Return of House Mudd

Shadows Over the Green Fork

The dawn broke over the Riverlands with a pale, watery light. Mist curled above the Green Fork, shrouding the lowlands in a ghostly haze. Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus Mudd rode at the head of a modest retinue, their cloaks heavy with dew. The journey north toward the Neck had stretched their endurance and tested their patience, but they pressed on. The king's orders were clear: scout the path, assess the defenses, and ensure the Andals' movements north were delayed as much as possible.

The Green Fork loomed ahead, a wide and churning river that marked the boundary near the lands of Seagard. The castle, long gifted to House Mallister by the Mudds as a reward for their loyalty, now stood as a bulwark against raiders from the sea. Here, the river's breadth and power were a reminder of nature's authority, and its crossing was a perilous endeavor.

The youngest of the brothers, Ignotus, was restless. He rode ahead on his chestnut destrier, his sharp features creased with a scowl. "How much farther to the Neck?" he demanded, turning to glare at Antioch. "The swamps will slow us, and I don't fancy dying in mud."

Antioch, the second-born and ever the voice of caution, adjusted his sword belt before responding. "Patience, Ignotus. The Neck isn't a place to be rushed. It's not like the open fields of the Riverlands. Every step is treachery if you don't know the way."

Cadmus, the dreamer among them, let out a soft chuckle. He rode slightly behind, his eyes scanning the misty horizon. "Perhaps it's fitting. The Neck is a place of stories, of whispers in the fog and trees that move in the night. Perhaps we'll find something there to rival even Father's tales of old."

Ignotus rolled his eyes. "You'd find poetry in a midden heap, Cadmus."

The retinue's laughter broke the tension briefly, but the moment passed quickly as their scout returned. The young man's face was pale, and his voice trembled as he reported, "Andal scouts ahead, my lords. A small force, but well-armed. They've taken up position on the far side of the river."

Antioch exchanged a grim look with Cadmus. "We knew this would happen sooner or later. The Andals are everywhere, it seems."

Ignotus's hand went to the hilt of his sword, his dark eyes alight with eagerness. "Then let's spill their blood and keep moving. We can't waste time here."

Antioch raised a hand to stay his younger brother's enthusiasm. "Patience. We need to cross that river, and if they're waiting for us, we risk losing men. Let's see what's to be done."

The brothers and their retinue approached the Green Fork cautiously. The Andals' position was clear: a narrow bottleneck where the river ran swiftest, flanked by thick brush that would limit movement. It was a cunning choice for an ambush, but one that the Riverlanders—knowing their terrain well—could counter.

"We'll divide our forces," Antioch decided, his sharp mind working quickly. "A small group will feign a crossing upstream to draw their attention. Meanwhile, the rest of us will cross downstream, where the current is weaker and the banks easier to climb."

Cadmus nodded, his voice quiet but firm. "I'll take the decoy force. They'll see my banner and think it's the main thrust. It should buy you enough time."

"And I'll lead the charge when we meet them," Ignotus declared, his excitement barely contained.

Antioch hesitated but relented. "Fine. Just remember, this isn't a game. Lives depend on us."

With the plan set, the brothers moved swiftly. Cadmus and his decoy force rode upstream, their banners catching the wind and drawing the Andals' eyes. As expected, the enemy repositioned to confront the apparent threat. Meanwhile, Antioch, Ignotus, and the rest of the men crossed downstream, moving with practiced stealth.

The battle, when it came, was swift and brutal. The Andals, caught off guard by the two-pronged attack, fought fiercely but lacked the numbers to hold their ground. Ignotus's blade flashed in the morning light, striking down two foes in quick succession. Antioch fought with grim precision, directing the men and ensuring minimal losses. By the time Cadmus rejoined the fray, the Andals were in full retreat, leaving the Riverlanders bloodied but victorious.

As they tended to the wounded and secured the area, Antioch surveyed the field. "We'll need to move quickly. If they had scouts here, there's a larger force not far behind."

Cadmus, his face pale but resolute, nodded. "The Neck awaits. Let's hope it's kinder to us than the Green Fork was."

The Neck swallowed the retinue whole, its labyrinthine paths winding unpredictably through a landscape of gnarled trees, stagnant pools, and shifting shadows. Hours stretched into an eternity as the Riverlanders pressed on, their resolve tested with each step.

The air was thick and cloying, heavy with the scent of decaying vegetation and the metallic tang of stagnant water. Every sound seemed amplified in the oppressive silence—the squelch of boots in the mud, the uneasy snort of a horse, the distant, mournful cries of unseen creatures. Mist hung low over the ground, curling around their ankles like ghostly tendrils and obscuring the path ahead.

"I see why they say the Neck is the realm of ghosts," Cadmus murmured, his voice hushed as though afraid to disturb the oppressive stillness.

