"Sorcerer!"
Interesting.
"Cease your devilry, demon!" Another roar from the same person, a voice filled with fear. "I'm warning you!"
My eyes narrowed. And the cold intensified around us, droplets and flickers of snow falling like raindrops.
That was definitely a spear, aimed right at my face. It was the same young man who'd offered me the bow, his face twisted in disgust, fear, and loathing. And I saw the hatred there, the malice. He hated me. Why?
I breathed in and my blood went still and cold. Something awoke inside me right then and there. I wasn't entirely sure why, but it was a sensation, a feeling, that I was wholly unfamiliar with. No, that wasn't quite right either, was it? I was familiar with it. And it was precisely because of that familiarity that I knew where it came from, this darkness, the indignity and inhumanity of paying some sort of consequence just because I wanted to help people.
Ah yes, to be accused of sexual assault when all I did was offer bed and lodging to a friend who needed it. Went to prison, got proven innocent, but things were never quite the same after that, were they? Wasn't that the whole reason why I even bothered going to law school? So that no other man has to suffer through the same thing I did?
Oh yeah... there had been a time in my life, where I considered death, a time when I couldn't stand the unfair judgement wrought upon me. Despite being proven innocent, the stain of the accusation never quite washed off, never quite left me. It was all over the news and all over the internet and, still, I got cold and disdainful glares sent my way, eyes that judged and hated me for something that I did not do, silently accusing me for what I was not. And I hated it. In that time, I wanted to watch the world burn around me, I wanted to see the end and the death of everything, including myself. My father helped me pick up the shattered pieces of the man I used to be by taking me back to the outdoors, into the wilds, where the beasts and the plants and the trees did not judge me.
It took a while, I suppose, but I healed eventually, and I swore to myself that I wouldn't let such a thing define me, that I would rise above it, and that I would help others, like myself, who were accused of something they were innocent of. I thought I'd gotten over that loathing, that darkness, but it seemed that I was wrong.
Because I wanted to rip the life out of the young man, just because he was glaring at me.
I knew that it would be wrong. The circumstances weren't the same. He was judging me on something that I technically did do; after all, everything I'd done just now was essentially magic. But his eyes... oh how I hated his eyes, how I wanted to pluck them out of his eye sockets. It'd be easy too. I had the power now, after all. I had all the power in the world. I could reduce this boy into a pile of necrotic sludge with but a single thought and there was nothing he could do about it; there was nothing anyone could do about it. It was wrong. I knew that the very thought should've made me flinch and rebel, but I was done. I was so done with being accused of something I was not, blamed for something I did not do.
Before I could do anything monumentally stupid, however, someone came over and bonked the teenager on the head. My eyes widened. And I blinked. It was the old man from earlier, the one who commanded the troop of archers. The boy yelped and looked as though he'd throw a punch at the old man. And he did, but the elderly warrior simply kicked his legs from under him and sent him sprawling to the ground. Out of the corner of my eye, I noted the rushing horde of Wildlings was thinning. A lot of them were dying right here and now, before they ever reached the beach. If things went well, then none of them would get to the village at all. "Don't be daft, boy! This sorcerer is helping us; it's thanks to his magic that we're not knee-deep in barbarians! Now aim your weapon elsewhere or I will throw you into the bay!"
I looked down at the teenager and... realized that he wasn't worth my time and that young people were just stupid, but I was about to do something even stupider by melting his face away. I breathed in and shook my head and turned away as the teenager scurried away and the old man took a step towards me. "Forgive him. He was just being stupid."
I nodded and turned to the bay, and wondered if I should use [Chill Touch] to take out several more Wildlings, but ultimately decided against it; the water and the cold would kill them – not me. Oh, of course, it was still technically my fault that they'd die, but knowing I didn't directly kill them meant I'd be able to sleep just a tad bit better at night. Besides, there were only a few of them left. If this was a raiding party, then they failed quite miserably. The other ships crashed into each other and broke apart, water flooding their insides; I didn't even have to do anything. The sharp rocks and the ruined ships were doing everything for me. So, I turned back to look at the old man. "There is nothing to forgive. He was afraid of something he did not understand. It was only natural."
And yet, I came this close to killing someone for something even I would've been afraid of, an act that even I would've persecuted.
Hah, but I'd also be the first to admit the fact that I was probably the world's biggest hypocrite. So, fuck it.
"Is this all of it?" I asked the old man as I turned my attention back to the Wildlings, many of whom had drowned or bled out in the water, while those that still lived were getting riddled with arrows or had grown stiff from the cold. There was nothing for them there; swimming unto land meant they'd face a volley and it wasn't as though they could make their way back out into the sea. Even with the few ships that went further along the coast in an attempt to make landfall somewhere else, it was done. Their little raid was stopped in its tracks and it was stopped because of my help. That felt good, I supposed. But, despite that, I couldn't quite shake off the feeling that it was a little too convenient and that the Wildlings that I knew from the books would've tried a little harder; they might've been barbarians, but they weren't dumb by any means.
"No," The old man shook his head and sighed, before nocking and loosing an arrow into the crowd of swimming Wildlings. Honestly, their screams made me feel pity. They didn't stand even a sporting chance. It was like beating up a three year old and then stealing their candy. It wasn't a fight; it was a one-sided beat down, which – all things considered – was a pretty good outcome, I suppose. In reality, fair fights almost never happened; in every battle, one side always had overwhelming power or held overwhelming odds in their favor.
