Welcome back! Well, sort of I'm greatly looking forward for the next part and I'm happy this story is back. I know, the break hasn't been that long, but I still missed it. Also, Stranger PoV sounds interesting. That guy is still the biggest mystery in the entire story for me and his parts have been very interesting.
By the way, one thing I meant to ask for a while now: Do you know when/if The Invasion is going to be back? I mean, I greatly enjoy the Northern Chill, but for some reason I always liked the Invasion a tiny bit more. Both are amazing stories, but I always felt a bit more connected to the characters in the Invasion.
So I recently closed the vote to Julie's part, and I realise it's been a long time overdue. So I'm currently working on a Stranger part whic… moreh should be out sometime in the next few days. I realise I said the next should've been out a few weeks ago, and should've been a Rila or Toregg part but I couldn't get motivated for the Rila part and Toregg's part wouldn't fit well without the Stranger coming before him. So, next part should hopefully be out soon!
The tall sentinels and ironwoods kept the forest dark and as haunting as ever. The Stranger knelt behind the thick roots of an oak tree and stared at the wildling village. Behind him, a small garrison of crows stared at the village with a menacing gaze. The Stranger could feel the heavy breathing of some of the brothers, as loud as a howling wind though no trees swayed and creaked. The Stranger stood and turned to the black brothers, who were all waiting for him to unravel his plan. The Stranger eyed each of the pathetic ‘honourable’ men wearing black furs. The Stranger could tell who the honourable men and the bad men were without needing to look at them, a sense he had been gifted with. The Stranger sighed, looking back to the wildling village which he knew were not the perpetrators of the Night’s Watch ambush.
“And you’re sure that these are the wildlings who ambushed you?” Merryl, a young and likely the most honourable man among them, nodded.
“Our hunter, Xanner, has been tracking them down for the past week. We’re positive these are the wildlings.” The Stranger turned his attention to Xanner.
He was a young man, perhaps seventeen, who had wavy orange hair and a light stubble growing. A longbow was slung over his back, he stood with a few other rangers who appeared to be archers. Out of every black brother here, Xanner was the only steward who had joined the fight after the rest fled.
“You sure you weren’t just chasing rat’s footprints?” Some rangers sniggered, the ‘bad men’ of the garrison. Their leader, a sadistic young man who does not hesitate to harm those he does not like.
“Bael Rangeld.” The Stranger said with a cheerful voice, walking towards the bulky sniggering ranger. “What’s your idea for an attack on these wildlings?” Bael looked The Stranger in his deep blue eyes, confused for a moment, though crossed his arms and spat.
“Torch ‘em. Slaughter any fuckers who managed to get out.” His two goons, named by Bael as ‘Shithead and Fuckface,’ nodded in agreement.
Their fourth addition, a bald man with a cold and grimace look, grinned. The man did not speak often, though The Stranger knew his name and his story. Rowan. The Stranger turned to Merryl and Xanner, shrugging his shoulders.
“Very well, that is what we’ll do. From what I’ve seen, I’d say that the long mudbrick hall is a mead hall of a sort, which won’t burn down easily. Xanner, you and your boys will set yourself up in the trees and torch the thatch huts and skin tents.” Xanner nodded, the other rangers seemed a little hesitant but did not argue.
The Stranger looked at the remaining rangers, two small and skinny men stood at the back. One had short light blonde hair with curls, the other had short mousy brown hair. He beckoned for them to come forward, to which they did.
“What are your names?” The blonde replied first with courage that borderlined onto cockiness.
“Alix, ser.” The Stranger nodded, then looked to the other.
“Daved, ser.” The Stranger could tell the man was not confident with his words, and perhaps not as confident as he could be with his sword.
“Well, you two will accompany me to the end of the mudbrick building to cut down any stragglers that may escape from the back.” He turned to Merryl’s group of rangers and Bael’s group. Given the chance, these two would likely tear each other apart if set loose. “As for you lot, you will all attack with brute force, avenging the lives of the brothers they have killed. Let there be no survivors.” A small cheer and rise of blades filled the quietness. Merryl grabbed The Stranger’s shoulder, making him feel mildly uncomfortable.
“Niclas, what will your signal be to attack?” The Stranger looked at the sentinel horn hanging from Merryl’s belt. He unhitched it from the young man’s belt tied it onto his own.
“One blast.” Merryl nodded, then turned to the other brothers.
“Alright brothers, chose a building and wait for the signal.” The archers had already left to take their positions
-
The Stranger and his two companions sneaked through the tents, using the cover of the shadows, to get to the back of mead hall. Sure enough, The Stranger had been right, the back of the building had a single thatch door. The Stranger looked down at his sliced hands, clenching them had been difficult, fighting would be harder. The Stranger signalled for Daved to put his ear to the door and listen, as he did so Alix took position as look out. Now’s my chance. The Stranger unsheathed his sword, his other hand resting on the sentinel horn. He creeped behind Alix, adjusting the grip of his blade. He clenched and released his left hand a couple of times, then quickly covered Alix’s mouth and slit his throat with Frostbite. The sound of muffled screams died out after a couple of seconds. He gently rested the body down and cleaned his blade on the black fur, sheathing the blade again. He turned and silently walked over to Daved, whose ear still remained on the door.
“What do you hear?” The Stranger whispered, Daved took his ear away from the door and looked at the hinges.
“Well, from what I can gather, there are people in-” The Stranger had secured his right arm around Daved’s neck, and pushed his head forward - tighter into the grip - with his left arm. Daved tried to free himself, desperately trying to hit his opposer.
“Easy now, it will all be over soon. That’s right, rest now.” The struggling soon stopped, and as the Stranger felt the body go limp, he dropped the lifeless corpse into the mud.
The Stranger sat down and took in a breather, examining the two bodies. Well, that went easier than I thought. Poor chaps. He unhitched the sentinel horn from his belt, staring at the engravings along the sides. He knew these wildlings were innocent, though them fighting with the Watch would be the perfect distraction for The Stranger to get make a quick escape. They’ll die if I do and die if I don’t, all in a matter of time. Just as the Watch will come after me, all in a matter of time. If I don’t complete my mission, all mankind will suffer. The Stranger put his lips to the mouthpiece, though out of the corner of his eye he saw a boy. The Stranger stood and looked at the boy, who seemed confused and afraid. These wildlings could get an advantage if they knew they were being attacked.
[Sound the horn and escape] [Scare the boy, making him inform the wildlings they’re under attack]
I guess the stories kind of fall hand in hand, when I grow sick of The Northern Chill I pick up The Invasion and vice versa. I'm currently really into The Northern Chill, and am starting to miss The Invasion (and really disappointed that I never finished the chapter before I took vacation from it), I plan to finish this chapter and then go back to The Invasion. At this rate though, it looks like this chapter is going to be pretty long as I've gotta get a lot in. At any rate, the next part is out and slowly but surely is starting to progress. I might get a start on the next one sometime today, but I felt like one needed to come out now-ish :P
Welcome back! Well, sort of I'm greatly looking forward for the next part and I'm happy this story is back. I know, the break hasn't been t… morehat long, but I still missed it. Also, Stranger PoV sounds interesting. That guy is still the biggest mystery in the entire story for me and his parts have been very interesting.
By the way, one thing I meant to ask for a while now: Do you know when/if The Invasion is going to be back? I mean, I greatly enjoy the Northern Chill, but for some reason I always liked the Invasion a tiny bit more. Both are amazing stories, but I always felt a bit more connected to the characters in the Invasion.
The Stranger
The tall sentinels and ironwoods kept the forest dark and as haunting as ever. The Stranger knelt behind the thick roots of … morean oak tree and stared at the wildling village. Behind him, a small garrison of crows stared at the village with a menacing gaze. The Stranger could feel the heavy breathing of some of the brothers, as loud as a howling wind though no trees swayed and creaked. The Stranger stood and turned to the black brothers, who were all waiting for him to unravel his plan. The Stranger eyed each of the pathetic ‘honourable’ men wearing black furs. The Stranger could tell who the honourable men and the bad men were without needing to look at them, a sense he had been gifted with. The Stranger sighed, looking back to the wildling village which he knew were not the perpetrators of the Night’s Watch ambush.
“And you’re sure that these are the wildlings who ambushed you?” Merryl, a young and likely the most honourable … [view original content]
The Stranger
The tall sentinels and ironwoods kept the forest dark and as haunting as ever. The Stranger knelt behind the thick roots of … morean oak tree and stared at the wildling village. Behind him, a small garrison of crows stared at the village with a menacing gaze. The Stranger could feel the heavy breathing of some of the brothers, as loud as a howling wind though no trees swayed and creaked. The Stranger stood and turned to the black brothers, who were all waiting for him to unravel his plan. The Stranger eyed each of the pathetic ‘honourable’ men wearing black furs. The Stranger could tell who the honourable men and the bad men were without needing to look at them, a sense he had been gifted with. The Stranger sighed, looking back to the wildling village which he knew were not the perpetrators of the Night’s Watch ambush.
“And you’re sure that these are the wildlings who ambushed you?” Merryl, a young and likely the most honourable … [view original content]
The Stranger
The tall sentinels and ironwoods kept the forest dark and as haunting as ever. The Stranger knelt behind the thick roots of … morean oak tree and stared at the wildling village. Behind him, a small garrison of crows stared at the village with a menacing gaze. The Stranger could feel the heavy breathing of some of the brothers, as loud as a howling wind though no trees swayed and creaked. The Stranger stood and turned to the black brothers, who were all waiting for him to unravel his plan. The Stranger eyed each of the pathetic ‘honourable’ men wearing black furs. The Stranger could tell who the honourable men and the bad men were without needing to look at them, a sense he had been gifted with. The Stranger sighed, looking back to the wildling village which he knew were not the perpetrators of the Night’s Watch ambush.
“And you’re sure that these are the wildlings who ambushed you?” Merryl, a young and likely the most honourable … [view original content]
[Scare the boy, making him inform the wildlings they’re under attack]
It appears my vote won't make much of a difference, but I am very much on the wildlings' side here. There's definitely no need to massacre their village.
Great part! The Stranger is definitely an interesting character. I'm curious how this mission of his is going to continue.
The Stranger
The tall sentinels and ironwoods kept the forest dark and as haunting as ever. The Stranger knelt behind the thick roots of … morean oak tree and stared at the wildling village. Behind him, a small garrison of crows stared at the village with a menacing gaze. The Stranger could feel the heavy breathing of some of the brothers, as loud as a howling wind though no trees swayed and creaked. The Stranger stood and turned to the black brothers, who were all waiting for him to unravel his plan. The Stranger eyed each of the pathetic ‘honourable’ men wearing black furs. The Stranger could tell who the honourable men and the bad men were without needing to look at them, a sense he had been gifted with. The Stranger sighed, looking back to the wildling village which he knew were not the perpetrators of the Night’s Watch ambush.
“And you’re sure that these are the wildlings who ambushed you?” Merryl, a young and likely the most honourable … [view original content]
Ah, I see These are good news. I'm glad the Invasion is not cancelled. And I definitely understand when a chapter needs super long to finish XD I'm looking forward for what's going to happen in both stories.
I guess the stories kind of fall hand in hand, when I grow sick of The Northern Chill I pick up The Invasion and vice versa. I'm currently r… moreeally into The Northern Chill, and am starting to miss The Invasion (and really disappointed that I never finished the chapter before I took vacation from it), I plan to finish this chapter and then go back to The Invasion. At this rate though, it looks like this chapter is going to be pretty long as I've gotta get a lot in. At any rate, the next part is out and slowly but surely is starting to progress. I might get a start on the next one sometime today, but I felt like one needed to come out now-ish :P
Alright, well I'll close this vote now so I don't forget. And I don't think it's going to alter that much... So The Stranger will sound the horn and escape.
This choice really didn't affect The Stranger that much, more or less it just chose what was going to happen for the wildling village. Anyway, next part will be Toregg.
The Stranger
The tall sentinels and ironwoods kept the forest dark and as haunting as ever. The Stranger knelt behind the thick roots of … morean oak tree and stared at the wildling village. Behind him, a small garrison of crows stared at the village with a menacing gaze. The Stranger could feel the heavy breathing of some of the brothers, as loud as a howling wind though no trees swayed and creaked. The Stranger stood and turned to the black brothers, who were all waiting for him to unravel his plan. The Stranger eyed each of the pathetic ‘honourable’ men wearing black furs. The Stranger could tell who the honourable men and the bad men were without needing to look at them, a sense he had been gifted with. The Stranger sighed, looking back to the wildling village which he knew were not the perpetrators of the Night’s Watch ambush.
“And you’re sure that these are the wildlings who ambushed you?” Merryl, a young and likely the most honourable … [view original content]
The long hall was dim but filled with life, laughter and chatter could be heard from miles away. Grognak Ironside had invited everyone into the mead hall to feast before they set off for their raid south of the Wall. Toregg sat with his son, Torwynd, at a bench with a horn of ale. It had been an interesting experience for both Torwynd, and Toregg, after downing his first ale. The young man seemed to be cheery, though off-guard and certainly tired.
“How do you feel boy?” Torwynd rolled his eyes, reaching for the ale casket.
“I feel fine father.” Torwynd spoke with strength and courage in his voice, trying to convince Toregg that he spoke the truth. Though Toregg was wiser and older, and could hear the slight slur in the young man’s voice.
“Perhaps you should give yourself a break, don’t go overboard with it.” Torwynd grunted and poured another ale.
“We are Freefolk! I may drink however much I please.” Toregg chuckled his loud boomy chuckle.
“Aye, but don’t expect me to carry you up the Wall tomorrow. You’ll have to do the heavy lifting yourself boy.” Torwynd grinned and took another sip from his horn.
Toregg downed his fourth, knowing he’d had enough he placed it down and took a leg of lamb off the wooden platter in the centre of the table. He bit into the mead, the soft tenderness fell apart in his mouth. The juices oozed down his tongue and into his throat, quickly followed by the chewed meat. Toregg looked at the casket again and submissively poured another. To wash down the meat.
As Toregg ate, he thought about what it would be like to go south of the Wall again. The last time he had seen anything south of the Wall was when he was still a brother of the Night’s Watch, and that was many years ago. He wondered if he’d prefer it back in the south than in the frozen north, though after a long thought he concluded that he lived a better life away from the politics in the North. Toregg turned his attention to his son, who had rested his head on the table.Toregg chuckled and ruffled the boy’s hair, as if to say, ‘I told you so.’ When the boy did not retaliate, he sighed and realised he’d fallen into a slumber. I guess I was done with this party anyway. Toregg stood up, downing his final ale and placing it down on the bench. As he was about to help his son out of the hall, he heard in name being called. He turned to the direction he heard it, and saw his beautiful wife approaching him.
“Ygwyn.” He whispered quietly to himself, a smile widening on his face. She grinned in return.
“I see the boy has had his first drink.” She said, looking at the passed out young man who rested on the bench. Toregg nodded.
“Aye, I was planning on taking him back to his tent and seeing you.” Ygwyn placed her hand on Toregg’s cheek, running it down and stroking his beard.
“I wouldn’t let you miss this party. Go, enjoy yourself, I’ll take care of Torwynd.” Toregg sighed, though before he could argue his woman had already picked up their son and headed for the door.
Toregg laughed aloud and sat down, now alone with only ale to comfort him. What a mess, he thought jokingly. Toregg decided to pour a second-final ale then join his wife in bed, he had grown tired of the ceremony. As he did, an unexpected company sat beside him. He turned his focus to the man, who he finally identified as Movar the Grim. The man’s hair was long and thick with a dark brown shade, and his beard fell down to his chest. His dark brown, bordering on black, eyes stared into Toregg’s matching eyes. He nodded and poured himself an ale in Torwynd’s horn from the casket. The two men drank in silence, then Movar spoke.
“How is your family?” Movar spoke with a calm tone, though Toregg could tell the friendship between the two men was only held by Horegg.
“They are well, Torwynd is drunk.” Toregg thought he noticed a hint of a smile appearing on Movar’s face, but he doubted it. “And your sister? I have not seen her today, is she not accompanying us?” Movar shrugged.
“I last saw my sister running after the old crow. Do you trust the Umber?” Toregg looked into his horn, the golden liquid showed his reflection.
“It’s been too long. I don’t know if he’s the same man I left when I deserted the Watch.” Movar nodded, half with acceptance and half with disappointment.
“Gods watch over my sister.” Toregg chuckled.
“If the gods won’t, that falcon of hers certainly will.” This time Movar showed a weak smile. The brutish-looking man turned to see if anyone was watching them. When he seemed satisfied, he reached into his fur coat and pulled out a book. He placed it on the table, the title read: Westeros: Recollected Knowledge.
“I have been reading this ever since I got it from a raid a few years back. I finished a chapter on the history of the Riverlands, that is where you were from?” Toregg nodded, admiring the keeping of the book. “I wanted to ask, who are these Ironborn. All it says is that they are raiders, and often conquer the Riverlands… Just as the past King’s beyond the Wall have raided south to take control.” Toregg chuckled.
“Perhaps the Riverlands should build a wall, it’s so far been effective up here.” Movar smiled, turned some pages which showed images of the Ironmen and their Iron Fleet.
“What are they like?” Movar asked, as if he somehow knew they were the reason that Toregg was here and not in the Riverlands.
“Harsh, barbaric, different compared to the honourable Tully’s, Blackwood’s and Justman’s. I don’t know who to compare them to up here, similar to the Hornfoot’s?” Movar scowled at the name.
“Fucking Hornfoot’s.” Toregg nodded in agreement.
“Fucking Hornfoot’s.” Movar took the book and hid it back in his fur coat, the two men continued to drink silently from their horns.
