Ekkill Crowsbane

Ekkill Crowsbane is a somewhat polarizing figure amongst the free folk. To his allies and companions, he is a mighty, brave and cunning leader who values the safety of those he loves before his own. To his enemies, he's a ruthless, blood-crazed madman. The truth, as it is wont to be, lies somewhere in the middle.

Appearance and Character
At 5'8, Ekkill looks from a distance to be quite the unimpressive man. But up close, most men would sooner shit themselves and run off than dare to challenge him. With arms as big as logs and bulky, muscle packed body, he's truly a sight to see. A twitchy man, Ekkill is rarely able to keep still, always raring for a fight. His muddy eyes blink often, and he scratches his ginger beard frequently. Ekkill wears a steel helmet and black clothing, and his sigil is a dead crow on a field of white.

Early Life
Ekkill was born in the Haunted Forest to the spearwife Bloody Alette, a fierce raider known both north and south of the wall. Fiercely defiant to any man or woman who tried to tell her what to do, Alette lived clanless all her life. She didn't live life alone, though. She led the Shieldbangers: a group of fierce outcasts and daring warriors who frequently raided both north and south of the wall, and garnered an infamous reputation. When the Shieldbangers ambushed a Night's Watch ranging party, Alette noticed a particularly powerful looking man among them. She decided this man would be a worthy father to give her a son, so she raped him and killed him.

Ekkill was born in the very same spot as his father had breathed his last, near the mouth of the Antler River. His milk name, Crow, was given to remind men who dared seek to to wed her. Ekkill, his true name, struck fear in men as well-- widower.

Ekkill was raised from birth to be a warrior, and as a boy was much the same as a southern squire to his mother, carrying her equipment for her and constantly training alongside her. At the early age of ten, Ekkill joined the Shieldbangers, soon proving his warrior's worth. He quickly gained an intimate understanding of battle; how to fight, formations to keep his men from being killed, and how to lead them. While he became bigger and stronger than other boys his age, they grew taller and leaner. He easily overpowered his peers, which caught the attention of a great many girls.

The Tale of Sons
Ekkill's first son, Dagr, was born when he was only twelve years old to a girl of sixteen from one of the Ice River Clans. He named his firstborn in honour of his mother, who plunged a dagger of dragonglass into the heart of the girl's father, a man displeased with Ekkill's debauchery. It is Dagr's most prized possession.

Ekkill's second son, Helmut, was born when he was fourteen to a grown woman of the Nightrunner clan. The girl was by most accounts quite ugly, but Ekkill favoured her 'big tits', as he put it. Helmut gained his name because on the day of his birth, his father killed a man with a nice helmet. The name stuck, and Ekkill still it wears to this day.

Ekkill's third and fourth sons, Bognir and Hadr, were mothered by a northern noble girl called Daenys, who had travelled north to escape marriage to some senile old lord. Ekkill silently considers her to have been his greatest love, but she tragically died in childbirth to her twin sons. Her death caused a great deal of sadness to Ekkill, and he calmed down from his reckless ways somewhat after her passing.

Ekkill's final son, Ubin, was born to a Crowkiller woman, who some say looked a great deal like Daenys. However, the gods were cruel and she died in childbirth as well. A gentle soul, over the years Ubin hardened considerably but gained a wealth of knowledge as well.

The Birth of the Crowkillers
When Ekkill was nineteen years old, Bloody Alette's skull was split open by a Thenn axe. Ever since, Ekkill has hated Thenns bitterly. After defeating the Thenns who killed Alette, Ekkill became the new leader of the Shieldbangers. Upon their victory, they discovered several families that the renegade Thenns had kept prisoner to eat. Refusing to turn them away, Ekkill instead established the Crowkillers, named for Ekkill's love of killing crows-- where any outcast or adventurer was welcome.

They spent much of their time wandering the far north, mostly fighting Thenns and Crows and raiding southern villages, until all eyes turned toward a much greater prize: Hardhome.

A Fleeting Peace
408-410 AC

The months following the Antler Accord were a pleasant, if largely uneventful time in Hardhome. An increase in cooperation among the members of Ekkill's coalition created a stable local economy, allowing for a steady flow of goods to keep all allied clans prosperous by sharing the fruits of their strengths and working to supplement their weaknesses.

