The journey back to base was a relatively uneventful one for Baldur, the demigod's steps guided by a mixture of caution and anticipation. However, the tranquility of the night was shattered by an inexplicable disturbance that plagued Baldur's shields. In the cover of darkness, the assaults began with small, seemingly deranged animals, but soon escalated to the brazen charges of larger predators, their frenzied attempts to breach his protective barrier evidence of something amiss.
Baldur couldn't help but suspect the source of this vexation, the prime suspect being the individual who took offense at his departure from the barrow. The acquisition of the sword, a bonus amidst the turmoil, seemed to have added fuel to the fires of resentment.
Yet, Baldur was no ordinary enchanter, and the swarming creatures, although disconcerting, posed little threat to his fortitude. Employing his newfound pyromantic abilities, he had forged a series of layered barriers using the remnants of the ruined bronze armor salvaged from his initial encounter in the barrow. Against a demigod, such defenses could buy him days, while against lesser foes, Baldur maintained an air of confidence. Still, he remained vigilant, devising additional enchantments to warn him of impending danger. In moments of respite from his travels, he dedicated himself to mastering the control of his inner flame, refining his pyromantic prowess.
During his periods of study, Baldur discovered the unique qualities of the Damascus steel blade he had acquired. It defied his expectations, demonstrating exceptional resilience, razor-sharp edges, and a surprising resistance to heat, stress, and even strikes from his own Bone Steel weapons. As he delved deeper into the blade's nature, Baldur grew increasingly certain that its creation involved a complex ritual or intricate spellcasting. Although capable of such feats himself, Baldur acknowledged his relative shortcomings in spellcasting compared to his mastery of rune inscription.
While the allure of embarking on a grand quest of discovery to uncover the origins and secrets of the blade tempted Baldur, he recognized the pressing need to address the immediate threat posed by the unseen adversaries lurking behind their puppet minions. With a determined resolve, Baldur redirected his focus towards unravelling the enigma that lay shrouded in darkness.
As Baldur arrived at his base and crossed the protective barrier, he couldn't help but smile at the sight of vibrant green grass and the absence of snow. The ground beneath his feet had hardened, and evidence of the progress his diligent workers had made in developing their camp showed. Piles of gathered materials lay off to the side, ready to be utilized, while Arson toiled diligently, flattening the ground in preparation for the construction of the foundation.
Approaching the camp, Baldur was met by Jora, whose once weary countenance now displayed a healthier visage. "Boss! You're back!" Jora exclaimed, a hint of relief audible in his voice.
Baldur scrutinized Jora for a moment, observing the transformation in his demeanor. "Where is Galrum? I don't see him," Baldur inquired, his tone edged with a sense of interest.
"He, um... entered your walled area without permission," Jora stammered, flinching and shrinking into himself as if anticipating Baldur's wrath. The demigod's brow furrowed, a subtle display of displeasure.
"Seems I'm short a worker now. Unfortunate," Baldur stated matter-of-factly, waving his hand to beckon Jora to follow him.
Jora, understanding the gravity of the situation, silently complied, trailing behind Baldur as they moved closer to the camp. Sensing the need to address more pressing matters, Jora spoke up, his voice tinged with eagerness, "We have gathered most of the materials you requested, Boss. We can start whenever you deem fit."
With a nod of acknowledgement, Baldur gingerly unfastened the bronze axe strapped to his back, carefully placing it aside. Simultaneously, he discarded the dyed armor he had salvaged from the puppet adversaries, laying it out for distribution among his two diligent companions. "Divvy this gear between the two of you and take the remainder of the day to rest. Come dawn, we'll start on constructing your very own house," Baldur declared, his voice carrying none of the anger he usually did.
Satisfied, Baldur made his way back to his dwelling. As he approached the entrance, his keen eyes caught sight of a small clockwork soldier, dutifully standing at attention to the left of the door. A rare smile played upon Baldur's lips, a flicker of genuine joy illuminating his countenance. Gently, he reached down and lifted the diminutive creation into his hands, cradling it with a mix of fondness and determination. "It looks like it's time to receive an upgrade, my little friend," Baldur whispered, his voice infused with excitement.
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Three-Eyed Crow POV
A diminutive figure with nut-brown skin, clad in a cloak woven from leaves and entwined vines, approached the form of Brynden, whose body was intricately covered in roots. The newcomer's face was etched with a deep frown, reflecting the urgency of the situation. "His protections are impenetrable. We must devise an alternative plan to rid ourselves of him before his power escalates further. We can already feel his magic permeating the world! The Others will awaken prematurely if we fail to remove him!"
Brynden couldn't help but release a weary sigh, fully comprehending the extent of his folly in underestimating Baldur. He had believed himself capable of quelling the threat should it arise, yet he had been sorely mistaken. The young boy possessed an innate gift, with his mastery over flame standing unparalleled in ages.