Toregg looked around the room, the usual closed windows were now open to let in the fresh air. Toregg stared out into the darkness for a while, until he noticed a flick of light in one of the trees, then in another tree and another. He turned to Movar, who also stared in the general direction. The two men stood and moved closer towards the window to get a better look, Toregg observed that Movar had unsheathed one of his axes. When they got to the window, Toregg noticed that the lights they had seen had extinguished. Maybe it’s just the ale. He shrugged it off and moved away from the window, though Movar did not seem convinced. For just a moment, everything seemed calm and at ease, then the booming sound of a sentinel horn blew. Toregg turned back to the window and saw the sky light up with flaming arrows, hitting the tents and thatch huts. Movar backed away from the window and signalled for Toregg to follow him.
The cheery laughter had quickly turned to screams and yelling, Grognak shouted orders and the drunken men and women quickly got up to follow them. Movar led Toregg through the mayhem, behind the kitchens to a back door. He had unsheathed both of his axes, Toregg had already unsheathed Thorn at this point. He nodded at Movar, who then turned to the door and kicked it open. The two were surprised to see a dead crow already at their feet, and another with a slit throat next to a small open hut which had barrels of ale under its roof. Toregg turned to the last man standing, which to his surprise was his son - Horegg. The boy stared at him with what looked to be fear and confusion in his eyes.
“Father?” Toregg ran over to him and secured one arm around him.
“We need to get back to your mother and brother.” Toregg turned to Movar, who had started running into a forest. Toregg noticed that he was chasing after a crow who was escaping.
“Father, you have to stop Movar. That crow… He killed these men, he had a sick look in his eye.” Toregg shook his head.
“Movar can look after himself. Come on, we have to-” Flames burst into the air as a fiery arrow punctured one of the barrels of ale. Toregg pushed his son forward. “Go, tell your mother to meet me at the ice cells that we first met. Go now!” The boy did not hesitate, he darted through the flaming tents towards their home.
Toregg readjusted his grip on Thorn, then as he noticed a black crow appearing out of the darkness and heading towards him, he entered into a defensive stance. Toregg deflected the crow’s strike, throwing a mighty punch into the crow’s jaw. The man fell to the ground, his face next to the burning flames. Toregg did not recognise the man, so he lifted Thorn above his head and brought it down with a heavy slash, decapitating the man.
Toregg started running for the front entry of the mead hall, dodging arrows being shot at him from the dark trees. When he safely reached the front entrance, he saw a bloodbath of men in black furs brawling against the Freefolk. Grognak Ironside fought among the men, living up to his name and not yet receiving a gash from any blade. Toregg saw Thorald and Amathe being separated from the fight by three crows, so that was where Toregg ran to. When Toregg arrived, Thorald was on the ground with a crow hovering his sword over the boy, and Amathe was outnumbered and would not last long. Both needed his help, though he could only get to one in time.
Oh damn it... I knew something like this would happen. I'm not sure why everyone just voted to leave the village to die instead of warning them, but this was an obvious and severe mistake. And Movar... I got a horrible feeling for him, considering that he chased after the fucking Stranger. He's clearly the better fighter, but I doubt the Stranger is going to die just yet, so I think I sadly know how this confrontation is likely going to end. And now I'm not sure if we made the right decision for Freya or not. On the one hand, she's away from the fight now. On the other hand, she's god knows where and after this Odin guy and I am not sure if that is any better. Can you remind me, have we already learned about Odin's goals in an earlier part? I'm afraid for Freya's next part and for the Strangers next part as well. I just know that not warning the village was a very stupid decision.
[Help Thorald]
He already has one of these Nights Watch fuckers above him, so he's clearly going to die in a matter of seconds if we don't help him. Amathe at least has something that resembles a chance, though I doubt she's going to survive. Still, Thorald is also the one with less opponents, so helping him will take less time.
Toregg
The long hall was dim but filled with life, laughter and chatter could be heard from miles away. Grognak Ironside had invited ever… moreyone into the mead hall to feast before they set off for their raid south of the Wall. Toregg sat with his son, Torwynd, at a bench with a horn of ale. It had been an interesting experience for both Torwynd, and Toregg, after downing his first ale. The young man seemed to be cheery, though off-guard and certainly tired.
“How do you feel boy?” Torwynd rolled his eyes, reaching for the ale casket.
“I feel fine father.” Torwynd spoke with strength and courage in his voice, trying to convince Toregg that he spoke the truth. Though Toregg was wiser and older, and could hear the slight slur in the young man’s voice.
“Perhaps you should give yourself a break, don’t go overboard with it.” Torwynd grunted and poured another ale.
“We are Freefolk! I may drink however much I please.” Toregg chuckled his … [view original content]
Ah gee, I agree with you on so many different levels, and I felt like this part would hit you like a train. As for Odin's intentions, it will be released in the next Freya part which will hopefully be soon. I can assure you that Freya is safe currently, but I will say that some of these decisions are really frickin important, and I think us writers can't really exaggerate that enough. Either way, this was going to end badly either for the village or for the stranger, and as you guys don't know the stranger's goals yet it's kinda hard to make 'moral choices' for him. As for Movar... Eh I'll leave it for the next part he is encountered in.
Oh damn it... I knew something like this would happen. I'm not sure why everyone just voted to leave the village to die instead of warning t… morehem, but this was an obvious and severe mistake. And Movar... I got a horrible feeling for him, considering that he chased after the fucking Stranger. He's clearly the better fighter, but I doubt the Stranger is going to die just yet, so I think I sadly know how this confrontation is likely going to end. And now I'm not sure if we made the right decision for Freya or not. On the one hand, she's away from the fight now. On the other hand, she's god knows where and after this Odin guy and I am not sure if that is any better. Can you remind me, have we already learned about Odin's goals in an earlier part? I'm afraid for Freya's next part and for the Strangers next part as well. I just know that not warning the village was a very stupid decision.
[Help Thorald]
He already has one of these Nights Watch … [view original content]
Toregg
The long hall was dim but filled with life, laughter and chatter could be heard from miles away. Grognak Ironside had invited ever… moreyone into the mead hall to feast before they set off for their raid south of the Wall. Toregg sat with his son, Torwynd, at a bench with a horn of ale. It had been an interesting experience for both Torwynd, and Toregg, after downing his first ale. The young man seemed to be cheery, though off-guard and certainly tired.
“How do you feel boy?” Torwynd rolled his eyes, reaching for the ale casket.
“I feel fine father.” Torwynd spoke with strength and courage in his voice, trying to convince Toregg that he spoke the truth. Though Toregg was wiser and older, and could hear the slight slur in the young man’s voice.
“Perhaps you should give yourself a break, don’t go overboard with it.” Torwynd grunted and poured another ale.
“We are Freefolk! I may drink however much I please.” Toregg chuckled his … [view original content]
Toregg
The long hall was dim but filled with life, laughter and chatter could be heard from miles away. Grognak Ironside had invited ever… moreyone into the mead hall to feast before they set off for their raid south of the Wall. Toregg sat with his son, Torwynd, at a bench with a horn of ale. It had been an interesting experience for both Torwynd, and Toregg, after downing his first ale. The young man seemed to be cheery, though off-guard and certainly tired.
“How do you feel boy?” Torwynd rolled his eyes, reaching for the ale casket.
“I feel fine father.” Torwynd spoke with strength and courage in his voice, trying to convince Toregg that he spoke the truth. Though Toregg was wiser and older, and could hear the slight slur in the young man’s voice.
“Perhaps you should give yourself a break, don’t go overboard with it.” Torwynd grunted and poured another ale.
“We are Freefolk! I may drink however much I please.” Toregg chuckled his … [view original content]
Hey guys, I'm just going to leave this part open for a little while as I'm hoping some others may vote. For the meanwhile, I'm releasing two more parts. One is a Freya part, and the other is a new character: Ferraro Sand. Now you'll have to forgive me for the Ferraro part being rather boring, it was more about fleshing his character and another, and even then I still think I haven't completed that. Anyway, his next part should hopefully be a little more interesting.
The large stone slabs that made up the wall of Ferraro’s cell were boiling hot. Ferraro stared out his barred window, minding not to touch the near-boiling hot rusted irons. The day was clear blue skies and the beaming hot sun entered his cell with such power that Ferraro could not stare at the stone flooring too long out of fear that he may go blind. He pulled himself away from his only view and walked over to his bed, a layer of straw and his old ragged shirt for a pillow. Ghaston Grey had been Ferraro Sand’s home for the past four years, and would be until his death. He looked down to his rough strong hands, which had gone try and blistered from the lack of moisture. The only liquids Ferraro was able to consume were from the same hot stew that each of the prisoners were fed each morning and night. He had often cursed the wardens for placing him in a cell which had a view of the vast ocean, a tease to remind him of the life that had been taken away from him.
Ferraro looked at the tallied wall, it had been twenty-eight days since his last lashing, meaning that his next would be in three days to come. The wardens had operated harshly on the prisoners of Ghaston Grey, whipping the prisoners monthly, starving those that misbehaved or leaving them out in the scorching sun to burn. The sun had only risen an hour after Ferraro awoke, which meant his first meal of the day was soon to come. To pass the time, Ferraro would spend his time drawing with the stones he used to tally on the walls. The once bare wall had now displayed engravings of ships, storms and a girl that he had lost after coming to Ghaston Grey. As Ferraro picked up the sharpened rock, a bang on the door and the sound of the serving hatch being opened made him turn. Is it that time already? He crawled over to the barred wooden door, moving his bowl next to the serving hatch. Ferraro watched the serving spoon bring in the liquid stew, pour it into his bowl and then quickly retreat. Ferraro took his meal, muttered his thanks and started to eat. The stew was basic, consisting of gourd, green beans and some herbs and peppers. The meal itself was flavoursome, though after eating the same dish day and night the flavour ceased to exist. Ferraro finished his stew in under a minute, then put the bowl back by the latrine bucket.
Ferraro crawled back to his drawing wall, grabbed his rock and continued to work on the drawing of his love. The drawing was nowhere near accurate, Ferraro knew that there was no way to replicate such beauty into his hand, yet he still drew as it filled his days and his heart with something other than misery. As Ferraro drew, he heard the sound of footsteps outside his cell. A cell door had been opened, meaning either a prisoner was coming out or going in. The guards spoke with harsh and loud tones, often yelling at each other more than the other prisoners.
“Chuck this one in with ‘em.” One of them said, sounding out of breath.
“No room left, he’ll ‘ave to go in with the Dornishman.” Another replied. Ferraro wondered in they were referring to him, he was sure he would soon find out. When Ferraro head the sound of his door being unlocked, he knew for certain they were talking about him.
“Stand away from the door, or you’ll get what’s comin to ya.” The guard said, opening the barred wooden door.
The guard threw a man in, then shut the door behind him. Five years in prison and this was the first time Ferraro had seen anyone except for his drawing. Ferraro backed away from the man who lay on the ground in front of him, cautious of the fact that he may have posed a threat to him. Ferraro fastened his hand around his sharpest drawing rock, prepared to defend himself if need be. The man lifted himself up, rubbing his bruised head. Ferraro could tell the man was from north of Dorne. He looked over towards Ferraro, grunted then propelling himself up into a sitting position. The two men stared each other down, waiting for someone to make a move. When nothing happened, the man relaxed and released his straight posture. The cell was quiet for a few minutes, then he spoke.
“My apologies for being thrown into your cell, believe me when I say I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me here.” Ferraro remained silent, still keeping his hand tightly gripped around the sharp rock which started cutting into his hand. “What’s your name?” Ferraro hesitated, though after a short moment replied.
“Ferraro Sand.” The man nodded.
“I am Wayne Cross, leader of the Crossmen Company. We fight for the Martell’s in the rebellion against the Yronwood’s. Is that why you’re here?” Ferraro shook his head.
“I am here by mistake.” Wayne nodded and weakly smiled.
“Of course you are. Well, whatever reason you’re here for I just want to know that you’re not going to stab me in the throat with that stone behind your back when I try to sleep.” Ferraro felt his heart start to pump harder, he released the rock.
“So long as you don’t try to slice mine.” He finally managed to say. Wayne nodded in agreeance.
-
Two days passed, and the two had barely spoken a word since their introduction. The two ate in silence, slept in silence and overall sat in silence. It was when Ferraro started to draw again that Wayne spoke up.
“So you are the one who did those. They’re very good.” Ferraro allowed himself a smile.
“You’ll find there is little to do when you’re alone in a cell which is slowly cooking you alive.” Wayne chuckled, a loud booming chuckle which caught Ferraro off guard.
Wayne seemed to be a calm man, who was gentle with his words when he spoke. His appearance however did not match his demeanor. Wayne had long dark wavy hair and a dark stubble. His eyes were a deep set blue, an ugly scar stretched from his left cheek down to his lower neck, restricting much movement from his head. His attire was light, an unstrapped shirt and loose baggy pants with brown leather boots.
Wayne sighed and stood up, walking over towards the barred window. He stared out to the Narrow Sea, a glint could be seen in his eye. Ferraro slipped the dulled stone into his pocket, then stood up and joined Wayne.
“It’s cruel that they give us a cell with such a view. Though worse for them.” Ferraro remained silent, confused about what Wayne meant. “We’ll get out of here Ferraro Sand, I do not intend to be executed by the Yronwood’s just yet.” Ferraro shrugged.
“Many men have failed to escape this prison, what makes you so sure you will succeed?” Wayne grinned, as if he knew something Ferraro did not.
“You will soon find out. Now, I think the time is due to tell each other our stories.” Ferraro dreaded the thought of his past. He shrugged it off.
“Not much to tell. I was a sailor for a merchant ship, pirates raided our vessel and I ended up here.” Wayne gave Ferraro a studied look.
“Right. Well, if you’re going to be so-” Ferraro did not give Wayne the time to finish his sentence.
“How did you get that scar?” Wayne stopped and smiled to himself.
“Long story.” Ferraro smiled.
“We’ve got time.” Wayne nodded, taking in a deep breath.
“My brother and I were woodworkers from the North, though we decided to leave that life to pursue a life as sellswords. We sailed to the Free Cities and did work there for a few years, then work brought us to Dorne. On our second night in this boiling desert, my brother had gotten himself into a fight with a Yronwood soldier. I intervened, and got this as a consequence.” Wayne pointed to his scar. “Anyway, when I fell to the ground bleeding out, some other sellswords and outlaws as well as my brother managed to scare off the soldiers. When I recovered from my injury, I did not treat my brother as well as I could have, and out of shame he left. Ever since I have led the Crossmen Company on my own, gods know what’s happened to my brother.” Ferraro lightly nodded, processing the information.
“What was his name?” Ferraro did not particularly care, though he figured it was the right question to ask.
“Darrick. You have any siblings?” Ferraro shrugged.
“Don’t know, lived on the ocean all my life. All I know is I’m a bastard of some high lord, and that means little to me.” Wayne nodded, though he seemed disappointed. After a long pause, he changed the subject.
“Say if we were to get out of here, would you fight for me and the Martell’s? We could offer you a great number of things. Legitimacy, gold, women…” Ferraro looked at the wall of his drawings, the boats and maps and his love.
“To read and write?” The question seemed to catch Wayne off guard. Though after a short moment he nodded.
“If it is what you wanted.” Ferraro felt a warmth inside that was not the scorching heat. He nodded.
“It is.” Wayne turned to him an extended a hand. Ferraro accepted it with a firm grip, sealing a pact they had created.
The soft crunching of ice and snow after every footstep was a gentle reminder to her when tracking down prey. In this instance, her prey was a lost crow somewhere in the woods. Freya had followed the muddy brown tracks left in the snow until the snowfall had covered her tracks. Since then her efforts had been slow and more precise, taking extreme measures to make sure she was on track. Freya had stopped in a frozen opening, where the trees had parted ways to create a small meadow. Flowers had closed their petals and were lightly capped in snow, yet Freya could still see the variety of colours that dotted the small clearing of land. Freya rested herself against the trunk of an oak tree, mildly regretting taking on this expedition. If the crow wants to leave, then he can leave. I shouldn’t have to act like his brothers and hunt him down for desertion. Freya sighed, resting her head against the tree trunk. She pulled her white fur glove from her hand, the cool breeze instantly nipped at her skin, causing goosebumps to crawl up her arm. She clenched and released her hand, getting a blood circulation going. She gently rested her hand in the soft ice crystals, allowing herself to relax in this small bit of paradise she had found. She closed her eyes, thinking of what her brother was up to. No doubt fucking Christa Frostleaf in my damned bed again. The thought of her brother made her smile, she missed their talks. The last couple of days had been lonely, though she had pushed on knowing that she would soon return home. Freya felt her neck grow cold as something as cool as ice rested against her throat. She opened her eyes, noticing a blade resting against her throat she shallowed her breathing.
“Well crow, after all this time I spent searching for you I never thought you would pay me the honours.” The old man grunted.
“Shut your mouth girl. Why are you following me?” Freya couldn’t help but giggle at the question.
“We Freefolk watch out for each other, I guess I was worried about you, old crow.” Freya could feel the blade digging into her neck, any more tension and she would start to bleed.
“I’m sorry that you were the one to track me down girl, it pains me to have to kill a woman. I’ll make it quick.” Freya turned her focus to the old man, who had lifted his sword around his head to prepare for a hard swing. She smiled.
“Will you?” As the old crow raised an eyebrow to her, a burst of reddish-brown flew past her eyes and clawed the old man’s face.
Freya quickly rolled away from the action, grabbing her bow and fastening the string. Talon went in for another strike, this time at the old crow’s sword arm. Freya watched as her fluttering companion ripped out some flesh from the old man’s wrist, then quickly evaded. By this time Freya had already nocked an arrow as the old man had dropped his blade to nurse his wounds. Talon perched herself on the branch of a sentinel tree, ready to swoop again if need be. Freya stood and drew an arrow, the old man gritted his teeth.
“Alright bitch, you got me. You going to kill me now?” Freya stared at the man, her cold temper warming with anger.
“Oh I bet that’s what you would want, crow.” She released her drawing arm, sending the arrow into the old crow’s foot. A yelp of agony filled the once peaceful air. She nocked another arrow.
“Fucking kill me! I won’t live for what is to come!” Freya shook her head.
“If you wanted death then you would not have joined us, Umber.” The old man seemed to lose all sense of his pain when he heard his name, like it was an awakening to who he really was.
