I stared at the scaly, smoking black egg right in front of me for a moment, before I reached out and poked it with a stick I'd grabbed from the ground beside me. The tip of the stick began smoking and hissing, before bursting into flame and falling apart into ashes. I dropped the stick immediately and took several steps back as the egg seemed to stir for a brief moment. "Holy shit."
Yep, it was real.
And that also probably meant that all of this was also real.
I'd just been transported into another fucking world, after I came up with a character for a Dungeons and Dragons game I was going to play with my friends. I'd never actually played it before and this was supposed to be my first time. So, naturally, I came up with an overpowered character; or, at least, I thought it was overpowered, but I couldn't be sure, since I never actually was able to use it. I even came up with a badass and suitably edgy backstory, a Human Archmage of the School of Necromancy, who studied magic with the intention of wiping out every single Mindflayer, after his parents were killed by one. Freaking awesome.
Apparently, becoming that character and getting tossed into a swirling vortex in the air was not nearly as awesome.
What the fuck happened? You may ask. Well, shit, I'd like some answers too.
Basically, as I was falling down a tunnel of endless colors and shapes and figures and voices, an asshole came to visit me.
"Here's a dragon egg. The Guild usually grants access to a System, but I can't do that yet, because I'm still an intern." It spoke with my voice, though the tone had been markedly different. "So, whatever. I'm sending you to Planetos, because no one's going to miss you if you disappear and also because I'm bored. Take care of the egg, eat it, throw it off a cliff, or just leave it. I don't really care; just be entertaining. If you die, I'll eat your soul and shit you out into the void and, trust me, you don't want to be there. So, try not to die immediately or at all. Toodles!"
And... that was literally it – no introductions, no explanations, nothing. Just... that.
What the fuck.
I blinked and suddenly I was here... somewhere. I actually had no idea where I was, but the term 'Planetos' wasn't foreign to me. It was the word people coined for the World of Ice and Fire, a grimdark low fantasy written by Santa Claus or something. I actually bought the books five years ago, but never got to fully reading them, since I do have this chronic illness that makes me buy a ton of books each time I visit a bookstore, but I never actually read any of the books I buy; they just sit in my shelf and look dainty and I eventually forget about them.
The Japanese have a term for it, but I'm not sure what it is.
That said, I read up to A Feast for Crows, but never got around to reading the next one.
I did, however, watch the Game of Thrones TV show and, like everyone else, found the last few seasons to be... eh... terrible. That said, I hadn't really paid much attention to most of it, just the main plot and the main characters. Sue me, but being a law student means my brain has limited storage. But, I had no real way of knowing if this was the book universe or if it was the show universe, or a combination of both. And that was honestly a big problem. Because the book was apparently very different compared to the show, at least in terms of characterization and physical descriptions. But I figured I'd find out soon enough.
To be perfectly honest, this world was... honestly not that bad. At the very least, I hadn't been dropped in something like Berserk or Warhammer; so, that was a bonus, I guess. I'd attended quite a lot of history classes, back in college, and much of it had to do with medieval life and how it really wasn't nearly as bad or as bleak and dreary as everyone thought it was. In fact, the average medieval peasant was healthier than the average American by quite a long margin – salmon and peas and unbleached bread, combined with a hard day's labor, meant they lived pretty healthy lives, protected by their feudal lords.
However, considering how brutal and savage and unnecessarily violent G.R.R Martin made his world out to be, I wouldn't be surprised if everything I knew about medieval history was useless here. Sure, I understood how a trebuchet worked and how the printing press was invented and how steel was made from iron and carbon, but I didn't think any of my trivia knowledge was going to help me survive, especially if this was the book universe and not the show.
Oh shit, dragons.
I almost forgot about the fucking dragons.
Quite a thing to forget, considering there was a literal fucking dragon egg right in front of me.
