Version 2.0
Battling against the biting chill of the northern winds, Brandon and his intrepid company embarked on the task of tracking down the bandits. As they traversed the landscape, they ascended snow-laden hills and crossed vast, unforgiving plains.
The sky above, a canvas of pale gray, watched over their progress as they ventured deeper into the heart of the wintry wilderness. The air was silent, only occasionally disrupted by the crunch of their boots against the frozen ground, the hushed whispers among the group, and the screeches of an eagle.
As they ascended one final hill, a panoramic view unfolded before them. Ruined by a small bandit camp, inconspicuous against the snowy backdrop, it came into view nestled in a natural hollow valley edge. Tattered tents flapped in the frigid breeze, and a thin wisp of smoke curled into the air from a makeshift fire.
"Good work Halvar," Brandon says patting the man on the back.
"Best hunter of Winterhaven." He states.
Brandon signalled for the party to halt, they crouched low, using the cover of the landscape to their advantage. The Golden Eagle, circling from above, observed with keen eyes as they strategized their approach.
The snow beneath their boots muffled their delicate movements as they closed in on the camp circling as best, they could. The tension in the air was palpable as the group prepared to confront the small group of bandits, their weapons at the ready.
The camp came into clearer focus, revealing the ragtag assembly of bandits who had been tormenting Walton's village. With the sun still high in the sky the clear cut of the bandits was revealed, scruffy faced matched beat down clothing. The camp was a mess with makeshift tents thrown up, and weapons lying about, the only thing that seemed to be kept well was the stores of food. Extreme care went into looking after what little they seemed to have.
With a silent signal from Brandon, the party moved in. The clash of bronze and the twang of bowstrings echoed through the winter air as they engaged the bandits in a swift and decisive battle.
The snow bore witness to the struggle, capturing the fleeting moments of combat. Blood-stricken snow seeped from the land like a gash. In the end, the camp fell silent, the bandits subdued or fleeing into the wilderness, unlikely to survive in such lands with nothing but their clothes on their backs.
Brandon surveyed the aftermath as relief filled him. None of his men had died though some injuries were to be expected. With the men checked and some medical skills shared the camp was searched.
Just like the bandits, it was just as disappointing. Flabby tends, filled with ill-gotten gains in ill-gotten states. Everything in it was of shoddy quality but there was no point in leaving them if they could be traded. Their weapons if they can be called that, of farming tools and daggers, added to their collection of weapons to be smelted.
The food was the only redemption, with a nice bounty of supplies for the group and their service. It is as if the company is taking care of the camp Edric and Brandon stand at the centre of the camp.
"Smart Brandon," Edric said gesturing to the dead bodies all around.
"Let these bandits do some good with their death. If these Ghouls act any similar to the ones back in the village, the smell of fresh corpses should bring them running." He speaks. "Well lads pack up anything that we think can be traded or we want, leave the rest."
/
The party, concealed in the shadows, observed the gruesome aftermath of the bandit camp. With so much blood in the air, the ghouls were quickly attracted their gurgled barks reaching into the sky as they approached.
The frost-covered creatures emerged with crazed, rapid movements. As the ghouls descended upon the carnage, they sniff the air tracking straight to the feast of corpses, a platter displayed for their enjoyment which they just can't help but eat at.
Suitable distracted the party attacked with ferocity, engaging the ghouls desperate to end the day and have a warm rest.
The clash was swift and brutal, weapons meeting fur-covered bodies as the ghouls fought fiercely. Arrows whizzed through the icy air, finding their mark in the heads being informed of their tenacious nature. In groups, the ghouls are quickly surrounded. With an established plan executed each ghoul fell, their heads severed with precision or riddled by arrows, leaving them lifeless in the snow.
However, a plan never works as intended when meeting an enemy. Amidst the chaos, a man in the party suffered a critical injury after a critical mistake. Too quick to the draw, he aims for a quick finish but instead earns the wrath of his prey. With a piercing lunge, the ghoul drives straight for the young man. A deep cut to his chest threatens his life. It's final act before it is finished off by the group.
Brandon rushed to his side. Applying pressure to the wound, he stemmed the flow of blood, drawing on the medical skills he had acquired. With assistance, his wound was skilfully tended to and bandaged up hopefully saving the man's life hopefully only earning a scar, he won't forget.
"Alright Theon, you should be fine," Brandon says to the black-haired man before leaving him to the care of his friends. "Stay strong Theon, I expect you to live through this."
"It will take more than this to keep me down, I refuse to," Theon exclaimed.
"Ha, quite the spunk you've got kid," Jon says.
"Well then Bran, one village done, however many more to go," Jon said.
"We are one step closer," Brandon smiles.
As the party left the burning bandit camp, the men laughed and cheered with one another, their footsteps marked with confidence. Some nursed wounds earned in the skirmish, often earning teasing of mistakes they made and how they should be better getting laughs all around.
Upon returning to Walton's village, the news of the successful mission spread, and as the party approached, Walton emerged to meet them.
Walton, his expression shifting from scepticism to gratitude, as he processed the information. "You did what you said you would," he admitted. "I'll help with food, and some of my men will join your cause and I'll join your alliance."
The village, once sceptical, now buzzed with activity as preparations began for the larger alliance against the impending threat from the north.
With one village a success, it was time for the next. Brandon and the party embarked on, traversing village after village, seeking allies in their fight against the looming threat from the north, and building a powerbase for Brandon to stand on equal footing with the other kings of the North. In each settlement, they were met with a mix of curiosity and scepticism, but Brandon's presence left an impression. Some villagers were impressed that he had come himself, a leader willing to face the hardships alongside his people.
As they presented their case, some villages expressed willingness to join, while others, facing their challenges, asked for help. Some spoke of bandit troubles, others of ghouls haunting their lands. One village even revealed another murder mystery. Diving into it another sickly heart tree was found, another broken family, and more remains of new rituals that only Aloe would be willing to perform.
But with every further village helped a common link was set between them all. Bandits are all telling villagers to give them food before the boss arrives to kill them all. All said in the same way as a planned script. All were armed and kitted out with the same shoddy gear, but their food was always perfectly kept.
It seemed the Bandits were well-led.