We know how this ends.
He did.
His thumb slid over the bright blue jewel resting in the crossguard of his blade. Simple math.
Not so simple to do, though. It wasn’t at all that Greg had bad feelings about it or wasn’t even all that hesitant to even do it in the first place — which was something he’d long gotten over — but the fact that the brutal zero-sum of the situation was even at play was the issue.
There was no cure for these men, no respawn point for something that had changed them so deeply and was guaranteed to turn them into dwellers from the deep.
Greg was already shifting his weight for the practical calculus of what came next — the cleanest angle and the neatest way to do what he had to do. All he had to do was make it quick.“Oi!”Unfortunately, the man who went by Ary was quicker.Thick ropes snapped as the webbed soldier threw himself backward, a wet pop sounding out loud over the rushing water as the fish-man’s shoulder-joint came free of the socket. The bindings slid straight of Ary’s slick weeping scales and just like that— "He’s loose!"
Lobb’s scream came out a bark as Ary scrambled to his feet, the monster digging purpled and webbed fingers into the riverside as his body launched down the mud slope.“Watch the teeth!” Harwin shoved Lobb back, both their boots sliding in the muck. “Don’t let ‘im grab yer—!”Ary didn’t grab anything and didn’t even try to fight as the infected man dropped down to all fours, spine bowed out in a severe arch. Nothing about the movement was human, not the speed and certainly not the gait — the drowned creature scuttling at a terrifying pace on a straight path toward the water.
A Winterfell spearman lunged after him; spear-shaft clipping the monster’s shoulder and not even forcing a flinch.
"M'lord, he's making for the—"
Lobb’s hands were halfway to his blade as Greg shifted his weight, raising a hand. "I see him."
The fish-man hit the rushing brown water in a heavy splash, sliding right into the current like a crocodile; the dark water swallowing up every inch of him.
A shadow blotted out the gray light of the afternoon at Greg’s side, Guts surging forward with the greatslab that was Dragonslayer already in the air. A boot slammed down onto a ruined piece of canvas, the giant ready to lunge straight into the shallows.
“Don’t you fucking dare.” Greg’s sword arm snapped out, his blade a white barrier that had Guts stop and stare down at the weapon barring his path. “A regular one of those is bad enough.”His arm finally fell, blue eyes locked onto the spot where the riverbank dropped off. One built like your big black-armored butt… It was enough to make him shudder. Yeah, we’re not doing that boss fight today. “You stay out of the water.”
Guts didn’t argue as they all stood there, mud under their boots as they watched the churning and frothing where Ary had gone under; a stream of thick muddy bubbles rising to the surface and bursting.
Then, the bubbles stopped.
The river rushed on, water churning over the moss-covered waterwheel of the millhouse as the stench of wet rot hung heavy in the humid air, sticking to the back of Greg's throat. He barely bothered to breathe as the silence stretched, broken only by the wet coughs of the remaining infected.
"He's drowned, ain't he?" Lobb took a half-step closer to the bank, eyes narrowed at the muddy water. "Can't wear mail in the river. Sinks ye right down to th—"
"Get back from the edge, Lobb." His voice came out a snap as his own eyes narrowed, sword still held high and glowing against the overcast sky. "And you’re smarter than that. He's not drowning."
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
Thirty.
The surface of the water broke as Ary rose again, standing waist-deep in the current as water cascaded off his shoulders in thick sheets. Rusted mail plastered tight to his chest, the weight of it barely seemed to bother him as those slits on his neck flared wide, red gills on each side sucking greedily at the open air.
There he is.
And there he was.
Two blown-out pools of ink-black stared back at them as a mouth hung loose and wide, the blunt teeth of a human jaw nowhere to be seen in place of row after row of jagged needles angled backward toward his throat.
Fuck me. If Ary wasn’t gone before, he definitely was now — those blue-green scales covering his entire face, armored plating that shifted and locked as he tilted his head.
