Post by The Stranger on Jul 28, 2008 10:51:42 GMT -5
Standing atop a hill, Galahad looked down upon the Red City. He had been there a few times in his youth, but never had he seen it in such condition. The fields around the city were stained red and pink, the walls blackened with pitch.
'Was this what the farm looked like now?' he thought to himself. He had dreams recently, of a burned village, and scorched farms. He wondered if they were true or not; and more, weather or not he wanted to know. The hope of his mother and grandfather were the only things keeping him going, and strong.
Shaking his head, he realized thinking about it did no good. If he wanted to better himself towards defeating these lizard men, he would have to do so by conditioning himself. Returning to his modest tent, he deposited his things, before taking off in a brisk jog. He would run to the far campfires of the North, before returning.
The cold bit through his clothes a little, but it soon went away, as his body warmed the wool he was wearing. Along the way, he saw a large variety of different House Arms, none of which he'd seen before, besides those seen at Deep Den. He had noticed Darien of Stone and another man ready to bout in the training ring, and noted their location, before turning his attention ahead again. It was midday before Gal had returned to his tent, before donning his items and searching out for Ser Dylan. He had seen him earlier, though from a distance, making way for the make-shift lists men were using for practice. Galahad had rarely used them before, and did not know the men who frequently attended them.
Upon arriving, he immediately saw Ser Dylan ride a pass at a suspended ring, as he just missed sliding his lance into the ring. Galahad walked to him and he arrived at the end of the list.
"Ah! Galahad! How do you fare?" the knight called down, not at all perplexed that he missed his target.
"I fare well Ser Dylan. What is it that you're doing?" Gal inquired.
"I am attempting to train my jousting, though I have never been very good," he confessed.
"Likewise ser. Though, may I have a try at it?" he inquired.
"Be my guest. I am not in lack of tourney lances," he smiled, dismounting his horse and offering it to Galahad. Mounting the horse, Galahad turned and looked at the ring in front of him. Raising the blue and gold lance of house Crane, Gal kicked the horse into a trot towards the ring, speeding up. Shifting slightly in his seat, Gal poised his lance and darted it forwards, hitting the target dead on, as it slid through the hoop.
"Ho!" cheered Dylan, as Galahad made his way back. "Well done! You are quite the natural!"
Galahad laughed. "Thank you, dear friend. I find the lance agrees with me," he explained. Looking over, he spotted a wooden and straw dummy sitting upon a post. "May I try a few goes at that, ser?" he asked, riding off at Ser Dylan's nod.
Setting himself, and riding down the list, Galahad aimed his lance for the dummy, trying for the head. Thrusting his lance, he makes contact with the dummy. But in the mid section. Cracking the lance slightly, but not completely, Galahad reuses the same one, not wanting to waste it.
Turning around, and having a go at it again, Galahad redoubles his efforts, this time going faster towards the dummy, and leaning his body weight forwards with his strike. Upon his lance making contact with the head, the cracked part of the tip breaks off, revealing a sharp point that penetrates through the dummy's head. Letting go of the lance, it stays supported by the dummy, protruding.
Returning to pull out the broken lance before returning to Ser Dylan and his squire (who takes the lance), Dylan exclaims his joy. "Good show, Galahad! You are a natural! You have raw talent, boy, and I'd like to see it flourish. Come, have another go!" he insists, and the squire returns with another lance, which Galahad thanks him for.
Throughout the rest of the day, Galahad ran down the dummy, not missing a single time. The sun was setting over the west, when he thrust his final blow, breaking the tattered and worn dummy clean off it's supports. Frowning at the damage he'd done, he returned once more to Ser Dylan.
"You may have cost me a small fortune in tourney lances, Galahad, but it makes my heart warm to see such a lad perform so well. You will go far, you will," he said, with an honest smile and a twinkle in his eye.
"Your words are too kind," Galahad said, pleased by the praise. His body was sore, and his clothes slick with sweat. He had worked and concentrated hard, and was in need of a good rest. "I seem to need some rest now," Galahad said, exhausted.
"Aye, of course. Come, I have a meal prepared. We will need a last good one before tomorrow," he said, warmly, with a hint of hope.
