Chapter 9: The Culling of Crows, The Fury of the Stag

Chapter 9: The Culling of Crows, The Fury of the Stag

Lord Morriggen's silence after the polite rebuff from Stonefang was, as Darth Vorhax had anticipated, deceptive. It was the stillness of a predator gathering itself to strike, or rather, the blustering of a feudal lord unused to defiance from his perceived inferiors. The first move was not diplomacy, but a clumsy attempt at intimidation. A dozen Morriggen household guards, not the White Wolf's disciplined sellswords, were intercepted by a Stonefang patrol escorting an iron shipment bound for Lord Estermont. The Morriggen men, clearly acting on orders to "inspect" and delay the shipment, were belligerent. The Stonefang patrol, better armed and far more disciplined under Ser Gareth's cold command, refused to yield. Swords were drawn. Three Morriggen men died before the rest fled, leaving their dead and their pride behind.

This was the pretext Vorhax needed. Not for a war of equals, but for an extermination. Morriggen was an obstacle, his lands strategically useful, his demise a necessary lesson to any other local lordlings who might entertain notions of challenging the rising Hawk. More than that, Morriggen possessed a valuable asset: the White Wolf and his hundred Northmen.

Vorhax's mind, a cold super-collider of Sith strategy and prescient calculation, went into overdrive. He would not just defeat Morriggen; he would annihilate his house and, if possible, turn his most potent weapon against him.

The first, most delicate step was to approach Brandon Snow, the White Wolf. Vorhax's intelligence network, still fledgling but surprisingly effective under Will's increasingly adept management, had been focused on Crow's Nest since Ser Kennos's visit. Will had learned that Snow, while respected by his men and a ruthlessly efficient commander, had a Northman's disdain for what he perceived as the softer, more duplicitous Stormlords. He was rumored to be increasingly irritated by Lord Petyr Morriggen's arrogance, his inconsistent pay, and his attempts to meddle in the internal affairs of the sellsword company. Snow was a pragmatist, loyal to coin and to his men's welfare.

Vorhax decided on a direct, audacious approach. He penned a message himself, not in the common tongue, but in the Old Tongue of the First Men, a language Ellys Vorant had no knowledge of, but which Vorhax, with his vast linguistic database and the Force's aid in deciphering patterns, had managed to grasp from ancient texts Vymar possessed. He reasoned a Northman like Snow might appreciate the gesture, or at least be intrigued by it. The message was brief: "The Crow cages the Wolf. A Hawk offers a wider sky, richer prey, and iron talons. Payment awaits your word. Details follow your trusted ear." It was signed not with a name, but with a stark, inked drawing of his new hawk sigil.

This message, along with a small, perfectly weighted bar of Stonefang iron, was entrusted to Anya. Her unassuming nature and network of contacts amongst the servants and smallfolk in the region made her the ideal covert messenger. She was instructed to find a way to deliver it directly to one of Snow's own men, someone known for discretion, with the promise of further silver for safe delivery to their captain. It was a gamble. If Snow was entirely loyal to Morriggen, or if the message was intercepted, Vorhax's plans would be exposed. But Vorhax sensed, through the faint currents of the Force that eddied even around distant individuals, that Brandon Snow was a man chafing under his current contract.

Days passed in tense silence. Vorhax continued his preparations, pushing his men, stockpiling resources, his outward demeanor betraying nothing of the monumental gamble he had undertaken. Then, Anya returned, shaken but successful. She had passed the message and the iron bar. Two days later, a gruff, stone-faced Northman from Snow's company, ostensibly a deserter seeking refuge (a fiction quickly seen through by Vorhax), arrived at Stonefang's gates. He was brought before Vorhax and delivered Snow's verbal reply, also in the Old Tongue: "The Wolf hunts where the prey is richest and the hand that feeds is strong. Name the terms."

Vorhax smiled, a chilling expression on his youthful face. The Wolf was willing to bargain.

