Post by The Stranger on Apr 23, 2008 15:25:22 GMT -5
Olander Reed chuckled dryly, then winced as a spear of pain flashed through his chest. It wasn’t often that the crannogmen left the Neck, but here in the maester’s chambers in Winterfell, the lordling was nearly enjoying himself. Sipping the last few remnants of the bottle of wine he was nursing, Olander recalled with a grim amusement the events from the journey from Greywater Watch to Winterfell.
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“Would yew quit jawin’ yer poxy cunt? If I says yer on watch, then yer on fuckin’ watch!”
Drett’s gumless mouth stammered wordlessly in protest for a time, and then with a sigh of resignation the black clad man grabbed his spear and limped off into the bog. It wasn’t every day that Drett had regretted deserting the Night’s Watch, but every couple of nights he could feel the gnawing pit of despair in his old belly. Tonight was one of those nights.
Cursing the crows he’d flow down with, cursing his own gullibility, and most of all cursing the way the muddy marsh of the Neck seemed to claw at his rotted boots, Drett wandered away from the camp, his spear clutched tightly.
They’d told tales of creatures that lived in the Neck worse than wildlings: stories of ghosts of all the solders who had been lost in the bog, their armor carrying them down through the water and muck and moss. Big Byren said the shades of dead knights would wander the swamp off in the distance with their lanterns or burning brands. They would lure you away until you were right and lost, never able to find your way back again. That’s when he said they’d pierce your heart and drink your still flowing blood.
Drett shivered in the cold fog, and pulled his black cloak tighter about his shoulders. Tales like that frightened him just the same that they had when he was a child. Shaking of the eerie feeling, he gazed into the mists intently.
It had been nigh a fortnight since they had flown from the Wall in the dead of night. They numbered twenty and nine in total, though only eight of them had been true sworn brothers of the Night’s Watch. The rest had been a few green boys and some other fresh recruits landed from Eastwatch; a couple of peasants that fancied themselves bandits had joined them too. Their ragtag band had made a beeline for the south to cross the Neck, hoping the most of their troubles would be left behind in the north.
Drett frowned, stomach grumbling, “Least oi ‘ad reg’lar meals on th’Wall, Seven’s fuckin’ sake. Byr-” CRACK!
Drett’s head shot up sharply and swiveled around in the chilly night fog. Something was out there. He had heard it! He could feel it! The flown crow clutched his spear in a death grip and pivoted in all directions. “I- I- I- I d- don’t… w- w- we ain’t meanin’ n- no trespass, s- spirits! Leave u- us be… l- l- leave me be!” he sputtered, his toothless mouth grim with fear.
With a soft grunt, something wet and warm burst through Drett’s chest. His mouth agape and sucking in air wetly, the crow’s gaze fell to see the gushing wound in his chest, and the wicked looking prongs that protruded, glistened red. Silently, Drett sank to his knees, and then fell face first into the cold mud and moss of the Neck. The wooden shaft stuck straight up from his back, bannerless.
Olander Reed picked his way carefully though the trees and came to stop near the fallen crow. His trident and sailed straight, silent, and true, and with a foot on Drett’s back, the crannogman withdrew the three bloody prongs. In his stammering the man had mentioned more, Olander noted with a scowl. The stalking of the Night Watch deserters would take time from his journey north to Winterfell, but Roose Stark would keep. Trespassers in the Neck would not be abided.
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Olander Reed increases from Apprentice to Noteworthy Stealth.
Olander Reed increases from Apprentice to Noteworthy Spearfighting.
/////
“Would yew quit jawin’ yer poxy cunt? If I says yer on watch, then yer on fuckin’ watch!”
Drett’s gumless mouth stammered wordlessly in protest for a time, and then with a sigh of resignation the black clad man grabbed his spear and limped off into the bog. It wasn’t every day that Drett had regretted deserting the Night’s Watch, but every couple of nights he could feel the gnawing pit of despair in his old belly. Tonight was one of those nights.
Cursing the crows he’d flow down with, cursing his own gullibility, and most of all cursing the way the muddy marsh of the Neck seemed to claw at his rotted boots, Drett wandered away from the camp, his spear clutched tightly.
They’d told tales of creatures that lived in the Neck worse than wildlings: stories of ghosts of all the solders who had been lost in the bog, their armor carrying them down through the water and muck and moss. Big Byren said the shades of dead knights would wander the swamp off in the distance with their lanterns or burning brands. They would lure you away until you were right and lost, never able to find your way back again. That’s when he said they’d pierce your heart and drink your still flowing blood.
Drett shivered in the cold fog, and pulled his black cloak tighter about his shoulders. Tales like that frightened him just the same that they had when he was a child. Shaking of the eerie feeling, he gazed into the mists intently.
It had been nigh a fortnight since they had flown from the Wall in the dead of night. They numbered twenty and nine in total, though only eight of them had been true sworn brothers of the Night’s Watch. The rest had been a few green boys and some other fresh recruits landed from Eastwatch; a couple of peasants that fancied themselves bandits had joined them too. Their ragtag band had made a beeline for the south to cross the Neck, hoping the most of their troubles would be left behind in the north.
Drett frowned, stomach grumbling, “Least oi ‘ad reg’lar meals on th’Wall, Seven’s fuckin’ sake. Byr-” CRACK!
Drett’s head shot up sharply and swiveled around in the chilly night fog. Something was out there. He had heard it! He could feel it! The flown crow clutched his spear in a death grip and pivoted in all directions. “I- I- I- I d- don’t… w- w- we ain’t meanin’ n- no trespass, s- spirits! Leave u- us be… l- l- leave me be!” he sputtered, his toothless mouth grim with fear.
With a soft grunt, something wet and warm burst through Drett’s chest. His mouth agape and sucking in air wetly, the crow’s gaze fell to see the gushing wound in his chest, and the wicked looking prongs that protruded, glistened red. Silently, Drett sank to his knees, and then fell face first into the cold mud and moss of the Neck. The wooden shaft stuck straight up from his back, bannerless.
Olander Reed picked his way carefully though the trees and came to stop near the fallen crow. His trident and sailed straight, silent, and true, and with a foot on Drett’s back, the crannogman withdrew the three bloody prongs. In his stammering the man had mentioned more, Olander noted with a scowl. The stalking of the Night Watch deserters would take time from his journey north to Winterfell, but Roose Stark would keep. Trespassers in the Neck would not be abided.
==========
Olander Reed increases from Apprentice to Noteworthy Stealth.
Olander Reed increases from Apprentice to Noteworthy Spearfighting.