Post by The Stranger on Apr 21, 2008 1:53:15 GMT -5
Four men were sent out hunting, while the rest erected the few tents they had brought with them, and started a fire. The wildling dead were searched but nothing useful was found and a heavy snow had begun to fall, quickly transforming the white corpses and bloody snow into white lumps. The bodies of the four Night’s Watchmen who had died during the fight were burned when the fire had grown large enough.
The hunters returned with a brace of winterfowl and several hares. Not much, but enough to feed sixteen men for the night. They still had their dried rations, but preferred fresh meat when it was available. As the meals were roasted over the fire, Jaymes and four of his men walked over to the tree under which the wildlings had been placed. Their hands and feet were bound and tied to stakes that had been driven deep into the ground; these men where going nowhere. Each bore some kind of a wound, though they had all been rudimentarily treated, to make sure that none of the captives bled out or died before Jaymes had the chance to speak with him.
He sat on a rock a few feet away from them, with his men standing behind him, and looked at his prisoners. One of the black brothers snarled and leapt forward with a sword, grabbing one of the captive wildlings whose face was covered in boils, and preparing to run him through. “Put up your steel, Martyn, I require these men alive for the time being.” Ser Jaymes’ voice rang out, and Martyn froze, his sword poised.
“Ser, this ‘ere’s a deserter. This man was my Sworn Brother not ten moons ago, afore ‘ee fled the Wall. ‘Tis my duty to kill him, Ser, ‘tis all of ours. Eldrin of Saltpans was ‘is name, ‘ee was sent t’the Wall same time as me. ” Martyn’s tone was respectful, but Jaymes ordered him down nonetheless.
“If he is a deserter, he will certainly be killed as the laws dictate,” Jaymes said, with a slight smirk. “However, I will speak with him before he dies. Have you anything to say, Eldrin of Saltpans?” he asked, turning his head toward the ex-black brother who was lying in the snow before him. The man spat on Jaymes boot.
“Very well. Martyn, Wat, bind him to this tree,” Jaymes said coldly. He handed his knife to Garen, who placed the blade in the fire under the birds that were still roasting. He turned to Eldrin who was being tied upright with his back against a treetrunk. He was eyeing Jaymes with a concerned expression, though the former lord paid him no mind as he waited for his dagger to reach the appropriate temperature. When he was satisfied, he picked it up by the handle, and walked back to where Eldrin was tied. The other three wildlings were watching with horrified fascination from their spots ten feet away.
Jaymes knelt next to the ex-brother, and held up the knife before his face. “This is very, very hot. If you don’t tell me what I want to know, I’m going to burn you repeatedly with it, before I start to cut you apart. The Boltons of the Dreadfort are renowned for flaying the skin from their victims while they yet live, and I had though to try my hand at their method.” Jaymes spoke softly, but with each word the deserter’s eyes widened further and further in terror. He gave a small squeak, but otherwise said nothing.
“Your party was twenty-five strong. Were there more traveling north with you?” Eldrin shook his head nervously, and Jaymes raised one eyebrow. “Do not lie to me, ah, Eldrin was it? I do not abide by liars.”
“Yes, just us, I swear, we were to meet at the fort-” he was cut off by one of the other wildling captives.
“Silence, do not speak to the crows!” The biggest wildling of the captives had spoken. He had been captured by Jaymes himself, and the wound where Jaymes’ lance had punctured his shoulder was bandaged, but red was beginning to seep through the linen. Jaymes’ head snapped around and he stared at the man who had been spoken. “What is your name, warrior?” Jaymes asked.
“Grigg of the Free Folk, Crow, and I’ll be dyin’ before I tell ya nothin’,” the wildling said, puffing his chest out proudly. Jaymes stood and walked over to him. The wildling sucked in, preparing to spit at Jaymes, but the former lord lashed out lightning quick the his knife and cut the man’s throat, before he could do it. Blood sprayed onto the snow, and the corpse fell backward.
“If you won’t be answering questions, I won’t have any use for you,” Jaymes said to the corpse. He turned back to Eldrin who started to talk as quickly as he could, though he was obviously lying at least partially, so Jaymes started to cut off his clothes. When the man was lying mostly naked in the snow, Jyames started cutting away the skin of his chest as best he could. Eldrin screamed and babbled details incoherently as his skin was torn away, and did not grow any more coherent in response to Jaymes’ questions. When he finally died, large patches of his skin were gone, though he was more mutilated than flayed; Jaymes would obviously need practice.
He moved on to the two surviving wildlings, torturing them both mercilessly, pausing every now and then to ask more questions. One knew nothing and died quickly, but the last man relinquished a wealth of information. Wildlings had been building a fort on the coast, and had started to construct ships of all things. Benjen Stark had rallied them for a purpose, the wildling said, and that purpose was to flee south of the wall. He had left instructions, supposedly, for his wildlings to approach the eastern shore and build as many ships as possible, to sail around the wall. The twenty-five men that Jaymes had encountered was a hunting party, returning empty-handed toward the fort, which was a moon’s turn north of the Antler River. Jaymes killed the last two wildlings and left their bodies in the woods, before turning his men south and riding with all haste back towards the Wall.
