  In truth, Dezód doubted Rob would have much time: he seemed like the sort to get himself killed off in some spectacularly idiotic fashion, but then even Dezód had been wrong before. 

“Rhaegar,” Dezód waved a dismissive hand.  “‘Twas a sorceress who made Rhaegar grow so great and, d’ya know, I taught her everything she knows.”  He laughed some private kind of laugh.  Rowena and Saphira had both proved disappointments where once he’d had great faith, but there was pleasure still in thwarting these petty plots Rowena had set in motion.  Why she would settle for a crown when she had true power, already, baffled Dezód, but she had given up all he might have offered to achieve it.  So it was that Dezód dreamt of stealing that petty throne away from her.

Illyrio Mopatis [to Daenerys], 

A Game of Thrones

(via

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