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SLW Chapter 35 : Stormlands On Fire.
🕑 Added 2025-02-26 19:34:12 +0000 UTCThe banners of House Buckler lay trampled beneath blackened hooves. The scent of blood clung to the air, mixing with the dying embers of torched barricades. The keep that once stood as a proud stronghold of the Stormlands had fallen into absolute silence, save for the eerie whispers of the shadows that now claimed it.
Atop the ramparts, the last defenders of Bronzegate screamed. They were cut down swiftly, mercilessly shadowy Dothraki warriors atop monstrous, spectral horses cleaving through armor and flesh alike. The ground was littered with corpses, yet the shadows only grew longer.
A monstrous, black-furred beast its eyes gleaming with an unnatural glow pounced on a fleeing knight, tearing into him with a sickening crunch. The man barely had time to scream before the shadow-cat’s maw clamped around his throat.
In the courtyard below, the last of the resistance fell. One by one. Some to blades. Some to fangs. None were spared.
At the heart of it all, seated upon the lord’s own chair, Aeron watched. His violet eyes flickered beneath the dim torchlight, his fingers drumming against the armrest in quiet thought. His soldiers did not cheer, did not revel in their victory. They simply stood, silent and obedient, the very embodiment of death itself.
Before him, on his knees, was one of House Buckler’s surviving retainers. His face was pale, his body trembling as he tried and failed to ignore the countless eyes of Aeron’s shadow soldiers glaring down at him.
Aeron leaned forward, resting his chin against his knuckles. His presence alone felt suffocating.
“Tell me…” His voice was smooth, controlled yet beneath it, there was something else. Something cold. “Your lord is missing...What news of House Baratheon of Storm’s End?”
The man swallowed hard, gathering whatever scraps of courage he had left. “L-Lord Buckler is with Stannis Baratheon… in the North.”
Aeron narrowed his eyes slightly. That wasn’t the answer he wanted. His fingers tapped once against the chair. “And?”
The man hesitated. The shadows around him seemed to deepen. He glanced around, his breath quickening at the sight of the silent, waiting figures that surrounded him.
Finally, he spoke. “Lord Buckler is deserting. He intends to return to King Tommen’s service.”
Aeron exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. “I asked about Storm’s End.”
The man flinched, sweat rolling down his forehead. “I-It is still controlled by House Baratheon… but the keep itself is held by the forces of the Lannisters.”
A slow, knowing smirk crossed Aeron’s lips. ‘So, Storm’s End is vulnerable.’
He leaned back in his chair, considering the opportunity before him.
Storm’s End. A stronghold like no other. Its walls had never been breached by siege. It was a symbol of Baratheon might. And yet… the house itself was fractured.
Taking it would send a message. A declaration. A challenge.
And it would be his.
Aeron stood, his long coat billowing as he stepped forward. His eyes burned with purpose, gleaming like embers in the dark.
“I can take it now.” The thought rolled through his mind like thunder. “Secure these lands for myself. Storm’s End is a strong keep. I'll weaken this dying house further… and gain an unshakable foothold in the Stormlands and Westeros as a whole”
He exhaled, turning to face his army of shadows.
“Time to strike.”
The air crackled with unseen energy.
His shadow soldiers stood, awaiting his command. The Dothraki wraiths, still mounted on their spectral horses, tightened their grips on their weapons. The direfangs growled, their claws raking against the bloodstained floor. The shadow assassins lurked at the edges of the hall, shifting like phantoms.
Aeron’s violet eyes burned as he raised his hand.
“We march for Storm’s End.”
“But first “
He raised a hand. Corpses lay scattered, lifeless. The fallen men of House Buckler, their faces frozen in fear. They had died defending their home… and now, it would become theirs once more.
“Arise.”
The world shuddered.
A shadow rippled across the keep like a tide of darkness, stretching toward the fallen. The corpses twitched shadows seeping from their very corpses. One by one, they rose, their eyes now black voids, their armor darker than the night.
Before Aeron now kneeled the newest additions to his army. Once men of the Stormlands, once loyal to House Buckler, now his.
The Shadow Monarch’s legion had grown.
