Post by The Stranger on Jul 30, 2008 10:29:47 GMT -5
Brandon looked weary at the unofficial will of Aranya, that Darien had copied down. “Oh, what a brave fool she was,” Brandon thought fondly. Sadly her wishes regarding the Sealord couldn’t be done. A too powerful man to mess with for Brandon’s tastes, and one of Aranya’s “missions” had already caused his friend Reret a great deal of trouble. If Aranya did have a good network in place in the Free Cities, Brandon would have to find a way to somehow get in control of that. Though to tell the truth Brandon was finding this cloak and dagger business less and less to his tastes, but for now this was the best way he could aid his family.
He tried to remember any names that Aranya might have mentioned, or perhaps a name that Reret could have ranted about in one of his letters. Nothing came to his mind however, so he began to write notes to his more trusted spies to be wary about infiltration and spread some misinformation if someone were to try and get information about the Royce family. More importantly find out who they were working for, so that the misinformation could be passed along properly.
Walking around the camp he spotted his spies, and soon the notes, coded of course, found themselves in the spies’ pockets without anyone the wiser. He spent some time talking to other guards, and the younger soldiers that had gotten a taste of the bigger world and would likely not return to the farms that they wouldn’t inherit. He found the most charismatic of them, and spoke to them individually about the benefits about getting a job as guards; free roof over their heads, meal and decent pay, more than they would get living at their brother’s farm. They always seemed to perk up at that, whichever Lord they were originally called up. He then offered them more pay if they were willing to serve House Royce more diligently. The job were simply, being their charismatic selves they would be talkative and sooner or later someone would be too interested in what they had to say or what the soldier had overheard. The anti-whisperers would then inform Brandon or Lord Royce of the situation, and the possible whisperers from the other factions would be told false things or sent to a more remote service.
Moving on Brandon saw a large crowd standing in a circle, shouting and cheering. Getting closer he saw two men wrestling in the circle. One of them was a huge brute, while the other one was shorter and less broad shouldered. The crowd seemed to cheer for the brute due to his massive size, but the smaller man seemed to hold his own. Every time the brute seemed to have him in his grasp, the other man turned the situation around with some odd techniques. Soon they were both on the ground, the huge man atop but he didn’t seem to be able to punch the other man as his hands had become locked. The smaller man headbuttet the brute, which caused the brute to flinch, before the brute tried the same. The smaller man had anticipated this and moved his head causing the larger one to smash his nose into a forhead. The smaller man the rolled the brute over to the side and stood up, accepting the few cheers he got gracefully. The crowd thinned out as the excitement passed.
“That was impressive, Ser..?” Brandon said as he approached the winner of the match. The man turned and smiled, “I am Ser, no Lord Torrek Waxley” the smile on the lord seemed to vanish. Not wanting to broach the issue too soon, Brandon decided distracted the new lord. “Brandon Royce,” he introduced himself with a short bow. “Where did you learn how to wrestle like that, Lord Waxley?”. The lord seemed to grimace at being called lord, “the Master of Arms at Wickenden taught me, apparently his father had travelled a fair bit in his youth and been taught by another traveller from Yi Ti. The man from Yi Ti was very knowledgeable about unarmed combat, martial arts he called it according to the tale”. “Martial arts,” Brandon thought the name somehow familiar. “Martia! The name Reret had written in the letter”. He would have to write a letter to her later tonight. “Could you teach me some of that?” Brandon asked. The young Lord Waxley seemed to consider for a minute before he relented, “I can see no harm in that, of course I would have to show it on you first”. Brandon grimaced but nodded.
After a few hours of learning different grasping techniques and how to lock different body parts. “I am sorry for your loss,” Brandon said somberly. “Thank you,” Lord Waxley said simply and they sat in silence a few minutes before talking about other things; past experiences, travel and of other countries nearly forgetting that they would sometime soon be engaged in deadly combat with the enemy. “Are you ready for another go, Brandon?” Torrek asked. Brandon nodded, “As you will, Lord Waxley”. “Call me Torrek”.