Ignotus shivered, though he would never admit it. "It feels like the swamp is watching us. Every step, every sound…"

Antioch remained stoic, though even he could not shake the strange unease that clung to them like the swamp's mist. "It's the Neck. The Crannogmen live here, and they know these lands better than anyone. We'll need their help if we're to navigate safely."

"Are we sure this is the way?" one of the guards muttered, his voice tinged with unease. He turned to Antioch, his expression pleading. "This place is a maze. Every turn looks the same."

Antioch, though calm on the surface, shared the man's doubts. He clenched the reins of his horse tightly, his sharp eyes scanning the dim surroundings. "Stay together. The Neck preys on those who stray."

The younger brother, Ignotus, rode a few paces ahead, his usual bravado dampened by the eerie stillness. He glanced over his shoulder, irritation flickering across his face. "If the Crannogmen are so good at guarding this swamp, where are they? Or do they leave visitors to wander until they're sucked into the muck?"

Cadmus, ever the dreamer, was silent, his gaze distant. The strange landscape seemed to weigh on him, each gnarled tree and shadowed pool telling a story he couldn't quite grasp. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft. "This place… it's alive. Can't you feel it? It's watching us."

"This is no place for men," one of the guards muttered, drawing nervous agreement from his fellows.

"Enough of that," Antioch snapped, though he couldn't deny the truth in Cadmus's words. The swamp did feel alive—an ancient, brooding presence that pressed against their senses, heightening their unease. "Keep your focus. This is no place for idle thoughts."

Here's a detailed description of the retinue wandering into the Neck, getting lost, and their eventual encounter with the Crannogmen:

The Neck swallowed the retinue whole, its labyrinthine paths winding unpredictably through a landscape of gnarled trees, stagnant pools, and shifting shadows. Hours stretched into an eternity as the Riverlanders pressed on, their resolve tested with each step.

The air was thick and cloying, heavy with the scent of decaying vegetation and the metallic tang of stagnant water. Every sound seemed amplified in the oppressive silence—the squelch of boots in the mud, the uneasy snort of a horse, the distant, mournful cries of unseen creatures. Mist hung low over the ground, curling around their ankles like ghostly tendrils and obscuring the path ahead.

"Are we sure this is the way?" one of the guards muttered, his voice tinged with unease. He turned to Antioch, his expression pleading. "This place is a maze. Every turn looks the same."

Antioch, though calm on the surface, shared the man's doubts. He clenched the reins of his horse tightly, his sharp eyes scanning the dim surroundings. "Stay together. The Neck preys on those who stray."

The younger brother, Ignotus, rode a few paces ahead, his usual bravado dampened by the eerie stillness. He glanced over his shoulder, irritation flickering across his face. "If the Crannogmen are so good at guarding this swamp, where are they? Or do they leave visitors to wander until they're sucked into the muck?"

Cadmus, ever the dreamer, was silent, his gaze distant. The strange landscape seemed to weigh on him, each gnarled tree and shadowed pool telling a story he couldn't quite grasp. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft. "This place… it's alive. Can't you feel it? It's watching us."

"Enough of that," Antioch snapped, though he couldn't deny the truth in Cadmus's words. The swamp did feel alive—an ancient, brooding presence that pressed against their senses, heightening their unease. "Keep your focus. This is no place for idle thoughts."

Hours passed, though it was difficult to measure time in the Neck. The light remained a dim, muted gray, filtered through the dense canopy above. The retinue's progress slowed as the paths grew narrower and more treacherous. Pools of water appeared deceptively shallow, and more than once a horse stumbled, nearly pulling its rider into the sucking mud.

The silence between the brothers and their men deepened, filled only by the occasional curse or nervous murmur. The further they traveled, the more the swamp seemed to conspire against them. Trees twisted into unnatural shapes, their branches draped with veils of moss that seemed to reach for the travelers. Strange rustlings sounded from the undergrowth, and the occasional splash hinted at unseen creatures lurking in the murk.

By the time they realized they were lost, the retinue was exhausted, their spirits fraying under the swamp's relentless pressure. They stopped in a small clearing, barely large enough to fit the group. Antioch dismounted, his boots sinking into the muddy ground as he surveyed their surroundings.

"We've been going in circles," he admitted, his voice grim. "The swamp's playing tricks on us."

"What now?" Ignotus demanded, his frustration boiling over. "Sit here and wait to die? Or shall we plunge ahead and hope we don't end up swallowed by the mud?"

Cadmus, sitting slumped in his saddle, looked up, his expression thoughtful despite his weariness. "The Crannogmen will find us, eventually. They must know we're here. Perhaps that's the test—endurance. Prove we can survive this place long enough to warrant their attention."

