Post by The Smith on Oct 24, 2008 19:48:07 GMT -5
The wine was mulled and warm in the Inn where Ser Osney Santagar, now 46, took his night cap. A hedge knight pulled up alongside, plinking down some copper on the table.
“Bastards just use you up, and when they don’t need you any more they throw you away.” The man said to his Dornish neighbor at the bar.
“I’m sorry, did I speak to you?” Ser Osney said. He was testy. He’d not pulled a blade in anger in over a year and a half, and since he’d been turned out of the red keep, he’d not pulled it to train others in at least two weeks.
“Oh, sorry good ser, I was simply saying that you bleed for ‘em, and they wine you and dine, till they think you ain’t worth nothing no more, and than they piss you away.” The man sounded drunk.
“Sounds like your employer was taking some notes from my own,” Osney japed, as he sipped on his wine.
“Whhy? Who was your employer?”
“The Iron Throne,” Osney snorted.
“Bloody hell, is it the Mad Dornishman, Ser Osney Santagar? Gods be good. It’s me, Ser Templeton!”
“Who?” Osney asked. He met a lot of knights in his time. There was a time when everyone wanted to say they knew the Knight of Spottswood.
“Templeton! King’s Man. We fought those lizard fuckers at the Gates of the Red Keep. You knighted Scot Royce right there, you did.” Templeton said, hiccupping slightly.
“I did. And you showed us the way out of there. I never properly thanked you for that.” Osney said, reaching for his coin purse. “Bar keep, more wine for me and my friend.”
“Aye, well no worries there, you wasn’t the only one.” Templeton smiled. “Anyhow, I got’s me a new employer.”
“Well congratulations than.” Osney grunted, as he took a long pull on the wine skin before handing it over to his former comrade. They sat in silence for awhile, drinking and reminiscing fights they’d fought. When the hour was getting late, the Barkeep (as politely as possible) shoo-ed them from the bar and into the street.
“Well, I suppose that does it for me.” Osney said.
“Nonsense, I know a place, where I get great discounts. Doesn’t even open till most of these sissies go to bed.” Templeton gestured, and arm and arm, the two knights walked towards Flea’s Bottom.
Templeton seemed radically sober when he hit the door of the Belly of the Beast. Eyes flitted towards the Dornishman, until they saw his companion, and than they proceeded to ignore him.
“C’mon, They’ll let me use the backroom.” Templeton said, as he hit the door, and entered into the cramped back storage room. Osney was on his heels, “I hope the wine isn’t as shitty as the décor,” He grumbled, until a torch was lit, and he could see a cloaked man sitting in a chair, surrounded by armed men.
“Fuck ‘all,” Osney grunted, his blade drawn in flash.
“Hold! There will be no need for that Ser Osney, we’re friends. Friends of Ser Templeton, and your friend as well, if you’ll allow it.” Osney kept his blade high, and surveyed the room carefully, the wine fog dissipating.
“Aye… and who the fuck are you?”
“I was Ser Benfry’s friend, as I am Ser Templeton’s. I showed him the passageway out of the Red Keep you used when the Basilisk overtook it, just as I showed Benfry the way out of the keep during the Crow’s Coup.”
“Bullshit, you’d have been a mere boy than.” Osney said, eying the man suspiciously.
“aye, I was too. But my Lord commanded it so I did it. Just because I don’t ride a horse so well doesn’t mean I don’t have my moments of valor too. They murdered Roland Royce tonight, did you hear. Your old squire’s brother.” Osney spat on the floor.
“I heard, what of it.”
“Not all lords betray their greatest soldiers when they are no longer convenient. Or cast them aside.”
“Yeah, so I got screwed over. It don’t mean I’m some fucking sellsword lout, like Templeton over here. Maybe I’ll just go back to Spottswood and enjoy my retirement.” Templeton caught Osney’s eye, and just shook his head sadly.
“You aren’t going to do that Osney, so let’s not pretend you are. You could give a shit for sitting in that old holdfast, collecting custom from small folk, and gouging yourself on lampreys and meat pies. What you will do, if no one intervenes, is hang around in wine sops, get drunk, pick fights, and kill a large number of stupid fools too drunk to realize the trouble they’ve bitten off. A leopard doesn’t change his spots Osney,” The man said, gesturing towards the Santagar badge at his chest. “You’re a knight, a soldier and a killer. It’s the action you want. The clash of steel, and the risk of bloody death should your skill not hold up.”
“So… you’re offering me a chance for bloody death? You need to work on your pitch Master…”
“Flea. Of Shallowgrave. And no I don’t. You’re already convinced. You’ll come back to Shallowgrave with me, and meet the rest of my friends, your new comrades-in-arms. You’ll meet my Lord, and learn more about what we do. But I can assure you it will be a new test for you. You will feel challenged with our work.”
Osney sniffed the air, like a large cat might approaching a watering hole before he was sure it was safe.
“And if I don’t like it?”
“Return to Spottswood, and enjoy all the lampreys you can eat, with my compliments.”
“Alright… We’ll see.”
