Post by The Smith on Mar 31, 2008 22:00:54 GMT -5
Jack had been in the maester's chambers for his daily session when a young boy ran into the room, shouting something unintelligable. He was a short boy, probably ten-and-two, with dirty black hair and dark eyes. Sweat ran down his face as he struggled to get out his message. "My m-mother," he stammered. "She's dead, Jack, my mother be dead," he said miserably.
Jack rose and laid a strong hand on the boy's shoulder. "What's this now, lad? Are ya sure? The maester and me both ain't had no reports of sickness in the village, or we'd be there now, I promise," Jack said in an attempt to be comforting. The boy just shook his head, sobbing. When he continued, Jack froze. "She didn't die from sickness, Jack. She got killed. The new men that jus' came a while back. They stabbed her right in her belly. You got ta do somethin, Jack. My mother is dead."
Slumping back into his chair, Jack rubbed his fingers against his temples. The men from the Rills, Jack thought bitterly. I knew they were trouble from the minute I spotted 'em. Since the news of Stoney Shore's rebellion had spread across the north, slowly but surely peasants from distant villages and towns, even in the midst of winter and harsh blizzards, had been making their way across the barren land to have freedom in the villages of Stoney Shore. Just a fortnight ago, Jack had been drinking at the inn with a few of his friends when four men, obviously related from their similar looks, walked in and announced they had come to join the good people of Slateville. Jack had welcomed then politely enough, but he had misgivings right from the start. Two of the younger men had tried to force themselves on a few of the serving girls, especially a middle-aged woman named Lacey, until Jack put a stop to it. And then the oldest, a huge, bearded man of about forty, had gotten in a drunken brawl with three of the local fishermen. And now they just killed a woman. And so I must kill them. Jack sighed. Until now, the crime level had dropped to almost non-existant since the time when the smallfolk had overthrew their oppressive lords. I guess all good things must come to an end sometime, Jack thought.
"Boy, your mother. Was Lacey her name?" Just as Jack suspected, the boy confirmed that the woman was, in fact, his mother. You are a stupid man, Jack. You should have saw this comin'. That's why you shouldn't be no bloody Keeper of bloody Slateville. You let people die. Jack informed the maester that he would continue his session later in the day and asked him to watch over the boy, before striding purposely down the halls of the small keep until he came out into the training yard, alive with the song of blade on blade. The "garrison" of the keep was made up of every able man in the village, but they were only present in the keep if there wasn't work to be done or if they weren't drinking at the inn. At present, there were nine men watching two go at it in a training bout, one of them being Jack's son, Dan. With a harsh call from Jack, the men stopped what they were doing and formed a circle around him. "Men, we got ta do justice. The new men from the Rills stabbed ol' Lacey that works at the inn. Her boy came an' told me." They all nodded and agreed that it was the best thing. These are good men, Jack thought approvingly.
As the dozen men rode into the village, they first visited Lacey's small shack, and even the war-hardened men they now were, they become sick at the sight of the naked and mutilated body. Jack could feel the anger seething in the men around him. They couldn't find the criminals in the village, but a number of young boys had seen them fleeing east from the village on foot. The dozen soon found the men's tracks in the soft layer of snow, and it brought them to the edge of a forest. Entering slowly, Jack tried to trek through the dense woods as quietly as possible. About a half mile in, all dozen halted, tense in their saddles, when they heard some voices. With a motion for silence, Jack dismounted and crawled ahead. Ten minutes later, he returned and spoke in a whisper.
"All four of 'em be up in a clearing, a hundred yards to the east," Jack said. "We need to surround 'em. Listen up," he said, and the men gathered around. He explained how they were to split up into three groups of four. Jack's group would confront the men in the clearing, while the other two groups went wide around and then would come up behind the men on the opposite side of the clearing. They were not to attack until Jack gave the signal. "What's the signal?" Marty, a blacksmith asked. Jack smiled. "When my sword starts bleeding red, then you guys can join in. But I'm gonna have the first crack at justice." It was settled, and they went about their plan.
Jack, Dan, and two other men appeared out of the trees and were only twenty yards from the fugitives before one of the younger men cried out alarmingly. All four of the men sprang up, all of them wielding swords. The large bearded man, the leader of the group, spoke first. "Look who it is, boys. The mighty keeper of Slutville," he said to the amusement of his companions, throwing his head back for a deep, booming laugh. Now is the best time, I'd reckon, Jack thought. And a second later the bearded man was on the ground, his life seeping out of him, blood pouring throw the open gash in his throat. Dan gutted the next one, and Jack parried a blow from a third before slicing him nearly in half. The last survivor had turned and ran headlong to the east, where eight mounted men poured out of the woods, ready to kill. "Don't!" Jack shouted, to the mild suprise of all. "Take 'em prisoner. I want this one alive." The men nodded and tied up his hands and feet. It went easy enough, as the man layed on in the ground in silent submission. He was the youngest one of the four, and was sobbing quietly. The men returned to Slateville and Jack sent a rider to inform Wat of the situation. Might be I did ol' Lord Stout a favor by poisioning him, Jack thought. Because, after a man actually experiences it, he comes to realize that lordship is a bitch.