Fuck it, I'll worry about the scary flying nuke lizards later – cross that bridge when I get to it and all that. Right now, I had to worry about myself and what I actually had that might just keep my ass intact.
So, I turned my attention inwards.
My one advantage was that I was now the character I'd created for what was to be my first Dungeons and Dragons campaign, which meant I was... really strong, actually, a Necromancer with access to every single spell in the School of Necromancy was nothing to scoff at. In time, I'd be raising armies of the undead or some shit like that – maybe. Whatever, the case, I knew this to be a ridiculous advantage as ASOIAF was honestly on the low end of fantasy, which meant magic and sorcery did exist, but they were so rare that the average peasant could go about their whole lives and never witness even the barest sliver of magic, while I now had [Chill Touch] and [Sapping Sting], straight up magical shit that I could cast whenever I feel like it.
Scary stuff, something I definitely had to try out and experiment with as soon as possible.
Aside from the magical spells, I also wore a, frankly, banal black robe that I imagined would look really cool and menacing, but now it just made me look mostly edgy and maybe a little cool; that said, it was enchanted to maintain a constant and comfortable temperature no matter where I was or how hot or cold it was around me, something that would come in handy if I somehow found myself in an icy wasteland or a scorching desert. The black robe also cleaned itself automatically, which was nice, since I did not want to walk around and smell like shit, because I honestly had no idea how to handwash anything in a world where soap probably didn't exist or, at least, not in great quantities. I called it the [Zith Robe], because I had absolute no originality and I might've been watching Star Wars when I was making my character.
A single [Bag of Holding] came with the ensemble, alongside an ebony quarterstaff that I jokingly dubbed as the [Great Boner]. And, of course, it carried over. Its horrible name aside, the [Great Boner] was actually quite useful, especially for a Necromancer; if I killed anyone with it, I'd get the option to raise them as an obedient zombie for free. Though, it'd be a bit challenging, since it had no sharp edges, which meant I'd have to bludgeon my potential victim to death.
The idea of killing someone made me feel icky all over, no matter how cool it might be to lead an army of the undead. I was not... a particularly violent person; I've never even been in a fight in my entire life. So, all in all, I was a freaking wimp.
But, now, I was a wimp with magic and magical artifacts.
I suppose, the only problem was that I had access to all this power and none of the wisdom or experience to actually properly make use of them, though – once again – I didn't think too much of that and I certainly didn't see it as a huge problem, just one that I desperately needed to work on, something that I'd eventually be able to fix in time. Aint no better teacher than experience and repetition, after all.
Now, back to the present.
I'd found myself in a dry and stony cave after falling through the vortex. The air was... sterile and cold, and the only light came from the egg before me, which emitting a faint crimson glow that just barely illuminated the darkness. My one and only saving grace was that I wasn't too far from the entrance, from where a tiny bit of light streaked through just enough for me to know that it was probably midday outside. I really wasn't interested in trying to find my way through a dark place with a smoking dragon egg.
Huh, could I just place it inside the Bag of Holding?
The asshole who sent me here dropped the egg on my lap, which meant it had to be important, somehow. Sure, the voice told me to do whatever the hell I wanted with it, but I wasn't dumb enough to just leave it here or cook it or drop it off a cliff. If it was, indeed, a dragon egg, which would eventually hatch a baby dragon, then I saw no reason why I couldn't just keep it for myself. Because, let's face it, it's every nerd's dream to ride a dragon or be one.
So, gulping, I took the Bag of Holding and brought it dangerously close to the dragon egg. It was hot enough to cause a stick to catch fire on contact; I wasn't touching it unless my life depended on it and I happened to be wearing a pair of fire-resistant gloves. And since my life wasn't on the line and my hands were bare, I wasn't going to touch it. So, in my head, I repeated, get in get in get in get in get in get in get in get in.
