Abduction in Edoras RPG - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

Taralphiel · 02-13-2007, 05:14 AM

Sorn felt panic rise as his reactions became dulled by fatigue. His strength was ebbing, maintained only by the force his rage exerted on his body’s will. And his knowledge that to lose would mean his death, and his complete failure.

A man’s pride is his greatest asset. Sorn had always felt a swell in his chest at that statement.

When his former servant blanched a moment, Sorn thrust forward and left a sizeable tear in Scyld’s tunic. He grunted, as the wound he left was no more serious than the one Scyld had dealt him. He was still too slow. Gurth bellowed, and Sorn’s grin stretched wide over his sharp teeth.

There was a wisp, a sudden movement as another figure sprang into his view. The young woman barred the way between Scyld and Sorn. Sorn did not gloat at this turn of events. The Lady Linduial had not fled, but tried to rescue his old, deceitful servant? Why would she make such an impulsive, foolish movement for someone so inferior?

Sorn almost felt the situation laughable, had his poor foresight not brought him here. Determined to right his mistakes, Sorn drew another dagger. He could not possibly miss.

A man’s pride is everything, and no single deed can be counted unworthy in the pursuit of keeping it.

Anguirel · 02-20-2007, 02:56 PM

Helm, formerly Gurth, was more disorientated by the nagging ache of his dagger-wound from Scyld than his ox-like pride would allow him to concede. It slowed his motions, his responses, and it hurt remarkably, just as a cut from a pen-knife torments more than the blow of a scythe.

But this combined the pain of the former with the banefulness of the latter. The giant's blood was seeping out at his side, sapping at his reserves of energy. The difference this could make in a fight, Helm knew, might yet leave him in the same state as his hound.

Most of all, he wanted to kill the punesome wretch Scyld who had hurt him like this, to smash him and rend him and leave his brains smashed around the roots of the woods. But this course of action was curtailed by the movements of the man for whom Helm felt much pity, but little duty - his former keeper, Sorn.

As Sorn raised a throwing knife, the same weapon, the same treasonous, hurled, cowardly tool that had dealt Helm such harm, upon her...who was she? Why did she matter? It was not so much her femininity, her vulnerability, as the fact that she had eaten meat from the giant's hand. She was an animal under his protection.

Not thinking seriously to kill his erstwhile benefactor, merely to stop him, Helm clenched his fist, raised his vast arm, and dealt Sorn a crushing blow to the side of his head, preempting the dodge his startled companion attempted. The knife dropped in the dirt. Satisfied that the worst was averted for now, Helm Hammerhanded hefted his axe and ran in the direction of Scyld.

He was ignorant of an important fact. A blow delivered at full strength, at the height of Helm's rage, to an unprotected human head, would have caved in the skull of any normal man. Sorn was tall and fiery, and rather more than ordinary; and the blow had been more in the way of a firm rebuke than a berserk lashing. But it had still reduced Sorn, effectively, to an idiot, rather less capable of reason than his attacker. The lord of the farmstead was still on fighting form, but no human instinct now restrained him, and it was the impulse of a beast that drove him at his one-time fool's departing back...

02-13-2007, 05:14 AM	#1
Taralphiel Ghost Prince of Cardolan Join Date: Apr 2002 Location: Swan Wood Posts: 649	Sorn felt panic rise as his reactions became dulled by fatigue. His strength was ebbing, maintained only by the force his rage exerted on his body’s will. And his knowledge that to lose would mean his death, and his complete failure. A man’s pride is his greatest asset. Sorn had always felt a swell in his chest at that statement. When his former servant blanched a moment, Sorn thrust forward and left a sizeable tear in Scyld’s tunic. He grunted, as the wound he left was no more serious than the one Scyld had dealt him. He was still too slow. Gurth bellowed, and Sorn’s grin stretched wide over his sharp teeth. There was a wisp, a sudden movement as another figure sprang into his view. The young woman barred the way between Scyld and Sorn. Sorn did not gloat at this turn of events. The Lady Linduial had not fled, but tried to rescue his old, deceitful servant? Why would she make such an impulsive, foolish movement for someone so inferior? Sorn almost felt the situation laughable, had his poor foresight not brought him here. Determined to right his mistakes, Sorn drew another dagger. He could not possibly miss. A man’s pride is everything, and no single deed can be counted unworthy in the pursuit of keeping it. Last edited by Taralphiel; 02-15-2007 at 03:40 AM.

02-20-2007, 02:56 PM	#2
Anguirel Byronic Brand Join Date: Mar 2005 Location: The 1590s Posts: 2,778	The Hammerhand Helm, formerly Gurth, was more disorientated by the nagging ache of his dagger-wound from Scyld than his ox-like pride would allow him to concede. It slowed his motions, his responses, and it hurt remarkably, just as a cut from a pen-knife torments more than the blow of a scythe. But this combined the pain of the former with the banefulness of the latter. The giant's blood was seeping out at his side, sapping at his reserves of energy. The difference this could make in a fight, Helm knew, might yet leave him in the same state as his hound. Most of all, he wanted to kill the punesome wretch Scyld who had hurt him like this, to smash him and rend him and leave his brains smashed around the roots of the woods. But this course of action was curtailed by the movements of the man for whom Helm felt much pity, but little duty - his former keeper, Sorn. As Sorn raised a throwing knife, the same weapon, the same treasonous, hurled, cowardly tool that had dealt Helm such harm, upon her...who was she? Why did she matter? It was not so much her femininity, her vulnerability, as the fact that she had eaten meat from the giant's hand. She was an animal under his protection. Not thinking seriously to kill his erstwhile benefactor, merely to stop him, Helm clenched his fist, raised his vast arm, and dealt Sorn a crushing blow to the side of his head, preempting the dodge his startled companion attempted. The knife dropped in the dirt. Satisfied that the worst was averted for now, Helm Hammerhanded hefted his axe and ran in the direction of Scyld. He was ignorant of an important fact. A blow delivered at full strength, at the height of Helm's rage, to an unprotected human head, would have caved in the skull of any normal man. Sorn was tall and fiery, and rather more than ordinary; and the blow had been more in the way of a firm rebuke than a berserk lashing. But it had still reduced Sorn, effectively, to an idiot, rather less capable of reason than his attacker. The lord of the farmstead was still on fighting form, but no human instinct now restrained him, and it was the impulse of a beast that drove him at his one-time fool's departing back... Last edited by Anguirel; 02-22-2007 at 07:52 AM.