[h1][color=ed1c24][center]Tyron Lannister[/center][/color][/h1]

"Rangers! Move out!" The thumping of crow's feet immediately ruined any quiet Tyron had, he gripped Longclaw with all his might, he could nearly feel the blood draining out of his left hand's fingers as the cold ravaged his bare fingers, it was cold today, but the sun beat down on the snow, making it near impossible to see. Tyron looked around to make sure nobody had been left behind, seeing an arrow of five or six black cloaks behind him. Normally the Lord Commander didn't go ranging, but something felt too important for him to stay home. 

"Looking for something m'lord?" The soft voice of Howland Forrester drew Tyron's head to his right. Riding upon a black steed, sat the bearded first ranger, he was tall and lean, with a large nose and narrow eyes, he was smiling, in a nurturing way. The left corner of Tyron's mouth lifted up, and his eyes narrowed. "No... No, I'm fine." Tyron shook his head and rubbed his forehead with his right hand. Forrester's smile disappeared, and he held out a hand, putting it softly on Tyron's right shoulder. "Calm yourself Tyron, it'll be fine, just a few missing wildlings." Tyron pushed Howland's hand off, it was warmer then he'd thought. "That's not what I'm worried about." Tyron looked at Howland, the younger ranger's eyebrows up and mouth slightly agape, as if he were about to say something. "I'm worried about the ones the survivor reported, blue eyes and pale skin, unkillable, you know what this means?" Howland looked down at the ground slowly, sighing. "Wights." Tyron leant back, letting his body become less tense. "We're nearly there." He said, turning to look at Howland, and shooting him a grin. "It'll be fi-" Tyron was interrupted by a yell, a screech, and another, and another, and another. Tyron looked forwards, his heart beating a million miles a minute, and his eyes wide like a newborn babe. He saw dark treeless woods, with a cloaked figure standing in the center.

The figure turned slowly, awkwardly, like it was fighting every movement. It's eyes were bright blue, like the blackwater in the summer, and it's body pale like snow in the North. Tyron looked, dumbfounded for a second, before the figure was hit by an arrow and burst into flames. Tyron looked to his right, seeing Forrester holding a bow, he looked back at Tyron, his face one of confusion. "They're real, they're back!" He leapt from his horse, kneeling for a second, putting his bow on his back, and in one smooth motion, drawing his blade. Tyron sighed, before lifting his foot over his horse, standing on the saddle for a second, before dropping, touching the cold snow on his hands. As he stood, he drew the sword from his back, gripping it with both hands. He turned, and saw that the other rangers had already done so, Tyron turned back, to see Forrester examining the still burning wight, poking it with his sword, standing completely upright. Then, his body tensed, and he drove his sword into the wight's head, letting out a roar as he did so. Lifting his blade out of the dead man's skull, he stared at it for a second longer, before walking back towards Tyron, looking back at the corpse a few times as he did. Tyron held his hand out, and Forrester nearly ran into it. Tyron looked at him for a second before yelling out to the rangers. "Leave the horses, they'll just slow us down, light your torches, we head into that forest, and kill anything we see." The men yelled out "AYE!" Except for Forrester, who looked like he was afraid, before turning back, he was shaking, Tyron noticed, his sword never pointing at the same place twice.

The rangers entered the forest, slowly spreading out to cover all angles. Tyron looked around, nothing but rotting wood and snow, as usual. He made a noise of contentment, lifting his hand to signal them to turn back, and then a ranger screamed. The one who went right, the new one, the one who had just swore his vows. Tyron threw himself in that direction, spinning on his heels and coming to a stop face to face with another wight. It growled, it's voice sounding like choking and screaming at the same time. Tyron yelled, stepping back and drawing Longclaw. The beast walked briskly after him, not afraid of the weapon. Tyron hesitated, before thrusting forwards, his left foot in the same place it started, with his right nearly stepping on the Wight's toes. The blade inserted itself in the beast's head, entering through the jaw and coming out the back of the head. Tyron knew it wasn't dead, so he yanked the blade loose, turning once, before ripping the blade across the beast's neck, severing it's head. Tyron stood, his blade around his knees, the wight smashing into the ground, not wetly like humans, but hard, like a bag of ice. Tyron didn't waste a second, he pulled his blade up and ran towards the horses, yelling for the other rangers to do the same. He heard the screeches of wights and men behind him, but he didn't look back, for if he did, he would die.

