Chapter 13: Whispers from the North
A frigid gust, sharp with pine and distant snow, rattled the plaza's council chamber windows, their frost-dusted panes creaking in the cold. Inside, beeswax candles cast a warm glow, their sweet tang mingling with new parchment's crisp scent, yet the North's chill seeped through the stone walls. Elias sat at a polished redwood table, its grain smooth under his calloused fingers, facing Robb Stark, whose damp fur-trimmed cloak clung heavily to his shoulders, lines of exhaustion etched deep around his eyes. The Stark alliance anchors us, Elias thought, recalling Chapt 12's oath, heart steady despite the cold. A chipped quill lay beside a spilled inkpot, a micro-conflict as a scribe cursed its smear, while a frayed glove chafed Robb's wrist, grounding the moment. A cracked goblet gleamed in the candlelight, a world-in-motion pulse as servants' boots scuffed the floor. A new sub-scene unfolded as a guard tripped, his frayed glove snagging a crate, an Accidental Spill of wine sparking rough chuckles, easing the tense air.
"He's my brother, Elias," Robb said, voice a low, earnest plea, picking at a loose thread on his tunic, eyes like a winter sky burning with desperate hope. "He's at the Wall, and from what I hear… it's not going well. They're starving. Their numbers dwindle every day."
"My father always said the Night's Watch was the shield that guards the realms of men. I believe him. But the shield is cracking."
[WARNING: JON SNOW, THE NIGHT'S WATCH. POPULATION DECLINING. URGENT INTERVENTION RECOMMENDED.]
"What's the Wall's state?" Elias asked, leaning forward, fingers tightening on a worn satchel.
"They're dying out there," Robb replied, voice heavy, eyes dropping to the cracked goblet.
The Wall's fall dooms Aeria, Elias thought, dread coiling like smoke, the DGS's warning a cold punch to his gut. A new sub-scene emerged as a scribe dropped a chipped quill, ink splattering on parchment, a micro-conflict resolved by Larra's swift grab, her nod boosting morale. Corax perched on Elias's chair, feathers rustling, cawing softly with unusual gravity.
"Jon needs you. Your sky-box is the only thing that can get there in time. A crow's gotta stick with his flock, right?"
"Caw less, you feathered pest," Robb muttered, a faint smile breaking his grim mask.
Larra traced the table's carved grain with a steady finger, her expression a mix of concern and resolve.
"The logistics are complicated, but we can do it, Elias. We can organize a northern expedition. We have the resources now, thanks to the Stark alliance. We can provide food, supplies, even weapons."
"We'll need every crate counted," a servant interjected, hefting a cracked goblet, its rim glinting.
The Free Folk pact taught us resilience, Elias mused, hope flickering, recalling Chap 4's blood-sealed bond. A new sub-scene unfolded as a guard argued over supply routes, voices rising until Larra's sharp nod silenced them, a mini-payoff steadying the group. The Free Folk hall roared with boisterous laughter, fires crackling in rough-hewn stone hearths, but silence fell as Torak stood, his scarred face grim in the dancing firelight, the air thick with smoke.
"The ice monsters," Torak said, voice a low growl, deep fear flickering in his eyes. "They come when the sun weeps. They don't bleed. They don't die. They turn us into one of them. The cold… it goes right into your bones."
[WARNING: STATIC PULSE DETECTED. NON-MUNDANE THREAT.]
This is no mere war, Elias thought, dread sinking deep, hands sore from clutching his worn satchel, its leather cracked. Tormund's frost-flecked beard framed a scowl as he gestured to a bone carving on the wall, its grotesque figure's glowing eyes pulsing with malevolent light.
"They're not living things. They don't feel pain. They don't feel anything. We've been fighting them for a thousand years. But we're losing. Every time they come, we lose more and more."
"Keep swinging, you'll win someday," Corax cawed, hopping onto a dented helm, his beak twitching.
A new sub-scene emerged as a Free Folk elder shared a tale of kin lost to the cold, her words strengthening resolve, a mini-payoff. "Ice monsters don't kneel," Torak whispered, voice a grim echo.
"My System'll make them fall," Elias replied, resolve hardening, his voice steady.
The plaza's courtyard was hushed, a dented helm glinting in flickering torchlight, a world-in-motion pulse as wind stirred tattered banners. Elias stood with Robb and Larra, their alliance a beacon in the gathering dark, a chipped quill scratching nearby.
"The Wall calls," Elias said, a grim smile forming, the DGS plotting a winding northern route.
[MISSION: NORTHERN EXPEDITION. OBJECTIVE: AID JON SNOW. UNLOCKING "WALL'S CRY" QUEST.]
"My scouts know the land," Robb said, offering Stark guides, his cloak heavy with frost. "They'll guide you through the snow and ice. They're the best there is."
"They'd better not get lost," Corax quipped, landing on Elias's shoulder, pointing to a divine signature on the DGS's map. "See that? A fiery priest. A guiding star. You're going to need him."
"Hope it's got better wine than the Twins," Corax added, beak twitching with mock disdain.
Larra organized supplies, her mind a whirlwind, a frayed glove snagging her sleeve.
"We'll be ready, Elias. We'll be a fortress on the move. We'll be ready for anything."
The priest's fire awaits us, Elias thought, the cracked goblet's cold weight in his hand a hook to the North's perils, urging him to face the ice monsters threatening Aeria's survival.
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