Aeron’s gaze shifted from his kneeling soldiers to the lone survivor still trembling before him. The man’s breath was shallow, his face drained of all color. He had seen what should not be possible. He had survived what no man should.
Aeron stepped toward him, slow, measured. The man flinched as those violet eyes—those unnatural, glowing eyes bore into him.
“You will ride to KingsLanding.”
The man stiffened. “M-my lord?”
Aeron tilted his head slightly, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips. “You will report what happened here. You will tell them what you saw. Every detail.”
The survivor’s lips parted, confusion flashing in his eyes. “But… if they ask how I survived?”
Aeron’s smirk deepened, though his gaze remained cold.
“You will tell them the absolute truth.”
The man’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. The truth. He had been spared by something not of this world. He had seen men rise from death, transformed into dark, silent warriors. He had seen the fall of Bronzegate not by the hands of men, but by creatures of nightmare.
He did not know if anyone in KingsLanding would believe him.
But he knew better than to disobey.
Shakily, he bowed his head. “As you command.”
Aeron waved a dismissive hand. “Then go.”
The man did not hesitate. He turned, mounted his horse, and rode hard into the night, fleeing as though the Stranger himself was at his back.
Aeron watched him vanish into the darkness.
His message would reach King’s Landing.
And when it did… they would know the name of the one who sent it, their former king already died at the hands of something similar.
****
Storms End
The rhythmic gallop of hooves echoed across the damp earth, yet not a single sound came from the beast beneath Aeron. A Shadow Horse. Its body was an abyss of writhing darkness, silent as death itself. The only sign of life if one could even call it that was the cold mist that trailed from its nostrils as it carried him toward his next conquest.
And there it was. Storm’s End.
The fortress stood defiant against the coastline, its impenetrable walls high and mighty. It was a stark contrast to the modest Bronzegate this was a keep built to withstand the fury of both men and gods.
From his vantage point, Aeron took in the banners fluttering in the ocean wind. Black and gold House Baratheon. Crimson and gold House Lannister. A reminder of a house that once ruled, and a house that stole the throne.
His gaze sharpened. The castle may have appeared vulnerable, isolated in the Stormlands, but it was far from defenseless. Lannister soldiers dotted the walls, clad in crimson and steel, moving in formation. Even from this distance, Aeron could tell their numbers were greater than Bronzegate’s forces.
But he only chuckled.
“What are numbers against an undying army?”
His violet eyes gleamed in the dim light.
"They can't even harm me alone..."
A long sigh escaped him, as if the very idea of resistance was tedious. Storm’s End was a mighty keep but a keep is only as strong as those who defend it.
Aeron opened his status window, his violet eyes scanning through the details with a hint of satisfaction.
[AERON GRIM]
Job: Necromancer
Title: Kingslayer (+5 Strength, +5 Agility, +5 Sense)
Title: All-Knowing (Instantly understand new concepts, +50% learning speed, Automatically identify items, creatures, and magic)
Level: 23 → 40
Fatigue: 0
HP: 3200
MP: 3600
Strength: 60 → 105 (+5)
Health: 42 → 72
Agility: 41 → 65 (+5)
Intelligence: 61 → 80
Sense: 32 → 65 (+5)
Available Ability Points: 51 → 0
Passive Skill:
Tenacity (Level 1)
Skills:
Ruler’s Authority
Perception (+10 to Sense when analyzing or strategizing)
Job-Specific Skills:
Shadow Extraction (280/300 Soldiers Limit)
Shadow Exchange (Level 1)
Monarch’s Domain
??? (Unawakened Skill)
Inventory:
Direfang Sword
Silverfangs
Aeron let out a small breath, feeling the surge of power course through his body as his newly allocated points settled into place. His fingers flexed around the handle of Direfang, the weight of the sword feeling even more natural now.
His agility was enough to blur through battlefields.
His shadows… were limitless death incarnate.
A slow, wicked grin stretched across his lips as his gaze lifted toward Storm’s End. The Lannister banners fluttered mockingly in the wind, and Aeron found himself scoffing.
“Time to take this keep.”
