Frosthaven.
Winter Frontier.
In the northwest reaches of its continent lay Frosthaven, a vast, rugged land dominated by dense forests, rocky hills, and snow-covered plains. Towering mountains with jagged summits perpetually shrouded in snow and ice define the landscape. This was a place of extremes, where the harsh, subarctic climate made life a constant struggle. Winters were long and severe, lasting most of the year, with temperatures often plunging well below freezing. Snowfall is heavy, and blizzards can rage for days, making travel nearly impossible. The brief summer season brought only a modest thaw, enough to melt the surface snow and allow hardy vegetation to grow. Even then, nights remained cold, and frost can form at any time of the year. Permafrost was widespread, affecting both the flora and fauna of the region.
The Ravenguard family ruled the land, descendants of a famed warrior and explorer who led a group of war refugees and freed slaves into the frozen wilderness. Recognizing its strategic advantages and natural defensibility, they built the first rudimentary fortifications, which, over generations, evolved into the formidable stronghold that stands today. The sigil of the raven, black against a field of icy white, flew proudly over Frostkeep, a testament to the house's enduring legacy and the unyielding spirit of its ancestors.
House Stormraven was led by Lord Alaric Stormraven, a pragmatic and just leader dedicated to maintaining Frosthaven's strength and independence. Orphaned at sixteen by the cruel weather, he later saw his beloved wife bedridden and paralyzed after giving birth to their youngest child. Now, at the end of the longest winter in living memory, the burden of lordship weighs heavily upon him, his hair increasingly streaked with white.
This evening, his steward's report had done little to help the white on his hair.
"A house in the Misty Woods? You're joking, right, Bjorn?" The middle-aged man pinched his nose in disbelief.
"House? Old Gods save us," his steward scoffed. "That 'house' was a damn mansion, at least, with things beyond our wildest dreams, Millord. It had five floors, with windows clearer than the glass of those Eastern soul-suckers. An iron-wrought fence with a gate thrice the height of a man on horseback and a stone-paved path leading up to the bloody gate. Never-dimmed lights atop every stone pillar of the fence. A garden that is five times the size of our whole keep."
"And don't even start with the damn weather. Somehow, the sky was blue, and the sun was warm inside the woods. Unlike here, where we can't even dare to piss outside without freezing our cock and balls."
The knight shook his head in exasperation as the lord passed his warm milk mug to his friend to calm down. Alaric could not fault Bjorn. Clear glass windows. A fence of iron and stone-paved roads. Someone had built a manor befitting a Vivash noble in the Misty Woods of all places. The very idea defied belief.
The Misty Woods is just a friendly name for the Dead Forest. All year round, no matter how cold it gets, a thick fog surrounds that forest, from the foot to the top of the mountains encircling it. Many expeditions have ventured into that massive land throughout history but have yet to return. According to legend, the blind curtain had existed for ages, some said perhaps even before the Old Gods, as almost every race and religion knows of it for some unknown reasons. It is so infamous that no one, except the Stormraven family, dares to stand near it. Frosthaven's independence is partly thanks to this mysterious forest's notoriety. Not to mention the event three moons ago, when the sky turned black and white, and locals reported hearing a scream from the forest.
Two mysterious women visited the outskirt town of the Frosthaven's main house gate for over three moons, giving out free warm stew, meat, bread, and firewood. One had two colored eyes, while the other was tall, like a giant with scars across her face. Their clothing was not from this place, nor was anything the villager had ever seen, as if the snow was scared of them.
No doubt words had been kept from reaching his ear. In the Frontier, everything was scared, more than when it came to daily necessities. The lord didn't blame them at all. Winters had been crueler than ever. Despite his tireless work, four years of bleach-white skies and frozen fields had seen grain stores dwindle. He knew what lengths men would go to see their families fed.
The Stormraven lord let this matter slide so more of his people could endure summer. Yet, they were dealing with two people of unknown origins and motives. He had no choice but to investigate, for the road to hell is paved with good intentions. So he had sent Bjorn out at daybreak to find the truth of these rumors. They were proved accurate, yet now another one from his steward, one of his trusted friends...
A loud sigh came from the lord's dried lips, turning frost in the frigid air.
"They call her Lady Noira and Lady Legien, Milord. Weird names I've ever heard." Bjorn shook his head, "Told the smallfolk we meant those two no harm, and they were forthcoming enough. One of the village elder's wife called the ladies came from the river entrance of the Misty Woods every afternoon."
"True to their word, they did come from the Misty Woods," Bjorn scoffed. "After they finished giving out food, the boys and I stopped by to ask questions."
"Please tell me nothing bad happened," worry was evident in the lord's eyes.
"Aye, for all the good of it. Never once in my life did I think my skull would be crushed by a woman if things went south, Milord," said the steward, gulping down the entire keg.
"What?"
"The taller woman. She was the one who carried all the stuff they gave to our people. No horses, no wagons. Nothing. Bare. Bloody. Hands."
"And you did question these two ladies?"
"Aye. The short one with two colored eyes is Lady Noira, while the giant is Lady Legien. They don't look that kind of old, to be honest. If I were a guest, they would be more like the age of those young bloods."
"Witches?" Alaric scratched his chin and pointed at his friend.
"Maybe," Bjorn snapped. "Damn women didn't say a word in greeting or bat an eye when I evoked your name. Both two stared at us like we were a goddamn talking bear of something. Asked her if they resided nearby, only the shorter woman pointed into the woods and said they were living with their husbands," he then pointed out at his lord. "Have I ever mentioned she had a peculiar accent?"
"And I assume they took you into the woods?"
"Uhm-hum," Bjorn nodded. "The walk only took about three leagues."
"That's... awfully close," Alraric commented at the distance.
