Post by The Smith on Mar 24, 2008 17:55:39 GMT -5
Qarl the Shark felt the crunch of the rocky beach beneath his boot, as he climbed out of the skiff and set foot on Old Wyk for the first time in years. His brother Lame Larken had called him back, to take part in his father’s drowning. He felt apprehensive being back on the Islands, though he wasn’t sure why. Much had changed in the years since he’d been gone, most notably the Drumhold would no longer contain the hulking form of Quellon Drumm. On the journey over, he had tried to imagine what the ‘Hold would be like without his father storming around, barking orders or staring at people in angry silence.
His clubfooted brother limped down from a rise in the beach to meet him. Typically Lame Larken had found a physically higher position to look down on Qarl from. His older brother had always felt inferior for being a cripple, and tried to make up for it in various ways.
Larken sneered at Qarl as they came close. “Brother, you have a soft look to you, I see you have enjoyed the life of a Greenlander.”
“Careful Larken, or I will cripple your other foot as well,” Qarl responded with a half-grin, and let his foot slip out from under him for a moment in a mockery of his brother’s condition.
Larken went red with anger, “it is Lord Larken now, and do not forget it, Qarl.”
“I am not like to, nor are you like to let me forget” Qarl answered, and pushed past his brother, leaving Larken to try and match his pace as he walked off.
“When will we give our father’s body back to the water?” he called back, as he made his way towards the Drumhold.
“Tomorrow, at sunrise, the body is already mostly deteriorated as you took so long in returning,” Larken said, as he struggled on his rounded foot.
“I had matters to take care of; you should have done it without me.”
“Matters to take care of,” Larken repeated with a cynical laugh, though he was breathing heavily now from the strain of walking quickly, “you never did have any loyalty to family.”
Qarl’s laugh was equally cynically, “no loyalty to family? My dear brother, if that were true, I would be the Lord of Drumhold now, and you would be some forgotten cripple.” With that, Qarl left Lame Larken behind him as he strode off.
---------------
The sky above them was a cold grey-blue, but far to the east the horizon was turning a pink and amber glow as the sun threatened to rise up from behind the sea. They had wrapped the remains of Quellon Drumm in the bone white and blood red of their house’s colours. Qarl and the rest of those who had come to watch stood waist deep in the water. Qarl couldn’t believe how little of his father was left, he had been so huge once. The Drowned Men laid his body on the surface of the water, and cupped seawater into their hands and dropped it slowly onto him.
“What is dead may never die,” they called out three times, progressively louder.
And each time the audience responded with the customary; “But rises again, harder and stronger.”
After the third time, the Drowned Men pushed the body deep beneath the water to his final resting place. When it was over the audience began to make their way towards the Drumhold for the feast in remembrance of the Beast of Old Wyk. Amongst them was Lord Felryn Harlaw, who had borne an angry, determined look during the drowning. Qarl approached him.
“Lord Harlaw,” he called out, and Felryn turned to look at him, the lord’s black eyes scanning the man calling to him.
“You are Drumm’s son, the Shark,” he said.
Qarl nodded. “That’s right, Harlaw,” he replied, surprised that the man knew the name he had been given while in Lannisport.
“Speak,” Felryn said simply.
“You were at the tourney in King’s Landing, I understand you know who killed my father.”
Felryn nodded as he walked alongside the Shark, “I had it from a Lord Barclay, he saw a Westerman knight by the name of Walter Plumm smashing your father’s head in as he lay on the ground.”
“Walter Plumm, it is not a name I am like to forget.”
“Of course it was not the Plumm knight’s actions alone, but the whole Westerlands team who are responsible for the deaths of Merlyn, Kenning, and your father. Lord Maurin Lannister, his son Ser Marten Lannister, Lord Jaymes Farman, Ser Walter Plumm, Addam Marbrand, Justin Prestor and Ser Terley Brax. All of them deserve our vengeance, Shark, and they shall have it.”
Qarl did not truely care about the other names, but he nodded anyway. Felryn stopped walking and turned to look at Qarl.
“You have gained quite a reputation in your absence from the Islands. In the times ahead I will have need of someone with your skills. Come into my service, it will be the surest way to avenge yourself against these men.”
Qarl looked surprised at the Harlaw, “you have need of someone with my skills? I did not think you the type to hire assassins when you could kill a man in battle with your own sword.”