The Thenns traded tools and architectural knowledge to aid the Crowkillers' basic understanding of forging and construction. They assisted Ubin in teaching children to write letters and numbers with the quill, moralizing the free folk gathered in and around Hardhome and creating a new concept of technological advancement to one day, they hoped, match the kneelers to the south.

Not long after Hardhome commenced its hosting advancements of all sorts, Ekkill played host to Varamyr Blackfang, self-styled 'Lord Reaper' of Whitetree, to discuss a difficult conflict they'd faced at the hands of the crows. Ekkill lead about one hundred men to arrange an ambush in Whitetree, catching a raid by the Night's Watch off guard and slaughtering several dozen, leaving more to scurry back to Castle Black with their tails between bloody, shivering legs. The Reapers of Whitetree were grateful for the aid, and Varamyr promised peaceful coexistence for Ekkill's efforts.

The good times would unfortunately not forever last, and chaos returned only a few short moons later, wreaking havoc in Whitetree. The raiding group of kneeling crows was put to the sword in its entirety, but not before the razing of many huts and storehouses. Varymyr reconsidered Ekkill's offer of support and struck northeast, bringing his people to settle in prosperity, and adding yet more strength to his coalition.

It was when life grew great that sour whispers travelled from the northwest...

A New Threat Arrives
410-412 AC

The matter became far greater than simple rumors when word arrived from Chieftain Floki that a new belligerent had risen in the Haunted Forest, one to match even the powerful following of Ekkill Crowsbane.

Tormund Giantborn, son of Doregg, berserker and warchief of Clan Winterblood, had amassed a formidable following of clans through subjugation, and in some cases, holding hostage the families of warriors of those very clans. Clan Winterblood is known for its fierce berserkers and military might-- an extremely dangerous opponent, Ekkill knew, and one that could not be underestimated.

Shortly after receiving word of the Winterblood threat, Ekkill called the banners of the coalition and moved north to put a stop to it before any more expansion occurred. Scout reports indicated that Winterblood armies controlled the northern reaches of the Haunted Forest, and more were moving west to subjugate the clans of the Frostfangs and beyond; among them the Ice River Clans, Men of the Frozen Shore, and Thunderfist Tribe. To best combat them, Ekkill split his army in two, one half marching north and the other westward. He lead the northern host, for he’d heard the savage eastern giants joined with Warchief Tormund, whose ancestry supposedly lent itself to giant’s seed. The spearwives he sent to the west, for a lover’s sickness befitted not the horrors of war. He kept separate the once-feuding clans of his allies, for despite putting aside their conflict, the deeds of the past were neither forgotten nor entirely forgiven. Hadr, Ubin and Helmut were charged with liberating the west from any occupation it found itself under, and the two armies separated to bring battle to Clan Winterblood.

The War in the North
Ekkill proceeded north, accompanied by the Icetooths, Hornfoots, Antler Clan, and some others. The first enemies they encountered were Nightrunners; Ekkill’s men did not simply stumble into the Nightrunner camp. Per their name, the clan’s warriors attacked Ekkill’s army as it slept, and inflicted measurable damage before slinking back into the night. However, Chieftain Jorrik of the Hornfoots drew on his elaborate history of hunting Nightrunners to pinpoint the location of their main camp-- rather than raid the place, Ekkill offered to parley, and was given his chance.

He learned that Skuggi, chieftess of the Nightrunners, had complied with Warchief Tormund only for his hostages of her children. Ekkill promised to free them safely if only Skuggi came to an accord and pledged not to harass his forces further. It was a gamble, no doubt about it, but Ekkill trusted the woman’s eyes, and her words did not betray any outward intentions. His army resupplied, marching ever on.

The Battle of the High Hill
Moving further north, the war party would learn the foul rumors whispered of giants held truth, and their hostility had not been overestimated. Fully understanding he was at a massive disadvantage in any pitched battle, Ekkill considered the art of ambuscade, and its use. He consulted with Shieldbangers Lonely Stian and Fyrilles the Wisp to learn more, considering a hunt-- only a giant is a much greater bear, he knew, more reckless, and far more deadly. They shy from fire, Fell advised him, and the predator ought to make good on its prey’s every weakness. Ekkill went about laying his trap, and awaited with cautious hope that the plan would be a success.

With his snare set, Ekkill sent in the bait. Fedarko and his bold Cave Dwellers, accompanied by Viggo Warmblood, Lonely Stian, Fyrilles the Wisp and a handful of other notable warriors, hurried stealthily along the brae of a vast hill, overlooking the camp of Winterblood and eastern giants below.

