Post by The Smith on Nov 20, 2013 22:33:05 GMT -5
Since his return to Oldtown, Gareth had sometimes been unable to sleep soundly for long periods of time. Whether it was the excitement of being home or whether it was the haunting memories of the war in the Stepstones and the bloody sights he had seen he did not know. He had taken to stalking the training grounds near the Hightower but found nobody to spar with him this late even on the warmest of nights.
He thought about ordering one of the Hightower guards patrolling the battlements of the tower or perhaps even one of the City Watch to spar with him, but with visitors flooding the city for his brother’s tourney, there was the possibility that those with a grudge against one of the guests might decide to take it upon themselves to seek vengeance. No, it was better that they were at their posts.
On the nights he couldn't sleep, his routine rarely varied.
Upon reaching the practice ground outside the Hightower, Gareth usually tried a few practice cuts against a stuffed mannequin, but he soon grew bored with a foe that did not fight back. He would then move over to the stables, where the horses were bedded down for the night. He always picked out his favorite courser and fed it a few apples or pears as he saddled it before retrieving his practice lances.
Lighting the torches around the lists so he could see, he then attached a heavy bag of sand to the cross-arm of the quintain. Hanging from the other side of the cross-arm was a large shield.
Originally several of the guards and patrols of the City Watch had come to investigate the lights, but as his nightly visits had become regular the word spread that it was Lord Gwayne’s brother training for the upcoming tourney. Smiling and hoping for his success in the upcoming tourney, the guards always left him alone.
Tonight was such a night. There was no-one around. Gareth climbed into the saddle, couched his first lance and thundered down what served for the lists in the Hightower complex, towards the quintain. At the last minute he stood smoothly in his stirrups and raised his lance-tip so that it passed completely over the shield, though he held his new course straight and the lance did not wobble at the change in his stance. He smiled to himself at what would have been a strike to the throat, if his opponent had had one. Striking a shield was honorable and flashy during a tourney, but in a charge it is better to kill a man and avoid his shield completely. It took precision and skill to keep the lance steady when it was aimed higher and not supported as well in the crook of the rider’s arm and Gareth had been working hard to improve his skills in this area.
He rode back around for a few more passes, the second time striking the shield straight on and spurring the courser just enough to escape the bag of sand that swung past his ear. He rode again and struck the shield in the same spot, but the blow was harder and the bag of sand struck him in the back of his head, almost knocking him from the saddle. Gareth threw down his lance in fury, rode over and selected another, then kicked his horse back around, and thundered towards the quintain again. Then he did it again. And then again. He was hit only twice from ten runs. On the last pass his lance shattered and he avoided being struck. Gareth threw the remains of the lance from him and went to select another.
He did not burn with exhaustion, though he was breathing heavily by the last run he attempted. It had begun to rain slightly and his courser had slipped once or twice. Deciding that his horse had had enough, he slid off the courser’s back and led him back to the nearby stables. Waving a sleepy stable boy away who had been roused from his bed by a servant on learning that Lord Gareth was in the stables, the young knight spent some time rubbing the beast down and fed him another apple before beginning the walk back to his sleeping quarters in the Hightower.
As he climbed the many stairs of the Hightower, the moon came out from behind a cloud, lighting up the nearby Citadel and the majestic splendour of his brother’s city. In the distance Gareth could see the Honeywine River winding from the north-east as it flowed towards the Whispering Sound and Battle Island in which the Hightower was built. When he reached the apex of the Hightower eight hundred feet above the ground, Gareth leant against the battlements watching the lights winking as people such as bakers and smiths worked into the night, making ready for the next day.
Gareth sighed and looked down at the training yard now far below him. It was almost certain he would be back down there tomorrow night.
Results:
Gareth Hightower increases to Noteworthy + in Lance
Gareth Hightower increases to Noteworthy in Riding
He thought about ordering one of the Hightower guards patrolling the battlements of the tower or perhaps even one of the City Watch to spar with him, but with visitors flooding the city for his brother’s tourney, there was the possibility that those with a grudge against one of the guests might decide to take it upon themselves to seek vengeance. No, it was better that they were at their posts.
On the nights he couldn't sleep, his routine rarely varied.
Upon reaching the practice ground outside the Hightower, Gareth usually tried a few practice cuts against a stuffed mannequin, but he soon grew bored with a foe that did not fight back. He would then move over to the stables, where the horses were bedded down for the night. He always picked out his favorite courser and fed it a few apples or pears as he saddled it before retrieving his practice lances.
Lighting the torches around the lists so he could see, he then attached a heavy bag of sand to the cross-arm of the quintain. Hanging from the other side of the cross-arm was a large shield.
Originally several of the guards and patrols of the City Watch had come to investigate the lights, but as his nightly visits had become regular the word spread that it was Lord Gwayne’s brother training for the upcoming tourney. Smiling and hoping for his success in the upcoming tourney, the guards always left him alone.
Tonight was such a night. There was no-one around. Gareth climbed into the saddle, couched his first lance and thundered down what served for the lists in the Hightower complex, towards the quintain. At the last minute he stood smoothly in his stirrups and raised his lance-tip so that it passed completely over the shield, though he held his new course straight and the lance did not wobble at the change in his stance. He smiled to himself at what would have been a strike to the throat, if his opponent had had one. Striking a shield was honorable and flashy during a tourney, but in a charge it is better to kill a man and avoid his shield completely. It took precision and skill to keep the lance steady when it was aimed higher and not supported as well in the crook of the rider’s arm and Gareth had been working hard to improve his skills in this area.
He rode back around for a few more passes, the second time striking the shield straight on and spurring the courser just enough to escape the bag of sand that swung past his ear. He rode again and struck the shield in the same spot, but the blow was harder and the bag of sand struck him in the back of his head, almost knocking him from the saddle. Gareth threw down his lance in fury, rode over and selected another, then kicked his horse back around, and thundered towards the quintain again. Then he did it again. And then again. He was hit only twice from ten runs. On the last pass his lance shattered and he avoided being struck. Gareth threw the remains of the lance from him and went to select another.
He did not burn with exhaustion, though he was breathing heavily by the last run he attempted. It had begun to rain slightly and his courser had slipped once or twice. Deciding that his horse had had enough, he slid off the courser’s back and led him back to the nearby stables. Waving a sleepy stable boy away who had been roused from his bed by a servant on learning that Lord Gareth was in the stables, the young knight spent some time rubbing the beast down and fed him another apple before beginning the walk back to his sleeping quarters in the Hightower.
As he climbed the many stairs of the Hightower, the moon came out from behind a cloud, lighting up the nearby Citadel and the majestic splendour of his brother’s city. In the distance Gareth could see the Honeywine River winding from the north-east as it flowed towards the Whispering Sound and Battle Island in which the Hightower was built. When he reached the apex of the Hightower eight hundred feet above the ground, Gareth leant against the battlements watching the lights winking as people such as bakers and smiths worked into the night, making ready for the next day.
Gareth sighed and looked down at the training yard now far below him. It was almost certain he would be back down there tomorrow night.
Results:
Gareth Hightower increases to Noteworthy + in Lance
Gareth Hightower increases to Noteworthy in Riding
Hope you all are well and happy.