English is not my first language.
Read the Synopsis and Important Information Post First.
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269 AC
The air inside the hut smelled of wet earth and crushed herbs, a heavy odor that seemed to hold onto the moisture from outside. The light filtering through the single opening in the log wall was faint, barely managing to dispel the gloom. Alaric Mormont was kneeling on a mat of pressed moss, his palm resting flat on the back of a raven with oily black feathers. The bird was quiet now; its wings, which had previously looked broken and hung at an impossible angle, rested close to its body.
The raven had been moribund when he found it, a bundle of fragile bones and torn feathers. The Maester, with his knowledge-proving chains clinking with every movement, had simply shrugged. "A lost cause, Alaric. Even if it survives, it won't fly again."
It was a fair observation, but one that would not make Alaric give up.
He felt the familiar tingling sensation rise up his arm, an energy that seemed to flow from the earth through him, a warm, living current that focused on his fingertips. It was not magic, not like the tales of fire and ice, but a deep harmonization with the natural world. The skin beneath his nails glowed for an instant with a pale green light, and he whispered words that belonged to no known language, but were instead the sound of a running stream.
The raven shivered. A dry, almost inaudible snap resonated as the last fragment of displaced bone slipped back into place. The bird opened a yellow eye, fixing him with a fearless gaze. The open wound on the side of its chest, which had recently been a bloody paste, was now only a thin scar, the skin united.
In that instant, the back pain and the fatigue of days of care dissipated. A cold, mechanical sensation took over his mind.
[You healed a Dying Raven with Cure Wounds.]
[Reward: 2 Exp.]
The Experience number in his peripheral vision blinked: 898/900.
Then, a second sound, louder than the first, erupted in his mind.
[Total Experience: 900/900.]
[Congratulations! You have reached Level 3!]
Alaric let out a slow sigh, the air smelling of garlic and ground moisture. Four years. Four years of secret practice, of sneaking into the forest, of trying to understand the rules of a world he only knew as fiction. He was a Mormont, born on Bear Island, but he carried the burden and the blessing of a System that did not belong to Westeros.
A System based on Dungeons and Dragons.
He ignored the recovered raven for a moment and focused on the translucent screen that only he could see, hanging in the air.
Name: Alaric Mormont
Sex: Male
Race: Human of the First Men
Class: Druid
Level: 2
Exp: 900/900
His eyes fixed on the button that glowed discreetly. Level Up.
He barely hesitated. His right thumb moved in an instinctive motion, as if gliding over polished glass. The button was pressed.
The light in the hut did not change, the smell of moss remained, but within him, something expanded. The feeling was not one of raw power, but of access. His body did not feel stronger or faster, just more connected.
The interface blinked again.
Level: 2 -> 3
[Exp: 900/2,700]
"Damn numbers," Alaric grumbled to himself, the sound dry in the silent hut. He had expected a boom, a flash of fire. The transition from Level 1 to 2 had been monumental, allowing him to choose his Druid Circle—the Circle of the Moon, which connected him to deep metamorphosis and the wilderness.
This time, nothing. Just the increased experience target.
He frowned, shifting his mental focus to navigate the tabs. Skills? Talents? Feats? Everything looked the same.
Finally, he reached the Spells tab.
There it was. The subtle but profound change.
He had three Level 1 slots before. Now, a fourth slot shimmered, empty. And below it, two new, larger, reserved slots. Level 2.
Alaric smiled, a thin smile that barely moved his lips. The power was not in brute force, but in versatility.
The Level 1 spells had already proven indispensable. Cure Wounds, of course, the perfect safety pillar. Entangle, which transformed roots and vines into living shackles, useful against curious and dangerous bears that roamed the island's forests. Goodberry, the guarantee against hunger, perfect for feeding his animals and keeping himself healthy and perfectly nourished in a medieval world.
He did not delay in filling the new Level 1 slot.
He selected it.
[Detect Magic (Level 1, Ritual)]
[Material: None. Concentration: No. Duration: 10 minutes.]
'Perfect. No owl feather, rabbit foot, or wolf tooth needed to prepare. And it will be useful on the way back.'
