|
Post by Benjen Blackfort on Jun 28, 2016 6:53:45 GMT
Benjen nodded easily. Sounded like a good job to have. Though he tilted his head at the mention of deserters. "Why did they leave you?" Ben asked. "Guardsman's a better job than most can hope for. 'Specially if it's as easy as you say."
|
|
Boros
Knight
Jon
Posts - 456
Likes - 205
Joined - May 2016
|
Post by Boros on Jun 28, 2016 12:58:55 GMT
"T'was 'fore we arriv'd in the castle." Hoster poured some more wine in his goblet. "They went out with lil' D, that boy with a bird and Master Prickmure to hunt son' prey. Stumbl'd on some huge arse bear... They didnee bat an eyelid 'fore they ran away." Nothing in the story seemed suspicious to him, it is exactly what he would have done.
|
|
|
Post by Benjen Blackfort on Jun 28, 2016 18:03:53 GMT
It took Benjen a moment to parse the names, but he assumed Hoster spoke of Dacey, Jormun, and Edmure. "Bad mistake," Ben said. Deserters reflected badly upon a lord; Belric would have had to do something about them even had they not fallen into banditry. "What are you doing about it?"
|
|
Boros
Knight
Jon
Posts - 456
Likes - 205
Joined - May 2016
|
Post by Boros on Jun 28, 2016 19:32:35 GMT
"Ah hav' mah boys lookin' foh them. Soon as ah hear news on da basterds, ah'm out ta get them." The subject still annoyed Hoster, he wanted to get rid of all this as soon as possible. "Hav' mah boys and Wills wi' me. If we wan' ta join us, da more da merrier."
|
|
|
Post by Benjen Blackfort on Jun 28, 2016 21:00:59 GMT
"Count me in," Benjen said. "Gotta earn my keep somehow. I'm holed up in the Widow's Tower, let me know when you find the bastards."
|
|
|
Post by Tim of Raventree on Jul 4, 2016 20:33:28 GMT
/////
27th day, 2nd Moon
In the end Violet had waited a while before visiting her injured uncle, deciding that he was probably too badly hurt to receive a visit straightaway. She carried a wine skin with her as she gently eased open the door just a crack.
"Uncle Hoster," she said softly. "May I visit with you?"
|
|
Boros
Knight
Jon
Posts - 456
Likes - 205
Joined - May 2016
|
Post by Boros on Jul 4, 2016 21:01:29 GMT
"Who da feck is it?" Hoster barked from his sickbed, going blind and armless did nothing to help improve his move. The Captain of the Guards had been laying in his bed mostly unmoved fos the last couple days, both his eye socket and his stump hurt like hell; poppy and alcohol were the only visits he wanted. "Unless yer som' wench wi' wine, git da feck out."
|
|
|
Post by Tim of Raventree on Jul 4, 2016 21:08:34 GMT
Technically he wasn't wrong, she reflected, though she shuddered to think of herself as a wench.
"It's Violet, uncle. I brought wine. I thought you might like some company."
|
|
Boros
Knight
Jon
Posts - 456
Likes - 205
Joined - May 2016
|
Post by Boros on Jul 4, 2016 21:15:04 GMT
"Vi..." Hoster sighed; struggling and being an asshole hurt too much at the moment, there was nothing he could do to make her leave. And she had brought wine, which made everything alright. "Com' on in, kid."
|
|
|
Post by Tim of Raventree on Jul 4, 2016 21:22:01 GMT
She pushed the door open wide enough to enter then closed it as quietly as she could.
"I was sorry to hear about your wounds, uncle. I hope Maester Percival has taken good care of you."
She came close to the bed and offered the wineskin.
|
|
Boros
Knight
Jon
Posts - 456
Likes - 205
Joined - May 2016
|
Post by Boros on Jul 4, 2016 21:28:16 GMT
As his niece came into the room, Hoster made some effort to sit, it hurt like hell but he made it. Usually, these kinds of wounds would render a man unmovable for a couple months, but for the sake of RP somehow he managed.
"Da fecker cut off me arm, ah don' take tha' as some form o' kindness." Hoster said, jerking for the wineskin. It was hard for a man like him to understand that had the Maester done otherwise, he'd probably be in much worse shape right now. "An' don' get me start'd on da matter o' mah eye. This fecking thing itches like the seven Hells."
|
|
|
Post by Tim of Raventree on Jul 4, 2016 21:37:04 GMT
"I'm sorry," she said helplessly. "The pain will fade. I could fetch milk of the poppy if you need it."
It was hard not to look at the place where his arm should have been. Violet felt her eyes welling up. Uncle Hoster had a rough manner but he was her kin and he had helped her in the past. And somehow this evidence close at hand of how horrible war could be hit her more than any other battle injury she had seen in the past. This was someone who actually mattered to her, and he was suffering.
"Maester Percival would not have cut off your arm without good cause," she said quietly. "But I am sorry for your loss, uncle." She paused, tried to choose her next words carefully. "I hope...I hope Belric apprecaites what you have suffered in his service."
|
|
Boros
Knight
Jon
Posts - 456
Likes - 205
Joined - May 2016
|
Post by Boros on Jul 4, 2016 21:47:41 GMT
"Wine is fine, kid..." Hoster said, taking a long gulp from the skin. For a moment, he almost lost his balance towards the side of the missing arm; it would take him a long time to get used to that. "Thank ye."
"My loss..." He repeated after Violet spoke, staring sadly at the ground. His voice was pure desolation... Hoster felt not only physical pain, there was something much deeper tearing at him. Muddy, Pate, Mors... To say they were his friends might be a bit of a stretch, but they had been the closest thing to a family Hoster had had in the last couple years. "Ah lost e'erything, kid... Ah hav' nothing left."
|
|
|
Post by Tim of Raventree on Jul 4, 2016 21:55:57 GMT
"You have us," she said. "House Blackfort does not abandon its own." She felt that particularly strongly. She barely knew most of her relatives at present but she could not picture any of them wishing to cast off their injured uncle. Belric had to understand that, surely.
"You will grow stronger, in time," she said. "You are too fierce to lie abed all your life."
|
|
Boros
Knight
Jon
Posts - 456
Likes - 205
Joined - May 2016
|
Post by Boros on Jul 4, 2016 22:01:33 GMT
"Ye don' understand it..." What was that tickling feeling running down his cheek? It had to be sweat, or blood; Hoster was an example of manliness, crying was for pussies and little girls. "Ah'm useless now. Ah can't see well, ah can't even hold a shield. Who'll fecking respect a fecking cripple?"
|
|