Post by The Stranger on Aug 7, 2008 10:37:36 GMT -5
Regan cursed and swayed aside as the sword came darting at him again. Pivoting, he had just enough notice to raise his staff and catch the axe on it with a clack, inches from his face. He sent his second assailant, the axeman, reeling backward with a kick to the stomach. Using the short respite to position himself so that both his opponents were in front of him, the sellsword eyed their weapons warily. Blunted as they were, they could still cave his face in. And he was rather attached to his face.
Twirling his staff casually, Regan donned a cheeky grin and called out:
"Come on, lads, only my bitty stick against your steel. You said so yourself!"
Gales of laughter broke out from among the gathered men, thirty or so in all. They were all here, on the abandoned tourney grounds outside King's Landing, for the same reason. The same reason that thirty had gathered the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that. Regan knew the right ears to whisper in in a city like this, and word of his new-formed company, in service to Lord Darien of Greenstone, had quickly got out.
Regan personally interviewed all comers, and those who fell short were dismissed without further adieu. Those who passed his scrutiny were then taken here, to prove their worth by trial of arms. Again, by Regan personally, though as he panted under the merciless afternoon sun, he reflected that he might have to rethink that part.
The axeman, his face dark with anger, broke away from his more cautious comrade and came at the young sellsword with a snarl. A moment's notice was all he needed. As the bellowing man rushed at him, Regan slid his hands along the quarterstaff and pivoted. The end of the staff thudded into his opponents ribs, bringing a grunt of pain and surprise. Regan let the staff bounce of the axeman and carried it around as the swordsman came into range. The staff dipped, darted under the swordsman's practice blade and took his ankle out from under him. As he fell, Regan completed the turn in time to catch the axeman across his upraised wrist, sending his blade spinning from his grasp.
Darke grinned inwardly at the look of surprise on the axemans face, before poking him in the ribs twice, hard. As he folded over with a groan, Regan placed the butt of his staff in the dirt and winked at the onlookers. Their cries were just enough warning for him to turn and see the swordsman, blade held high and ready to take a vicious swing at his head.
"Bastard!" he snarled, ducking inside the cheeky fucker's reach as he dropped his staff and sent a flurry of blows into his opponents abdomen. He didn't stop there, even when the swordsman gasped for mercy. With a sweep of his foot, Regan took his legs out from under him once more. As his opponent sprawled in the dirt, the sellsword placed his boot on the junction between the man's legs and leaned his weight forward. The man's eyes bulged as Regan craned his neck down and said, in a perfectly cheerful tone:
"It's lack of morals like that that I need in my men. This ain't the fucking Kingsguard. Though you will be taking oaths of loyalty. You'll stay loyal, won't you friend?" At the mans fervent nods, Regan smiled. "Great! You're hired!"
Collapsing to the dirt in exhaustion, Regan squinted as the huge shadow of a hammerman fell over him, blotting out the sun.
"Up. My turn," the ugly brute grunted, and in answer, the axeman from earlier cried out: "No way! I want another chance!"
As the two argued, Regan shut his eyes and waved his hand airily. "Fuck this. Fight each other, if you like. I'm fucking retired."
Results:
Regan Darke towards Master Staff.
Regan Darke to Noteworthy Fist-Fighting.
Lord Darien Greenstone employs 100 men, hand-picked and led by Regan Darke.
Twirling his staff casually, Regan donned a cheeky grin and called out:
"Come on, lads, only my bitty stick against your steel. You said so yourself!"
Gales of laughter broke out from among the gathered men, thirty or so in all. They were all here, on the abandoned tourney grounds outside King's Landing, for the same reason. The same reason that thirty had gathered the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that. Regan knew the right ears to whisper in in a city like this, and word of his new-formed company, in service to Lord Darien of Greenstone, had quickly got out.
Regan personally interviewed all comers, and those who fell short were dismissed without further adieu. Those who passed his scrutiny were then taken here, to prove their worth by trial of arms. Again, by Regan personally, though as he panted under the merciless afternoon sun, he reflected that he might have to rethink that part.
The axeman, his face dark with anger, broke away from his more cautious comrade and came at the young sellsword with a snarl. A moment's notice was all he needed. As the bellowing man rushed at him, Regan slid his hands along the quarterstaff and pivoted. The end of the staff thudded into his opponents ribs, bringing a grunt of pain and surprise. Regan let the staff bounce of the axeman and carried it around as the swordsman came into range. The staff dipped, darted under the swordsman's practice blade and took his ankle out from under him. As he fell, Regan completed the turn in time to catch the axeman across his upraised wrist, sending his blade spinning from his grasp.
Darke grinned inwardly at the look of surprise on the axemans face, before poking him in the ribs twice, hard. As he folded over with a groan, Regan placed the butt of his staff in the dirt and winked at the onlookers. Their cries were just enough warning for him to turn and see the swordsman, blade held high and ready to take a vicious swing at his head.
"Bastard!" he snarled, ducking inside the cheeky fucker's reach as he dropped his staff and sent a flurry of blows into his opponents abdomen. He didn't stop there, even when the swordsman gasped for mercy. With a sweep of his foot, Regan took his legs out from under him once more. As his opponent sprawled in the dirt, the sellsword placed his boot on the junction between the man's legs and leaned his weight forward. The man's eyes bulged as Regan craned his neck down and said, in a perfectly cheerful tone:
"It's lack of morals like that that I need in my men. This ain't the fucking Kingsguard. Though you will be taking oaths of loyalty. You'll stay loyal, won't you friend?" At the mans fervent nods, Regan smiled. "Great! You're hired!"
Collapsing to the dirt in exhaustion, Regan squinted as the huge shadow of a hammerman fell over him, blotting out the sun.
"Up. My turn," the ugly brute grunted, and in answer, the axeman from earlier cried out: "No way! I want another chance!"
As the two argued, Regan shut his eyes and waved his hand airily. "Fuck this. Fight each other, if you like. I'm fucking retired."
Results:
Regan Darke towards Master Staff.
Regan Darke to Noteworthy Fist-Fighting.
Lord Darien Greenstone employs 100 men, hand-picked and led by Regan Darke.