Post by Percy Rivers on Jun 24, 2007 16:44:11 GMT -5
Callen slowly came back to consciousness, and regretted it immediately. It felt like his entire body was on fire, and we he tried to open his eyes he found that the left one had swollen shut. The worse pain, however, was not physical, it was inside of him.
The pain of knowing he'd lost.
His plan had gone like clock work -at least during the first part- his forces had stormed Casterly Rock and were already setting up a massive row of spears around the gate to defend from the enemy forces, and it was only a matter of time before the keep itself would have been taken. His forces had held their own, and victory had been within sight. The casualties had been high, but would have been higher had it not been for his boldness. Even the arrival of the Targaryen riders, valiant as they were, would have been inconsequential as sheer numbers would have eventually subdued them. But then the dragon had came.
He could remember the heat, that was the worst thing. He could see his victory melt before his eyes. His knights, his men, his army destroyed in a blast of flame. It was madness, he thought, madness only befit of a Targaryen.
He cracked open his right eye and spyed a young man riding at his sided. He had the look of a Vale man, and had a spear emblazoned on his surcoat. He felt himself losing consciousness again but before he did he whispered, "Please get me a healer, and something for the pain." He hoped for wine, hoping to dull both the pain inside and out.
The pain of knowing he'd lost.
His plan had gone like clock work -at least during the first part- his forces had stormed Casterly Rock and were already setting up a massive row of spears around the gate to defend from the enemy forces, and it was only a matter of time before the keep itself would have been taken. His forces had held their own, and victory had been within sight. The casualties had been high, but would have been higher had it not been for his boldness. Even the arrival of the Targaryen riders, valiant as they were, would have been inconsequential as sheer numbers would have eventually subdued them. But then the dragon had came.
He could remember the heat, that was the worst thing. He could see his victory melt before his eyes. His knights, his men, his army destroyed in a blast of flame. It was madness, he thought, madness only befit of a Targaryen.
He cracked open his right eye and spyed a young man riding at his sided. He had the look of a Vale man, and had a spear emblazoned on his surcoat. He felt himself losing consciousness again but before he did he whispered, "Please get me a healer, and something for the pain." He hoped for wine, hoping to dull both the pain inside and out.
Hope you all are well and happy.