Post by The Smith on Mar 24, 2008 17:45:54 GMT -5
Lannisport was still leagues away when Beric dismounted and let his trusted horse rest. He himself needed to move his legs a little so he led Shadow along the road until he came upon a lake. Both horse and man drank deeply and Beric took a loaf of bread and some hard cheese out of his saddlebag. He didn’t want to rest for too long, so taking a big bite out of both Beric mounted up again and kicked Shadow into motion. The road took him down a rocky cliff and into some woods and Beric would be glad to leave this countryside behind him. He has been less happy to leave Aryanna in Highgarden, but the dornish fleet would soon arrive at Lannisport and he would not take his wife to war. He had wanted to send her back to Starfall, but old Brynden had said Aryanna could stay at his household until he was back. She would be safe enough in Highgarden but Beric still had an uneasy feeling. Ser Brynden had been friendly enough, but there was a man in his service, a certain Meryn Tall, who had more than once glanced at his wife in a way Beric did not like. To this man’s eyes, every fair maiden was naked. As Beric looked up he noticed that he was not alone in the woods. A rider was coming towards him.
Kastor Hill was a short man, thick with hardened muscle, nearing middle-aged, though he was surprisingly quick for his build. He was scarred over a great deal of his body; his hands were the worst of all. They had been knicked, and banged and bruised and sliced in more scuffles than his aging mind could recall--not that his mind had been exceedingly sharp before it had begun to age. He was a moderately intelligent man, with an eye for business more than anything else--though his business was not of the legitimate sort.
"Good day to you, Ser." he said with a hideous, maniacle grimace that was te only form of smile he had. "Tis a pleasant day, is it not?"
Beric looked the man over and did not like what he saw. He could tell this man was no farmer nor some villager.
His smile was unpleasant, but it was his hands that had given it away.
"Pleasent it perhaps not the word I would call it. But I am glad I have come across a person who is not scared by
my appearance." Beric smiled. "Some believe that the Stranger must have been my father... or so my wife tells me."
He flexed his hand, in case he would soon have to use it.
"The name is Beric Dayne, and who might you be?"
"Kastor Hill, Good Ser," he grinned "Humbly at your service." his eyes were of a dark sort, not only in color, but in nature. There was a restlessness about them, "I was on my way to Lannisport, but the road has been blocked. A bridge over the river, yonder, has fallen in...a tree fell on it in the midst of the last big storm, it seems--I was headed back to the last byroad--you might save yourself some trouble, and follow my lead. By the looks of you, and I do mean no offense, good ser, I promise you that, you're new to these parts, where I myself have grown my whole life within these few miles of land." he gestured grandly to the landscape around them, "I would be honored to show you the second best way to Lannisport, as the road is untravellable."
"Lead the way." Beric said. He was almost certain this man was dangerous. Everything about him seemed on edge,
as if he had long been waiting for something, or someone... someone who had just come along. Beric played the part
and followed the man. They came past trees and bushes and after a while they took a stray path leading past a very
old elm.
"So what does a man do in this wilderness? It seems that there is nought here but trees and cliffs." The man did not
reply. "Granted, there are many cliffs in Dorne aswell, but they have a certain beauty to them. Not that I am very
much fond of the beauties of nature..."
They rode on and to Beric it seemed the woods were getting thicker. The sounds of birds and other animals slowly
died away and soon enough there was only the sounds of the horses' hoves and silence. "So how long did you say
this route takes?" Beric asked. The man was riding infront of him, and Beric assumed he did not have eyes in the
back of his head. As quiet as possible he freed his sword and set it into a second sheath which was attached to the
saddle. "You're not one for much talking, are you?"
Kastor turned around on his mount, as he slowed to a stop in front of the Dornish Knight, smiling his same cruel smile; one with too many jagged half-rotten teeth, and too little good-will.
As if in response to Beric's question, with no sound at all, two men, who resembled Kastor as far as weathered and scarred skin stepped out of the thick, humid concealment of the woods. One was very tall, and the other was of a medium heigh, but built like an ox bred for pulling heavy loads. As they approached the pair on the thin, empty road, they both drew their swords, and, ignoring Kastor, who they already knew, focussed on Dayne, keeping a safe distance, waiting for something as they did.
They waited for the fourth of their party, who, as they idled, approached swiftly and silently as wind on the ocean, from behind Beric, coming speedily around a bend in the road the Dornishman had just turned.
"Actions speak louder than words, then, don't they?" Kastor growled, and then joined in a booming boisterous laugh with his fellows, who, by then, had Beric surrounded.