Now, the Level 2 slots. They demanded reflection. He had twenty-nine new options, each with tempting potential. As Alaric scrolled through the list in his mind, the detailed description of each spell flowed into him, as if the words had been written in his very marrow.
Many were too situational. Pass without Trace was useful, but he wasn't planning on hiding from anyone, not yet. Flame Blade was flashy, but risky; 'Too flashy, he didn't want to reveal his powers yet.'
Six, however, caught his attention.
Locate Animals or Plants: Find animals and plants within a 5-mile distance. Practical.
Lesser Restoration: Cure simple diseases and conditions. Far from spectacular, but useful against hangovers and the flu.
Barkskin: Transform his skin into bark. Practically grants invulnerability in this medieval world.
Moonbeam: A beam of light that extends over a 5-foot diameter, lasts 1 minute, and deals 15 damage. A serious weapon. Good for attacking the unwary... like everyone in Westeros.
Beast Sense: Share an animal's senses. This gave him pause. It reminded him of the legends whispered by his Aunt Maege about the wargs and skin-changers beyond the Wall.
Enhance Ability: Increase one of his Attributes by 1 for one hour. Power. The most tempting of all.
Alaric reviewed the options.
Bear Island was a wild place. Life demanded cunning and strength. He needed both.
He chose the first.
[Barkskin (Level 2)]
[Material: A piece of bark. Concentration: Yes. Duration: 1 hour.]
'His mind visualized the transformation: skin hard as oak, the blows of swords echoing without penetrating. If it was as good as he supposed, it would be the ideal armor for a world of sword and one where only he knew magic. He would test it as soon as he had the chance.'
The second slot was more complicated.
Enhance Ability was a spell Alaric couldn't imagine failing. Increase Strength to overpower enemies, Dexterity to dodge, Wisdom to make decisions. However, the spell had a specific material cost.
[Material for Enhance Ability: The fur or feather of an animal related to the desired Attribute (e.g., bear fur for Strength, owl feather for Wisdom, fox fur for Intelligence).]
There was no bear, owl, or fox kept at Mormont Keep. He needed to hunt them first. And hunting in the dense forest of Bear Island was a slow business.
The answer came. He needed a guide.
He selected Locate Animals or Plants.
[Locate Animals or Plants (Level 2, Ritual)]
[Material: Hound's fur. Concentration: No. Duration: 10 minutes.]
'This spell would lead him to the raw material for the other one. It was an investment. A step forward.'
Alaric clenched his jaw. Barkskin and Locate Animals or Plants. Both required materials he didn't have on hand. He needed Bark and Hound's Fur. The second would be easy; the guard dogs at Mormont Keep were plentiful. The first, the provident forest.
He looked at the raven, which was now preening itself with a sharp beak, its yellow eyes full of renewed vitality.
The raven nestled in the back of the wicker cage, its yellow eyes following Alaric's every move. The cure was complete, the recovery miraculous, but the truth needed a more credible frame.
"A night or two," Alaric murmured, adjusting the cage door. "So no one suspects."
He needed the story to justify the effort, to explain the time he had spent tucked away in the distant hut, the smell of herbs ingrained in his clothes. No one could see the speed of the cure, the true extent of what he was capable of. The world was not ready, and he was not ready for the world to know.
The silence of the woods swallowed him when he stepped out of the hut. The morning sunlight filtered through the treetops, dancing on the damp moss and fallen leaves. Alaric adjusted his tunic. Mormont Keep awaited, but first, the forest had its own offerings.
He walked, the sound of his boots muffled by the bed of pine needles. The old pine trees, their trunks covered with gray lichens, stood like sentinels. Alaric reached out, his index finger brushing the roughness of an oak bark. The deep grooves, almost like the wrinkles of an ancient face, promised resistance.
He stopped next to an especially sturdy trunk. Sap oozed from some cracks, the woody smell strong in the cool air. Alaric pulled his hunting knife from the leather sheath at his waist. The blade glittered. Carefully, he scraped off a piece of bark, no wider than his thumbnail, but enough. The act did not hurt the tree; it only removed the superficial layer, almost a gentle exfoliation.