Getting to his tent bruised and sore Brandon began to write a letter to Martia, detailing the death of Aranya and what would happen next with the whisperer network. He could only hope that she would answer.
Result.
Hand to hand fighting increase to noteworthy
Espionage increase towards grand master.
Brandon tries to get some control of Aranya’s network
He tried to remember any names that Aranya might have mentioned, or perhaps a name that Reret could have ranted about in one of his letters. Nothing came to his mind however, so he began to write notes to his more trusted spies to be wary about infiltration and spread some misinformation if someone were to try and get information about the Royce family. More importantly find out who they were working for, so that the misinformation could be passed along properly.
Walking around the camp he spotted his spies, and soon the notes, coded of course, found themselves in the spies’ pockets without anyone the wiser. He spent some time talking to other guards, and the younger soldiers that had gotten a taste of the bigger world and would likely not return to the farms that they wouldn’t inherit. He found the most charismatic of them, and spoke to them individually about the benefits about getting a job as guards; free roof over their heads, meal and decent pay, more than they would get living at their brother’s farm. They always seemed to perk up at that, whichever Lord they were originally called up. He then offered them more pay if they were willing to serve House Royce more diligently. The job were simply, being their charismatic selves they would be talkative and sooner or later someone would be too interested in what they had to say or what the soldier had overheard. The anti-whisperers would then inform Brandon or Lord Royce of the situation, and the possible whisperers from the other factions would be told false things or sent to a more remote service.
Moving on Brandon saw a large crowd standing in a circle, shouting and cheering. Getting closer he saw two men wrestling in the circle. One of them was a huge brute, while the other one was shorter and less broad shouldered. The crowd seemed to cheer for the brute due to his massive size, but the smaller man seemed to hold his own. Every time the brute seemed to have him in his grasp, the other man turned the situation around with some odd techniques. Soon they were both on the ground, the huge man atop but he didn’t seem to be able to punch the other man as his hands had become locked. The smaller man headbuttet the brute, which caused the brute to flinch, before the brute tried the same. The smaller man had anticipated this and moved his head causing the larger one to smash his nose into a forhead. The smaller man the rolled the brute over to the side and stood up, accepting the few cheers he got gracefully. The crowd thinned out as the excitement passed.
“That was impressive, Ser..?” Brandon said as he approached the winner of the match. The man turned and smiled, “I am Ser, no Lord Torrek Waxley” the smile on the lord seemed to vanish. Not wanting to broach the issue too soon, Brandon decided distracted the new lord. “Brandon Royce,” he introduced himself with a short bow. “Where did you learn how to wrestle like that, Lord Waxley?”. The lord seemed to grimace at being called lord, “the Master of Arms at Wickenden taught me, apparently his father had travelled a fair bit in his youth and been taught by another traveller from Yi Ti. The man from Yi Ti was very knowledgeable about unarmed combat, martial arts he called it according to the tale”. “Martial arts,” Brandon thought the name somehow familiar. “Martia! The name Reret had written in the letter”. He would have to write a letter to her later tonight. “Could you teach me some of that?” Brandon asked. The young Lord Waxley seemed to consider for a minute before he relented, “I can see no harm in that, of course I would have to show it on you first”. Brandon grimaced but nodded.
After a few hours of learning different grasping techniques and how to lock different body parts. “I am sorry for your loss,” Brandon said somberly. “Thank you,” Lord Waxley said simply and they sat in silence a few minutes before talking about other things; past experiences, travel and of other countries nearly forgetting that they would sometime soon be engaged in deadly combat with the enemy. “Are you ready for another go, Brandon?” Torrek asked. Brandon nodded, “As you will, Lord Waxley”. “Call me Torrek”.
Getting to his tent bruised and sore Brandon began to write a letter to Martia, detailing the death of Aranya and what would happen next with the whisperer network. He could only hope that she would answer.
Result.
Hand to hand fighting increase to noteworthy
Espionage increase towards grand master.
Brandon tries to get some control of Aranya’s network