The terms were laid out through this rough envoy. A substantial sum in gold – drawn from Vorhax's carefully hoarded reserves, supplemented by a 'forgotten' cache of old Vorant silver he'd 'rediscovered' in the newly cleared cellars using the Force. Guarantees of better, more regular pay for the entire company. A significant share of the spoils from Crow's Nest. And, crucially, continued employment under House Vorant, with Brandon Snow retaining full operational command of his company, answerable only to Vorhax himself. Vorhax also outlined his plan for the swift, utter annihilation of House Morriggen. The Northman listened, his expression unchanging, then departed as silently as he had arrived.

The wait for Snow's final assent was short. A pre-arranged signal – a specific type of bird arrow fletched with white feathers, found embedded in a tree near Stonefang's western border by one of Vorhax's patrols – confirmed the deal. The Wolf would turn.

The assault on Crow's Nest was planned for the moonless week before the spring equinox. Vorhax would lead a force of fifty of his best men – his elite guard and the cream of the garrison, all armed and armored in Stonefang's dark iron. They would be the fist. Brandon Snow's hundred Northmen would be the dagger from within. Nyx, Vorhax's trained goshawk, would provide aerial reconnaissance, her keen eyes spotting Morriggen's patrols, her presence a dark omen in the sky.

The attack began two hours before dawn. Vorhax's force, moving with disciplined silence, approached Crow's Nest from the less defended eastern side, using a path identified by Nyx's daytime scouting flights. As they reached the walls, a signal fire blazed briefly from within the castle – Snow's men were ready.

Then, chaos erupted inside Crow's Nest. The shouts of men, the clash of steel, the screams of the dying. Brandon Snow and his Northmen, supposedly rousing to defend against an external threat, instead turned their blades upon Lord Morriggen's household guard. The betrayal was absolute, brutal, and terrifyingly effective.

"Now!" Vorhax commanded, his voice cutting through the night. His men threw grappling hooks, their iron claws finding purchase on the battlements. Ladders, hastily constructed from Estermont timber, were raised. Vorhax himself was among the first on the walls, his dark sword a blur of deadly motion. He moved with the preternatural speed and precision of a Sith Lord, the Force augmenting his every strike, every parry. Morriggen's guards, already reeling from the internal betrayal, found themselves facing a new wave of dark-armored demons pouring over their walls.

The fighting in the courtyards and halls of Crow's Nest was a brutal, swirling melee. Vorhax, flanked by Hobb and Joron, carved a path towards the main keep, where Lord Petyr Morriggen and his heir, Ser Tylos, were attempting to rally their few remaining loyal guards. Brandon Snow, his greatsword crimson in the torchlight, met them in the great hall, his Northmen having already secured most of the inner castle.

"Lord Vorant," Snow greeted him with a grim nod, gesturing towards the cowering Lord Morriggen. "The Crow is caged."

Petyr Morriggen, his face pale with terror and disbelief, stared at Vorhax. "You… you treacherous cur! You ally with faithless sellswords to destroy a noble house? The King… Lord Baratheon… they will see you flayed for this!"

Vorhax stepped forward, his eyes like chips of obsidian. "Noble?" he said, his voice a low hiss. "You were a petty tyrant, an obstacle. And obstacles," he raised his sword, the dark iron seeming to drink the very light from the room, "are removed."

He did not delegate the task. With a single, contemptuous stroke, he ended Lord Petyr Morriggen. Ser Tylos, screaming in rage, lunged forward, only to be impaled on Hobb's spear. Vorhax gave a curt nod. No branch of House Morriggen within Crow's Nest was to be left alive. His men, and Snow's Northmen, carried out the grim task with ruthless efficiency. By dawn, House Morriggen of Crow's Nest was extinct.

