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[pbp] As The Crow Flies (ASoIaF IC thread) (GoT Spoilers)
The Brayster
UKRegistered User regular
UKRegistered User regular
“Fuckin’ Hell”
These are the first words spoken in a good few hours, from a bulky, hooded figure sitting at the seat of the cart you occupy. The journey to the Wall has thus far been tedious and wet, the rain seeming like a constant companion since crossing the Twins.
The Twins, the seat of the Freys, architects of the biggest political uproar the North has ever known. The same thing was said for Eddard Stark before that. These were truly dark days. All those present in your caravan could only consider themselves fortunate that your crossing took place before the event.
“This bloody rain never bloody well stops, does it?” The hooded figure growls. “The North is in mourning. Having no Starks is going to hurt everyone here. Boltons aren’t fucking Wardens of the North”
You only know this man as Torren. A grizzled man, on the elder side of middle-age, your first encounter was the respective dungeons from which you were picked up, in the middle of the night, an offer being spoken through the bars to provide an alternative to whatever horror awaited you. A chance for life.
‘Life’
Torren made it clear very early on that life on the Wall was not an ‘escape’. A lot is expected of you, and the remainder of your life is going to be full of difficulty. He just never said that the journey North would be one of them.
The Wall was very clear in vision now, it wouldn’t be more than a day away. What was one more day?
A short time later, Torren holds a hand up in the air, calling the entire caravan to a slow crawl. All occupants raise themselves to look forward, as Torren signals to the other brothers further back. It becomes apparent that he is gesturing towards figures on the road ahead.
Torren leans back in his seat to address the group in an aggressive whisper.
“Under your bench. A bag. In case this goes sour. But don’t even fuckin’ think of pulling anything stupid. My friends back there are archers, and they’ll fuckin’ have you before you can blink”.
These are the first words spoken in a good few hours, from a bulky, hooded figure sitting at the seat of the cart you occupy. The journey to the Wall has thus far been tedious and wet, the rain seeming like a constant companion since crossing the Twins.
The Twins, the seat of the Freys, architects of the biggest political uproar the North has ever known. The same thing was said for Eddard Stark before that. These were truly dark days. All those present in your caravan could only consider themselves fortunate that your crossing took place before the event.
“This bloody rain never bloody well stops, does it?” The hooded figure growls. “The North is in mourning. Having no Starks is going to hurt everyone here. Boltons aren’t fucking Wardens of the North”
You only know this man as Torren. A grizzled man, on the elder side of middle-age, your first encounter was the respective dungeons from which you were picked up, in the middle of the night, an offer being spoken through the bars to provide an alternative to whatever horror awaited you. A chance for life.
‘Life’
Torren made it clear very early on that life on the Wall was not an ‘escape’. A lot is expected of you, and the remainder of your life is going to be full of difficulty. He just never said that the journey North would be one of them.
The Wall was very clear in vision now, it wouldn’t be more than a day away. What was one more day?
A short time later, Torren holds a hand up in the air, calling the entire caravan to a slow crawl. All occupants raise themselves to look forward, as Torren signals to the other brothers further back. It becomes apparent that he is gesturing towards figures on the road ahead.
Torren leans back in his seat to address the group in an aggressive whisper.
“Under your bench. A bag. In case this goes sour. But don’t even fuckin’ think of pulling anything stupid. My friends back there are archers, and they’ll fuckin’ have you before you can blink”.
Steam: TheBrayster
PSN: TheBrayster_92
PSN: TheBrayster_92
+1
Posts
"And why not the Boltons?" Riler spat scornfully as he pulled his bag from under the bench. "Any highborn bastard is just as bad as the next."
"Doesn't matter to anyway. One way or another someone will fill the vacancy. " Raven sneers as he pulls the bag out from under the bench.
From the Desk of Darth Vertroue Diplomat to the USA.
"S'going on 'ere, like?" The massive man craned his almost non-existent neck to see what all the fuzz was about. "S'in the bag?"
As the carts approach the figures on the road, their number and affiliation quickly becomes clear.
Leaning against a tree is a banner of a flayed man, the banner of House Bolton. On the road stand a collection of soldiers, standing around a pile of corpses, with a curious smell of burning meat present in the area.
One of the sentries alerts the others who proceed to stand in a line on the road, weapons drawn.
"Stop your carts, NOW"
Torren appears to give a slight scowl as he indicates the caravan to come to a halt.
The Bolton soldier gives a cursory look at the caravan, then indicates the pile of bodies behind him.
"There's a toll for passing through these parts. These lot thought they could get off without paying"
Torren quietly pipes up.
"We're the Nights Watch. We don't have money. This lot are due to travel to the wall, and it is our right to take them"
The soldier gives a slight smirk.
"Truly?"
The soldiers who are not actively blocking the road begin to encircle the wagons, inspecting their contents.
From your cart, a hand suddenly appears and grabs the rear-most occupant, dragging them off.
"This one will do. He's only a boy, not even a man yet. He can't JOIN the Nights Watch. Sounds like someone wants a flaying!"
PSN: TheBrayster_92
"It's any criminal's right to take the black if offered, ye thrice-damned dogs." Riler stood up, the anger plain on his face. "Are your whores so ugly that you're forced to scrape the muck from the bottom of the barrel looking for a good time?"