Post by The Stranger on Apr 17, 2008 12:54:02 GMT -5
From his spot on the ground he could see the slight hill where four wildling men stood. Three had bows and one had a great axe, made of stone. They were dressed in furs and leathers and even from the distance Jaymes could see that they were bedraggled and exhausted. He scrambled behind another tree for cover and a plan began to form in his mind, so he shouted out his surviving brother. “Garen, get your crossbow, I can charge them if you cover me.” The crossbow sat in the snow, three feet from the tree where Garen sat, but close enough to another tree to take cover after getting it.
Ser Jaymes was behind a tree ten feet away, and he peeked around the trunk to get a view of the foes. Two arrows whooshed by his head, striking a tree behind him, and the third slammed into the ground right at his side. “NOW,” he shouted, and Garen dove for the crossbow, scrambling behind the nearest tree. The black brother had retained his sack of quarrels even after the horses had fled, so he loaded the weapon and took aim at the hill where the four wildlings still stood. Jaymes eased his bastard sword from its sheathe on his back. It felt good in his hand, he had not been in true battle in years. The feeling was exhilarating.
Garen’s first shot struck true, as a quarrel sprouted from one of the bowmen’s shoulders. The man cried out as the force of the impact spun him around causing him to drop his bow. The other two fired in Gared’s direction, but he had already ducked behind his tree to reload and wind the crossbow. Ser Jaymes was standing and as they fired charged from behind his tree, sprinting all out and diving into the snow behind another tree as two arrows nearly speared his legs. He had moved a score of yards closer to the wildlings, though they were still double that distance away from him.
Garen fired again but the second shot went high and ricocheted off the stone blade of the fourth wildlng’s axe. The man who had been shot was still on the ground, writhing and bleeding while his comrades paid him little mind. Both archers fired again, at Garen, and missed. Jaymes charged forward again, and made it ten yards before an arrow flew past his head, and a second arrow buried itself in his left bicep. He bellowed in pain and fell to the ground behind a tree, twenty yards from the wildings. Garen fired a third time and stuck the archer who had shot Jaymes clear through the throat, and the man fell to the ground choking blood.
Jaymes sat with his back to a tree, and his arm burned. The arrow was embedded in his left arm, and the tip was even poking through the bottom of his arm. He gritted his teeth and snapped off the end with the fletching, before grabbing the arrow firmly with his right hand, and pushing. He screamed in pain, but pushed it all the way through in one attempt, and drew the bloody shaft out from the bottom of his arm. He took a strip of black linen out of a small pouch at his side, and tied it around the wound as best he could with one arm and his teeth. That would hold for now. He tried to raise his left arm above his head, and found he couldn’t. He snarled, and tried again, but the pain was excruciating. He could hear arrows and quarrels flying and hitting trees and rocks.
Jaymes gripped his sword with two hands, and raised it as high as he could, which was about neck level. That would be enough. He heard a bowstring twang, and he charged forward again. The wildling with the bow fumbled for another arrow and fired, but his shot went wide and missed. A second later Jaymes plowed into him with a savage strike. He could not raise his sword high enough for a cleaving downward stroke, but he could bring it up enough to cut into the man’s chest, slicing through his furs and leathers easily. The wildling fell to the ground, bleeding, and Ser Jaymes ran him through, before bringing his sword up just in time to parry a heavy blow from the man with the stone axe. Garen tried to take one more shot, but could not aim too precisely since Jaymes was in the way, so his bolt went wild. He drew his own sword and stalked forward as Jaymes circled the axe-wielding warrior.
Jaymes and the wildling squared off and traded blows for several minutes before either could gain an upper hand. Jaymes slipped in the snow, and went down on one knee. He caught himself with his injured left arm, and pain lanced through his left side. He winced, and the wildling brought his massive weapon up for a killing blow, but did not follow through. He looked down, and was surprised to see a sword poking out of his chest. Garen pushed twisted his blade, and the man shuddered, before falling to the ground dead.
Three wildling corpses littered the bloody hill, though the first wildling to take a wound was still alive, gripping the quarrel in his torso and groaning. Jaymes got to his feet, and made his way over to the man. He propped the wildling against a tree, and began to treat his wound. He bound the man’s hands and feet before doing anything, and then started a fire and put a small traveling pot over it. He emptied his wineskin into it, as Garen walked out into the forest with his crossbow, looking for a meal. Jaymes waited for the wine to boil, and then poured a small amount in to the wildling’s wound before binding it up.
