Post by The Stranger on Apr 15, 2008 13:14:39 GMT -5
Barris rolled his eyes when he saw his brother enter his room. Foster was wearing light mail, and a greatsword at his back. Barris continued to look down at the book he had been reading, pretending not to notice his brother's arrival.
Foster cleared his throat and walked over until he was directly in front of Barris, who finally looked up and feigned surprise.
"How nice of you to visit me, dear brother," Barris said with a sarcastic grin. "Come to enjoy my company, have you?"
Foster, as always, assumed a manner of seriousness. Barris had met a few people in his life whose sense of humor he dislikes. But at least they had humor. Foster was born without it.
This time, the older brother and heir to the Arbor sighed. "Brother, must you always be so troublesome? You are a younger son, and no matter how much you would like to see me killed, I still have three children who would come before you for lordship. So, you must excel in your duties. You would make an excellent logistics man, with your sharp mind. You also must improve upon your sword work. I've always said you could be very good if you trained more."
Barris sighed and consented. It was no use arguing with Foster; the man was stubborn and would never bend. Barris put on some mail himself and then descended into the training yard, where he knew that his brother would be waiting. The man would make an excellent lord someday, Barris agreed, but he sure did make an irritating brother. He had no doubt Foster held the same opinion of him.
After retrieving blunted swords, the brothers squared off to face each other. "Prepare to die," Barris said mockingly, pointing his sword at Foster's face. With a grunt of disgust, Foster raised his sword and swung. Barris blocked with his shield, but it was clumsily done and he staggered backwards. From that point on, he was on the desperate defensive. Foster backed him up all the way across the yard, until one of his parries came too slow and Barris felt the pain of a blunted sword whacking him across the arm. "Yield."
Foster threw down his sword in disgust. "Brother, was that your best effort? Are you not a man? I am doing everything I can here to toughen you up. Are you telling me you have no skill with arms?" Foster picked up his shield. Suddenly, Barris produced a small dagger from almost nowhere and was hurling it in Foster's direction. The blade smacked into the center of his shield, and three more followed in a matter of seconds. "No skill, eh?" Barris said grinning. "I'd like to see you beat that."
Foster looked at him, angry, but then soften his glance. "That was very... impressive. How long have you been practicing with projectiles? I never knew you were interested in that art." Barris shrugged. "A while. A year, maybe." Foster raised his brows and smiled, truly happy. "You have promise, Barris, throwing daggers are not easy. It takes good vision, concentration, and reaction time. Well done." Barris beamed at the praise and watched Foster turn to leave the yard. His arm was hurting but he didn't care. "Foster!" He yelled. "Another bout with the swords? I can give a better effort, its true."
Foster shrugged and got ready again. This time Barris was on the attack, with full concentration. The fight went back and forth, each man attacking and counterattacking. Suddenly, after Barris had blocked a blow with his shield, he saw an opening low and swung his sword against his brother's kneecap. Yelling in pain, Foster went down clutching his knee. "Damn that hurt!" He said, swearing.
Barris laughed, but then helped his brother his feet, who walked off the pain. "That was good, Barris, very good. You are improving." He hobbled out of the yard.
Please with himself, Barris returned to his chamber's for a cold drink. Pouring some wine, he relaxed on his bed. Rolling over, he felt something rough rub against his shoulder. "What is this?" he mumbed aloud. Turning over, he saw it was a folded piece of parchment with no seal or address. Unfolding it, he read the short letter.
Later that day Barris sailed to Braavos with three of his father's ships.
Results:
Barris improves to apprentice throwing daggers.
Barris improves to noteworthy swordsmanship.
Foster cleared his throat and walked over until he was directly in front of Barris, who finally looked up and feigned surprise.
"How nice of you to visit me, dear brother," Barris said with a sarcastic grin. "Come to enjoy my company, have you?"
Foster, as always, assumed a manner of seriousness. Barris had met a few people in his life whose sense of humor he dislikes. But at least they had humor. Foster was born without it.
This time, the older brother and heir to the Arbor sighed. "Brother, must you always be so troublesome? You are a younger son, and no matter how much you would like to see me killed, I still have three children who would come before you for lordship. So, you must excel in your duties. You would make an excellent logistics man, with your sharp mind. You also must improve upon your sword work. I've always said you could be very good if you trained more."
Barris sighed and consented. It was no use arguing with Foster; the man was stubborn and would never bend. Barris put on some mail himself and then descended into the training yard, where he knew that his brother would be waiting. The man would make an excellent lord someday, Barris agreed, but he sure did make an irritating brother. He had no doubt Foster held the same opinion of him.
After retrieving blunted swords, the brothers squared off to face each other. "Prepare to die," Barris said mockingly, pointing his sword at Foster's face. With a grunt of disgust, Foster raised his sword and swung. Barris blocked with his shield, but it was clumsily done and he staggered backwards. From that point on, he was on the desperate defensive. Foster backed him up all the way across the yard, until one of his parries came too slow and Barris felt the pain of a blunted sword whacking him across the arm. "Yield."
Foster threw down his sword in disgust. "Brother, was that your best effort? Are you not a man? I am doing everything I can here to toughen you up. Are you telling me you have no skill with arms?" Foster picked up his shield. Suddenly, Barris produced a small dagger from almost nowhere and was hurling it in Foster's direction. The blade smacked into the center of his shield, and three more followed in a matter of seconds. "No skill, eh?" Barris said grinning. "I'd like to see you beat that."
Foster looked at him, angry, but then soften his glance. "That was very... impressive. How long have you been practicing with projectiles? I never knew you were interested in that art." Barris shrugged. "A while. A year, maybe." Foster raised his brows and smiled, truly happy. "You have promise, Barris, throwing daggers are not easy. It takes good vision, concentration, and reaction time. Well done." Barris beamed at the praise and watched Foster turn to leave the yard. His arm was hurting but he didn't care. "Foster!" He yelled. "Another bout with the swords? I can give a better effort, its true."
Foster shrugged and got ready again. This time Barris was on the attack, with full concentration. The fight went back and forth, each man attacking and counterattacking. Suddenly, after Barris had blocked a blow with his shield, he saw an opening low and swung his sword against his brother's kneecap. Yelling in pain, Foster went down clutching his knee. "Damn that hurt!" He said, swearing.
Barris laughed, but then helped his brother his feet, who walked off the pain. "That was good, Barris, very good. You are improving." He hobbled out of the yard.
Please with himself, Barris returned to his chamber's for a cold drink. Pouring some wine, he relaxed on his bed. Rolling over, he felt something rough rub against his shoulder. "What is this?" he mumbed aloud. Turning over, he saw it was a folded piece of parchment with no seal or address. Unfolding it, he read the short letter.
Later that day Barris sailed to Braavos with three of his father's ships.
Results:
Barris improves to apprentice throwing daggers.
Barris improves to noteworthy swordsmanship.