Cartouche posted:

Shimrra Jamaane posted:

The White Walkers

SaviourX posted:

I do not know to which you are referring, as is this is the thread for the seminal 5-book work of fantasy by George Rap Rock Martin.

24-7 Urkel Cosplay posted:

I thought it was never going to be explained in the books, there's no need for it. He has broca's aphasia but obviously no one would be able to diagnose that, so it's just Hodor being Hodor.

davecrazy posted:

Creating a monster to do your bidding that you lost control of is kind of a trope, and GRRM loves subverting tropes, so it's not a terrible idea on its face if there is some interesting thing they do with it.

emanresu tnuocca posted:

Hodor is not half giant, Osha is simply impressed by his large cock.

It's like, a joke.

Josuke Higashikata posted:

They changed his name from Walder to Wylis in the show.

Surely Walder Frey is not so relevant at all times that there can't be a second Walder who is never called Walder and is Hodor?

Intel&Sebastian posted:

I have problems with wights too.

Fargo Fukes posted:

I like Preston Jacobs, I really do, but I fear he's not yet realised his precious book version, so superior to the show, will never exist.

He will learn.

TommyGun85 posted:

Asha and Osha sounded too similar so they changed their names.

emanresu tnuocca posted:

Nun hosed Dunk, who was seven feet tall and a womanizer. Possibly also hung like a castle wall.

Intel&Sebastian posted:

The nights king watched as the flame died down to a candles worth and the last uncharred remnant of the Red Keep gave in to the relentless snow. Straining against his chains, Jon cried "Why!?! WHY DID YOU DO THIS!?!?!?!"

The king ran a cold finger along the frozen throne of swords.

"We must secure the existence of our people and a future for wight children."

kcroy posted:

Is that from the D&E books? I couldn't ever get past the second story for some reason.

kcroy posted:

You know, I read a lot. Especially about things in, uh, about history. I find that poo poo fascinating. Here's a fact, I don't know whether you know or not, Wights... were spawned by Crows.

No, i-i-it's a fact. You see, uh, wights have black Crow blood pumpin' through their hearts. If you don't believe me, you can look it up. Hundreds and hundreds of years ago, you see, the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch fell in love with an Other.

He did so much loving with Other women, huh? That he changed the whole bloodline forever.

emanresu tnuocca posted:

Well sorta. Ser Duncan the Tall being a large fella who likes the women is from the novellas, him hooking up with Nun is fan speculation based on the title of the unreleased fourth novella (the shewolves of winterfell) and the fact that Bran has a tree vision of a young old Nun making out with 'a knight almost as tall as Hodor' in the winterfell godswood.

SaviourX posted:

I guess that makes you part neep!

Evil Fluffy posted:

Who is Nun? Do you mean Old Nan?

Deosil posted:

HOBRANDOR

Each jostle and mis-step Hodor made as he stumbled up the broken cragside deeper into the evergreen-awned gloom of the northern mountains chafed at the lacrimose sores that had blossomed verdantly on Bran's rear end a turn past and now steadily leaked runnels of pus that formed a vericose delta down Hodor's neck and dried in the matted hairs of his back to form from around his shoulders a reeking mat of contagion and miasma that fouled the air all around him.

"Hodor," said Hodor despondently. Hodor lurched and rocked and considered blowing some bubbles.

"Hodor," said Hodor decisively. Hodor burbled and sputtered and blew spittle bubbles all down his huge chin, which glistened wetly.

The saliva dripped down onto the crusty spittle stain that had grown to cover most of Hodor's chest and belly. Hodor never cleaned his teeth and his spittle was brown with small yellow crumby flecks that produced a smell of rot potent far beyond what their size warranted.

Jojen Reed, who lagged fifty paces behind the plodding Hodor filthbasket, threw up in his mouth a little as he took in an offhand lungful of the giant's pervasive malodor. The eruption of bile came on him suddenly and he was unable to contain the flood, such that effluvia was forced through his nostrils and dribbled down onto his swollen lips, which glistend wetly.