Garen returned with two small rabbits, and set them down next to the fire. Jaymes nodded, and Garen took the traveling pot as Jaymes unbound his own wound. Garen poured the boiling liquid into it and Jaymes bellowed in pain, but he knew the wound would heal far more cleanly this way. Garen bandaged his wound, more effectively than Jaymes could have done himself, and the two started to roast the rabbits over the fire. When they were ready they began to eat, steaming grease dripping into the snow. They were lean, but there was enough meat on them and Ser Jaymes was full by the time he had finished.
He set the bones aside and turned to the wildling who was just beginning to come around. He saw the two black brothers sitting before him at the fire, and his lips curled into a sneer. “Crows,” he said with loathing. “Come t’roast me for yer dinner, have ye? Yeh’ll find m t’be lean pickin’ I think.” He laughed, an ugly high-pitched noise, and then spat at Jaymes. The former lord said nothing, but drew his dagger from his side. The flickering flirelight reflected off the steel blade, giving it an orange glow. He set it down next to the fire, so that the blade was buried in the logs of the fire but the hilt was not in danger of burning.
“How many comrades did you have, besides these three?” he said, gesturing to the corpses. “I assume you were coming from the Milkwater where Lord Stark broke your king’s army. The question is, are you fleeing or reforming a new army?”
The wildling laughed again, although this was a much more nervous laugh. He shifted, as much as his bonds would allow. “Yeh won’ get no ‘formation from me, crow.” He said, although his voice cracked and Ser Jaymes could almost smell the man’s fear. Wordlessly, he lifted the dagger out of the fire, where the blade was now glowing a dull orange from the heat. He walked up to the wildling and knelt. He grabbed the man’s head, and pulled it to one side, quickly pressing the hot steel against the flesh of his neck. The wildling’s screams echoed throughout the Haunted Forest, and Jaymes pulled the hot knife away, and replaced it in the fire.
He gathered a handful of snow and pressed it onto the man’s burn. The wildling tried to laugh, but it turned into a sob although he still managed to spit again, in Jaymes’ direction. “I- I’ll tell you nothin’!” he screamed, and Jaymes backhanded him across the face. Jaymes’ own face twisted into an ugly sneer.
“You’ll tell me every bloody thing I want to know, and you’ll still beg for the release of death,” he snarled. He grabbed the wildling’s hand and snapped three of his fingers. Again, screams echoed through the trees surrounding them.
“Alrigh’, I’ll tell yeh! We were goin’ to Hardhome! The King said to meet there if he was ever defeated!” The wildlings screamed the words desperately, and Jaymes stood over him, considering. He retrieved his knife from the fire, and waved it slowly in front of the man’s face.
“I think you’re lying. I do not abide men not telling me the truth. Hardhome is no place for a military gathering,” he said, and again pressed the hot steel onto the man’s skin, this time onto the side of his face.
“I’m tellin’ the truth, I swear it! Hardhome, we was to meet there!”
“You’re lying again…”
Two hours later, the wildling was still alive, though his story had changed twice. First, the broken army was to gather at Hardhome, but in response to Jaymes’ interrogations he had changed it first to a gathering in the Frostfangs, in Thenn and then to a small fort far to the north, on the eastern coast. The more Jaymes tortured the man, the more he was convinced that this third story was the one that rang true. According to the wildling there was an ancient fort on the coast, almost due north of the Fist of the First Men. It was far north of the Antler River, which was essentially the border to where the Night’s Watch rangings scouted.
Benjen Stark had apparently told his wildling soldiers to meet there, in the event of his defeat, as he knew it would be beyond the obvious reach of the Night’s Watch. Ser Jaymes was caught up in his thoughts, when he smelled something disgusting and turned his head to realize that the wildling had released his bowls, and that he was obviously dead. “Let’s go Garen, the Commander of Eastwatch will be pleased to receive this information. I hope we can find Ser Deyns and the others on the way south.”
The two men started to walk south, back towards the Wall. After a day they came upon two horses grazing, one with their dead brother still on its back. They took his body and burned in the woods, before mounting the horses and riding south.