Atop the hill had been set several mounds of kindling, generously coated with Fyrilles’ volatile sap. The brave detachment unleashed wild volleys of arrows upon the enemy camp, forcing them to charge uphill and into Fyrilles’ hands. She detonated the mounds with her flaming arrows as the enemy charged, sending most of the giants to rout-- trampling their own allies as they went. The berserking Winterbloods continued their charge largely unfazed, a most vigorous battle joined.

The Cave Dwellers retreated, climbing further in the direction of the hill’s crest, where the rest of their allies lay in wait; the center held as the flanks corrugated about the reckless berserkers, consumed now by the bloodlust they’d honed for their weapon.

This would not be the end of the battle, however, as ascending the far side of the hill boomed three giants, brimming with rage and closing in on the battle with every step. Knowing the charge of even just a few giants could break their lines, Viggo gathered a small handful of Cave Dweller warriors and rushed to engage their ferocious adversaries.

Recognizing Viggo’s self-sacrifice, Ekkill hastened to eliminate the berserkers, gorged now on blood both their own and that of his men. The tide was turning; he'd always resolved to leave the enemy a route of escape-- give a man the means to survive, and he'll take it. If he is unable to run, Ekkill knew, a man will fight as ten. Berserkers falter not in the rage of battle, and for every enemy that fell, three more of his own joined them in the dirt.

Defeat had grown on his mind a certainty-- Ekkill himself was wounded, and knew himself beyond doubt to be a dead man. He looked on, his face a portrait of blood and grime, but instead of gazing upon giants, he witnessed Viggo trudging back toward the battle, awash in gore. Ekkill bellowed a rallying cry, exclaiming, “Warmblood vanquishes giants! On, men! Forward!”. His forces turned to the enemy with fire in their eyes, forging mettle into anger and anger into courage. They stuck into the enemy force; Viggo himself cut through the line of foemen as if the gods themselves granted him their indomitable might. The tide of battle turned in a great crimson wave, a roar of triumph piercing the sky, and as if in the blink of an eye every berserker lay butchered by coalition axes.

Though the losses sustained by the coalition forces were heavy, Fyrilles presented a strange concoction that kept several of the heavily injured warriors from succumbing to death. Still, not all were lucky enough to taste her bitter poultice upon their lips. More than a thousand were left dead, and the slow task of burning the fallen and caring for the wounded cost two weeks' march. Several small skirmishes would occur for the following months, but nothing so great took place until word from the west returned on the mouths of Crowkiller scouts...

The War in the West
Moving west as his father’s host marched north, Hadr felt wary of the whole situation. No coward was he, the Bloodsealer, but neither could he be called an imbecile. They would have to fight for every inch, he knew-- a single defeat could cost the entire campaign. It was a thing to fear, but so too a thing that exhillerated him; he’d directed small groups of men under his father in the past, but this was his first taste of real war. At the very least, the first he could lose.

Preferring not to be caught by marching Winterblood warriors as they made their violent incursion, Hadr marched west along a river north of Whitetree, leading him to an ally in the least expected of places.

An Unexpected Ally
It was when Hadr’s army stopped to make camp that the women approached him. Casting judgemental glances over Hadr, they paid him no heed. Instead, the curious women looked to his goodmother, Shelagh. It was her hand they shook, and her word they took. Doubtless if Shelagh desired to betray Ekkill and her own Skrymir, she could have.

Grudgingly given shelter in the main hall of The Keep, Hadr listened to what all the spearwives had heard of the Winterbloods as of yet. Jale, the chieftess, held a particular grudge against the clan. Only men were trained for berserking, and from what Hadr could gather, the woman was of particular interest in the art. “Men,” she’d said, “are good for two things. The thing between their legs and the labour their brutish bodies can withstand.” he could only shrug and take the women for what they were: allies. It was not difficult for Shelagh to persuade the haughty women to join the western host and fall in line; their spears thirsted already for the taste of berserker blood.

Travelling north along the fringes of the Frostfangs, Hadr met with little indication of Winterblood activity. A few traders told of dire happenings to the north; the Fist of the First Men under siege; Ice River Clans fighting amongst themselves; the Men of the Slopes and Boulder Clan being pushed further and further into the Frostfangs; and the Milkwater Reavers taking advantage of the chaos to hit both sides. The road ahead would be a bloody one; Hadr would move his warriors quickly, hoping to take the Winterbloods unawares.

