The Price of Blood
Sixteenth Day of the Twelfth Month 292 AC
"Though cannot command the watchers at the Wall to stand aside and unbar their gates..." the sound of the ancient war-pick ripping through stone and roots almost covers your words but neither your gaze not voice wavers, "this I
will do by words or else by other paths. By the time the Long Night comes, there will be no Free Folk here to serve as their puppets, only warriors to throw them back."
"Ware what you swear before the Gods," the bear spirit warns. "Many are the dead left to lie beneath the earth in places none now living yet know. Come what may
they will have their army. Let it be that this time it would not have the faces of those who fell behind..." Again the strange flash of regret.
Is it from the body the spirit inhabits or some kinship of old?
Alas, now is not the time to sate your curiosity lest you try its patience more and risk the fragile peace you have brokered. "Know you of a Heart Tree near here that the pact might be sealed and the beast at last gone from this world?" you ask instead.
The spirit snorts and motions for you to follow before setting off through the forest, carrying the white beast lightly over one shoulder almost gently. He moves with surprising grace for one so large, a feat you ruefully admit you cannot match and shed your scales falling into step with your two guides.
Harwood is the first to speak measuring his words carefully. "Many of the brothers will take ill to the thought of Free Folk being let loose in the world to go as they will."
"You saw those things, fought them and killed them. Tell me, do you think they will care for the color of your cloak or the loyalties you hold?" you ask.
"Your hearts would taste the same," Dany adds artfully, as though in passing.
"Hearts?" the ranger sounds almost like he would rather not know.
"Those beasts we fought have a love for ripping out and devouring the hearts of their foes, even in the midst of battle, obsessed with finding the perfect one," Dany presses. Once you might have been upset at hearing such words from her, now you are merely grateful for the help.
Unfortunately just as Harwood falls into a thoughtful silence, Elle hisses, "You swore you'd get rid of the bastards..."
In truth you had made no oath, not even a formal promise, and your words to her tribe had all been true and without ill intent, but you doubt that alone will satisfy the woman who had earnestly tried to slit her lover's throat when his crimes came to light. Ahead you can see red amid the green of the forest canopy and bone white the limbs of the weirwood trees, yet before the blood of monsters can be spilled you must address as well as you are able that of mortal men who shall remain unavenged.
What do you answer?
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OOC: I considered just rolling through this, but in the end it is too important character-wise and relating to your approach to the Free Folk to do without player involvement.