Ser Jaymes Farman increases to Noteworthy Interrogations (Torturing)
Ser Jaymes Farman gains Beginner Field Medicine (Healing)
Ser Jaymes Farman gains information about a gathering of Wildling soldiers, north of the Antler River
Garen increases to Expert Crossbow
Garen increases to Apprentice Sword
Ser Jaymes was behind a tree ten feet away, and he peeked around the trunk to get a view of the foes. Two arrows whooshed by his head, striking a tree behind him, and the third slammed into the ground right at his side. “NOW,” he shouted, and Garen dove for the crossbow, scrambling behind the nearest tree. The black brother had retained his sack of quarrels even after the horses had fled, so he loaded the weapon and took aim at the hill where the four wildlings still stood. Jaymes eased his bastard sword from its sheathe on his back. It felt good in his hand, he had not been in true battle in years. The feeling was exhilarating.
Garen’s first shot struck true, as a quarrel sprouted from one of the bowmen’s shoulders. The man cried out as the force of the impact spun him around causing him to drop his bow. The other two fired in Gared’s direction, but he had already ducked behind his tree to reload and wind the crossbow. Ser Jaymes was standing and as they fired charged from behind his tree, sprinting all out and diving into the snow behind another tree as two arrows nearly speared his legs. He had moved a score of yards closer to the wildlings, though they were still double that distance away from him.
Garen fired again but the second shot went high and ricocheted off the stone blade of the fourth wildlng’s axe. The man who had been shot was still on the ground, writhing and bleeding while his comrades paid him little mind. Both archers fired again, at Garen, and missed. Jaymes charged forward again, and made it ten yards before an arrow flew past his head, and a second arrow buried itself in his left bicep. He bellowed in pain and fell to the ground behind a tree, twenty yards from the wildings. Garen fired a third time and stuck the archer who had shot Jaymes clear through the throat, and the man fell to the ground choking blood.
Jaymes sat with his back to a tree, and his arm burned. The arrow was embedded in his left arm, and the tip was even poking through the bottom of his arm. He gritted his teeth and snapped off the end with the fletching, before grabbing the arrow firmly with his right hand, and pushing. He screamed in pain, but pushed it all the way through in one attempt, and drew the bloody shaft out from the bottom of his arm. He took a strip of black linen out of a small pouch at his side, and tied it around the wound as best he could with one arm and his teeth. That would hold for now. He tried to raise his left arm above his head, and found he couldn’t. He snarled, and tried again, but the pain was excruciating. He could hear arrows and quarrels flying and hitting trees and rocks.
Jaymes gripped his sword with two hands, and raised it as high as he could, which was about neck level. That would be enough. He heard a bowstring twang, and he charged forward again. The wildling with the bow fumbled for another arrow and fired, but his shot went wide and missed. A second later Jaymes plowed into him with a savage strike. He could not raise his sword high enough for a cleaving downward stroke, but he could bring it up enough to cut into the man’s chest, slicing through his furs and leathers easily. The wildling fell to the ground, bleeding, and Ser Jaymes ran him through, before bringing his sword up just in time to parry a heavy blow from the man with the stone axe. Garen tried to take one more shot, but could not aim too precisely since Jaymes was in the way, so his bolt went wild. He drew his own sword and stalked forward as Jaymes circled the axe-wielding warrior.
Jaymes and the wildling squared off and traded blows for several minutes before either could gain an upper hand. Jaymes slipped in the snow, and went down on one knee. He caught himself with his injured left arm, and pain lanced through his left side. He winced, and the wildling brought his massive weapon up for a killing blow, but did not follow through. He looked down, and was surprised to see a sword poking out of his chest. Garen pushed twisted his blade, and the man shuddered, before falling to the ground dead.
Three wildling corpses littered the bloody hill, though the first wildling to take a wound was still alive, gripping the quarrel in his torso and groaning. Jaymes got to his feet, and made his way over to the man. He propped the wildling against a tree, and began to treat his wound. He bound the man’s hands and feet before doing anything, and then started a fire and put a small traveling pot over it. He emptied his wineskin into it, as Garen walked out into the forest with his crossbow, looking for a meal. Jaymes waited for the wine to boil, and then poured a small amount in to the wildling’s wound before binding it up.
