Post by The Storm God on Jun 24, 2008 10:30:24 GMT -5
"Boy," Clegane said, his speech slurred from all the ale he'd drank,"boy, you maay bee -hick!-, shite with a lance, but, but um,...you show sword with the promise..er, ah, you know what I mean..."
He waved his hands airily and began to hum to himself, as Camron hefted the old drunk over his shoulder and proceeded to stumble down the alley. It led off one of the busier alehouses in the seedier part of King's Landing, and the pair received many strange glances as they staggered through the filth.
It was the night just after the King's Men's return from Nightsong, and Ser Steffen had insisted they go out and celebrate Cam's good display at the tourney. Problem was, the young Valeman was perfectly sober: he'd had but two cups of wine at the tavern, but the following hours of reminiscing and singing bu Clegane had sobered him up, and wearied him immensely.
He grimaced at the stale stench of sweat and alcohol as it wafted forth from Steffen's armpit, warily eying the beggars and thieves around him. Their hungry, blank eyes followed the two, and Cam searched for just the slightest hint of ill-intent. He heard a clinking behind him as the old man muttered. "Just one more flagon of ale...that's all son..then,-hick-, then we go home...." He craned his neck around to see Clegane fumbling with his money pouch, which he had somehow managed to wrestle from his doublet. "Ooopss-" he giggled, as he overturned the pouch, the coins raining downwards in a glimmering cascade of bronze and silver. Silence fell across the alleyway, which suddenly seemed a lot more crowded and menacing to the Valeman than it had seconds before.
Shit! he cursed to himself as Clegane managed to wriggle free of his grasp, diving down to retrieve his coins. "Shit," he swore aloud, as the looming shadows advanced. They were intent on reaching the fallen money, and Camron was in the way. He stood his ground, blocking a glancing stroke from an arm wielding a heavy cudgel on his forearm.
Falling backwards, he scrabbled for a weapon, anything. His hand met the hilt of a sword, and he frowned in puzzlement, but grasped it nonetheless, swinging it hard and low at his closest attacker's legs. It met flesh, but instead of shearing through, it sent the man's knee bending the wrong way with a crack.
A tourney blade! he realized with a start. Clegane had been wearing it still: he must have gone in search of an alehouse directly after their sparring match earlier in the day. Royce thanked all the gods for the old man's drinking problem as he surged to his feet, blade swinging. The first slash knocked sent offending cudgel spinning, breaking the wielders fingers, and Cam sent him stumbling back into the mass of bodies with a kick. They converged on him once more, but the Valeman's blood was up, and he had a legendary temper when roused. His fierce strikes were tempered by hard-earned skill, and the unwashed crowd could not touch him. Any who tried were thrown backwards, screeching from broken limbs or teeth.
Camron became still, as the crowd suddenly frew back. A deathly silence fell over the alleyway. The would be thieves gasped in fear, their frantic eyes trained behind the knight of the Vale. He whirled around, and met the eyes of a grinning goldcloak. The man was handsome, and he removed his gloves as he stepped forward, flanked by two of his command.
"You wield that blade well, boy, but I would thank you not to bloody my peasants. They are so very fragile." He stepped over Clegane, and one of his followers gave the old man a cruel kick as he passed. "Who the fuck are you?" Royce snarled as Steffen went sprawling in the filth. The handsome man's eyes widened in mock surprise. "Easy boy, best not speak to your betters that way, else you might lose your tongue. The great King's Men may be honoured in the keep, but the City Watch rules the streets. Remember that. Fresh from the tourney, I imagine?" he queried with mock politemess, still advancing. "You King's Men are so very coarse, peasants all,and yet you are allowed to compete in the tourney, while us noble goldcloaks are left to deal with the street-scum."
Royce brought his blunted blade up defensively as the man continued to approach. "I am quite renowned among my fellows you know," he remarked casually. "Master swordsman of the regiment, and all that. Would've fared quite well in the mêlée, I imagine, but sadly us goldcloaks are prohibited from entering, we were left behind to do our duty. Shame really, but never fear, friend! I expect one of noble stock such as yourself would have no objections to a friendly sparring match?" He raised one eyebrow at Cam's hesitance. "Surely you do not fear, brave ser? I promise not to hurt you." The last was accompanied by a rasp of steel as the man bared his blade.