Had Brynden been younger, he would have readily marched into battle himself, resolute in vanquishing the threat once and for all. However, that was a feat he could no longer accomplish. Painful as it was to acknowledge, he had to call in a favor—an act necessary for the greater good of the realm and humanity as a whole. Baldur needed to be eliminated.
"Leaf, reach out to Torvir. Inform him that if he succeeds in ridding us of Baldur, I shall halt our current hostilities," Brynden grimaced, his expression heavy with the weight of his decision. "And inform him that I will offer him one of my cherished artifacts."
Although the prospect of parting with his precious possessions pained him deeply, Brynden felt better knowing that Torvir's loyalty lay with his people. When the threat of the Long Night loomed, he could be relied upon to aid in the defense against the encroaching forces of the Others.
-----
Baldur POV
Having resided in this unfamiliar realm for a full year now, Baldur couldn't help but feel a surge of pride whenever he gazed upon his thriving base. The walls and warehouse stood tall and sturdy, their construction complete, while the magnificent two-story communal housing building in the worker's camp showcased the collective effort that had gone into its creation.
Jora and Arson, the two individuals who had toiled tirelessly under Baldur's guidance, incessantly sang his praises ever since the project's completion. Through their tireless labor, they had come to cherish and appreciate the gifts Baldur had bestowed upon them. Although Baldur typically maintained a reserved demeanor, his unwavering dedication to his passions had inadvertently fostered a deeper connection between himself and his two companions.
Despite their initial aversion, they had wholeheartedly embraced Baldur's teachings and discipline, and the transformation they had undergone was remarkable. They were barely recognizable from the strangers Baldur had first encountered. While Baldur hesitated to label them as friends—an honor reserved for those he could trust with his life—they were no longer mere acquaintances.
In a surprising revelation, Arson had expressed his deep-seated love for archery and exploring, prompting Baldur to craft an enchanted bronze compound bow tailored to his needs. Jora, on the other hand, had disclosed his burning desire to tame wild animals, envisioning a sustainable source of nourishment that eliminated the need for constant hunting.
Bemused by Jora's aspirations, Baldur had patiently explained the concept of farming, and Jora had implored Baldur for guidance in embarking on this new endeavor. Thanks to their collaboration, Baldur now relished the simple pleasure of savoring eggs for breakfast, a testament to the fruits of their labor.
Despite the remarkable progress achieved in the months following his return from the barrow, Baldur remained frustratingly distant from unveiling the identity of his mysterious adversary. The occasional onslaught of animal hordes sent his way had dwindled, likely due to the realization of its futility. If this elusive foe wished to challenge Baldur within his own domain, they would have to confront him personally—a perilous proposition that promised dire consequences.
Interrupting Baldur's ruminations, a plaintive whine pierced the air, drawing his attention to a majestic metallic sabertooth tiger by his side, affectionately rubbing its head against his shoulder. "Alright, alright, Trini. We can head out," Baldur chuckled, his hand gently caressing behind the automaton's ear and Trini emitted a contented mechanical purr, a puzzling phenomenon given Trini's artificial nature.
Sensing her eagerness to stretch her legs, Baldur effortlessly mounted her back and settled into the saddle. The sabertooth tiger, surpassing the size of a warhorse, boasted an exquisite coat adorned with shades of silver, gold, black, and hints of blue—a captivating amalgamation of interlocking plates forged from Bone Steel and an intricate array of gears. Every component had been meticulously enchanted by Baldur, while the diamond at the core of Trini's virtual intelligence—a gemstone painstakingly crafted over weeks in a specialized forge—emanated an otherworldly brilliance, anchoring the automaton's consciousness.
Gems held immense significance as cores for golems, and Baldur recognized their value in his pursuit of combining the creation processes of golems and automatons to forge something even more remarkable. As a result, he devoted considerable time to gathering and crafting the necessary materials. Although Trini, his metallic companion, may not have matched the grandeur of his younger brother's pet, Festus, Baldur took great pride in having brought Trini to life entirely on his own, without relying on the full might of the Hephaestus cabin.
Extending a reassuring pat on Trini's back, Baldur pressed forward, casting a glance over his shoulder to ensure his other creations were trailing behind him. Two imposing bronze figures loyally followed in his wake—one standing at an imposing eight feet tall, while the other measured a more modest five and a half feet.
The colossal figure, aptly named Bob, drew inspiration from the Dwemer Centurions of Skyrim. However, unlike their weapon-integrated design, Bob sported massive hands capable of wielding an extensive arsenal of weapons secured to his back. Shields, spears, swords and even tools like shovels and picks—Bob possessed a tool tailored for every imaginable task.
