Nerd In the North 5-20 (Patreon)

Greg settled back against the weirwood's trunk, white bark smooth and cold under his back, red leaves rustling overhead. It was amazing how creepy these trees were, like exceptionally weird down to the blood-looking streaks of red and the bone-white bark, and that wasn’t even factoring in the faces. Should've picked literally any other tree to sleep against. 

But honestly, the ground here was level and the tree was huge enough to block out the wind at his back, so he’d live with it.

His companions rested nearby in their bedrolls, their usual medieval slumber party disaster, same as last night, same as tomorrow probably. Guts was snoring like a broken chainsaw with Dragonslayer within arm's reach because the guy always slept with that thing like a body pillow. Lobb, Wat, Tomar and Daeric curled up close to the dying fire like a couple of medieval boy scouts, while the Stark men-at-arms scattered in what they probably thought was a defensive perimeter. Real professional, guys.

Ash's head lay across his lap, wings folded, breathing steady. Dragon-bear warmth cut through night chill better than any blanket, scales catching firelight that made everything look like a Tool music video. At least somebody's comfortable.

Greg settled back against the tree, armor plates clicking against bark, eyes fluttering. Just gonna rest them for a minute. Not actually sleep, because sleeping next to creepy face trees felt like asking for nightmares, but maybe just… 

Blue eyes blinked as he realized he was alone in the clearing. He blinked around; Ash was gone. Guts too. So was the firepit. No sound. No breath, leaving him entirely alone in the dark, dark that for some reason he couldn’t see through, which was another sign something fucked up was going on.. What the he—

Trees grew taller. Wait, n-no…

Yes, the trees grew bigger and larger even as Greg almost refused to believe it. Trees didn't just grow while you were looking at them, creaking and shifting and moving like a creepy time-lapse video. Branches wove together overhead, blocking out everything until moss started glowing like those glow-in-the-dark stars he'd had on his bedroom ceiling back home. Worse than that, the air hummed with something that made his teeth hurt.

Okay, this is fucked. He didn’t do drugs, and he hadn’t done drugs, which meant the only thing this could be was… a dream. Greg narrowed his eyes. Dammit.

Voices whispered from every direction, not human voices but they spoke anyway. All of them spoke in ways that souded like language before language, all throat sounds and breath patterns that his brain kept trying to translate into meaning.

"Chiiiild of... distant starrrrs..."And it’s working.

Words stretched like taffy, dropped letters like broken teeth. Greg stood up, hand going for his sword and finding nothing. Not even his armor. Just jeans and sneakers and a shirt that looked like his old Armsmaster tee but with a logo that refused to stay still or the same for longer than a single second.

Great. Dream logic.

Something big pressed against his brain, ancient as dirt, huge as mountains; a presence so big it didn’t even fit inside a single thought, just pressed in through the back of his skull. More words bypassed his ears entirely, resonating directly in his bones like someone was playing bass guitar with his skeleton.

"You are... different... useful... needed..."

"We would... speak... young one..."

"Walk deeper... fear not..."

Yeah, right. Dream forest. Creepy voices. Yeah, no way this turns out horror-movie bad. But his feet moved anyway because dream logic was apparently stronger than common sense.

A clearing opened up that definitely hadn't been there before to show a circle of more face trees, each one unique but equally fucked up, red eyes weeping sap like they'd been crying for a thousand years. In the center sat a pool of black water that didn't reflect anything, the whole thing so dark it looked like someone had cut a hole in reality and painted it matte black.

Children of the Corn bullshit, great dream.

And then, it got worse somehow as the faces started moving.

Faces carved into bark began to twitch. Lips of wood peeled open with slow, resin-sticky movement. Sap wept like tears and more voices came louder and faster, overlapping now, a whole chorus of ancient whispers that sounded like wind through pine needles and stone cracking under ice and water trickling down a mountain.

"We are..  what remains... of the first songs..."

F-uck, he nearly stumbled, hand clutching his face as so much slammed into his head without permission. Images, vision, lives, and whatever else; people kneeling before trees, people dressed and looking like cavemen, wrapped in furs and using old weaponry. Stone knives carving them open, blood feeding roots that pulsed like arteries. Power building with each death, growing over thousands of years into something massive and hungry.