Beric had anticipated as much, but he had not thought they would be four. All of them had the look of battle hardened
men, if you could call bandit skirmishes a battle. He forced himself to smile.
"For your sakes I hope you know how to handle those swords." he said, as he unscheathed his sword again. Four on
one were allready bad odds, and the fact that they would be faster with their longswords than he with his greatsword
didn't make Beric feel better. 'Think of what the old sellsword would have done.' he thought to himself. In his youth
that man might have defied death, but as he had grown older he had also grown wiser. "Study your enemy, before
you engage. If there are more than one, pick them out in the order you will kill them." he had said to Beric many a time.
And study them, he did. The large one had a finger missing on his sword hand, which would weaken his grip while the
shorter one had a scar at the side of his head. The one behind Beric was riding at him without much care, and so he
would be easily unhorsed. And Kastor himself... well, the man showed no weaknesses. Beric looked Kastor right in
the eyes and smiled.
"As to you question; yes, they do."
Just as the rider came on him, Beric ducked and shouted a command to his trusted horse. Shadow reared up and kicked,
hitting the other horse in the rear and causing the rider to be flung out of his saddle, and into the bushes. Allready two of
the men were coming at him. The tall one approached carefully but the one with the scar ran at his horse with all his speed.
Beric swung at him with his sword, the blade striking deep into the outlaws head; not deep enough to kill but only so deep
as to 'cause an old wound to swell up again. The man went to the floor, howling in agony and for a moment Beric tasted
victory, until something jerked him to the side. The big man had a strong grip on him and was trying to pull him off his
saddle. In such close range, Beric's sword was useless, so he pulled a dagger from his belt and planted it into the man's
hand. The outlaw let go of him immediately, and Beric jumped to the floor infront of him. "Seems like you have four fingers
on each hand now." he said. The tall man grimaced and swung clumsily at him. Beric avoiced the sword, ducked and
shot forward, forcing his sword deep into the man's chest. A scream made him look up and he saw the man that Shadow
had thrown from his saddle come at him. Pulling free his sword, Beric parried the man's attack, kicked his legs from under
him and nailed the man to the ground. By now the shrieks of the scarred man had stopped and Beric freed his sword,
whilst he slowly walked towards Kastor.
"So," he said. "Do you perchance fancy a fight?"
Beric Dayne: Expert Swordsman, apprentice speed. Has just finished doing battle with three other men, presumably, is somewhat tired.
Kastor Hill: Expert Swordsman, highway bandit, beginner speed, not tired, but used to working with better odds, alongside three other bandits.
Kastor, who is pale with amazement that any man could kill three of his fellows in less than a minute, is easily unhorsed.
He falls harmlessly to the ground, begging for his life, but is ultimately at Beric's mercy.
Beric is not a merciful opponent, and skewers Kastor without feeling.
Result:
Beric Dayne gains Master in sword.
Kastor Hill was a short man, thick with hardened muscle, nearing middle-aged, though he was surprisingly quick for his build. He was scarred over a great deal of his body; his hands were the worst of all. They had been knicked, and banged and bruised and sliced in more scuffles than his aging mind could recall--not that his mind had been exceedingly sharp before it had begun to age. He was a moderately intelligent man, with an eye for business more than anything else--though his business was not of the legitimate sort.
"Good day to you, Ser." he said with a hideous, maniacle grimace that was te only form of smile he had. "Tis a pleasant day, is it not?"
Beric looked the man over and did not like what he saw. He could tell this man was no farmer nor some villager.
His smile was unpleasant, but it was his hands that had given it away.
"Pleasent it perhaps not the word I would call it. But I am glad I have come across a person who is not scared by
my appearance." Beric smiled. "Some believe that the Stranger must have been my father... or so my wife tells me."
He flexed his hand, in case he would soon have to use it.
"The name is Beric Dayne, and who might you be?"
"Kastor Hill, Good Ser," he grinned "Humbly at your service." his eyes were of a dark sort, not only in color, but in nature. There was a restlessness about them, "I was on my way to Lannisport, but the road has been blocked. A bridge over the river, yonder, has fallen in...a tree fell on it in the midst of the last big storm, it seems--I was headed back to the last byroad--you might save yourself some trouble, and follow my lead. By the looks of you, and I do mean no offense, good ser, I promise you that, you're new to these parts, where I myself have grown my whole life within these few miles of land." he gestured grandly to the landscape around them, "I would be honored to show you the second best way to Lannisport, as the road is untravellable."
