Nerd In the North 6-4

“Sword and spear rattleth tonight. Blood of men floweth ‘cross many a na~tioooon.”

The cave was dark, damp, and probably home to at least six species of spiders Greg didn’t want to meet, but it had a roof and that was really all Greg needed from a hideout .

“These fools shall be crushed with righteous might. While thou, O Lord, promiseth salva~tiooon.”

Also, the hideout had the crew there too, which was even better, because that meant they could really start going… going home.

The fact that he had started thinking about the North as home was so many levels of worrying that he’d already gotten past before this war even started.

But honestly, it was home.

And he had a frickin’ castle to get back to.

“There be nought that could tear us away from thee. There art no legion’s strength that there could ever be. I bless the rain down in Westeros!”

It only took a half hour for his buddy to lead them straight to the rally point, Greg just singing to pass the time as the giant flying GPS proved useful for far more than just flame-centric war-crimes. 

Soon enough, Ash dove deeper into the woods and Greg maintained his pace, Sansa having gone as quiet as Myrcella a long time ago. It was either that or risk her voice even more from all the screaming and shouting, honestly.

It only took a good ten minutes before they broke through another patch of trees, the sight of light in the dead of night enough to put a smile on Greg’s face. 

Ash was already curled up in front of the cave, the dracoursa the first thing he saw as soon he jogged up and into the clearing; his bulk wrapped around a fire as he was probably dreaming of eating sheep or terrified peasants.

Guts was the second thing Greg saw, a black silhouette blocking out a bunch more of the flame’s light; the giant looking like he always did, a living statue that decided to murder anything that pissed him off for a living. That hunk of steel and terror he called Dragonslayer rested casually at his side, Guts leaning on the blade that was a sizable chunk of the weight of a whole horse.

The second he saw Greg, the statue moved. A sharp, crooked smile cut wide across the black-haired man’s tan face, all teeth and promising only the violence of a heavy back slap from a man who could throw both a horse and its rider a good fifty feet.

“Tiny lord.” Greg nodded at the sound of the gravel rumbling in his ears, already feeling Sansa jump at the sound. “Thought ye got lost when the dumb bear came back without ye.”

“Me?” Greg shook his head, loosening his grip around the blonde and ginger over his shoulders just a bit. “Lost? Have some faith, Guts.”

A sharp face, every inch of it edged all the way down to the nose, popped up from behind a pile of kindling, Daeric grinning wide enough to split his narrow face. “There ‘e is! The mad lord ‘imself back from the lion’s den!”

Skinny limbs scrambled his way as Lobb hurried over, his squire half-stumbling with skinny limbs as he met Greg’s bright blues with his dark browns. “M’lord,” Lobb breathed, looking entirely relieved to see him. “Glad yer back. Thought… well. Glad yer back.”

The four Stark men—the remaining survivors of the clusterfuck in the city that had Greg finish the mission on his own—scrambled up from their huddle, the rough and bloodstained men straightening up as soon as they saw the blond hair and blue eagle on his chest. 

“Lord Veder.” One of them rasped as he bowed, a guy with a bandage wrapped around his head. “We… we feared the worst.”

Greg finally let the cargo drop, as gently as he could; Myrcella sliding off his shoulder and blinking around with bright green eyes.

The Stark girl didn’t seem to get the whole thing about the gently part, though, considering she hit the ground with slumbling legs; dress scraping against the mud as she glanced around. Tear tracks cut messy lines across her face, eyes red-rimmed and wide with panic as she glanced around the forest at each of the men standing around her. “Kidnapper!”

Greg raised an eyebrow. “…yes.” He blinked slowly and carefully, Sansa not even looking as the Stark men knelt to her with their heads bowed. “That… that… we covered this already.”

A pale finger jabbed right in his face, the fourteen-year-old still shaking even after all the worst of it was over and long done with. “You… you kidnapped us!” 

…I’m not gonna like you, am I?

