Beneath forests of sentinel pines stretching vast and ancient as memory, a gathering darkness was stalking. Cregan and Jacaerys rode at the van of their company winding steadily northwards, ever deeper into realms where feral forces stirred rarely touched by humankind. Yet duty called them to confront shadows lurking where none dared tread.
Deep rides took them ever closer to Winterfell's high walls glimpsed rarely through the crepuscular gloaming. But now the massive pines gave way to elder sentinels whose boughs scraped storm-laden skies in knotted embrace, branches twining in eldritch tapestries defying mortal ken. Here was the heart of the Wolfswood, unhallowed ground even the hardiest rangers shunned after dark.
And night was falling swifter than any natural dusk as their party picked its way through ancient standing stones appearing like silent sentinels from the misted undergrowth. The very shadows crawled with a palpable malevolence seeping into flesh like creeping frost, numbing mind and soul alike. Only the glimmering eyes of Shadow and Shiera remained unaffected, burning beacons guiding unerringly through gathering darkness.
From the encroaching woods, an uncanny howl shattered the deepening stillness - no wolf's call, but something feral speaking in tongues unknown to mortal ken. Chilling ululations rent the misted grove like razors, stirring nameless terrors in every breast as fell replies emerged from every murky niche.
Shadows coalesced living nightmares amidst the root-knotted shadows, materializing with eyeless heads beneath twisting antlers hung with ragged dripping moss. Branched hands emerged clutching rusted blades stained black as the abyss, slavering jaws gaping tooth-lined maws from which issued screams no living throat could voice.
They surged forthmindlessly as winding mist, trapping the company within an unholy throng bristling unnatural limbs. Steel rang desperately against nightmare flesh parting like ash, only for grasping antlers and taloned claws to tear grim wounds amidst chaos. Dark magic writhed palpably amidst that press, seeping numbness into every pounding heart and thought until even courage flickered on the brink of extinction.
Amidst that vortex of slaughter, Jacaerys stood unmoved beneath Dark Sister's keen scintillation. Ancient verses spilled soothing reassurance from his lips, resonating through the very stones to banish encroaching night. Shadows scattered reluctantly before pure glimmering moonlight rekindled in sparks dancing upon ancient blades.
With inhuman shrieks the wood-born spectres dissolved back into the primordial darkness from which they'd been summoned. Only moss-cradled ruins remained amidst spreading pools of viscous ichor once humanity's final hour seemed imminent. Yet no celebration stirred the survivors' hearts - for heavy whispers lingered, and deeper answers yet awaited within the grove.
Amidst towering weirwoods hoary sentinels stood silent vigil, pale faces seaming trunks older than fable. Before their roots hunched cloaked figures, cowled faces raising to reveal eldritch splendor startling to mortal eyes. Eyes shimmering moonlight regarded the intruders calmly with ageless understanding.
Children of the Forest. Here in the final havens of their vanished realm, guardians who had faded into legend remained. Their woodland speech rang musical yet fathomless as forest depths, granting audience to those defending men besieged.
Through Jacaerys their lore was rendered, speaking of old pacts sealing mortal and immortal realms apart. Of vykes long dormant, now restless and ravenous beneath shifting skies. And deeper truths - of ancient grief left to fester in solitude whilst madness fed secret roots beyond memory's shore.
The true enemy sat enthroned where mortal eyes saw only night's deep dominion. It was a dark union conjoined hatred and anguish in unholy worship, calling fell powers from beyond time's river. Within moss halls of Winterfell's weirwood groves lay the final answers, if old wounds could at last find surcease, and lingering mistrusts be resolved.
Only unity could withstand what descended, as all fade into memory if the shadows' games run their fell course. Hope lay in facing the darkness where it festered most merely, with pure flame kindled from healing's embers long thought dead.
In the Children's glimmering eyes, portents read grave but not final. Ancient allies yet lingered, while between beloved friends ran bonds even the deepest twilight could not sever. Far horizons yet lay open if courage and unity endured where most was risked, against evils which knew only consumption's black hunger.
All hung in balance 'neath weirwood bowers lit only by palest glimmerings. Therein lay the struggle's culmination, where old pains found answers and destiny was decided 'neath watchful eyes forever patient as the turning seasons. OnINT0 gloom fell the gloaming as friends turned once more to Winterfell's enduring walls and mysteries sundered through ages of silence.
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Shadows of War
FantasyCregan Stark helps defeat the Greens, with the Blacks, and his best friends Lord Cerwyn, and Prince Jacaerys, who is Visenya's brother. Cregan is married to Harwin Strong's Daughter, Visenya, and they have seven children together.