Royce glanced from the mans companions as they leered at Clegane, laughing cruelly as he rolled around in the dirt, to the terrified peasantry. They fear him for a reason, he thought, as should I. But a small part of the boy longed for the challenge. A master swordsman, to truly test his worth against. Plus, there was Ser Steffen to think about. Cam did not see the handsome goldcloak just letting them leave, to tell this tale. His story would be a tragic one, of peasants ripping two drunk King's Men apart, so many that the City Watchmen could only look on in horror.
"Fine then," he said through gritted teeth, and without preamble he rushed forward with a cry. The goldcloak side-stepped easily, and his blade slashed down through Royces tunic, drawing blood.
The young King's Man staggered, but turned to face his opponent once more. As they clashed anew, Camron found his rhythm. They clashed again and again and Royce begn to meet the goldcloak blow for blow. His opponent was stronger, but Cam had the advantage of speed, rage, and a bastard trainer in Clegane.
Steel sang for what seemed like an age, and the exchange took the form of a glittering dance, the steps of which Camron knew well. He shouldered forward, blunted blade swinging high and right. The goldcloak made to block, a look of scorn on his face, but Royce changed direction at the last instant, pivoting as he did so and bringing the tourney sword whipping around. It made contact with Handsome's ribs with a satisfying thud.
Snorting in pain and disbelief, the goldcloak brought his hilt down on Cam's head,once twice, hard. The young man stumbled dazedly backwards, and his opponent advanced for the kill.
But Clegane had thought the young man the advantages of trickery, and he was not so dazed as he had let on. Instead of backing off as his attacker expected, the King's Man leaped forwards. A flick of his wrist sent the goldcloaks blade spinning from his hand, and Royce shunted to the side as he brought his blunted weapon down on the bastards collarbone, breaking it with an audible crack.
The man fell wailing to the floor, and the watching crowd surged forward onto their despised tormentor. The other goldcloaks broke and ran, and amidst the confusion Cam managed to drag his mentor free of the press of bodies.
As they slumped against the wall of a nearby side alley, Camron cursed colourfully at the old man. "What the fuck were you doing?! You near killed us, you old fool!" But all he got in return was a burp and a childish grin. "-Hick!-...Aye, boy....fear not..-hick!-...I retrieved our coin!" He grinned happily, brandishing the glittering coins.
His expression became thoughtful. "Now, uh, where can I find me an alehouse? I'm parched!"
Camron increases +2 to Sword (85)
He waved his hands airily and began to hum to himself, as Camron hefted the old drunk over his shoulder and proceeded to stumble down the alley. It led off one of the busier alehouses in the seedier part of King's Landing, and the pair received many strange glances as they staggered through the filth.
It was the night just after the King's Men's return from Nightsong, and Ser Steffen had insisted they go out and celebrate Cam's good display at the tourney. Problem was, the young Valeman was perfectly sober: he'd had but two cups of wine at the tavern, but the following hours of reminiscing and singing bu Clegane had sobered him up, and wearied him immensely.
He grimaced at the stale stench of sweat and alcohol as it wafted forth from Steffen's armpit, warily eying the beggars and thieves around him. Their hungry, blank eyes followed the two, and Cam searched for just the slightest hint of ill-intent. He heard a clinking behind him as the old man muttered. "Just one more flagon of ale...that's all son..then,-hick-, then we go home...." He craned his neck around to see Clegane fumbling with his money pouch, which he had somehow managed to wrestle from his doublet. "Ooopss-" he giggled, as he overturned the pouch, the coins raining downwards in a glimmering cascade of bronze and silver. Silence fell across the alleyway, which suddenly seemed a lot more crowded and menacing to the Valeman than it had seconds before.
Shit! he cursed to himself as Clegane managed to wriggle free of his grasp, diving down to retrieve his coins. "Shit," he swore aloud, as the looming shadows advanced. They were intent on reaching the fallen money, and Camron was in the way. He stood his ground, blocking a glancing stroke from an arm wielding a heavy cudgel on his forearm.
Falling backwards, he scrabbled for a weapon, anything. His hand met the hilt of a sword, and he frowned in puzzlement, but grasped it nonetheless, swinging it hard and low at his closest attacker's legs. It met flesh, but instead of shearing through, it sent the man's knee bending the wrong way with a crack.