“Yeah, well, your brother asked nicely.” He clenched his teeth, biting back a groan as he rubbed the back of his neck; wincing just a litle as a muscle spasmed. Man, carrying royalty is hell on the traps. “Look, you can hate me later. Write a song about it, if you feel like it or whatever. ‘The Dark Lord Veder and the Very Uncomfortable Shoulder Ride’. Right now, we need to keep our butts moving.”

One of the Stark guards stepped forward, looking around all of them with a desperate kind of hope on his face. “M’lord… m’lady Stark… Lady Arya? Is she…?”

The grimace on his face was clear as day as he looked at the man, then at Sansa, her own anger faltering for a second at the reminder of her sister.

“She wasn’t there.” Greg let out a long sigh, unable to sugarcoat it and not feeling like it either way at this point. “Would say I checked everywhere, but didn’t really get a chance considering…” He shook his head. “Either way, Princess Stark said she’s been gone for months, though.”

The guard slumped, mouth falling open. “G-gone where, m’lord?”

“I…” Said princess let out a small, choked sound, one hand covering her mouth. “I don’t know.”

“Yeah, I don’t know either,” He shrugged again, one hand running through his hair. “But she wasn’t in the castle, so… yeah, gonna have to break that to King Stark.”

Myrcella, meanwhile, was ignoring the entire tragic reunion, the other girl smoothing down her skirts as calmly as she did anything else; black-and-gold outfit still looking surprisingly neat given everything. Her gaze swept over everyone gathered, stopping on Greg for a second before he saw her focus land on the flames burning bright. 

He blinked as she didn’t, the flame reflecting perfectly in her green eyes.

“Small things slip through cracks,” the platinum-haired princess finally spoke up. Greg looked back over at the thirteen-year old again, her voice quiet and clear as a bell in the damp air as she tilted her head. “Mice and men.”

Okay, that’s… cryptic. Blue eyes snapped over to the dark gaze of Guts, the big man shrugging back at him with an expression that said the man clearly didn’t care. Real helpful.

“Wh-what?” Sansa looked at Myrcella like she’d grown a second head. “What are you talking about, Myrcella?”

“Our home was a cage,” Myrcella replied, not looking away from the fires. “We are all free birds now.”

“Mmmm…” Greg nodded slowly. “Love that song. Skynyrd, right? Classic.”

Green eyes chose that moment to leave the fire, flickering back to Greg as flames still burned inside them; bright and green and burning in the gloom. “The hounds of dusk gather at the crossroads, my lord.” The words were whispered, but somehow no more quiet than her usual as all the sound around them quieted; her voice landing perfectly in his ears. “Their teeth are iron, their eyes are embers.”

The words were nonsense, bad poetry or trauma babble, but it didn’t stop Greg’s mouth from falling open as something at the very back of his mind — a chill up his neck — screaming nothing but Danger-Danger-Danger.

“What are you talking about?” 

The Baratheon princess just blinked, all that eerie intensity vanishing like she hadn’t just been auditioning for the Shining. “What do you speak of?”

“She’s a-addled.” Greg snapped over to Sansa, the other princess wringing her hands. “She has been quiet and different since the… It matters not. It’s just riddles!”

Greg looked at Guts, the giant’s eyes on the little blonde girl and not moving an inch. “Big guy, you got a call on this?”

Guts grunted, a sound that could mean almost anything; the grunt didn’t stop, though, going longer and longer until it turned into something more of a grumble as the man clearly worked through a thought. 

Finally, his mouth opened up. “Kid’s either right or wrong. Hand resting on the hilt of the Dragonslayer, Guts nodded his head. “Being ready don’t cost us a damn thing. Dying costs everything.”

“All-riiiiiight.” Greg hated that Guts was right, because creepy kid prophecies was never a good sign of anything. That was like a rule somewhere, honestly. “Change of plans. Can’t hit a crossroad if we never take the roads. Scenic route it is.”