To my surprise, it actually worked. The smoldering black egg disappeared and a mental ping told me it was inside the bag, floating in a dark and otherwise empty space – not infinite, though, the space was only enough to fit around five hundred pounds' worth of mass and the dragon egg was probably fifty pounds, at least, based solely on the depth of the indentation it left on the soil. I also placed the [Great Boner] within the same space, since I didn't need it at the moment and reaching into the bag to retrieve it would be a simple gesture.
Right, I closed my eyes and....
Yep, there it was.
My spells and spell slots. I hadn't assigned any, though the Cantrips were already there, ready to be used at any time, which was nice, since the stuff in the spell slots – as far as I remember – could only be used once per day or, at least, until after I took a long nap. I had a single slot for 9th level spell slots, two for the 8th, and so on and so forth with about nine spell slots for the 1st level, which... was a lot?
No idea.
Ugh... shit. I should've taken the time to research all the spells and what each of them did before I went and made an Archmage for my first character. I did kind of browse through each spell once, just to see which one was the coolest, but my memory was rather blurred in that regard. At the very least, some of their names made the effects rather obvious, like [Ray of Sickness]. Anything with a name like that couldn't possibly be a healing spell, right? This whole thing was honestly kind of overwhelming, to be honest.
For now, I figured, I'd just stick to first level spells and learn my way from there. And that left me with [Cause Fear], [False Life], [Inflict Wounds], and [Ray of Sickness] as the first set of spells that I was going to master. I wasn't going to touch the others until I was suitably proficient with these or unless I had no choice but to wing something and hope for the best. Besides, I also had the Cantrips to master; surely, the magic I did have at my disposal would be enough to keep my alive.
Though, that would depend on exactly where the fuck I actually am in Planetos as shit could vary wildly, depending on the kingdom and or region. That fact that it was cold gave me three possibilities: I was somewhere in the North of Westeros, which actually was an okay option, I could also be in the northernmost portion of Essos, some place called Ib, which I know absolutely nothing about, or, the worst possible option, I could be anywhere in the world and the cold meant it was the Long Night or some shit.
God, I sincerely fucking hope this wasn't the Long Night.
I breathed in and mustered whatever courage I still had left in me; I couldn't stay here and rot away in this cave. I didn't exactly know what I wanted to do out there, considering – before I was yeeted here – I was on my way to graduating law school and becoming a lawyer. Not because I wanted to, but because my parents told me to do it and I actually flourished there. But... like a lot of people, I had no idea what I wanted for myself or who I wanted to be. But... I suppose I'd just have to figure it out as I go. With that in mind, I forced myself to walk up the narrow path of rocks and gravel up to the cave entrance, towards the light. White flickers of snow drifted in and out of my vision, and the distant howling winds caught my ears.
I saw an endless field of snow and ice on the other side, which told me nothing of where I was, save for the fact that it might've been winter. The cold did not bother me as I stepped outside, my boots crunching on dried leaves and muffled by soft snow. I stumbled forward a bit, my feet sinking, before I caught myself on the base of a nearby tree. A quick glance behind me had my eyes widening in shock; the cave entrance was gone – the cave itself was gone. What was there was just... forest and snow, tree and soil and rock. But, I got over it quickly enough. The most obvious explanation was, of course, fucking magic.
Alright, I wasn't going to think about it.
First things first: figure out where the fuck I actually was, what setting and timeline I'd been dropped into.
Please not the Long Night.
I wandered for a bit, trekking through what must've been miles and miles of forest and snow. The [Zith Robes] kept me warm and comfortable, and – most importantly – kept me from freezing my ass to death. Still, walking for what must've felt like hours, not knowing where the hell I actually was, was its special brand of hell. And, unfortunately, unlike in an RPG game, I did not encounter wolves or bandits. It made sense, to be fair, since I was in the middle of nowhere. Bandits and brigands would stick close to main roads, where a lot of merchants and nobles and peasants frequented. Wild animals, based entirely on what I knew from documentaries and videos on youtube, really didn't approach humans as much as people might think. Sure, bear and wolf attacks happened from time to time; but, a vast majority of the time, wild animals really didn't like getting anywhere close to humans, which was fair enough.