That mouth opened even wider, unhinging slightly at the sides as the void of an endless throat stared back at them all. Ary didn’t scream.
Unfortunately, what he did was much worse.
Pressure vibrated directly into Greg’s skull, the sound bypassing the eardrums entirely and shook right into his teeth.
As if on command, three of the infected men let out a groan to match"No!" Harwin rasped, the man staggering back a step as a hand clutched at his own head. “No! Shut it out! Don’t listen to ‘im!”It wasn’t working, the man’s words landing on deaf ears as three of his men dropped their weapons; spears meeting the mud with dull thuds. Wide eyes, terrified and teary, remained open as their bodies betrayed them. One of them, a young man with a patch of scales crawling up his own neck, began a path to the river; legs jerking stiffly but still moving all the same.
"Stop!" A half-sob left him as he stared down at his own marching boots. "Please, make 'em stop!" Two more followed after, all of them crying as the tether dragged them into the deep.
Guts’ grip tightened around the hilt of his massive sword. "They're going in."
"Yeah.” Greg did the same. “No they're not." He didn't bother aiming as mana surged into his arms; the blade swung out in a horizontal slash aimed at the river.
A crescent of blinding white ripped from the steel, the projectile of pure light crossing the distance between him and the water in a bare second to hit Jory perfectly at the waist.
The energy sheared through rusted chainmail and past it; scales, flesh, and spine all the same with almost no resistance to it. The water behind him churned up in a geyser as Ary’s top half fell backwards into the brown; legs still standing for only a moment before they collapsed into the shallows behind it with nothing but a thick cloud of dark blood to show anything had ever been there at all.
The pressure vanished and those three men of Harwin’s collapsed mid-march into the thick muck. They lay there, fingers digging into the dirt and gasping for air like they had been holding their breath the entire time.
Greg slowly lowered his sword, white light still hissing as he let out a slow breath and rolled his shoulders out. Okay. Mute button works.
He turned around to face the rest, eyebrow rising high at the sight of Lobb and the men with him forming a loose semi-circle at the collapsed infected, Harwin and the others. Sansa stood behind them, face completely pale as she nearly sank into Myrcella’s side, the Lannister princess watching the steam rise off the river with a placid interest.
“Harwin.”
The White Harbor man looked up at the sound of his name, Greg walking up to him with questions ready and little patience. “How much longer do you have?” "Those ones…” A trembling hand rose toward the three who’d nearly walked into the river to join Ary in two parts. “Days, they’ve got. Maybe weeks on their own. They nearly drowned in the crossing, took in more water than most."
“And the rest?”
"Some of us... we'll last for months more," Harwin stared down at his own hands, before looking at the other three of his men still upright and unaffected by Ary’s call. "We can fight it."
The captain forced himself to stand tall, rusted chainmail clinking as he swaryed. Dark eyes met Greg’s blue, before Harwin’s gaze dropped to the white blade in his grip. "You can end it now, m’lord.”
Harwin swallowed. "Quick.”
Greg stared at him as the wind picked up. “What do you want, Harwin?”
Harwin closed his eyes as a whisper left him. "I want to go home.” Each syllable softened into something fragile. "I want to see White Harbor again. Walk the docks, if I can.” The captain opened his eyes to stare Greg down one more time. "But I'll take quick over drowning in my own mind."
A breath left him as he let the answer sit. “Line up. If you can stand, stand. “As they finally did so, Greg looked at the line of men, nodding once at each of the seven infected. He stopped in front of the first, the scales crawling up the young spearman’s neck clear even in the dim light of the forest. "I can't cure this.”This sentence was a death sentence and it was taken just as seriously. "If you stay, you turn. If you go, you might turn on the road. I am giving you the choice. If you want the quick end, stay where you are. Anything else, step to the left."
For a long moment, nobody moved. The only sound was the river.
Then, Harwin stepped to the left.
Another man — a young spearman with a patchy beard and terrified eyes — followed him. Two.
The other five stayed exactly where they were.
