Post by The Stranger on Apr 12, 2008 18:16:51 GMT -5
After the fall of Skyreach, Lord Tyrell ordered the firing of the castle. Caffern had disappeared on a scouting mission, leaving Lord Breck and Ser Grant in command of the Stormland host. The men had moved south after burning Skyreach, and they were several days of the castle at camp before Ser Grant had the opportunity to speak with his brother alone. He had witnessed the exchange between Lord Tyrell and Ser Tytos of the White Cloaks before leaving Kingsgrave, and had heard horrifying things about what had been committed by both sides in this campaign. He had not been with Ser Liam when word arrived that Grace Caswell had been murdered, but when half a dozen prisoners were found dead in their cells it was fairly obvious that he had taken the news badly.
Ser Grant had been with Breck when word arrived of the murders of his mother and sister; he was the only living member of his immediate family now, something that Ser Grant could not even wrap his mind around. He had never known his mother, but his father and Ser Liam had always been there and he could not even picture a world without his brother in it.
He stalked the camp, walking between tents that had been erected by groups of soldiers. He found Ser Liam, with his sword out, practicing strokes against a wooden post at the edge of the camp. He wordlessly struck it over and over until it was cut and cracked almost all the way through. Drawing his own sword, Ser Grant stepped up and called out to him, “Care to give me some practice, brother?” Ser Liam turned and against wordlessly lashed out at his brother who barely got his own sword up in time. The two broke apart and started to circle each other, waiting for an opening. Ser Grant charged first, and Ser Liam knocked his blows away easily though he did not strike at his brother’s unprotected side.
Grant attacked again and Liam parried the strikes almost lazily. This time his own sword flicked out and slashed a red line across Grant’s forearm. The wound was painful but not deep, and he barely had time to look up in surprise, before Liam was attacking again. Ser Grant raised his sword almost clumsily and barely blocked a strike aimed at his chest. He was backed quickly across the sand, being battered by a fury of blows. He shouted at his brother, who ignored him and continued to attack beating aside Ser Grant’s defenses seemingly without effort. Ser Grant slipped on a stone and went down on one knee, raising his sword to stop a blow that would have clove him in two. As he caught Liam’s last strike with his blade, he drove his fist into his brother’s gut sending the air from his lungs.
Ser Liam snarled and gripped his sword in both hand, preparing to strike, but Grant shouted out at him again, and this time Liam froze. His sword fell from his limp fingers and landed in the sand, where Grant’s own sword already lay. He slid to his knees, and bowed his head in his hands. Grant got down on his own knees and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, who flinched at the touch. Grant could barely even hear his whisper, “Brother, I am so sorry…”
Ser Grant Connington improves towards Master Swordsman
Ser Grant had been with Breck when word arrived of the murders of his mother and sister; he was the only living member of his immediate family now, something that Ser Grant could not even wrap his mind around. He had never known his mother, but his father and Ser Liam had always been there and he could not even picture a world without his brother in it.
He stalked the camp, walking between tents that had been erected by groups of soldiers. He found Ser Liam, with his sword out, practicing strokes against a wooden post at the edge of the camp. He wordlessly struck it over and over until it was cut and cracked almost all the way through. Drawing his own sword, Ser Grant stepped up and called out to him, “Care to give me some practice, brother?” Ser Liam turned and against wordlessly lashed out at his brother who barely got his own sword up in time. The two broke apart and started to circle each other, waiting for an opening. Ser Grant charged first, and Ser Liam knocked his blows away easily though he did not strike at his brother’s unprotected side.
Grant attacked again and Liam parried the strikes almost lazily. This time his own sword flicked out and slashed a red line across Grant’s forearm. The wound was painful but not deep, and he barely had time to look up in surprise, before Liam was attacking again. Ser Grant raised his sword almost clumsily and barely blocked a strike aimed at his chest. He was backed quickly across the sand, being battered by a fury of blows. He shouted at his brother, who ignored him and continued to attack beating aside Ser Grant’s defenses seemingly without effort. Ser Grant slipped on a stone and went down on one knee, raising his sword to stop a blow that would have clove him in two. As he caught Liam’s last strike with his blade, he drove his fist into his brother’s gut sending the air from his lungs.
Ser Liam snarled and gripped his sword in both hand, preparing to strike, but Grant shouted out at him again, and this time Liam froze. His sword fell from his limp fingers and landed in the sand, where Grant’s own sword already lay. He slid to his knees, and bowed his head in his hands. Grant got down on his own knees and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, who flinched at the touch. Grant could barely even hear his whisper, “Brother, I am so sorry…”
Ser Grant Connington improves towards Master Swordsman