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I just knew I had to get away from the Watch, because I’ve seen what’s coming. A cold and icy death awaits us all, and it’s not you wildlings that are bringing it.” Freya gave the man no sympathy, she drew her arrow. “Do what you will, warg girl. My time is done.” As much as Freya wanted to release her grip and let the arrow fly into the man’s throat, something held her back.
Freya released the tension on the bow string, putting the arrow back into her quiver. She swung her recurved sentinel bow over her shoulder and bent down to Umber’s level. The man stared at her with an eye that either resembled fear or some form of courage. His face was bloody from the scratches Talon had left on him. She whistled a high pitch, and sure enough Talon flew down to her side landing on her shoulder. Now Freya was sure that the man’s eyes displayed fear.
“Why did you run away?” Odin Umber switched his focus between both Talon and Freya, nursing his wounded wrist as he did. Finally, he submitted.
“My brother who escaped when I joined you, I’m trying to find him. I was following the tracks that I believed to be him, though they led to another wildling camp. So I headed back, knowing I could not save him on my own.” Freya raised an eyebrow.
“You’re trying to save a crow? They’re your enemy now.” The Umber shook his head.
“The men of the Night’s Watch are honourable, and this boy deserves better than to be held captive by the barefooted fucks that have him held captive.” Freya raised her eyebrows, half shocked and half in disbelief.
“Hornfoot’s?” The old man shook his head miserably.
“It’s no use now, the boy is likely as good as dead. My point of living is over, just end me and go home to your people.” Freya sighed, the man was a miserable old sob who was begging for death, yet she felt like it was not right to kill him.
The fierce and warrior reputation of the Umbers had faded away with this new experience, Freya knelt down wondering what the right thing was to do. She knew it would not be possible to rescue this friend of his from the Hornfoot village, nor would she try to with an entire army of Nightrunners by her side.
“You can still fight for what is right, Umber.” Freya spoke her thoughts aloud. “Your once brother-crow Toregg stand with the Freefolk. You could to. If we ever had the chance to pass the Wall and live in peace, perhaps you could convince the Umbers to spare some land.” Freya had not put much thought into what she was saying, though she felt like killing the man off was not the right thing to do.
“You are naive girl, very naive. The Kings of Winter would destroy any efforts of an army beyond the Wall if the Watch were to fail. All will die from what is to come.” Freya had convinced herself, the man was going mad. Odin Umber chuckled. “Fight for what is right. The only thing I will ever fight for is the Night’s Watch. Right now, we would all be much safer south of the Wall. If you don’t kill me, atleast let take me somewhere I can go south of the Wall and join my brothers.” Freya frowned and pulled the arrow from the Umber’s foot, resulting in a cry of agony.
Perhaps it is right to end the Old Umber’s misery, though if he still stands for purpose than I cannot deny him that. Freya played with her options, her insides cried to go home. Yet she knew she could not live with herself if she just left the old man here to die. She could lead him to Hardhome, find him a vessel which would take him south of the Wall. Though perhaps it was time the man had come to his fate, she was sure he was losing it.
[End the Umber’s misery] [Take Odin Umber to Hardhome]
Alright then, I never thought I'd ever say that about a bird, but Talon is savage and a badass. I mean, I shouldn't be too surprised, but I still underestimated just how dangerous such a hawk can be, especially one as vicious as her. Sure, Freya did her part as well in taking Odin down, but today, her bird did the most.
[Take Odin Umber to Hardhome]
This was a hard choice for me. On the one hand, Odin tried to kill her. People that try to kill Freya are people that, by all means, should die. On the other hand, I can understand his motivations for running away, even though I do have a grudge against him for trying to kill Freya. Killing him now does not feel right. Also, we know that shit hits the fan in the Nightrunner village, so I'm also sparing Odin out of pragmatism. If Freya brings him to Hardhome, she is going to stay away from the Night's Watch fuckers that would probably kill her on sight if she returns to the village now. A short detour to Hardhome will keep her out of the line of fire.
Freya
The soft crunching of ice and snow after every footstep was a gentle reminder to her when tracking down prey. In this instance, her… more prey was a lost crow somewhere in the woods. Freya had followed the muddy brown tracks left in the snow until the snowfall had covered her tracks. Since then her efforts had been slow and more precise, taking extreme measures to make sure she was on track. Freya had stopped in a frozen opening, where the trees had parted ways to create a small meadow. Flowers had closed their petals and were lightly capped in snow, yet Freya could still see the variety of colours that dotted the small clearing of land. Freya rested herself against the trunk of an oak tree, mildly regretting taking on this expedition. If the crow wants to leave, then he can leave. I shouldn’t have to act like his brothers and hunt him down for desertion. Freya sighed, resting her head against the tree trunk. She pulled her white fur glove… [view original content]
So, this is your definition of a boring part? I guess the non-boring parts are the ones that give me a heart attack then XD I liked this part a lot! It was a well-written introduction to a new characterl I really like Ferraro and find him to be pretty interesting. At the same time, I have to wonder, have I seen it correctly that the prison he is in right now is located in Dorne?
Ferraro
The large stone slabs that made up the wall of Ferraro’s cell were boiling hot. Ferraro stared out his barred window, minding not… more to touch the near-boiling hot rusted irons. The day was clear blue skies and the beaming hot sun entered his cell with such power that Ferraro could not stare at the stone flooring too long out of fear that he may go blind. He pulled himself away from his only view and walked over to his bed, a layer of straw and his old ragged shirt for a pillow. Ghaston Grey had been Ferraro Sand’s home for the past four years, and would be until his death. He looked down to his rough strong hands, which had gone try and blistered from the lack of moisture. The only liquids Ferraro was able to consume were from the same hot stew that each of the prisoners were fed each morning and night. He had often cursed the wardens for placing him in a cell which had a view of the vast ocean, a tease to remind him of the life that … [view original content]
Ferraro
The large stone slabs that made up the wall of Ferraro’s cell were boiling hot. Ferraro stared out his barred window, minding not… more to touch the near-boiling hot rusted irons. The day was clear blue skies and the beaming hot sun entered his cell with such power that Ferraro could not stare at the stone flooring too long out of fear that he may go blind. He pulled himself away from his only view and walked over to his bed, a layer of straw and his old ragged shirt for a pillow. Ghaston Grey had been Ferraro Sand’s home for the past four years, and would be until his death. He looked down to his rough strong hands, which had gone try and blistered from the lack of moisture. The only liquids Ferraro was able to consume were from the same hot stew that each of the prisoners were fed each morning and night. He had often cursed the wardens for placing him in a cell which had a view of the vast ocean, a tease to remind him of the life that … [view original content]
Freya
The soft crunching of ice and snow after every footstep was a gentle reminder to her when tracking down prey. In this instance, her… more prey was a lost crow somewhere in the woods. Freya had followed the muddy brown tracks left in the snow until the snowfall had covered her tracks. Since then her efforts had been slow and more precise, taking extreme measures to make sure she was on track. Freya had stopped in a frozen opening, where the trees had parted ways to create a small meadow. Flowers had closed their petals and were lightly capped in snow, yet Freya could still see the variety of colours that dotted the small clearing of land. Freya rested herself against the trunk of an oak tree, mildly regretting taking on this expedition. If the crow wants to leave, then he can leave. I shouldn’t have to act like his brothers and hunt him down for desertion. Freya sighed, resting her head against the tree trunk. She pulled her white fur glove… [view original content]
Freya
The soft crunching of ice and snow after every footstep was a gentle reminder to her when tracking down prey. In this instance, her… more prey was a lost crow somewhere in the woods. Freya had followed the muddy brown tracks left in the snow until the snowfall had covered her tracks. Since then her efforts had been slow and more precise, taking extreme measures to make sure she was on track. Freya had stopped in a frozen opening, where the trees had parted ways to create a small meadow. Flowers had closed their petals and were lightly capped in snow, yet Freya could still see the variety of colours that dotted the small clearing of land. Freya rested herself against the trunk of an oak tree, mildly regretting taking on this expedition. If the crow wants to leave, then he can leave. I shouldn’t have to act like his brothers and hunt him down for desertion. Freya sighed, resting her head against the tree trunk. She pulled her white fur glove… [view original content]
You are correct. I am bringing in three new characters I've created to show three new story lines. Ferraro is one of them, showing a new storyline in Dorne. Another which has been mentioned is showing a storyline in the Reach. And finally one which has not been mentioned is showing a storyline in the Riverlands. These are all hopefully going to be interesting, or at least the first two. Once the storyline progresses and you guys have an idea of what's going on if you want to add a character to the list that would be awesome. Anyway, still got to get there first and that's probably going to be a little while away now.
So, this is your definition of a boring part? I guess the non-boring parts are the ones that give me a heart attack then XD I liked this par… moret a lot! It was a well-written introduction to a new characterl I really like Ferraro and find him to be pretty interesting. At the same time, I have to wonder, have I seen it correctly that the prison he is in right now is located in Dorne?
I was hoping that my idea of the character was everything you imagined it to be. I guess that can be one of the difficulties with character creation is that is hard to show replications, though I think, I think, that I displayed I decent image of her and Talon here. Though I will say, at some parts I feel like I'm writing an Ygritte part rather than a Freya part, which is something I need to watch out for haha
Alright then, I never thought I'd ever say that about a bird, but Talon is savage and a badass. I mean, I shouldn't be too surprised, but I … morestill underestimated just how dangerous such a hawk can be, especially one as vicious as her. Sure, Freya did her part as well in taking Odin down, but today, her bird did the most.
[Take Odin Umber to Hardhome]
This was a hard choice for me. On the one hand, Odin tried to kill her. People that try to kill Freya are people that, by all means, should die. On the other hand, I can understand his motivations for running away, even though I do have a grudge against him for trying to kill Freya. Killing him now does not feel right. Also, we know that shit hits the fan in the Nightrunner village, so I'm also sparing Odin out of pragmatism. If Freya brings him to Hardhome, she is going to stay away from the Night's Watch fuckers that would probably kill her on sight if she returns to the village now. A short detour to Hardhome will keep her out of the line of fire.
Oh, I'm very happy with how the character turned out! I'm absolutely loving the way you wrote her so far. And Talon the badass of course, she was the MVP in this part. She's as adorable as a vicious, face-clawing killer bird can be ;D Truth be told, Freya ended up even better than I thought and I can't thank you enough for it. As for Ygritte, she was actually one of several inspirations for her and they definitely have a couple of similarities. Both are fierce, badass spearwives and they even share the same hair colour, so similarities are bound to happen. That said, they have a number of differences as well and I feel like you definitely did a good job in setting them apart as well.
I was hoping that my idea of the character was everything you imagined it to be. I guess that can be one of the difficulties with character … morecreation is that is hard to show replications, though I think, I think, that I displayed I decent image of her and Talon here. Though I will say, at some parts I feel like I'm writing an Ygritte part rather than a Freya part, which is something I need to watch out for haha
Alright, so a late vote came in and I felt like it should have been included. Though then I realised that there was no way to make the vote clear without me unfairly having to cast in a vote. Unfortunately that's what I'll have to do as their are even numbers. So I'm going to vote to [Help Amathe] as I feel she and Toregg have a stronger connection, though Thorald is the best friend of Torwynd. So yeah, Toregg will choose to help Amathe... Sorry for the unfair vote guys.
Toregg
The long hall was dim but filled with life, laughter and chatter could be heard from miles away. Grognak Ironside had invited ever… moreyone into the mead hall to feast before they set off for their raid south of the Wall. Toregg sat with his son, Torwynd, at a bench with a horn of ale. It had been an interesting experience for both Torwynd, and Toregg, after downing his first ale. The young man seemed to be cheery, though off-guard and certainly tired.
“How do you feel boy?” Torwynd rolled his eyes, reaching for the ale casket.
“I feel fine father.” Torwynd spoke with strength and courage in his voice, trying to convince Toregg that he spoke the truth. Though Toregg was wiser and older, and could hear the slight slur in the young man’s voice.
“Perhaps you should give yourself a break, don’t go overboard with it.” Torwynd grunted and poured another ale.
“We are Freefolk! I may drink however much I please.” Toregg chuckled his … [view original content]
His inner thighs burned from the chafing between his legs and the saddle, their ride had been long and with little achievement. The first couple of days since Ser Ulrich Dayne and Charles Black’s death sentence had been the longest riding of Thomyr’s life, causing his hands to ache and his legs to burn. Now, with little recovery, the three men still rode on. Thomyr looked at his three travelling companions, their travels had been silent and unnerving. Ser Ulrich wore a bandage that covered his upper body, crossing over his shoulders and making it hard for him to breath or lift his arms above his head. Charles, however not injured, looked tired and filled with worry or sadness. Thomyr could not tell, he did not know how to feel about the situation. Am I still their prisoner? He wondered to himself.
“So what do you plan to do with me?” Thomyr asked, making an effort to hide the shakiness in his voice. The two men remained silent for a while, though the knight soon replied.
“You will accompany us to Hardhome, where we will board a ship that will take us to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Then you will be given the option to either take the black or be executed.” The knight spoke with bitter and cold words, his colleague grunted.
“Gods take you, Ulrich. The wildling has helped us in many situations we failed to handle, he deserves his freedom. Besides, at this rate if we even make it back to the Watch we will likely be executed.” Ser Ulrich shook his head irritably.
“The Lord Commander is wrong, we are innocent and this fucking wildling is the cause of all of this. If only that Old Giant hadn’t sent us back, bloody crone.” All was silent but the gentle sound of hoofs landing in the snow and mud below as their garrons took each step. Finally, Thomyr built the courage to speak up.
“You two are good men, better than the crows. Why don’t you throw away your vows and join us? We will give you the freedom you deserve.” Ser Ulrich pulled the reins on his garron to a halt. He turned and looked Thomyr in the eyes, his violet eyes looked as if they stared right through them.
“What purpose is there if we are just handed our freedom? What is there to fight for? To serve? There is no realm, there is no duty, there is no honour. Only the cold, the trees and the fucking wildlings.” Thomyr felt a wave of defeat rush through him as the knight turned, his pale skin reddened with anger. Charles sighed.
“We need to rest. Let’s hitch the horses and build a fire, I’ll go find wood.” The men all grunted in agreeance.
-
The sun had fallen behind the treeline, though the sky was still a moody dark grey with the cloud cover. The three men sat around their small campfire, which could easily be doused at any sign that they were being tracked by the Night’s Watch. Thomyr sat by the fire, a cooked rabbit leg skewered onto his steel dagger. Beside him sat Charles, who fed the fire with more wood. Ser Ulrich Dayen held his magnificent Dawn in his lap, running a whetstone over the sharp edges. The three men sat in silence, as they had since they fled their death sentence. Though this time, something was different. The men lifted their heads when they heard the sounds of clashing metal on metal. Ser Ulrich stood himself up, assuring himself a firm grip on Dawn. Charles doused the fire, unsheathing his longsword: Night. Thomyr remained seated, though had put his guard up. The sound of banging metal slowly got closer and closer, Ser Ulrich turned both Charles and Thomyr.
“Let’s go.” Without waiting for them, Ser Ulrich had already begun to advance towards the sounds of fighting. Thomyr and Charles hesitantly followed on.
The men quietly sneaked through the bushes, the fighting was drawing closer to them. Ser Ulrich lifted in his arm, his hand in a clenched fist. Charles stopped and Thomyr mimicked his actions. The two silently crept to his position once he gave the order, finally they got a better view of what they were seeing. An old crow fought with one of the Freefolk, Thomyr presumed he was a fellow Nightrunner as he wore footwear, though he could not be sure. Charles stared intently, shock appearing in his eyes.
“Seven hells, is that First Ranger Niclas?” Ser Ulrich stared with a glint of anger in his eye.
“Not anymore.” He adjusted his grip on Dawn, stood up and charged forward. Charles quickly joined his brother, Thomyr was left with little choice but to follow.
Ser Ulrich Dayne cracked down a blow on the old crow that would have likely shattered any sword to pieces, though the old man managed to deflect the blow and continue fighting with his opponent. Charles and Thomyr hanged back as Ser Ulrich and the wild looking man fought the crow. Thomyr noticed Ser Ulrich stagger over a rock or root in the snow, and the old crow took advantage of it. He swung his sword at Ser Ulrich’s head, causing him to quickly lift Dawn to his head to protect himself. In doing so, he lost his footing and fell into the snow. Charles instantly rushed to fill in Ser Ulrich’s place, though to Thomyr’s surprise the old crow motioned with his free hand and sent Charles Black flying back towards him. Thomyr managed to jump out of the way before his flying capturer flew passed him. Thomyr turned back to Charles, who had landed against an ironwood and been knocked unconscious. Thomyr picked up his longsword and charged into battle, Night raised above his head. He swung the sword down at the crow, though the crow parried and knocked him back with an unknown force. The three men backed away, ready to all charge simultaneously if need be. The magical crow was outnumbered, though somehow still held an advantage. The frozen spear landing in tree behind the old crow made everyone turn to see where it originated from.
Behind them stood a tall dark figure, wearing armour as black as the night sky. The amour covered the figure from head to toe, and the only distinguishing part were it’s eyes, it’s bright blue eyes. The dark knight held a longsword which appeared to be forged out of what looked to be ice, it glimmered in the remaining daylight. Thomyr slowly backed away, though his wildling ally charged at the black knight without fear. He swung one of his axes at the dark figure’s chest piece, though when it was deflected the axe he held shattered into ice particles. Looking mildly confused, he attacked a second time with his second axe, this time aiming at knight’s head. The dark knight caught the blow with his free hand, throwing him a few feet away. Now Ser Ulrich charged, as fearless as the previous. His tactic was different, he held his blade in a position like that of a jouster, preparing to lunge the blade through armour of his foe. The dark knight resembled something of a chuckle, though it sounded more like a screech mixed with a man’s voice. The dark figure swung their blade so that it parried the blow, though what should have shattered the sword only resulted in a loud clang. Thomyr turned around, the old crow had disappeared, a set of tracks leading off in the snow. He turned back to Ser Ulrich, who had deflected two blows from the frozen blade, though the third had sent Dawn flying. Thomyr charged towards the dark knight, screaming from the top of his lungs, and tackled the figure to the ground. He lunged his steel dagger into it’s arm, though received not even a flinch. The dark knight backhanded Thomyr, making him fly off to the side. Thomyr landed in the soft snow, yet was winded by the way he landed. As he struggled to take in a breath of air, and struggled harder to get up, he saw their wild-looking ally picking up the blade Dawn and escaping the scene. Thomyr managed to stand up grabbing Night as he did. He turned, seeing the dark knight loom over Ser Ulrich. Thomyr managed to get in a solid breath, then ran with all the power he had left in him and smashed Night into the back of the dark knight’s head. He had succeeded in diverting it’s attention. Thomyr looked to Ser Ulrich.
