Post by The Light on Dec 8, 2012 14:07:00 GMT -5
Arthur sat in the Sun Cells baking. It had been nearly two days since water and a week without food, if you considered maggoty half-rotten goat flesh food. That bastard Ulrick Sand had put him here and he would kill him for it. I’ll lock him in here, him and Martell. That way they can fuck in the heat. It had been weeks since he had been captured outside of Oldtown. Aym... I will avenge you.
His skin was turning to leather and his spirit near broken, but he had to persevere. For Aym; for Gerold; for Oldtown. He was weak, he had most of his muscle already and when he stood he didn’t tower over anyone like he used to. The Young Bull’s horns had broken at last.
He heard a faint tapping, the sound of boots on stone. He heard the jingling of keys and a prisoner screaming “NO! NOT ME!” He had gotten used to it; they were being dragged off to interrogation. Most didn’t survive and Art had already been through three of them. The first time he killed the interrogator. The second time was the same. The third, however, he only managed to break a hand and bite an ear off. He flexed his fingers, the movement sending pain up his arm. What if they come for me again? I’m too weak to fight them off. He closed his eyes for just a second and fell asleep, drifting off to the harbor of Oldtown and the fields just around it.
He woke to the sound of screaming, this much closer. It was the cell next to his, a great-uncle to the current Lord Vance. He was an old man gone mad by now from the heat. Just kill him already; you can’t squeeze anything out of him. He was right, they didn’t question him; they stabbed him with a dirk instead. He heard the guards laughing. “By R’hllor, he has a lot of blood.” A laugh barked through. “At least we have another empty cell. Who’s next? Hightower, isn’t it? You take him, Dollet, he scares me.”
Arthur smiled for the first time in weeks. At least they’re still afraid of me. The guard entered, the colors of House Martell adorning his coat. He cleared his throat. “Will you come by your own will?”
He gazed up to the man. “What do you think? I’ve already killed two turnkeys. It’d be easy to kill a third.”
“Unlike them, I’m in armor and have a sword.”
“Yronwood had a sword and armor. That didn’t stop me from decapitating him.” He squirmed. “Have you ever killed a man?”
The guard looked surprised, “Yes. I’ve killed lots of men. I am a guard in service to Lord Martell.” He ignored the comment about Lord Yronwood.
“The fighting is far away from here and you’re here. I bet your sword has never been bloodied. Your friend out there stabbed the old man. Killing is easy, that’s what makes it so dangerous. I’ve led vanguards and ambushes. You’ve watched a fucking door for your life. Even now you couldn’t beat me with a sword.”
He sighed. “Your brother has paid your ransom. We’re to send you home.”
“He wouldn’t pay the ransom because no ransom was set, you fool. You would look better in motley than armor. I’m a knight, and you are a red fuck.”
He drew his sword. “I’ll kill you right now and send your head back to Oldtown. Your head for Lord Yronwood’s.”
Arthur stood shakily. “No you won’t” his voice was a whisper, steadily rising in volume. “I am Ser Arthur Hightower of Oldtown, renowned throughout Westeros. You are a pup who watches his master’s door. I was made for Kingsguard while you are suitable for cleaning up shit.” He stepped forward.
The guard put his sword’s point in to Art’s pectoral. “Not another step, Hightower, I’ll do it.”
His hoarse voice, but a whisper, now ascended into a shout. “They are coming for me. My men, my brother, my liege. They will descend upon you all like wildfire, burning this place to the ground and all of you in it. Martell’s head will be hoisted high next to Baratheon’s. What will you do? The nameless guard? Most likely perish, I hope.” He stepped forward some more, sending the sword point in his torso. A red trickle ran down his chest. He slipped a hand onto the guard’s throat and squeezed.
“Where are your friends now? Fucking whores and drinking wine I bet. And you’re here, dying. I’ll enjoy this.”
The guard shoved his sword further into Arthur. He grunted in pain as another trickle erupted from his chest. Art knocked the guard off his feet and onto the ground. He screamed as he pulled the sword out.
“Death is easy, boy.” He shoved the sword into his bowels. “And sometimes slow.”
He sat down and breathed heavily. Even something as simple as killing someone had taken all of his energy out of him. The sword stuck out of the guard and Art desired to pull it out. Then he’ll bleed, just like me.
He pressed his hand against the cut in his chest. It was on his right side and hurt horribly. He leaned over to the dying guard and pushed him over, a difficult task. He ripped of the guard’s cape and made himself a tourniquet.
A ripe stench hit his nose and he knew the guard finally died. He kicked the corpse, “Leave me in here with your shit and blood. I hate you.” He rolled over and nodded off.
A faint whistling came from down the hall, waking him. Suddenly a shout came, and another, followed by several more. Numerous guards appeared in the doorway, holding their breath or gagging.
“Why? Why would you kill him? He was but a boy, just pass his sixteenth nameday.” He more disgusted that angry.
“He thought he could kill me and I proved him wrong.” He smiled faintly.
“Take him to another cell and clean this one out. Return his bones to his family.” Two guards dragged the body out of the chamber.
“Won’t you interrogate me? I have all sorts of information.”
The man sighed. “No. Next time we’ll just butcher you. Now up on your feet.”
