Post by The Great Other on Sept 8, 2012 19:04:58 GMT -5
Ser Charles Rosby of the Second Sons, looked up to enjoy the few moments of direct sunlight that streamed down the well around noon each day. He had been lowered into the dried up monastery well, The Heretic’s makeshift prison, seven days past. The holy knight had kept a careful tally during his imposed purgatory. His short beard had become wild and unruly since his capture, flecked with spots of gray. To his captor’s credit, ample food and water had been lowered down each day. Rosby had to admit that if captured, Trajan Waters wouldn’t have been treated as well. The Heretic would likely have been fasted for weeks until he was half starved, before his public execution.
A wooden plank was lowered down from the well’s pulley system, but as it reached him Ser Charles was surprised to see no food or water on it.
“Get on!” a voice barked from high above him. “It’s time for your Trial of Faith, lapdog of the Seven.”
Ser Charles stepped onto the platform and gripped the rope with his hand. Despite the incarceration, he still felt strong, the Warrior’s blessings upon him. He squinted as he was raised, blinded by the afternoon sunlight. As he regained his vision, the holy knight could see that he was in the middle of a large overgrown monastery garden, encircled by members of the Heretic Brotherhood. Directly across from him stood the Heretic himself, dressed in a black doublet. A sword rested in a scabbard at his belt, while another naked blade was in his hands. Upon closer inspection, Rosby realized that it was his own sword, the telltale glint of the crystal seven pointed star in its pommel giving it away.
“Ser Charles Rosby,” Trajan spoke, in a voice that carried across the expansive garden. “Your men are slain, your High Septon dying from wounds inflicted by my own men, and you remain in the hands of a heathen.”
Rosby felt a pit in his stomach. Certainly the High Septon could not be slain. He looked around at the bandits surrounding him, but received only jeers and hate filled eyes for his trouble.
“Your gods have abandoned you!” Trajan continued. “Forsake them as they have forsaken you and join us so that you may take your revenge upon them!”
“I was named in the light of the Seven, Heretic.” Ser Charles replied proudly. “I will die in the light of the Seven.”
Trajan grinned, as if having expected such an answer. He tossed Rosby’s sword forward, the point sticking into the ground and crystal star shining in the sunlight.
“Then say your prayers to your Gods and face your Trial of Faith.” Trajan said, drawing his own blade. “Let us see if they shield you from my vengeance.”
Rosby knelt and said a prayer to the divines. He prayed to the Father for Justice, the Warrior for courage, the Smith for the strength at arms, and the Stranger for a good death if this was his time. When he was finished, he stood and took up his sword.
The two combatants clashed in a flurry of strikes and blows. As neither man was armored, they moved quickly, dancing around the garden. One mistake in such a situation would be mortal. Rosby was the first to err, overextending in an attempted strike at the Heretic’s skull. In an instant it was over, the holy knight’s blade clattering to the ground with his two severed hands still attached. Ser Charles fell to his knees, screaming and staring madly at the bleeding stumps where his hands had once been. Trajan silenced the Second Son with a second strike, lopping the man’s head from his shoulders.
The men cheered, once more seeing the faithless triumph over the faithful. Trajan placed the heel of his boot on the pommel of his fallen foe’s sword and shattered the crystal seven pointed star with a sickening crunch.
(Trajan advances halfway to Master Sword)
(Ser Charles Rosby is slain and his head placed on a spike over the gate)
A wooden plank was lowered down from the well’s pulley system, but as it reached him Ser Charles was surprised to see no food or water on it.
“Get on!” a voice barked from high above him. “It’s time for your Trial of Faith, lapdog of the Seven.”
Ser Charles stepped onto the platform and gripped the rope with his hand. Despite the incarceration, he still felt strong, the Warrior’s blessings upon him. He squinted as he was raised, blinded by the afternoon sunlight. As he regained his vision, the holy knight could see that he was in the middle of a large overgrown monastery garden, encircled by members of the Heretic Brotherhood. Directly across from him stood the Heretic himself, dressed in a black doublet. A sword rested in a scabbard at his belt, while another naked blade was in his hands. Upon closer inspection, Rosby realized that it was his own sword, the telltale glint of the crystal seven pointed star in its pommel giving it away.
“Ser Charles Rosby,” Trajan spoke, in a voice that carried across the expansive garden. “Your men are slain, your High Septon dying from wounds inflicted by my own men, and you remain in the hands of a heathen.”
Rosby felt a pit in his stomach. Certainly the High Septon could not be slain. He looked around at the bandits surrounding him, but received only jeers and hate filled eyes for his trouble.
“Your gods have abandoned you!” Trajan continued. “Forsake them as they have forsaken you and join us so that you may take your revenge upon them!”
“I was named in the light of the Seven, Heretic.” Ser Charles replied proudly. “I will die in the light of the Seven.”
Trajan grinned, as if having expected such an answer. He tossed Rosby’s sword forward, the point sticking into the ground and crystal star shining in the sunlight.
“Then say your prayers to your Gods and face your Trial of Faith.” Trajan said, drawing his own blade. “Let us see if they shield you from my vengeance.”
Rosby knelt and said a prayer to the divines. He prayed to the Father for Justice, the Warrior for courage, the Smith for the strength at arms, and the Stranger for a good death if this was his time. When he was finished, he stood and took up his sword.
The two combatants clashed in a flurry of strikes and blows. As neither man was armored, they moved quickly, dancing around the garden. One mistake in such a situation would be mortal. Rosby was the first to err, overextending in an attempted strike at the Heretic’s skull. In an instant it was over, the holy knight’s blade clattering to the ground with his two severed hands still attached. Ser Charles fell to his knees, screaming and staring madly at the bleeding stumps where his hands had once been. Trajan silenced the Second Son with a second strike, lopping the man’s head from his shoulders.
The men cheered, once more seeing the faithless triumph over the faithful. Trajan placed the heel of his boot on the pommel of his fallen foe’s sword and shattered the crystal seven pointed star with a sickening crunch.
(Trajan advances halfway to Master Sword)
(Ser Charles Rosby is slain and his head placed on a spike over the gate)