“Go! Get Charles out of here! I’ll hold him off.” The knight hesitated but nodded, making his way over to Charles Black.
Thomyr passed Night from one hand to another as his opponent approached him, he knew he could not parry or he would lose his weapon. As the dark figure walked towards Thomyr with it’s frozen blade above it’s head ready to strike down, Thomyr rolled out of the way and sliced through the gap in the armour to where the shin was. Thomyr turned and saw Ser Ulrich had thrown Charles over his shoulder and was slowly getting away. The dark knight turned back to Thomyr and swung at him again, this time trying to remove his head. Thomyr dropped to his belly, dodging the blow, yet more followed him while he was on the ground. Thomyr rolled out of the way of one lunge, and only manage to dodge another by luck. Thomyr got back up, though now the dark figure had started swinging randomly, making it impossible to dodge. Thomyr lunged Night forward, aiming for his opponent’s heart, though instead it had jumped out of the way and caught the blade under it’s arm. Thomyr let go of the blade and backed away, the dark knight observed the black steel, then flung it away. The blade landed sharp end first into the snow, fifty feet away from Thomyr. Thomyr turned, looking for options, though before he knew it a cold firm grip had tightened itself around his neck, lifting him in the air. Thomyr desperately hit at the armoured sleeve, trying to release himself though no good came out of it. The dark figure leaned in close, the cold frosty air evaporated from it’s helmet and into Thomyr’s face.
“You have made a mistake on this day, protecting the one we call ‘The Stranger.’ Your life will end by the hand of the Icy Knight.” The mysterious being said, it’s voice deep and croaky.
Thomyr stared in the icy blue eyes of his opponent and spat on it’s helmet. The frozen blade piercing his heart felt like the cool touch of his first winter. Darkness started clouding his vision, until there was only the Icy Knight.
Alright, this Icy Knight is by far the most creepy thing that happened in the story so far, even more creepy than the early Stranger parts. Speaking about, it seems there is some evil vs evil action going on her, since the Icy Knight seems to be out for the Stranger as well. From his skills, it appears he is a White Walker, which means that there is not much that can actually even hurt him. If I understood that correctly, then Movar coincidentally just stole one of the only weapons that can actually take this Icy Knight down. By the way, the sheer audacity he showed while doing so amazed me. I mean, we have one White Walker, one being of even stranger nature possessing the body of a Night's Watchman, two more Night's Watchmen and one captured wildling and Movar still had the guts to steal the nicest sword both sides of the wall before running off. For some reason, that greatly amused me XD I wonder where he ran off to and I hope he's not going to further hunt the Stranger down. This part showed that even while he's wounded, the Stranger is still a formidable foe and a single man is likely unable to defeat him. And then we got Thomyr. Damn hell, I did not expect him to die at the hands of a freaking White Walker. At the same time though, his death was undeniably epic.
Thomyr
His inner thighs burned from the chafing between his legs and the saddle, their ride had been long and with little achievement. Th… moree first couple of days since Ser Ulrich Dayne and Charles Black’s death sentence had been the longest riding of Thomyr’s life, causing his hands to ache and his legs to burn. Now, with little recovery, the three men still rode on. Thomyr looked at his three travelling companions, their travels had been silent and unnerving. Ser Ulrich wore a bandage that covered his upper body, crossing over his shoulders and making it hard for him to breath or lift his arms above his head. Charles, however not injured, looked tired and filled with worry or sadness. Thomyr could not tell, he did not know how to feel about the situation. Am I still their prisoner? He wondered to himself.
“So what do you plan to do with me?” Thomyr asked, making an effort to hide the shakiness in his voice. The two men remained silent fo… [view original content]
Haha, well first off I'm really happy you enjoyed the part. I think I'll try and make a few things clearer in this part as it may be sketchy for a lot of the story, so I'll start off with the Icy Knight. Now, the submitter of this interesting character claimed that he got his inspiration from The Stranger and Coldhands, and claims that this character is dead yet still alive. Aye, I agree it does sound like a White Walker, but information I know which I won't reveal yet proves otherwise. Though you are right, the Icy Knight is definitely hunting down The Stranger, and The Stranger knows this.
As for Movar, all I can say is that he is not pursuing The Stranger now that he's seen that kind of power. It's likely that he'll head back to the village or search for Freya. As for Dawn, well let's say we should be seeing Dawn all around Westeros if the story goes exactly the way it is planned, and let's face it, interactive stories never do xD.
Alright, this Icy Knight is by far the most creepy thing that happened in the story so far, even more creepy than the early Stranger parts. … moreSpeaking about, it seems there is some evil vs evil action going on her, since the Icy Knight seems to be out for the Stranger as well. From his skills, it appears he is a White Walker, which means that there is not much that can actually even hurt him. If I understood that correctly, then Movar coincidentally just stole one of the only weapons that can actually take this Icy Knight down. By the way, the sheer audacity he showed while doing so amazed me. I mean, we have one White Walker, one being of even stranger nature possessing the body of a Night's Watchman, two more Night's Watchmen and one captured wildling and Movar still had the guts to steal the nicest sword both sides of the wall before running off. For some reason, that greatly amused me XD I wonder where he ran off to and I hope he's not goin… [view original content]
A cool breeze rushed through the Maester’s Tower, sending shivers down Todd’s spine. He had decided to assist the maester’s new scribe in his duties around the tower, rather than accompanying the maester down to the courtyard to meet with First Builder Errok. The two had worked silently for the past couple of hours, organising letters to certain ravens. The majority were being sent to the neighbouring castles along the Wall, though some travelled to areas in the North such as Darkhold and Winterfell, and some as far south as Oldtown. Todd felt a pang of jealousy and bitterness crawl over him, this life had been snatched away from him because of the wildling incursion. Fucking wildlings. Todd thought to himself, feeling his hands tremble and shake with anger or regret. And Lartel, gods I hope he is okay. Apparently Todd’s anxiety had been noticed by Dann, as a soft hand rested on Todd’s shoulder. Todd turned and looked at Dann in those oddly beautiful light brown eyes. Dann seemingly instantly released Todd’s shoulder and turned away, embarrassed or ashamed.
“I’m sorry Todd, I didn’t mean to-” The boy stumbled with his words. “I- It’s hard to find brothers to trust, and I don’t like Felix…” Todd laughed at the Dann’s admitation.
“Well, it’ll be you that has to work with him for the rest of your life.” Dann nodded worryingly.
“I know, but I don’t think I can trust him. He doesn’t seem like someone who exactly knows how to keep words from pouring out of his mouth.” Todd smirked, mildly impressed that someone agreed with him. “And I’m sorry that I replaced you. If I had known, I would have denied the maester.” Todd shrugged it off, though really it meant a lot more than just that.
“Doesn’t matter now, I’ll likely end up cleaving meat or digging latrine pits. Whatever the Watch requires.” Dann frowned, clearly feeling guilty for Todd’s demise. Todd sighed, finishing assigning the letters to the specific ravens. “What’s next?” Dann pulled out his little checklist and shook his head.
“Nothing, we’re done.” Todd nodded, walking over to the bench by the open window and sitting down. A couple of ravens pecked at the seeds and straw that the maester had left out, Todd watched with boredom.
To his surprise, Dann Flint sat next to him and stared out the window. His eyes glinted in the rare sunlight, which soon was obscured by clouds.
“Did you ever see much of the North, before you came to the Wall?” Todd shrugged, resting his head against the palm of his right hand against the window sill, his left hand rested on his left thigh.
“Only the bare stretches of lands as we walked from the Riverlands to the Wall.” Dann nodded, though still seemed interested.
“Let me show you where the landmarks of the North are.” Dann leaned in closer to Todd and pointed in a direction. Off to the distance, where Dann pointed, Todd could see a wood.
“That large stretch of forest is the Wolfswood, the home of the Glovers and their bannermen. Beyond that is the Stony Shore, home to the Oldstark’s and Fisher’s, and the Rills, home to the Ryswell’s.” He pointed off to another direction.
“The next castle from here south is the Last Hearth, home to the Umbers. Then Winterfell, home to the Kings of Winter, the Starks.” Todd may not have known much about the North, though he knew of the Starks.
As Dann leaned in closer, supposedly to point to yet another direction, Todd felt the soft warm touch of another hand landing on his left. Unsure how to feel about the situation, Todd pulled back his hand and retreated from Dann. Noticing this, Dann stood and backed away, red flushing through his face.
“I’m sorry, I-” The sound of the reinforced wooden door being unlocked by the Maester’s rattling keys sent a shock through Todd’s body.
The two quickly rushed to the entrance of the door, where they stood with their backs straight to greet the maester. As the door gently opened, Felix helped Maester Endrew into the room. Todd and Dann bowed their head in respect. Dann got to the door, though to his surprise there was still another man entering the room. Embarrassed, Dann opened the door again and beckoned to come in, giving his apologies as he did. The man entered and nodded in thanks, he turned to Todd and eyed him up and down.
“So you’re Todd Rivers?” Todd nodded in reply. “Alright, come sit down with me. I have a few questions to ask you.” Todd nodded once again, turning to Dann who winked at him then shut the door.
Todd followed the man to the soft leather couch that surrounded a small coffee bench in the centre. He sat down in the single chair, and beckoned for Todd to sit on the couch. The Maester sat by the man’s side, and Felix stood by the Maester’s. The Maester cleared his throat.
“Todd, this is Harrow Glover. He is the Lord Steward of the Night’s Watch and is in search for a squire. I have suggested you to fill in this position.” Todd felt his heart start to beat faster. Squire to the Lord Steward? He could not tell if he was angry or impressed and grateful, perhaps a bit of both.
Todd inspected the man. He stood tall and proud, his hair was neck length with light curls, and dark brown with grey strands. His beard was trimmed and well-kept, showing a finer side of him that the black rags so easily sapped out of the men at the Wall. His eyes resembled a dull dark brown, and perhaps a sadness which he tried to hide. Todd snapped back to his surroundings and bowed his head in respect.
“It is a honour to meet you, Lord Harrow. I am grateful that you have considered me for such a position.” Todd could not believe the words that were coming out of his mouth. The Glover chuckled.
“Don’t get too cocky, I have a couple of questions I’d like to ask. When you’re ready.” Todd nodded in approval. “I’d like to know a bit about you, why are you here?” Todd felt a trickle of sweat run down his temple.
“I was convicted for the murder of the heir of House Tully.” Lord Harrow nodded.
“And did you commit the crime?” Todd looked Harrow in the eyes, replying with a cold and serious tone.
“No.” Harrow nodded to himself once again.
“Who are you the bastard of?” Now Todd felt uncomfortable, his past was not something he had shared often. He wondered if he was even permitted to share it.
“I.” Todd turned and looked at Felix and Dann, then back to Harrow. He looked at the two boys, the maester spoke in his place.
“Felix, Dann, wait outside. We will bring you back in once the interview is over.” The two boys nodded and left the room. Once the door shut behind them, Lord Harrow indicated for Todd to continue with a motion from his hand. Todd sighed.
“I am the bastard son of King Bernarr the second, King of the Trident, Rivers and Hills.” Lord Harrow’s eyes widened, though he got a grip on himself.
“You aren’t here for suspected murder, are you?” Todd hesitated, but later shook his head. Harrow sighed and stood up, turning to Maester Endrew.
“He’ll do the job.” Todd was about as shocked as he was to hear the words as he was grateful. The Maester nodded in agreement, Lord Harrow turned to Todd and smiled. “Come with me, we’ll talk along the way.” Todd nodded and stood, though before he left he approached the maester and showed his thanks, the maester nodded in approval.
Todd followed Lord Harrow Glover out of the Maester’s quarters, passing the wide eyes Felix and the grinning Dann. Dann nudged Todd in the arm, making his grin contagious before entering the quarters.
The two descended down the Maester’s Tower, through the library and past the Lord Commander’s vacant quarters. When they walked passed the Lord Steward’s quarters, Todd found himself mildly confused.
“Lord Glover?” He stopped and turned.
“Please, just call me Harrow.” Todd nodded.
“Harrow, where are we going?” Harrow continued walking, out the open door onto the balcony which overlooked the courtyard. He descended the wooden stairs, and led Todd into the stables.
“I want to introduce you to someone.” Harrow released the wooden plank from the doors and swung them open.
The two entered and walked down the long dirty hall, passing the garrons that were often sent beyond the Wall. When they reached the far end of the stable, Harrow stopped and clicked his fingers, a strong pure white destrier walked forward and hung its head through the gate. Harrow turned to Todd, who was bewildered.
“I’d like to introduce you to Winter, your steed. Now, I presume that you being the bastard of the King of the Rivers and Hills has given you experience on riding a horse?” Todd nodded in reply. “Good, so you can saddle a horse. Let me introduce you to Marian.” Todd was led over to the neighbouring pen, where a dark brown destrier stood. Todd’s jaw dropped.
“She’s beautiful.” He complimented, and Harrow chuckled.
“Aye, that she is. Now go saddle her, I have to ride to the Shadow Tower to do some business. You’re welcome to come along, you may find the experience useful. Otherwise you may stay behind and deal to the matters in my quarters, there are some interesting letters that you will need to read.” Todd grabbed Harrow’s saddle and reins, though stopped before entering.
He did agree that accompanying Lord Harrow would be good experience, and to say the very least it would be interesting. Though perhaps it would be better to start working, and also talk with Dann more.
[Accompany Harrow to the Shadow Tower] [Stay at the Nightfort]
Todd
A cool breeze rushed through the Maester’s Tower, sending shivers down Todd’s spine. He had decided to assist the maester’s new scri… morebe in his duties around the tower, rather than accompanying the maester down to the courtyard to meet with First Builder Errok. The two had worked silently for the past couple of hours, organising letters to certain ravens. The majority were being sent to the neighbouring castles along the Wall, though some travelled to areas in the North such as Darkhold and Winterfell, and some as far south as Oldtown. Todd felt a pang of jealousy and bitterness crawl over him, this life had been snatched away from him because of the wildling incursion. Fucking wildlings. Todd thought to himself, feeling his hands tremble and shake with anger or regret. And Lartel, gods I hope he is okay. Apparently Todd’s anxiety had been noticed by Dann, as a soft hand rested on Todd’s shoulder. Todd turned and looked at Dann in those… [view original content]
Freya
The soft crunching of ice and snow after every footstep was a gentle reminder to her when tracking down prey. In this instance, her… more prey was a lost crow somewhere in the woods. Freya had followed the muddy brown tracks left in the snow until the snowfall had covered her tracks. Since then her efforts had been slow and more precise, taking extreme measures to make sure she was on track. Freya had stopped in a frozen opening, where the trees had parted ways to create a small meadow. Flowers had closed their petals and were lightly capped in snow, yet Freya could still see the variety of colours that dotted the small clearing of land. Freya rested herself against the trunk of an oak tree, mildly regretting taking on this expedition. If the crow wants to leave, then he can leave. I shouldn’t have to act like his brothers and hunt him down for desertion. Freya sighed, resting her head against the tree trunk. She pulled her white fur glove… [view original content]
If it's still open, I'd choose [Help Amathe]. That'll set the voting to 2:2, so as far as I'm concerned It will leave this choice up to you, what I think should be more reliable.
Hey guys, I'm just going to leave this part open for a little while as I'm hoping some others may vote. For the meanwhile, I'm releasing two… more more parts. One is a Freya part, and the other is a new character: Ferraro Sand. Now you'll have to forgive me for the Ferraro part being rather boring, it was more about fleshing his character and another, and even then I still think I haven't completed that. Anyway, his next part should hopefully be a little more interesting.
Damn, that part was soo intense! The Icy Knight versus Stranger storyline looks promising from the very beggining. I am surprised that the new character was submitten by reader, he seems so well-written that I thought he came from you. Also that whole plot with 2 crows-mutineers and a dead-undead wildling (I don't believe he just died and that's all). If Thomyr dies, there's question what will happen to Ulrich and Charles (btw. not sure if it's on purpose or not, but you set these two very nicely - old, experienced crow with clear rules and young, reckless recruit, even their swords names have opposite meanings - Dawn and Night ^^) - will they return to The Wall? Will they join the wildlings? So many questions, so little answers Okay, that's all, sorry again for my absence, will catch-up with story soon and return to voting ^^
Haha, well first off I'm really happy you enjoyed the part. I think I'll try and make a few things clearer in this part as it may be sketchy… more for a lot of the story, so I'll start off with the Icy Knight. Now, the submitter of this interesting character claimed that he got his inspiration from The Stranger and Coldhands, and claims that this character is dead yet still alive. Aye, I agree it does sound like a White Walker, but information I know which I won't reveal yet proves otherwise. Though you are right, the Icy Knight is definitely hunting down The Stranger, and The Stranger knows this.
As for Movar, all I can say is that he is not pursuing The Stranger now that he's seen that kind of power. It's likely that he'll head back to the village or search for Freya. As for Dawn, well let's say we should be seeing Dawn all around Westeros if the story goes exactly the way it is planned, and let's face it, interactive stories never do xD.