“Not the Kingsroad?” Daeric snorted. “M’lord, the woods are full of bogs.”

“Better wet than dead.” He just shrugged back.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Better wet than dead. By the time they packed up camp and started moving the next day, it only took Greg Veder a few hours of travel to regret that.

“I’m a fuckin’ idiot.” The words went almost unheard under all the squelching under his feet, the wetlands pulling him down almost every step. Cloud huffed, his horse chiming in, as he held the guy by the reins. Sansa sat in the saddle, the Stark girl much calmer now than she had been hours ago. “Fuuuuu~cking’ idiot.”

Really, everything about her had gotten progressively easier to handle once she had slept for the night. For one, she’d stopped screaming about everything.

Unfortunately, easier was relative.

Sansa just kept on talking and asking questions that he couldn’t really answer, everything about the North and her mother and her brothers, and a whole lot of stuff Greg really didn’t know.

And honestly, Greg was starting to wish — just a little — she could go back to being pissy about the kidnapping.

Myrcella was having a great time, it seemed. The other girl didn’t care about using a horse and had simply asked over and over, as calmly as ever, until the giant had given in.

And for the last couple hours, Myrcella had been sitting around Guts’ neck as he carried her around. 

No questions, no pointless constant chatter, just being a very polite guest. Greg could really appreciate that. Unlike a certain someone…

“It’s very rude, you know, to ignore a lady.”

…Robb is gonna owe me for this.

Hours and hours of travel through wetlands and bogs, and maybe a marsh or two, the sun was already beginning to set. Ash was off hunting some big game to fill his growing beelly, and the way all the eyes were on him, Greg was figuring it was time to call it a break and make camp for everyone else to fill theirs.

Only for Lobb to spot what looked like a small village just a little up ahead, just outside the Kingswood. A tiny little hamlet of a place, it looked peaceful from a distance.

It only took getting a bit closer for them to realize that wasn’t at all true.

“G-god, dammit,” Greg pulled a face as the smell hit him first before everyone else; copper and burning and blood and shit. God, I had enough of the last part from that city.

Brown eyes wide as they’d ever been turned to him, his scout of a squire already with a world halfway to his lips. 

“Don’t ask, just go!” The bark from his own silenced any question. “If you’re gonna move, then move now!”

Letting go of Cloud’s reins, Greg charged into a scene of carnage; bodies already scattered in the much as the other villagers screamed from where they were, barricaded inside flimsy wooden houses that definitely couldn’t stop what was attacking them.

In the center of the mud-packed village, five black beasts were tearing into whatever corpse was closest. The things were massive; each one the size of Cloud, a bunch of muscle-bound nightmares with skin stretched tight over bone that seemed to absorb the fading light of the setting sun.

It only took one of them raising their head, those glowing red eyes landing on Greg for him to recognize them.

Demon-dogs. It had been months, almost a year, since the last time he’d seen them but he’d never forget the last one he met. Ramsay’s pet. That thing Ash tore apart.

“Old Gods save us, what are those things?” Daeric huffed out as he rushed up behind Greg, bow in hand.

“Who cares?” Myrcella nowhere to be seen, Guts pulled Dragonslayer off his back with a practiced ease, the air whumping as the blade swung through the air. “Just gut ‘em and worry later.”

“Y’heard him.” Greg nodded at that, holding one hand out to the side. A split second later, his snow-white blade materialized already in his grip, the flash lighting up the gloom. “Gut the dogs.”

The world narrowed to the beat of his heart and the growl of the beast as Greg charged in with a scream. The nearest dog — the one with eyes already on him — roared, blood still dripping from its muzzle, and lunged. 

The world slowed down by the fourth step he took, ground vanishing under his steps as he blurred at the monster. Red-stained slobber flying from the demon-dog’s jaws drifted right past Greg’s face, the young lord sidestepping the snap with a simple, “nope.” 

