Seventh Moon of 269
Old Wyk
The Hour of the Plow (7 A.M.)
After Maege's spirited words, an uncomfortable silence fell over them. This extended through the rest of the afternoon and into the night.
Unable to speak with his father to understand the extent of their casualties, Alaric turned to his aunt. She informed him that the first attack of the Deep Ones alone had killed more than half the men who set sail from Bear Island and destroyed the newly formed fleet of the western Northern houses, sending them back to square one.
The silence between Alaric and Jeor lasted until the somber morning of the next day. That was when Lord Rickard gathered his most important men to reveal the results of yesterday's meeting and the one held an hour prior. This was something every other Lord Paramount was doing with their forces at that exact moment.
Inside the tent where the men were assembled, Alaric reunited with several familiar faces. These were men he had met just over a week ago during the meeting at Mormont Keep. As for the faces that were missing, he did not need to ask those present where they were.
Many seconds and thirds had died in this war, and even more would perish.
Beyond the familiar, there were many others who were not. These were the ones who had departed from White Harbor and sailed the Narrow Sea to Lannisport: the Manderlys, Karstarks, and Umbers. They were the nobles of the eastern North, as well as the most powerful. The only force not accompanied by a high lord was the Bolton contingent, led by the Dreadfort's master at arms instead of its lord.
After receiving further thanks from Galbarth Glover for finishing his healing that morning, Alaric asked Harren Glover the reason for Lord Bolton's absence. Harren explained, in a highly skeptical tone, that the master at arms claimed Lord Bolton could not come because he did not yet have a son of his own, and his younger brother was fit neither to lead the house in case of his death nor the army. Thus, he was not sent.
After relaying Lord Roderick Bolton's words, Harren remarked, without any fear of the Bolton men overhearing, that Bolton was either a coward or an opportunist. He was simply waiting to see how many would die so he could try to take the North for himself, which made him an even greater coward.
Their conversation ended with the entrance of Rickard, who, without preamble, delivered the new information and the plan they would follow.
Omitting the part where Aerys reprimanded them for allowing the attack to occur, Rickard told the crowd that while they were fighting more fish-men during their voyage to Old Wyk, the Targaryen, Lannister, and Baratheon fleet had been attacked by different enemies.
Under the watchful eyes of his vassals, who had already heard rumors of what happened during that voyage, Rickard spoke the truth and confirmed what they had heard. The walking dead, totally immune to pain, had attacked a larger fleet and managed to win, reducing the once gigantic fleet to the third smallest, standing only ahead of the Dornish and the Northerners.
"I didn't believe it initially, but when one of the captured attackers was brought before us, away from the sunlight, I saw how he remained alive even after having both arms amputated, and how he returned to normal after being thrown into the sea inside a bag containing his limbs."
Hearing his account, a shiver ran down the spines of almost everyone present.
"Is it true that only the sun can kill them?" Benfred Manderly, the younger brother of the current Lord of White Harbor, asked.
"No," Rickard replied, giving his listeners hope only to crush it immediately after. "They become normal, alive, again when exposed to sunlight, but it does not kill them automatically. However, Lord Corwyn Velaryon reported that during the combat on his ship, he managed to kill and wound several of these monsters with his Valyrian steel axe. Using Ice, I tested it myself and proved that Valyrian steel is apparently one of their weaknesses. But there are also the three members of the Kingsguard present, Gerold Hightower, Gwayne Gaunt, and Harlan Grandison, who managed, in a way even they could not explain, to wound and kill the undead without the help of the sun."
Murmurs of surprise and admiration echoed inside the tent. The members of the Kingsguard, a group of legendary men, were the only ones capable of wounding the undead. It was like something out of legend.
"Do they have no tips that could help us do the same? Nothing?" Lord Hullen Umber asked, not as mesmerized as the others.
"Every lord present during their account, myself included, pressed them for answers. The only thing they could say, which was common to all of them during the battle, was that they all fought thinking only of fulfilling their oath to protect the King. They said that with every blow struck, they could feel something inside them fading, and when it was totally gone, they lost the ability to truly wound the undead."
As admirable as the Kingsguard's words were, they did not please Lord Umber, who shook his head while wiping his nose.
Alaric, listening to the report alongside his family, was not surprised by the Kingsguard's ability to wound the undead. This was because he had already analyzed their character panels and seen that they all possessed the Paladin class as a subclass. This granted the ability to smite the undead at the second level.
When questioned by Rodrick, who clearly perceived the magical nature of their abilities, Alaric simplified it. He said that because they were "true knights," they had the ability to wound evil beings. He wasn't lying. That truly was the reason. Paladins, when not originating from vows made to gods, arose only when a knight was sincere in his vows. This was something a mere minority achieved.
Alaric, having taken his vows without any faith, did not become one. Furthermore, he lacked the 13 Charisma required. Andrey possessed the charisma, but he hadn't taken his vows seriously either.
Incidentally, this ability to wound evil beings is gained at level 3.