Todd
A cool breeze rushed through the Maester’s Tower, sending shivers down Todd’s spine. He had decided to assist the maester’s new scri… morebe in his duties around the tower, rather than accompanying the maester down to the courtyard to meet with First Builder Errok. The two had worked silently for the past couple of hours, organising letters to certain ravens. The majority were being sent to the neighbouring castles along the Wall, though some travelled to areas in the North such as Darkhold and Winterfell, and some as far south as Oldtown. Todd felt a pang of jealousy and bitterness crawl over him, this life had been snatched away from him because of the wildling incursion. Fucking wildlings. Todd thought to himself, feeling his hands tremble and shake with anger or regret. And Lartel, gods I hope he is okay. Apparently Todd’s anxiety had been noticed by Dann, as a soft hand rested on Todd’s shoulder. Todd turned and looked at Dann in those… [view original content]
Todd
A cool breeze rushed through the Maester’s Tower, sending shivers down Todd’s spine. He had decided to assist the maester’s new scri… morebe in his duties around the tower, rather than accompanying the maester down to the courtyard to meet with First Builder Errok. The two had worked silently for the past couple of hours, organising letters to certain ravens. The majority were being sent to the neighbouring castles along the Wall, though some travelled to areas in the North such as Darkhold and Winterfell, and some as far south as Oldtown. Todd felt a pang of jealousy and bitterness crawl over him, this life had been snatched away from him because of the wildling incursion. Fucking wildlings. Todd thought to himself, feeling his hands tremble and shake with anger or regret. And Lartel, gods I hope he is okay. Apparently Todd’s anxiety had been noticed by Dann, as a soft hand rested on Todd’s shoulder. Todd turned and looked at Dann in those… [view original content]
I was almost choosing the other option, since these letters sparked my curiosity for sure. I mean, what if we miss out on important information by not reading them? That said, it sounds a bit unlikely. Going with Harrow sounds interesting as well and considering that he just became the man's squire, Todd should spend more time with him. And since Harrow already gave him a horse, I would see it as rude not to accompany him.
Todd
A cool breeze rushed through the Maester’s Tower, sending shivers down Todd’s spine. He had decided to assist the maester’s new scri… morebe in his duties around the tower, rather than accompanying the maester down to the courtyard to meet with First Builder Errok. The two had worked silently for the past couple of hours, organising letters to certain ravens. The majority were being sent to the neighbouring castles along the Wall, though some travelled to areas in the North such as Darkhold and Winterfell, and some as far south as Oldtown. Todd felt a pang of jealousy and bitterness crawl over him, this life had been snatched away from him because of the wildling incursion. Fucking wildlings. Todd thought to himself, feeling his hands tremble and shake with anger or regret. And Lartel, gods I hope he is okay. Apparently Todd’s anxiety had been noticed by Dann, as a soft hand rested on Todd’s shoulder. Todd turned and looked at Dann in those… [view original content]
I'm so glad to see you're back! I have missed your comments on the story, you were one of the few who actually left their opinions which is one of my favourite parts when it comes to writing. You know, it's interesting that you brought the opposites theory up about Ulrich and Charles, because you are right when they are kind of opposite when it comes to personality and even their sword names! XD. It will be interesting how they decide to handle things now that their wildling prisoner sacrificed himself so that they could perhaps live, and how their views may change. At any thought, I'd say their original plans to go to Hardhome then Eastwatch have been squandered, Charles was hesitant at first and Ulrich is going to want to get Dawn back.
Damn, that part was soo intense! The Icy Knight versus Stranger storyline looks promising from the very beggining. I am surprised that the n… moreew character was submitten by reader, he seems so well-written that I thought he came from you. Also that whole plot with 2 crows-mutineers and a dead-undead wildling (I don't believe he just died and that's all). If Thomyr dies, there's question what will happen to Ulrich and Charles (btw. not sure if it's on purpose or not, but you set these two very nicely - old, experienced crow with clear rules and young, reckless recruit, even their swords names have opposite meanings - Dawn and Night ^^) - will they return to The Wall? Will they join the wildlings? So many questions, so little answers Okay, that's all, sorry again for my absence, will catch-up with story soon and return to voting ^^
Darrick Cross sat stumped over the counter, a tankard of mead in his hand. His golden reflection stared back at him as he looked into his tankard. Darrick was a young man, twenty-two, and his looks certainly made him admirable. His hair was short and scruffy, with a dark brown shade, and his beard was much the same. However his eyes showed a deep set blue that had attracted many women to him before. His only falter was a scar that ran down his right eye, which was the reason why he was drinking in a bar in the Reach, rather than fighting with his brother in Dorne. He sighed and downed the entire tankard, hoping that it would drown his sorrows and shame with it. Instead, it only built up his urge to urinate. Disappointed with the outcome, Darrick helped himself up and located the back door. As he started to head there he heard the sounds of sniggering men and a harassed woman. He turned, mildly curious, and saw a beautiful woman in an elegant green dress being surrounded two large men. The two exchanged eye contact once, before his view was obscured by one of the men standing in front of her. Darrick fingered the pommel of his curved blade. Perhaps you should just talk to them. Darrick thought to himself, then allowed himself a light chuckle. Sure, thanks Wayne. The thought of his brother saddened him, shamed him. He shook his head and walked over to the two bulky men, tapping one on the shoulder. The brute of a man turned, his face disfigured and full of anger.
“The fuck you want, little man?” Darrick moved his hands to his hips. He peered around the man to check on the girl, whose arm was held in a tight grip but the other man who had now turned to see what all the fuss was about.
“You know, I was going to ask but I can’t say I’ve ever been much a man for words.” The man with the disfigured face showed an expression which Darrick presume was confused, of course that was before Darrick’s fist landed in the man’s temple.
The brute fell to the ground in one blow, landing on the wooden planks with a thud. His counterpart had now released the woman and approached Darrick with clenched fists. He swung an overarm throw at Darrick, who easily dodged the punch and spun around him. Spotting a weakness, Darrick put all of his power into a kick which he planted into the man’s groin. A deep yelp that turned into a scream of agony filled the room. Darrick grabbed a tankard off of the counter, finished the ale that was left and smashed the man’s head with the tankard. Another solid thud filled the room as the unconscious body landed on the ground. Darrick turned and looked back to the beautiful woman in the green dress. She was young, perhaps eighteen, which did not bother Darrick in the slightest. Her hair was a light brown and wavy, and her eyes hazel with a tinge of green. Darrick considered asking the girl for her name, and as he was about to he felt hands grabbing his arms and shoulders. Before he knew it he was face first in the mud outside of the Happy Maester in Oldtown. Darrick helped himself up, the soft drops of rain coursing through his hair and leaving moisture in it’s tracks. Standing up and brushing cleaning himself from the mud as best as he could, he turned to the doorway to see the beautiful woman standing there. He smiled to her, though she remained staring at something else behind him. Darrick turned to find two soldiers in plated steel armour with engraved hands on their chests, and a man in the centre with golden gilding and green plated armour. Before Darrick could say a word, a strong and singular blow hit him in the side of the head, he too found his place back in the mud.
-
Darrick awoke, his head throbbing and his arms tied behind his back, in a dark room with stone walls and one dim lantern. Darrick looked around the small enclosed room, he was alone. He tried pulling his hands free, though the rope bindings were so tight that he barely had movement of his wrists. Darrick sat in the wooden chair for a few minutes before he heard the unlocking of the door behind him, when light flooded the room he squinted his eyes and looked away. Slowly his eyes adjusted to the light, and now in front of him sat the same gilded knight as he had seen before being concussed. His hair was light brown with short curls, his beard was finely trimmed and his eyes a hazel colour. It did not take Darrick long to start thinking that this man was somehow related to the girl he saved in the bar earlier. Behind Darrick stood the same two soldiers, hands by their sides, one resting on the pommel of their swords. Darrick took in a deep breath, calming himself.
“Darrick Cross, twenty-two years of age. Brother to Wayne Cross, leader of the Cross Company Sellswords.” Darrick raised an eyebrow and smiled.
“Been stalking me have you?” Darrick received a backhand from one of the soldiers steel plated gauntlets. The throbbing started to build in his right cheek.
“You will speak when I permit it. Understood?” Darrick nodded. “I am curious why you left your brother in the war effort had Dorne, I imagine he needed your help dearly?” Darrick shrugged.
“I guess I didn’t like the heat.” Darrick could see the disapprovement in the man’s eyes.
“Do you know who I am?” Darrick shrugged again, his hands starting to throb.
“I know that these bindings are going to take off my hands if you don’t cut them loose.” The man stared at Darrick for a while, then nodded to his men. The knight on his left unsheathed a dagger and cut the bindings, Darrick pulled his hands in close and rubbed where the rope had chafed the skin.
“I am Prince Gilden Gardener, son of King Garth the sixth and heir to Highgarden. We are in the process of extending our kingdom, and we have heard the skills of the great Cross brothers. What are the chances we could hire your sellsword company?” Darrick chuckled.
“Minimal, your grace.” Darrick’s tone could be hinted with a touch of mockery, though to his surprise he was not punished for it.
“Then the offer goes to you. My sister, Rose, informed me of how you saved her in the Happy Maester last night. She is to ride to Casterly Rock soon to marry King Gerold Lannister’s son and heir, if you were to escort her you would be rewarded with gold and land, perhaps even knighthood. Of course, you also have the option to pull your sellsword company out of Dorne and fight for us. The choice is yours, but you won’t leave this room until you make your decision.” Darrick sighed, thinking of his options.
The one beautiful woman whom he had saved was now being married off to a highborn in the richest province of Westeros. All Darrick needed to do was escort her to the Rock, then be rewarded with great riches. Is it really that simple? Darrick thought about his chances of bringing the sellsword company back to the Reach. He admitted that the only way he could achieve that would be having to kill his brother and take ownership of the company. He grunted, knowing he needed to make a decision.
“Why does she need an escort? The princess I mean.” Prince Gilden laughed.
“You truly have been living under a rock. This marriage will expand all over Westeros. We Gardeners will take over the Stormlands, and the Lannisters will take the Rivers and Hills. Currently the slimy fish are in the hills that surround the Rock, and that poses a threat if they were to capture our princess.” Darrick nodded, now having a stronger understanding of the situation.
[Escort Rose to Casterly Rock] [Travel to Dorne to take leadership of Cross Company Sellswords]
Alright, I'll close this one-sided vote. Todd will choose to accompany Harrow to the Shadow Tower.
This was an interesting decision as it was really deciding whether Todd wanted a strong relation with Harrow or not. Of course, making this choice the two will get to know each other and perhaps Todd will learn a thing or two.
Todd
A cool breeze rushed through the Maester’s Tower, sending shivers down Todd’s spine. He had decided to assist the maester’s new scri… morebe in his duties around the tower, rather than accompanying the maester down to the courtyard to meet with First Builder Errok. The two had worked silently for the past couple of hours, organising letters to certain ravens. The majority were being sent to the neighbouring castles along the Wall, though some travelled to areas in the North such as Darkhold and Winterfell, and some as far south as Oldtown. Todd felt a pang of jealousy and bitterness crawl over him, this life had been snatched away from him because of the wildling incursion. Fucking wildlings. Todd thought to himself, feeling his hands tremble and shake with anger or regret. And Lartel, gods I hope he is okay. Apparently Todd’s anxiety had been noticed by Dann, as a soft hand rested on Todd’s shoulder. Todd turned and looked at Dann in those… [view original content]
Comments
Welcome back! Well, sort of
I'm greatly looking forward for the next part and I'm happy this story is back. I know, the break hasn't been that long, but I still missed it. Also, Stranger PoV sounds interesting. That guy is still the biggest mystery in the entire story for me and his parts have been very interesting.
By the way, one thing I meant to ask for a while now: Do you know when/if The Invasion is going to be back? I mean, I greatly enjoy the Northern Chill, but for some reason I always liked the Invasion a tiny bit more. Both are amazing stories, but I always felt a bit more connected to the characters in the Invasion.
The Stranger
The tall sentinels and ironwoods kept the forest dark and as haunting as ever. The Stranger knelt behind the thick roots of an oak tree and stared at the wildling village. Behind him, a small garrison of crows stared at the village with a menacing gaze. The Stranger could feel the heavy breathing of some of the brothers, as loud as a howling wind though no trees swayed and creaked. The Stranger stood and turned to the black brothers, who were all waiting for him to unravel his plan. The Stranger eyed each of the pathetic ‘honourable’ men wearing black furs. The Stranger could tell who the honourable men and the bad men were without needing to look at them, a sense he had been gifted with. The Stranger sighed, looking back to the wildling village which he knew were not the perpetrators of the Night’s Watch ambush.
“And you’re sure that these are the wildlings who ambushed you?” Merryl, a young and likely the most honourable man among them, nodded.
“Our hunter, Xanner, has been tracking them down for the past week. We’re positive these are the wildlings.” The Stranger turned his attention to Xanner.
He was a young man, perhaps seventeen, who had wavy orange hair and a light stubble growing. A longbow was slung over his back, he stood with a few other rangers who appeared to be archers. Out of every black brother here, Xanner was the only steward who had joined the fight after the rest fled.
“You sure you weren’t just chasing rat’s footprints?” Some rangers sniggered, the ‘bad men’ of the garrison. Their leader, a sadistic young man who does not hesitate to harm those he does not like.
“Bael Rangeld.” The Stranger said with a cheerful voice, walking towards the bulky sniggering ranger. “What’s your idea for an attack on these wildlings?” Bael looked The Stranger in his deep blue eyes, confused for a moment, though crossed his arms and spat.
“Torch ‘em. Slaughter any fuckers who managed to get out.” His two goons, named by Bael as ‘Shithead and Fuckface,’ nodded in agreement.
Their fourth addition, a bald man with a cold and grimace look, grinned. The man did not speak often, though The Stranger knew his name and his story. Rowan. The Stranger turned to Merryl and Xanner, shrugging his shoulders.
“Very well, that is what we’ll do. From what I’ve seen, I’d say that the long mudbrick hall is a mead hall of a sort, which won’t burn down easily. Xanner, you and your boys will set yourself up in the trees and torch the thatch huts and skin tents.” Xanner nodded, the other rangers seemed a little hesitant but did not argue.
The Stranger looked at the remaining rangers, two small and skinny men stood at the back. One had short light blonde hair with curls, the other had short mousy brown hair. He beckoned for them to come forward, to which they did.
“What are your names?” The blonde replied first with courage that borderlined onto cockiness.
“Alix, ser.” The Stranger nodded, then looked to the other.
“Daved, ser.” The Stranger could tell the man was not confident with his words, and perhaps not as confident as he could be with his sword.
“Well, you two will accompany me to the end of the mudbrick building to cut down any stragglers that may escape from the back.” He turned to Merryl’s group of rangers and Bael’s group. Given the chance, these two would likely tear each other apart if set loose. “As for you lot, you will all attack with brute force, avenging the lives of the brothers they have killed. Let there be no survivors.” A small cheer and rise of blades filled the quietness. Merryl grabbed The Stranger’s shoulder, making him feel mildly uncomfortable.
“Niclas, what will your signal be to attack?” The Stranger looked at the sentinel horn hanging from Merryl’s belt. He unhitched it from the young man’s belt tied it onto his own.
“One blast.” Merryl nodded, then turned to the other brothers.
“Alright brothers, chose a building and wait for the signal.” The archers had already left to take their positions
-
The Stranger and his two companions sneaked through the tents, using the cover of the shadows, to get to the back of mead hall. Sure enough, The Stranger had been right, the back of the building had a single thatch door. The Stranger looked down at his sliced hands, clenching them had been difficult, fighting would be harder. The Stranger signalled for Daved to put his ear to the door and listen, as he did so Alix took position as look out. Now’s my chance. The Stranger unsheathed his sword, his other hand resting on the sentinel horn. He creeped behind Alix, adjusting the grip of his blade. He clenched and released his left hand a couple of times, then quickly covered Alix’s mouth and slit his throat with Frostbite. The sound of muffled screams died out after a couple of seconds. He gently rested the body down and cleaned his blade on the black fur, sheathing the blade again. He turned and silently walked over to Daved, whose ear still remained on the door.
“What do you hear?” The Stranger whispered, Daved took his ear away from the door and looked at the hinges.
“Well, from what I can gather, there are people in-” The Stranger had secured his right arm around Daved’s neck, and pushed his head forward - tighter into the grip - with his left arm. Daved tried to free himself, desperately trying to hit his opposer.
“Easy now, it will all be over soon. That’s right, rest now.” The struggling soon stopped, and as the Stranger felt the body go limp, he dropped the lifeless corpse into the mud.
The Stranger sat down and took in a breather, examining the two bodies. Well, that went easier than I thought. Poor chaps. He unhitched the sentinel horn from his belt, staring at the engravings along the sides. He knew these wildlings were innocent, though them fighting with the Watch would be the perfect distraction for The Stranger to get make a quick escape. They’ll die if I do and die if I don’t, all in a matter of time. Just as the Watch will come after me, all in a matter of time. If I don’t complete my mission, all mankind will suffer. The Stranger put his lips to the mouthpiece, though out of the corner of his eye he saw a boy. The Stranger stood and looked at the boy, who seemed confused and afraid. These wildlings could get an advantage if they knew they were being attacked.
[Sound the horn and escape] [Scare the boy, making him inform the wildlings they’re under attack]
I guess the stories kind of fall hand in hand, when I grow sick of The Northern Chill I pick up The Invasion and vice versa. I'm currently really into The Northern Chill, and am starting to miss The Invasion (and really disappointed that I never finished the chapter before I took vacation from it), I plan to finish this chapter and then go back to The Invasion. At this rate though, it looks like this chapter is going to be pretty long as I've gotta get a lot in. At any rate, the next part is out and slowly but surely is starting to progress. I might get a start on the next one sometime today, but I felt like one needed to come out now-ish :P
[Sound the horn and escape]
[Sound the horn and escape]
[Sound the horn and escape] Great part! Making choices with character like The Stranger feels pretty weird
[Scare the boy, making him inform the wildlings they’re under attack]
It appears my vote won't make much of a difference, but I am very much on the wildlings' side here. There's definitely no need to massacre their village.
