Post by The Smith on Apr 10, 2008 11:53:43 GMT -5
The westermen ushered out of the gates of Lemonwood, riding fast and hard. The night was dark and the air was surprisingly cool. They numbered only a thousand in numbers, but they were carried by swift mounts, strong and true. Their faces were grim, their eyes were empty. At the head of their column rode a large man, thick and strong, with a huge black beard. His skin was a ruddy complexion; it had grown tough and red during his time in the desert. He was armed with a longspear, its metal point shining in the moonlight. One moment his eyes were deep green pools of sorrow, anger, death. The next moment they were empty shells again, void of all life.
The leader motioned a man at his side for a word. "Ser Davos Swyft, you were my brother's right hand man. He counted on you in times of pressure and danger. Will you do the same for me?" The man, middle-aged, nodded. "Aye, you know I will, ser." The leader smiled, quickly, but it was gone in a second. "Good. Take some men and scout for any snakes or any villages that house snakes."
Ser Davos saluted and left to do his duty. The host continued to ride through the night, silent, close to the banks of the Greenblood. The leader stared at the water in disbelief. I saw Lewys fight the Ghost of Dorne in this very spot... not one month ago.... My brother.... Spurring his horse into a faster gallop, he left his host behind, causing them to curse and kick their own mounts into a sprint.
He knew the area fairly well. He had scouted this same region not two weeks ago with Lewys. They had been raiding a village when Fowler had come out of nowhere, ambushing them at all costs. He remembered seeing Lewys surrounded by a score of dornish, closing in quick. Ser Davos and I, we rallied the men and cut my brother free. We kept him alive. Alive.....
Suddenly Ser Davos appeared again. "Ser, the village, it is not two leagues north of here. It is the same one we raided two weeks ago with.... him." The leader sighed and nodded, turning to give out commands. His men lit more torches to light their way, and now they rode fast. They rode to kill.
Around a riverbend they went, and the village could be seen in the distance. The outlines of homes, a small wooden keep, and small rafts and boats tied up in the river, used by the fisherfolk could be seen. They rode right up to the gates, manned by a waking guardsmen, before they heard any noise from within the village. Suddenly panicked screams could be heard from within the walls, men hurrying to their positions, women frantically holding their children. The bearded leader of the westermen smiled. It was music to his ears. The gate was small, wooden, and frail. He dismounted and climbed the wall, as did his men, overrunning the defenses. A few arrows sailed over his head, but he did not see. He was over the gate now, readying his throwing spear. He hit an oncoming swordsman in the chest. He pulled his heavier, fighting spear out and sheared the guardsmen clean through the shoulder. Blood splattered everywhere and the man gasped for air as his life went out of him. Villagers were running in every direction, confused. A young man, or boy, no more than ten and five, crossed his path. Licking his lips like a cat seeing his prey, he came up behind him and speared the enemy in the back, sending him falling in the dust. He pulled it out and went to search for more.
The village was overrun now, westermen were burning buildings and raping the women found within. Mors retrieved his horse and rode back through, entering a small home that had been spared from the fire thus far. A small, swarthy dornishman jumped at him from behind the doorway. The jab was clumsy and he deflected it off his shield. Counterattacking, his spear slipped through the man's parry and found his way into the villager's belly. Turning to leave, he heard a baby wail from another room in the house.
No, don't do this... you must not... leave the home, you can still avoid doing this... Ignoring his own pleas, the man stalked into the other room, finding a woman sobbing, and a baby nearby in a small woven basket. Without hesistation, he grabbed the woman and began claiming his conquerer's rights. The woman still screamed the entire time, urging him on. Finally, he felt satisfied. He could feel the heat starting to come towards him and knew the home would be on fire soon. Taking a step back, he said, "Say your prayers, bitch," before stomping the woman's face his boot. She screamed in agony until the point of his spear went through her skull. The fire was about to consume the house when he finally left, leaving the baby inside. Who said revenge didn't feel good? Feels mighty good to me.
The host burned the village and retreated back to Lemonwood, careful not to stay too far lest Fowler be waiting with ambush. As they rode out of the village, Ser Davos approached. "Every man, woman, and child has been killed, as you ordered, ser."
He nodded. "And it did it feel good?" When the man grinned and nodded, he said, "I thought so. Now instruct the men that any one of them who mutters a word of children being murdered, will lose a hand, their cock, and be sent to the Wall."
