The Winter kingdom

Version 2.0

As the remnants of the shattered White Walker fell to the ground, confusion swept through the battlefield. Some of the Wights, bereft of the guiding influence of their master, stumbled aimlessly, momentarily directionless without a White Walker to lead them.

Amidst the disarray, the lone surviving White Walker turned its attention towards Hother with an unsettling gaze. The cold intensity emanating from its vibrant blue eyes sent an involuntary shiver down Hother's spine. An eerie calm settled over the battlefield waiting like a dried forest bed waiting for a spark.

"Now, that is interesting," echoes across the chaotic battlefield, the voice of Aloe resonating with an eerie stillness. "But a success nevertheless." His swift departure atop the large Ice spider left a trail of confusion in his wake, with the lone surviving White Walker in tow.

But before the White Walker abandons the scene, it bestows a final malevolent gift upon the beleaguered village. With a sweeping gesture, it commands the remaining Wights to surge forward.

Reacting swiftly to this new threat, Brandon and Hother charge into the fray, determined to stem the tide of advancing Wights. The obsidian dagger proves just as effective against the mindless minions. As the clash intensifies, the battlefield becomes a chaotic symphony of clashes, slashes, and the unearthly wails of the reanimated dead.

Edric and Jon, quick to adapt to the newfound effectiveness of the obsidian dagger against the Wights, swiftly equip themselves with potent weapons. Realizing the advantage the daggers provide, they join forces with the villagers, turning the tide of the battle against the relentless onslaught of the reanimated dead.

The group works together to dispatch the Wights, the obsidian daggers proving to be a decisive factor in the struggle for survival. As the last remnants of the Wights are vanquished, a tense silence settles over the battered village, the echoes of the battle slowly dissipating.

"Thanks for coming, Hother. You saved me there," Brandon expresses his gratitude as he walks towards the towering figure.

"Haha, No problem." He pats Brandon on the shoulder. "Guessing you'll want this back," Hother replies, handing over the obsidian dagger.

"Thanks." Brandon takes the dagger. "If it's alright to ask, the name you shouted, Harlon. Was that your son?"

"Aye, he was. Figured that he would be saddened to see me in my state, so I decided to do what he always saw me as—his hero. As his father, I will live up to his expectations of me."

"Well, I'm glad you came. It looks like we've solved one part of the mystery of what is going on, but there is one thing left. We have to find The Others, whatever they are. If we are going to fight them, then we need to know what we are fighting."

"The Others?"

"It's what Aloe said that his creation was for and based upon them. He said they were powerful and that we had little chance against them."

"Well, if the White Walkers come from them, then they might also be weak to obsidian, yes."

"It's our best lead to fight them. But it's all good having the weapons, but we don't have the people to do it as well."

"Mmm. I'll handle that. I'll get the people and gather those willing to fight. For the obsidian, I'll go to the children of the forest, and see if we can't trade something for them."

"Quite the man of action, aye," Jon says, joining the conversation and wrapping his arm around Brandon's shoulder.

"I don't have time to waste," Hother says, walking off towards the village and heading to a group of villagers who were in the fight.

"You know, I don't think he ever got our names," Jon remarks.

"Um. Haha, I think you're probably right. But he is a good guy, so what does it matter?" Brandon chuckles to himself.

"Well then, Bran, what's the next move? We got everything we needed, right?" asks Jon.

"Not quite," says Edric, joining them. "We needed to find these Others; we need to know the full picture of what we are fighting."

"You want, US, to go further north, which I am fairly certain is the direction Aloe went in, to go find what might be the stronger older brother of White Walkers. Just great, really appreciate that, Edric."

Edric just shrugs his shoulders and walks off to help some of the villagers.

With the fighting over, then comes the clean-up. People were hurt, hacked, and slashed at, families were broken up or dead. The party helps as best they can, applying some of their medical knowledge along with helping coordinate with the village chief to get the village back into working shape.

Homes are being rebuilt, the wounded are tended to next to warm cozy fires, cooks creating feasts, and hunters are on the lookout. Working together, the village does what it needs to survive together.

"Thanks for ye, help Brandon, Hother," Hugh says the village chief.

"It was the least that we could do Hugh." Says Brandon, his party, now clad in warmer garments stitched with layers of seal for insulation, stand prepared for their journey north.

"No problem," Hother says accompanied by a group of ex-villagers turned warriors. A mix of mostly young but a couple of older villagers join, etched with the lost friends and family, and change in life.

"I wish you luck and you can come back whenever you want, we will stick together in these times," Hugh says before heading back into the village and work.

"Well, Hother I will see you around, good luck around these parts, and be safe," Brandon says.

"You too," Hother says.

As Brandon and his party trek northward through the expansive plains, the biting chill in the air intensifies with every step, the cold still managing to seep through their newly reinforced layered garments. The vast expanse of the snow-covered plains stretches before them, seemingly endless, and the landscape becomes progressively barren.

The once occasional signs of wildlife—tracks in the snow, distant calls of birds—dwindle, leaving only silence. The only sound that accompanies them is the crunch of snow beneath their boots and the occasional howl of the frigid wind sweeping across the desolate landscape.

Approaching the northern forest, the temperature drops further, and the air becomes thinner, each breath freezing into visible crystals in the air. The trees on the outskirts of the forest stand as mummified remains, their branches covered in a thin layer of frost, as the landscape begins to transition from snowy plains to the foreboding embrace of the woods.

The trees, stripped of their leaves, stand like skeletal remains, their bare branches remain dead plenty of them flopping off their trees. The ground, once covered in a carpet of fallen leaves, is now a layer of frozen detritus.

This northern forest has succumbed to the grasp of winter, a frozen kingdom awaiting the eventual rebirth that spring will bring.