Great part! The Stranger is definitely an interesting character. I'm curious how this mission of his is going to continue.
Ah, I see
These are good news. I'm glad the Invasion is not cancelled. And I definitely understand when a chapter needs super long to finish XD I'm looking forward for what's going to happen in both stories.
Alright, well I'll close this vote now so I don't forget. And I don't think it's going to alter that much... So The Stranger will sound the horn and escape.
This choice really didn't affect The Stranger that much, more or less it just chose what was going to happen for the wildling village. Anyway, next part will be Toregg.
Toregg
The long hall was dim but filled with life, laughter and chatter could be heard from miles away. Grognak Ironside had invited everyone into the mead hall to feast before they set off for their raid south of the Wall. Toregg sat with his son, Torwynd, at a bench with a horn of ale. It had been an interesting experience for both Torwynd, and Toregg, after downing his first ale. The young man seemed to be cheery, though off-guard and certainly tired.
“How do you feel boy?” Torwynd rolled his eyes, reaching for the ale casket.
“I feel fine father.” Torwynd spoke with strength and courage in his voice, trying to convince Toregg that he spoke the truth. Though Toregg was wiser and older, and could hear the slight slur in the young man’s voice.
“Perhaps you should give yourself a break, don’t go overboard with it.” Torwynd grunted and poured another ale.
“We are Freefolk! I may drink however much I please.” Toregg chuckled his loud boomy chuckle.
“Aye, but don’t expect me to carry you up the Wall tomorrow. You’ll have to do the heavy lifting yourself boy.” Torwynd grinned and took another sip from his horn.
Toregg downed his fourth, knowing he’d had enough he placed it down and took a leg of lamb off the wooden platter in the centre of the table. He bit into the mead, the soft tenderness fell apart in his mouth. The juices oozed down his tongue and into his throat, quickly followed by the chewed meat. Toregg looked at the casket again and submissively poured another. To wash down the meat.
As Toregg ate, he thought about what it would be like to go south of the Wall again. The last time he had seen anything south of the Wall was when he was still a brother of the Night’s Watch, and that was many years ago. He wondered if he’d prefer it back in the south than in the frozen north, though after a long thought he concluded that he lived a better life away from the politics in the North. Toregg turned his attention to his son, who had rested his head on the table.Toregg chuckled and ruffled the boy’s hair, as if to say, ‘I told you so.’ When the boy did not retaliate, he sighed and realised he’d fallen into a slumber. I guess I was done with this party anyway. Toregg stood up, downing his final ale and placing it down on the bench. As he was about to help his son out of the hall, he heard in name being called. He turned to the direction he heard it, and saw his beautiful wife approaching him.
“Ygwyn.” He whispered quietly to himself, a smile widening on his face. She grinned in return.
“I see the boy has had his first drink.” She said, looking at the passed out young man who rested on the bench. Toregg nodded.
“Aye, I was planning on taking him back to his tent and seeing you.” Ygwyn placed her hand on Toregg’s cheek, running it down and stroking his beard.
“I wouldn’t let you miss this party. Go, enjoy yourself, I’ll take care of Torwynd.” Toregg sighed, though before he could argue his woman had already picked up their son and headed for the door.
Toregg laughed aloud and sat down, now alone with only ale to comfort him. What a mess, he thought jokingly. Toregg decided to pour a second-final ale then join his wife in bed, he had grown tired of the ceremony. As he did, an unexpected company sat beside him. He turned his focus to the man, who he finally identified as Movar the Grim. The man’s hair was long and thick with a dark brown shade, and his beard fell down to his chest. His dark brown, bordering on black, eyes stared into Toregg’s matching eyes. He nodded and poured himself an ale in Torwynd’s horn from the casket. The two men drank in silence, then Movar spoke.
“How is your family?” Movar spoke with a calm tone, though Toregg could tell the friendship between the two men was only held by Horegg.
“They are well, Torwynd is drunk.” Toregg thought he noticed a hint of a smile appearing on Movar’s face, but he doubted it. “And your sister? I have not seen her today, is she not accompanying us?” Movar shrugged.
“I last saw my sister running after the old crow. Do you trust the Umber?” Toregg looked into his horn, the golden liquid showed his reflection.
“It’s been too long. I don’t know if he’s the same man I left when I deserted the Watch.” Movar nodded, half with acceptance and half with disappointment.
“Gods watch over my sister.” Toregg chuckled.
“If the gods won’t, that falcon of hers certainly will.” This time Movar showed a weak smile. The brutish-looking man turned to see if anyone was watching them. When he seemed satisfied, he reached into his fur coat and pulled out a book. He placed it on the table, the title read: Westeros: Recollected Knowledge.
“I have been reading this ever since I got it from a raid a few years back. I finished a chapter on the history of the Riverlands, that is where you were from?” Toregg nodded, admiring the keeping of the book. “I wanted to ask, who are these Ironborn. All it says is that they are raiders, and often conquer the Riverlands… Just as the past King’s beyond the Wall have raided south to take control.” Toregg chuckled.
“Perhaps the Riverlands should build a wall, it’s so far been effective up here.” Movar smiled, turned some pages which showed images of the Ironmen and their Iron Fleet.
“What are they like?” Movar asked, as if he somehow knew they were the reason that Toregg was here and not in the Riverlands.
“Harsh, barbaric, different compared to the honourable Tully’s, Blackwood’s and Justman’s. I don’t know who to compare them to up here, similar to the Hornfoot’s?” Movar scowled at the name.
“Fucking Hornfoot’s.” Toregg nodded in agreement.
“Fucking Hornfoot’s.” Movar took the book and hid it back in his fur coat, the two men continued to drink silently from their horns.
Toregg looked around the room, the usual closed windows were now open to let in the fresh air. Toregg stared out into the darkness for a while, until he noticed a flick of light in one of the trees, then in another tree and another. He turned to Movar, who also stared in the general direction. The two men stood and moved closer towards the window to get a better look, Toregg observed that Movar had unsheathed one of his axes. When they got to the window, Toregg noticed that the lights they had seen had extinguished. Maybe it’s just the ale. He shrugged it off and moved away from the window, though Movar did not seem convinced. For just a moment, everything seemed calm and at ease, then the booming sound of a sentinel horn blew. Toregg turned back to the window and saw the sky light up with flaming arrows, hitting the tents and thatch huts. Movar backed away from the window and signalled for Toregg to follow him.
The cheery laughter had quickly turned to screams and yelling, Grognak shouted orders and the drunken men and women quickly got up to follow them. Movar led Toregg through the mayhem, behind the kitchens to a back door. He had unsheathed both of his axes, Toregg had already unsheathed Thorn at this point. He nodded at Movar, who then turned to the door and kicked it open. The two were surprised to see a dead crow already at their feet, and another with a slit throat next to a small open hut which had barrels of ale under its roof. Toregg turned to the last man standing, which to his surprise was his son - Horegg. The boy stared at him with what looked to be fear and confusion in his eyes.
“Father?” Toregg ran over to him and secured one arm around him.
“We need to get back to your mother and brother.” Toregg turned to Movar, who had started running into a forest. Toregg noticed that he was chasing after a crow who was escaping.
“Father, you have to stop Movar. That crow… He killed these men, he had a sick look in his eye.” Toregg shook his head.
“Movar can look after himself. Come on, we have to-” Flames burst into the air as a fiery arrow punctured one of the barrels of ale. Toregg pushed his son forward. “Go, tell your mother to meet me at the ice cells that we first met. Go now!” The boy did not hesitate, he darted through the flaming tents towards their home.
Toregg readjusted his grip on Thorn, then as he noticed a black crow appearing out of the darkness and heading towards him, he entered into a defensive stance. Toregg deflected the crow’s strike, throwing a mighty punch into the crow’s jaw. The man fell to the ground, his face next to the burning flames. Toregg did not recognise the man, so he lifted Thorn above his head and brought it down with a heavy slash, decapitating the man.
Toregg started running for the front entry of the mead hall, dodging arrows being shot at him from the dark trees. When he safely reached the front entrance, he saw a bloodbath of men in black furs brawling against the Freefolk. Grognak Ironside fought among the men, living up to his name and not yet receiving a gash from any blade. Toregg saw Thorald and Amathe being separated from the fight by three crows, so that was where Toregg ran to. When Toregg arrived, Thorald was on the ground with a crow hovering his sword over the boy, and Amathe was outnumbered and would not last long. Both needed his help, though he could only get to one in time.
[Help Thorald] [Help Amathe]
Oh damn it... I knew something like this would happen. I'm not sure why everyone just voted to leave the village to die instead of warning them, but this was an obvious and severe mistake. And Movar... I got a horrible feeling for him, considering that he chased after the fucking Stranger. He's clearly the better fighter, but I doubt the Stranger is going to die just yet, so I think I sadly know how this confrontation is likely going to end. And now I'm not sure if we made the right decision for Freya or not. On the one hand, she's away from the fight now. On the other hand, she's god knows where and after this Odin guy and I am not sure if that is any better. Can you remind me, have we already learned about Odin's goals in an earlier part? I'm afraid for Freya's next part and for the Strangers next part as well. I just know that not warning the village was a very stupid decision.
[Help Thorald]
He already has one of these Nights Watch fuckers above him, so he's clearly going to die in a matter of seconds if we don't help him. Amathe at least has something that resembles a chance, though I doubt she's going to survive. Still, Thorald is also the one with less opponents, so helping him will take less time.
Ah gee, I agree with you on so many different levels, and I felt like this part would hit you like a train. As for Odin's intentions, it will be released in the next Freya part which will hopefully be soon. I can assure you that Freya is safe currently, but I will say that some of these decisions are really frickin important, and I think us writers can't really exaggerate that enough. Either way, this was going to end badly either for the village or for the stranger, and as you guys don't know the stranger's goals yet it's kinda hard to make 'moral choices' for him. As for Movar... Eh I'll leave it for the next part he is encountered in.
[Help Amathe] I'm obviously biased in this one.
[Help Thorald]
I fucked up with the last choice, didn't even realised it's the same village.
Hey guys, I'm just going to leave this part open for a little while as I'm hoping some others may vote. For the meanwhile, I'm releasing two more parts. One is a Freya part, and the other is a new character: Ferraro Sand. Now you'll have to forgive me for the Ferraro part being rather boring, it was more about fleshing his character and another, and even then I still think I haven't completed that. Anyway, his next part should hopefully be a little more interesting.
Ferraro
The large stone slabs that made up the wall of Ferraro’s cell were boiling hot. Ferraro stared out his barred window, minding not to touch the near-boiling hot rusted irons. The day was clear blue skies and the beaming hot sun entered his cell with such power that Ferraro could not stare at the stone flooring too long out of fear that he may go blind. He pulled himself away from his only view and walked over to his bed, a layer of straw and his old ragged shirt for a pillow. Ghaston Grey had been Ferraro Sand’s home for the past four years, and would be until his death. He looked down to his rough strong hands, which had gone try and blistered from the lack of moisture. The only liquids Ferraro was able to consume were from the same hot stew that each of the prisoners were fed each morning and night. He had often cursed the wardens for placing him in a cell which had a view of the vast ocean, a tease to remind him of the life that had been taken away from him.
Ferraro looked at the tallied wall, it had been twenty-eight days since his last lashing, meaning that his next would be in three days to come. The wardens had operated harshly on the prisoners of Ghaston Grey, whipping the prisoners monthly, starving those that misbehaved or leaving them out in the scorching sun to burn. The sun had only risen an hour after Ferraro awoke, which meant his first meal of the day was soon to come. To pass the time, Ferraro would spend his time drawing with the stones he used to tally on the walls. The once bare wall had now displayed engravings of ships, storms and a girl that he had lost after coming to Ghaston Grey. As Ferraro picked up the sharpened rock, a bang on the door and the sound of the serving hatch being opened made him turn. Is it that time already? He crawled over to the barred wooden door, moving his bowl next to the serving hatch. Ferraro watched the serving spoon bring in the liquid stew, pour it into his bowl and then quickly retreat. Ferraro took his meal, muttered his thanks and started to eat. The stew was basic, consisting of gourd, green beans and some herbs and peppers. The meal itself was flavoursome, though after eating the same dish day and night the flavour ceased to exist. Ferraro finished his stew in under a minute, then put the bowl back by the latrine bucket.
Ferraro crawled back to his drawing wall, grabbed his rock and continued to work on the drawing of his love. The drawing was nowhere near accurate, Ferraro knew that there was no way to replicate such beauty into his hand, yet he still drew as it filled his days and his heart with something other than misery. As Ferraro drew, he heard the sound of footsteps outside his cell. A cell door had been opened, meaning either a prisoner was coming out or going in. The guards spoke with harsh and loud tones, often yelling at each other more than the other prisoners.
“Chuck this one in with ‘em.” One of them said, sounding out of breath.
“No room left, he’ll ‘ave to go in with the Dornishman.” Another replied. Ferraro wondered in they were referring to him, he was sure he would soon find out. When Ferraro head the sound of his door being unlocked, he knew for certain they were talking about him.
“Stand away from the door, or you’ll get what’s comin to ya.” The guard said, opening the barred wooden door.
The guard threw a man in, then shut the door behind him. Five years in prison and this was the first time Ferraro had seen anyone except for his drawing. Ferraro backed away from the man who lay on the ground in front of him, cautious of the fact that he may have posed a threat to him. Ferraro fastened his hand around his sharpest drawing rock, prepared to defend himself if need be. The man lifted himself up, rubbing his bruised head. Ferraro could tell the man was from north of Dorne. He looked over towards Ferraro, grunted then propelling himself up into a sitting position. The two men stared each other down, waiting for someone to make a move. When nothing happened, the man relaxed and released his straight posture. The cell was quiet for a few minutes, then he spoke.
“My apologies for being thrown into your cell, believe me when I say I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me here.” Ferraro remained silent, still keeping his hand tightly gripped around the sharp rock which started cutting into his hand. “What’s your name?” Ferraro hesitated, though after a short moment replied.
“Ferraro Sand.” The man nodded.
“I am Wayne Cross, leader of the Crossmen Company. We fight for the Martell’s in the rebellion against the Yronwood’s. Is that why you’re here?” Ferraro shook his head.
“I am here by mistake.” Wayne nodded and weakly smiled.
“Of course you are. Well, whatever reason you’re here for I just want to know that you’re not going to stab me in the throat with that stone behind your back when I try to sleep.” Ferraro felt his heart start to pump harder, he released the rock.
“So long as you don’t try to slice mine.” He finally managed to say. Wayne nodded in agreeance.
-
Two days passed, and the two had barely spoken a word since their introduction. The two ate in silence, slept in silence and overall sat in silence. It was when Ferraro started to draw again that Wayne spoke up.
“So you are the one who did those. They’re very good.” Ferraro allowed himself a smile.
“You’ll find there is little to do when you’re alone in a cell which is slowly cooking you alive.” Wayne chuckled, a loud booming chuckle which caught Ferraro off guard.
Wayne seemed to be a calm man, who was gentle with his words when he spoke. His appearance however did not match his demeanor. Wayne had long dark wavy hair and a dark stubble. His eyes were a deep set blue, an ugly scar stretched from his left cheek down to his lower neck, restricting much movement from his head. His attire was light, an unstrapped shirt and loose baggy pants with brown leather boots.
Wayne sighed and stood up, walking over towards the barred window. He stared out to the Narrow Sea, a glint could be seen in his eye. Ferraro slipped the dulled stone into his pocket, then stood up and joined Wayne.
“It’s cruel that they give us a cell with such a view. Though worse for them.” Ferraro remained silent, confused about what Wayne meant. “We’ll get out of here Ferraro Sand, I do not intend to be executed by the Yronwood’s just yet.” Ferraro shrugged.
“Many men have failed to escape this prison, what makes you so sure you will succeed?” Wayne grinned, as if he knew something Ferraro did not.
“You will soon find out. Now, I think the time is due to tell each other our stories.” Ferraro dreaded the thought of his past. He shrugged it off.
“Not much to tell. I was a sailor for a merchant ship, pirates raided our vessel and I ended up here.” Wayne gave Ferraro a studied look.
“Right. Well, if you’re going to be so-” Ferraro did not give Wayne the time to finish his sentence.
“How did you get that scar?” Wayne stopped and smiled to himself.
“Long story.” Ferraro smiled.
“We’ve got time.” Wayne nodded, taking in a deep breath.
“My brother and I were woodworkers from the North, though we decided to leave that life to pursue a life as sellswords. We sailed to the Free Cities and did work there for a few years, then work brought us to Dorne. On our second night in this boiling desert, my brother had gotten himself into a fight with a Yronwood soldier. I intervened, and got this as a consequence.” Wayne pointed to his scar. “Anyway, when I fell to the ground bleeding out, some other sellswords and outlaws as well as my brother managed to scare off the soldiers. When I recovered from my injury, I did not treat my brother as well as I could have, and out of shame he left. Ever since I have led the Crossmen Company on my own, gods know what’s happened to my brother.” Ferraro lightly nodded, processing the information.
“What was his name?” Ferraro did not particularly care, though he figured it was the right question to ask.
“Darrick. You have any siblings?” Ferraro shrugged.
“Don’t know, lived on the ocean all my life. All I know is I’m a bastard of some high lord, and that means little to me.” Wayne nodded, though he seemed disappointed. After a long pause, he changed the subject.
“Say if we were to get out of here, would you fight for me and the Martell’s? We could offer you a great number of things. Legitimacy, gold, women…” Ferraro looked at the wall of his drawings, the boats and maps and his love.
“To read and write?” The question seemed to catch Wayne off guard. Though after a short moment he nodded.
“If it is what you wanted.” Ferraro felt a warmth inside that was not the scorching heat. He nodded.
“It is.” Wayne turned to him an extended a hand. Ferraro accepted it with a firm grip, sealing a pact they had created.
No decision this time.