Battle of the Bloody Fork
It was at the fork south of the Fist of the First Men that Hadr’s army made its first engagement. A battle raged already upon his arrival; to the west of the river’s bend flapped the banner of the Men of the Frozen Shore, and charging straight across the river from the east berserking Winterblood. The coalition forces quickly traversed a rough, hewn stone crossing, striking north in haste in order get in position to hit the berserkers from behind.

Once in position, they advanced. Hadr had his warriors arranged in a triple line; a tightly knit shieldwall at the front would defend the rest of the army as fighters on the back lines unleashed arrows, throwing axes and javelins on poorly defended berserkers.

With a strong push by Hadr’s warriors the Winterbloods were left pinned on one side by coalition banners and beaten bloody on the other by the men of the Frozen Shore. Unable to defend themselves and unable to resist the calling of blood, no berserker left the battlefield alive, running the river red; their bodies and blood disappearing like stones as they sunk beneath the shivering current.

After the battle's conclusion, the leader of the Men of the Frozen Shore's leader, Torryg Blackadder, explained the nature of the battle; he and Hadr conversed at either bank of the river. Their chieftess, Astera Blackadder, had been taken hostage after seeking to treat with Holger the Bloody, a commander who perished during the battle. Another curious man in a full suit of refined, shining armor stood out in the crowd. Hadr would later know this man to be Aemon Dayne, Astera's temporary lover. He claimed to have been called 'Sword of the Morning' by the kneelers, and no wonder-- his blade was seemingly magical, with the power to sunder any man's blade in two. It struck Hadr as fortunate the man never faced Viggo Warmblood-- though warriors immediately discussed the topic and decided Viggo would take the day, Hadr knew the true answer.

Once both sides knew each other to be of a common cause, they proceeded north to the Fist of the First Men-- but not before the Men of the Frozen Shore picked the berserkers clean of their weapons and valuables.

Making their way north, Hadr’s warriors whistled a far more positive tune. There had been worries among them whispered that Ekkill sought to keep himself safe, but Hadr knew the reality of the situation. The eastern giants were in the *east*, he knew, not the west. To compensate, though, scouts indicated that most of the Winterblood army in the west had been composed of more civilized, subjugated folk.

Resting on their Hands
Reaching the Fist of the First Men, Hadr was greeted with open arms by the chieftain of the Thunderfist Tribe, Torvin. Immediately revealing himself a braggart, Torvin spoke boldly of his past achievements, and favorably of his actions in the war. “My Thunderfists,” he'd claimed, “pummel Winterbloods left and right.” No folk better than his folk, he'd said. Hadr told him that moment he was full of shit, and both men let out hoarse laughter. Torvin shook his hand then, and offered an arm wrestle. The men among Hadr's host were ecstatic at the Fist; constant manly competition kept them hardy, and the women would always watch with bated breath. Jale and her Spearwives were disgusted by the practice.

Taking some time for exercise as his forces rested at the Fist, Hadr felt proud of the strength he'd gained over the years. Still far from the strongest, such as his twin brother Bognir, Hadr could still hold his own against some of the stronger men of the Thunderfist Tribe.

There was a woman he'd noticed as he wrestled with Torvin one day, one wearing blazing red hair and sporting eyes sparkling like a southern jewel. Emeralds, Astera called them. This woman, he did not know her name. Peering at her over the fire one night, she peered back with an equal intensity. Torvin, noticing their staring, whispered a little too loud in Hadr’s ear. “My sister, you want her? I won't stop you,” he told Hadr with a sly grin, “take her. Tonight.” Hadr initially retired to his tent, putting the thought to rest. But it grew on him every second, and all at once he could take it no longer. He crept in the still dark to steal her vigil, and she tossed aside any guard for the Bloodsealer’s company that night.

A few days into their stay at the Fist, Hadr's scouts brought troubling news; from the east marched a host perhaps two thousand strong, composed of scared Snow Owl Tribesmen, identified by their feathered banners. Alongside them, a small force of berserkers. Something had halted an otherwise aggressive advance; Snow Owl warriors were of little renown. They were lithe, docile hunters-- something happened in the east, Hadr decided, but he did not know what. He expected to discover it soon enough.