"Here's the thing," the steward's expression turned stern. "Do you know how big the Misty Woods is, Milord?"
Alraric could only shake his head. He knew the woods were big, but not exactly specific.
"At least five hundred leagues in width," Bijorn stressed. "Five. Hundred. Leagues. I did confirm with our Maester right after our return. Yet, it only took a short walk from near Frosthaven to their mansion on the other side of the coast! This shit's straight out like tales from the Dark Ages, I tell you!"
"And just saying, for your and mine sake," the knight added. "I haven't touched a single drop of mead since last summer."
"Let's... just move on," Alaric pinched his nose bridge. This headache would be the death of him. "Did you meet their husband?"
"Nah, we only wait briefly for Lady Noira to return, saying he was out for urgent business. However, she did send her husband's invitation to us, along with some compensation for the trouble."
Bjorn turned towards the back door and whistled. Immediately, a soldier brought in a chest and placed it on the floor. Alaric got up from his desk to take a look. The chest was made of gray metal with no rust or scratches on it at all. Alaric was immediately stunned when his friend opened it and showed him what was inside.
Gold.
Not coins, but bars.
"Exactly twenty-four bars. Our blacksmith weighed them. Each bar weighs at least two stones. We wanted to test it but didn't dare to. However, the blacksmith and even our dear old Maester confirmed it's pure gold."
Two stones and twenty-four bars of gold... That was more than what a holding earned in twenty years paid in taxes to the Empire—offered without ceremony. Both an apology and a statement of power and wealth.
"And here is the invitation, Milord," Bjorn said, handing Alaric an envelope.
The lord brought it close to his nose and sniffed slightly; there was no unusual smell. He placed the envelope on the table and pulled out a letter opener nearby, pressing along the edges and the seal to check for hidden needles, a trick Alaric had learned from his late father. Breaking the seal, Alaric extracted the letter within and read the first line for his friend to hear.
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To the Esteemed Lord Alaric of House Stormraven, Duke of Frosthaven,
I, B.B., extend to you my warmest greetings and salutations. The winds of change are blowing across our lands, and it is imperative that we, as stewards of our people and guardians of our realms, convene to deliberate upon matters of great import.
I invite you to join me at my residence on the eve of the next full moon for a private dinner. It shall be an evening of cordial discourse and earnest discussion, mainly around your curiosity toward us.
My household shall make all necessary preparations to ensure your comfort and security during your stay.
Please send word of your acceptance at your earliest convenience so that appropriate arrangements may be made for your welcome and reception.
May our endeavors be blessed with success and prosperity.
With utmost respect and anticipation,
B.B.
13th Family Head of the Blackblood
Founder, Former CEO, Current Chief Enforcer of VoidTech
Last of Stellarborne
Note: In case you are wondering about my 'particular' namesake, knowing my name won't do us any favor, especially for you. In simpler terms, those who knew or even heard won't have a good ending. Think of it as a curse.
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"..."
"..."
"Is it too late to turn back now?" Alaric asked, the weight of the decision pressing on him.
"Far too late," the knight shook his head. "As always, Milord, your pull-out game is weak."
The Stormraven lord glared at his friend.
"Remind me, how many children do you have again?" Bjorn raised a brow before his lord tried to make a comeback. "Anyway, Blackblood?"
"Yes, Blackblood."
They had never heard of a house by that name in all their years. Despite the goodwill shown to his people, Alaric doubted that that name was earned through kindness.
"And this 'VoidTech'? What do you think?" Bjorn inquired. "A knight order, perhaps?"
"Family head, founder, I understand. Chief Enforcer? Maybe a commander. But CEO? I have no idea," Alaric mused. "What kind of knight order puts 'tech' in their name? Maybe a guild? Could be a troupe."
"What about that last title?" Bjorn pointed to the final line.
Alaric considered it; the last title made everything both sensible and insane.
"I think the husband, and probably the wives, belongs to a long-lived race."
"You mean like those long ears twinkle-toes spoiled brats who like to fuck trees more than anyone else?" Which made Alaric chuckle, though the gravity of the situation lingered.
"Yes, I think so, my friend. Think about it. Just this afternoon, you are now the first one in the history of all continents to set foot in Misty Woods."
"Pretty sure ghosts of the past did that before me, Milord."
"Without bloody dying, obviously." Alaric retorted back.
"But what makes you think they belonged to long-living races?" Asked Bjorn.
"An unknown house, living in a mansion in the Misty Woods of all places, with wealth rivaling the nobles of the Middle States or even the Empire. It's the most plausible conclusion." The lord sighed, amused by the absurdity of their situation. "Winter was a simpler affair, Bjorn."
"Aye," the knight nodded.
They stood silently, gazing at the snowy sky outside the windows.
"So, you'll accept the invitation, right, Milord?"
"The lord and ladies wear foreign clothes and speak with foreign accents. They've fed my people in these dark times and offered me gold beyond measure, even though they were not in the wrong," Alaric pinched the bride of his nose again. "If this is a mummer's farce, I'd let them pull the wool over my eyes for the effort alone. Heck, I'll even reward them."
"But this is the Misty Woods we're talking about," the knight reminded him.
Alaric nodded, his decision made.
"Have a messenger— No, it would be best if you accompany with them, Bjorn. And others as guards just in case." The thought of sending his men to their possible deaths pained him. "Inform Lord Blackblood I have petitioners at dawn but will meet him for the midday meal."
He was being lured into a meeting with the promise of answers. In the absence of knowledge, he would project power without undermining courtesy.
"Also, prepare ten of your best men. Give them the best our blacksmiths have to offer."
The steward knight bowed in acquiescence, recognizing his dismissal. Alaric, left alone under the blind white sky, now yearned for the comfort of his children and wives, their embrace the only solace against the uncertainty of what wealth or ruin the morrow might bring.