Post by The Stranger on Apr 21, 2008 1:49:59 GMT -5
One month before the Skagosi were to travel to Winterfell to meet with Lord Stark, Mag visited Kingshouse to talk with his friend and fellow Magnar, Ryk. It had been several months since their careful plan had been carried out perfectly against the northmen around Karhold. They had even succeeded in storming the castle and burning it, a rare feat for an army of Stoneborn warriors.
The two had went out hunting, slingshots, stone weapons, and bows ready in case they encountered any bear in the north of the island, deep in the thick woods. They rode their massive mirrikai, treading silenty over root and rock alike. Not finding any game, the two had ridden back in silence, until Mag spoke. "Ryk, it is has been almost a year since we have fought the wildlings. We usually encounter them several times every few months. They could have grown in numbers, I think we should send a small party to keep them in check before we head to the mainland for the wedding." His friend had agreed, and so four hundred brave men had been gathered and sailed to the coast, the huge ice wall many leagues to the south, where the black brothers made their home.
Ryk, as always, had led the vanguard, scouting out ahead for any possible hostile forces. They had landed around 30 leagues south of Hardhome, so it would not be unusual to find a large host of wildlings. Mag was riding Burk, his trustful friend and war comrade. Maez Stonehead, Olf Stonesoar, and Cudge Magnar rode beside Mag. They moved silently through the dense forest, their movements being muffled by the merciless winds and deep snow.
They need not look long. Only an hour after disembarking from their ships, the Skagosi spotted smoke from fires less than a league to the northwest. "It seems the wildlings have grown bold and reckless in our absence," Mag said grimly. "More stupid and craven, in my opinion," Cudge Magnar replied cheerfully. The young man was brave himself, and could move silently and undetected where others could not. Many disliked him, but Mag didn't. He knew the use of such men.
He called a halt to the march and set up a meeting for the most important of men. Ryk returned from the outriders. Nodding to Mag and ignoring the others, he said, "Magnar of Deepdown, I was within two hundred yards of their camp, on a high ridge. The footing is rough but if we can sneak up on them, it should be easy enough. Two hundred, no more, sitting around fires. No sentries that I saw. A large tent in the middle, presumably for their leader. We should strike there, and the others will grow craven and it will be a slaughter."
Mag thought about the report. Turning to the men, he said, "Do we have any brave man who wish to earn glory? I want someone to sneak into their camp, ahead of our attack, and kill their leader in the big tent. Who is brave enough? Who is a man?" The men were silent for a long moment, but Cudge Magnar stepped up quickly enough. "I will, Magnar. I will not disappoint you, either." He smirked with an air of confidence, but it did little to impress the others. "I wish you luck, friend. Your glory is forever. Ride with Ryk to the front of the van, the attack will continue ten minutes after you enter camp or when you blow your war horn."
The command went out throughout the camp, and they continued to march silently through the forest. The night was on them, black and cold, by the time Mag rode up to the ridge where Ryk lay in wait. The others were mounted, their weapons of stone and weirwood bows ready, prepared to slowly head down the hill towards the oblivious camp of wildling warriors. They were probably a small group of scouts from Hardhome. Why they were out in such force was unknown; perhaps the black brothers had been striking unusually far north as of late.
Mag peered down towards the fires. He could faintly here the racous laughter of the men below. Turning to Ryk, he said, "Where is Cudge?" Ryk motioned silently towards the camp. Mag looked at him. "What? We could not wait on you forever," Ryk said in answer, smiling, showing his jest. "He left to kill their leader not five minutes ago." Suddenly a war horn was heard down below. "Attack!" Mag bellowed. Their men, nearly surrounding the camp in a wide circle, filed down onto the confused ranks of wildling warriors.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Cudge moved silently and deliberately, until he was down from the ridge and near the closest fire. He could hear the wildlings talking of women and black brothers. Crawling on his belly, he moved past them, then behind the small tents at the back of the camp. He rose and ran, quietly as possible, hidden by the row of tents. Circling around them, he found himself within thirty feet of the command tent.
Trying quiet his breathing, he closed his eyes. It had been only three minutes since he had bid his brother, Ryk, farewell on the ridge. It had felt like nearly an hour. He may have appeared brave at the war council, but he was at present nervous as shit.