The scouts gave word of a western force, as well; not Winterblood, but Milkwater Reavers. The opportunists craved chaos; little did they realize what a service Hadr had done them. Or perhaps they had, but simply didn't care.

Declawing of the Fist
In preparation of the coming assault, Hadr withdrew his forces from the Fist. His strategy required that aggressors not know their disadvantage, and so he arranged to conceal all of his men within the nearby forest. The Thunderfist warriors would position themselves near to the foot of the ascent to their great rock to draw the enemy easily in, but high enough that they fought their foes at an advantage. It would be sufficient to bait the berserkers to the slaughter, but dangerous enough to give the other clans pause. Then their claw would snare its victims.

The Winterbloods arrived first, combined with their Snow Owl allies numbering roughly twice the Thunderfist Tribe. Fighting grew tense as Hadr awaited the Milkwater Raiders; his Sigrid was out there on the front lines, he knew, bleeding shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the tribe’s warriors. He understood then why his father separated the lovers; could a heart go on when it longs for its vanquished mate? Every moment tempted his horn, but he stayed his instincts, minute by minute, until finally his gamble paid off.

Marching toward the Fist, a strong host of Milkwater Reavers pushed to harass the attacking warriors. Once they'd committed their effort, Hadr gave the signal. His Crowkillers poured in from the east, Men of Hardhome from the west. He fought fiercely in the van, eager to find his love. The enemy forces, knowing they'd been done in, retreated then south. The berserkers were too far gone to realize they’d lost, and easily fell to surrounding swords.

The Milkwater Reavers and Snow Owl fighters engaged in a truce as they fled south, but stopped dead in their tracks at notice of the surrounding force that had emerged from the nearby wood. Coalition forces did not engage, but instead stood, weapons in hand. A loud command uttered by the badly beaten warrior at the head of the remaining force saw them lay down their arms, and he approached Hadr to discuss terms.

The man, Skelmir, unsurprisingly turned out to be chieftain of the Milkwater Reavers, smiling through broken and bloody teeth to congratulate Hadr for his victory. A splendid ambush, he'd called it, offering his services to solve the Winterblood threat once and for all. Hadr felt a sudden urge to open the man ear to ear, but knew his warriors would be useful in the coming battles. A trickster like Skelmir would always play as if he held the shortest stick of the bunch, but steal the largest one from under a man’s nose. As long as Ekkill's cause was a winning bet, Skelmir’s loyalty would be assured.

The Snow Owl Tribesmen brimmed with equalling glee to be free of berserkers, and joined Hadr gladly. The following period would be dedicated to uniting the west in order to make a decisive push to the northeast and solve the conflict permanently.

Liberation of the North
Freezing and hungry, Ekkill's forces were in a bad way. With no end in sight, Ekkill considered more than once a retreat to Hardhome, but knew his cause would be shattered if they ran back from whence they came, tails between their legs. He breathed the air, followed the wind, and found in the Haunted Forest a new ally. What began as a giant hunt became a diplomatic mission, with an ally all too strong and too prosperous to ignore.

The ice bear taming men of Clan Snaerbjorn hosted Ekkill's desperate visit, and Chieftain Ganpp gave a guarantee, for his own in return: the eastern giants would never set their feet on his side of the Haunted Forest again, and he would be given free reign to kill as many Winterbloods as he pleased. Ekkill found these to be generous terms for military support and supplies, so he accepted.

Burning of the Branches
Not long after striking his bargain with Ganpp, Ekkill's scouts picked up a lead. The eastern giants had recently made a new incursion, hoping to find the coalition’s forces and that of the illusive Snaerbjorn. He decided that it was time to drive the giants off, for good. He pitched his plan to a small audience; Fyrilles, Stian and Ganpp among them. The men thought his idea absolute madness, but Fyrilles gave only a grinning wink and set about making it a reality.

A short few days later, the pieces fell into place. Ekkill's warriors had spent tireless days digging trenches in every direction of the slow moving giants, skirting from notice at all times. Huge piles of brush were left concealed, given final coatings of sap the morning of the attack. Its effects, Fyrilles had stressed, were most potent when fresh.

