Version 2.0
As days turned into weeks, the tension between the Blackwood King and other kings reached a boiling point. The Winter, Glover, and Greenwood King marshalled their forces and marched into the heart of the sprawling forest, their banners unfurled and swords were drawn.
But as they ventured deeper into the dense undergrowth of the Wolfswood, they soon found their armies slowed by the labyrinthine tangle of ancient trees and twisted roots, their progress hindered by the unforgiving terrain and the relentless onslaught of the elements.
Unable to manoeuvre their large armies through the dense foliage, the northern lords were forced to divide their forces into smaller parties, each tasked with scouring the forest. But this quickly proved ill-effective and dangerous as each group was hunted down and attacked. And no hints of the Blackwood King were found, his men seemingly striking swiftly and then disappearing into the forests before his enemies could react.
The forest became a battleground, where the clash of bronze and the cries of the fallen echoed through the forest. Amidst the chaos, the fresh blood attracted many monsters ghouls, werewolves, ice spiders, and so on. Each drawn by the scent of blood and the promise of food, descended upon the battlefield with ravenous hunger, attacking both sides with savage ferocity.
Despite the harsh battlefields and the relentless onslaught of monsters, the three kings remained resolute in their quest for the Blackwood King. With each passing day and every skirmish fought amidst the falling snow, they continued as time would only make the Blackwood king stronger as he gathered more and more people.
As they waged war in the forests, the rest of the kings found themselves beset by the rising tide of Celtic followers, emboldened by the Blackwood King's call to arms. They continued to wreak havoc and chaos wherever they could, launching raids and ambushes against anyone they could burning villages, attacking merchants, anyone they could get their hands on.
Meanwhile, the merchants attacked by both beasts and bandits turned to hiring more mercenaries. Villages, once peaceful and serene, were filled with militias assembled to defend their homes whilst everyone learned to wield weapons.
And amidst it all, the monsters that prowled the northern wilderness continued to roam unchecked, their numbers swelling with each passing day as they preyed upon the unsuspecting inhabitants of the land. Ghouls and werewolves, drawn by the scent of blood and the promise of easy prey, stalked the forests and plains. Ice spiders stuck to the forests in their nests as they preyed upon anything they could. Isdråk waited before striking out and the newly created Drif roamed the fields in their hears attacking anything that came near but seemed to mostly keep to themselves. Whilst a White Walker attacked a village killing everyone and taking the dead with it.
The monsters were getting so bad that even the giants that always kept to themselves were getting attacked where a lone giant out and about was attacked by packs of werewolves. Too quick for the giant to catch with its low hands they systematically brought it down before ripping into its body.
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Amidst the falling snow, the kings marched ever onward into the forests, and though slowed by keeping in their large groups they continued showering the forests.
Amidst the dense canopy of ancient trees and rising levels of snow, Brandon led his men through the tangled undergrowth of the Wolfswood, their footsteps crushing through snow and leaves. Halvar, guided ahead with his eagle, his keen eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement or danger looking for a potential trap after they had finally gained some news of a Blackwood camp.
Sunlight filtered through the dense foliage above, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow upon the forest floor. They pressed onward, and with each passing moment, the eagerness of the men grew, their taste for revenge grew as they drew nearer to the rumoured camp.
They finally reached their destination, the stillness broken only by the faint sound of voices carried on the wind. With a silent nod from Halvar, Brandon signalled for his men to ready their weapons, their hearts pounding with anticipation.
As they drew closer, the outlines of makeshift tents and crude shelters began to materialize amidst the trees, their faded canvas flaps fluttering in the gentle breeze. The camp was nestled within a small clearing, surrounded by towering trees that cast long shadows across the forest floor. They watched as men climbed up trees carrying goods from below and disappeared into the tops of the trees whilst people below chatted with what seemed to be a new arrival of people.
With a silent signal from Brandon, his men fanned out, their movements swift and silent as they closed in on revenge. The element of surprise was on their side, as the Blackwood King's men had grown complacent in their belief that the depths of the Wolfswood offered them sanctuary from their enemies.
But as Brandon's forces descended upon the camp like silent shadows in the night, their illusion of safety was shattered in an instant. With a fierce battle cry, they launched their attack, catching the enemy off guard and sending them scrambling for their weapons in a frantic bid.
The sounds of bronze clashing and shouts of alarm echoed through the forest as Brandon's men surged forward, their swords flashing in the dim light as they fought with a ferocity born of desperation. The Blackwood King's men caught unawares and outnumbered, fought valiantly to defend their makeshift stronghold. Men from the trees tried to descend and attack but slingers in the party pelted them with rocks before they fell from the sky.
The Blackwood camo tried their best but their efforts were in vain against the relentless onslaught of Brandon's forces.
In the end, the battle was short but brutal, the forest echoing with the cries of the fallen as Brandon's men emerged victorious amidst the wreckage of the camp. With the enemy routed and their morale shattered, they tried to retreat into the shadows of the Wolfswood, but being surrounded they soon were forced to give up and surrender.
With the chaos of battle subsided, Brandon's men began to loot the camp.
"My King," Theon called as he stepped out from one of the tents.
Brandon stepped into the tent greeted by a group of men and women, who were bound in bronze chains and tethered to a central post.
"What do you want." One of the men whispered in a weak voice his eyes sunken into his face as the group of them huddled closer together.
"I'm Brandon Stark." Their faces lit up as he said that. "Men set them free," Brandon ordered, his men quickly entered the tent before using their weapons to break the chains and cuffs.
"Tell me, where are you from," Brandon asked.
Calls of Glover, Warg, and Winter lands rang out, and Brandon ground his teeth when Winter was mentioned.
"Looks like the Blackwood King is keen on taking people from their lands both through words and force," Theon said next to Bandon.
"Looks to be like that," Brandon said as he watched the group be set free.