Night Attack of the Snow Bears

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Tomorrow would be an epic battle, a war of fifteen soldiers of Bear Island against a formidable force of five hundred wildling warriors. The odds were stacked against them, but their determination burned brightly, ready to face whatever lay ahead on the Frozen Shores.

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The next morning dawned, casting a pale, frigid light over the snowy expanse. Gobin, a seasoned warrior with a scruffy beard and a determined gleam in his eyes, stirred from his restless sleep as urgent voices broke the silence.

"Hey, Gobin! Wake up, the wildings are stirring again!" The voice belonged to his comrade; a burly man named Carl.

Gobin grunted as he sat up, his breath visible in the icy air.

"Damn it. All right, here's the plan. Don't feed the dogs anymore. Keep 'em hungry. All the food goes to the bears and the rest. We need 'em in fighting shape."

His mind was racing, contemplating how to stall the impending clash with the Wildings until their reinforcements could arrive.

The resources at his disposal were a motley crew of animals. Those snow dogs, taller and larger than most direwolves, were usually gentle creatures used for sledges. But today, they needed to be fierce, angry, and ravenous.

"Carl, get the armour on those bears. I want 'em ready to roll on my command," Gobin barked his orders, his voice carrying the weight of responsibility. He snatched up his longbow and headed towards the border wall, determination etched into every line of his weathered face.

On the wall, Gobin joined his comrades who were already in position, launching arrows at the Wilding army below. The enemy, as he anticipated, seemed to be in no rush to attack; instead, they were setting up camp.

His lips curled into a wily grin. Perfect. This was the moment he'd been waiting for, a chance to exploit their complacency.

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Gobin's eyes scanned the chaotic scene below, where men and women bedecked in makeshift armour of bone and tattered rags watched with predatory glee.

Camy, the enigmatic leader of the Wildings, stood out among them, half of her face concealed, and a wicked laugh on her lips.

"Ha Ha Ha… Hear me, all of you!" Camy's voice carried across the snowy expanse, her words resonating with her fiercely loyal followers.

"The Frozen Shore is ours for the taking. We've been trapped in ice for generations, but no more. No more hiding, no more fighting the sledge bastards. We rest today, gather our strength, and then we feast on the meat behind those walls. Today we rest, tomorrow we conquer, and when this war is done, the Frozen Shore shall be ours!"

The rousing speech ignited a fervour in the Wilding ranks, their cheers reverberating like a battle cry. These ice-river clans had long desired to claim the Frozen Shore, waging age-old conflicts with the neighbouring clans.

And now, their spirits soared, bolstered by news that the Bear Islands had wiped out the two rival clans that once held this coveted territory.

The promise of abundant meat sent their hearts racing. They were meat lovers through and through, craving bear, fox, and anything they could sink their teeth into.

Their practices of consuming the weak and injured members of their own clan had made them infamous among others. But this time, a windfall awaited them, a feast that would sustain them for weeks, maybe more. This was their chance to break free from their icy confines and carve out a new dominion.

As night fell, Gobin's preparations shifted into high gear. He barked orders and organized shifts, determined to keep the Wildings at bay until the decisive moment. A tense calm settled over the wall, broken only by the whoosh of arrows and the occasional shout.

"All right, lads, stop firing those arrows! Shift change! Get some rest and grub. We're just getting started," Gobin commanded with a fierce glint in his eyes. The exhausted defenders swapped out, some grabbing quick bites of food, others resting their weary bodies.

In the darkness, Gobin's mind raced. The morning had been a show of power, but now it was time for the main event. His men suited up in armour, determination mingling with anticipation.

The coming night held the promise of triumph, and they were ready to seize it. Each man had a steel sword, a longbow and a long sharp spear on their body.

"You three, hang back and blow that horn when the time is right. The rest of you, mount your bears. We ride in front, and those snow dogs will be our heralds," Gobin instructed his men, his voice low yet commanding.

The scent of oil and anticipation hung heavy as Gobin handed out torches, their flames dancing defiantly against the biting cold. The riders mounted their colossal snow bears, and Gobin himself swung onto his armoured mount. With a nod, the gate creaked open, revealing a formidable sight in the moonlit night.

Thirteen snow bears surged forward in an arrow formation, their massive frames cutting through the snow with surprising swiftness. A pack of thirty or more snow dogs followed their barks ringing out like a chorus of defiance.

"Woof!"

"Woof!"

"Woof!"

The cacophony of barking sent shivers down the spines of the Wildings, rudely awakening them from their slumber.

"What's that racket?"

"Snowdogs? How many?"

"Gear up! Shields and axes, now!" Camy's voice boomed over the clamour, her authority only marginally quelling the rising panic.

Then, the revelation hit them like a blizzard gust.

"Bears! Snow bears!"

"Look at that! Snow bears with riders!"

A wave of fear swept through the Wilding ranks, their bravado crumbling as they faced an otherworldly cavalry charging toward them. Gobin and his warriors, swords gleaming, spears poised, were a sight to behold atop their formidable mounts.

"Attack!"

"Cut 'em down!"

"Loose the arrows!"

Chaos reigned, but it was a chaotic retreat rather than a furious assault. The Wildings, facing the charging snow bears, seemed to lose their nerve. Some grabbed weapons and fought, others turned on their comrades in a frenzy of fear. The sound of metal clashing and the cries of agony filled the air.

"Puch!"

"Krak!"

Gobin's war cry was lost in the storm of violence as his men unleashed their fury upon the Wildings. The snow bears roared and lunged, their colossal paws crushing bones and tearing flesh. The hungry dogs leapt onto the wounded, their growls merging with the anguished screams.

Amidst the blood-soaked battleground, a grim dance of death unfolded, a dance orchestrated by Gobin and his fearless warriors. The tide of battle shifted, the Wildings' initial bravado melting away like snow in the morning sun.

In the end, it was a night of terror, a night of vengeance, as Gobin's bears and dogs carved a path through the ranks of their enemies, leaving behind a wake of destruction and despair.

Gobin and his men were thirsty bloodhounds who were reaping lives wherever they went. However, after the initial panic and dumb loss, many wilding warriors also clashed with their shields and swords into coming wild dogs and managed to slay a bunch of them.

However, Gobin and his riders were fast and ruthless and they never stopped for a long fight. Kill and move. Hurt and move. Keep rushing. Never spending more than a few breaths on any enemy or position.

This saved them from the arrows raining upon them and the chaos intensified under their attack.