"Lead the way." Beric said. He was almost certain this man was dangerous. Everything about him seemed on edge,
as if he had long been waiting for something, or someone... someone who had just come along. Beric played the part
and followed the man. They came past trees and bushes and after a while they took a stray path leading past a very
old elm.
"So what does a man do in this wilderness? It seems that there is nought here but trees and cliffs." The man did not
reply. "Granted, there are many cliffs in Dorne aswell, but they have a certain beauty to them. Not that I am very
much fond of the beauties of nature..."
They rode on and to Beric it seemed the woods were getting thicker. The sounds of birds and other animals slowly
died away and soon enough there was only the sounds of the horses' hoves and silence. "So how long did you say
this route takes?" Beric asked. The man was riding infront of him, and Beric assumed he did not have eyes in the
back of his head. As quiet as possible he freed his sword and set it into a second sheath which was attached to the
saddle. "You're not one for much talking, are you?"
Kastor turned around on his mount, as he slowed to a stop in front of the Dornish Knight, smiling his same cruel smile; one with too many jagged half-rotten teeth, and too little good-will.
As if in response to Beric's question, with no sound at all, two men, who resembled Kastor as far as weathered and scarred skin stepped out of the thick, humid concealment of the woods. One was very tall, and the other was of a medium heigh, but built like an ox bred for pulling heavy loads. As they approached the pair on the thin, empty road, they both drew their swords, and, ignoring Kastor, who they already knew, focussed on Dayne, keeping a safe distance, waiting for something as they did.
They waited for the fourth of their party, who, as they idled, approached swiftly and silently as wind on the ocean, from behind Beric, coming speedily around a bend in the road the Dornishman had just turned.
"Actions speak louder than words, then, don't they?" Kastor growled, and then joined in a booming boisterous laugh with his fellows, who, by then, had Beric surrounded.
Beric had anticipated as much, but he had not thought they would be four. All of them had the look of battle hardened
men, if you could call bandit skirmishes a battle. He forced himself to smile.
"For your sakes I hope you know how to handle those swords." he said, as he unscheathed his sword again. Four on
one were allready bad odds, and the fact that they would be faster with their longswords than he with his greatsword
didn't make Beric feel better. 'Think of what the old sellsword would have done.' he thought to himself. In his youth
that man might have defied death, but as he had grown older he had also grown wiser. "Study your enemy, before
you engage. If there are more than one, pick them out in the order you will kill them." he had said to Beric many a time.
And study them, he did. The large one had a finger missing on his sword hand, which would weaken his grip while the
shorter one had a scar at the side of his head. The one behind Beric was riding at him without much care, and so he
would be easily unhorsed. And Kastor himself... well, the man showed no weaknesses. Beric looked Kastor right in
the eyes and smiled.
"As to you question; yes, they do."
Just as the rider came on him, Beric ducked and shouted a command to his trusted horse. Shadow reared up and kicked,
hitting the other horse in the rear and causing the rider to be flung out of his saddle, and into the bushes. Allready two of
the men were coming at him. The tall one approached carefully but the one with the scar ran at his horse with all his speed.
Beric swung at him with his sword, the blade striking deep into the outlaws head; not deep enough to kill but only so deep
as to 'cause an old wound to swell up again. The man went to the floor, howling in agony and for a moment Beric tasted
victory, until something jerked him to the side. The big man had a strong grip on him and was trying to pull him off his
saddle. In such close range, Beric's sword was useless, so he pulled a dagger from his belt and planted it into the man's
hand. The outlaw let go of him immediately, and Beric jumped to the floor infront of him. "Seems like you have four fingers
on each hand now." he said. The tall man grimaced and swung clumsily at him. Beric avoiced the sword, ducked and
shot forward, forcing his sword deep into the man's chest. A scream made him look up and he saw the man that Shadow
had thrown from his saddle come at him. Pulling free his sword, Beric parried the man's attack, kicked his legs from under
him and nailed the man to the ground. By now the shrieks of the scarred man had stopped and Beric freed his sword,
whilst he slowly walked towards Kastor.
"So," he said. "Do you perchance fancy a fight?"
Beric Dayne: Expert Swordsman, apprentice speed. Has just finished doing battle with three other men, presumably, is somewhat tired.
Kastor Hill: Expert Swordsman, highway bandit, beginner speed, not tired, but used to working with better odds, alongside three other bandits.
Kastor, who is pale with amazement that any man could kill three of his fellows in less than a minute, is easily unhorsed.
He falls harmlessly to the ground, begging for his life, but is ultimately at Beric's mercy.
Beric is not a merciful opponent, and skewers Kastor without feeling.
Result:
Beric Dayne gains Master in sword.