[From now on, Odinforce would be shown like this- 100.00/100.00%, where 100% is the maximum power output of peak Odin, which is 2208000 days worth of prayers. Calculating spell costs and the prayers he receives now, nerfing them so that it looks like it means something, I conclude that Each day due to cumulative prayer to the Old gods, by the North and the wildlings beyond the Wall, Mimirsen receives 0.00005%, but this seems very little so we double it, to make it 0.0001% gauge of Odinforce, Then however, I mentioned that Mimirsen returns half of that to fulfill wishes of some of the people who pray to him, so we are back to 0.00005% per day., more information about this is in the author's note, which nobody reads.
Current Odinforce is 98.00065%/100% because he used a whole 1% of peak odin power to hide the conversation between him and the Starks. Foolish move. The spell can even hides one from the Akashik records and the one above all is worth a lot, I am nerfing the cost saying it's only 1% of peak Odin. Force gauge will be mentioned once every 5 or 10 chaps when he actually uses it.]
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The acolyte in the hood with the black horse came back with an accomplished Maester.
"Here is your Maester, take him to the injured now."
Mimirsen noticed the silver chain on the young Maester and then stared at the hooded man.
'Why do people hood themselves when a hooded person is the most suspicious one could get? It even hinders the sight for fighting and watching surroundings.'
"What are you doing? Take him to the injured!"
"What injured?" The hooded man calmed himself and looked questionable at Jim.
"You were the one who just asked for a Maester."
"When did I say I need a Maester for healing someone?" The mistake was obvious. Most Maester would seek a traveling acolyte or Maester for healing as the rest of the knowledge gained by a Maester was of no use for the smallfolk.
This young acolyte misjudged Mimirsen to be a smallfolk and acted in a kind mind.
Mimirsen and the now unhooded Dornish man now stared at each other with blank gazes, while the young Maester the dornish acolyte had pulled over to Jim's, left tracing the path he came from, scoffing at his waste of time.
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/In the North, the true North/
Lila had been crying for 3 nights for now. Her husband, Skago was in peril of what his actions should be.
One year ago, Skago had noticed the beauty in the Val tribe, whom he had taken in the raid the following week.
As traditions were, the girl Lila was his and he wed her there and then. The infatuation developed into love, and now as things were, both loved each other to death, a trait rare in the Wildling, or even anywhere in the world.
Their love-making activities were rampant, where Skago sometimes ended up the hunting trip. His tribesman was happy for him. The Hils tribe, of Skago, was a very loving tribe. There were members who actually enjoyed the happiness of other members of their tribe. So they allowed this to happen one or two times for the young couple.
Finally, their unending lovemaking bore fruit when Lila was found to be with her child. The tribe, the whole of it, was happy for a new member to come.
But there was also a deep-rooted, hidden-away sadness as the dwindling numbers of various tribes and clans in the North were not without reason.
The cold here took a lot of men, women, and children alike.
This was why there was a custom of giving temporary nicknames to the newborns, mostly on the various natural entities, thought to be personifications of the Old gods the North preached to.
Lila had given birth a week ago, to a healthy boy. But in the fit of childbirth, she did the one thing the tribes think of harbinger of bad luck and misfortune.
She named the child. She named him, not upon life-giving like water, sun, or fire, but had named him with the amalgam of another husband and her's name, Skala.
As expected to their customs, the infant Skala had caught a cold, and the common cold here was nothing less than a death sentence in the land beyond the Walls.
'My son Skala will die and I can't do anything about it! Lila,' Skaga's eyes began to water but stopped 'No if I were to cry, Lila won't hold, I have to stay strong, for her, for my son.'
'All gods, Old or new of the South, save my son, save my wife from losing her child. I will preach to you daily, I will serve you daily, follow you daily, and pray to you daily, without asking anything. Just save him.'
At the side of young Skala, her mother was praying to the Old gods, for each breath Skala took, Lila was able to live.
Any slow breathing from a young infant resulted in the women's worry to rising bounds and leaps.
Outside the makeshift tent, loud shouts were noticed, when some men afar were making warcries to move forward.
Skaga, the powerful of the bunch moves forward to the tribe of his men.
"What is happening?"
"It's those Hodo cannibals! thirty of them!"
"Call all fourteen of us, those cannibals won't leave us if we are here, running is not feasible with this many women and elderly." He looked at the men from afar. "And the bow, give it to her."
The man did not question and ran shouting to the rough Wildling tents. He then came with Jas, the female marksman of the tribe.
"Your arrows should not stop, kill them even if the cost to it is one of ours."
The whole tribe followed him to the marching free folk, where one of the groups would be put to death for good.
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Powerstones
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