I was also grateful for that, because I had no idea what I'd do if a bear showed up and tried to maul me. The more romantic side of me would say, "Ha! I have magic! Wild beasts are no match for me!" But the more realistic side of me would say, instead, "Dude, a bullet can't kill a bear in one shot; what makes you think you even have a chance?"
See, the conundrum was that the first voice was probably right. I had magic. In theory, I should be able to smoke just about every living thing in Planetos, short of an actual dragon. In practice, I'd start running before I could even think to cast a single Cantrip, unfortunately. I knew myself well-enough. When faced with violence, aggression, or the mere possibility of death, I'd run away. If I didn't stack everything in my favor, guaranteeing absolute victory, I'd retreat. That was just... how I grew up, I guess. My parents never taught me to be brave. They taught me to be smart and self-serving, to think only about myself and my needs. They didn't want me to dream of being a hero. 'Heroes died first,' my father always said. And, honestly, I agreed.
That said, if there was a bear and I was forced to fight for my life, then I'd be an idiot if I didn't try to blast it with [Chill Touch] or some other shit, while running away. I was a pretty good multitasker, actually, and I could damn well make sure to make use of that ability of mine in a life or death situation. Actually, considering the fact that I was very much an Archmage, every single spell that I had in my arsenal would be at their highest possible levels, which means my [Sapping Sting] is going to one-shot most things, probably, especially since I couldn't think of a single thing, except for dragons, in Planetos, with even a single ounce of magical defense. So, a bear would likely just drop dead with a single use of that spell.
That said, I'd absolutely shit my [Zith Robes] if a damn grizzly ever pounced out of the woods and jumped me.
Luckily, as I stated earlier, that hadn't happened.
In fact, nothing was happening. As I walked, the only thing I encountered were miles and miles of forest and snow, with a ton of large rocks and steep hills. Above me, the skies maintained an almost perpetual gloom of gray. Every once in a while, I'd come across a rabbit or some other small creature, running through the undergrowth, darting from one hiding place to another. Really, it was almost too easy to underestimate just how sharp the senses of prey animals were; a deer, for instance, would smell and hear me coming from a mile away, before I even knew they were there. But that was the whole point of it, I figured, their senses had to be sharp, because they evolved to run away from danger. It was the same here on Planetos as it was on Earth.
Eventually, I must've walked far enough as my ears perked to the distant, but unmistakable crashing of waves against a rocky shore, the roaring of the seas. Oh, great. Every survival show and guide I've ever seen told me that finding the shoreline was the first step to finding civilization. Even if I wouldn't find any fishing villages or hamlets, the shore was a good place to find food, like shellfish – maybe – and, well, fish. I'd gone fishing a dozen times over the course of my entire life, mostly when I was hungry and couldn't afford to buy food, wherein I learned to do so out of complete necessity; still, I was an amateur angler at best, but it was a pretty good skill to have in this situation, because no amount of Necromancer Magic was going to save me from starving to death and dying like a freaking chump.
I turned eastward, where I figured the noise was most prominent. Tall trees and steep hills obscured most of what I would've otherwise seen, but I was confident. Before me was a natural path, likely beaten by the passage of animals over hundreds of years. The snow was thinner here as well, halted as they were by the ancient oak trees whose gnarled and extensive branches stretched out in every conceivable direction, shielding the soil from a good portion of the falling snow.
Honestly, this place I'd woken up in, the location of which I'm still not entirely certain about, was actually rather... beautiful. I could definitely and rather easily picture myself hiking in a place like this. It reminded me a bit of the old days, when I was much younger, and my dad would take me out to hike in Yukon. This land was very similar; though it had far less green and more white and black and gray, it was still quite beautiful – in a grim and rugged sort of way.