Garen returned with two small rabbits, and set them down next to the fire. Jaymes nodded, and Garen took the traveling pot as Jaymes unbound his own wound. Garen poured the boiling liquid into it and Jaymes bellowed in pain, but he knew the wound would heal far more cleanly this way. Garen bandaged his wound, more effectively than Jaymes could have done himself, and the two started to roast the rabbits over the fire. When they were ready they began to eat, steaming grease dripping into the snow. They were lean, but there was enough meat on them and Ser Jaymes was full by the time he had finished.
He set the bones aside and turned to the wildling who was just beginning to come around. He saw the two black brothers sitting before him at the fire, and his lips curled into a sneer. “Crows,” he said with loathing. “Come t’roast me for yer dinner, have ye? Yeh’ll find m t’be lean pickin’ I think.” He laughed, an ugly high-pitched noise, and then spat at Jaymes. The former lord said nothing, but drew his dagger from his side. The flickering flirelight reflected off the steel blade, giving it an orange glow. He set it down next to the fire, so that the blade was buried in the logs of the fire but the hilt was not in danger of burning.
“How many comrades did you have, besides these three?” he said, gesturing to the corpses. “I assume you were coming from the Milkwater where Lord Stark broke your king’s army. The question is, are you fleeing or reforming a new army?”
The wildling laughed again, although this was a much more nervous laugh. He shifted, as much as his bonds would allow. “Yeh won’ get no ‘formation from me, crow.” He said, although his voice cracked and Ser Jaymes could almost smell the man’s fear. Wordlessly, he lifted the dagger out of the fire, where the blade was now glowing a dull orange from the heat. He walked up to the wildling and knelt. He grabbed the man’s head, and pulled it to one side, quickly pressing the hot steel against the flesh of his neck. The wildling’s screams echoed throughout the Haunted Forest, and Jaymes pulled the hot knife away, and replaced it in the fire.
He gathered a handful of snow and pressed it onto the man’s burn. The wildling tried to laugh, but it turned into a sob although he still managed to spit again, in Jaymes’ direction. “I- I’ll tell you nothin’!” he screamed, and Jaymes backhanded him across the face. Jaymes’ own face twisted into an ugly sneer.
“You’ll tell me every bloody thing I want to know, and you’ll still beg for the release of death,” he snarled. He grabbed the wildling’s hand and snapped three of his fingers. Again, screams echoed through the trees surrounding them.
“Alrigh’, I’ll tell yeh! We were goin’ to Hardhome! The King said to meet there if he was ever defeated!” The wildlings screamed the words desperately, and Jaymes stood over him, considering. He retrieved his knife from the fire, and waved it slowly in front of the man’s face.
“I think you’re lying. I do not abide men not telling me the truth. Hardhome is no place for a military gathering,” he said, and again pressed the hot steel onto the man’s skin, this time onto the side of his face.
“I’m tellin’ the truth, I swear it! Hardhome, we was to meet there!”
“You’re lying again…”
Two hours later, the wildling was still alive, though his story had changed twice. First, the broken army was to gather at Hardhome, but in response to Jaymes’ interrogations he had changed it first to a gathering in the Frostfangs, in Thenn and then to a small fort far to the north, on the eastern coast. The more Jaymes tortured the man, the more he was convinced that this third story was the one that rang true. According to the wildling there was an ancient fort on the coast, almost due north of the Fist of the First Men. It was far north of the Antler River, which was essentially the border to where the Night’s Watch rangings scouted.
Benjen Stark had apparently told his wildling soldiers to meet there, in the event of his defeat, as he knew it would be beyond the obvious reach of the Night’s Watch. Ser Jaymes was caught up in his thoughts, when he smelled something disgusting and turned his head to realize that the wildling had released his bowls, and that he was obviously dead. “Let’s go Garen, the Commander of Eastwatch will be pleased to receive this information. I hope we can find Ser Deyns and the others on the way south.”
The two men started to walk south, back towards the Wall. After a day they came upon two horses grazing, one with their dead brother still on its back. They took his body and burned in the woods, before mounting the horses and riding south.
Ser Jaymes Farman increases to Noteworthy Interrogations (Torturing)
Ser Jaymes Farman gains Beginner Field Medicine (Healing)
Ser Jaymes Farman gains information about a gathering of Wildling soldiers, north of the Antler River
Garen increases to Expert Crossbow
Garen increases to Apprentice Sword