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Post by FieldMarshal Bismarck on Aug 18, 2020 13:47:16 GMT -5
Days had past since that day that the Other's showed vulnerable. Maybe even weeks had passed. Rickon Umber, the great bear of Last Hearth had showed what he was worth but had paid a terrible price. The Maester at the wall had done his best and finally Umber had arisen from him sleep. As his eyes opened and he gazed the room all he could see, could feel, was the pain the light of the fire gave him. No doubt it kept him alive for the time he had been traveling through the realms of the not yet dead. As someone noticed he was awake they helped him to his clothes, fed him and bathe him.
Tired, incredibly stiff and with a raging headache Rickon then dragged himself in search for someone who could tell him what had happened after he had killed an Other. Osgrey or Stark would be sufficient he thought to himself.
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Post by AxBrew Sunster on Aug 19, 2020 6:04:50 GMT -5
Tarly began to close with one of the strange, shimmering, white-ice warriors, nearly six feet of bared steel in his hands, and a dragonglass dagger ready at his belt for whatever opening he could create with the mighty greatsword. However, even as the chilling, cold eyes fixed him and his grip tightened on the blade, he heard the voice of Jon Snow, who had once been Lord Commander, echoing above the din of battle - the clashing of steel on alien ice-metal, the screams of men falling, wounded and dying - calling out a retreat. He shook his head grimly, gave the creature a long look, and then whirled and grabbed onto the pommel of his saddle, planting his blade in the ground as he did to. Swinging himself onto the dappled grey stallion, he gripped the hilt and raised the blade high, standing as a point which surviving men of the watch might rally around.
"To me, men of the Watch!" he bellowed, raising the blade above his head, "We follow Lord Snow back to the wall."
He could not wait for too long as such a beacon - the tides of the dead were moving quickly, and overwhelming those who could not find horses quickly enough. With one final look at the cold, pulsating blue eyes of the creature that had nearly been his foe, Randyll spurred the flanks of his horse sharply, tugging the reins about and following the rest of the Black Brothers and wildlings who made it free. It is lost then. They all are. These wildlings, near half our men, likely our Lord Commander too.
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