Post by The Stranger on Jul 15, 2008 16:23:53 GMT -5
Brandon looked at the man in front of him. The man was frightened of course, who wouldn’t be after all? They had separated the two captives, it wouldn’t do if they knew that another was alive, they might be getting less information then. Some people thought that fear was the greatest motivator of getting hidden truths out of your enemy. True enough that would work on some, but what eventually worked on everyone was kindness. It was confusing in the start because everyone had a fixed idea on what their enemy was like, and to find that image shattered… why the whole world would shift underneath their feet! Brandon looked again at the black haired man, a son to man and a woman, probably a farmer before he got recruited to a war he had no reasons to fight. Just a case of loyalty, and couldn’t that be said of everyman in Westeros… well most of them anyway, though ultimately everyone was loyal to something or someone, whether it was money, your king, your father and so on.
Brandon wondered what image the foreign soldiers had been given of the Westerosi. He was probably told that they were a cruel people and had done them some past slight to grievous and vile to be mentioned. He looked at the man, and was stricken by how young he seemed he couldn’t be more than sixteen. There was no way to escape here in the loft of the building they had taken refuge. The rest of the men were down stairs as Brandon preferred to work in solitude, no doubt they thought he was going to torture the man. Brandon pointed at himself and said, “Brandon”. He then pointed at the young man and waited for a response. Brandon sighed as the foreigner didn’t respond. He repeated the motion and yet again the man didn’t answer. Brandon found a knife at his belt; the foreigner tried to back away and was astonished when Brandon cut through the rope tying his hands. Brandon then turned his back knowing what to come. The youth climbed unsteadily to his feet and lunged at him; Brandon pivoted away and slammed a fist into the man’s head, knocking him unconscious. The Valeman sighed yet again and waited for the youth to wake up.
The foreigner woke up to the sound of a harp playing, he spoke some words and Brandon didn’t have to know the language to understand the words as they where writ plainly on the young man’s confused face, “Why haven’t you killed me yet?”. Brandon shrugged, took a bite of an apple and tossed it to his captive. “Brandon,” he said pointing at himself he then pointed at the man eating the apple. The captive looked uncertain before he finally relented and said his name. They spent most of the in that regard Brandon would point at various things and the prisoner would name them, Brandon would then repeat the words and succeeded more often than he failed. The night however would be the true test. The prisoner yawned then uttered a word, probably sleep or tired. Brandon nodded and pretended to fall a sleep.
An half an hour or more later, Brandon could hear the foreigner stirring awake, he did nothing though. The prisoner untied the rope binding his feet together and tried to sneak towards Brandon. Brandon did what he had done in Hellholt in the mirrored hallway with what seemed like a hundred stalking guards approaching. In his mind’s eye he saw the waves of sound of the prisoner approaching closer and closer. When the time was right he swiped with his foot startling the prisoner and managed cause him to fall down. The prisoner rolled away to avoid yet another kick, and managed to stand up. He came at Brandon punching wildly, the Valeman however just kicked him in the thigh causing him to falter slightly, but it was enough for Brandon to punch him in the middle of the chest knocking the wind out of him. The prisoner was then tied up, “Sleep,” Brandon said to him saying the same words that the young man had said earlier.
The next day was even more productive, Patrek having wound some paper and something to write with had brought them up. Brandon drew different things and had the young man to say what they were. There was a resignation to the young man now, Brandon had not yet asked any thing regarding their homeland or their armies and he suspected that only then would he be able to measure how far the act of kindness would take him. The prisoner was still tied from the previous night, and after a while of learning new words Brandon went down stairs. It was time for the staged fight.
Wat had been given instructions to watch the prisoner while Brandon went down stairs; he was also instructed to approach the man menacingly with a knife. How sweet weren’t the sounds of the young man’s frightened shouts and the look on his face when Brandon kicked down Wat and the ensuing “wrestling” ending up with Brandon as the winner and Wat skulking back downstairs. Brandon smiled reassuringly at the prisoner, and the young man smiled back, however false it was. He understood then that the prisoner was but waiting for him to make a mistake, but until then the prisoner was going to give him what he wanted as long as it was harmless. So they kept up their charade throughout the day. There was another prisoner he could afford to torture information out of after all.
