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They approached the wooden cabin, as Harmond, emerged from his home, a large grin on his face as he eagerly pattered Brandon on the shoulder.
"Brandon," he greeted loudly. "Glad you could make it. Come on, there is fighting to be had. Haha." Harmond quickly led the party away from his home village and towards the north.
"We arrived as quickly as we could, Harmond. What's been going on?"
"Fucking White Walkers and their wights are what's happening. In the cover of this 'Long Night,' they attack villages or anyone they can get their hands on. To tell you the truth, we are getting our ass handed to us. Our weapons are useless, and we can't get obsidian quickly enough. Jonos Flint is giving us what he can spare, but he is already getting attacked as well. He has a stronghold in the mountains, but at any time he could fall. The children of the forest are mining what they can, and we get a steady supply of it but it is too small in quantity. The only other person I have heard of having obsidian is Royce, but I have heard nothing from him."
Looking around, Brandon could see that Harmond's men were low in number but could see obsidian weapons on all of them.
"I only take the men who can fight, and the rest will just be a burden to us."
"Where are we heading, then?" Edric asks.
"A village north of here, one of the few ones left that needs to be evacuated. They will need protection as we get them out of here; we can't afford to feed the Others' army. We send them south to the river or east to gather in the Frost's lands."
The party ventured through the expansive snow-covered plains, shrouded in the darkness of the Long Night. The thick snow and ice clung to every part of the landscape, from trees to houses every part of it was perfectly outlined in snow and ice. Moonlight cast an eerie glow on the snow, guiding their way through the otherwise impenetrable darkness, despite it being daytime.
Approaching a seemingly deserted village, their journey took a turn as they noticed the unmistakable signs of an ongoing attack. Harmond's expression darkened, and he swore under his breath before rushing headlong into the fray along with his band of men. Brandon and his party followed suit, ready for battle.
Within the village, chaos reigned. Villagers fought desperately refusing to give up and die. The weights, some with decaying flesh hanging from their bones, charged forward with an unrelenting need to kill, the villagers tried their best but without obsidian it was an unwinnable battle.
The wights were a grotesque mix of humans and bests like bears, wolves, and even birds. Some still bore remnants of their former selves, their eyes glazed with a blue glow of malice. Others were mere shells, their once-living features replaced by an unsettling emptiness as they simply went through the motions of battle.
Brandon's company fought valiantly; each member engaged in a struggle to save the living and to kill the dead. Amid the pandemonium, the villagers refused to give up fighting on not afraid of a little cold, they battled halting the wights as they protected their family and friends.
Mothers huddled over children as they brought them away, and fathers fought even when their weapons failed to protect their families. Brothers and sisters ran, dragging each other way from battles as the old fought for the young to survive.
During their battle a White Walker, mounted atop its ice spider, moved from the dark reaches of the night and into the light. The eerie blue glow of its eyes pierced the night first before its spider's legs skittered across the snow.
It was not alone. Another White Walker followed, then another, and another, until the frigid air was so cold the sweat on their bodies froze to their skin. Ten White Walkers walked from their shadows.
Jon stared at them, "Mother of the Gods."
The White Walkers, their chittering echoing of ice scratching and breaking, observed the unfolding chaos with a stilted smile on their face. As the battle raged on, the White Walkers observed the humans, before they commanded and controlled their wight missions sending more of them from the darkness.
Harmond shouted above the din of battle. "Get the people away from the village! Head south, escape while we hold them off!" before changing with his men into the thick of battle with a great grin on his face.
The White Walkers, all trained their eyes on the Obsidian weapons all moving their heads as one as they followed it. Then they battled but always tried to avoid confrontation, making sure not to expose themselves to the deadly blades. The battle was intense and deadly for the Whtie Walkers only needed a single strike to kill any man.
Though not all plans are successful amidst the chaos, one White Walker made a fatal misstep and succumbed to the obsidian's lethal touch as he was not flexible enough to move out of the way. Yet, the battle was far from won.
Harmond and his comrades fought valiantly, holding off the relentless assault, ensuring the villagers could escape. The winds speed up kicking up snow and ice into the air as the men battled on through it.
As the last of the villagers hurriedly made their way south, the party, still hounded by relentless wights, began their retreat, following after the villagers. The White Walkers, however, remained at the village, their cold eyes watching as the party fled not in the least interested in them. Only seeming to focus on the dead who behand to stand up again along with the fallen wights as they too slowly rose again, reanimated by their magic.
In the distance, the night echoed with the haunting cries of the undead, as the party retreated. The company, weary and battered, trudged through the dense snow as if it conspired against them, each step sapping their strength. The relentless pursuit of the wights made the retreat a gruelling endeavour, the cold biting into their bones. The Long Night's oppressive darkness seemed to press down on them as they struggled through the frozen landscape.
Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, the relentless army of wights dissolved back into the inky blackness of the night. The party, now southward and a safe distance away, took a moment to catch their breath. The cold air hung heavily around them; their exhales were visible in the frigid night.
As the group assessed their wounds and tended to the injured, Jon, strained a painful grimace. "Did anyone else notice? There were more White Walkers in that seemingly random village than I've ever seen."
"It seems Aloe and the Others have been busy." Brandon sighed.
"That's the least of our worries," Harmond said. "The wights never truly die even when killed by obsidian, only burning the bodies to ash truly gets rid of them." He turns to his company of men seeing their smaller number. "We lose men whilst they always gain more in every battle."
The party shivered before regrouping in the cold night, understanding that the true battle had only just begun.