Hello my sexy readers....
Hope you all enjoy it ....
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Jon stood at the edge of the Wolfswood, his breath puffing out in white clouds that were immediately snatched away by the wind.
He pulled his fur cloak tighter.
It was summer, technically, but the North didn't seem to care about seasons. It was just varying degrees of Cold and you're dead.
"Jesus," Jon muttered, rubbing his gloved hands together. "I'd kill for a Uniqlo heat-tech undershirt right now."
Beside him, Ghost was busy destroying a pinecone. The direwolf looked up, ears perked, sensing his master's irritation.
"Don't look at me like that," Jon told the wolf. "You have a fur coat. I have....whatever this itch fest of a wool tunic is."
He turned his attention back to the task at hand. He wasn't out here to complain about the textiles; he was here for some R&D work.
He pulled the Smartphone from his inner pocket. It looked absurdly sleek against the backdrop of ancient pines. He tapped the screen, bringing up the System Scanner app which is quite useful.
System, scan for alkaloids, Specifically the psychoactive kind.
The phone buzzed. A blue grid overlay appeared on the screen, using the camera to map the undergrowth.
[Scanning.....]
[Target Not Found]
[Target Not Found]
"Come on," Jon hissed, kicking a patch of snow. "This is a medieval fantasy setting so there has to be something like a Kingsfoil or a Pipeweed or something.
How do the peasants survive this misery without getting high?"
He walked deeper into the woods, the sounds of Winterfell fading behind him, he needed something.
Alcohol was the long game....vodka required potatoes, fermentation, distillation, and bottling and that was weeks of work.
He needed something he could sell now. Something that grew in the dirt and made people smile.
Ten minutes of trudging later, the phone vibrated violently.
[Alert: Bio-Signature Detected]
[Flora: Northern Widow's Leaf]
Jon stopped as he looked at the screen, then at the plant growing at the base of a dead stump. It was quite an ugly thing with spiky, dark purple leaves and white veins, looking more like a moss than a cash crop.
He crouched down.
[Description: Contains mild neuro-toxins that, when dried and burned, induce a state of lethargy, pain relief, and mild euphoria Side effects: Dry mouth, extreme hunger ]
Jon smirked, plucking a leaf.He sniffed it and felt nostalgia of the weeds he used to do in the college dorms....oh yeah....
"Widow's Leaf," Jon mused. "Terrible branding though,We'll call it Wolf's Breath or maybe Northern Lights, if I make the guards addicted to this stuff, they will beg for more.
Hell if I accidentally gave Ned stark these and make him a junkie, I could fuck cat and sansa in front of him and get away with it, hehe...."
He didn't harvest it all, he just took some leaves for personal use and marked the GPS location on his map app which surprisingly has a Google map of the north.
"Well now that is completed," he whispered to Ghost. "Now, I just need someone to pick it, dry it, and sell it to the guards so I don't have to get my hands dirty."
He stood up, brushing the snow off his knees. "Come on, boy. Let's go to the pub, we need to find someone for the heavy work."
Winter Town was less of a town and more of a collection of hovels huddled together for warmth. In the height of the season, it was mostly empty, populated only by the people too poor or too broken to leave.
The Smoking Log sat in the center of the mud-slicked main road. It was a grim building that leaned slightly to the left, as if the wind had been pushing it over for a hundred years.
Jon tied his horse to the rail. To the people in there, he was the a bastard or worse, a bored bastard noble looking for trouble.
"Stay close," Jon murmured to Ghost.
He pushed the door open.
The smell hit him first...stale ale, unwashed bodies, and roasting meat that was definitely not chicken, Jon stepped inside and there were many peasants or people looking like those who haven't bathed for years.
Jon ignored them and walked to the bar, his face a mask of bored indifference. He leaned against the sticky counter, feeling the eyes boring into his back.
"Ale," Jon said. "And if you spit in it, the wolf eats your hand."
The barkeeper, a man with a face like a smashed cabbage, turned pale. "No spit, m-milord....Fresh cask."
Jon took the tankard and didn't drink.
He turned around, leaning his elbows on the bar, and activated [Observe].
The world turned into a spreadsheet. Floating text boxes appeared over the patrons' heads.
