(Third-person perspective)
The closed training grounds of Moat Cailin are located in the heart of the ancient fortress, far from prying eyes and isolated from the outside world. The sturdy stone walls are adorned with the coat of arms of the House Drashir, and the training grounds exude a mysterious and unique atmosphere. Only sworn servants and soldiers are allowed to enter this sacred place.
Passing through the imposing gate, one is greeted by an endless expanse of neatly manicured land. This land is a battleground and training ground, bearing the marks of countless footsteps and combat movements. Blades and footprints are etched on the hard surface of the fighting arena, testifying to the rigorous training conducted here. Aermir occasionally uses earth magic to mend the ground.
At one end of the training field, wooden moving targets and dummies were arranged in a strategic configuration, providing soldiers with various challenges. As the soldiers practiced movements and skills with these targets and dummies, the air was filled with the distant echo of steel colliding with wood.
A small building stands in the corner, a place where strategies are discussed, equipment is adjusted, and the wounded are cared for after rigorous training. Even chariots and skinners hone their magic here. Here, Aermir's vision of unity and strength is being realized step by step. Within its sheltered the Wall, the cause of the Emre the Druid is shaping the future of the North by those who have sworn allegiance.
Aermir's attention was focused on the combat and the strategy meeting, moving effortlessly between the Warg and the skin-changing men; every moment was fulfilling and precious. Amid the chaos of training the warriors, the voice of Butler Athos rang out, recounting the rumors spread by the House Bolton. Harrick clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white from the pressure.
"That's an insult, sir."
He roared, his voice low and furious.
"How dare Roose Bolton use your name and twist it for his own benefit! I say, let's ride to Dreadfort and stop this betrayal once and for all!"
Jorah, abandoning his usual jovial demeanor, nodded in agreement. "Yes, sir. Let us prove to the House Bolton that they cannot profit from your name."
As he slammed Jorah Glover to the ground, Aermir's resolute gaze flickered between the two men, his mind rapidly weighing the consequences of their proposed action. Though he was as furious as they were, he was also aware of the delicate nature of the situation. One mistake could shatter the fragile alliance he had painstakingly built.
" Harick, Jorah "
He spoke, his tone serious and firm.
"I understand your frustration; I feel it too. But we must proceed with caution. Impulsive actions will not bring us any benefit. I could destroy House Bolton, or bare my fangs to force them into submission, but that would alienate the other lords. We cannot solve all problems with a hammer."
Harrick's jaw tightened, while his knuckles relaxed slightly.
"Sir, I know you are right. But we cannot let the House Bolton succeed."
Aermir's gaze softened, and he patted Harrick's shoulder reassuringly.
"We won't, my friend. But we'll do it strategically."
Just as Aermir was contemplating his next move, Dacey Mormont lunged at him with tremendous force. He reacted swiftly, Bark Armor "Rhovagon grēze," a dark skin-like armor that enveloped his body, forming a protective layer on his skin. Dacey's arms and shoulders were as thick as Harrick's, their long, thick arms covered in hair, appearing somewhat disproportionate to her athletic physique. Now, she could transform up to her shoulders.
The enhanced ability to change her skin, coupled with Aermir's tutelage, resulted in remarkable changes. Her strength increased to 15, and her speed when using magic rose to 13.
As his magical knowledge grew, Aermir's muscles and bones began to mutate, making him stronger without using magic. Now, he has 13 Strength and 14 Speed. He used his buff to meet Dacey's spear head-on, his arms crossed in front of his chest.
As Dacey swung her hammer, Aermir steadied himself, his enhanced strength and defense absorbing the impact. He quickly stepped aside, blocking the blow and countering with rapid jabs; his increased speed allowed him to maneuver effortlessly. Dacey adjusted his tactics, abandoning the mace and switching to his signature weapon—his claws.
Their fight continued, the air thick with the thud of fists striking flesh. Aermir's meticulously planned moves countered Dacey's ferocity; their skills reinforced and evolved together. Finally, Aermir swiftly closed the distance, locking Dacey's neck in a lock. She struggled for a moment, then released her grip, a gesture of respect for Aermir's superior technique.
After completing the exercise, Dacey's chest heaved violently from the exertion. She wiped the sweat from her forehead, turned to look at Aermir, her eyes filled with both excitement and disbelief.
"I can feel it, Lord Aermir. Power, speed—this bear is like an extension of myself."
Aermir nodded, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. "Your ability as Skinchanger has allowed you to unlock your inner potential. It's as if the animal spirit within you is harmonizing with your physical form. You still have much to learn, but when your potential is fully realized, you will be stronger than any ordinary bear. Even the Mountain will be no match for you. You could kill them with a mere flick of your wrist."
As she looked up at him with admiration and awe, Aermir's thoughts turned to the problem at hand. He gestured for the next challenger to wait. Taking the towel offered by a servant, Aermir turned to his advisors, his gaze sharp and resolute.
"If Bolton finds spreading rumors enjoyable, then let's play his game."
Aermir announced, his voice carrying his intentions. He turned to the spy chief Caygan, and continued,
" Caygan, gather our Crow Guard agents and get them to work. I'll spread rumors that Roose Bolton sought the favor of Emre the Druid, even wanting to kiss his feet, but was rejected. Elegantize the story, portraying him as someone humiliated by his own ambition. Let the humiliation serve as a lesson."
Caygan nodded in understanding, his mind already racing, preparing to weave a web of rumors. Beside him, Aermir's other advisors exchanged knowing glances. As the conspiracy unfolded, Aermir's attention returned to the physical training sessions. The combat, though rigorous and intense, continued with a renewed vigor. Aermir's movements were a symphony of martial arts and skill; his Warg and Skinchanger could only watch in awe as he effortlessly tossed them around like rag dolls, without any buffs or magic.