“To be sure, that is my preferred way to kill a man,” Felryn said grinning, “but it is not always possible. There are times when a more subtle touch is needed. Presently it would seem like there will be many such times ahead, and so you will not lack for work.”
Qarl laughed, “you make the proposition quite appealing, I think we can work together, Harlaw, on one condition. You’ve brought back my father’s sword, Red Rain, and I want it.”
Felryn nodded, “your cripple brother does not deserve nor have need of such a weapon, but he will not part with it lightly. I will not anger him by forcing him to give it up, I need all my lords to be united behind me at this time, but I will endorse your challenge to face him for the weapon. He will not be able to refuse such a challenge once I support it. Should you defeat his champion, the sword will be yours.”
Qarl considered that for a moment, then agreed and shook Felryn’s hand.
-----------------
Lame Lord Larken stared intently down at the arena, where Qarl the Shark and Great Jaermen stood facing each other. Larken had typically chosen the largest man he knew as his champion. Quellon Drumm had instilled a great faith in his son of the benefits of being huge. Qarl remembered Jaermen from before he had left the Islands, and it seemed he had only gotten larger since. He stood over seven foot, and was half again as broad as Qarl was. In each hand he held a large battleaxe, and he swiped them through the air menacingly in preparation. In comparison, Qarl’s sword looked more a toy than a weapon.
A priest was calling on the Drowned God to bring the unworthy man down to feast with him at the bottom of the sea. After saying the necessary prayers, he raised his hands to the air and called for the fight to begin.
Great Jaermen stood readied and waiting, a large grin could be seen under his half-helm, “come here you little rat, I’m going to slice you up good.”
Qarl did not raise his sword, he merely stared at the giant man with a bored expression. Qarl would not be the one to make the first move, and he wagered Jaermen was a man of little patience, big men usually were.
Jaermen spat at Qarl’s feet and bellowed, “coward, come try your steel against mine, no man can defeat Great Jaermen!”
Qarl made no response, just continuing to regard the man with disinterest.
Jaermen growled and then roared as he charged at Qarl, crossing his arms and flinging them out making the battleaxes go in wide, far-reaching arcs. The Shark was forced to drop to the ground to avoid the blows, he quickly tried to slice at Jaermen’s legs, but the large man was more nimble than he seemed and managed to hop backwards away from the blow. Qarl quickly jumped back onto his feet, only to find Jaermen’s great axes coming at him once again, this time from above, threatening to slice him through like meat cleavers. It was everything Qarl could do to spin away in time. More heavy and wide blows kept coming at Qarl, as he danced and dodged away from them he hoped the big man would soon start to tire, but Great Jaermen had not even broken a sweat. Nor was he giving in to frustration like many a man would do in such cases. Qarl on the other hand, was beginning to tire, and everytime those axes came near him they were getting closer and closer. He knew he had to change tact, to continue like this would be madness. If he was going to die against this man he would die on the attack.
Great Jaermen let another mighty attack fly, and again Qarl just dodged it, Jaermen started another wide swipe to catch the Shark when he moved away again, but this time Qarl did not move away, this time he came forward. Jaermen tried to correct himself in time, but the Shark was already through his defences and swiping at the large man’s abdomen. The blow was a heavy one, which managed to cut through the mail and leather and slice a red streak across Jaermen’s side. Jaermen roared with anger and pain, and sent a kick towards Qarl which missed. Qarl got his distance from the big man again, and played the summoned the last of his strength and speed to play the dodging game once again. This time, Jaermen did begin to slow as the blood ran red down the side of his body, pooling at his feet. He winced as he raised his weapons, the weight of them beginning to affect him.
Qarl could smell blood, and in that moment, he knew victory was his. The Shark grabbed his sword in both hands and swung at one of Jaermen’s battleaxes, knocking the large weapon from the man’s beefy hand. With only one weapon, Great Jaermen seemed infinitely less threatening, and Qarl allowed himself a laugh, which only enraged his opponent further.
Jaermen made a clumsy, low blow, and left himself exposed. Qarl brought his sword down on the outstretched arm and cut it off from the elbow. Jaermen recoiled, falling backwards, his eyes wide with fear, and the Shark jumped on top of him and plunged his sword down into the big man’s heart, then he twisted the blade.
Qarl remembered there had been other people present watching the fight then, as he looked around and saw them cheering. Lord Ferlyn Harlaw lead them, chanting for “The Shark”. Qarl grinned and walked over to Harlaw, who presented him with Valyrian steel sword of his family, in its blood red sheath. Qarl pulled out the blade and admired the dark, rippled metal and it’s fine edge, the raised it high above his head and laughed victoriously.
