Post by Horas on Nov 21, 2008 18:31:17 GMT -5
'Spear, spear, where's my damn spear' was all that went through Hamish's mind, as he was preparing himself for a last-second dodge.
There was no time to be afraid. He didn't bother to draw his bow or knife- as a bear with this size, you could just as well try and tickle it to death- or pay attention to the shouts that he could hear in the background.
He suddenly realized that he held the shaft of his spear in his hand, and the daughter standing some distance away. She must have thrown it to him, but he had no time to ponder on it anymore, as the large thing of fur was coming at him. He crouched with the spear poised; the bear intent on eating him for dinner.
His father had taught him how to kill bears. You shot them full of arrows at a safe distance with a lot of help.
“Yaaaaah!” he shouted as he lunged the spear to toward the bear.
The impact was like jamming a pole through stone, and it jarred every bone and muscle in his upper body. He shouted again, this time in alarm, as the weight of the bear drove him backward, his heels skidding on the ground. The foot-long blade sank into the bears middle, and part of the spear shaft after it, and the growling roar from the bear was mixed with saliva and fan of blood. The butt of the spear slid along the ground until it jammed in a root, carrying him with it like a bundle.
The bear screamed again, as the weapon was driven deeper by it's own strength and weight. The bear twisted in pain, and in one of these twists, he landed a blow to Hamish, sending him through the air with no more effort than a child's doll.
Hamish looked as the man ran toward the bear, trying to fend it off, trying to save his daughter. The woman continued to shoot arrows into the bear. Hamish realized that nothing sheer death would stop the bear. He sympathized with it; he'd do the same if he was knew he was dying, he would fight harder in hopes to bring as many down with him.
He managed to rise and by luck, he managed to get a hold of the spear as the woman continued to put arrows in the bear. Hamish twisted desperately at the spear, understanding how his leg slowed him down- and how the spear had sunk deeper put him close to it.
And then the bears paw flashed toward him.
- - - - - - - -
When he fully came back to himself, he was quickly aware of the stabbing pain in his neck. Shortly there after he became aware that blood was pouring down his face, but he ignored that until he checked that he could at least move his hands and legs.
Then slowly he put a hand to his face. Light came back when he pushed back a flap of skin, that was hanging over his left eye; when he had it in place, he realized that there was a bad cut from his upper peak of his left cheekbone, then beside his eye on that side- close enough the corner to give him a cold chill- and across his forehead and into his scalp. He managed to wipe the blood from his eyes and the world cleared up.
The bear laid about seven feet away, very dead, arrows sprouting out of it and the rusted sword through it's head. One could never know what had been the killing blow, the spear, arrows or the sword. Blood still trickled from the body, so Hamish couldn't have been out more than a minute.
“Stranger?” the man said, resting his hand on Hamish's, moving his hand to check the wound. “This is going to take a lot of stitching and healing, but luckily my Franny can handle that quite well.
That was the last words Hamish heard, before he passed out.
- - - - - - - -
When Hamish woke again, he felt completely drained; not in much pain- an itching stab along his scalp wound, a throb in his neck, bruises elsewhere- but weak as a kitten. Something smelled wonderful close by though.
Gradually his vision came to. He was in some kind of building somewhere, lying on a bed of straw with a blanket over him. There was a pot over the fire, and that was where the wonderful smell came from.
“What's that?” he tried to say, but his throat was completely dry.
The daughter turned from stirring the stew.
“Mother, he's awake” she shouted, and soon the woman appeared.
“So you still live, stranger. The Gods must look upon you with favor. You have been in and out of it for three days now. There was a time that I thought that you wouldn't make it”
Hamish tried to say something.
“Be quiet, it'll take some time before you have your strength back. Here, have some water.”
The woman put water-skin to Hamish's lips, and poured a small amount of water down his throat. The water felt good in his throat, and he wished that he could thank them, but his eyelids were growing heavy and he fell asleep again.