Results:
Jack improves to master battle command/tactics.
Jack improves to master swordsmanship.
Jack rose and laid a strong hand on the boy's shoulder. "What's this now, lad? Are ya sure? The maester and me both ain't had no reports of sickness in the village, or we'd be there now, I promise," Jack said in an attempt to be comforting. The boy just shook his head, sobbing. When he continued, Jack froze. "She didn't die from sickness, Jack. She got killed. The new men that jus' came a while back. They stabbed her right in her belly. You got ta do somethin, Jack. My mother is dead."
Slumping back into his chair, Jack rubbed his fingers against his temples. The men from the Rills, Jack thought bitterly. I knew they were trouble from the minute I spotted 'em. Since the news of Stoney Shore's rebellion had spread across the north, slowly but surely peasants from distant villages and towns, even in the midst of winter and harsh blizzards, had been making their way across the barren land to have freedom in the villages of Stoney Shore. Just a fortnight ago, Jack had been drinking at the inn with a few of his friends when four men, obviously related from their similar looks, walked in and announced they had come to join the good people of Slateville. Jack had welcomed then politely enough, but he had misgivings right from the start. Two of the younger men had tried to force themselves on a few of the serving girls, especially a middle-aged woman named Lacey, until Jack put a stop to it. And then the oldest, a huge, bearded man of about forty, had gotten in a drunken brawl with three of the local fishermen. And now they just killed a woman. And so I must kill them. Jack sighed. Until now, the crime level had dropped to almost non-existant since the time when the smallfolk had overthrew their oppressive lords. I guess all good things must come to an end sometime, Jack thought.
"Boy, your mother. Was Lacey her name?" Just as Jack suspected, the boy confirmed that the woman was, in fact, his mother. You are a stupid man, Jack. You should have saw this comin'. That's why you shouldn't be no bloody Keeper of bloody Slateville. You let people die. Jack informed the maester that he would continue his session later in the day and asked him to watch over the boy, before striding purposely down the halls of the small keep until he came out into the training yard, alive with the song of blade on blade. The "garrison" of the keep was made up of every able man in the village, but they were only present in the keep if there wasn't work to be done or if they weren't drinking at the inn. At present, there were nine men watching two go at it in a training bout, one of them being Jack's son, Dan. With a harsh call from Jack, the men stopped what they were doing and formed a circle around him. "Men, we got ta do justice. The new men from the Rills stabbed ol' Lacey that works at the inn. Her boy came an' told me." They all nodded and agreed that it was the best thing. These are good men, Jack thought approvingly.
As the dozen men rode into the village, they first visited Lacey's small shack, and even the war-hardened men they now were, they become sick at the sight of the naked and mutilated body. Jack could feel the anger seething in the men around him. They couldn't find the criminals in the village, but a number of young boys had seen them fleeing east from the village on foot. The dozen soon found the men's tracks in the soft layer of snow, and it brought them to the edge of a forest. Entering slowly, Jack tried to trek through the dense woods as quietly as possible. About a half mile in, all dozen halted, tense in their saddles, when they heard some voices. With a motion for silence, Jack dismounted and crawled ahead. Ten minutes later, he returned and spoke in a whisper.
"All four of 'em be up in a clearing, a hundred yards to the east," Jack said. "We need to surround 'em. Listen up," he said, and the men gathered around. He explained how they were to split up into three groups of four. Jack's group would confront the men in the clearing, while the other two groups went wide around and then would come up behind the men on the opposite side of the clearing. They were not to attack until Jack gave the signal. "What's the signal?" Marty, a blacksmith asked. Jack smiled. "When my sword starts bleeding red, then you guys can join in. But I'm gonna have the first crack at justice." It was settled, and they went about their plan.
Jack, Dan, and two other men appeared out of the trees and were only twenty yards from the fugitives before one of the younger men cried out alarmingly. All four of the men sprang up, all of them wielding swords. The large bearded man, the leader of the group, spoke first. "Look who it is, boys. The mighty keeper of Slutville," he said to the amusement of his companions, throwing his head back for a deep, booming laugh. Now is the best time, I'd reckon, Jack thought. And a second later the bearded man was on the ground, his life seeping out of him, blood pouring throw the open gash in his throat. Dan gutted the next one, and Jack parried a blow from a third before slicing him nearly in half. The last survivor had turned and ran headlong to the east, where eight mounted men poured out of the woods, ready to kill. "Don't!" Jack shouted, to the mild suprise of all. "Take 'em prisoner. I want this one alive." The men nodded and tied up his hands and feet. It went easy enough, as the man layed on in the ground in silent submission. He was the youngest one of the four, and was sobbing quietly. The men returned to Slateville and Jack sent a rider to inform Wat of the situation. Might be I did ol' Lord Stout a favor by poisioning him, Jack thought. Because, after a man actually experiences it, he comes to realize that lordship is a bitch.
Results:
Jack improves to master battle command/tactics.
Jack improves to master swordsmanship.