And then, something came trotting out of a nearby bush, about fifteen meters away from me. My eyes widened and my body stiffened when a goddamn bear cub showed up right on the natural trail, cute and fluffy, walking without a single care in the world. It was small, likely only two or three months old. Now, a bear cub, in itself, wasn't anything to be worried about. Not only was it cute, it was also tiny; so tiny, in fact, that I could probably punt it into the air as though it weighed nothing. I wasn't going to do that, of course, because I wasn't a psychopath, but bear cubs were dangerous for one thing and one thing only; wherever they were, their mother was always close by. And bear sows were dangerous, because every mother's first instinct was to protect their child.
Everyone who has ever went out to hike would tell you that coming across a bear cub made their hearts go still, because the mother was never far away. And, unfortunately for you, bears were really good at killing things that threatened them.
Ah shit.
Gritting my teeth, I reached into my [Bag of Holding] and pulled out the [Great Boner]. A quarterstaff wasn't going to do jackshit to an angry bear, but it was still technically a long stick that might just keep me alive if I held it right. But, despite the shaking of knees and the thunderous beating of my heart, I couldn't run, because running would only invite the mother to come chase after me and I wasn't exactly Usain Bolt. No, I stood deathly still, my skin turning ice-cold. My feet froze, refusing to move. I couldn't run even if I wanted to. I was stuck.
Cold winds blew hard against me, howling into my ears and carrying a soft haze of snow and ice. The trees and their branches danced and sang and rustled. I caught the sound of breaking twigs and branches, of pieces of wood snapping in two. A massive shadow lumbered behind a tall patch of grass and bushes and thornbushes, a great mass of reddish-brown fur and two round ears that were the size of dinner plates.
Oh boy.
The largest fucking bear I've ever seen in my entire life came lumbering out of the trees, its claws so long and thick they appeared more akin to freaking machetes. Its limbs were as thick as tree trunks and its head was probably larger than my entire torso. The whole of it was about the size of a damn car. It was about twenty meters away, staring at me with beady black eyes. My hands trembled. Still, twenty meters was a sizable distance. I could run- I could-
Ah, fuck it.
Still shaking, I held out my right hand towards the giant fucking bear and breathed in. Ya know, this might be the worst possible way to experience casting magic for the first time. But, here I was about to do it. My plan was to cast [Chill Touch] first, just to see if I can startle the big sow and force it to run away, instead of charging. After all, most predators wouldn't attack something if they knew it could fight back and hurt them; most of the time, it simply wasn't worth the risk. The same was true for bears. However, this was a mother, who was protecting her cub; the same rules weren't going to apply. That said, like any other creature, bears were easily startled by things they didn't understand, things they've never seen before.
First and foremost, based on what I did remember about the spell, which – in itself – was a miracle, since I was actually really forgetful, [Chill Touch] summoned some sort of spectral hand that dealt necrotic damage to any target within range. The higher the level of the spell, the higher the damage; being an Archmage, all my spells were at the highest possible levels, which meant a single Cantrip would hit like a truck. And, since I don't see a dice anywhere, it was probably safe to assume that damage was no longer calculated by dice rolls, but by something else entirely.
I'd find out soon enough. I breathed in and pictured a spectral hand right over the mother bear's face, which should be enough of a shock to get it to run away – hopefully. And then, I muttered the name of the spell, an act that I thought was entirely pointless as I got the distinct feeling that I was more than capable of casting spells without uttering any sort of incantation, unless specified otherwise; I did it, however, because it helped separate reality from imagination, essentially acting like a trigger mechanism. Nobody wanted a pistol that shot bullets entirely on mental commands, after all. "Chill Touch...."
A pale, ghastly apparition of a hand appeared right in front of the giant bear, immediately startling the large creature as it let out a grunt and recoiled, before the hand surged forward and grasped the beast's face. It roared in fear and surprise as ice-cold fingers wrapped around its snout. The little cub panicked and cried and ran off – poor thing, but I couldn't do anything about it. And then, my eyes widened as the great big mother bear just... fell down.
