The villagers wore padded cloth armor, I quickly noted, because I was a bit of a history nerd, who also studied a little bit of HEMA; it was a type of armor that one could easily make by layering different cloths on top of each other, creating a surprisingly effective and very light suit of armor that worked incredibly well, especially in cold places, though any form of armor piercing weaponry, like bodkin arrows, axes, hammers, maces, and spears could still get through if they were sharp enough; then again, no armor was ever perfect. The villagers armed themselves with a variety of polearms, usually just spears and pitchforks, though I counted at least ten of them who carried hunting bows.

The fishing village, I figured, had about thirty or so huts, which meant it had to have a population that sat at the low hundreds, high enough to maintain a stable birthrate, but not so high as to be incapable of living off of their main diet, which was probably fish and whatever they could forage or hunt in the surrounding woods.

There were about thirty warriors or so in total, many of them grizzled men, but I did note that at least six of them were women; though, with everyone having long hair, it was pretty hard to tell how many of them were female and how many weren't. So, I didn't linger on that. What was clear, however, was that a sizable number of their population seemed eager and ready for battle, which was a surprise – a welcome one, to be sure. The problem, I noted, was that their village wasn't in a very defensible place. It was, in fact, located on high ground, upon a large hill that overlooked the beach, where the only artificial structure was a strangely large pier, where about twenty or so fishing boats of varying sizes and shapes were moored. There were no choke points, no walls, and not even a simple gate or palisade. So, the distant raiders more or less had absolute impunity as to when and where they could attack.

That wasn't good. It meant the defenders wouldn't be able to properly defend their belongings. Fortunately, they seemed to have gathered all the women and children, alongside those who were likely incapable of fighting, into the main village hall, which was a lot easier to defend as opposed to literally everything else.

Meanwhile, the dozen or so ships I'd spotted much earlier were quickly and steadily approaching. I didn't think they'd make landfall right in front of the village, however, was doing so would sacrifice a ton of tactical options, like flanking attacks or night maneuvers; that said, it didn't seem like the raiders possessed the element of surprise anyway. I mean, shit, even I, distant as I was, could see them coming in from the open sea. What they did possess, however, was the advantage of numbers. There were about twenty or so ships headed towards the village and each one could've easily, though uncomfortably, held at least ten to fifteen raiders, which meant – at minimum – the village militia would have to deal with about two hundred raiders.

Those weren't great odds, I had to be honest.

Oh boy.

The villagers would get slaughtered. I was pretty sure that they'd, at the very least, sent some kind of messenger to tell their local liege lord about the coming threat, but whatever help was coming would likely come too late. Do I intervene? Who do I even help? I didn't know the full context of what was happening. Was this some kind of inter-tribal warfare or was this just a raid? This conflict didn't concern me; I wasn't a part of it and I had no stakes in it. After all, wouldn't I be dooming one group by helping another? If I helped the villagers, I'd doom the raiders – though, admittedly, them being the offenders here made it very easy for me to consider attacking them. The opposite was also true. But, again, the raiders were making it really hard for me to sympathize with them, honestly.

Because I knew nothing, like Jon Snow, who I wasn't sure was already alive by now or not, I turned to what I did know. The raggedy clothes of the raiders, for instance, clued me into the possibility that they were most probably Wildlings, because the only other raiding culture that I knew of in ASOIAF was the Ironborn and these ones definitely didn't look like the horny vikings described in the books. Hence, the only option left was that these were, in fact, Wildlings. And, as far as I knew, the Wildlings had this culture of wife stealing, in which they, quite literally, stole women outside of their tribe, whether they be fellow Wildlings or 'Southern Kneelers', and force them into... a very terrible life. They killed the men and... I had no idea what they did with the children, but I wouldn't be surprised if they kidnapped kids and raised them up as Wildlings.

In short, an entire culture of barbarians and rapists... against a small fishing village who were just trying to defend themselves. Fuck it. Staying neutral was to accept that I could bring no positive change into the world. To stay neutral meant standing by and watching atrocities and unfold and doing nothing to stop any of them. And this world was one big atrocity if you asked me, wars with weirdly high casualty-rates and abusive lords who really shouldn't be in power. Was I to just stand by while people suffered and there was something I could do? After all, I was an Archmage, there were very few things on this planet that could truly challenge me. I was a walking force of Necromantic magic. Hell, if nothing else, I was probably stronger than an Other.

Fuck staying neutral. A lot of tragedies happened because good men stood by and watched and allowed them to happen when they could've chosen to do something, instead.

And then, I made up my mind. I was going to aid the fisher folk and damn the consequences. I'd deal with those later. The question now was how was I going to do just that? Do I go in guns blazing and ass kicking or do I play the part of a mysterious stranger? See, one of my problems was that I was pretty sure zombies would make anyone in Westeros shit their pants and, unfortunately for me, I was a Necromancer, which meant most of what I did involved zombies and, even more unfortunate was the fact that most of my higher level spells were incredibly limited by their cast times, especially the really high level ones. [Finger of Death], for instance, at my level, had enough damage to probably one-shot a dragon and then raise it as a zombie, but it could only be used once per day or maybe more if I assigned it to a ninth level slot, which meant it was pretty bad if I used it on a human being. [Chill Touch] and [Sapping Sting] worked better in this case as I could just spam both of them and everything it hit would probably die; hey, if I could almost one-shot a giant ass bear, then any person I used it on was pretty much dead.