In contrast, the smaller figure, Baldur's initial clockwork soldier, had undergone a significant transformation, bearing an uncanny resemblance to a Samurai Gundam. Like Trini, this bronze warrior had been adorned with a vibrant paint scheme, highlighting his exceptional nature.
Dubbed Blue, the samurai-esque figure brandished three katanas holstered at each hip, while his wrists housed two mounted folding crossbows, ingeniously repurposed from one of Baldur's unused contraptions. Unlike Bob and Trini, Blue appeared more attuned to the world around him, capable of engaging in basic conversations. Though Blue's responses remained somewhat limited—reminiscent of early iterations of chatbots—it only served to reinforce Baldur's proximity to bestowing life upon his creations, much like his father had done.
Satisfied that everything was in order, Baldur reached for the gem nestled within the socket of his necklace. The second iteration, known as MK II, unfolded and elegantly enveloped his form. While functionally and aesthetically similar to its predecessor, MK II possessed an additional advantage—it could be discreetly stored within the necklace itself, rendering infiltration a mere cakewalk should the need ever arise.
Arriving at the edge of his territory, Baldur found Arson eagerly awaiting him. The bow Baldur had gifted him was securely strapped to his back. Arson had adorned himself in heavy furs, a departure from his usual attire due to the warm climate within the protective barrier. Squinting up at Baldur, he grinned and exclaimed, "Ready to head out when you are, Boss!"
Baldur furrowed his brow and asked, "Are you certain you want to accompany me? We'll be gone for quite some time." While he didn't oppose the company on his journey, he knew that they would be venturing far from their current location, with their return being a matter of "when" rather than "if."
"And miss out on an adventure? Boss, you forget one thing," Arson chuckled, causing Baldur to groan in response. "You can't speak the southern language!" Arson continued to laugh, and Baldur reluctantly admitted the truth.
Arson was right. Despite Baldur's numerous gifts, languages other than Ancient Greek and the Old Tongue posed a considerable challenge. English had taken him much longer to grasp than others his age, and the thought of having to learn yet another language was daunting. "I'll simply create a translating rune," Baldur grumbled, well aware that the rune would only be effective in translating the literal meaning of what people said.
"Fine, fine, you win. Just don't be a nuisance," Baldur relented, waving for Bob to come closer. Pointing at Arson, he instructed, "You can ride on his shoulder. Otherwise, we'll be moving at a snail's pace."
"On second thought—" Arson began to protest, but before he could finish his sentence, Bob swiftly closed the distance, grabbing Arson's shoulder and hoisting him through the air onto his own shoulder. "Ouch! That hurt, fuck," Arson winced, rubbing his shoulder and rotating his arms to alleviate the lingering pain.
Before crossing the threshold that separated his lands from the untamed frozen wilderness, Baldur cast a final glance back. Jora would be fine; Baldur had even reluctantly granted him permission to allow a few people to settle just outside the protective barrier.
With the fortifications and enhancements he had implemented, Baldur had little doubt that his lands would be raided. As much as he yearned to stay and continue his work, he had made sufficient preparations. The Damascus steel sword at his side taunted him, its creation method still eluding him.
Currently, Baldur's best chance of acquiring more information rested with the Crows, a group that Jora and Arson had likened to a border patrol, based on the stories they had shared. Although Baldur had yet to encounter any of their patrols, he had been advised against heading straight to their forts. The Crows harbored an intense animosity toward northerners.
If Baldur wished to engage with them on friendly terms, he would have to infiltrate the south discreetly, giving them no reason to suspect he was a Free Folk. It seemed like an arduous task, especially when he could simply compel them to reveal what he sought. However, Jora had explained that the south held greater numbers and deep-seated grudges.
Baldur had hoped the southerners were as divided as the Free Folk, but if they stood united, he had to admit that even a multitude of ants could topple a giant. After all, he had played a role in defeating Kronos.
"Boss, aren't you concerned that the person behind the animal attacks might seize this opportunity to strike at you?" Arson inquired from atop Bob as they set off on their journey, tracing the path of the river southward.
"I highly doubt they can breach my barrier, so Jora will be safe. And until they confront me directly, there's little they can do. Especially if we make it to the southern lands. I don't imagine their influence extends beyond the wall," Baldur reassured, his confidence evident. Arson, however, couldn't help but express a hint of worry.
"But what if it does? How would you even know?" Arson's concern was palpable.
"I don't. But I do know that even mortals have limits to their dominion. Even demigods have boundaries," Baldur scoffed, whispering the last part, his hands clenched with determination. Breaking through his own limits was a resolve he held, even if it meant it would be his final endeavor.
"If you say so..." Arson said, his voice slightly trembling as he experienced the biting chill of winter for the first time in a while. The familiar warmth of the protective barrier was now replaced by a frigid breeze that seemed to cut through his furs. He instinctively wrapped his arms tighter around his body, seeking refuge from the cold.
