Grim Tidings
Sixteenth Day of the Twelfth Month 292 AC
You take the last leg of your journey on foot, moving as swiftly as you can through the tangled roots and hardy underbrush that ekes out a living in the shadow of the trees. Yet you see no beast nesting nearby to flee at your approach and the calls of birds are muted save for the distant sound of a cuckoo.
"They still hunt like men whatever they've become," Elle says.
The ranger nods in a rare moment of perfect accord with the wildling woman before shivering sightly, not from fear but from cold. It seems as though evening has brought winter with it, cold so biting it can be felt even through the warding spell that shrouds you... In the gathering gloom the pale spur of granite seems almost a tombstone.
"This used to be a path, I think," Harwood says, voice sounding strained as he motions a dip in the ground where the underbrush thinned ever so slightly.
Ser Richard adjusts his sword, the light of his armor seeming to grow brighter with every step he takes. Dany is the first one to speak what you had all been thinking: "I think something knows we are here."
"Then we'd best give it a warm welcome," you answer. "Stay back..." With a roar that echoes through the woods shaking snow from the tree boughs you take on a form scaled and winged. As your form shifts and grows and grows a tree beside you
cracks and breaks like kindling, its fall covering the sounds of spell-work though not the power that flows over your claws and sharpens fangs and guards with glamours and shields with blessed marks.
Towering above all but the tallest trees you roar, "Come forth ye beasts that walk in the shape of man and face the fate your sins have brought or be counted
craven forevermore!" The echos of your voice rocks the very stones, yet the darkness still swallows it up.
The cold grows more and silence rests once more upon the forest like a heavy cloak. Mist begins to flow in not from the sea behind you but from the north. You can feel the power of your magics slipping away with every moment. Alas that you had found here a most unlikely of foes: one that could show restraint and not be taunted into rash attack.
Ser Richard curses softly under his breath. "The fuckers aren't going to take be bait..."
"Something is still coming," Dany warns darkly. "Not from the ground... from the
north." Her head snaps up an instant before a scream of utter savagery and
hunger made thin by distance yet losing nothing of its malice. Perhaps it is not just from you that the bear-men hide in their hollows.
What do you do?
[] Wait and face whatever is coming
[] Enter the caves
[] Write in
OOC: Sorry this took so long. I had some character sheets to write up.