Ser Jaymes Farman increases to Expert Interrogation (Torture)
Ser Jaymes Farman increases to Novice Leadership
The hunters returned with a brace of winterfowl and several hares. Not much, but enough to feed sixteen men for the night. They still had their dried rations, but preferred fresh meat when it was available. As the meals were roasted over the fire, Jaymes and four of his men walked over to the tree under which the wildlings had been placed. Their hands and feet were bound and tied to stakes that had been driven deep into the ground; these men where going nowhere. Each bore some kind of a wound, though they had all been rudimentarily treated, to make sure that none of the captives bled out or died before Jaymes had the chance to speak with him.
He sat on a rock a few feet away from them, with his men standing behind him, and looked at his prisoners. One of the black brothers snarled and leapt forward with a sword, grabbing one of the captive wildlings whose face was covered in boils, and preparing to run him through. “Put up your steel, Martyn, I require these men alive for the time being.” Ser Jaymes’ voice rang out, and Martyn froze, his sword poised.
“Ser, this ‘ere’s a deserter. This man was my Sworn Brother not ten moons ago, afore ‘ee fled the Wall. ‘Tis my duty to kill him, Ser, ‘tis all of ours. Eldrin of Saltpans was ‘is name, ‘ee was sent t’the Wall same time as me. ” Martyn’s tone was respectful, but Jaymes ordered him down nonetheless.
“If he is a deserter, he will certainly be killed as the laws dictate,” Jaymes said, with a slight smirk. “However, I will speak with him before he dies. Have you anything to say, Eldrin of Saltpans?” he asked, turning his head toward the ex-black brother who was lying in the snow before him. The man spat on Jaymes boot.
“Very well. Martyn, Wat, bind him to this tree,” Jaymes said coldly. He handed his knife to Garen, who placed the blade in the fire under the birds that were still roasting. He turned to Eldrin who was being tied upright with his back against a treetrunk. He was eyeing Jaymes with a concerned expression, though the former lord paid him no mind as he waited for his dagger to reach the appropriate temperature. When he was satisfied, he picked it up by the handle, and walked back to where Eldrin was tied. The other three wildlings were watching with horrified fascination from their spots ten feet away.
Jaymes knelt next to the ex-brother, and held up the knife before his face. “This is very, very hot. If you don’t tell me what I want to know, I’m going to burn you repeatedly with it, before I start to cut you apart. The Boltons of the Dreadfort are renowned for flaying the skin from their victims while they yet live, and I had though to try my hand at their method.” Jaymes spoke softly, but with each word the deserter’s eyes widened further and further in terror. He gave a small squeak, but otherwise said nothing.
“Your party was twenty-five strong. Were there more traveling north with you?” Eldrin shook his head nervously, and Jaymes raised one eyebrow. “Do not lie to me, ah, Eldrin was it? I do not abide by liars.”
“Yes, just us, I swear, we were to meet at the fort-” he was cut off by one of the other wildling captives.
“Silence, do not speak to the crows!” The biggest wildling of the captives had spoken. He had been captured by Jaymes himself, and the wound where Jaymes’ lance had punctured his shoulder was bandaged, but red was beginning to seep through the linen. Jaymes’ head snapped around and he stared at the man who had been spoken. “What is your name, warrior?” Jaymes asked.
“Grigg of the Free Folk, Crow, and I’ll be dyin’ before I tell ya nothin’,” the wildling said, puffing his chest out proudly. Jaymes stood and walked over to him. The wildling sucked in, preparing to spit at Jaymes, but the former lord lashed out lightning quick the his knife and cut the man’s throat, before he could do it. Blood sprayed onto the snow, and the corpse fell backward.
“If you won’t be answering questions, I won’t have any use for you,” Jaymes said to the corpse. He turned back to Eldrin who started to talk as quickly as he could, though he was obviously lying at least partially, so Jaymes started to cut off his clothes. When the man was lying mostly naked in the snow, Jyames started cutting away the skin of his chest as best he could. Eldrin screamed and babbled details incoherently as his skin was torn away, and did not grow any more coherent in response to Jaymes’ questions. When he finally died, large patches of his skin were gone, though he was more mutilated than flayed; Jaymes would obviously need practice.
He moved on to the two surviving wildlings, torturing them both mercilessly, pausing every now and then to ask more questions. One knew nothing and died quickly, but the last man relinquished a wealth of information. Wildlings had been building a fort on the coast, and had started to construct ships of all things. Benjen Stark had rallied them for a purpose, the wildling said, and that purpose was to flee south of the wall. He had left instructions, supposedly, for his wildlings to approach the eastern shore and build as many ships as possible, to sail around the wall. The twenty-five men that Jaymes had encountered was a hunting party, returning empty-handed toward the fort, which was a moon’s turn north of the Antler River. Jaymes killed the last two wildlings and left their bodies in the woods, before turning his men south and riding with all haste back towards the Wall.
Ser Jaymes Farman increases to Expert Interrogation (Torture)
Ser Jaymes Farman increases to Novice Leadership