He held the small fragment of wood in his palm. 'It wasn't what he had initially imagined for the spell, but the interface didn't ask for a massive piece, just "a piece of bark." The simplicity of the material requirements was, at times, as surprising as the effects themselves.'
The sun broke through the foliage. Dewdrops still clung to the spiderwebs. He sat on an exposed root. He closed his eyes, the bark pressed against his skin. The words arose, unspoken aloud, but echoing in the chamber of his mind. They were the same whispers of a stream, the same sounds of rustling leaves, the melody of life manifesting. It was not a language, it was a call. The bark in his hand was not just wood; it was the promise of strength, of an impenetrable barrier. The connection to the earth deepened.
A soft green light enveloped the bark in his palm, expanding for a moment before dissipating into the air. When he opened his eyes, the fragment had vanished. In its place, a feeling of readiness, an intrinsic knowledge of a new capability.
The interface blinked, a silent confirmation.
Spell Slot Level 2: Barkskin (Prepared)
Alaric smiled. 'Now, he carried the bark of the oak beneath his own skin. And he had only just begun.' He stood up, the forest around him feeling like an ally. The fortress awaited him.
Alaric's journey back to House Mormont was always a gentle descent, a slope covered with moss and pine needles that absorbed sound, making the forest a place of whispers. But the familiarity of the path never allowed him to fully relax. Not since the incident with the Bear.
"Detect Magic," he murmured, his voice as low as a squirrel's rustle.
It was not a word of power, nor a grand chant. It was a silent command to the cold interface only he could see. The response came not as a vision, but as an alteration in the air, a tingling that rose from his leather-clad feet and ran up his spine. The world did not change color, but it gained a hidden depth, as if the daylight now had an invisible shadow, a subtle layer he could feel. It was the touch of Wisdom, the statistic the System had granted him.
The spell, with its comfortable ten-minute duration, gave him a short leash of security. It was not the protection of the Barkskin that now resided in his arsenal, but it was enough for the descent. If the "Bear"—that animal of unnatural intelligence, which seemed to hunt him with a bitter purpose, more than any wild beast—was nearby, the air would vibrate with an artificial warmth, and Alaric would feel it. He could then retreat or turn into a bear himself and defeat it, as always.
The thought of the "Bear," and of everything that was unnatural in this world, brought back the old bitterness.
Westeros, the North, Bear Island. He had woken up here, a new body, a one-year-old boy, with ancient memories, the experience of a modern soldier cemented in the head of a northern child. Physically, the transition had been easy. The army shell had prepared him for deprivation: the biting cold of the North was just a different kind of discomfort to be endured; the bland food, just fuel. His body was a tool, and he knew how to use it.
What proved more difficult was the very fabric of life.
'A world of foolish loyalties, of honor that led to cold graves, of blind faiths and beliefs that time should have swept away. Feudalism was inefficient, logistics a nightmare, and the belief in Old and New Gods, in his eyes, a dangerous superstition.'
He never tried to debate. 'The habit of shutting his mouth, learned in the army ranks when a superior was talking nonsense, was his armor against conflict. Disagreement was too heavy a burden to carry when one lacked the charisma or the power to change it.' His status panel—Alaric knew it by heart, could feel it like an extra muscle—brought the cold verdict: Charisma: 10. Average. Mediocre. 'He was not a Stannis, who could inspire loyalty with his stony righteousness, nor a Tyrion, who could manipulate with sarcastic words. He was just Alaric, and Alaric kept quiet. Quiet until he had the power to do something. To, in the future, mold his small piece of land to his and his people's liking and pleasure.'
The Mormonts were part of this system, but it was also the only safe pillar for him in this world. 'He knew, from the few seasons watched and books read, that his house, even poor and small, was what would give him the most security in this world. His house was the only thing he could count on, because, in the end, every house was for itself, even in the north.'