Freya
The soft crunching of ice and snow after every footstep was a gentle reminder to her when tracking down prey. In this instance, her prey was a lost crow somewhere in the woods. Freya had followed the muddy brown tracks left in the snow until the snowfall had covered her tracks. Since then her efforts had been slow and more precise, taking extreme measures to make sure she was on track. Freya had stopped in a frozen opening, where the trees had parted ways to create a small meadow. Flowers had closed their petals and were lightly capped in snow, yet Freya could still see the variety of colours that dotted the small clearing of land. Freya rested herself against the trunk of an oak tree, mildly regretting taking on this expedition. If the crow wants to leave, then he can leave. I shouldn’t have to act like his brothers and hunt him down for desertion. Freya sighed, resting her head against the tree trunk. She pulled her white fur glove from her hand, the cool breeze instantly nipped at her skin, causing goosebumps to crawl up her arm. She clenched and released her hand, getting a blood circulation going. She gently rested her hand in the soft ice crystals, allowing herself to relax in this small bit of paradise she had found. She closed her eyes, thinking of what her brother was up to. No doubt fucking Christa Frostleaf in my damned bed again. The thought of her brother made her smile, she missed their talks. The last couple of days had been lonely, though she had pushed on knowing that she would soon return home. Freya felt her neck grow cold as something as cool as ice rested against her throat. She opened her eyes, noticing a blade resting against her throat she shallowed her breathing.
“Well crow, after all this time I spent searching for you I never thought you would pay me the honours.” The old man grunted.
“Shut your mouth girl. Why are you following me?” Freya couldn’t help but giggle at the question.
“We Freefolk watch out for each other, I guess I was worried about you, old crow.” Freya could feel the blade digging into her neck, any more tension and she would start to bleed.
“I’m sorry that you were the one to track me down girl, it pains me to have to kill a woman. I’ll make it quick.” Freya turned her focus to the old man, who had lifted his sword around his head to prepare for a hard swing. She smiled.
“Will you?” As the old crow raised an eyebrow to her, a burst of reddish-brown flew past her eyes and clawed the old man’s face.
Freya quickly rolled away from the action, grabbing her bow and fastening the string. Talon went in for another strike, this time at the old crow’s sword arm. Freya watched as her fluttering companion ripped out some flesh from the old man’s wrist, then quickly evaded. By this time Freya had already nocked an arrow as the old man had dropped his blade to nurse his wounds. Talon perched herself on the branch of a sentinel tree, ready to swoop again if need be. Freya stood and drew an arrow, the old man gritted his teeth.
“Alright bitch, you got me. You going to kill me now?” Freya stared at the man, her cold temper warming with anger.
“Oh I bet that’s what you would want, crow.” She released her drawing arm, sending the arrow into the old crow’s foot. A yelp of agony filled the once peaceful air. She nocked another arrow.
“Fucking kill me! I won’t live for what is to come!” Freya shook her head.
“If you wanted death then you would not have joined us, Umber.” The old man seemed to lose all sense of his pain when he heard his name, like it was an awakening to who he really was.
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I just knew I had to get away from the Watch, because I’ve seen what’s coming. A cold and icy death awaits us all, and it’s not you wildlings that are bringing it.” Freya gave the man no sympathy, she drew her arrow. “Do what you will, warg girl. My time is done.” As much as Freya wanted to release her grip and let the arrow fly into the man’s throat, something held her back.
Freya released the tension on the bow string, putting the arrow back into her quiver. She swung her recurved sentinel bow over her shoulder and bent down to Umber’s level. The man stared at her with an eye that either resembled fear or some form of courage. His face was bloody from the scratches Talon had left on him. She whistled a high pitch, and sure enough Talon flew down to her side landing on her shoulder. Now Freya was sure that the man’s eyes displayed fear.
“Why did you run away?” Odin Umber switched his focus between both Talon and Freya, nursing his wounded wrist as he did. Finally, he submitted.
“My brother who escaped when I joined you, I’m trying to find him. I was following the tracks that I believed to be him, though they led to another wildling camp. So I headed back, knowing I could not save him on my own.” Freya raised an eyebrow.
“You’re trying to save a crow? They’re your enemy now.” The Umber shook his head.
“The men of the Night’s Watch are honourable, and this boy deserves better than to be held captive by the barefooted fucks that have him held captive.” Freya raised her eyebrows, half shocked and half in disbelief.
“Hornfoot’s?” The old man shook his head miserably.
“It’s no use now, the boy is likely as good as dead. My point of living is over, just end me and go home to your people.” Freya sighed, the man was a miserable old sob who was begging for death, yet she felt like it was not right to kill him.
The fierce and warrior reputation of the Umbers had faded away with this new experience, Freya knelt down wondering what the right thing was to do. She knew it would not be possible to rescue this friend of his from the Hornfoot village, nor would she try to with an entire army of Nightrunners by her side.
“You can still fight for what is right, Umber.” Freya spoke her thoughts aloud. “Your once brother-crow Toregg stand with the Freefolk. You could to. If we ever had the chance to pass the Wall and live in peace, perhaps you could convince the Umbers to spare some land.” Freya had not put much thought into what she was saying, though she felt like killing the man off was not the right thing to do.
“You are naive girl, very naive. The Kings of Winter would destroy any efforts of an army beyond the Wall if the Watch were to fail. All will die from what is to come.” Freya had convinced herself, the man was going mad. Odin Umber chuckled. “Fight for what is right. The only thing I will ever fight for is the Night’s Watch. Right now, we would all be much safer south of the Wall. If you don’t kill me, atleast let take me somewhere I can go south of the Wall and join my brothers.” Freya frowned and pulled the arrow from the Umber’s foot, resulting in a cry of agony.
Perhaps it is right to end the Old Umber’s misery, though if he still stands for purpose than I cannot deny him that. Freya played with her options, her insides cried to go home. Yet she knew she could not live with herself if she just left the old man here to die. She could lead him to Hardhome, find him a vessel which would take him south of the Wall. Though perhaps it was time the man had come to his fate, she was sure he was losing it.
[End the Umber’s misery] [Take Odin Umber to Hardhome]
Alright then, I never thought I'd ever say that about a bird, but Talon is savage and a badass. I mean, I shouldn't be too surprised, but I still underestimated just how dangerous such a hawk can be, especially one as vicious as her. Sure, Freya did her part as well in taking Odin down, but today, her bird did the most.
[Take Odin Umber to Hardhome]
This was a hard choice for me. On the one hand, Odin tried to kill her. People that try to kill Freya are people that, by all means, should die. On the other hand, I can understand his motivations for running away, even though I do have a grudge against him for trying to kill Freya. Killing him now does not feel right. Also, we know that shit hits the fan in the Nightrunner village, so I'm also sparing Odin out of pragmatism. If Freya brings him to Hardhome, she is going to stay away from the Night's Watch fuckers that would probably kill her on sight if she returns to the village now. A short detour to Hardhome will keep her out of the line of fire.
So, this is your definition of a boring part? I guess the non-boring parts are the ones that give me a heart attack then XD I liked this part a lot! It was a well-written introduction to a new characterl I really like Ferraro and find him to be pretty interesting. At the same time, I have to wonder, have I seen it correctly that the prison he is in right now is located in Dorne?
I enjoyed this very much! Looking forward to see more of Ferraro
[Take Odin Umber to Hardhome]
[End the Umber’s misery]
You are correct. I am bringing in three new characters I've created to show three new story lines. Ferraro is one of them, showing a new storyline in Dorne. Another which has been mentioned is showing a storyline in the Reach. And finally one which has not been mentioned is showing a storyline in the Riverlands. These are all hopefully going to be interesting, or at least the first two. Once the storyline progresses and you guys have an idea of what's going on if you want to add a character to the list that would be awesome. Anyway, still got to get there first and that's probably going to be a little while away now.
I was hoping that my idea of the character was everything you imagined it to be. I guess that can be one of the difficulties with character creation is that is hard to show replications, though I think, I think, that I displayed I decent image of her and Talon here. Though I will say, at some parts I feel like I'm writing an Ygritte part rather than a Freya part, which is something I need to watch out for haha
Oh, I'm very happy with how the character turned out! I'm absolutely loving the way you wrote her so far. And Talon the badass of course, she was the MVP in this part. She's as adorable as a vicious, face-clawing killer bird can be ;D Truth be told, Freya ended up even better than I thought and I can't thank you enough for it. As for Ygritte, she was actually one of several inspirations for her and they definitely have a couple of similarities. Both are fierce, badass spearwives and they even share the same hair colour, so similarities are bound to happen. That said, they have a number of differences as well and I feel like you definitely did a good job in setting them apart as well.
Alright, so a late vote came in and I felt like it should have been included. Though then I realised that there was no way to make the vote clear without me unfairly having to cast in a vote. Unfortunately that's what I'll have to do as their are even numbers. So I'm going to vote to [Help Amathe] as I feel she and Toregg have a stronger connection, though Thorald is the best friend of Torwynd. So yeah, Toregg will choose to help Amathe... Sorry for the unfair vote guys.
Thomyr
His inner thighs burned from the chafing between his legs and the saddle, their ride had been long and with little achievement. The first couple of days since Ser Ulrich Dayne and Charles Black’s death sentence had been the longest riding of Thomyr’s life, causing his hands to ache and his legs to burn. Now, with little recovery, the three men still rode on. Thomyr looked at his three travelling companions, their travels had been silent and unnerving. Ser Ulrich wore a bandage that covered his upper body, crossing over his shoulders and making it hard for him to breath or lift his arms above his head. Charles, however not injured, looked tired and filled with worry or sadness. Thomyr could not tell, he did not know how to feel about the situation. Am I still their prisoner? He wondered to himself.
“So what do you plan to do with me?” Thomyr asked, making an effort to hide the shakiness in his voice. The two men remained silent for a while, though the knight soon replied.
“You will accompany us to Hardhome, where we will board a ship that will take us to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Then you will be given the option to either take the black or be executed.” The knight spoke with bitter and cold words, his colleague grunted.
“Gods take you, Ulrich. The wildling has helped us in many situations we failed to handle, he deserves his freedom. Besides, at this rate if we even make it back to the Watch we will likely be executed.” Ser Ulrich shook his head irritably.
“The Lord Commander is wrong, we are innocent and this fucking wildling is the cause of all of this. If only that Old Giant hadn’t sent us back, bloody crone.” All was silent but the gentle sound of hoofs landing in the snow and mud below as their garrons took each step. Finally, Thomyr built the courage to speak up.
“You two are good men, better than the crows. Why don’t you throw away your vows and join us? We will give you the freedom you deserve.” Ser Ulrich pulled the reins on his garron to a halt. He turned and looked Thomyr in the eyes, his violet eyes looked as if they stared right through them.
“What purpose is there if we are just handed our freedom? What is there to fight for? To serve? There is no realm, there is no duty, there is no honour. Only the cold, the trees and the fucking wildlings.” Thomyr felt a wave of defeat rush through him as the knight turned, his pale skin reddened with anger. Charles sighed.
“We need to rest. Let’s hitch the horses and build a fire, I’ll go find wood.” The men all grunted in agreeance.
-
The sun had fallen behind the treeline, though the sky was still a moody dark grey with the cloud cover. The three men sat around their small campfire, which could easily be doused at any sign that they were being tracked by the Night’s Watch. Thomyr sat by the fire, a cooked rabbit leg skewered onto his steel dagger. Beside him sat Charles, who fed the fire with more wood. Ser Ulrich Dayen held his magnificent Dawn in his lap, running a whetstone over the sharp edges. The three men sat in silence, as they had since they fled their death sentence. Though this time, something was different. The men lifted their heads when they heard the sounds of clashing metal on metal. Ser Ulrich stood himself up, assuring himself a firm grip on Dawn. Charles doused the fire, unsheathing his longsword: Night. Thomyr remained seated, though had put his guard up. The sound of banging metal slowly got closer and closer, Ser Ulrich turned both Charles and Thomyr.
“Let’s go.” Without waiting for them, Ser Ulrich had already begun to advance towards the sounds of fighting. Thomyr and Charles hesitantly followed on.
The men quietly sneaked through the bushes, the fighting was drawing closer to them. Ser Ulrich lifted in his arm, his hand in a clenched fist. Charles stopped and Thomyr mimicked his actions. The two silently crept to his position once he gave the order, finally they got a better view of what they were seeing. An old crow fought with one of the Freefolk, Thomyr presumed he was a fellow Nightrunner as he wore footwear, though he could not be sure. Charles stared intently, shock appearing in his eyes.
“Seven hells, is that First Ranger Niclas?” Ser Ulrich stared with a glint of anger in his eye.
“Not anymore.” He adjusted his grip on Dawn, stood up and charged forward. Charles quickly joined his brother, Thomyr was left with little choice but to follow.
Ser Ulrich Dayne cracked down a blow on the old crow that would have likely shattered any sword to pieces, though the old man managed to deflect the blow and continue fighting with his opponent. Charles and Thomyr hanged back as Ser Ulrich and the wild looking man fought the crow. Thomyr noticed Ser Ulrich stagger over a rock or root in the snow, and the old crow took advantage of it. He swung his sword at Ser Ulrich’s head, causing him to quickly lift Dawn to his head to protect himself. In doing so, he lost his footing and fell into the snow. Charles instantly rushed to fill in Ser Ulrich’s place, though to Thomyr’s surprise the old crow motioned with his free hand and sent Charles Black flying back towards him. Thomyr managed to jump out of the way before his flying capturer flew passed him. Thomyr turned back to Charles, who had landed against an ironwood and been knocked unconscious. Thomyr picked up his longsword and charged into battle, Night raised above his head. He swung the sword down at the crow, though the crow parried and knocked him back with an unknown force. The three men backed away, ready to all charge simultaneously if need be. The magical crow was outnumbered, though somehow still held an advantage. The frozen spear landing in tree behind the old crow made everyone turn to see where it originated from.
Behind them stood a tall dark figure, wearing armour as black as the night sky. The amour covered the figure from head to toe, and the only distinguishing part were it’s eyes, it’s bright blue eyes. The dark knight held a longsword which appeared to be forged out of what looked to be ice, it glimmered in the remaining daylight. Thomyr slowly backed away, though his wildling ally charged at the black knight without fear. He swung one of his axes at the dark figure’s chest piece, though when it was deflected the axe he held shattered into ice particles. Looking mildly confused, he attacked a second time with his second axe, this time aiming at knight’s head. The dark knight caught the blow with his free hand, throwing him a few feet away. Now Ser Ulrich charged, as fearless as the previous. His tactic was different, he held his blade in a position like that of a jouster, preparing to lunge the blade through armour of his foe. The dark knight resembled something of a chuckle, though it sounded more like a screech mixed with a man’s voice. The dark figure swung their blade so that it parried the blow, though what should have shattered the sword only resulted in a loud clang. Thomyr turned around, the old crow had disappeared, a set of tracks leading off in the snow. He turned back to Ser Ulrich, who had deflected two blows from the frozen blade, though the third had sent Dawn flying. Thomyr charged towards the dark knight, screaming from the top of his lungs, and tackled the figure to the ground. He lunged his steel dagger into it’s arm, though received not even a flinch. The dark knight backhanded Thomyr, making him fly off to the side. Thomyr landed in the soft snow, yet was winded by the way he landed. As he struggled to take in a breath of air, and struggled harder to get up, he saw their wild-looking ally picking up the blade Dawn and escaping the scene. Thomyr managed to stand up grabbing Night as he did. He turned, seeing the dark knight loom over Ser Ulrich. Thomyr managed to get in a solid breath, then ran with all the power he had left in him and smashed Night into the back of the dark knight’s head. He had succeeded in diverting it’s attention. Thomyr looked to Ser Ulrich.
“Go! Get Charles out of here! I’ll hold him off.” The knight hesitated but nodded, making his way over to Charles Black.
Thomyr passed Night from one hand to another as his opponent approached him, he knew he could not parry or he would lose his weapon. As the dark figure walked towards Thomyr with it’s frozen blade above it’s head ready to strike down, Thomyr rolled out of the way and sliced through the gap in the armour to where the shin was. Thomyr turned and saw Ser Ulrich had thrown Charles over his shoulder and was slowly getting away. The dark knight turned back to Thomyr and swung at him again, this time trying to remove his head. Thomyr dropped to his belly, dodging the blow, yet more followed him while he was on the ground. Thomyr rolled out of the way of one lunge, and only manage to dodge another by luck. Thomyr got back up, though now the dark figure had started swinging randomly, making it impossible to dodge. Thomyr lunged Night forward, aiming for his opponent’s heart, though instead it had jumped out of the way and caught the blade under it’s arm. Thomyr let go of the blade and backed away, the dark knight observed the black steel, then flung it away. The blade landed sharp end first into the snow, fifty feet away from Thomyr. Thomyr turned, looking for options, though before he knew it a cold firm grip had tightened itself around his neck, lifting him in the air. Thomyr desperately hit at the armoured sleeve, trying to release himself though no good came out of it. The dark figure leaned in close, the cold frosty air evaporated from it’s helmet and into Thomyr’s face.
“You have made a mistake on this day, protecting the one we call ‘The Stranger.’ Your life will end by the hand of the Icy Knight.” The mysterious being said, it’s voice deep and croaky.
Thomyr stared in the icy blue eyes of his opponent and spat on it’s helmet. The frozen blade piercing his heart felt like the cool touch of his first winter. Darkness started clouding his vision, until there was only the Icy Knight.
No decision this time.
Alright, this Icy Knight is by far the most creepy thing that happened in the story so far, even more creepy than the early Stranger parts. Speaking about, it seems there is some evil vs evil action going on her, since the Icy Knight seems to be out for the Stranger as well. From his skills, it appears he is a White Walker, which means that there is not much that can actually even hurt him. If I understood that correctly, then Movar coincidentally just stole one of the only weapons that can actually take this Icy Knight down. By the way, the sheer audacity he showed while doing so amazed me. I mean, we have one White Walker, one being of even stranger nature possessing the body of a Night's Watchman, two more Night's Watchmen and one captured wildling and Movar still had the guts to steal the nicest sword both sides of the wall before running off. For some reason, that greatly amused me XD I wonder where he ran off to and I hope he's not going to further hunt the Stranger down. This part showed that even while he's wounded, the Stranger is still a formidable foe and a single man is likely unable to defeat him. And then we got Thomyr. Damn hell, I did not expect him to die at the hands of a freaking White Walker. At the same time though, his death was undeniably epic.