Waiting for favorable wind, Ekkill eventually gave the order to execute the plan. The great brush piles would be ignited with a great uproar; the mist would hide the coalition's forces. The Clansmen Snaerbjorn harnessed their ice bears to frighten the giants, and the rest of the warriors would scream and howl to drive them, frightened, to the north. A small force surrounding force remained to the trenches, poised to take care of any giants foolish enough to travel south.

With the explosion of kindling and clammer of battle, the giants scrambled north, terrified of whatever lingered to the south. Charging beside their flanks, Ekkill's warriors bellowed ungodly cries, all the while packs of ice bears assisted to divert the giants’ movement. One by one, they would be picked off and massacred until less than half remained. A few were taken by the trapped trenches, and those among them unfortunate enough to survive the bloody attack only later run down and killed without mercy. The surviving giants fled to the north and would not return with words of peace until long after the war's end.

Feasting to an incredible victory, Ekkill's camp received the breath of life it so greatly needed. He considered a final advance, to put down Tormund, son of Doregg, but elected to wait. The man's death was a moment the entire north needed to see.

The Great Host Arrives
It came with great pleasure to Ekkill when Hadr made his way east not just alongside the clans with which he'd departed, but a great host stretching over the horizon. Curious yet more was Steigr of the Thenns; he had convinced the giants of the west and the north to march to aid under a giant called Tar Don Wun Dar Wun. In any case, the north had united for a common purpose, proving Ekkill's vision capable of success. He eyed Hadr then with great respect; this was the type he expected of the free folk, a man able to win the hearts and trust of those around him. Still, there was little time to dawdle, and the great host of the coalition marched restlessly to finish the war Clan Winterblood started.

One night, Hadr came to Ekkill's tent with words of the future. He spoke of the clans of the west, and their loyalty. They revered Hadr, Ekkill could see it plainly. But Hadr did not speak of what he would take, instead what the free folk required in the days to come. They made then a plan, one that would unite the free folk solely under Crowsbane as their leader. Rather than squash the remaining Winterbloods underfoot, Ekkill would instead vanquish their Warchief in single combat. He'd been challenged by the man's berserker uncle at High Hill, and nearly perished in the aftermath; Ekkill steeled himself for the last true conflict before his vision would be born.

The Final Conflict
Arriving alone at the border of Tormund Giantborn’s camp, Ekkill carried only his shield, axe, and the unbroken will of a man of the free folk. The two leaders shared a few choice words to commemorate their conflict, but eventually the battle to decide the fate of the north began.

For nearly an hour, the two leaders beat back and forth, neither gaining an inch of footing. Ekkill’s disadvantage was great, though; he weakened with every blow he sustained, whereas the Giantborn only increased in intensity. The man had far surpassed his father, who’d died at Ekkill’s own hand; perhaps it only served to fuel the rage of the berserker.

Ekkill fought on, ignoring his pain with impetuity, until he knew he could face it no longer. With a swift disengaging move, Ekkill smashed what remained of his shield into Tormund’s face, pivoting and embedding his axe in the man’s shoulder. Ekkill tackled the man, beating at his face for what seemed like days, until nothing remained but a chasm of mush and pulp. Rising to the cheers of a gathered crowd and eyes of Tormund’s cooperative young brother, Ekkill witnessed a new north born of hardship and sacrifice.

A New Day Arrives

With Tormund’s death came the end of the war, and the release of all the subjugated clans. Some banded together for strength; others simply disappeared. Most of the clans moved south, to Hardhome, where friends, family and feasting would await. Ekkill called a great council, to decide the next move of the great alliance that had been born. He perhaps feared that all of the chieftains would return to the same conditions that divided them in the past, but a new feeling in the air disagreed. Hadr stood before a huge crowd of free folk, giving a rallying speech. Telling them of the hardships Crowsbane, he named Ekkill not King-Beyond-The-Wall, but King of the Free Folk, the man to retake their homeland. Hadr laid his sword down for his father, knees unbent-- and so did they all.

In the years to follow, many clans moved to Hardhome, eager for their king’s protection. Ekkill served as a mediator, solving disputes with the authority and just hand any good king ought to possess. He urged chieftains to put aside their conflicts, and increased marriage between the clans. With every year unity grew, and the hope of the Free Folk rose beyond the shivering sky.

Recent Events
The united clans of the north have gathered in Hardhome to feast and decide upon their next move in the days to come.

The Men of Hardhome
The clansmen of Hardhome have proven to be steadfast allies and fierce warriors.