The castle was thoroughly looted. Gold, silver, arms, armor, provisions – everything of value was gathered. Vorhax ensured the division of spoils was fair, as per his agreement with Snow. The Northmen, impressed by Vorhax's martial prowess, his cold decisiveness, and the richness of the plunder, seemed content with their new arrangement. Brandon Snow, a man of few words, simply clasped Vorhax's offered forearm. "The Hawk flies high, Lord Vorant. The White Wolf will follow." For now, at least, their alliance was sealed in blood and gold.

Vorhax left a detachment of Snow's men to garrison Crow's Nest temporarily, along with twenty of his own. He needed to secure the castle and its lands. The message of Morriggen's annihilation was intended to terrify other local lords into quiescence, or even into seeking his "protection."

The return to Stonefang was somber but triumphant. Vorhax's reputation, already formidable, now bordered on the demonic. He had not just defeated a rival; he had erased a noble house from existence, an act of breathtaking audacity for such a minor lord. Maester Vymar was aghast, his scholarly mind struggling to comprehend such blatant disregard for feudal law and tradition. Ser Gareth, though initially shocked by the sheer brutality, was now utterly devoted, seeing his lord as an unstoppable force of nature.

News of the fall of House Morriggen and the slaughter at Crow's Nest spread through the Stormlands like a pestilence. Terror was the predominant reaction. Which lord would be next? What power did this young Hawk of Stonefang truly wield that he could command such destruction?

It took less than a fortnight for the inevitable response from Storm's End to arrive. Not a polite inquiry this time, but a stern, unambiguous summons. A herald, clad in the black and gold stag of Baratheon, arrived at Stonefang's gates, his face grim, his escort substantial.

"Lord Ellys Vorant!" the herald proclaimed in the courtyard, his voice ringing with the authority of the Lord Paramount. "By order of Robert of House Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, Warden of the East, you are hereby commanded to present yourself at Storm's End without delay, to account for your actions concerning the late House Morriggen and the disposition of their castle and lands. Failure to comply will be deemed an act of rebellion!"

Maester Vymar nearly fainted. Even Ser Gareth looked pale beneath his customary stoicism. This was not a minor lordling; this was Robert Baratheon, hero of recent skirmishes, master of one of the Seven Kingdoms' great castles, a man known for his booming laughter and even more for his terrifying battle rage.

Vorhax, however, received the summons with an almost serene composure. He had anticipated this. It was the next move in the game, a game he was playing for stakes far higher than anyone in this primitive world could imagine.

"Inform Lord Baratheon," Vorhax told the herald, his voice devoid of fear, "that Lord Vorant will obey his summons. I will depart for Storm's End within three days."

As the herald and his escort departed, a heavy silence fell over Stonefang. Vorhax turned to his inner circle. "Maester Vymar, prepare a full accounting of Morriggen's provocations against House Vorant, including the attack on our trade convoy. Ser Gareth, select an honor guard of twenty of our finest, including yourself, Hobb, and Joron. And ensure Captain Snow and his company remain vigilant at Crow's Nest and here. Trouble may follow trouble."

He retreated to his private chamber. This confrontation with Robert Baratheon would be critical. He had to project an image of formidable strength, unshakeable resolve, and yet, feigned loyalty to his liege lord. He needed to convince Robert that his actions, however extreme, were justified, or at least that pursuing retribution against him would be more trouble than it was worth. He might even offer Robert the newly acquired Crow's Nest as a gift to the new Lord Paramount, a gesture of fealty and a way to rid himself of a castle he couldn't yet fully garrison himself. Or perhaps offer the services of the White Wolf and his men to Robert, under Vorhax's command. Many paths.

Nyx landed silently on his outstretched arm, her yellow eyes fixed on him. He stroked the hawk's sleek feathers. "The Stag bellows, Nyx," he murmured, a chilling smile playing on his lips. "Let us see if he has the horns to challenge a Hawk that soars on the currents of the Dark Side."

The future was a maelstrom of possibilities, but amidst the chaos, Vorhax saw a path, a narrow, treacherous way to power. His meeting with Robert Baratheon would be the first true test of his ability to navigate it.

(Word Count: Approx. 4100 words)