Results
Qarl Drumm’s Sword increases to Master
Qarl Drumm’s Speed increases to Novice
His clubfooted brother limped down from a rise in the beach to meet him. Typically Lame Larken had found a physically higher position to look down on Qarl from. His older brother had always felt inferior for being a cripple, and tried to make up for it in various ways.
Larken sneered at Qarl as they came close. “Brother, you have a soft look to you, I see you have enjoyed the life of a Greenlander.”
“Careful Larken, or I will cripple your other foot as well,” Qarl responded with a half-grin, and let his foot slip out from under him for a moment in a mockery of his brother’s condition.
Larken went red with anger, “it is Lord Larken now, and do not forget it, Qarl.”
“I am not like to, nor are you like to let me forget” Qarl answered, and pushed past his brother, leaving Larken to try and match his pace as he walked off.
“When will we give our father’s body back to the water?” he called back, as he made his way towards the Drumhold.
“Tomorrow, at sunrise, the body is already mostly deteriorated as you took so long in returning,” Larken said, as he struggled on his rounded foot.
“I had matters to take care of; you should have done it without me.”
“Matters to take care of,” Larken repeated with a cynical laugh, though he was breathing heavily now from the strain of walking quickly, “you never did have any loyalty to family.”
Qarl’s laugh was equally cynically, “no loyalty to family? My dear brother, if that were true, I would be the Lord of Drumhold now, and you would be some forgotten cripple.” With that, Qarl left Lame Larken behind him as he strode off.
---------------
The sky above them was a cold grey-blue, but far to the east the horizon was turning a pink and amber glow as the sun threatened to rise up from behind the sea. They had wrapped the remains of Quellon Drumm in the bone white and blood red of their house’s colours. Qarl and the rest of those who had come to watch stood waist deep in the water. Qarl couldn’t believe how little of his father was left, he had been so huge once. The Drowned Men laid his body on the surface of the water, and cupped seawater into their hands and dropped it slowly onto him.
“What is dead may never die,” they called out three times, progressively louder.
And each time the audience responded with the customary; “But rises again, harder and stronger.”
After the third time, the Drowned Men pushed the body deep beneath the water to his final resting place. When it was over the audience began to make their way towards the Drumhold for the feast in remembrance of the Beast of Old Wyk. Amongst them was Lord Felryn Harlaw, who had borne an angry, determined look during the drowning. Qarl approached him.
“Lord Harlaw,” he called out, and Felryn turned to look at him, the lord’s black eyes scanning the man calling to him.
“You are Drumm’s son, the Shark,” he said.
Qarl nodded. “That’s right, Harlaw,” he replied, surprised that the man knew the name he had been given while in Lannisport.
“Speak,” Felryn said simply.
“You were at the tourney in King’s Landing, I understand you know who killed my father.”
Felryn nodded as he walked alongside the Shark, “I had it from a Lord Barclay, he saw a Westerman knight by the name of Walter Plumm smashing your father’s head in as he lay on the ground.”
“Walter Plumm, it is not a name I am like to forget.”
“Of course it was not the Plumm knight’s actions alone, but the whole Westerlands team who are responsible for the deaths of Merlyn, Kenning, and your father. Lord Maurin Lannister, his son Ser Marten Lannister, Lord Jaymes Farman, Ser Walter Plumm, Addam Marbrand, Justin Prestor and Ser Terley Brax. All of them deserve our vengeance, Shark, and they shall have it.”
Qarl did not truely care about the other names, but he nodded anyway. Felryn stopped walking and turned to look at Qarl.
“You have gained quite a reputation in your absence from the Islands. In the times ahead I will have need of someone with your skills. Come into my service, it will be the surest way to avenge yourself against these men.”
Qarl looked surprised at the Harlaw, “you have need of someone with my skills? I did not think you the type to hire assassins when you could kill a man in battle with your own sword.”
“To be sure, that is my preferred way to kill a man,” Felryn said grinning, “but it is not always possible. There are times when a more subtle touch is needed. Presently it would seem like there will be many such times ahead, and so you will not lack for work.”
Qarl laughed, “you make the proposition quite appealing, I think we can work together, Harlaw, on one condition. You’ve brought back my father’s sword, Red Rain, and I want it.”
