Post by The Smith on Oct 15, 2008 11:56:55 GMT -5
(Events Occured During Time Jump)
It was a strange experience for young Justin Hightower, seeing his own breath, hanging in the air in a little white cloud. His horse, a broad grey courser snorted, adding its own cloud to its rider’s as it pawed the dirt. Justin tugged his heavy grey cloak further around his heavy mail hauberk. Behind him ten mounted men, also in grey, his personal guard, charged with watching over him during his time in the Vale.
“Ser Scot says we should be ready to move soon for the clannish are coming,” came a quiet voice of his friend and confidante Cyrus Varner. Only a few years younger, Cyrus was taller than his lord, but whipcord thin. His head swiveled, as the Varner lord gazed through the trees, looking for any sign of the approaching clansmen. Where Justin favored neutral grays, Cyrus kept to his own colors, wearing a doublet of black Ermines. With the alert look in his eye, and his long torso cased in silver mail, Justin couldn’t help but think that his friend looked like a metallic version of the weasel on his arms.
Both Justin and Cyrus had now been squiring in the Vale for some time. Justin with Ser Scot, and Cyrus under Lord Roland Royce, until his untimely arrest. Besides the long standing family ties of the Varners to the Vale, ones which had secured Justin a place beside the legendary battle master Ser Scot of Runestone, there was another reason to earn one’s spurs in the Vale.
It was one of the few places in Westeros one could still come upon a real fight. The Clannish had been growing in strengthen since the Roland Clan Killer no longer controlled ruled to oppose them.
This was why they were at present secreted along this mountain path, waiting for the Burned Men. Ser Scot was set to engage them just a few hundred yards to the south, and when they broke, he would give chase, driving them straight into the waiting trap.
“We Remember!” came the cry from further down the mountain. The battle was commencing. The clash of steel and iron, cries of pain and the whinnies of frightened horses echoed through the valley.
Soon enough, as Ser Scot had predicted, the Clansmen broke and fled, back up the mountain along the deer runs and mountain paths.
The brush rustled as men in mismatched armor and weapons ran up the path.
“Ready?” Cyrus asked his liege lord and friend.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” He replied, “We Light the Way!” he yelled, as he spurred his horse, his men close behind him.
They caught the fleeing clansmen in the flank, riding through them, swords slashing through meat and bone. Justin claimed his first kill as his castle forged steel split a Burned Man’s iron helm like an overripe melon. Cyrus was in the midst, striking at a handful of foes, whirling like a dervish.
When the last clansman was cut down, Justin raised his visor and examined what they had done.
“That was bloody work.” Cyrus offered, as he wiped of his blade on his black surcoat before sheathing it. The Reachmen had lost one man, and killed or captured fourteen clansmen, in addition to whatever damage Ser Scot and his Valemen had wrought below.
The two men and their retinue traveled down the mountain path, until they rejoined Ser Scot and his larger Vale force.
“How’d you fare?” Justin’s mentor, and Cyrus’ uncle asked as he dispatched a grievously wounded clansman.
“Well enough, fourteen clansmen, that’s all you sent our way.”
“Not bad for a first time Lord Justin, Lord Cyrus. I’d say you’re coming along quite well.”
Results:
Justin Hightower to Expert+ Battle
Justin Hightower to Expert Sword
Cyrus Varner to Expert Battle
Cyrus Varner to Expert Sword
It was a strange experience for young Justin Hightower, seeing his own breath, hanging in the air in a little white cloud. His horse, a broad grey courser snorted, adding its own cloud to its rider’s as it pawed the dirt. Justin tugged his heavy grey cloak further around his heavy mail hauberk. Behind him ten mounted men, also in grey, his personal guard, charged with watching over him during his time in the Vale.
“Ser Scot says we should be ready to move soon for the clannish are coming,” came a quiet voice of his friend and confidante Cyrus Varner. Only a few years younger, Cyrus was taller than his lord, but whipcord thin. His head swiveled, as the Varner lord gazed through the trees, looking for any sign of the approaching clansmen. Where Justin favored neutral grays, Cyrus kept to his own colors, wearing a doublet of black Ermines. With the alert look in his eye, and his long torso cased in silver mail, Justin couldn’t help but think that his friend looked like a metallic version of the weasel on his arms.
Both Justin and Cyrus had now been squiring in the Vale for some time. Justin with Ser Scot, and Cyrus under Lord Roland Royce, until his untimely arrest. Besides the long standing family ties of the Varners to the Vale, ones which had secured Justin a place beside the legendary battle master Ser Scot of Runestone, there was another reason to earn one’s spurs in the Vale.
It was one of the few places in Westeros one could still come upon a real fight. The Clannish had been growing in strengthen since the Roland Clan Killer no longer controlled ruled to oppose them.
This was why they were at present secreted along this mountain path, waiting for the Burned Men. Ser Scot was set to engage them just a few hundred yards to the south, and when they broke, he would give chase, driving them straight into the waiting trap.
“We Remember!” came the cry from further down the mountain. The battle was commencing. The clash of steel and iron, cries of pain and the whinnies of frightened horses echoed through the valley.
Soon enough, as Ser Scot had predicted, the Clansmen broke and fled, back up the mountain along the deer runs and mountain paths.
The brush rustled as men in mismatched armor and weapons ran up the path.
“Ready?” Cyrus asked his liege lord and friend.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” He replied, “We Light the Way!” he yelled, as he spurred his horse, his men close behind him.
They caught the fleeing clansmen in the flank, riding through them, swords slashing through meat and bone. Justin claimed his first kill as his castle forged steel split a Burned Man’s iron helm like an overripe melon. Cyrus was in the midst, striking at a handful of foes, whirling like a dervish.
When the last clansman was cut down, Justin raised his visor and examined what they had done.
“That was bloody work.” Cyrus offered, as he wiped of his blade on his black surcoat before sheathing it. The Reachmen had lost one man, and killed or captured fourteen clansmen, in addition to whatever damage Ser Scot and his Valemen had wrought below.
The two men and their retinue traveled down the mountain path, until they rejoined Ser Scot and his larger Vale force.
“How’d you fare?” Justin’s mentor, and Cyrus’ uncle asked as he dispatched a grievously wounded clansman.
“Well enough, fourteen clansmen, that’s all you sent our way.”
“Not bad for a first time Lord Justin, Lord Cyrus. I’d say you’re coming along quite well.”
Results:
Justin Hightower to Expert+ Battle
Justin Hightower to Expert Sword
Cyrus Varner to Expert Battle
Cyrus Varner to Expert Sword