Greg stopped at the last man, eyes on one of the three who had marched for the water. His mouth was open, drool pooling at one corner of his mouth as darkening eyes stared off at nothing. His lips moved despite himself as he whispered something to the dirt, the words turning into clicking sounds as they left him.
"He's gone." Guts spoke again, the words all that needed to be said.
"Yeah. He is.” The blond stepped back, eyes on the four who had asked for it, plus the one who couldn't ask for anything anymore. "On your knees.”
The four obeyed, as Harwin helped the fifth down to the ground, all five in a ragged row facing the treeline; backs to the rushing brown tributary.
"Princess," Greg didn’t bother looking over his shoulder. "You might want to turn around."
"No.”
Now, that got him to look over, blinking as the crying princess stood tall; tremor barely there as she held her skirts in a white-knuckled grip. "They are my brother's men. I will see them out."
…huh. "Suit yourself.”
Greg walked to the end of the line to stop at the last one again, the one who’d been rocking in the mud and now still clicked at the mud. The sword rose to settle over the man’s heart, magic pooling within the weapon as the spell touched the blade. Igni Cuspis.
Blue fire seared out as sharp as any blade and with heat enough to core iron, piercing the chainmail, the leather, scales and the sternum with it. The man’s rocking stopped that same moment, the clicking in his throat silenced as he slumped forward.
Greg moved to the next.
"Thank ye, m'lord,” was the whisper from his lips.
"Don't…” Greg bit down a flinch as he held the tip of his sword to the heart of a boy no older than he was. “Don’t thank me.” Igni Cuspis.
A flash of light, a sharp hiss of boiling blood, and the body dropped.
The third man was crying, silent tears tracking through the dirt on his face. He just nodded.
Hiss. Drop.
When the last man fell sideways into the muck, Greg lowered his sword as he stared at the five bodies in the mud. “...we need to dig.”“Oi!” Lobb barked his whisper louder. “You heard the lord! Get to diggin’!”
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
An hour later, Greg stood near the treeline, dirt piling up as his men parted the wet ground enough to pile the bodies in. Sansa remained exactly where she was, tears still streaming down her face as she refused to wipe them clean.
Myrcella stood next to her, her green eyes fixed on the slowly expanding grave. "They look smaller when they lie down.”
By the time the last spade of dirt was patted down, Harwin and the remaining soldier had packed their saddlebags, both of them ready to risk the straight path of the Kingsroad for speed towards White Harbor. Neither of them had horses — something else they had lost in the river crossing — but they had enough hardtack and cured meat to make the walk. Greg had ‘offered’ them Riverrun, the keep closer and the path safer, but from the look on Harwin’s face…
Well, it was clear that none of those things were exactly the point.
Harwin walked up to the teenager in the silvery armor, adjusting the strap of his pack as he offered a grim half-smile that didn't reach his bloodshot eyes. "Better harsh strangers than a kind heart, my lord."
He just nodded once. “...take care of yourself, Harwin.”
"Aye, m'lord.” The captain gave a short bow to Sansa, before he and his man headed off to find the Kingsroad. Greg watched them walk away, boots squelching in the mud, two dead men walking against a timeline
Guts stepped up beside him as the two figures shrunk against the treeline. "They're not making it.”
Greg stared at the empty space where the men used to be, well aware that White Harbor was very far and the Lannisters were much closer.
"I know.”
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
Mercy - 100 GP
Make it quick.
ROLL: Consummate Rules-Lawyer (300) [The Dresden Files] {Lore}:
There's three types of people in the world: those who don't deal with the Fae, those who get really good at navigating the confusing maze of faerie law, and those who get dragged screaming from the world. Since the first isn't an option, you've gone to the second camp. You now understand every paragraph of the Unseelie Accords by instinct, and can tie loops in others using it while slipping similar knots yourself. It's also given you quite the perspective on quaint mortal legal systems, and after dealing with Winter Fae, mortal bureaucrats or lawyers just seem adorable.
Grimoire Points: 400 GP