Among the scents of rotted pus and saliva Jojen also detected the acrid smell of fresh night soil. He knew Bran had gone "away" again for too long and forgot to come back in time to void his bowels. Bran has been doing this with unmistakable regularity since they had entered the northern uplands, to the point that his liquefied poo poo would soak through his breeches and down into Hodor's hair, turning Hodor's do into an unruly mass of poo poo-dreads. The foulness of Hodor was utter, and it was really beginning to turn him on.

Bran was probing gently, reaching out tentatively to touch the edges of Hodor's consciousness. For days he had been exploring Hodor's secret dark crevices, the puckered, pulsating openings of Hodor's mind that he could fondle, flick, and tease before plunging himself fully into its core. In this way he could prevent the bumbling hugetard from panicking at the loss of his bodily control. For days Bran had worked his tendrils deeply into Hodor, and now he could feel himself drawing finally, tenderly into the final gaping void that quivered invitingly in the center of Hodor's conciousness. The puckered pseudo-flesh of the gaping void glistened wetly, inviting Bran to at last enter and fulfill its longing. Bran's mental tendril also glistened wetly, and he drove it in deep and true.

Hobrandor ullulated throatily in a desirous moan of animal lust. Bran had always resented Jaime's theft of his manhood from him. He knew from the time he had awakened at Winterfell that he would never know a woman the way a man grown was meant to. When he realized that through Hodor he might grasp the prize that had been pulled forever beyond his reach, he devoted every conscious moment to becoming Hodor, to gaining control of Hodors monstrous virility so that he might know all the pleasures of a man full in body. But he no longer desired to know a woman, for it was a man, Jaime Lannister, who had robbed him of his manhood and thorougly hosed his poo poo up. Now, finally, he was going to reclaim his Stark power. he was going to gently caress the poo poo of a man. Jaime was long gone, but behind him on the path was the closest thing.

Ahead of him, Jojen saw Hodor collapse onto the path and begin making some godawful moaning noise. It was just the stimulus Jojen needed to fulfill himself. He jammed his hand into his breeches and felt the hardness of his manhood beckoning to be stroked. He heard crunching in the snow behind him and turning, saw Meera returning from her piss break. He was pleased to see that instead of pouring her delicious golden stream into the snow, she had lain upside down and allowed the stinky morning pee to soak her tunic all through. Her tunic glistened wetly. THe piss steam wafted off her in waves that made Jojen want to tear off his breeches, which he did.

Hobrandor bellowed and ripped his fetid clothes from his body, flinging them from him as if they burned. Bran's body was knocked from the filthbasket into the snow, where it lay still and consciouless. Hobrandor stood and his cock was revealed in all its glory. It was three feet eight inches long and fifteen inches in diameter and it glistened more wetly than any cock had ever glistened in the history of glistening cocks.

Glisten. Let me tell you all how much Hobrandor's cock glistened. There are 387.44 million leagues of roads, trails, and paths on the continent of Westeros. If the word "glisten" was engraved on each nanoangstrom of those hundreds of millions of miles it would not equal one-billionth of the glistening that Hobrandor's cock glistened at that micro-instant. It GLISTENED!

And WETLY!

Hodor plunged towards Meera, and in one swift motion grabbed her by the legs and swung her toward the cliff face, trailing an expanding arc of freezing urine droplets that cascaded down the cliff face and made a tinkling sound eerily similar to the tinkling of piss. Meera's head split open with a hollow "thunk" as it struck the cliff face and her brain bounced out onto the trail.

"LUUUUBE," Hobrandor groaned mightily, as he hefted the brain, squishing it in his massive fist and applying it liberally to his oh-my-loving-god-so-glistening-wetly cock.

"By the gods!" Jojen squealed. "Not like this! Not like this, Hodor! I'm not ready, Hodor, I'm not ready!"

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPE!" cried Hobrandor as he advanced toward the quivering Jojen, who had dropped a load of night soil on the spot. The night soil glistened wetly.

...

...

Ok you get the idea Hobrandor rapes the poo poo out of Jojen with his huge loving cock.

Can I get my wildcards tag now?