Another thing that confirmed his belief about the situation he was in was the mission given by the system, days after understanding the situation he now lived:
MAIN QUEST: THE RESTORATION OF MORMONTE
House Mormont languishes on its island of bears and wood. The time for living off past furs and reputations is over. Raise this House from its poverty and isolate it from the history that awaits it. The fate of the North may depend on your strength.
Requirement: Complete FOUR of the seven objectives below.
Objective
Requirement
Current Progress
1. Income Source
Secure a lifelong or long-term source of income for House Mormont.
Progress: 0%
2. Military Power
Increase the capacity to raise an army to 8,000 capable men or 2,000 capable men and 500 Trained Knights.
Progress: 2,13%(6,000) / 6.4%(2,000) and 0%(500)
3. Stone Fortress
Reform Bear Island and Mormont Keep, rebuilding the wall, houses, and wooden castle to stone. Also increasing size and quality.
Progress: 0%
4. Territory
Extend Mormont land by at least 50%.
Progress: 0%
5. Population
Increase the population of Bear Island to at least 20,000.
654 / 30,000 (3.27%)
6. Fleet
Build and maintain a fleet of at least 20 warships.
Progress: 0 / 20 (0%)
7. Fame and Influence
Bring fame and influence to House Mormont in the North.
Progress: 5% (Fame) / 2% (Influence)
[Reward: 20.000 XP]
'Things in Westeros are so bad that, despite being technically parts of the same nation, the North could be attacked at any time by another kingdom, and receive almost no reprisal from the Iron Throne. The Seven Kingdoms are, in practice, only a fragile alliance, maintained only by tradition after the extinction of the dragons.'
The forest fell silent for an instant, and he saw the shadow of the panel, a translucent rectangle of pure thought, and with it, the memory of the night it all truly "began."
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Six years ago, he woke up to the sound.
It was not the sound of the wind, nor the groan of the wood, but a metallic clink, strangely pure and loud, like a dry-beaten bell. It was dark, but the panel floated before his eyes, emitting a soft green light, the color of moss and time. It didn't seem real, but the smell of cold sweat on his fur sheet was real, the accelerated beating of his heart was real.
The interface explained, in direct and concise text, how he had been chosen to receive a magical power, which would grant him powers following the rules of Dungeons and Dragons, but adapted to the real world. And the fatal question: Initiate Character Creation?
He pressed "Initiate". 'In the groggy confusion, still thinking it was a lucid dream, he thanked the system for being so didactic. He had never played D&D, only heard of it. Without the interface, he would be adrift and would never recognize what the system emulated.'
The choice of Class was the first step in creation.
'Bard? A court jester on Bear Island, where luxury was an extra piece of fish bread—useless—and Impossible for him to be an artist, given his lack of charisma and talent in the area.'
'Monk? Give up steel and shield and punch his opponents? Deadly folly.'
'Cleric/Paladin? Zero interest in gods. The Paladin, in particular, was a trap, a rigidity that would turn the first ambush into his funeral. Virtue was a luxury he couldn't afford.'
Warrior, Rogue, Barbarian: 'Enhanced versions of what already existed. They would make him better at stabbing, but they wouldn't change the drought in the plantation, nor the creeping winter. He needed a class that altered the world around him.'
Four remained: Warlock, Sorcerer, Wizard, and Druid. 'All were magical, all had the potential to change the fate of House Mormont.'
'The Warlock required a Patron and a service he would never provide. Dedication to a god or magical entity was a huge no.'
'And Sorcerer and Wizard offered fewer Hit Points per level compared to Warlocks and Druids.'
'But much more crucial: the System warned that if a Sorcerer, Wizard, or Warlock used a shield or medium-weight armor, and did not have a Feat (something he didn't even know what it was) that allowed it, he would be penalized with disadvantages.'
'The Druid, on the other hand, granted an extra Talent point with the Spear, the weapon he had already chosen as his, and allowed the use of shields and medium-weight armor, ensuring a minimum of defense. The Druid also had the disadvantage of having their magic weakened when wearing iron armor, but still.'