Results: Ser Osney Santagar agrees to serve Flea and the Far Reach.
Flea improves to Master Charm
“Bastards just use you up, and when they don’t need you any more they throw you away.” The man said to his Dornish neighbor at the bar.
“I’m sorry, did I speak to you?” Ser Osney said. He was testy. He’d not pulled a blade in anger in over a year and a half, and since he’d been turned out of the red keep, he’d not pulled it to train others in at least two weeks.
“Oh, sorry good ser, I was simply saying that you bleed for ‘em, and they wine you and dine, till they think you ain’t worth nothing no more, and than they piss you away.” The man sounded drunk.
“Sounds like your employer was taking some notes from my own,” Osney japed, as he sipped on his wine.
“Whhy? Who was your employer?”
“The Iron Throne,” Osney snorted.
“Bloody hell, is it the Mad Dornishman, Ser Osney Santagar? Gods be good. It’s me, Ser Templeton!”
“Who?” Osney asked. He met a lot of knights in his time. There was a time when everyone wanted to say they knew the Knight of Spottswood.
“Templeton! King’s Man. We fought those lizard fuckers at the Gates of the Red Keep. You knighted Scot Royce right there, you did.” Templeton said, hiccupping slightly.
“I did. And you showed us the way out of there. I never properly thanked you for that.” Osney said, reaching for his coin purse. “Bar keep, more wine for me and my friend.”
“Aye, well no worries there, you wasn’t the only one.” Templeton smiled. “Anyhow, I got’s me a new employer.”
“Well congratulations than.” Osney grunted, as he took a long pull on the wine skin before handing it over to his former comrade. They sat in silence for awhile, drinking and reminiscing fights they’d fought. When the hour was getting late, the Barkeep (as politely as possible) shoo-ed them from the bar and into the street.
“Well, I suppose that does it for me.” Osney said.
“Nonsense, I know a place, where I get great discounts. Doesn’t even open till most of these sissies go to bed.” Templeton gestured, and arm and arm, the two knights walked towards Flea’s Bottom.
Templeton seemed radically sober when he hit the door of the Belly of the Beast. Eyes flitted towards the Dornishman, until they saw his companion, and than they proceeded to ignore him.
“C’mon, They’ll let me use the backroom.” Templeton said, as he hit the door, and entered into the cramped back storage room. Osney was on his heels, “I hope the wine isn’t as shitty as the décor,” He grumbled, until a torch was lit, and he could see a cloaked man sitting in a chair, surrounded by armed men.
“Fuck ‘all,” Osney grunted, his blade drawn in flash.
“Hold! There will be no need for that Ser Osney, we’re friends. Friends of Ser Templeton, and your friend as well, if you’ll allow it.” Osney kept his blade high, and surveyed the room carefully, the wine fog dissipating.
“Aye… and who the fuck are you?”
“I was Ser Benfry’s friend, as I am Ser Templeton’s. I showed him the passageway out of the Red Keep you used when the Basilisk overtook it, just as I showed Benfry the way out of the keep during the Crow’s Coup.”
“Bullshit, you’d have been a mere boy than.” Osney said, eying the man suspiciously.
“aye, I was too. But my Lord commanded it so I did it. Just because I don’t ride a horse so well doesn’t mean I don’t have my moments of valor too. They murdered Roland Royce tonight, did you hear. Your old squire’s brother.” Osney spat on the floor.
“I heard, what of it.”
“Not all lords betray their greatest soldiers when they are no longer convenient. Or cast them aside.”
“Yeah, so I got screwed over. It don’t mean I’m some fucking sellsword lout, like Templeton over here. Maybe I’ll just go back to Spottswood and enjoy my retirement.” Templeton caught Osney’s eye, and just shook his head sadly.
“You aren’t going to do that Osney, so let’s not pretend you are. You could give a shit for sitting in that old holdfast, collecting custom from small folk, and gouging yourself on lampreys and meat pies. What you will do, if no one intervenes, is hang around in wine sops, get drunk, pick fights, and kill a large number of stupid fools too drunk to realize the trouble they’ve bitten off. A leopard doesn’t change his spots Osney,” The man said, gesturing towards the Santagar badge at his chest. “You’re a knight, a soldier and a killer. It’s the action you want. The clash of steel, and the risk of bloody death should your skill not hold up.”
“So… you’re offering me a chance for bloody death? You need to work on your pitch Master…”
“Flea. Of Shallowgrave. And no I don’t. You’re already convinced. You’ll come back to Shallowgrave with me, and meet the rest of my friends, your new comrades-in-arms. You’ll meet my Lord, and learn more about what we do. But I can assure you it will be a new test for you. You will feel challenged with our work.”
Osney sniffed the air, like a large cat might approaching a watering hole before he was sure it was safe.
“And if I don’t like it?”
“Return to Spottswood, and enjoy all the lampreys you can eat, with my compliments.”
“Alright… We’ll see.”
Results: Ser Osney Santagar agrees to serve Flea and the Far Reach.
Flea improves to Master Charm