Huh?
"What?"
Slowly, very slowly, and very cautiously, I took a single step forward. When the bear did not get back up and charge me, I took another and then another and then another, until I was only about six meters away. If it decided to get up and charge me from that distance, I was toast. And then, I saw the answer; the front half of its face, including its eyes, nose, and mouth was just... gone, necrotized into a dark gray goop. It was still alive, I realized, with dawning horror, but it couldn't breathe. The poor creature couldn't breathe. Instead of steady breaths, long and winded wheezes came from its throat, accompanied by spurts of blood. It would die, but it would die a slow and agonizing death.
A fucking Cantrip could do THIS??!
My heart twisted in my chest. If my dad saw what I'd done to this animal, he'd be pissed. A hunter's job was to ensure that his or her kill was instant, to ensure that their prey felt no pain or suffered as little as possible. I'd failed in that regard – royally so, even if it really wasn't my fault, considering I did not possess a rifle, and I had no idea how the spell interacted with actual living things that weren't make-believe on a table top session.
And it wasn't like I had a healing spell. Though, I wouldn't use one even if I did have it. The only thing I could do now was end its suffering.
I turned my gaze to the [Great Boner] and figured I might as well have my first undead minion.
"I'm really sorry about this." I muttered, raising my weapon, the [Great Boner] over its head. The enchanted quarterstaff had no sharp edges, true, but it was still a long stick with a tip that could be used to focus a bunch of kinetic energy into a small area. And the bear's eye socket was exposed. If I jammed it in there a bunch of times, pulping its brain, then the beast was going to die, no matter how big it was. So, I did just that. I struck it with all the strength I could muster. The crunch of bone, the squelch of flesh, and the spray of blood that followed afterwards made my stomach churn. "But it's do or die and I don't want to die."
I didn't have to strike it a second time, fortunately. And I knew it was dead when I took a step back and it slowly stood up, despite the hole in its skull, the enchantment of the [Great Boner] proving itself effective.
I breathed in and forced down the bile that'd risen to my throat. As a Necromancer, I was gonna have to get used to this. "Hello, my minion."
After apologizing to the bear for what must've been the hundredth time, I figured it was a good idea to start experimenting with what I could actually do with it, seeing as it was now my minion, no matter how terrible my act of bearicide had been. I also tried looking for the cub to see if I could adopt it, because I'm an idiot like that, but to no avail. It was gone, which left me with even more guilt. I just hoped it could somehow survive on its own, in the wild. Unlikely, but certainly possible. This whole thing had been one giant unfortunate mess, but I had to keep moving forward, like Eren Jaeger, but with less angst. I actually had to get used to this, no matter how much it made my stomach churn. Besides, did I actually even have a choice in the matter?
One of us was going die. There was no guarantee that the mother bear would've fled with her cub if I attacked with that spell. She could've charged me and I would've been forced to experiment with one of the higher level spells, which definitely would've turned her into mush. And it wasn't as though I could just let myself be killed, no matter how beautiful or majestic this animal might've been. It was simply a fact of life and I simply had to move on.
That said, I also felt rather giddy at the prospect of commanding an undead bear. Though, I wasn't quite sure what I'd do if it started decomposing, but I was also pretty sure that whatever magic reanimated it would also keep it from rotting away entirely. I had to wonder, though, if the undead bear was just as physically powerful as its counterpart; did the reanimation magic preserve its strength from when it was still alive or was it weaker now than it had been? Certainly, it likely wouldn't be able to bite as hard, seeing as most of its facial and jaw muscles rotted away when I cast [Chill Touch], a spell that wasn't supposed to kill it, but what about the rest of its body? Its limbs were still massive and its overall form was still the size of a damn car. Well, I suppose I'd just have to find out.
