Chapter 4: The Wildling's Oath
Wind lashed the cliffs, pine's sharp scent mingling with a wild, musky tang, like earth unbound by lords. Elias, Larra, and Corax trudged toward a Free Folk camp, furs and bone artifacts strewn in chaotic piles, their edges frayed by salt-soaked gusts. Skepticism hung heavy, mistrust as biting as the frost-rimed fur draped over a sagging tent. Elias's knotted cord belt chafed his waist, a grounding weight as his salt-crusted boots crunched gravel, each step echoing dusk's creeping shadow. The Freys' scout warned of blood, he thought, recalling the plaza's bandit clash, heart quickening. A chipped mug steamed with herb tea on a rock, its earthy aroma cutting the chill. A child's laugh pierced the wind, fleeting warmth against wary murmurs. This alliance could save Aeria, Elias mused, shoulders aching from the trek, the city's rusted anchors glinting above, urging haste.
A Free Folk woman adjusted her frost-rimed fur, her glance hostile, a micro-conflict stirring tension. A man fumbled a salt-crusted boot, its thud drawing glares, a mini-payoff easing the moment. Torak loomed at the camp's edge, bone-braided beard swaying in the gale.
"No kneeler owns me," he growled, voice like stone grinding.
"Why should we trust a man who builds a city in the sky?"
Elias, DGS humming with Motive Analysis, met his gaze.
"I'm no king," he said, voice steady.
"I'm just an architect. And my city isn't about owning anyone. It's about building a home for those who have nowhere else to go. A place where you can be free."
Larra stepped forward, offering a chipped mug of wheat, its grainy scent grounding.
"This is from his city. There is enough for everyone who joins."
He sees our truth, Elias thought, hope sparking as Torak's eyes softened. A child tripped, spilling bones, a micro-conflict eased by Larra's quick smile, her hand steadying the child. The Living Fields proved our promise, he recalled, heart steadying.
Corax landed on a bone carving, its icy aura chilling the air.
"Hey, Torak, what's with the yeti couture? You think this bone can protect you from the cold? It's got a chill to it."
Torak's eyes widened, fear flashing. Eldon must analyze this, Elias thought, gripping his knotted cord, the carving's pulse a cold enigma. Beric's warning of powers that freeze, he recalled, heart racing. A woman spilled her tea, the chipped mug clattering, sparking laughter that cut the tension. Negotiations began, wind howling through bone artifacts, marking time's crawl. A Free Folk elder argued for isolation, her voice sharp, a new sub-scene of dissent. Elias countered with promises of autonomy, DGS amplifying his words' sincerity.
The vision of a great hall, ice and bone honoring Free Folk heritage, shimmered in his mind's eye, runes pulsing like the plaza's fields. The talks dragged, frost-rimed fur creaking as Torak paced, his breath clouding. A hunter fumbled a salt-crusted boot, sparking a chuckle, a mini-payoff. The vision sealed the pact, Torak pledging loyalty, his clan following.
[NEW ALLIANCE: FREE FOLK PACT. RECRUITMENT PROGRESS: 67/100. STRENGTH GAINED: +20.]
Tormund Giantsbane clapped Elias's back, laugh booming.
"Axes sing louder than oaths!" he roared, axe arcing through the air.
Elias borrowed Tormund's air-slashing, feeling its brutal grace, shoulders burning from the phantom weight. Corax squawked from a newly constructed hall wall.
"Nice frosty charm, you guys! But my beak's brighter!"
Ice runes pulsed white, a defensive key. Torak gifted the bone carving, its cold biting Elias's fingers. Another piece of Aeria's puzzle, he thought, pocketing it, the plaza's wheat fields flashing in his mind. A new sub-scene unfolded as a hunter tested air-slashing, toppling a tent, Corax cawing in mock alarm, a Prank Backfire moment.
Sunset bled red and gold, DGS humming sharply.
[THREAT DETECTED: FREY SCOUT. INITIATING BETRAYAL PREDICTION.]
A red outline highlighted a scout in the coastal rocks, his gaze predatory.
"Torak," Elias whispered, urgency tightening his throat.
"Frey scout. In the rocks."
Torak surged, air-slashing, knocking the scout down, his knotted cord snapping in the fray. Corax poked the scout's weeping sun locket.
"Hey, Elias, this guy's got a weird necklace. What's with the weasel face and the sun?"
A cult, tied to the Freys, Elias thought, dread coiling, the scout's hint of a "red and bloody affair" chilling him. The camp stirred, voices rising as Elias interrogated, his salt-crusted boots damp with sweat. A child offered tea in a chipped mug, a mini-payoff easing tension. The scout's capture rallied the Free Folk, their furs rustling as they pledged to defend Aeria. The Red Wedding looms, Elias mused, hands shaky, the locket's pulse a hook to a bloody feast, urging him to unravel the cult's secrets.
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