The Witch’s Teat was not the most comforting of taverns to find yourself in, not that many taverns in this land were comforting she had found. Everyone here was on edge. It seemed like everyone sat with their back a bit straighter, their eyes a bit wider as if waiting for some ethereal force of terror to besiege their establishment and feast on their flesh. According to the stories by mouth and by book, though, such a thing wasn’t far from the truth. And she had another, darker reason for being so unnerved. Until recently her clothes were stained with the blood of her mother.
 
Lynnea had been in her room reading by a candle she had burnt nearly to its butt end. The book was not long and so this was not her first time reading it. It was the tales of the Cold Road, of Lyokai Wood, the creatures within, and- most importantly- the Hunter. From this she had learned that beyond the grand and celebrated Triune there were other Gods and this one was the true God of Darkness and Shadows… not the false idol her parents had forced upon her for some time. He was the living God of the Dark and Coveted Secrets. Why did they not serve him? Why did they serve some mysterious and nameless God of old?
 
When her mother came bursting into her room she quickly shut the book closed but her mother came and opened and looked and what she had been reading. “Heresy and ghost stories, is that what you are wasting your time with? Get up it is time for your devotional. The moon is at its pinnacle.” Lynnea narrowed her eyes and carefully closed the book, finding it precious. “No. I will not worship some false and nameless God like you and father, who probably isn’t even listening! I have been doing my devotions to the Hunter.” Her mother’s eyes grew wide and wild with rage and a firm open hand came across Lynnea’s cheek.
 
She stumbled a bit then regained herself but her mother had already snatched her book and thrown it into the roaring flame of the hearth in her room. Lynnea shrieked and reached in her drawer for a dagger. With fire in her blood she went after her mother and stabbed her chest repeatedly until no movement came from the woman’s limp body. Her dress was now soaked in blood but she had no time to change. Grabbing a cloak and a few provisions from downstairs, she took the family’s stash of silver and fled.
 
Luckily some time before she got to the Witch’s Teat she had stolen a dress off a hanging line. It was a bit more peasant than her garments were but whatever helped her blend in. With a pack now full of provisions she bought she set out on the Cold Road. About halfway down she heard a growl and withdrew her dagger. The wolf approached and smelled of her and then backed away. Luckily, or perhaps because of the wolf, she had no more trouble on her journey to the Keep.
 

Lynnea was in awe just of the doors and spent many moments looking at the obsidian and goldstone and running her fingers along them. She was even more amazed at his throne room and how it conveyed his story. The throne itself was very fitting if truth be told. After some manner of gawking, she composed herself. “Hunter, I have read every scroll or book this land has of you. My family worshipped the dark God of old and still do. I refused and turned from this path when I learned of your existence… so much so that I sacrificed my safety and the life of my mother to get here. My only hope is that you will allow me to be a humble servant in your grand domain.”

Dimitre always knew that he attracted certain breeds of people to his faith. It was one that worshiped darkness and secrets and indulged in hedonistic delights of all types but he did not get many murderous warlords or blind faithful to the cause. No, the people who truly embodied his faith were those who were ambitious and cautious. They wanted to do what they wanted but also understood their actions had consequences. They wanted a personal spiritual relationship with their god and wanted him to see the darkest parts of them.

But not all his faithful started that way. They were often seduced by the stories and gospel and would often do heinous deeds for his acceptance. Often they were too young to quite grasp what it was to be a member of his faith or one of his chosen. But they learned. Those that didn't learned that failure had dire consequences.

——————————

The moment that she entered the Hall of Whispers, he was ready for her. His dark, fog like essence gathered from the shadows until they formed his body until she was faced with a man of impeccable beauty and unreadable age. But, nobody could mistake him for anything other than a creature whose eyes held centuries of knowledge and power that commanded the attention and eyes of all those around him. No matter where he went, he made that place his territory. And here in his Keep, that could be felt so very keenly.

She was in awe of him, just as she was of everything she saw in the castle so far so the god took that time to read through her quick thoughts. Her murderous act was in the forefront for she could not wait to tell him of what she had done in his name. She was willing to kill for him and what she felt his faith meant. It actually made him frown because though she was pretty, she naive and had a mind that would take a great deal of time to understand what this long game meant in his faith. It was more than scaring children with a wicked smile or killing anyone who did not let you do what you wanted to. But she could be taught and he still had some of the best teachers in his faith.