Firstly, controlling it wasn't like controlling an RTS unit or some other shit. In a very weird way, the undead bear felt as though it was a part of me, like a limb. Making it walk and move around, which I'd been doing this whole time, felt as natural as moving an arm or a leg. It was a part of me. And so, issuing verbal commands was kind of pointless.
"Experiment one, done." I whispered to myself, keeping my eyes on the bear as I made it move in circles around me. Being undead, I noted, didn't seem to hamper its locomotion, unlike movie zombies that lumbered slowly; the bear, under my control, was more than capable of sprinting outright, which was nice. Next, I had to figure out if it was still strong enough for combat.
So, with a simple, mental command, the undead bear walked up to a nearby aspen tree and swiped its paw right into its trunk. Its claws gouged out massive portions of the wood, while shaking the entire tree, though it did not break apart as I'd hoped. Then again, trees were extremely sturdy and this wasn't the best test, but it wasn't like I had other targets around; I could hardly expect a bear to take a swing at an oak tree and hope for a similar result. Plus, aspen trees kind of had a similar thickness to human limbs – fat or muscular humans, but still close enough. The second swipe bent the tree in the wrong direction, sending splinters flying across the air. The third swipe broke the trunk and sent the rest of the tree down onto the snow.
See, normally, something like this would be impossible. I knew that from experience as I liked the rugged outdoors quite a lot. Bears were strong and ferocious animals, but it'd take an entire day's worth of effort for it to maybe break down a single aspen tree. But the bears I knew were not nearly as large as the one before me, either, and I've seen freaking Kodiaks and Polars, and not even the biggest of both of those kinds of bears came even remotely close to the one I reanimated. If anything, my undead bear minion was closer in size to some extinct megafauna, like the damn Tyrant Polar Bear or some other shit that could swallow a man in one bite. Its strength was ridiculous and was not, in fact, hampered by its reanimation at all.
Though, it was entirely possible that it was stronger in life. Not that I could properly test that so it didn't really matter all that much.
My next experiment tested my innate awareness of the bear's presence and location, the same way I knew where my arms and legs and other body parts were at all times, even when I couldn't see them. I made the bear crawl up and stand still behind me, its heavy feet making soft crunching noises each time it met the snow. I knew where it was in a very strange and unfamiliar manner, because I couldn't see it and it wasn't attached to me, like my arms were, but I still knew for a fact that it was, indeed, behind me, simply because of the manner with which we were connected. The undead bear was just a part of me, after all. That was a good thing, I suppose; it meant I'd never lose track of where my undead minions were at any given moment. The only downside was that my awareness of them did not extend to their environment; so, knowing where the bear was did not mean I knew its surroundings, just like how I wouldn't know what was surrounding my arm if I plunged it into jet black waters.
Unfortunate, but ultimately not at all surprising. Heck, I was already lucky enough to possess this much power. Asking for more was just greedy. The biggest disadvantage, I suppose, was that I couldn't leave the undead bear with predetermined commands; being a part of me meant I had to constantly give it direction, conscious or otherwise. Not that big of a deal, I suppose. That just meant I couldn't be separated from my undead minions in the future for too long; otherwise, they'd just stand there, doing nothing, waiting for me to make them move. So, in exchange for greater control, my power sacrificed flexibility.
Eh, whatever, I can work with it. But, if I was going to make contact with civilization, I couldn't just keep an undead bear around, no matter how cool that would be. So, as I walked forward, I decided to keep my first minion at a fair distance from myself. I would've loved to chuck it inside my [Bag of Holding], but this dead sow was probably a good 2,000 ish pounds – maybe even more - and my poor bag could only carry about a fourth of that. So, I really had no choice but to keep my cute little minion in the woods while I kept walking. Did it end up bumping into a bunch of trees and rocks the whole way? Yep, but there really wasn't much I could do about that. Though, the bear's freakish and unnatural resilience certainly helped it just barrel through everything it encountered; when brute force failed, it'd instinctively try to walk around whatever was blocking its path with questionable success.
