Post by The Smith on Jun 10, 2009 13:47:56 GMT -5
The Traitors’ Sons had marched long and hard since getting through the fortress of Moat Cailin. They were not marching along the King’s Road. According to the map they were where the King’s Road was closest to the Green Fork, which meant they’d been making good progress.
The past tense being significant.
For now that the winter snows were beginning to melt, the Green Fork was vastly swollen in its banks, and streams and creeks were running high. They’d already been forced to detour for several miles after coming upon a section of the road which was washed out.
Finally, Quick Jax had found a small bridge across a particularly aggressive and swift moving tributary. It was either cross here, or continue much further east, delays which might give the main army time to catch up. And that could not be allowed.
As the column of three-hundred men approached the bridge in order to cross it, they spotted a single man on horseback, wearing green-tinted plate mail, astride a massive white stallion, its nostrils flaring beneath its chain barding. Buried into the ground was a green and blue banner which Talyn did not recognize as belonging to any Riverlord he’d ever heard of.
“All those who would cross here, pay tribute to me,” said a voice emanating from beneath the man’s great helm.
Talyn raised his hand to slow his men, and he stepped forward.
“My name is Ser Talyn, and I command these men, and we must cross this bridge.”
“Then you pay.” The man replied, “three-hundred dragons, or three broken lances. The choice is yours.”
Talyn snorted, “I have no dragons, but I have three-hundred men here ser. Don’t be a fool. If we wish to cross this bridge we shall.”
The response was a series of whistling quarrels from the tree line on the other side of the bridge which thudded into the soft dirt at their feet.
“My small folk will not allow it.” The Knight replied, his horse whinnied.
Talyn eyed the tree-line. There were not many men back there, but they had crossbows, and they’d take a goodly number of lives before his men could get across the narrow wooden bridge and cut them down.
“Very well, I suppose my choice is three broken lances.”
The Knight nodded, and stretched out his arm. A skinny, miserable looking young boy with patches in his hair which suggested mange carried out a lance and the green armored knight snatched it up.
It’s heavy steel tip suggested it was not tourney lance.
“Jax, a lance.”
“Ser, we don’t have any lances. How about a long spear?”
“It’ll have to do,“ Talyn admitted. As he strapped his shield to his
arm, he wondered at the ludicrousness of the situation. It seemed that the Others were not the only monsters of bedtime stories which had come to life in the past four-years. The sellsword gestured for his men to step back lest they be trampled in the exchange.
“If you are ready ser,” the Knight asked. When Talyn nodded, his opponent reared up his horse, and proceeded to charge.
The suddenness of the man’s advance caught Talyn quite by surprise, and he spurred his horse into a gallop as fast as he could. The bridge thundered loudly with the sound of hoof beats, and Thatcher thought for certain it would collapse under the weight.
But it did not. Instead the Knight’s lance struck Talyn squarely in the
shield, punching a fist sized hole through it.
By gods, I’m lucky that wasn’t my arm.
“One.” The Mad knight said, his voice grating and metallic beneath the shadowy depths of his helm.
As Talyn surveyed the Knight’s side of the stream bank now, he saw a collection of scattered weapons and armor pieces, along with bones. Apparently he had not been the only cheap skate to choose lance over coin.
The knight charged again, and Talyn leaned forward in the saddle as he kicked his heels. With an alarming crash, steel met iron and oak, and tore the top of the Traitor’s Son shield in two. Talyn clung to his mount in determination.
“Two!” the Knight said, as he tossed the bent remains of his lance to the ground and the young boy brought him another lance.
The Knight readied his lance and pointed it at Talyn’s chest. “Shall we continue?”
Talyn tossed the shattered remains of his shield aside, “Let’s.”
The Knight reared up and charged, and Talyn spurred his horse onward. The Knight was aiming at the Sellsword’s head. Talyn ducked low, and for the first time the mad horseman missed his mark. Talyn’s spear struck the man in the thigh, and pierced through the mail. The Knight grunted, and brought his horse to a stand-still.
“Well done ser, well done. You faced three lances well. You and your men may go.” Purple ichor began to flow down the man’s leg. He was dead in the saddle, and he apparently knew it.
Talyn didn’t wait for another opportunity.
“Get your arses across that bridge,” Talyn said, shaking his head in surprise, as a handful of smallfolk came out of the treeline and pulled the knight down from his horse, and began stripping him of his armor.
