Post by The Smith on Jun 15, 2008 23:22:34 GMT -5
Roland focused on the great tusked boar that ran before his horse. He lowered the war lance he was using as a boar spear. It was actually not ideal for hunting, as the head on the lance was for piercing armor rather than rending flesh, but he was sure it would more than do.
The boar lept a fallen sapling and Roland suspected it would soon dart to one side in order to avoid the horse closing in on it from behind. If it went right, he'd kill it. Things seemed to slow as he prepared to deliver the killing blow when he heard a familiar zip in the air above him. He looked in the direction his instincts told him it came from in time to see another bolt cut through the air near him. The ambush was not a suprise as they'd expected Horas' sellswords to attack during the hunt. Even so, Roland was frozen for just a moment before he turned the horse toward his foes.
He shouted the command to engage to his guard and lowered the lance to take some sellsword in arms he didn't recognize square in the chest. In slow motion he saw the man's body jerk backwards and felt the impact travel through the lance into his arm. The lance did the job and Roland heard the bubbling of blood emerge from the sellsword's throat as he died.
The next few minutes of Roland's life flashed by in half-remembered snatches of the sight of men dying at the head of his lance. It took great skill to deliver so many successful blows with his lance with out it splintering or his losing of it. He guessed the Warrior smiled on him as the blood of his foes soon coated his lance and the entire right side of his horse. Those who saw him that day would remark they'd rarely seen such a grim killer in any battle. Roland's own men took their lord's lead and cleared a bloody swath through their foemen.
Fire leaped from the earth around the party and jarred Roland from his blood lust, but did not distract him from driving his lance through the visor of a crossbowman. He wheeled his courser about and shouted to Lord Tyrell to muster friendly forces away from the fire. He scanned around the battlefield in time to see his father take a crossbow bolt in the chest. Lord Odhar wore a dinted thin plate breastplate. He should have worn the Bronze armor! The older man fell from his mount and lay on the ground. Roland saw Lady Aranya take up position guarding the Lord of the Vale, but he charged forward at the head of his guard anyway.
Pure, unbridled rage once again became Roland's person as he rode directly to his father's position. He could not remember how many of the sellswords he slew on the way there. He could only remember that he killed any that dared cross his path. He pulled his horse up short of Aranya and leapt from the saddle. He knelt next to the Lord of the Vale and saw his father still lived. The wound in his left shoulder and looked as though it should have missed his lungs and heart. His father looked weak, but smiled up at Roland. "It would seem we taught you well in Tedmyn's Down, my son. You were the bane of any who faced you..."
Results
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Roland reached grandmaster in horse.
The boar lept a fallen sapling and Roland suspected it would soon dart to one side in order to avoid the horse closing in on it from behind. If it went right, he'd kill it. Things seemed to slow as he prepared to deliver the killing blow when he heard a familiar zip in the air above him. He looked in the direction his instincts told him it came from in time to see another bolt cut through the air near him. The ambush was not a suprise as they'd expected Horas' sellswords to attack during the hunt. Even so, Roland was frozen for just a moment before he turned the horse toward his foes.
He shouted the command to engage to his guard and lowered the lance to take some sellsword in arms he didn't recognize square in the chest. In slow motion he saw the man's body jerk backwards and felt the impact travel through the lance into his arm. The lance did the job and Roland heard the bubbling of blood emerge from the sellsword's throat as he died.
The next few minutes of Roland's life flashed by in half-remembered snatches of the sight of men dying at the head of his lance. It took great skill to deliver so many successful blows with his lance with out it splintering or his losing of it. He guessed the Warrior smiled on him as the blood of his foes soon coated his lance and the entire right side of his horse. Those who saw him that day would remark they'd rarely seen such a grim killer in any battle. Roland's own men took their lord's lead and cleared a bloody swath through their foemen.
Fire leaped from the earth around the party and jarred Roland from his blood lust, but did not distract him from driving his lance through the visor of a crossbowman. He wheeled his courser about and shouted to Lord Tyrell to muster friendly forces away from the fire. He scanned around the battlefield in time to see his father take a crossbow bolt in the chest. Lord Odhar wore a dinted thin plate breastplate. He should have worn the Bronze armor! The older man fell from his mount and lay on the ground. Roland saw Lady Aranya take up position guarding the Lord of the Vale, but he charged forward at the head of his guard anyway.
Pure, unbridled rage once again became Roland's person as he rode directly to his father's position. He could not remember how many of the sellswords he slew on the way there. He could only remember that he killed any that dared cross his path. He pulled his horse up short of Aranya and leapt from the saddle. He knelt next to the Lord of the Vale and saw his father still lived. The wound in his left shoulder and looked as though it should have missed his lungs and heart. His father looked weak, but smiled up at Roland. "It would seem we taught you well in Tedmyn's Down, my son. You were the bane of any who faced you..."
Results
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Roland reached grandmaster in horse.