"So, for those of us without Valyrian steel, must we now pray to the King for a miracle as if he were a god?" an indignant voice spoke up.
"If praying to the Seven didn't save the lives of the King's men, I doubt praying to him will work, Harren."
"So must we just hope the sun doesn't set before we manage to finish them off?" Harren asked again, his tone sarcastic and his smile crooked.
"Close."
Harren's small smile died.
"As you may have noticed, Old Wyk is somehow getting darker, as if it were night even during the day. Yesterday, it was still possible to feel the heat of the sun on our faces, but now, only streaks of light manage to pierce this veil and touch the island's soil. By tomorrow, the island could be totally consumed by darkness, hidden from the sun. This would be a place where these undead are truly immortal. That is why King Aerys Targaryen has ordered us to attack this very day."
The crowd quickly fell into a state of chaos upon hearing the new orders.
"We don't even know how many men they have! After everyone retreated here, they must have tens of thousands with them!" one person shouted, pointing out the obvious. "Is he mad?"
"Why don't we retreat back to Great Wyk and ask for reinforcements?" another said, receiving nods of agreement. "We could wait for reinforcements under the sun of Great Wyk, where they cannot reach us."
"And during the night, we can defend against attacks from behind their own fortresses!" another added, gaining several votes in favor.
"We are racing against time!" Rickard interrupted them with a shout of his own. "The King held another meeting this morning and passed on information acquired from an Ironborn captured in the last few hours, after some sessions of torture under the sun and by the sea. According to him, what is happening here is not unique or special to Old Wyk. It can be, and is intended to be, done elsewhere. They don't just intend to corrupt their lands, but ours as well."
He turned to the man who had shouted about not knowing the enemy's numbers.
"And yes, they must have tens of thousands on their side, but that matters little. If they could use their numbers, they would have attacked us long ago. Like last night. But they didn't. The truth is that most of them are being imprisoned and transformed against their will. The loyal become the undead, while the unwilling become the monstrous and stupid fish-men. They must have thousands of men and women held against their will. These are men and women who will not march for their captors. But given enough time, they will all be transformed into monsters that can only follow orders. An army of monsters with monstrous strength, completely capable of destroying any kingdom alone."
Having reduced the men's confidence to nothing with words alone, Rickard looked back at everyone in the tent.
"The King requested reinforcements as soon as he conquered Pyke, but we don't have time to wait for them. That is why we must all unite and stop their plan before it's too late."
Despite the words of support for the King, Alaric saw through his mask that Rickard was also uncertain about Aerys's plans.
As more shouts of indignation continued, questioning the truthfulness of a tortured man's words, Alaric heard a voice speak into his left ear.
"If we start to lose, run. Become an eagle, a crow, anything, but fly away."
Those were his father's first words after the long silence between them.
Alaric, having already used two 1st level Cure Wounds spells on Lord Glover, couldn't help but think he might actually have to do just that. This was true even if it meant abandoning the mission he had just received from the system.
[New Mystic Quest Received!]
Title: The Ironborn Resurgence
Description: Help to put an end to the Drowned God's plans.
Reward: 800 to 4,000 EXP. 1 new Feat or 2 new Ability Score points.
The Hour of the Breaking Fast (8 A.M.)
An hour later, all the armies, gathered in a great coalition totaling just over fifteen thousand men, were ready to march. Most of them were still reluctant.
Seeing the expression of fear on the faces of so many men from atop a wooden platform, which allowed him a full view of the army and made him the center of attention, Gerold Hightower, the new general of the war replacing Steffon Baratheon, nodded to a man in the distance to signal something.
A minute later, the man returned accompanied by another. Together, they helped him carry a chest up to the platform.
"No, here." He pointed to a section where the beams of light descending from the sky could not reach.
Obeying the order, the men placed the wooden chest in the indicated spot and opened the lid. Observing the scene from below, everyone was confused. Some stood on their tiptoes to get a better look at what their new general was doing.
Having opened the box, Gerold tipped it forward alone. He dumped a mutilated body onto the wood of the platform. This left everyone even more baffled, including the Lords Paramount, who had no idea why he was showing them a corpse. That is, until they noticed the corpse had no arms.
Asking the two assistants to take away the box, which was taking up space, Gerold crouched down. He grabbed the "corpse" by the hair and lifted it. He exposed its open, conscious eyes which moved to look at Gerold and then at the crowd. A cloth was stuffed into its mouth, allowing it to produce only muffled grunts.
Seeing the living corpse, even with both arms severed, many among the nine thousand realized what it was. They began to whisper to those beside them, spreading the information. Seeing the men's faces light up in recognition, Gerold finally spoke while still holding the Drowned by the hair like a common object.
"Yes, this is one of the undead you have likely heard about, and whom we will fight in the coming hours. According to this one, they are called Drowned." He spared a glance at the creature, then turned back to the army. "Not so intimidating seeing them like this, is it?" He let go of the hair, letting the creature fall face-first onto the floor.
Because the Drowned also had its legs firmly bound, it could not even manage to stay on its knees.