-Shelagh Goldenhair: No longer wielding the same youth and beauty, Shelagh is still fierce, a worthy queen for the free folk and capable chieftess. Her son by Ekkill has only strengthened her resolve, and made a greater adversary for the kneelers.

-Alyx Goldenhair: A brute of a man and brother of Shelagh Goldenhair, Alyx remains with her as the last son of Atholl the Stonebreaker, and near the last of his blood. Unwed still, the aging man faces the potential death of his blood. As long as his heart beats, he will protect the legacy of his ancestors.

Skrymir: A Crowkiller and a Man of Hardhome both, Skrymir is an easy boy to appreciate. This strong ten year old son of Ekkill can do little to quell his lust for the rigorous tests of strength and burn of exercise. He is constantly roughhousing, running, and practicing with weapons. He can't throw an axe or a log as far as a grown man, but every day he gets just a tad closer. Skrymir has made a fast friend of Astera Blackadder's daughter, Haera. The rather eccentric ways of the violet eyed girl bring out the same wild nature in Skrymir, and he is always excited to see her whenever her mother appears in Hardhome. Ekkill expects their relationship to grow more intimate in the years to come.

The Shieldbangers
Ekkill's elite warrior force, these men have more than proven their skills on the battlefield.

-Dagr-Devil's-Tongue: Ekkill's firstborn son, Dagr is a gifted fighter, but lacks his father's great strength. He is also renowned for his sharp tongue, able to coax man and woman both to heed his word. Still, his prowess is well known in the true north. He was named in honour of his grandmother, who plunged a dragon glass dagger into the heart of his maternal grandfather. He shares his father's ginger hair, but is taller and leaner, and his face is covered by a short beard. He's considered by most to be quite handsome. He and Amber Drysap share two children: Yrsa and Bersi. Dagr has cast aside the reckless ways of the past to fight for the future of his people, steadfast among them the family he has forged. Still a cunning man, he'll be of use to weaken the kneelers behind their lines.

-Helmut: A man once mocked for his awkward appearance, Helmut has come into his own as a warrior of renown and strong leader. There are few so loyal to his father, and Helmut dreams of the day Ekkill's vision is realized. Stronger than Hadr and smarter than Bognir, Helmut strikes a unique balance both as a formidable warrior and thinking man. His long jet black hair and bushy beard somewhat compensate for his off-putting appearance. He is proficient with an axe, and a decent brawler. He has served as a general in Ekkill's army for several years now, ably commanding men in battle when diplomacy failed.

-Bognir the Mighty: Far from the brightest man in Ekkill's army, Bognir has little understanding of the intricacies of letters or reasoning of any kind. He does have one considerable advantage, however; his strength surpasses even than that of his father, and he is a dreaded warrior on the battlefield. He wields the blue eyes and brown hair of his mother, with long, braided locks of hair that fall to his shoulders and a short beard. Age has only bolstered Bognir's brutality; he perpetrates frequent, bloody attacks on ranging watchmen, sometimes dispatching several men alone. He fights mostly for the thrill, but deep in himself yearns for the peace his father hopes to bring.

-Hadr the Bloodsealer: Hadr is in many ways the antithesis of his twin brother, Bognir; he is quick of both mind and mettle, shares his father's military genius, and generally a kind man. He hates raiding, but is willing to fight to protect the clan. He shares the blue eyes and brown hair of Bognir, with short locks and a moustache. Hadr's years have hardened him significantly, serving his part both as general and diplomat. He had cast aside his doubt of his father; some truths, he'd decided, must be left unknown. After his pact with Kroll, Hadr has gained the moniker of 'Bloodsealer'.

-Ubin: No longer the gentle boy that once was, Ubin's blade has earned many nocks. He assists in matters both diplomatic and martial, penning deals of peace with ink and quill and cutting down his foes on the front lines. He still records the deeds of the Shieldbangers in a leather bound book entitled "The Shieldbanger Saga", which has swelled with the events of the past and been compiled in several volumes, growing by the day and copied by aspiring young children, most taught the quill by Ubin himself. With him has appeared a hope that the free folk will continue to advance to match their kneeling adversaries. Ubin's tongue is as sharp as his blade, his muscles ripple from intense training and he's grown a shrewd nature as well. The hope of the north, some call him. His blonde hair has darkened slightly and a clean beard covers his face.

