Post by The Smith on Jun 11, 2008 0:07:47 GMT -5
Greggory Swann had wasted no time in moving from Stonehelm to King’s Landing when he learned of his daughters impending return to Westeros—he had a house in the city set up for her, and met her at the harbor when her shop docked. At first, he did not recognize her, so Braavosi did she appear, with darker skin than he remembered, tinted by the island sun, and wearing brightly colored silks, and the sword of the water dancers. When she had left him, she had been a child of eleven, yet here was a woman of twenty-five, who looked too much like her mother. Greggory had always thought she resembled him during her youth.
Her eyes were colder than he remembered, but her manner was cordial as they walked together back towards the lavish house he had set up. She had become a remarkably intelligent woman; it was evident in almost every word she spoke.
“It is remarkable,” she said with, he though, too much apathy, as he pointed out the small manse he had acquired on her behalf, “Thank you, Father,” and she kissed him passively on his cheek. “Has it a courtyard for sparring?”
“It has, of course,” Greggory replied, his brow knitting slightly, “for your men,”
His daughter raised an eyebrow at him, “and for me.” She refuted plainly, “We should sparr,” she asserted plainly. Greggory was a man of great pride, and well known for his abilities with the traditional broad sword of Westeros.
“With that piece of tin?” he asked his daughter incredulously, “I have only had you back less than an hour—it would not do to kill you so soon,” He joked.
Serafina shook her head, “With practice blades obviously—I have brought a set of wooden Braavosi blades…they are packed away somewhere. And no doubt you have your own selection.”
“Fina…” Greggory muttered, scratching his head, obviously thinking it dishonorable to fight a woman in any capacity.
“Serafina,” She corrected, “If it will ease your troubles, I could simply attack you, and force you to defend. Surely there is no shame in that?”
“Not for me.” Greggory said in a low, disapproving voice.
She smiled warmly, though her expression seemed somehow thin—her eyes were almost cruel. “It was a joke,” she affirmed, “Come. We will spar.”
The young woman took several moments to herself to change from her travelers’ clothes into attire more suitable to the physical demands of swordplay, and when she emerged in the courtyard, she wore a dress of light linen, which prohibited her movements very little, and allowed for her to move quickly, and to the full potential of her agility. She walked barefoot on the cobbled stone of the courtyard, approaching her father’s back in a beeline. He did not know she was there until she announced herself, only inches away from him. “My Lord,” she said, raising an eyebrow, as he whirled around, startled, though he had been informed only moments previous that she would join him momentarily.
“Seven help me, girl.” He gasped, “That is a cruel thing to do to an old man who has never crossed you.”
Serafina smiled sweetly, “There are crueler things I could do.” She said, as she lifted her practice sword to ready herself. Her Lord father did the same, his breaths easing now. She delighted silently in the fact that his perturbed mental state would give her an automatic advantage.
The two halted a moment, waiting, for what, one could not tell, before Serafina sprang forward with the agility of her years of training, and began to hack at her father, and parry his blows. She could see the surprise fill his eyes when he realized that she was no amateur, and that this was not in fact the child who had left him so long ago.
Though she ultimately lost the duel, her father seemed impressed as he helped her to her feet.
Results:
Serafina advances to Expert Sword
Her eyes were colder than he remembered, but her manner was cordial as they walked together back towards the lavish house he had set up. She had become a remarkably intelligent woman; it was evident in almost every word she spoke.
“It is remarkable,” she said with, he though, too much apathy, as he pointed out the small manse he had acquired on her behalf, “Thank you, Father,” and she kissed him passively on his cheek. “Has it a courtyard for sparring?”
“It has, of course,” Greggory replied, his brow knitting slightly, “for your men,”
His daughter raised an eyebrow at him, “and for me.” She refuted plainly, “We should sparr,” she asserted plainly. Greggory was a man of great pride, and well known for his abilities with the traditional broad sword of Westeros.
“With that piece of tin?” he asked his daughter incredulously, “I have only had you back less than an hour—it would not do to kill you so soon,” He joked.
Serafina shook her head, “With practice blades obviously—I have brought a set of wooden Braavosi blades…they are packed away somewhere. And no doubt you have your own selection.”
“Fina…” Greggory muttered, scratching his head, obviously thinking it dishonorable to fight a woman in any capacity.
“Serafina,” She corrected, “If it will ease your troubles, I could simply attack you, and force you to defend. Surely there is no shame in that?”
“Not for me.” Greggory said in a low, disapproving voice.
She smiled warmly, though her expression seemed somehow thin—her eyes were almost cruel. “It was a joke,” she affirmed, “Come. We will spar.”
The young woman took several moments to herself to change from her travelers’ clothes into attire more suitable to the physical demands of swordplay, and when she emerged in the courtyard, she wore a dress of light linen, which prohibited her movements very little, and allowed for her to move quickly, and to the full potential of her agility. She walked barefoot on the cobbled stone of the courtyard, approaching her father’s back in a beeline. He did not know she was there until she announced herself, only inches away from him. “My Lord,” she said, raising an eyebrow, as he whirled around, startled, though he had been informed only moments previous that she would join him momentarily.
“Seven help me, girl.” He gasped, “That is a cruel thing to do to an old man who has never crossed you.”
Serafina smiled sweetly, “There are crueler things I could do.” She said, as she lifted her practice sword to ready herself. Her Lord father did the same, his breaths easing now. She delighted silently in the fact that his perturbed mental state would give her an automatic advantage.
The two halted a moment, waiting, for what, one could not tell, before Serafina sprang forward with the agility of her years of training, and began to hack at her father, and parry his blows. She could see the surprise fill his eyes when he realized that she was no amateur, and that this was not in fact the child who had left him so long ago.
Though she ultimately lost the duel, her father seemed impressed as he helped her to her feet.
Results:
Serafina advances to Expert Sword