"Jesus Christ," Greg muttered, because some situations called for divine intervention.

The name made them... laugh? Yeh, they laughed, Greg realized, fingers still twitching for a weapon that wasn’t there. If it wasn’t a laugh, it definitely sounded like it, at least, like leaves rustling in the trees too.

More images, clearer now. 

Him as he was; barely any older, but so much more powerful, growing stronger, but somehow alone, him against the world. Unfairly struggling against impossible odds from people who wanted more and more from him, while everyone around him played politics and pretended they understood things they'd never ever seen. Him, fighting with one hand tied behind his back because he didn't want to send people running from him like a demon.

More and more and more. Thousands of years of experience, millions of people living and dying and dying and dying, areas of land stretching across the whole continent just flooding into his brain..

"Limited?" Greg tried to move, found his feet rooted to the ground, as in actual roots were growing from his bare feet. Okay… He shook his head, eyes trying to track which of these spirits were speaking to him through what tree. "I can throw fire, bring people back from almost dead and leap small buildings in a single bound? What exactly am I missing out on?"

The response hit his brain without words, images that bypassed language entirely and hit his brain like a freight train made of understanding. They could show him more. Show him what real power looked like when you stopped thinking in terms of individual fights and started thinking in terms of reshaping the world.

We could show you more.

Again, all that more poured into his head as his hands grabbed at his skull. 

Visions shifted in front of his eyes even as he squeezed them shut, images rushing in like Niagara Falls through a straw, all of it feeling like his head was at the bottom of the ocean, a giant headache that didn’t stick. He saw himself, not with just magic but the whole world under his control, rivers bending because he said so, entire forests of giant weirwoods walking around like they had legs. 

Ents? Even as he tried to make sense of everything, he just couldn’t. The images just felt wrong, inhuman, like watching himself in a funhouse mirror. Eyes like black pools instead of blue, body moving slow and creaking like a tree, his own mouth making sounds that weren't words, weren't even close to words.

That's not me. That's something wearing my face.

His body shuddered as it all finally stopped, Greg’s mouth barely moving as he tried to keep his teeth from chittering in his skull. Jesus…  People had tried to tell him magic was dead, the Maester at Brightfort being the loudest voice, but everything he'd seen in the North since arriving told him otherwise. Even with almost no other adventurers like Guts around, and the war mostly being normal apart from Robb's group showing magic, the fact that actual gods were apparently hanging around had to prove something. Right?

"Y-yeah, none of this..." His voice caught slightly, which was embarrassing. "I'm good with my current power set, honestly. Sounds less like you're offering me power and more like you're trying to drop roommates in my head."

The presence pressed closer, ancient disappointment radiating through dream-air that tasted like copper pennies and moss.

"Look, this has been educational and deeply unsettling," Greg said, hands clenched into fists even though this was a dream and dreams didn't have physics. "But I'm already pretty much unstoppable. Getting stronger every day, actually. So what exactly are you bringing to the table?"

The response came as raw emotion slammed into his brain without permission. Frustration. Confusion. Voices overlapping like wind through dead leaves, words stretched and broken.

"Youuuu... do not fearrr... usssss..."

"Should I?" Greg shrugged, even as he shook his head. "I mean, I’m kinda pissed at you right now, not just for shoving stuff in my head, but you know, the whole fucking with my dream time, thing.” Half the words came out in a half-grunt, annoyance fighting its way past his lips at more than just what he had gone through, but also, and this was weirder, the idea of worshipping false gods, for some reason. “Like,  this is all very spooky and atmospheric. Great production value. really selling the whole ancient mystery vibe." He paused, jaw working as annoyance continued to fight its way past even the slightest bit of fear he felt. "But stop pulling my dick, what do you want?"

The alien presence shifted tactics, showing him softer images. Protecting innocent people. Healing land that looked like someone had taken a flamethrower to it. Bringing peace through overwhelming power, which sounded great until you remembered every dictator in history had probably thought the same thing.