A tourney blade! he realized with a start. Clegane had been wearing it still: he must have gone in search of an alehouse directly after their sparring match earlier in the day. Royce thanked all the gods for the old man's drinking problem as he surged to his feet, blade swinging. The first slash knocked sent offending cudgel spinning, breaking the wielders fingers, and Cam sent him stumbling back into the mass of bodies with a kick. They converged on him once more, but the Valeman's blood was up, and he had a legendary temper when roused. His fierce strikes were tempered by hard-earned skill, and the unwashed crowd could not touch him. Any who tried were thrown backwards, screeching from broken limbs or teeth.
Camron became still, as the crowd suddenly frew back. A deathly silence fell over the alleyway. The would be thieves gasped in fear, their frantic eyes trained behind the knight of the Vale. He whirled around, and met the eyes of a grinning goldcloak. The man was handsome, and he removed his gloves as he stepped forward, flanked by two of his command.
"You wield that blade well, boy, but I would thank you not to bloody my peasants. They are so very fragile." He stepped over Clegane, and one of his followers gave the old man a cruel kick as he passed. "Who the fuck are you?" Royce snarled as Steffen went sprawling in the filth. The handsome man's eyes widened in mock surprise. "Easy boy, best not speak to your betters that way, else you might lose your tongue. The great King's Men may be honoured in the keep, but the City Watch rules the streets. Remember that. Fresh from the tourney, I imagine?" he queried with mock politemess, still advancing. "You King's Men are so very coarse, peasants all,and yet you are allowed to compete in the tourney, while us noble goldcloaks are left to deal with the street-scum."
Royce brought his blunted blade up defensively as the man continued to approach. "I am quite renowned among my fellows you know," he remarked casually. "Master swordsman of the regiment, and all that. Would've fared quite well in the mêlée, I imagine, but sadly us goldcloaks are prohibited from entering, we were left behind to do our duty. Shame really, but never fear, friend! I expect one of noble stock such as yourself would have no objections to a friendly sparring match?" He raised one eyebrow at Cam's hesitance. "Surely you do not fear, brave ser? I promise not to hurt you." The last was accompanied by a rasp of steel as the man bared his blade.
Royce glanced from the mans companions as they leered at Clegane, laughing cruelly as he rolled around in the dirt, to the terrified peasantry. They fear him for a reason, he thought, as should I. But a small part of the boy longed for the challenge. A master swordsman, to truly test his worth against. Plus, there was Ser Steffen to think about. Cam did not see the handsome goldcloak just letting them leave, to tell this tale. His story would be a tragic one, of peasants ripping two drunk King's Men apart, so many that the City Watchmen could only look on in horror.
"Fine then," he said through gritted teeth, and without preamble he rushed forward with a cry. The goldcloak side-stepped easily, and his blade slashed down through Royces tunic, drawing blood.
The young King's Man staggered, but turned to face his opponent once more. As they clashed anew, Camron found his rhythm. They clashed again and again and Royce begn to meet the goldcloak blow for blow. His opponent was stronger, but Cam had the advantage of speed, rage, and a bastard trainer in Clegane.
Steel sang for what seemed like an age, and the exchange took the form of a glittering dance, the steps of which Camron knew well. He shouldered forward, blunted blade swinging high and right. The goldcloak made to block, a look of scorn on his face, but Royce changed direction at the last instant, pivoting as he did so and bringing the tourney sword whipping around. It made contact with Handsome's ribs with a satisfying thud.
Snorting in pain and disbelief, the goldcloak brought his hilt down on Cam's head,once twice, hard. The young man stumbled dazedly backwards, and his opponent advanced for the kill.
But Clegane had thought the young man the advantages of trickery, and he was not so dazed as he had let on. Instead of backing off as his attacker expected, the King's Man leaped forwards. A flick of his wrist sent the goldcloaks blade spinning from his hand, and Royce shunted to the side as he brought his blunted weapon down on the bastards collarbone, breaking it with an audible crack.
The man fell wailing to the floor, and the watching crowd surged forward onto their despised tormentor. The other goldcloaks broke and ran, and amidst the confusion Cam managed to drag his mentor free of the press of bodies.
As they slumped against the wall of a nearby side alley, Camron cursed colourfully at the old man. "What the fuck were you doing?! You near killed us, you old fool!" But all he got in return was a burp and a childish grin. "-Hick!-...Aye, boy....fear not..-hick!-...I retrieved our coin!" He grinned happily, brandishing the glittering coins.
His expression became thoughtful. "Now, uh, where can I find me an alehouse? I'm parched!"
Camron increases +2 to Sword (85)