Version 2.0
"I'm home," Brandon said, seeing his parents at the table.
Alarra smiled. "Welcome back honey, how was your talk, did it go well?" she reaches across the table with her bony hand passing Brandon a bowl of soup.
"It went well, we have a plan, but that can wait for another time, how are you too is the chest getting any better," Brandon asks.
"Well, be fine," Torrhen said before coughing and rubbing our chest. "Don't worry about us, it is common for those getting on in age, it will either pass or we will. Don't let that get you down, come on enjoy whilst you can, look at Alys she isn't waiting her time and has started seeing a good man."
Alarra gave Brandon a look. "You should follow your sisters' footsteps; I don't see you bringing any women Brandon."
"Not things again, please. I have too much right now." Brandon sighs.
"That is no excuse, Brandon." Alarra signs. "Now eat up you need to be big and strong for your future wife."
/
Winterhaven sent messengers to every petty king within their reach.
The messages conveyed a simple yet powerful plea – a call for unity against a common, looming threat, a meeting to unite the north. The urgency was accentuated by the involvement of the children of the forest, who would only move for their survival. The mere acknowledgment of their presence in the call for alliance added an air of gravitas.
As the days passed, replies from the petty kings trickled in, each telling of their arrival. It became evident that the children of the forest's involvement had played a pivotal role in swaying the minds of the sceptical rulers.
The messages had simple confirmations and also passing on the message to other petty kings. If the children of the forest deemed the threat worthy of their attention, it must be important.
The Kings started to arrive fast. First was Ned, The Greenwood King, who ruled quiet lands north of the Barrowlands. He talked with a faint and calming voice when he introduced himself. Clad in rich forest-green robes adorned with subtle leaf patterns, he moved with easy grace.
His eyes, the deep brown of fertile soil, surveyed the landscape with a keen awareness, and with a humble smile, he kindly introduced himself to everyone no matter their background.
Eamon, The Ryder King, held dominion over the sprawling Rills. With a piercing shade of deep blue, they gleamed with spirit as he rode into the village. Clad in brown garments reminiscent of the open plains and adorned with intricate patterns reminiscent of galloping horses. He dismounted and roamed with a giddy stride, talking quickly and with confidence he greeted and chatted with everyone.
Bran, The Warg King, held sway over the untamed expanse of Sea Dragon Point, he wore a tired but rugged look, with wild hair, a thick beard, and a hairy body. With large rippling muscles and seemed to want to break out of his cloths, he prowled into the village on a massive bear. Dressed in furs and adorned with bone ornaments, he exuded an aura of both wilderness and control.
The Warg King's eyes, a deep shade of forest green, watched everything as he calmly looked at all the kings gathering. With him, his companion, a majestic brown bear named Claw, moved alongside him, a truly behemoth of a bear it did not come far off the size of a small house, with thick fur and covered in scars it was a powerful sight.
Cormac, The Fisher King, held dominion over the coastal realm of Stony Shore, he softly swayed into the village. Clad in garments reflecting the hues of the ocean, Cormac moved with a rhythmic cadence as he angrily stopped in the village.
His eyes, the deep blue of the open sea, sparkled with rage though he kept that to himself. He talked kindly to everyone and talked in a smooth voice which had a pleasant rhythm to it like you could listen to it forever.
The final king of this group was Ealdred, The Glover King, who was a newly crowned King over the vast woodlands far in the north on the other side of the forest. Draped in garments woven from trees and made entirely from nature, and adorned with symbols of the woodland creatures, he moved with silent grace, as he calmly greeted everyone and joyously interacted with them. His eyes, a whisper of green, eagerly watched everyone gathered but paid special attention to the Warg King, though he still talked to him.
/
"Brandon. Good to finally meet you in the flesh." Ealdred says. "You have to be quite an interesting fellow to get the children of the forest on your side and to have the balls to invite every king to your village."
"I try my best," Brandon says. "It is good that you came, this meeting is going to change the lives of everyone."
"If what news I hear is true and with this weather and monsters I am seeing are anything to go by I would say so. Have any other kings arrived then."
Brandon smiled. "Yep, Eamon, Ned, Bran, and Cormac are all here."
He grunts before speaking. "Both Bran and Cormac, in a confined area? That will not be pleasant. They have been fighting recently over food and some fishing rights from what I hear. Good luck Brandon." He says before leaving him.
"Thanks," Brandon says with an aching smile.
/
With one group done comes another. Alden, The Amber King, held sway over the lands east of Barrowlands and stopped at White Knife, he sleazily entered the village before starting at everything he saw. Draped in cloths reflecting the rich hues of the golden resin, and placed with finely woven patterns and shapes, he moved with a regal presence, before he forced himself to greet everyone.
His eyes, a deep and harsh amber, disgustingly gazed at the village and the people living in them refusing to talk with any of them only talking to the kings of gathering and asking what he called a servant if he needed anything. Alden's voice resembled a man with something stuck in his voice that made it an irritating pitch.
Malcolm, The Barrow King, ruled over the expanse of the Barrowlands. His figure, built like a stick-like and gangly-like one, walked uneasily over the terrain as his pale skin stuck out in the bright sun where you could almost see through his skin. His eyes, a sombre shade of gray stared eerily lifelessly at everyone as he quietly but oddly enthusiastically chatted with everyone in a stilled tone. Malcolm's attire, draped in cloaks of black and adorned with runes of the afterlife, fluttered in the wind as it fit well on him but still seemed loose.
Eyron, The Marsh King, held dominion over the treacherous terrain of the Neck to the south, and came mounted atop a colossal Lizard-Lion, he camped outside the village like the other kings before making his way in. He strode with purpose into the village, his massive thighs demolishing the snow on his way into the village after a heavy fall fell during the night.
His eyes, a shade of deep green mirroring murky waters, matched a cheeky smile as he got a read on every king that had gathered. Eyron attire, adorned with reptilian skin that acted as cloths and armour, seemed to blend into the background of the gathering after he introduced himself to the kings except for the amber king.
Lastly was, Jonos, The Flint King, who reigned over the formidable Flint Cliffs to the far south on the other side of the neck. Clad in grey garments inlayed with some rocks and jewels, Bran moved with a confident stride, never swaying in the intense winds that greeted him the day he arrived.
His eyes, a steely gray mirroring formidable rocks, held the unwavering gaze before all the kings that had arrived before him. His voice was gravely as he introduced himself before all the kings not fazed at the least by that gathering of the most powerful men in the north. With a firm grip he shook hands and chatted with everyone gathered for much of the day.