Felryn nodded, “your cripple brother does not deserve nor have need of such a weapon, but he will not part with it lightly. I will not anger him by forcing him to give it up, I need all my lords to be united behind me at this time, but I will endorse your challenge to face him for the weapon. He will not be able to refuse such a challenge once I support it. Should you defeat his champion, the sword will be yours.”
Qarl considered that for a moment, then agreed and shook Felryn’s hand.
-----------------
Lame Lord Larken stared intently down at the arena, where Qarl the Shark and Great Jaermen stood facing each other. Larken had typically chosen the largest man he knew as his champion. Quellon Drumm had instilled a great faith in his son of the benefits of being huge. Qarl remembered Jaermen from before he had left the Islands, and it seemed he had only gotten larger since. He stood over seven foot, and was half again as broad as Qarl was. In each hand he held a large battleaxe, and he swiped them through the air menacingly in preparation. In comparison, Qarl’s sword looked more a toy than a weapon.
A priest was calling on the Drowned God to bring the unworthy man down to feast with him at the bottom of the sea. After saying the necessary prayers, he raised his hands to the air and called for the fight to begin.
Great Jaermen stood readied and waiting, a large grin could be seen under his half-helm, “come here you little rat, I’m going to slice you up good.”
Qarl did not raise his sword, he merely stared at the giant man with a bored expression. Qarl would not be the one to make the first move, and he wagered Jaermen was a man of little patience, big men usually were.
Jaermen spat at Qarl’s feet and bellowed, “coward, come try your steel against mine, no man can defeat Great Jaermen!”
Qarl made no response, just continuing to regard the man with disinterest.
Jaermen growled and then roared as he charged at Qarl, crossing his arms and flinging them out making the battleaxes go in wide, far-reaching arcs. The Shark was forced to drop to the ground to avoid the blows, he quickly tried to slice at Jaermen’s legs, but the large man was more nimble than he seemed and managed to hop backwards away from the blow. Qarl quickly jumped back onto his feet, only to find Jaermen’s great axes coming at him once again, this time from above, threatening to slice him through like meat cleavers. It was everything Qarl could do to spin away in time. More heavy and wide blows kept coming at Qarl, as he danced and dodged away from them he hoped the big man would soon start to tire, but Great Jaermen had not even broken a sweat. Nor was he giving in to frustration like many a man would do in such cases. Qarl on the other hand, was beginning to tire, and everytime those axes came near him they were getting closer and closer. He knew he had to change tact, to continue like this would be madness. If he was going to die against this man he would die on the attack.
Great Jaermen let another mighty attack fly, and again Qarl just dodged it, Jaermen started another wide swipe to catch the Shark when he moved away again, but this time Qarl did not move away, this time he came forward. Jaermen tried to correct himself in time, but the Shark was already through his defences and swiping at the large man’s abdomen. The blow was a heavy one, which managed to cut through the mail and leather and slice a red streak across Jaermen’s side. Jaermen roared with anger and pain, and sent a kick towards Qarl which missed. Qarl got his distance from the big man again, and played the summoned the last of his strength and speed to play the dodging game once again. This time, Jaermen did begin to slow as the blood ran red down the side of his body, pooling at his feet. He winced as he raised his weapons, the weight of them beginning to affect him.
Qarl could smell blood, and in that moment, he knew victory was his. The Shark grabbed his sword in both hands and swung at one of Jaermen’s battleaxes, knocking the large weapon from the man’s beefy hand. With only one weapon, Great Jaermen seemed infinitely less threatening, and Qarl allowed himself a laugh, which only enraged his opponent further.
Jaermen made a clumsy, low blow, and left himself exposed. Qarl brought his sword down on the outstretched arm and cut it off from the elbow. Jaermen recoiled, falling backwards, his eyes wide with fear, and the Shark jumped on top of him and plunged his sword down into the big man’s heart, then he twisted the blade.
Qarl remembered there had been other people present watching the fight then, as he looked around and saw them cheering. Lord Ferlyn Harlaw lead them, chanting for “The Shark”. Qarl grinned and walked over to Harlaw, who presented him with Valyrian steel sword of his family, in its blood red sheath. Qarl pulled out the blade and admired the dark, rippled metal and it’s fine edge, the raised it high above his head and laughed victoriously.
Results
Qarl Drumm’s Sword increases to Master
Qarl Drumm’s Speed increases to Novice