But Greg noticed something. The way the visions kept changing. The almost frantic quality to the mental pressure, like someone desperately trying different sales pitches.

"You guys are really bad at this," he observed, and okay, maybe taunting ancient gods wasn't his smartest move but Greg Veder had never been accused of good decision-making skills. "Like, impressively bad. Do you not usually get told no?"

The response was a wave of alien confusion that felt like stepping into a freezer. These things genuinely didn't understand rejection. For thousands of years, humans had apparently begged them for power, and now here was some kid from Maine telling them to fuck off.

"Whyyy... does this oneeee... not hungerrrr... as the otherrrrs did...?"

Greg laughed, and the sound seemed to hurt them somehow, which was probably the weirdest thing that had happened today and that was saying something. "Because I'm not from here, remember? I grew up knowing that people can do better and be better, and if I wanna worship somebody, I had a glowing golden man in the sky to do that to."

Not that he was particularly religious, but the point stood.

The final offer came as pure desperation, everything they could give freely offered without strings or conditions or merger required. Just take their power and use it however he wanted, which honestly sounded like the kind of deal that came with fine print written in blood.

Greg considered the offer for exactly three seconds. "Nah, I'm good. Thanks for the... experience, I guess. But I've got my own thing going."

"But... but the powerrrr... the glorryyy... Do youuu... not desirrre... these thingsss?"

"Sure," Greg shrugged, which was getting easier in dream-space. "But I'll get there myself. More fun that way. Plus, I don't really trust anything that feeds on sacrifice."

Which was probably most of the supernatural shit in this world, come to think of it.

He felt their attention turning away, not angry but confused, baffled by his refusal in a way that would've been funny if it wasn't so creepy.

"Youuu... will regrettt... this choiceee..."

Not a threat, just tired certainty from things that had probably watched empires rise and fall.

"Maybe," Greg admitted, because honesty felt important even in weird god-dreams. "Hell, probably. But it'll be my choice."

"Foooool..."

"Yeah, I get that a lot," Greg replied, already tired of the weird and vaguely threatening experience. His mom had called him that plenty of times, and she didn't need ancient cosmic power to make her point. "Can I wake up n-"

"-ow?" Greg jerked awake against the weirwood, bark scraping against his armor as dawn light filtered through normal-sized leaves that weren't glowing or whispering or doing anything else that trees shouldn't do. Ash still slept beside him, completely undisturbed, which either meant dragons didn't give a shit about ancient gods or the whole thing had been in his head.

Okay, that was either a really weird dream or I just turned down godhood.

Guts stirred nearby, already reaching for Dragonslayer and ready to use it, with dark eyes roaming side to side. If there was one thing he knew about Guts, the guy's reflexes were hardwired to assume trouble. "You talking to someone?" 

"Just me talking in my sleep," Greg lied, because explaining supernatural job offers seemed like a great way to sound insane. "Weird dreams. Must be the road food." He stretched, working out kinks from sleeping against bark that felt way too real for something that was supposed to be a tree.

Lobb walked up, probably been awake for an hour already because farm kids didn't believe in sleeping in. "We movin' soon, m'lord? Still got leagues to go 'fore King's Landing."

Greg looked at the weirwood one last time, one eye still twitching, his left working overtime as he tried to push the annoyance of last night back down. Whatever that was, it's over. Back to the real world.

"Yeah," he said, standing and stretching until joints popped like bubble wrap. "Let's get moving. Got places to be. Princesses to save."

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

Against The Gods (250 GP)ROLL: Wonderous Memory (100 CP) [Witch on the Holy Night] {Domain}: "Was this meadow torn from time itself by the 5th Magic? If it even is a meadow. It could be a woodland glen, a garden, even a seaside incongruously found somewhere behind a Bounded Field (or past an ornate blue door in your Warehouse).

Whatever it is, it’s a natural environment the size of the average mountainside forest, with a stark beauty and the pristine state of the wild as it was before the advent of mankind. Even if you are wholly human, being here is soothing to your mind and soul.

There’s plenty of game and fresh water here, but no predators. To a wild beast, it’s practically Heaven."

Grimoire Points: 650 GP