It didn't take long for me to find the coastline. All I had to do, after all, was follow the source of the sound of the crashing waves, which took me a grand total of around fifteen minutes. Sharp gray rocks rising out of the waters, spiny blades of ice, and massive black boulders underneath thick dark clouds, constantly and incessantly bombarded by massive waves, each one taller than a man, crashing into the shoreline, which – I figured – must've been the reason for the look of the place. The ground beneath my feet was a mess of black shards and sharp bits of ice. No sane person would start a settlement near such violent waters or in such a desolate place; there wasn't even a single sign of previous habitation or civilization, which meant I'd be walking for quite a while before I'd find anything or anyone.
Eh, not unexpected.
But the danger presented by the waves and all the sharp rocks meant I also couldn't just trail the shoreline as I originally intended. I'd have to be really dumb to even consider the idea. A single rogue wave and I'd be done, shredded against the rocks like some dumb piece of meat walking into a blender. Shrugging, I walked back towards the treeline. "Alright, new plan. I follow the coastline and hope I run into a coastal village. But, do I go east or west?"
Shrugging, I glanced down and- aha – reached for a flat piece of rock. One side was completely featureless, the head, while the other had several scratches and marks, the tail. I was going to flip it. And if I got the head, then I'd turn east. Otherwise, I'd walk westward. Honestly, it didn't matter too much, but flipping a coin had always been my go-to decision-making tool when I felt like I was stuck on two options and didn't know which one I'd pick. The coin forced me, essentially, into action, just like now. So, I flipped the flat rock and it landed on its tail.
"Well, west it is, then!" I shrugged, before tossing the stone away and turning westward, the wind blowing behind me as I did. My stomach grumbled a bit, but being a college student prepared me for the hardship of hunger; so, I soldiered onward. Plus, an empty stomach really didn't hurt nearly as much as it used to. And I was pretty sure that my new form had a much higher constitution than plain old me, being an Archmage and all – not a whole lot, but definitely enough that a lack of food wouldn't kill me immediately. Plus, I'd spotted a few blueberries and melon berries on the way here; I was pretty sure I'd find more if I looked hard enough. Foraging wasn't particularly difficult, honestly.
An hour passed in what felt like the blink of an eye, and then two, the landscape hardly changing as I traveled; and it was at the tail end of the second hour that I spotted something- no, a bunch of somethings in the distance, dancing and swaying over the surface of the turbulent sea. My eyes narrowed as I stopped and really turned to look and focus. Ships. A lot of them too. Primitive ships that looked as though they'd fall apart in a storm. And a lot of them were falling apart, actually. Interesting. Who were they? What were they doing here? It seemed as though they were approaching this land, not sailing away from it, based entirely on the direction they were sailing towards.
I wanted to meet them. After all, this was pretty much the first and only sign of civilization I've seen since I got here – actual human beings. If they were sailing towards this place, instead of from it, then it stood to reason that they'd make landfall somewhere further north, my north, that was, since I had no idea which direction was which. I knew where the wind was going, however, and that was enough.
Smiling, my steps quickened. I considered just using the undead mother bear as a mount, but I quickly discarded that thought as I might encounter a bunch of villagers, who'd definitely shit themselves if they saw me riding a bear with a skeletal face. Now, I wasn't an expert on ASOIAF, but I was pretty sure that most of the peasantry, especially this far away from King's Landing or other places of learning and hubs of culture and trade, would be pretty damn superstitious. I do NOT want to have to defend myself against them if I could help it.
And then, not even an hour later, I finally found it – a mark of civilization, a fishing village of some sort, built close to the sea. Its people, however, were armed for battle. Oh no... the dudes in the ships were raiders, weren't they? And based entirely on the fact that their ships weren't longships, like the ones the vikings sailed on, these raiders were probably Wildlings. Great.
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, we could 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?