Still, I couldn't be complacent. I knew, for a fact, that the great George RR Martin is planning to flood the whole setting with a bunch of Ice Zombies and spooky elves, which meant I couldn't rely on just my cantrips forever.

For now, however, against a bunch of unwashed Wildlings, my cantrips would do just fine.

Eh, screw it. This was the North, it think, which meant the likelihood of me getting lynched by an angry, superstitious mob was far lower than it is if I was somewhere in the south. And, honestly, I'd face whatever consequences came my way, but I sure as hell was going to defend myself from a bunch of angry peasants if the need to do so ever arose. I wouldn't try to hide my usage of magic, but I was pretty sure they'd all be too busy in the chaos to even notice my presence. So, whether or not I went in guns-blazing-ass-kicking or stayed mysterious depended entirely on whether or not anyone would actually see me in the thick of it.

I'd also minimize my use of the [Great Boner], simply because rotting undead minions would be kind of difficult to hide from the villagers, but I wasn't about to send it into my [Bag of Holding] as that would deprive me of my one and only weapon. I wasn't about to risk my shit, just because a bunch of strangers might get scared; minimal did not mean none at all. And the [Great Boner] was still a very good polearm.

Breathing in, I made my way towards the village.

I found a trail on my way down, likely used by the fisher folk themselves whenever they foraged for food in the surrounding woods, a trail that led directly towards the fishing hamlet proper. None of the villagers noticed me when I waltzed right in, which was precisely one of the major weaknesses that I'd noted earlier. The brunt of them had gathered in the village center, while a few, I figured, must've went over the shore to try and skirmish with the Wildlings; they did have a few bowmen, after all, and the turbulence of the waters of the sea made it highly unlikely that the Wildlings would even be able to respond with archers of their own. If they did, I can't imagine their arrows would ever find their mark.

The archers engaged and I saw that most of their arrows veered wildly off-course. Few as they were and assaulted by powerful winds, I didn't think their ranged attacks would be doing anyone any good. Still, panicked screams and shouts from the raggedy boats told me that at least a few of the arrows must've hit someone or something important.

"Who are you?!" Someone raised a pitchfork at me from the side. My eyes widened as I turned and raised my free hand, almost instinctively, my blood running cold as I gulped and beheld the young, pale, red-haired woman with the... pole weapon in her grasp, a rusty farming implement that, in the right hands and against an unarmored opponent, was as deadly as any spear. And, right now, she had the advantage of engagement, simply because I honestly didn't want to fight her and I'd never been in a fight, whereas this woman looked ready to kill. However, the fact that she didn't just stab my ass with the pitchfork while I had my back turned probably meant that she was, at least, willing to talk.

I had to exert some effort to keep my undead bear from charging straight into the village and wrecking everything and everyone on sight. That was my fear making rash decisions. The rational part of my mind had to stay in control. And so, I breathed in and steadied my thoughts.

"I'm not a Wildling." I said, very softly gesturing at my clothes, which should've been indicative enough, honestly. "I'm just a wanderer. And I just happen to be passing by. I mean you and your village no harm. In fact, I'm here to help against the Wildlings."

The woman's green eyes narrowed, before she sighed, nodded, and let down the pitchfork. She didn't seem afraid or doubtful, I noted. If anything, she seemed just about ready to die. "Well, you certainly don't look like a Wildling. Or smell like one. And, wecould use some more help; that's for sure. The prissy knight who 'lords' over us isn't coming for another hour, I wager. By then we'll be dead. You a fighter?"

I debated, for a moment, whether or not I should tell her, before I shrugged and slammed the [Great Boner] into the ground. "In a manner of speaking; you could say that I am capable of inflicting death on those who seek me harm."

"Well, then," She said, taking a step towards me, her pitchfork now pointed upwards. Up close, it was easy to see that this woman had lived a life of hardship. Her skin had seen better days and her hands were terribly calloused and covered in old scars. "I hope you can at least take one of them down with you when you die, wanderer. Let's exchange names if we're both still alive by the end of this."

"That sounds fair." I said. "And don't worry; I am accustomed to death, you might say. I won't die so easily."

"Good," She said. "Then, would you like to die with the rest of us in the village center or do you prefer to die somewhere else?"

"Wow, you're really pessimistic about this, aren't you?" I said.

The woman shrugged. "We're outnumbered. We have no walls to save us and our weapons are few and shite. Most of us are willing to fight, of course, but I'm not exactly going to hope for a good ending if I can't see it."

"Have faith." I said, my grip tightening around the [Great Boner]. There was nothing to be scared of, I told myself. As long as I used [Sapping Sting] or [Chill Touch] at a safe distance, then all was gold and well. "Life might just surprise you. But, as for an actual answer to your question, I'll choose where I go."

"Very well," The woman said, waving me off. "See you if I see you."

Huh... it took me a moment to remember the simple fact that I'd... never really killed anyone before.

And now I was about to participate in what was essentially an active warzone, but with melee weapons and bows and arrows instead of guns.

Oh boy. What the hell have I gotten myself into?