But the way south was clear.
Results:
Talyn Thatcher to Expert Lance
Talyn Thatcher to Noteworthy Horse
The past tense being significant.
For now that the winter snows were beginning to melt, the Green Fork was vastly swollen in its banks, and streams and creeks were running high. They’d already been forced to detour for several miles after coming upon a section of the road which was washed out.
Finally, Quick Jax had found a small bridge across a particularly aggressive and swift moving tributary. It was either cross here, or continue much further east, delays which might give the main army time to catch up. And that could not be allowed.
As the column of three-hundred men approached the bridge in order to cross it, they spotted a single man on horseback, wearing green-tinted plate mail, astride a massive white stallion, its nostrils flaring beneath its chain barding. Buried into the ground was a green and blue banner which Talyn did not recognize as belonging to any Riverlord he’d ever heard of.
“All those who would cross here, pay tribute to me,” said a voice emanating from beneath the man’s great helm.
Talyn raised his hand to slow his men, and he stepped forward.
“My name is Ser Talyn, and I command these men, and we must cross this bridge.”
“Then you pay.” The man replied, “three-hundred dragons, or three broken lances. The choice is yours.”
Talyn snorted, “I have no dragons, but I have three-hundred men here ser. Don’t be a fool. If we wish to cross this bridge we shall.”
The response was a series of whistling quarrels from the tree line on the other side of the bridge which thudded into the soft dirt at their feet.
“My small folk will not allow it.” The Knight replied, his horse whinnied.
Talyn eyed the tree-line. There were not many men back there, but they had crossbows, and they’d take a goodly number of lives before his men could get across the narrow wooden bridge and cut them down.
“Very well, I suppose my choice is three broken lances.”
The Knight nodded, and stretched out his arm. A skinny, miserable looking young boy with patches in his hair which suggested mange carried out a lance and the green armored knight snatched it up.
It’s heavy steel tip suggested it was not tourney lance.
“Jax, a lance.”
“Ser, we don’t have any lances. How about a long spear?”
“It’ll have to do,“ Talyn admitted. As he strapped his shield to his
arm, he wondered at the ludicrousness of the situation. It seemed that the Others were not the only monsters of bedtime stories which had come to life in the past four-years. The sellsword gestured for his men to step back lest they be trampled in the exchange.
“If you are ready ser,” the Knight asked. When Talyn nodded, his opponent reared up his horse, and proceeded to charge.
The suddenness of the man’s advance caught Talyn quite by surprise, and he spurred his horse into a gallop as fast as he could. The bridge thundered loudly with the sound of hoof beats, and Thatcher thought for certain it would collapse under the weight.
But it did not. Instead the Knight’s lance struck Talyn squarely in the
shield, punching a fist sized hole through it.
By gods, I’m lucky that wasn’t my arm.
“One.” The Mad knight said, his voice grating and metallic beneath the shadowy depths of his helm.
As Talyn surveyed the Knight’s side of the stream bank now, he saw a collection of scattered weapons and armor pieces, along with bones. Apparently he had not been the only cheap skate to choose lance over coin.
The knight charged again, and Talyn leaned forward in the saddle as he kicked his heels. With an alarming crash, steel met iron and oak, and tore the top of the Traitor’s Son shield in two. Talyn clung to his mount in determination.
“Two!” the Knight said, as he tossed the bent remains of his lance to the ground and the young boy brought him another lance.
The Knight readied his lance and pointed it at Talyn’s chest. “Shall we continue?”
Talyn tossed the shattered remains of his shield aside, “Let’s.”
The Knight reared up and charged, and Talyn spurred his horse onward. The Knight was aiming at the Sellsword’s head. Talyn ducked low, and for the first time the mad horseman missed his mark. Talyn’s spear struck the man in the thigh, and pierced through the mail. The Knight grunted, and brought his horse to a stand-still.
“Well done ser, well done. You faced three lances well. You and your men may go.” Purple ichor began to flow down the man’s leg. He was dead in the saddle, and he apparently knew it.
Talyn didn’t wait for another opportunity.
“Get your arses across that bridge,” Talyn said, shaking his head in surprise, as a handful of smallfolk came out of the treeline and pulled the knight down from his horse, and began stripping him of his armor.
But the way south was clear.
Results:
Talyn Thatcher to Expert Lance
Talyn Thatcher to Noteworthy Horse
Hope you all are well and happy.