He frowned.

He grunted.

He swung.

His blade, the thing as sharp as he was strong, slid into the creature’s flank; black blood flying free as the thing screamed out a howl. The demon-dog whipped around, too agile for its own bulk, and lunged again; claws tearing up the mud where Greg had been a second ago.

“Aard Lance!”

Crackling white runes formed above his palm as Greg thrust it forward; a spear of pure kinetic force erupting out in the same instant. Nowhere to run and nothing to hide behind, the dog screamed again as raw magic slammed into its chest. Whether the crack was from the spell or from bone, Greg had no idea but it didn’t matter as the giant dog went tumbling, end over end, until it crashed into a heap on the edge of the village.

The thing growled, already trying to scramble up with a shake of its massive head.

It didn’t get the chance as a hunk of steel too large and heavy to be called a sword came down in a devastating arc.

The sound was wet and final as Dragonslayer cleaved the creature in two completely, crushing as much as it cut, and left a sizeable ditch in the mud beneath it.

“Nice swing,” Greg panted, dodging another set of jaws.

“Focus.” Guts wrenched his blade free from the ground with a squelch, a massive back swing clipping a second beast in the head.

It didn’t even have a chance, black blood spurting like a hydrant as that head went flying. Guts roared as he went after another big beast, the thing already running. “Come back ‘ere!”

“Watch yer left! “ Lobb was fighting too, him and Daeric both staying close to the Stark men. The squire moved with a desperate, frantic energy, stabbing out with his sword whenever the thing they were fighting got too close to the houses. “Don’t let it flank ye!”

Shaking his head, Greg met the eyes of the last one as it circled him, too smart to be anything normal. “Come on.” He raised his sword. “Who’s a bad boy?”

The thing growled, snapping with those bony jaws full of blood and saliva. 

But Greg stood his ground, waiting; one, two, thr-

It jumped.

Gotcha. “Sagitta Igni!”

Fire flickered to life above his upraised left palm, a tight lengthy bolt roiling and spinning as it went flying before the second word left his lips. The blast was enough to make the sun look like it had decided to rise again; small, but powerful, and enough to consume the entirety of the demon-dog.

In less than a minute, the village was silent and the last of the monsters were dead; only the crackle of burning thatch and the heavy breathing of the fighters making noise now.

Wait… Greg stared at the monsters, blinking slowly as the sun finally dipped fully over the edge of the world. Hounds of dusk… at crossroads… His mouth turned all the way down, a deep frown erasing whatever little excitement the fight had given him. Isn’t dusk a crossroads… between day and night… 

A hiss of a sigh slid from his lips. Fucking oracles.

The villagers slowly emerged from their homes, eyes wide like frightened rabbits as their gazes darted from the dead monsters to the strange, armored boy with the glowing sword, to the giant with the slab of iron.

The gentle tapping of wood on the ground had Greg glance to his right, the sight of a man so wrinkled guessing his age would be impossible, stumbled his way over to him; walking staff not doing much to keep him steady. 

“B-Bright Lord,” Whether it was age or something else, the man’s voice shook. “The songs… the songs are true. You’ve come to save us.”

Greg stared, blue eyes narrowing. “…I swear to god, if you kneel…”

The old man did anyway.

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

A What Complex (100 GP) – Perfectly follow your first prophecy

ROLL: Colour Scheme (Free) [RWBY] {Transformation}: “Colours are a bit of a Theme in this World. They are meant to represent the vast variety among the people of Remnant, in particular when contrasted with the Grimm. As a result, people tend to have a theme with colours associated to them. Be it red, white, black, yellow, or a different colour, you may now have a similar theme for a colour of your choice, guaranteed to look great with it.

This also concerns the colours of your body if you want natural green hair or purple eyes, for example. The only thing you can’t do is make your skin some non-human colour like blue, but other than that… show them your True Colours, Jumper.”

Grimoire Points: 550 GP