-Styr Icewalker: An outcast until he joined the Crowkillers, Styr is a steadfast warrior. He is exceedingly kind, and always willing to lend a helping hand to a friend, or make a new one. He is large in stature, with short, light brown hair and an average beard.

-Tryggvi Sixprick: A middle-aged man and complete lunatic, Tryggvi gets along well amongst the Shieldbangers. He has patches of hair blown in every direction and a long brown moustache. Tryggvi traded for a longspear from an Icetooth warrior a while ago. He rather likes it, though the warriors he's killed with it didn't.

-Cotter the Crow: A Night's Watch deserter, Cotter sought the freedom of life beyond the wall and joined Ekkill twelve years ago. He was once a builder and a cook, but little doubt remains of his intentions. Cotter is as much a man of the free folk as any. He specializes in cooking with herbs as seasonings, though he'd like to gain more use of spices. Salting wild northern berries has had little effect thus far, but he continues to experiment.

-Arvid: The elder of Chieftain Floki's twin sons, Arvid struck out from the Icetooths after the end of their war due to shame at his father's actions. Soon after, his mother, a woman originally of the Antler Clan, died giving birth only for her son to be stillborn. Many took it for an ill omen against Floki, and Arvid refuses to return to the clan until his father's death. The Shieldbangers have made good use of his frenzied fighting style with two axes.

-Asger: The younger of Chieftain Floki's twins, Asger has stayed with Arvid but left for entirely different reasons. A warrior of the Antler Clan killed his lover during the feud, and the peace came to Asger as an outrage. He cursed his father's name, vowing never to return until the man's death, one he hoped would be gruesome and slow. He initially blamed Ekkill as much as Floki for the peace, but over time came to solely blame the latter for hand in perpetuating the conflict. He wields a longspear common among the Icetooths.

-Fell: Formerly a woodsman in the White Mountain Clan, Fell gave up the lifestyle when a Nightrunner arrow caught his son in the throat during a raid decades ago. It's a grudge he's long since abandoned, but his longaxe never passed him by. Fighting against Ekkill Crowsbane, he was impressed by the force the chieftain mustered and surprised by his kindness for the survivors of the Battle at Storrold's Point. He was one of the first to hail Ekkill as king during the great council of Hardhome.

-Radhymir the Cub: The grandson of Chieftain Dorian of the Shadow Sun Clan, Radhymir is affectionately referred to as "Cub", for he's taken on the great strength of Dorian, but is even shorter. The stout warrior rends havoc in enemy formations with his great hammer, and is an even match for Bognir any day. He joined and fought beside the Shieldbangers during the war with Clan Winterblood. During the war, he and his brothers Oli and Egil found themselves surrounded during a particularly fierce berserker charge by the Winterbloods. The three fought for their lives to survive as Dorian rushed to their aid, but only Rad made it out alive. It made greater his dedication to the cause; no more of his brothers would die in a land of plenty, he’d decided. A curious man with a complete disinterest for women, he is nonetheless as valuable as any of them in the fight to retake the lands of the free folk.

-Lonely Stian: A wandering archer, few knew Stian before he one day appeared in Hardhome. A dead shot with a bow and quick on his feet, Stian counters his lithe physique with clever fighting and a savvy understanding of ambush tactics. He at one point attempted to pursue chieftess Astera Blackadder, but met only cold indifference. The quiet man joins in little revelry, ears always pricked up to some invisible threat.

-Fyrilles the Wisp: Confusing at best, this woman is best left to her own devices. She speaks in riddles and is said to take many a man to her bed, only to put them under some unnatural spell of compliance. She crafts small pots from mud and fills them with the sap of trees, only to trap enemy movements and ignite the stuff with flaming arrows. This has her both feared and appalled by most free folk, and she’s avoided by any man with a good head on his shoulders.

-Viggo Warmblood: Wielding the looted greatsword of a ranger years dead, Viggo is a man to be reckoned with. By no means the strongest, he makes up for this fact with a will of stone and a fire in his belly to unman the gods. No matter the odds, no matter how many foes stand before him, Viggo stares death in the eye and prevails. Called indomitable by some, Viggo takes no heed of other men. His sword speaks louder than any words ever could, and men fear him for good reason. During a battle in the war with the Winterbloods, Viggo rushed with a small handful of Cave Dwellers to engage three giants charging their flank. He later trudged back alone to rejoin the battle, awash in gore.

Family Tree
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