"Normally, when I am leading men into combat, I tell them not to underestimate the enemy," Gerold continued as he stood up. "But for the first time, I find myself in a situation where I must say the opposite. So here it is: Do not overestimate them, regardless." He kicked the Drowned. "They are still nothing more than Ironborn. They are ill-disciplined, arrogant, self-destructive, poorly trained, and, above all, incompetent out of the water.
And they also know that, deep down, they remain the same. That is why they only attacked us when we were in the open sea! Why do you think they haven't attacked us here on land until now? They had the whole night! And nothing happened. We set a heavy guard, ready for them, and in the end, they never showed up.
Do not be fooled into thinking it is because they are far away, or that the march would take hours and the sun would rise before they arrived. No! We have already sent scouts and discovered they are much closer than we previously thought. We will reach them in less than two hours.
No, no…" He crouched again and looked at the Drowned, who stared back at him with blood in its eyes. "They didn't come because they know, even if they deny it to themselves, that out of the sea, they are like fish out of water: they will flop until they die. Isn't that right?" Pushing it with his hand, the Drowned began to thrash, trying to move closer and headbutt Gerold. The general simply turned to the crowd with a smile. "See? Like a fish."
Rising to the sound of bitter laughter from the army, Gerold unsheathed his sword and held it before him.
"And for those of you worried about their apparent invincibility: Just look at this one. He is 'alive', but is he in a proper state for combat? Death is not the only way to defeat them. By incapacitating them like this, we can leave them ready to be eliminated later, like this!"
Raising his sword and pointing it at the Drowned's back, Gerold tried to recall the sensation from two days ago. He remembered the feeling of fighting to protect his King, which allowed him to wound these monsters. Feeling something inside himself—something he had never felt until that battle on the dromond—he brought the sword down where he knew the lung would be. He felt something within him disappear.
Under the close observation of the army, the Drowned began to writhe with the sword thrust into its back.
Gerold, confident, grabbed it by the hair once more. He lifted its head to display it to his audience and pulled the now red-stained cloth from its mouth. The creature began to spit blood. Amidst the shouts of surprise from thousands of men, Gerold held the hair with his left hand and grabbed the creature's neck with his right. He lifted it up so everyone could see it clearly as it choked on its own blood.
"I ask once more: Not so intimidating, is it?"
Receiving only a few denials, he tried again.
"I didn't hear you clearly! Not so intimidating, is it?"
More "nos" were heard, but not enough.
"Are they intimidating or not?!"
Thousands upon thousands shouted "no," which encouraged tens of thousands more to scream. The army slowly became a cacophony of "nos." Seeing the scene, Gerold asked one last time.
"Are you intimidated?"
This time, it was an explosion. Hundreds of "nos" were shouted, followed by thousands, and thousands more.
While the continental army entered a frenzy of self-gaslighting, Alaric had left the Northern formation. He moved toward the Crownlands' forces, where he now held a serious conversation with Arryk Waters and made him a proposal. This all happened under the confused gaze of Jeor, who was still keeping his promise not to leave Alaric's side.
"What do you say, 'No One'?"
"All men must die," Arryk replied, sending a chill down Jeor's spine.
"Is that a yes?"
Arryk remained silent, simply observing Alaric. They spent several seconds this way, staring at each other to the sound of the shouting, until Arryk gave a faint smile and finally gave his answer.
"You have your deal. We will be waiting for your signal." He walked away, disappearing into the crowd.
Looking at the panel in front of him, Alaric felt that having Arryk on his side was a blessing.
…
Name: No Name (Arryk Waters)
HP: 101 / 101
Sex: Male
Race: Human
Class: Cleric
Divine Domain: Grave
Level: 14
Exp: 149,000 / 165,000
------------------------------Ability Score-----------------------------------
Strength: 12
Dexterity: 16
Constitution: 10
Intelligence: 14
Wisdom: 16
Charisma: 20
----------------------------------Skills--------------------------------------
Skills
Athletics (Str): The ability to climb, jump, and swim.
Acrobatics (Dex): The ability to stay on your feet in a tricky situation, such as when you're trying to run across a sheet of ice, balance on a tightrope, or stay upright on a rocking ship's deck.
Sleight of Hand (Dex): The ability to perform manual trickery.
Stealth (Dex): The ability to go unnoticed by people.
Insight (Wis): Discern a person's mood and intentions.
Perception (Wis): Measures your general awareness of your surroundings and the keenness of your senses.
Survival (Wis): Grants the ability to identify poisonous plants, track footprints, build fires, predict the weather, avoid natural disasters, and hunt animals.
Intimidation (Cha): Provides a better ability to intimidate people and gather information or convince them to change their minds.
Deception (Cha): The ability to hide the truth.
Performance (Cha): The ability to pretend to be someone you are not.
Persuasion (Dex): The ability to convince people to believe in something.
…
Then something hit him.
"Wait… 'we'?"
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
For 6 advanced chapter, you can go to my patreon: Patreon.com/Keiondir