Post by The Great Other on Aug 26, 2012 0:41:25 GMT -5
Ser Charles Rosby trekked through the dense forests of the Kingswood, the damp smell in the air informing him he was nearing the Wendwood and hopefully the headquarters of the Heretic Brotherhood. It had been two weeks since he had been appointed captain of a group of Warrior’s Sons and begun his search for the bandits. His sliver inlaid armor was now tarnished, his hair shirt drenched in sweat, and his rainbow cloak filthy. The knight had started with forty fellow Warrior’s Sons, now whittled down to twenty five from regular Heretic ambushes. Oftentimes a dozen arrows would fly from the dense canopy to down a couple men, with the perpetrators to simply vanish like ghosts. But Ser Charles’ faith was strong and he pushed his men onward, unimpeded by such obstacles. He had given up lands, wealth, and women for the Seven. He would not be stopped by some royal bastard that thought himself king of the Kingswood. The High Septon himself had given them the holy task of rooting out these enemies of the Seven and he would not fail.
As Ser Charles and his remaining men pushed further through the foliage, he could hear the rushing waters of the Wendwood. He stepped out into the clearing and grinned at what lay in front of him. A silver-haired man stood on the banks of the river in black armor, a fine sword in hand. A dozen men stood behind him. Ser Charles’ drew his blade, the crystal seven pointed star in its pommel sparkling in the sunlight. He was emboldened to discover the daunting Heretic Brotherhood only appeared to be a handful of men.
“Ser Trajan Waters!” he shouted to be heard, “You are charged with crimes against the Seven and their representatives. You have committed mortal sins of theft, murder, blasphemy, and heresy. For this you have been sentence to die. We have you outnumbered. Surrender and stand trial so that perhaps if you begps the Gods will show you mercy in the afterlife.”
There was a moment of tense silence before the reply came, in a voice cold and clear.
“Surrender? My sins as you call them have just begun, lapdog of the Faith. When I am done the Father will weep, the Mother will seethe with hatred at what I have done to her children, the Warrior will cower, the Maiden will be ravaged, the Smith crippled, the Crone will call herself a fool, and even the Stranger will fear my touch. R’llor will be quenched, the Old Gods burned from their wooden homes, and the Drowned God made to die. All the gods above and below, Old and New will be the ones that beg me for mercy. And I will have none to give!”
A cheer went up from the dozen men behind The Heretic and the first arrow fell. It landed in front of Ser Charles Rosby’s right foot. He looked down at it curiously. None of the men in front of him seemed to be carrying bows and the direction of the arrow in the ground made it appear as if it had been fired from behind him rather than in front. When the realization came, Ser Charles knew fear. He whirled around to see three of his men taken in the back by arrows. One began spouting blood as an arrow pierced the back of his neck and out his adams apple. Dozens of bandits had been hiding in the trees behind them and a storm of arrows fell, cutting down his men left and right.
“Form up!” the holy knight shouted. “Raise your shields!”
But it was far too late. As the orders came from his mouth Ser Trajan and his dozen men crashed into them, cutting down the last of his men. The pommel of a sword slammed into the side of Ser Charles’ face, knocking him to the ground. As he blacked out he saw the silver haired demon standing over him with violet eyes shining with malice, a sinister smile on his face.
(Leadership raised to Expert)
(Ser Charles Rosby is taken captive)
As Ser Charles and his remaining men pushed further through the foliage, he could hear the rushing waters of the Wendwood. He stepped out into the clearing and grinned at what lay in front of him. A silver-haired man stood on the banks of the river in black armor, a fine sword in hand. A dozen men stood behind him. Ser Charles’ drew his blade, the crystal seven pointed star in its pommel sparkling in the sunlight. He was emboldened to discover the daunting Heretic Brotherhood only appeared to be a handful of men.
“Ser Trajan Waters!” he shouted to be heard, “You are charged with crimes against the Seven and their representatives. You have committed mortal sins of theft, murder, blasphemy, and heresy. For this you have been sentence to die. We have you outnumbered. Surrender and stand trial so that perhaps if you begps the Gods will show you mercy in the afterlife.”
There was a moment of tense silence before the reply came, in a voice cold and clear.
“Surrender? My sins as you call them have just begun, lapdog of the Faith. When I am done the Father will weep, the Mother will seethe with hatred at what I have done to her children, the Warrior will cower, the Maiden will be ravaged, the Smith crippled, the Crone will call herself a fool, and even the Stranger will fear my touch. R’llor will be quenched, the Old Gods burned from their wooden homes, and the Drowned God made to die. All the gods above and below, Old and New will be the ones that beg me for mercy. And I will have none to give!”
A cheer went up from the dozen men behind The Heretic and the first arrow fell. It landed in front of Ser Charles Rosby’s right foot. He looked down at it curiously. None of the men in front of him seemed to be carrying bows and the direction of the arrow in the ground made it appear as if it had been fired from behind him rather than in front. When the realization came, Ser Charles knew fear. He whirled around to see three of his men taken in the back by arrows. One began spouting blood as an arrow pierced the back of his neck and out his adams apple. Dozens of bandits had been hiding in the trees behind them and a storm of arrows fell, cutting down his men left and right.
“Form up!” the holy knight shouted. “Raise your shields!”
But it was far too late. As the orders came from his mouth Ser Trajan and his dozen men crashed into them, cutting down the last of his men. The pommel of a sword slammed into the side of Ser Charles’ face, knocking him to the ground. As he blacked out he saw the silver haired demon standing over him with violet eyes shining with malice, a sinister smile on his face.
(Leadership raised to Expert)
(Ser Charles Rosby is taken captive)