Haha, well first off I'm really happy you enjoyed the part. I think I'll try and make a few things clearer in this part as it may be sketchy for a lot of the story, so I'll start off with the Icy Knight. Now, the submitter of this interesting character claimed that he got his inspiration from The Stranger and Coldhands, and claims that this character is dead yet still alive. Aye, I agree it does sound like a White Walker, but information I know which I won't reveal yet proves otherwise. Though you are right, the Icy Knight is definitely hunting down The Stranger, and The Stranger knows this.
As for Movar, all I can say is that he is not pursuing The Stranger now that he's seen that kind of power. It's likely that he'll head back to the village or search for Freya. As for Dawn, well let's say we should be seeing Dawn all around Westeros if the story goes exactly the way it is planned, and let's face it, interactive stories never do xD.
Todd
A cool breeze rushed through the Maester’s Tower, sending shivers down Todd’s spine. He had decided to assist the maester’s new scribe in his duties around the tower, rather than accompanying the maester down to the courtyard to meet with First Builder Errok. The two had worked silently for the past couple of hours, organising letters to certain ravens. The majority were being sent to the neighbouring castles along the Wall, though some travelled to areas in the North such as Darkhold and Winterfell, and some as far south as Oldtown. Todd felt a pang of jealousy and bitterness crawl over him, this life had been snatched away from him because of the wildling incursion. Fucking wildlings. Todd thought to himself, feeling his hands tremble and shake with anger or regret. And Lartel, gods I hope he is okay. Apparently Todd’s anxiety had been noticed by Dann, as a soft hand rested on Todd’s shoulder. Todd turned and looked at Dann in those oddly beautiful light brown eyes. Dann seemingly instantly released Todd’s shoulder and turned away, embarrassed or ashamed.
“I’m sorry Todd, I didn’t mean to-” The boy stumbled with his words. “I- It’s hard to find brothers to trust, and I don’t like Felix…” Todd laughed at the Dann’s admitation.
“Well, it’ll be you that has to work with him for the rest of your life.” Dann nodded worryingly.
“I know, but I don’t think I can trust him. He doesn’t seem like someone who exactly knows how to keep words from pouring out of his mouth.” Todd smirked, mildly impressed that someone agreed with him. “And I’m sorry that I replaced you. If I had known, I would have denied the maester.” Todd shrugged it off, though really it meant a lot more than just that.
“Doesn’t matter now, I’ll likely end up cleaving meat or digging latrine pits. Whatever the Watch requires.” Dann frowned, clearly feeling guilty for Todd’s demise. Todd sighed, finishing assigning the letters to the specific ravens. “What’s next?” Dann pulled out his little checklist and shook his head.
“Nothing, we’re done.” Todd nodded, walking over to the bench by the open window and sitting down. A couple of ravens pecked at the seeds and straw that the maester had left out, Todd watched with boredom.
To his surprise, Dann Flint sat next to him and stared out the window. His eyes glinted in the rare sunlight, which soon was obscured by clouds.
“Did you ever see much of the North, before you came to the Wall?” Todd shrugged, resting his head against the palm of his right hand against the window sill, his left hand rested on his left thigh.
“Only the bare stretches of lands as we walked from the Riverlands to the Wall.” Dann nodded, though still seemed interested.
“Let me show you where the landmarks of the North are.” Dann leaned in closer to Todd and pointed in a direction. Off to the distance, where Dann pointed, Todd could see a wood.
“That large stretch of forest is the Wolfswood, the home of the Glovers and their bannermen. Beyond that is the Stony Shore, home to the Oldstark’s and Fisher’s, and the Rills, home to the Ryswell’s.” He pointed off to another direction.
“The next castle from here south is the Last Hearth, home to the Umbers. Then Winterfell, home to the Kings of Winter, the Starks.” Todd may not have known much about the North, though he knew of the Starks.
As Dann leaned in closer, supposedly to point to yet another direction, Todd felt the soft warm touch of another hand landing on his left. Unsure how to feel about the situation, Todd pulled back his hand and retreated from Dann. Noticing this, Dann stood and backed away, red flushing through his face.
“I’m sorry, I-” The sound of the reinforced wooden door being unlocked by the Maester’s rattling keys sent a shock through Todd’s body.
The two quickly rushed to the entrance of the door, where they stood with their backs straight to greet the maester. As the door gently opened, Felix helped Maester Endrew into the room. Todd and Dann bowed their head in respect. Dann got to the door, though to his surprise there was still another man entering the room. Embarrassed, Dann opened the door again and beckoned to come in, giving his apologies as he did. The man entered and nodded in thanks, he turned to Todd and eyed him up and down.
“So you’re Todd Rivers?” Todd nodded in reply. “Alright, come sit down with me. I have a few questions to ask you.” Todd nodded once again, turning to Dann who winked at him then shut the door.
Todd followed the man to the soft leather couch that surrounded a small coffee bench in the centre. He sat down in the single chair, and beckoned for Todd to sit on the couch. The Maester sat by the man’s side, and Felix stood by the Maester’s. The Maester cleared his throat.
“Todd, this is Harrow Glover. He is the Lord Steward of the Night’s Watch and is in search for a squire. I have suggested you to fill in this position.” Todd felt his heart start to beat faster. Squire to the Lord Steward? He could not tell if he was angry or impressed and grateful, perhaps a bit of both.
Todd inspected the man. He stood tall and proud, his hair was neck length with light curls, and dark brown with grey strands. His beard was trimmed and well-kept, showing a finer side of him that the black rags so easily sapped out of the men at the Wall. His eyes resembled a dull dark brown, and perhaps a sadness which he tried to hide. Todd snapped back to his surroundings and bowed his head in respect.
“It is a honour to meet you, Lord Harrow. I am grateful that you have considered me for such a position.” Todd could not believe the words that were coming out of his mouth. The Glover chuckled.
“Don’t get too cocky, I have a couple of questions I’d like to ask. When you’re ready.” Todd nodded in approval. “I’d like to know a bit about you, why are you here?” Todd felt a trickle of sweat run down his temple.
“I was convicted for the murder of the heir of House Tully.” Lord Harrow nodded.
“And did you commit the crime?” Todd looked Harrow in the eyes, replying with a cold and serious tone.
“No.” Harrow nodded to himself once again.
“Who are you the bastard of?” Now Todd felt uncomfortable, his past was not something he had shared often. He wondered if he was even permitted to share it.
“I.” Todd turned and looked at Felix and Dann, then back to Harrow. He looked at the two boys, the maester spoke in his place.
“Felix, Dann, wait outside. We will bring you back in once the interview is over.” The two boys nodded and left the room. Once the door shut behind them, Lord Harrow indicated for Todd to continue with a motion from his hand. Todd sighed.
“I am the bastard son of King Bernarr the second, King of the Trident, Rivers and Hills.” Lord Harrow’s eyes widened, though he got a grip on himself.
“You aren’t here for suspected murder, are you?” Todd hesitated, but later shook his head. Harrow sighed and stood up, turning to Maester Endrew.
“He’ll do the job.” Todd was about as shocked as he was to hear the words as he was grateful. The Maester nodded in agreement, Lord Harrow turned to Todd and smiled. “Come with me, we’ll talk along the way.” Todd nodded and stood, though before he left he approached the maester and showed his thanks, the maester nodded in approval.
Todd followed Lord Harrow Glover out of the Maester’s quarters, passing the wide eyes Felix and the grinning Dann. Dann nudged Todd in the arm, making his grin contagious before entering the quarters.
The two descended down the Maester’s Tower, through the library and past the Lord Commander’s vacant quarters. When they walked passed the Lord Steward’s quarters, Todd found himself mildly confused.
“Lord Glover?” He stopped and turned.
“Please, just call me Harrow.” Todd nodded.
“Harrow, where are we going?” Harrow continued walking, out the open door onto the balcony which overlooked the courtyard. He descended the wooden stairs, and led Todd into the stables.
“I want to introduce you to someone.” Harrow released the wooden plank from the doors and swung them open.
The two entered and walked down the long dirty hall, passing the garrons that were often sent beyond the Wall. When they reached the far end of the stable, Harrow stopped and clicked his fingers, a strong pure white destrier walked forward and hung its head through the gate. Harrow turned to Todd, who was bewildered.
“I’d like to introduce you to Winter, your steed. Now, I presume that you being the bastard of the King of the Rivers and Hills has given you experience on riding a horse?” Todd nodded in reply. “Good, so you can saddle a horse. Let me introduce you to Marian.” Todd was led over to the neighbouring pen, where a dark brown destrier stood. Todd’s jaw dropped.
“She’s beautiful.” He complimented, and Harrow chuckled.
“Aye, that she is. Now go saddle her, I have to ride to the Shadow Tower to do some business. You’re welcome to come along, you may find the experience useful. Otherwise you may stay behind and deal to the matters in my quarters, there are some interesting letters that you will need to read.” Todd grabbed Harrow’s saddle and reins, though stopped before entering.
He did agree that accompanying Lord Harrow would be good experience, and to say the very least it would be interesting. Though perhaps it would be better to start working, and also talk with Dann more.
[Accompany Harrow to the Shadow Tower] [Stay at the Nightfort]
[Accompany Harrow to the Shadow Tower]
Alright, so many votes! XD. Freya will choose to take Odin Umber to Hardhome.
If it's still open, I'd choose [Help Amathe]. That'll set the voting to 2:2, so as far as I'm concerned It will leave this choice up to you, what I think should be more reliable.
Damn, that part was soo intense! The Icy Knight versus Stranger storyline looks promising from the very beggining. I am surprised that the new character was submitten by reader, he seems so well-written that I thought he came from you. Also that whole plot with 2 crows-mutineers and a dead-undead wildling (I don't believe he just died and that's all). If Thomyr dies, there's question what will happen to Ulrich and Charles (btw. not sure if it's on purpose or not, but you set these two very nicely - old, experienced crow with clear rules and young, reckless recruit, even their swords names have opposite meanings - Dawn and Night ^^) - will they return to The Wall? Will they join the wildlings? So many questions, so little answers
Okay, that's all, sorry again for my absence, will catch-up with story soon and return to voting ^^
[Accompany Harrow to the Shadow Tower]
[Accompany Harrow to the Shadow Tower] I'm interested in those letters too, but I think getting to know Harrow would be good.
[Accompany Harrow to the Shadow Tower]
I was almost choosing the other option, since these letters sparked my curiosity for sure. I mean, what if we miss out on important information by not reading them? That said, it sounds a bit unlikely. Going with Harrow sounds interesting as well and considering that he just became the man's squire, Todd should spend more time with him. And since Harrow already gave him a horse, I would see it as rude not to accompany him.
I'm so glad to see you're back! I have missed your comments on the story, you were one of the few who actually left their opinions which is one of my favourite parts when it comes to writing. You know, it's interesting that you brought the opposites theory up about Ulrich and Charles, because you are right when they are kind of opposite when it comes to personality and even their sword names! XD. It will be interesting how they decide to handle things now that their wildling prisoner sacrificed himself so that they could perhaps live, and how their views may change. At any thought, I'd say their original plans to go to Hardhome then Eastwatch have been squandered, Charles was hesitant at first and Ulrich is going to want to get Dawn back.
Darrick
Darrick Cross sat stumped over the counter, a tankard of mead in his hand. His golden reflection stared back at him as he looked into his tankard. Darrick was a young man, twenty-two, and his looks certainly made him admirable. His hair was short and scruffy, with a dark brown shade, and his beard was much the same. However his eyes showed a deep set blue that had attracted many women to him before. His only falter was a scar that ran down his right eye, which was the reason why he was drinking in a bar in the Reach, rather than fighting with his brother in Dorne. He sighed and downed the entire tankard, hoping that it would drown his sorrows and shame with it. Instead, it only built up his urge to urinate. Disappointed with the outcome, Darrick helped himself up and located the back door. As he started to head there he heard the sounds of sniggering men and a harassed woman. He turned, mildly curious, and saw a beautiful woman in an elegant green dress being surrounded two large men. The two exchanged eye contact once, before his view was obscured by one of the men standing in front of her. Darrick fingered the pommel of his curved blade. Perhaps you should just talk to them. Darrick thought to himself, then allowed himself a light chuckle. Sure, thanks Wayne. The thought of his brother saddened him, shamed him. He shook his head and walked over to the two bulky men, tapping one on the shoulder. The brute of a man turned, his face disfigured and full of anger.
“The fuck you want, little man?” Darrick moved his hands to his hips. He peered around the man to check on the girl, whose arm was held in a tight grip but the other man who had now turned to see what all the fuss was about.
“You know, I was going to ask but I can’t say I’ve ever been much a man for words.” The man with the disfigured face showed an expression which Darrick presume was confused, of course that was before Darrick’s fist landed in the man’s temple.
The brute fell to the ground in one blow, landing on the wooden planks with a thud. His counterpart had now released the woman and approached Darrick with clenched fists. He swung an overarm throw at Darrick, who easily dodged the punch and spun around him. Spotting a weakness, Darrick put all of his power into a kick which he planted into the man’s groin. A deep yelp that turned into a scream of agony filled the room. Darrick grabbed a tankard off of the counter, finished the ale that was left and smashed the man’s head with the tankard. Another solid thud filled the room as the unconscious body landed on the ground. Darrick turned and looked back to the beautiful woman in the green dress. She was young, perhaps eighteen, which did not bother Darrick in the slightest. Her hair was a light brown and wavy, and her eyes hazel with a tinge of green. Darrick considered asking the girl for her name, and as he was about to he felt hands grabbing his arms and shoulders. Before he knew it he was face first in the mud outside of the Happy Maester in Oldtown. Darrick helped himself up, the soft drops of rain coursing through his hair and leaving moisture in it’s tracks. Standing up and brushing cleaning himself from the mud as best as he could, he turned to the doorway to see the beautiful woman standing there. He smiled to her, though she remained staring at something else behind him. Darrick turned to find two soldiers in plated steel armour with engraved hands on their chests, and a man in the centre with golden gilding and green plated armour. Before Darrick could say a word, a strong and singular blow hit him in the side of the head, he too found his place back in the mud.
-
Darrick awoke, his head throbbing and his arms tied behind his back, in a dark room with stone walls and one dim lantern. Darrick looked around the small enclosed room, he was alone. He tried pulling his hands free, though the rope bindings were so tight that he barely had movement of his wrists. Darrick sat in the wooden chair for a few minutes before he heard the unlocking of the door behind him, when light flooded the room he squinted his eyes and looked away. Slowly his eyes adjusted to the light, and now in front of him sat the same gilded knight as he had seen before being concussed. His hair was light brown with short curls, his beard was finely trimmed and his eyes a hazel colour. It did not take Darrick long to start thinking that this man was somehow related to the girl he saved in the bar earlier. Behind Darrick stood the same two soldiers, hands by their sides, one resting on the pommel of their swords. Darrick took in a deep breath, calming himself.
“Darrick Cross, twenty-two years of age. Brother to Wayne Cross, leader of the Cross Company Sellswords.” Darrick raised an eyebrow and smiled.
“Been stalking me have you?” Darrick received a backhand from one of the soldiers steel plated gauntlets. The throbbing started to build in his right cheek.
“You will speak when I permit it. Understood?” Darrick nodded. “I am curious why you left your brother in the war effort had Dorne, I imagine he needed your help dearly?” Darrick shrugged.
“I guess I didn’t like the heat.” Darrick could see the disapprovement in the man’s eyes.
“Do you know who I am?” Darrick shrugged again, his hands starting to throb.
“I know that these bindings are going to take off my hands if you don’t cut them loose.” The man stared at Darrick for a while, then nodded to his men. The knight on his left unsheathed a dagger and cut the bindings, Darrick pulled his hands in close and rubbed where the rope had chafed the skin.
“I am Prince Gilden Gardener, son of King Garth the sixth and heir to Highgarden. We are in the process of extending our kingdom, and we have heard the skills of the great Cross brothers. What are the chances we could hire your sellsword company?” Darrick chuckled.
“Minimal, your grace.” Darrick’s tone could be hinted with a touch of mockery, though to his surprise he was not punished for it.
“Then the offer goes to you. My sister, Rose, informed me of how you saved her in the Happy Maester last night. She is to ride to Casterly Rock soon to marry King Gerold Lannister’s son and heir, if you were to escort her you would be rewarded with gold and land, perhaps even knighthood. Of course, you also have the option to pull your sellsword company out of Dorne and fight for us. The choice is yours, but you won’t leave this room until you make your decision.” Darrick sighed, thinking of his options.
The one beautiful woman whom he had saved was now being married off to a highborn in the richest province of Westeros. All Darrick needed to do was escort her to the Rock, then be rewarded with great riches. Is it really that simple? Darrick thought about his chances of bringing the sellsword company back to the Reach. He admitted that the only way he could achieve that would be having to kill his brother and take ownership of the company. He grunted, knowing he needed to make a decision.
“Why does she need an escort? The princess I mean.” Prince Gilden laughed.
“You truly have been living under a rock. This marriage will expand all over Westeros. We Gardeners will take over the Stormlands, and the Lannisters will take the Rivers and Hills. Currently the slimy fish are in the hills that surround the Rock, and that poses a threat if they were to capture our princess.” Darrick nodded, now having a stronger understanding of the situation.
[Escort Rose to Casterly Rock] [Travel to Dorne to take leadership of Cross Company Sellswords]
Alright, I'll close this one-sided vote. Todd will choose to accompany Harrow to the Shadow Tower.
This was an interesting decision as it was really deciding whether Todd wanted a strong relation with Harrow or not. Of course, making this choice the two will get to know each other and perhaps Todd will learn a thing or two.