Amongst the howling storm, a horn blasted.
One blast for Rangers.
Nikolas looked up from his map, striding to the tent opening. Rangers? At this hour of the night? He frowned, blinking against the flurries of snow that cut against his cheeks. Much as he wished to dismiss the call, his years of experience as Lord Commander had grounded into him caution. Nikolas muttered a curse under his breath, reached for his thick fur long coat and marched out into the howling night.
He could hear curses and groans as the campsite was grouchily awoken by the horn, once-agile figures stumbling out of their tents, half asleep. One went to answer the call of nature, but failed to see the tree in his way. Another tripped on the ropes of his tent, fell flat on his bottom, and struggled against the fabric, his sword clattering just out of reach. 'Behold, the Shield that guards the realms of men', Nikolas thought wryly, before barking into the assembling ranks. "Coul! Report!"
Coul, the grizzled head of the scouts, grabbed a torch from the fire, raising a hand over his eyes to block out the snow. "I ain't entirely sure, Lord Commander, it's impossible for us to see anything in this damned snow. My son Philip says he sees men coming though, he has sharper eyes than either of us." He shivered, "By the Seven, it's freezing tonight!"
Nikolas snorted, "I have one eye, Coul, and I see perfectly well out of that." He picked up a firebrand of his own. "Where's Marius?"
Marius Hill, his second in command, was by his side instantly. He looked worried. "Commander, we didn't send any scouts. I'm sure of it." A second horn blast rang through the campsite, confirming his words.
Two blasts for Wildlings.
Nikolas nodded grimly, unsheathing his sword. "I was afraid of that. We've found the Wildlings. Or rather, they've found us."
Marius shook his head, drawing his own sword. "How thoughtful of them. After five weeks of raiding empty villages, now they decide to come to us."
Nikolas was already among the Night's Watch. "Form ranks! Pull together! Light the fires! All eyes on the perimeter!" Fires were rekindled, torches lit. The dancing light reflected off the swords and arrows of the men, their faces gaunt and ready for battle.
Marius caught up to his long strides. "Coul's son is on the lookout today. He says they number fewer than ten. There are twenty rangers out here with us, so we should hold them off easily. Maybe even get some-"
His thoughts were cut off by the first figures that came shambling out of the mist. Sure enough, they wore the tattered garbs of a wildling, but as they stepped into the light, Nikolas swore a foul oath. Their eyes were cold, a brilliant shade of blue, their expressions frozen with the pained finality of death. Their movements were jerky, but they were fast, faster than they could ever believe.
Three blasts. Three blasts...for Others.
Phillip, ashen faced, brought the horn to his lips with shaking hands, but no sound came out. It didn't matter. They didn't need the third blast to know how much trouble they were in.
Nikolas had rarely felt so cold in his life.
Screams rang through the camp as the two sides made contact. Nikolas thrust a sword straight into the heart of one of the creatures, but the creature pulled it out, completely unfazed, and continued its attacks. Even a dagger buried deep into its chest could not stop the continued jerks of this monstrosity.
Of course, he had heard tales of the Undead. Of course. In tales, songs. Even in the Eastern Islands he had heard of the Long Night of Westeros, where the Others had come with their Undead...wights.
He drove it back with a punch, cursing as cold travelled through his glove to his hand. Was its skin literally ice? He desperately fought against the creeping cold seeping into his very being, the soft murmurs that whispered in him to drop his sword for this one fight he couldn't win. Grimly, he stabbed the creature in its neck, yanking as hard as he could. The creature's head tore off from its body, tendons and entrails hanging, and Nikolas allowed himself a small sigh of relief as the creature finally toppled and stilled.
The pale snow was now stained scarlet with blood, the blood of the fallen rangers. The cries of pain were deafening, some beastly, others human. For every wight that was brought down, two or more rangers died with it.
And in the spam of some five heartbeats, only five Rangers, including him, were still standing.
The remaining wight simply looked at them, its cold eyes unreadable.
Growling, Nikolas dashed to the fire and snatched a blazing brand. Crying out his anger, he dashed the brand into the wight's face. A horrible scream tore through the air as it fled into the darkness.
But the ordeal was not over. Not yet.
As the final wight fled, the fire from its body flared for a moment, and Nikolas saw his nightmares came to life. A shadow, no, many shadows, tall, gaunt and hard. Their armor changed color as they walked, patterns running like moonlight on water with every skin was pale as ice, blue glittering stars for eyes, swords of crystal. Their swords had moonlight caught in them, a ghost light playing around its edges. Their horses were dead, their entrails trailing the icy ground. Before the wight's fire died, Nikolas saw ten, twenty, more of the figures.
Their laughter was like ice cracking on a winter's lake, sharp as icicles.
He didn't think the situation could get any worse.
Then one of the bodies on the ground twitched. A ranger, his black cloak shredded and a gaping wound in his chest. He jerked again. Eyes of shining blue snapped open. With mounting horror, Nikolas watched as the fallen rangers all opened ice blue eyes.
"Father save me...Mother preserve me…" Marius gasped.
They rose. Their wounds stopped bleeding. They stared at their former brothers without a hint of recognition, they jerked forward. Movement from all around the woods. More glowing blue eyes seemed to peer from behind every tree.
Nikolas screamed out an order, and the remaining four of his Rangers mounted horse and galloped for their laughter of the Others pursued them, chilling, sharp, taunting. Wind bit his cheeks, his horse cried at the speed. They couldn't afford to stop.
They needed to return to the Wall.
The realm must know.
They were at war. A war with battles no man could hope to fight.
No one was safe.
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Boom! Action XD. Welcome to my newest project, an attempt to completely reinvent the Avengers into Westeros. Characters from the Game of Thrones will show up occasionally, but the main focus of the story will be on Anton Stark, careless, wealthy weaponmaster of Winterfell, Captain Stefan, veteran of Robert's Rebellion and now a Black Brother, Clinton Stone, squire, Asha, Faceless assassin, Thorin, the son of a Lannister lord, and Bruce, a half giant. Interested yet?
I'm really excited about this new project, and already ideas are swirling, haha. I already have story arcs worked out for each member of the team, so writing this will be fun and quick,so don't worry about that. But still, I'm open to suggestions,and if you have an idea I could reasonably fit into their arc, I'll add it and credit you.
P.S. If you like the coverart, I drew it myself coz I couldn't find any pic that suited my story. Realll proud of it, seeing as I usually don't draw.
P.P.S For readers still wondering about Help from Another World, I'm around one third of the way done, so stay tuned, haha.
P.P.P.S Nick Fury, Maria and Phil Coulson make their debut here, in case you still haven't figured it out XD.
P - Oh never mind. I'm expanding my collection from just Percy Jackson, so PJcrazy doesn't cut it anymore haha. I'm changing my name to reflect that. Scribe of Worlds is me now :D
So...review?