Regaining his composure, he surveyed his surroundings. A single guard, drinking out of a flagon, sat slumped on the ground in front of the tent, half asleep. The nearest fires were full of wildlings, but most of them were turned away from Cudge's position. Determined, he unslung his bow and prepared it with an arrow. Aiming, he had to concentrate for a long moment. Cudge was a good archer, and this was close range, but it was dark and he could not afford a miss. Finally, he let the arrow loose, and knew it was true before it entered the unsuspecting man's skull, killing him instantly. No longer thinking, he sprinted fast as could be through the flap of the command tent. A man, with his back to him, sat eating a dinner of cold meat and bread, in the corner of the tent. "What in bloody-- " the man's word were cut short as another arrow entered his throat. Taking his dagger out, Cudge stabbed him repeatedly to make sure he was dead. Sighing, he disappeared back into the night, towards the empty small tents. Looking both ways, he blew his war horn, and waited.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
"STONEBORN! KILL!" Mag screamed in the old tongue, the language of his people. The wildlings were jumping up, panicking, groping in the night for their weapons. It was a slaughter. Mag swung his stone axe down onto the nearest man's temple. His friend, a large man, dressed in furs, with a thick dark beard, rushed at him with a furious scream. Mag moved aside, bypassing the man and his rusty sword, and then planted his axe into the man's back. An arrow flew past his face. Turning, Mag caught another with his circular shield and then broke the man's leg with his axe. He finished him with two hard strokes to his face, demolitioning his teeth and jawbones.
Ryk was leading the attack on the other side of camp. He had wielded his slingshot to hit a man from far range. He was pleasantly satisfied to see his rock hit a surprised man square in the forehead, sending him to the ground in pain. Bringing his shield and stone hammer to arms, he circled around to the nearest fire and took out two men with hard swings to the chest, caving them in. The wildligns were even more disorganized than usual with their leader gone; it was a massacre.
An hour later, the Skagosi burned the camp and returned to the shore with their captives, content for the time being. Relaxing, Mag looked forward to the feast at Winterfell. He had done his sacred duty of clearing the northern lands of the nuisance wildling men.
Results:
Mag improves from expert (twice improved) to master stone axe.
Ryk improves from apprentice to noteworthy slingshot.
Ryk improves from expert to expert (improved) stone hammer.
Cudge improves from novice to apprentice stealth.
Cudge improves from noteworthy to expert archery.
The two had went out hunting, slingshots, stone weapons, and bows ready in case they encountered any bear in the north of the island, deep in the thick woods. They rode their massive mirrikai, treading silenty over root and rock alike. Not finding any game, the two had ridden back in silence, until Mag spoke. "Ryk, it is has been almost a year since we have fought the wildlings. We usually encounter them several times every few months. They could have grown in numbers, I think we should send a small party to keep them in check before we head to the mainland for the wedding." His friend had agreed, and so four hundred brave men had been gathered and sailed to the coast, the huge ice wall many leagues to the south, where the black brothers made their home.
Ryk, as always, had led the vanguard, scouting out ahead for any possible hostile forces. They had landed around 30 leagues south of Hardhome, so it would not be unusual to find a large host of wildlings. Mag was riding Burk, his trustful friend and war comrade. Maez Stonehead, Olf Stonesoar, and Cudge Magnar rode beside Mag. They moved silently through the dense forest, their movements being muffled by the merciless winds and deep snow.
They need not look long. Only an hour after disembarking from their ships, the Skagosi spotted smoke from fires less than a league to the northwest. "It seems the wildlings have grown bold and reckless in our absence," Mag said grimly. "More stupid and craven, in my opinion," Cudge Magnar replied cheerfully. The young man was brave himself, and could move silently and undetected where others could not. Many disliked him, but Mag didn't. He knew the use of such men.
He called a halt to the march and set up a meeting for the most important of men. Ryk returned from the outriders. Nodding to Mag and ignoring the others, he said, "Magnar of Deepdown, I was within two hundred yards of their camp, on a high ridge. The footing is rough but if we can sneak up on them, it should be easy enough. Two hundred, no more, sitting around fires. No sentries that I saw. A large tent in the middle, presumably for their leader. We should strike there, and the others will grow craven and it will be a slaughter."
