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Post by aussie-rabbit on Jul 11, 2015 9:49:41 GMT
The sword of Artos
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Post by aussie-rabbit on Jul 11, 2015 12:27:46 GMT
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Post by Cos on Aug 1, 2015 19:01:23 GMT
The market street hummed with life as Artos wound his way through the crowded street. Morning was still breaking and the crowd had not yet filled the wide stone street, the big ranger took in the array of shops and stalls, thankful that he had not drawn the daywatch. His home lay tucked away in the deep corner of the south wall, timber framed, small yet sturdy. Artos smiled to himself as he pushed open the door, but immeadiatly dove into a headlong roll. A thrumming twang broke the quiet and a quivering arrow sank into the door jamb. Rising with swiftly, dirk in his fist he came to face Lindariel, the rage in her golden eyes seeming to set the space between them aflame. Butcher she spat. The elf had an arrow nocked upon her bow, though Artos knew he could close the gap between them before she drew the cord. She also seemed more ready to talk than fight so he stayed his hand. Never a man to allow the first strike to his opponent Artos broke the silence. I've been called so, aye, and worse Well deserved, but no title more fitting Captain Dierfletch. She made his name a curse. Ten years since I left the post. A score of years tied to the whipping post might not wash the crimes from your name. I'm thinking none here know that Ranger-Captain Artos Dierfletch holds their wall for them. The folk here know a quiet man with a steady hand guards their walls. Blood drenched hands. What do you know of blood woman? Lindariel made no reply, gesturing. As Artos followed her gaze his heart caught in his chest. The cruel black iron lay naked upon his table, a falchion, wicked edged hilted in red. His sword. No, the sword of a war captain. Plainly made and perfect, it was no duelists sword. Aye it thick and heavy, a tool to kill, cold edged to rip life from man and beast. His sword. Fairleigh. It was no question and the elf nodded. He sighed. Fairleigh, whose bright name was a black cast upon his heart. Fairleigh, where he had torn the red cloak from his shoulders. Fairleigh, where he had killed his heart. What, no calm words? The elfs tone was both mocking and damning all a once. No wine and wit? Ten years since I've heard that name. Ten years since I've carried a sword. Ten years is a long time. Aye, and death sits eternal. If you're here for something, you needs take it, for you'll have naught from me. Lord Recmant broke the peace I was sworn to protect and forced war upon me and my Hammers. You seek apologies? Recompense for a lover? For family? A confession. To what? I was, I am a soldier. Life is my trade. Hear this; Aye I led the assault upon Herrold Recmant, and curse his name a thousand times. I burned his house and slew his people and sewed his lands with their blood. You seek recompense, I have nothing left, for have laid my soul in hell. He waved his hand to he sword. The last life that black blade drank was mine brother, a better man than I and Lord Herrold's champion. I tore the cloak from my shoulders and trekked north until I could not remember what it was to be a man of pride and honor. I am a butcher, aye and I will accept not the admonishment of you, child of the green. A long moment passed. Good, for war is upon the land. With a slim hand she flipped back the green leather wrap of the bow.
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