Post by The Stranger on Apr 17, 2008 12:35:57 GMT -5
Barris retired from Prince Aellion's inn, feeling satisfied with the results. He even had a slight like for the man, but he also knew he was liable to burn someone to death at any time, so Barris wasn't exactly considering the Prince his new best friend. He had sworn him loyalty, his life, his sword; too bad all of it was just an act, albeit a good one. He felt a certain pang of guilt, but then pushed it out of his mind when he remembered that this man would likely cause thousands upon thousands of deaths in the kingdom if allowed to carry out his future plans.
Shaking his head, Barris shivered in the cold night. The streets were empty, and his boots made a strange echo at every step. The air was foggy, and the ground wet with rain. It had been drizzling non stop for a few hours now; Barris hated it. He had no particular destination in mind. He thought he may check out that House of Giggles the merchand kept speaking of, but the note Barris had been slipped afterwards had made him uneasy. Why had it said to keep my mouth shut? All I did was profess my loyalty to Aellion. Unless... they were agents of Aellion's, and were warning me against Reret being loyal to the Baratheons. By the seven, I hope I don't get assassinated by the wrong side.
Turning down a dark street, he suddenly realized that he had no clue as to where as he was going. Looking around nervously, he took the first right he saw, but he had a feeling he was just travelling deeper and deeper into the slums of the city. The homes were ragged shacks; some without doors, others without a roof. The street was still shrouded in fog, and Barris could hardly see ten feet in front of him. He continued on his way for another few minutes before cursing and turning around, attempting to retrace his steps through the maze. As he turned around, he had the strangest feeling that he was about to bump into someone. His arm grazed another arm; but then they were gone, their footsteps fading in the fog.
"Who's there?" Barris challenged, but no one answered. Unsure of what to do. he loosened the sheathing on his sword and made sure his daggers were ready. He had dipped them in poison before going on, just in case trouble came. He did not know the proper name for it, but he called it The Groaner; it was the same liquid he had used on the blacksmith to infiltrate the walls of Starfall. It usually killed the target within the hour.
Slowly, his muscles tense and eyes and ears alert, he proceeded in the direction of where the person had disappeared. He stepped slowly, stealthily, but suddenly the fog seemed to wisp away, and Barris saw three young men standing in front of him. They all looked to be around ten and eight, and dressed flamboyantly. Fantastic. A small gang of killers. What a way to start out in Braavos, Barris.
The leader stepped forwards and said something in Bastard Valyrian. Barris knew a little of it, but this man spoke way too fast. "Common tongue," Barris snapped. The man smiled, and proceeded to fall into his waterdancing position. The others follow, all carrying the small swords that they braavosi love. "I said, Westerosi men are all soft cocksuckers." The man laughed and so did his friends. Barris made no move, but was prepared. The leader stepped another foot closer, and then Barris snapped into action.
He pulled daggers out from seemingly nowhere, the first one hitting the leader in the stomach, sending him to the ground. The second one lodged in one of the other's neck, and the third man just managed to avoid being taken in the forehead. The survivor looked around, then laughed nervously. "No more daggers? Just so." He approached with his sword. Barris was an above average swordsman, but even still, he did not feel comfortable against this foreign fighter.
The two struck blades for over a minute, and the streets remained empty. Barris received two deep cuts on his forearms for his trouble, bleeding quickly, but nothing a few bandages wouldn't fix. Shrugging off the pain, he did something unexpected. Throwing down his sword, the man looked confused and distracted. Without hesitation, Barris jabbed twice with his fist, right into the man's jaw, falling backwards with surprise and dropping his sword. Barris pounced on top of him, beating him bloody with left jabs and right hooks. When he felt confident the man was either knocked out, brain damaged, or dead, he retrieved his daggers from the poisoned and dying men, his sword, and then proceeded to rob them of their valuables. He grimaced when walking away. Those were some mighty fine clothes, too. It's a shame I got them all bloody, or I could have used them.
Results:
Barris improves to noteworthy throwing daggers.
Barris improves to apprentice medicine and poison lore.
Shaking his head, Barris shivered in the cold night. The streets were empty, and his boots made a strange echo at every step. The air was foggy, and the ground wet with rain. It had been drizzling non stop for a few hours now; Barris hated it. He had no particular destination in mind. He thought he may check out that House of Giggles the merchand kept speaking of, but the note Barris had been slipped afterwards had made him uneasy. Why had it said to keep my mouth shut? All I did was profess my loyalty to Aellion. Unless... they were agents of Aellion's, and were warning me against Reret being loyal to the Baratheons. By the seven, I hope I don't get assassinated by the wrong side.
Turning down a dark street, he suddenly realized that he had no clue as to where as he was going. Looking around nervously, he took the first right he saw, but he had a feeling he was just travelling deeper and deeper into the slums of the city. The homes were ragged shacks; some without doors, others without a roof. The street was still shrouded in fog, and Barris could hardly see ten feet in front of him. He continued on his way for another few minutes before cursing and turning around, attempting to retrace his steps through the maze. As he turned around, he had the strangest feeling that he was about to bump into someone. His arm grazed another arm; but then they were gone, their footsteps fading in the fog.
"Who's there?" Barris challenged, but no one answered. Unsure of what to do. he loosened the sheathing on his sword and made sure his daggers were ready. He had dipped them in poison before going on, just in case trouble came. He did not know the proper name for it, but he called it The Groaner; it was the same liquid he had used on the blacksmith to infiltrate the walls of Starfall. It usually killed the target within the hour.
Slowly, his muscles tense and eyes and ears alert, he proceeded in the direction of where the person had disappeared. He stepped slowly, stealthily, but suddenly the fog seemed to wisp away, and Barris saw three young men standing in front of him. They all looked to be around ten and eight, and dressed flamboyantly. Fantastic. A small gang of killers. What a way to start out in Braavos, Barris.
The leader stepped forwards and said something in Bastard Valyrian. Barris knew a little of it, but this man spoke way too fast. "Common tongue," Barris snapped. The man smiled, and proceeded to fall into his waterdancing position. The others follow, all carrying the small swords that they braavosi love. "I said, Westerosi men are all soft cocksuckers." The man laughed and so did his friends. Barris made no move, but was prepared. The leader stepped another foot closer, and then Barris snapped into action.
He pulled daggers out from seemingly nowhere, the first one hitting the leader in the stomach, sending him to the ground. The second one lodged in one of the other's neck, and the third man just managed to avoid being taken in the forehead. The survivor looked around, then laughed nervously. "No more daggers? Just so." He approached with his sword. Barris was an above average swordsman, but even still, he did not feel comfortable against this foreign fighter.
The two struck blades for over a minute, and the streets remained empty. Barris received two deep cuts on his forearms for his trouble, bleeding quickly, but nothing a few bandages wouldn't fix. Shrugging off the pain, he did something unexpected. Throwing down his sword, the man looked confused and distracted. Without hesitation, Barris jabbed twice with his fist, right into the man's jaw, falling backwards with surprise and dropping his sword. Barris pounced on top of him, beating him bloody with left jabs and right hooks. When he felt confident the man was either knocked out, brain damaged, or dead, he retrieved his daggers from the poisoned and dying men, his sword, and then proceeded to rob them of their valuables. He grimaced when walking away. Those were some mighty fine clothes, too. It's a shame I got them all bloody, or I could have used them.
Results:
Barris improves to noteworthy throwing daggers.
Barris improves to apprentice medicine and poison lore.