He struggled to his knees. “You’ll have to help me up.” The man picked him unhappily.
Art stood and smiled as the floor rushed to meet him.
Arthur's Intimidate: Apprentice > Noteworthy
His skin was turning to leather and his spirit near broken, but he had to persevere. For Aym; for Gerold; for Oldtown. He was weak, he had most of his muscle already and when he stood he didn’t tower over anyone like he used to. The Young Bull’s horns had broken at last.
He heard a faint tapping, the sound of boots on stone. He heard the jingling of keys and a prisoner screaming “NO! NOT ME!” He had gotten used to it; they were being dragged off to interrogation. Most didn’t survive and Art had already been through three of them. The first time he killed the interrogator. The second time was the same. The third, however, he only managed to break a hand and bite an ear off. He flexed his fingers, the movement sending pain up his arm. What if they come for me again? I’m too weak to fight them off. He closed his eyes for just a second and fell asleep, drifting off to the harbor of Oldtown and the fields just around it.
He woke to the sound of screaming, this much closer. It was the cell next to his, a great-uncle to the current Lord Vance. He was an old man gone mad by now from the heat. Just kill him already; you can’t squeeze anything out of him. He was right, they didn’t question him; they stabbed him with a dirk instead. He heard the guards laughing. “By R’hllor, he has a lot of blood.” A laugh barked through. “At least we have another empty cell. Who’s next? Hightower, isn’t it? You take him, Dollet, he scares me.”
Arthur smiled for the first time in weeks. At least they’re still afraid of me. The guard entered, the colors of House Martell adorning his coat. He cleared his throat. “Will you come by your own will?”
He gazed up to the man. “What do you think? I’ve already killed two turnkeys. It’d be easy to kill a third.”
“Unlike them, I’m in armor and have a sword.”
“Yronwood had a sword and armor. That didn’t stop me from decapitating him.” He squirmed. “Have you ever killed a man?”
The guard looked surprised, “Yes. I’ve killed lots of men. I am a guard in service to Lord Martell.” He ignored the comment about Lord Yronwood.
“The fighting is far away from here and you’re here. I bet your sword has never been bloodied. Your friend out there stabbed the old man. Killing is easy, that’s what makes it so dangerous. I’ve led vanguards and ambushes. You’ve watched a fucking door for your life. Even now you couldn’t beat me with a sword.”
He sighed. “Your brother has paid your ransom. We’re to send you home.”
“He wouldn’t pay the ransom because no ransom was set, you fool. You would look better in motley than armor. I’m a knight, and you are a red fuck.”
He drew his sword. “I’ll kill you right now and send your head back to Oldtown. Your head for Lord Yronwood’s.”
Arthur stood shakily. “No you won’t” his voice was a whisper, steadily rising in volume. “I am Ser Arthur Hightower of Oldtown, renowned throughout Westeros. You are a pup who watches his master’s door. I was made for Kingsguard while you are suitable for cleaning up shit.” He stepped forward.
The guard put his sword’s point in to Art’s pectoral. “Not another step, Hightower, I’ll do it.”
His hoarse voice, but a whisper, now ascended into a shout. “They are coming for me. My men, my brother, my liege. They will descend upon you all like wildfire, burning this place to the ground and all of you in it. Martell’s head will be hoisted high next to Baratheon’s. What will you do? The nameless guard? Most likely perish, I hope.” He stepped forward some more, sending the sword point in his torso. A red trickle ran down his chest. He slipped a hand onto the guard’s throat and squeezed.
“Where are your friends now? Fucking whores and drinking wine I bet. And you’re here, dying. I’ll enjoy this.”
The guard shoved his sword further into Arthur. He grunted in pain as another trickle erupted from his chest. Art knocked the guard off his feet and onto the ground. He screamed as he pulled the sword out.
“Death is easy, boy.” He shoved the sword into his bowels. “And sometimes slow.”
He sat down and breathed heavily. Even something as simple as killing someone had taken all of his energy out of him. The sword stuck out of the guard and Art desired to pull it out. Then he’ll bleed, just like me.
He pressed his hand against the cut in his chest. It was on his right side and hurt horribly. He leaned over to the dying guard and pushed him over, a difficult task. He ripped of the guard’s cape and made himself a tourniquet.
A ripe stench hit his nose and he knew the guard finally died. He kicked the corpse, “Leave me in here with your shit and blood. I hate you.” He rolled over and nodded off.
A faint whistling came from down the hall, waking him. Suddenly a shout came, and another, followed by several more. Numerous guards appeared in the doorway, holding their breath or gagging.
“Why? Why would you kill him? He was but a boy, just pass his sixteenth nameday.” He more disgusted that angry.
“He thought he could kill me and I proved him wrong.” He smiled faintly.
“Take him to another cell and clean this one out. Return his bones to his family.” Two guards dragged the body out of the chamber.
“Won’t you interrogate me? I have all sorts of information.”
The man sighed. “No. Next time we’ll just butcher you. Now up on your feet.”
He struggled to his knees. “You’ll have to help me up.” The man picked him unhappily.
Art stood and smiled as the floor rushed to meet him.
Arthur's Intimidate: Apprentice > Noteworthy