'Druid. It was the logical choice. The manipulation of nature could, hopefully, translate directly into a better harvest for the hungry island. The oath to protect nature was easy to maintain in a fief that barely had enough to live.'
The decision was made. Druid.
The rest was fast, a succession of clicks on the panel.
Skills: Animal Handling and Insight.
Feat: Polearm Master. An extra talent point for all polearms, raising his Talent with the spear to 2/4, fifty percent above average. 'Something he had learned from watching documentaries was that, unlike fiction, the spear was the supreme weapon on the battlefield.'
With the feat chosen, the panel informed him that it had gifted him an extra Skill: GM Eyes, which grants him the ability to see the Character Sheet of others.
With that, he had finished, he confirmed the receipt and was presented with his sheet:
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Name: Alaric Mormont(6)
HP: 3/3
Sex: Masculine
Race: Human of the First Men
Class: Druid
Level: 1
Exp: 0/900
Ability Score
Strength: 3
Dexterity: 4
Constitution: 3
Intelligence: 13
Wisdom: 14
Charisma: 10
Skills
Animal Handling: Calm or train an animal, or get an animal to behave in a certain way.
Insight: Discern a person's mood and intentions.
GM Eyes: Grants the ability to see other Characters Sheet.
Feats
Polearm Master: Grants one talent point to all polearms.
Talents
Spear: 2/4
Glaive: 2/4
Halberd: 2/4
Pike: 2/4
Quarterstaff: 2/4
Clubs: 1/4
Daggers: 1/4
Darts: 1/4
Javelins: 1/4
Maces: 1/4
Scimitars: 1/4
Sickles: 1/4
Slings: 1 / 4
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Having finished, Alaric closed the panel, the green light retracting into the darkness. Sleep came without dreams, his tired body finally yielding.
That same night, while Alaric slept, an emerald-green-tailed comet tore across the sky of Bear Island and all of Westeros, a sign that foreshadowed the coming of something new, something that smelled of magic. But Alaric did not see it, and he only woke up when the sun was already high and the comet had passed.
After discovering that the previous night wasn't a dream by contemplating the system by accidentally summoning it in front of him, a thought crosses Alaric's mind about how the green comet, likely signaling the system's birth, which also has a green color theme, was similar to the red comet from the book and show, which symbolized the return of dragons and magic to the world of Planetos.
And with strange rumors of ghost appearances and disappearances around the northern Weirwoods, this thought resurfaced frequently, until it became a belief. A belief that the system brought more than just magic to him.
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With Mormont Keep in sight, Alaric stopped walking. The mist of the past dissipated.
The cold forest air brought him back. The Detect Magic spell was almost over, and the vibration in his spine grew faint. The path was clear, there was no artificial heat, no "Bear," for now.
He let out the breath he didn't even know he was holding. 'The memory of the past reminded him of his responsibility, not to the Seven Kingdoms, but to his own survival and that of Bear Island.'
With a mental command of "System," a green panel displaying his current profile appeared.
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Name: Alaric Mormont(12)
HP: 15/15
Sex: Masculine
Race: Human of the First Men
Class: Druid
Level: 3
Exp: 900 / 2,700
Ability Score
Strength: 8
Dexterity: 10
Constitution: 9
Intelligence: 13
Wisdom: 14
Charisma: 10
Skills
Animal Handling: Calm or train an animal, or get an animal to behave in a certain way.
Insight: Discern a person's mood and intentions.
GM Eyes: Grants the ability to see other Characters Sheet.
Survival: It grants the ability to identify poisonous plants, track footprints, build fires, predict the weather, avoid natural disasters, and hunt animals.
(Author's note: Is possible to gain skill by training, like Alaric did to gain this Survival Skill)
Feats
Polearm Master: Grants one talent point to all polearms.
Talents
Spear: 2/4
Glaive: 2/4
Halberd: 2/4
Pike: 2/4
Quarterstaff: 2/4
Clubs: 1/4
Daggers: 1/4
Darts: 1/4
Javelins: 1/4
Maces: 1/4
Scimitars: 1/4
Sickles: 1/4
Slings: 1 / 4
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Next Chapter on Tuesday.