Tyron ran past one last tree, leaving the forest, and into the full light of the sun, the horses stood ahead of him, whinnying in fear. One ran away, clopping through the snow quieter and quieter, the others remained, leaping off the ground and smashing the snow with their hooves. Howland was the only ranger to leave the woods, as he did, he grabbed a flagon of wine from his belt, throwing it on the ground, and then dropping his torch with it, a beautiful inferno erupted from the ground, overtaking the surrounding trees in an inferno of yellow and orange, a poem of destruction. Tyron gawked at the swirling flames one last time, turning back towards the horses, one of which Forrester had already mounted, and turned away from the forest, he looked at Tyron, a look of anger. "Get on a horse Tyron! We have to go!" His words were drowned out by collapsing trees. Tyron nodded, striding over to the closest horse. He gripped it's reins, only to hear a noise like cracking ice. Turning back, Tyron saw the body of a ranger, his lifeblood leaving his throat, melting the snow beneath him. Over him, stood a mummified beast, blue skin, too tight for his bones, and piercing blue eyes, wearing blue armor, which reflected the sun into the air, and wielding a sword of ice. Tyron was overtaken by fear, but was shaken into reality by what he held in his hand. Dragonsteel. Tyron bit his lip, turning towards Forrester, and giving him a forced smile. Howland shook his head no after a second, trying to climb off of his horse. Tyron grinned, before yelling suddenly. "COME BACK ONLY IF YOU WANT DEATH!" His voice spooking all of the horses away, one carrying the First Ranger. Tyron turned towards the Walker, teeth shown and eyebrows down. "You aim to wipe out everything Jon Snow worked towards, humanity and all it's sins, all the bad deeds and murderers, all the gamblers and losers, I hate them, I hate every fiber of their being, but... No matter how much I hate them..." Tyron gripped his sword tightly. "I HATE YOU WORSE!" Tyron gripped his sword in both hands, screaming at the top of his lungs, burning his throat with dryness, and running towards the Walker. The Walker stood unmoving. Tyron ran still faster, still screaming. The walker didn't move. He came into range, stopping on his left foot, and carrying all of his momentum into one huge swing, a crescent over his head, aiming to cut the Walker in two, shoulder to hip. The Walker dodged expertly, as he expected. Longclaw slammed into the ground, but Tyron didn't stop, turning towards the Walker, and thrusting forwards. His blade connected with the Walker's ice sword, shattering it into pieces. The walker's mouth went wide, and then a sword speared right through it. The Walker collapsed into ice, and Tyron stood, legs spread wide, and his sword pointed in the direction of the wall. 

Tyron panted, more out of fear then exhaustion. "If it's just me who can kill them, we still lose, it pains me, but I need Crakehall." Tyron spoke to himself because his mind was too busy to think. "I killed one, but there's hundreds to go." Tyron slid his feet together, and holstered his sword. "Better get walking then." Just as he began, a voice interrupted him. "You won't have to." Tyron spun on his heels, and to his right, was the First Ranger. "I told you to leave." Tyron said, angrily. Forrester grinned, showing his well kept teeth. "I couldn't, watching was much more fun." Tyron closed his eyes, allowing himself respite to just think. He opened his eyes slowly, and responded. "I'm writing to Lord Crakehall once we get back, we're going to need another pretty sword."

[i]To the insipid Lord Tyget Crakehall,

It pains me to say this, but your aid is required beyond the Wall, Others ride again, and Dragonsteel is needed, you wield one of the few blades on this earth, I am begging you, join the Watchmen with your army, then return to your petty squabbles, as Stannis Baratheon once said, save the realm to win the throne, not win the throne to save the realm.

Your old friend, "Brynn"[/i]