Results.
Brandon improves translating towards master. (learns some of the foreigners tounge)
Brandon improves to apprentice hand to hand fighting.
Brandon wondered what image the foreign soldiers had been given of the Westerosi. He was probably told that they were a cruel people and had done them some past slight to grievous and vile to be mentioned. He looked at the man, and was stricken by how young he seemed he couldn’t be more than sixteen. There was no way to escape here in the loft of the building they had taken refuge. The rest of the men were down stairs as Brandon preferred to work in solitude, no doubt they thought he was going to torture the man. Brandon pointed at himself and said, “Brandon”. He then pointed at the young man and waited for a response. Brandon sighed as the foreigner didn’t respond. He repeated the motion and yet again the man didn’t answer. Brandon found a knife at his belt; the foreigner tried to back away and was astonished when Brandon cut through the rope tying his hands. Brandon then turned his back knowing what to come. The youth climbed unsteadily to his feet and lunged at him; Brandon pivoted away and slammed a fist into the man’s head, knocking him unconscious. The Valeman sighed yet again and waited for the youth to wake up.
The foreigner woke up to the sound of a harp playing, he spoke some words and Brandon didn’t have to know the language to understand the words as they where writ plainly on the young man’s confused face, “Why haven’t you killed me yet?”. Brandon shrugged, took a bite of an apple and tossed it to his captive. “Brandon,” he said pointing at himself he then pointed at the man eating the apple. The captive looked uncertain before he finally relented and said his name. They spent most of the in that regard Brandon would point at various things and the prisoner would name them, Brandon would then repeat the words and succeeded more often than he failed. The night however would be the true test. The prisoner yawned then uttered a word, probably sleep or tired. Brandon nodded and pretended to fall a sleep.
An half an hour or more later, Brandon could hear the foreigner stirring awake, he did nothing though. The prisoner untied the rope binding his feet together and tried to sneak towards Brandon. Brandon did what he had done in Hellholt in the mirrored hallway with what seemed like a hundred stalking guards approaching. In his mind’s eye he saw the waves of sound of the prisoner approaching closer and closer. When the time was right he swiped with his foot startling the prisoner and managed cause him to fall down. The prisoner rolled away to avoid yet another kick, and managed to stand up. He came at Brandon punching wildly, the Valeman however just kicked him in the thigh causing him to falter slightly, but it was enough for Brandon to punch him in the middle of the chest knocking the wind out of him. The prisoner was then tied up, “Sleep,” Brandon said to him saying the same words that the young man had said earlier.
The next day was even more productive, Patrek having wound some paper and something to write with had brought them up. Brandon drew different things and had the young man to say what they were. There was a resignation to the young man now, Brandon had not yet asked any thing regarding their homeland or their armies and he suspected that only then would he be able to measure how far the act of kindness would take him. The prisoner was still tied from the previous night, and after a while of learning new words Brandon went down stairs. It was time for the staged fight.
Wat had been given instructions to watch the prisoner while Brandon went down stairs; he was also instructed to approach the man menacingly with a knife. How sweet weren’t the sounds of the young man’s frightened shouts and the look on his face when Brandon kicked down Wat and the ensuing “wrestling” ending up with Brandon as the winner and Wat skulking back downstairs. Brandon smiled reassuringly at the prisoner, and the young man smiled back, however false it was. He understood then that the prisoner was but waiting for him to make a mistake, but until then the prisoner was going to give him what he wanted as long as it was harmless. So they kept up their charade throughout the day. There was another prisoner he could afford to torture information out of after all.
Results.
Brandon improves translating towards master. (learns some of the foreigners tounge)
Brandon improves to apprentice hand to hand fighting.