"This isn't the first raid we've repelled, though it is the first we've repelled so easily. There is always more of them out there, waiting to strike, to steal our women and our livestock. They are animals, but they are cunning. I would not be surprised to be roused to the sound of battle in the morn." The old man continued.
"A few of their ships broke off from the main fleet." I pointed out. By my count, which probably wasn't accurate to say the least, there were about five or six ships that branched off, which meant there would soon be about forty to fifty Wildlings screwing about in the nearby woods. I didn't like the sound of that. But, I figured, once the local lord got here, then it probably wouldn't be too much of a problem. Probably. "Should we just wait for them to attack?"
Ideally, a skirmishing force could be sent after them, but doing so – I figured, with my very limited and narrow knowledge on medieval warfare and tactics – would mean venturing out and away from the relative advantage that was offered by the village. Whereas the Wildlings definitely had greater experience with woodland battles, these villagers, save for a very few, likely didn't even have any. And, besides, any skirmishing force they'd be able to send out would be too few to annihilate the Wildlings. If anything, the barbarians from beyond the wall could ambush them, instead, which would pave the way for some kind of counterattack, prolonging the conflict.
"We'll send out-"
A bell suddenly rang, loud and incessant, its booming clangs reverberating across the entire village. The archers stopped and turned, their eyes wide with fear. The old man before me paused as well, his gaze turning northward. By then, the Wildling force from the sea was well and truly neutralized. What few of them that remained wouldn't be a threat anymore, seeing as they'd have to beat hypothermia first and foremost, before they could even dream of attacking the village. Yeah, they were beaten. Each wave that crashed onto shore carried with it dozens of bodies – some dead and a lot of dying.
I wouldn't count on there being survivors. But, despite the threat they posed, a part of me did kind of hope that a few of them would make it.
"What's going on?"
A frantic aura seemed to envelop the archers and I realized then that the bell must've signaled bad news.
"More of them are coming from the north!" The old man did not quite respond to me, directly; instead, he roared, addressing everyone, including me. A cold wind blew over us, carrying with it the scent of blood, death, and the briny smell of the sea. The carved wooden ships of the Wildlings groaned as the crashing waves carried them forward, their splintered and damaged hulls cracking apart. Soon enough, I figured, these ships would fully sink, forming a graveyard beneath the surface of the water. It was either that or the sharp rocks would tear them apart.
The corpses would make excellent food for the fishes.
The bell tolled and I knew then that the battle was far from over. Of course not, this was the world of ice and fire, shit never goes well for anyone, ever, unless you were a villain, then shit goes well for a little while, before it blows up.
We barely had time to discuss or plan anything as screams and roars echoed out from across the village. My eyes widened. Just how many Wildlings were there? Did they have another... oh... they did. The fucking Wildlings had another fleet, one that made landfall without anyone ever knowing it even existed. How that happened, I couldn't explain, though I had a few guesses and none of them were good. Well... shit. The archers abandoned their position on the beach quickly enough. I followed after them, jogging at the rear, where I figured I'd be safer.
We rushed right back into the center of the village and then, I saw them, a horde of Wildlings, marching in as though they owned the place; many of them looked happy and excited to be here, the prospect of looting, killing, and raping appealing to many of them, it seemed. There were easily hundreds of them, a large-enough horde that a tiny village would not have been able to stand its ground. The villagers fought back, forming a line of spears. Apparently, in the brief time that I wasn't present, they'd boarded and walled up several sections that led up to the village center, making it so that the invaders would have no choice but to climb over or funnel themselves into a narrow corridor and right into said wall of spears.
The only problem was that it really wouldn't take much work to take down the flimsy walls.
I held out my left hand and unleashed several [Sapping Sting] spells at once, necrotizing the ankles of several Wildlings who'd charged us out of the blue. They fell to the ground, screaming and cursing, some having soiled themselves – or they just smelled like, not sure. The archers followed up by unleashing a volley of arrows at the downed Wildlings, killing them as they lay on the ground.
"We have to rejoin the others!" The old soldier roared, having abandoned his bow in favor of a bearded axe that had clearly served him in the past.
One of the Wildlings emerged from a thatched hut, a shaggy-haired woman with a crazed look on her face. She raised a stone-headed spear and aimed it right at me, rushing towards me like an absolute maniac. My eyes widened as I took a step back, my HEMA instincts activating just enough for me to bat her spear to the side with my own polearm, the [Great Boner]. I then followed up with a thrust right into her face, the tip of my staff hitting her full-force between the eyes. I felt her forehead crack, her body going limp as she fell.
The woman convulsed and writhed immediately as she hit the ground, necrotic energies subsuming her body from within. Her eyes flashed a baleful emerald green.
Oh...
Oh boy.
Around me, several Wildlings had stopped in their tracks, frozen in fear, even as the battle raged on around us, their eyes wide and fixed upon their own, who'd now ceased struggling, becoming another extension of myself. The undead woman arose from the ground, still clutching her spear, animated, but very much dead.
"Wight!"
"It's one of the Cold Gods!"
Oh well, the cat's out of the damn bag now and I might as well go all out. And so, like moving a limb I'd kept stationary for hours and hours, I called forth the Undead Bear from the forest.