II.

The weather was calm which meant the village was active with its people working away on their duties from skinning the leather of the last hunt and harvesting the frozen fruits of the forest. One of the main attractions in this region was a plant called the frostflute, a type of wheat that produces music when the wind blows through it. During stormy days the forest sang around the folk through the day and through the night.

The townspeople stopped and turned to see the stranger who made his way through the street, the sight of strangers was rare in this region as most would not be able to withstand the cold.

The stranger marched on through the streets paying no attention to the townsfolk who stared at him as he marched towards the townhall where the warriors rested after weeks of hunting. The townspeople consisting of men, women and children were beginning to gather around the townhall where the stranger approached it’s doors until the time came when he pushed open the oak doors and made his way inside the lodge.

Brokenbjorn sat in his giant chair walnut with a tumbler in one hand and his other resting on his long, graying beard. The others in the room were Brakqen, Sandor and Aotrys who sat around a table enjoying a meal that came from their most recent hunt. The three men quickly took notice to the stranger entering their lodge and got up to approach the man, Brokenbjorn woke up from this slumber and began paying attention to the stranger.

The three men took position around the stranger in anticipation for the reveal of who he was, Brokenbjorn was the first to speak to them.

“Who are ye, man who enters our home?”

The stranger was wearing a thick coat that looked finely stitched, the man took off his hood and looked around at the men surrounding him as if he had not noticed they were there before.

“Do excuse my uninvited visit, but I am Petyr from the Land where the Sands meets the sea and I carry a message from my King.” The stranger known as Petyr, had tan skin that was bursting red from the cold.

“The Land of Sands? How does a man like you travel all the way without a single scratch on him eh?” Asked Brakqen as he stood behind the stranger.

Petyr turned himself to face the archer and looked surprised to see the large scars covering his face.

“I travel with a convey consisting of my Kings’s guards, survivors, and I carry an important message.” Replied the stranger.

“Alright man, tell us your message.” said Brokenbjorn.

“Very well” said Petyr as he began his tale.

“Our lands are being plagued with deformities: monsters from other worldly places.”

“Monsters? What monsters?” Asked Aotrys.

Petyr turned again to face Aotrys and the men could tell that he was nervous, but he continued.

“Reports say the monsters themselves are twice as tall as any man and their skin is as dark as charcoal, whoever they don’t kill are cursed deformities with very little similarities to their former selves, a sickness unknown to any apothecary.”

Sandor was the next to speak, “I call bullshit to this fairytale, there haven’t been monsters in these lands for centuries, only men” “and why cant your Lord just send his men, why come all this way for our lot?”

The Southern man seemed shocked by the appearance of Sandor, his long ginger hair that only barely concealing the large gash across his face. Sandor stood out in crowds with his bright red facial hair and his bulky frame that almost matched that of his cousin’s.

“There are rumors about men who live in the North capable of surviving the harsh, winter climate and being able to kill beasts three times their size with their bare hands in cases.” Said Petyr.

“Who told you these tales?” Said Aotrys. “No warrior from here has ever left his duty, only exiles have ever left this place.”

After observing the man closely, Petyr saw that Aotrys stood out from the others in the room. Unlike the other men in his room, Aotrys kept his hair relatively short to show the three scars across his eye. He held his marks with pride and wanted everyone to see the proof of his feat.

“You are right my Lord, an exile claiming to be from this region told us tales of your work and the hardship you face.”

“The names Aotrys and you still didn’t answer my question, man.”

By this time the other warriors who were resting in the backrooms were beginning to wake up from the noise of the conversation.

“Lord Aotrys, no matter the amount of men my Lord sends to attack these monsters, very few ever return.” Said Petyr “The only men to return tell tales of these monsters murdering their comrades and bringing them back to the sea where they come from, if they haven’t been poisoned already.”

Brokenbjorn’s elderly face dropped when he heard this bit of information, these monsters resembled the tales he had heard from his father during the dark days of the world. Tales about monstrosities and beast who came from the sea in force and threatened his ancestor’s world if not fought back, only after a years of fighting did the ancestor’s manage to fight the beasts back to the sea from where they came, but not often killing countless men in their wake.

“You speak true?” asked Brokenbjorn from behind the stranger.

“Yes my Lord, the threat is very real and my King is willing to pay you any amount to compensate your journey to the South and fighting these monstrosities.” Replied Petyr.

“Petyr, was it? I ask you to go to the back of the lodge and leave us to talk.” Said Brokenbjorn as he pointed towards a table at the back of the room.

On his way towards the table, Petry passed by Ord and two other warriors who stood in the back to spectate the conversation then joined Petyr at the table to have a gentle chat with him.

The others gathered around Brokenbjorn who looked in distress.

Next Chapter: Chapter 3