[Hake..... Lvl 2 Peasant, Str: 3, Int: 2
Thoughts: 'Is that the stark bastard? He looks softer than the other one.']
[Lyla.... Lvl 4 Courtesan, Str: 2, Cha: 8. Thoughts: 'I wonder if he has coin, heard he is good in the bed.']
Jon's eyes scanned the room, filtering out the noise. He didn't want peasants and he definitely didn't want whores.
His gaze landed on a table in the far back corner, shrouded in shadow.
A man sat there alone. He was huge...a mountain of muscle and scar tissue. He wasn't wearing peasant rags; he was wearing rusted ringmail and a leather jerkkin that had seen better decades. A massive warhammer sat on the table next to his ale, used as a paperweight for a pile of chicken bones.
[Target Identified]
[Name: Duncan 'The Hammer']
[Level: 15 (Veteran Mercenary)]
[Strength: 18]
[Loyalty: 0]
[Current Status: Broke, bored and hungry]
[Trait: Mercenary Code - Will work for gold, will die for reputation]
Jon smiled..... bullseye.
He grabbed his tankard and walked across the room. Jon stopped at Duncan's table. The giant didn't look up as he just kept peeling the meat off a roasted wing with thick, calloused fingers.
"That's my chair," Jon said.
It wasn't his chair, It was the empty chair opposite Duncan.
Duncan paused and chewed slowly, swallowed, and then looked up. His eyes were dark, flat, and unimpressed.
"This is a public house, Lordling," Duncan rumbled, his voice sounding like gravel in a mixer. "There are ten other tables so go sit at one of them before you trip over your own sword."
Jon didn't get angry, he just laughed, It was a dry, sarcastic sound.
"I could," Jon admitted, pulling the chair out and sitting down anyway. Ghost curled up under the table, resting his chin on Duncan's boot.The mercenary flinched, just slightly.
"But the other tables are full of boring people," Jon continued. "And you look like a man who knows how to break things."
Duncan wiped his greasy hands on his tunic. He glared at Jon. "I break things for money. And you look like your father gives you an allowance of three coppers a week."
"Ned Stark is cheap, I'll give you that," Jon agreed. "He thinks honor pays the bills."
Jon reached into his tunic, he didn't pull out a weapon instead pulled out the heavy pouch of gold he'd bought from the System shop.
He opened the drawstring and plucked out a single, glittering Gold Dragon.
He placed it on the table, In a tavern where men stabbed each other over silver stags, a Gold Dragon was a nuclear bomb.
Duncan's eyes widened as he looked at the coin, then back at Jon. The contempt in his face vanished, replaced by a calculating greed.
"Who do you want dead?" Duncan asked, his voice lower.
"Nobody," Jon said, spinning the coin on the table with his index finger. "Yet."
"Then what's the coin for? Gift?"
"A retainer," Jon said. "I'm starting a business.... a small group, let's call it. I need a foreman, someone who can recruit the scum of this town...the poachers, the deserters, the fighters and turn them into a crew that actually listens."
Duncan scoffed.
"You want to build an army of broken men? For what? To play soldier while your brother is away?"
"To survive," Jon said, his voice dropping the playful tone. "Winter is coming, Duncan. And when it gets here, honor isn't going to keep us warm but gold will, food will and power will."
He slid the coin across the table.
"That's for your first week. Five more every month plus a cut of the profits."
Duncan stared at the coin, his hand hovered over it. "And if I take it, and just walk out that door?"
Jon leaned back, a cold smile playing on his lips. "You could....you're bigger than me and stronger than me."
He gestured under the table.
"But Ghost is faster than you and he hasn't had lunch."
Duncan looked down. The direwolf's red eyes were fixed on his throat. The beast let out a low, vibrating growl that rattled the table.
Duncan looked back at Jon and for the first time, there was respect in the big man's eyes.
He snatched the coin.
"When do we start?" Duncan asked.
Jon stood up. "Right now...drink up, Duncan. We're going shopping for somethings."
Authors Note:-
It's 1.6k words ....last one was less so sorry.
Well Dearies.....what do you think....i will reduce the smut for some kingdom building .....as everyone said .
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Update :- Today no chap, I am binge watching a Netflix show after a long intervel ....so sorry....Chapter Tommorow itself.