Mag thought about the report. Turning to the men, he said, "Do we have any brave man who wish to earn glory? I want someone to sneak into their camp, ahead of our attack, and kill their leader in the big tent. Who is brave enough? Who is a man?" The men were silent for a long moment, but Cudge Magnar stepped up quickly enough. "I will, Magnar. I will not disappoint you, either." He smirked with an air of confidence, but it did little to impress the others. "I wish you luck, friend. Your glory is forever. Ride with Ryk to the front of the van, the attack will continue ten minutes after you enter camp or when you blow your war horn."
The command went out throughout the camp, and they continued to march silently through the forest. The night was on them, black and cold, by the time Mag rode up to the ridge where Ryk lay in wait. The others were mounted, their weapons of stone and weirwood bows ready, prepared to slowly head down the hill towards the oblivious camp of wildling warriors. They were probably a small group of scouts from Hardhome. Why they were out in such force was unknown; perhaps the black brothers had been striking unusually far north as of late.
Mag peered down towards the fires. He could faintly here the racous laughter of the men below. Turning to Ryk, he said, "Where is Cudge?" Ryk motioned silently towards the camp. Mag looked at him. "What? We could not wait on you forever," Ryk said in answer, smiling, showing his jest. "He left to kill their leader not five minutes ago." Suddenly a war horn was heard down below. "Attack!" Mag bellowed. Their men, nearly surrounding the camp in a wide circle, filed down onto the confused ranks of wildling warriors.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Cudge moved silently and deliberately, until he was down from the ridge and near the closest fire. He could hear the wildlings talking of women and black brothers. Crawling on his belly, he moved past them, then behind the small tents at the back of the camp. He rose and ran, quietly as possible, hidden by the row of tents. Circling around them, he found himself within thirty feet of the command tent.
Trying quiet his breathing, he closed his eyes. It had been only three minutes since he had bid his brother, Ryk, farewell on the ridge. It had felt like nearly an hour. He may have appeared brave at the war council, but he was at present nervous as shit.
Regaining his composure, he surveyed his surroundings. A single guard, drinking out of a flagon, sat slumped on the ground in front of the tent, half asleep. The nearest fires were full of wildlings, but most of them were turned away from Cudge's position. Determined, he unslung his bow and prepared it with an arrow. Aiming, he had to concentrate for a long moment. Cudge was a good archer, and this was close range, but it was dark and he could not afford a miss. Finally, he let the arrow loose, and knew it was true before it entered the unsuspecting man's skull, killing him instantly. No longer thinking, he sprinted fast as could be through the flap of the command tent. A man, with his back to him, sat eating a dinner of cold meat and bread, in the corner of the tent. "What in bloody-- " the man's word were cut short as another arrow entered his throat. Taking his dagger out, Cudge stabbed him repeatedly to make sure he was dead. Sighing, he disappeared back into the night, towards the empty small tents. Looking both ways, he blew his war horn, and waited.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
"STONEBORN! KILL!" Mag screamed in the old tongue, the language of his people. The wildlings were jumping up, panicking, groping in the night for their weapons. It was a slaughter. Mag swung his stone axe down onto the nearest man's temple. His friend, a large man, dressed in furs, with a thick dark beard, rushed at him with a furious scream. Mag moved aside, bypassing the man and his rusty sword, and then planted his axe into the man's back. An arrow flew past his face. Turning, Mag caught another with his circular shield and then broke the man's leg with his axe. He finished him with two hard strokes to his face, demolitioning his teeth and jawbones.
Ryk was leading the attack on the other side of camp. He had wielded his slingshot to hit a man from far range. He was pleasantly satisfied to see his rock hit a surprised man square in the forehead, sending him to the ground in pain. Bringing his shield and stone hammer to arms, he circled around to the nearest fire and took out two men with hard swings to the chest, caving them in. The wildligns were even more disorganized than usual with their leader gone; it was a massacre.
An hour later, the Skagosi burned the camp and returned to the shore with their captives, content for the time being. Relaxing, Mag looked forward to the feast at Winterfell. He had done his sacred duty of clearing the northern lands of the nuisance wildling men.
Results:
Mag improves from expert (twice improved) to master stone axe.
Ryk improves from apprentice to noteworthy slingshot.
Ryk improves from expert to expert (improved) stone hammer.
Cudge improves from novice to apprentice stealth.
Cudge improves from noteworthy to expert archery.