-----
Torvir POV
It was a surprising turn of events when one of the Children of the Forest approached Torvir, considering their history of being at odds with the man they served, the Three-Eyed Crow. The messenger came bearing a proposition, promising treasure and amnesty not only for Torvir but also for his people.
Curiosity piqued, Torvir listened as the messenger detailed their request. They sought his help in dealing with a problem—a certain intriguing individual named Baldur, whom Torvir had observed in his forests months prior. The boy's formidable power was emphasized, and Torvir was warned against engaging him directly.
Torvir took his time to consider the offer, weighing the potential benefits and risks. Finally, he gave his answer, much to the surprise of Leaf, the messenger. "No," he stated firmly, his voice carrying the weight of his years of experience.
Leaf's golden and green eyes flickered with a mix of shock and frustration. "What do you mean, 'no'?" she exclaimed. "Don't you realize the threat Baldur poses? I have felt his power! It surpasses the combined might of me and my kin! You don't understand how dangerous..."
Interrupting her, Torvir asserted his own strength. "I am Torvir the Undying!" he proclaimed, his voice filled with the echoes of countless winters. "I have outlived your current master. Do you think I have survived this long by challenging adversaries you couldn't even fathom? Be gone from my sight. Tell Brynden that saving him all those years ago was a mistake. For someone who claims to see everything, he knows surprisingly little."
Leaf grunted in frustration but eventually relented, stomping her way out of Torvir's humble dwelling. Before she disappeared, she couldn't resist delivering a parting warning. "He has foreseen your fate and that of your mate. If you do not cooperate with him, death awaits you."
As Leaf's presence faded, Torvir's consciousness returned fully to his current host—the direwolf whose body he inhabited. Within the depths of his cave, the sounds of yelps and whines filled the air as his young offspring played.
Standing tall, Torvir's majestic form gleamed under the moon's gentle radiance, his fur a shimmering cloak of white. His eyes, filled with a mixture of pride and tenderness, locked onto his longtime mate as she playfully guided their pups. Leaf's warning held little sway over him. He had already glimpsed his own death, the passing of his beloved mate, and the fate of his offspring.
He knew it was inevitable—a looming fate from which there was no escape. The gradual degradation of his mind, losing himself more and more to the instincts of the direwolf, had made him aware of his own mortality. However, his descendants would carry on, and in the coming years, they would find their way to House Stark, taking his place. Torvir was old, and it was time for the younger generation to take the reins.
His only regret lay in not being able to see his ancestral home, Winterfell, one last time. Its grand halls and storied history would forever remain a distant dream, a poignant reminder of what he had fought to protect. Yet, he found solace in knowing that his bloodline would continue, their connection to the land and their wolfish heritage unbroken.
With a profound sense of acceptance, Torvir settled beside his mate and their playful progeny, savoring these fleeting moments of familial joy. The howling winds outside echoed the passage of time, and as his age-weary eyes closed, he embraced the serenity of the present, content in knowing that his legacy would endure.
-----
Baldur POV
A soft whistle escaped Baldur's lips as he stood before the towering magnificence of the ice wall. Its sheer size and the pulsating waves of magic emanating from its core left him in a state of awe, his eyes tracing the expanse of the structure.
Standing on the western side of the wall, gazing eastward, Baldur strained to see where it ended. The immensity of the wall seemed to stretch beyond the horizon. "I would give anything to meet the individuals who constructed such a marvel," he mused, a tinge of curiosity coloring his words.
Arson couldn't help but chuckle at Baldur's comment. "They're probably long gone, Boss. You must have truly lost your memories, as Jora guessed," he remarked, a hint of teasing in his voice.
Baldur tilted his head, contemplating Arson's words. He didn't lose his memories, he simply replaced the original Baldur. "All right, let's focus on the task at hand. What's the best way to cross this colossal barrier?" he inquired, directing his attention back to Arson.
Arson scratched his head thoughtfully. "Well, most people attempt to climb the wall, but that often ends in tragedy. Alternatively, there's the gorge I've heard about. Crossing it could be an option. However, I'm not sure how your creations will cross," he explained, glancing at Bob, who emitted a puff of steam that startled Arson, nearly causing him to lose his balance on the automaton's shoulder.
Quickly regaining his composure, Arson stammered, "N-not that I doubt your creations, Baldur! Sorry, Bob, didn't mean to offend you," he apologized, patting the metallic shoulder of the towering automaton.
Baldur sighed, his patience tested by the antics of his companions. "Slight offense taken, Arson. Let's put the climbing aside for now. We shall cross the gorge," he declared, making a firm decision. The mysterious allure of the wall's creators would have to wait for another time.