As if summoned by Cadmus's words, the mist ahead stirred. Shapes emerged from the haze, silent and shadowed. The retinue tensed, hands going to weapons as a dozen figures stepped into view. They were Crannogmen, unmistakable in their painted faces and mottled green cloaks that blended seamlessly with the swamp. They moved with an eerie stillness, their bows drawn and aimed, spears held ready.

"Hold," Antioch commanded sharply, raising a hand to stay his men. He stepped forward, his movements deliberate and non-threatening. "We mean no harm. I am Antioch Mudd, of the Riverlands. We are here on a mission for our king."

The Crannogmen said nothing, their expressions unreadable beneath their camouflage. The only sound was the faint creak of a bowstring, taut and ready. Antioch met their gaze, his voice steady despite the tension in the air.

"We are lost," he admitted. "But our cause is just. The Andals encroach further north each day, and we seek to defend these lands—your lands—as much as our own. If you can guide us, you will have our gratitude."

A long silence followed, broken only by the faint rustling of the swamp. Finally, one of the Crannogmen lowered his bow. The others followed suit, though their weapons remained in hand, a silent reminder that trust was not yet earned.

Without a word, the Crannogmen turned and began to move, their steps impossibly light on the treacherous ground. They gestured for the retinue to follow. Antioch nodded to his men, signaling them to comply.

As the Crannogmen led them deeper into the swamp, the oppressive feeling began to lift. The paths they chose were solid and sure, winding through the labyrinthine Neck with a confidence that spoke of generations of knowledge. Though the Crannogmen remained silent, their presence offered an odd sense of reassurance.

Ignotus leaned toward Cadmus as they followed, his voice low. "They may not talk, but they know this place like it's a part of them. Perhaps we'll live through this yet."

Cadmus smiled faintly, his gaze lingering on the Crannogmen. "They're part of the swamp, Ignotus. And if we're wise, we'll tread carefully, both here and with them."

Antioch rode at the head of the group, his thoughts heavy but his resolve unbroken. The Neck had tested them and found them wanting, but perhaps the Crannogmen would show them a way through the mire. Or perhaps, like the swamp itself, they had their own inscrutable plans.

After another hour or so, of trudging through the unfamiliar terrain, a strange lethargy began to settle over the group. It was subtle at first, a creeping weariness that made their limbs feel heavier with each step. The swamp's oppressive atmosphere seemed to amplify the exhaustion, sapping their strength and resolve.

Cadmus was the first to notice. "Something's not right," he murmured, swaying slightly in his saddle. "I feel… strange."

Ignotus, usually sharp and defiant, rubbed his eyes as if to clear them. "It's the swamp," he muttered, his voice uncharacteristically sluggish. "It's playing tricks on us."

Antioch frowned, his own mind struggling to stay sharp. He turned to their guides, but the Crannogmen offered no explanation, their expressions unreadable. "We need to stop and rest," he said, his voice firmer than he felt. "Something is affecting us."

Before they could act, one of the guards stumbled, his knees buckling as he collapsed to the ground. Another followed moments later, their weapons clattering against the muddy path. The brothers exchanged alarmed glances, but they, too, felt the overwhelming pull of sleep.

Cadmus slid from his horse, landing unsteadily on his feet before crumpling to his knees. "It's… it's like a spell," he whispered before his eyes fluttered shut.

Antioch tried to fight the sensation, his hand gripping the pommel of his sword as if it could anchor him. "Stay awake," he urged, though his voice was barely audible. "We can't… fall…"

Ignotus, ever defiant, growled in frustration, his sword drawn as if to fight an unseen enemy. But even he was not immune. His legs gave way, and he collapsed to the ground, his blade slipping from his grasp.

One by one, the retinue fell, their bodies strewn across the swamp path like broken marionettes. The swamp seemed to grow quieter, its sounds fading into an eerie stillness. The mist thickened, curling around the fallen men as if to claim them.

Only the Crannogmen remained standing, their painted faces impassive. One of them stepped forward, crouching beside Antioch's prone form. He placed a hand on the lord's forehead, muttering something in a language the brothers could not understand. Then, with a nod to his companions, he gestured for them to move and leave the bodies of the fallen retinue of River Princes behind.

After the last of the retinue collapsed and the crannogmen left, the swamp grew eerily still. The thick mist swirled around the fallen men, concealing them from view. Then, breaking the oppressive silence, a deep, resonant laughter echoed through the mist. It was a sound ancient and mocking, as if otherworldly beings found amusement in the plight of mortals. The laughter grew louder, almost unbearable, until a stern voice cut through, silencing it abruptly. "Enough," the voice commanded, low and authoritative. "As amusing as it is to watch, their line must endure." The mist seemed to recoil, pulling back slightly, though its presence remained oppressive.

When the brothers and their retinue's bodies were searched for years later they couldn't find anything as if they had disappeared into nothingness, no trace of their struggle remained. Whatever powers watched from the shadows, their will was inscrutable, but their influence over the Neck was absolute.