- - - - - - - -
Results
Hamish Harclay improves to Master Weapon (Spear)
There was no time to be afraid. He didn't bother to draw his bow or knife- as a bear with this size, you could just as well try and tickle it to death- or pay attention to the shouts that he could hear in the background.
He suddenly realized that he held the shaft of his spear in his hand, and the daughter standing some distance away. She must have thrown it to him, but he had no time to ponder on it anymore, as the large thing of fur was coming at him. He crouched with the spear poised; the bear intent on eating him for dinner.
His father had taught him how to kill bears. You shot them full of arrows at a safe distance with a lot of help.
“Yaaaaah!” he shouted as he lunged the spear to toward the bear.
The impact was like jamming a pole through stone, and it jarred every bone and muscle in his upper body. He shouted again, this time in alarm, as the weight of the bear drove him backward, his heels skidding on the ground. The foot-long blade sank into the bears middle, and part of the spear shaft after it, and the growling roar from the bear was mixed with saliva and fan of blood. The butt of the spear slid along the ground until it jammed in a root, carrying him with it like a bundle.
The bear screamed again, as the weapon was driven deeper by it's own strength and weight. The bear twisted in pain, and in one of these twists, he landed a blow to Hamish, sending him through the air with no more effort than a child's doll.
Hamish looked as the man ran toward the bear, trying to fend it off, trying to save his daughter. The woman continued to shoot arrows into the bear. Hamish realized that nothing sheer death would stop the bear. He sympathized with it; he'd do the same if he was knew he was dying, he would fight harder in hopes to bring as many down with him.
He managed to rise and by luck, he managed to get a hold of the spear as the woman continued to put arrows in the bear. Hamish twisted desperately at the spear, understanding how his leg slowed him down- and how the spear had sunk deeper put him close to it.
And then the bears paw flashed toward him.
- - - - - - - -
When he fully came back to himself, he was quickly aware of the stabbing pain in his neck. Shortly there after he became aware that blood was pouring down his face, but he ignored that until he checked that he could at least move his hands and legs.
Then slowly he put a hand to his face. Light came back when he pushed back a flap of skin, that was hanging over his left eye; when he had it in place, he realized that there was a bad cut from his upper peak of his left cheekbone, then beside his eye on that side- close enough the corner to give him a cold chill- and across his forehead and into his scalp. He managed to wipe the blood from his eyes and the world cleared up.
The bear laid about seven feet away, very dead, arrows sprouting out of it and the rusted sword through it's head. One could never know what had been the killing blow, the spear, arrows or the sword. Blood still trickled from the body, so Hamish couldn't have been out more than a minute.
“Stranger?” the man said, resting his hand on Hamish's, moving his hand to check the wound. “This is going to take a lot of stitching and healing, but luckily my Franny can handle that quite well.
That was the last words Hamish heard, before he passed out.
- - - - - - - -
When Hamish woke again, he felt completely drained; not in much pain- an itching stab along his scalp wound, a throb in his neck, bruises elsewhere- but weak as a kitten. Something smelled wonderful close by though.
Gradually his vision came to. He was in some kind of building somewhere, lying on a bed of straw with a blanket over him. There was a pot over the fire, and that was where the wonderful smell came from.
“What's that?” he tried to say, but his throat was completely dry.
The daughter turned from stirring the stew.
“Mother, he's awake” she shouted, and soon the woman appeared.
“So you still live, stranger. The Gods must look upon you with favor. You have been in and out of it for three days now. There was a time that I thought that you wouldn't make it”
Hamish tried to say something.
“Be quiet, it'll take some time before you have your strength back. Here, have some water.”
The woman put water-skin to Hamish's lips, and poured a small amount of water down his throat. The water felt good in his throat, and he wished that he could thank them, but his eyelids were growing heavy and he fell asleep again.
- - - - - - - -
Results
Hamish Harclay improves to Master Weapon (Spear)