'Tomorrow,' Galahad thought. 'This may be my last meal.'
Galahad advanced to Expert Lance.
Galahad advances to Apprentice Horsemanship.
'Was this what the farm looked like now?' he thought to himself. He had dreams recently, of a burned village, and scorched farms. He wondered if they were true or not; and more, weather or not he wanted to know. The hope of his mother and grandfather were the only things keeping him going, and strong.
Shaking his head, he realized thinking about it did no good. If he wanted to better himself towards defeating these lizard men, he would have to do so by conditioning himself. Returning to his modest tent, he deposited his things, before taking off in a brisk jog. He would run to the far campfires of the North, before returning.
The cold bit through his clothes a little, but it soon went away, as his body warmed the wool he was wearing. Along the way, he saw a large variety of different House Arms, none of which he'd seen before, besides those seen at Deep Den. He had noticed Darien of Stone and another man ready to bout in the training ring, and noted their location, before turning his attention ahead again. It was midday before Gal had returned to his tent, before donning his items and searching out for Ser Dylan. He had seen him earlier, though from a distance, making way for the make-shift lists men were using for practice. Galahad had rarely used them before, and did not know the men who frequently attended them.
Upon arriving, he immediately saw Ser Dylan ride a pass at a suspended ring, as he just missed sliding his lance into the ring. Galahad walked to him and he arrived at the end of the list.
"Ah! Galahad! How do you fare?" the knight called down, not at all perplexed that he missed his target.
"I fare well Ser Dylan. What is it that you're doing?" Gal inquired.
"I am attempting to train my jousting, though I have never been very good," he confessed.
"Likewise ser. Though, may I have a try at it?" he inquired.
"Be my guest. I am not in lack of tourney lances," he smiled, dismounting his horse and offering it to Galahad. Mounting the horse, Galahad turned and looked at the ring in front of him. Raising the blue and gold lance of house Crane, Gal kicked the horse into a trot towards the ring, speeding up. Shifting slightly in his seat, Gal poised his lance and darted it forwards, hitting the target dead on, as it slid through the hoop.
"Ho!" cheered Dylan, as Galahad made his way back. "Well done! You are quite the natural!"
Galahad laughed. "Thank you, dear friend. I find the lance agrees with me," he explained. Looking over, he spotted a wooden and straw dummy sitting upon a post. "May I try a few goes at that, ser?" he asked, riding off at Ser Dylan's nod.
Setting himself, and riding down the list, Galahad aimed his lance for the dummy, trying for the head. Thrusting his lance, he makes contact with the dummy. But in the mid section. Cracking the lance slightly, but not completely, Galahad reuses the same one, not wanting to waste it.
Turning around, and having a go at it again, Galahad redoubles his efforts, this time going faster towards the dummy, and leaning his body weight forwards with his strike. Upon his lance making contact with the head, the cracked part of the tip breaks off, revealing a sharp point that penetrates through the dummy's head. Letting go of the lance, it stays supported by the dummy, protruding.
Returning to pull out the broken lance before returning to Ser Dylan and his squire (who takes the lance), Dylan exclaims his joy. "Good show, Galahad! You are a natural! You have raw talent, boy, and I'd like to see it flourish. Come, have another go!" he insists, and the squire returns with another lance, which Galahad thanks him for.
Throughout the rest of the day, Galahad ran down the dummy, not missing a single time. The sun was setting over the west, when he thrust his final blow, breaking the tattered and worn dummy clean off it's supports. Frowning at the damage he'd done, he returned once more to Ser Dylan.
"You may have cost me a small fortune in tourney lances, Galahad, but it makes my heart warm to see such a lad perform so well. You will go far, you will," he said, with an honest smile and a twinkle in his eye.
"Your words are too kind," Galahad said, pleased by the praise. His body was sore, and his clothes slick with sweat. He had worked and concentrated hard, and was in need of a good rest. "I seem to need some rest now," Galahad said, exhausted.
"Aye, of course. Come, I have a meal prepared. We will need a last good one before tomorrow," he said, warmly, with a hint of hope.
'Tomorrow,' Galahad thought. 'This may be my last meal.'
Galahad advanced to Expert Lance.
Galahad advances to Apprentice Horsemanship.