"What has been said about me is little. Most do not know I have taken the mantle of shadow in this land so those scrolls and books could only speak of the creature that was rumored to be here." He could tell she came from a family who was not well off but also not poor. She came from the lands surrounding the forests, probably down one of the roads that led to the tavern that started the descent to his castle. "But yet you seemed to deduce much, perhaps noticed the change in the very fabric of this world when I came. That shows promise."

He drummed his fingers of the arm of his throne and from the shadows came a huge red eyed black wolf. His fur seemed to billow and shift in the darkness and there was nothing friendly about his demeanor. His nose lifted to the air and his breathed in. Draven liked to taste and smell the air of young women seeking what the stories often told in the lands beyond.

"That is my familiar Draven. This is only one of his forms and he and his mate often help me to create tasks for my young faithful. You still know nothing of my faith and must be taught. But you will be and if you succeed, you will be rewarded. If you fail, you will see the consequences for such."

Her words reverberated off of the stone walls and, in a sense, echoed back to her. She was pleased with how she spoke to him and of him and hoped that he would be equally pleased. In not a moment’s time, an eerie and shadowy fog rolled into the throne room and overtook the throne. The fog then faded away rapidly and there he was, the God himself. He was exquisite like a priceless piece of art. He was statuesque and his body was completely perfect. His hair, long and raven, gleamed a soft blue tint. His face was beautiful as the most beautiful of women, but he still held his essence masculinity. His eyes were piercing and yet old in a sense of wisdom and knowledge and power.
 
He spoke and his voice was like a drug to her ears. It was supple and smooth like velvet. He spoke of scrolls and how he had not been here long and, to her surprise, complimented on her promise for perhaps noticing the change in the air when he came along. The truth was she had noticed a change. There was no dramatic story or grand sense in how she did it. She just knew that when she prayed to the nameless shadow it suddenly began to feel wrong.
 
“Yes, My Lord. I had been doing devotionals to the nameless shadow for years and then suddenly it felt so wrong. It felt vile and disgusting as if it were not meant to be. That was because it wasn’t. I was meant to pray to you, to serve you.” Lynnea watched him intently and out of the shadows of the room came a large black wolf with red eyes. She noticed how his fur writhed and twisted with the shadows and his demeanor spoke of an unfriendly creature.
 
The God mentioned that this was his familiar. Lynnea knew that often powerful sorcerers took on familiars and they were almost always animals. He said that this was not Draven’s only form and it made the girl wonder what other form he possibly took. A raven perhaps? No matter. What mattered was that he and his mate were someone to impress and flatter, for they were the guidance in training the faithful. While he was quite intimidating, she would have to get used to it if she were planning on trying to get as intimately close in the faith as possible.
 
As a sign of respect for the familiar, Lynnea bowed her head. “I am certain he comes up with only the most creative and challenging of tasks, which I welcome. If I do not succeed and death is my punishment, then I would deserve such and welcome it, too. But I can promise you that I will give my full and undivided attention and effort to these tasks so that my performance may honor your name and that of the faith.”

Dimitre lifted a brow as he stroked Draven's soft, cold fur. His familiar still had pain from the planar shift but he had grown a great deal stronger and was looking forward to what he and Cersei could do to this girl. All women who came to Dimitre's faith were not spoiled girls who hoped to climb the ranks. No, by the time they came, they were broken and needed something to fill into the cracks of their soul. Those who were still whole had to break to understand.

"And serve me, and Draven, you will. You see, people who come to me come with an understanding that the world is not good. There is no true light. Darkness, pain and cruelty are all that mortals will ever truly known and to overcome it, you have to know what they mean." The god stood from his throne and slowly descended the stairs. Draven remained at the top stair, ears erect and red eyes narrowed. Dimitre's ever shifting robes followed in a train behind him and the low light of the throne room made the bare, pale flesh of his sculpted abdomen nearly glow against the darkness. Even though he wore trinkets of gold, there was no sound made as he approached her.

"You are a pretty little thing. A whole thing. You have only ever known youthful rebellion in your life and that will not do. that is why i gift you to Draven and those words you speak to me you will almost certainly regret for many years in your life. However, once you are a broken doll, a dove with clipped wings, you will rise to the challenge and known what it means to suffer so you can bring that upon your enemies." He took a step back and Draven skulked down the steps and approached her. Even on all fours, his shoulder was at her hip and his nose nearly meeting her face. If a wolf could smile, Draven certainly did, revealing sharp white fangs.

"Draven is the greatest of my servants but he is also the hardest for outsiders to please. You are never to say no to his demands, or that of his mate's, for to deny him is to deny your faith. Do you understand?"

"Such a pretty little rabbit for me to devour, Dimitre. Whatever did I do to deserve such a gift?"