Ser Davos saluted. "Consider it done, Ser Mors."
Results:
Ser Mors Lydden assumes control of the westermen army at Lemonwood.
Mors improves spear fighting from expert to expert (improved).
Mors improves scouting from apprentice to noteworthy.
The leader motioned a man at his side for a word. "Ser Davos Swyft, you were my brother's right hand man. He counted on you in times of pressure and danger. Will you do the same for me?" The man, middle-aged, nodded. "Aye, you know I will, ser." The leader smiled, quickly, but it was gone in a second. "Good. Take some men and scout for any snakes or any villages that house snakes."
Ser Davos saluted and left to do his duty. The host continued to ride through the night, silent, close to the banks of the Greenblood. The leader stared at the water in disbelief. I saw Lewys fight the Ghost of Dorne in this very spot... not one month ago.... My brother.... Spurring his horse into a faster gallop, he left his host behind, causing them to curse and kick their own mounts into a sprint.
He knew the area fairly well. He had scouted this same region not two weeks ago with Lewys. They had been raiding a village when Fowler had come out of nowhere, ambushing them at all costs. He remembered seeing Lewys surrounded by a score of dornish, closing in quick. Ser Davos and I, we rallied the men and cut my brother free. We kept him alive. Alive.....
Suddenly Ser Davos appeared again. "Ser, the village, it is not two leagues north of here. It is the same one we raided two weeks ago with.... him." The leader sighed and nodded, turning to give out commands. His men lit more torches to light their way, and now they rode fast. They rode to kill.
Around a riverbend they went, and the village could be seen in the distance. The outlines of homes, a small wooden keep, and small rafts and boats tied up in the river, used by the fisherfolk could be seen. They rode right up to the gates, manned by a waking guardsmen, before they heard any noise from within the village. Suddenly panicked screams could be heard from within the walls, men hurrying to their positions, women frantically holding their children. The bearded leader of the westermen smiled. It was music to his ears. The gate was small, wooden, and frail. He dismounted and climbed the wall, as did his men, overrunning the defenses. A few arrows sailed over his head, but he did not see. He was over the gate now, readying his throwing spear. He hit an oncoming swordsman in the chest. He pulled his heavier, fighting spear out and sheared the guardsmen clean through the shoulder. Blood splattered everywhere and the man gasped for air as his life went out of him. Villagers were running in every direction, confused. A young man, or boy, no more than ten and five, crossed his path. Licking his lips like a cat seeing his prey, he came up behind him and speared the enemy in the back, sending him falling in the dust. He pulled it out and went to search for more.
The village was overrun now, westermen were burning buildings and raping the women found within. Mors retrieved his horse and rode back through, entering a small home that had been spared from the fire thus far. A small, swarthy dornishman jumped at him from behind the doorway. The jab was clumsy and he deflected it off his shield. Counterattacking, his spear slipped through the man's parry and found his way into the villager's belly. Turning to leave, he heard a baby wail from another room in the house.
No, don't do this... you must not... leave the home, you can still avoid doing this... Ignoring his own pleas, the man stalked into the other room, finding a woman sobbing, and a baby nearby in a small woven basket. Without hesistation, he grabbed the woman and began claiming his conquerer's rights. The woman still screamed the entire time, urging him on. Finally, he felt satisfied. He could feel the heat starting to come towards him and knew the home would be on fire soon. Taking a step back, he said, "Say your prayers, bitch," before stomping the woman's face his boot. She screamed in agony until the point of his spear went through her skull. The fire was about to consume the house when he finally left, leaving the baby inside. Who said revenge didn't feel good? Feels mighty good to me.
The host burned the village and retreated back to Lemonwood, careful not to stay too far lest Fowler be waiting with ambush. As they rode out of the village, Ser Davos approached. "Every man, woman, and child has been killed, as you ordered, ser."
He nodded. "And it did it feel good?" When the man grinned and nodded, he said, "I thought so. Now instruct the men that any one of them who mutters a word of children being murdered, will lose a hand, their cock, and be sent to the Wall."
Ser Davos saluted. "Consider it done, Ser Mors."
Results:
Ser Mors Lydden assumes control of the westermen army at Lemonwood.
Mors improves spear fighting from expert to expert (improved).
Mors improves scouting from apprentice to noteworthy.