Hostages at Forthbrond [Early April 3010] {Dunlending/Eored}
Oct 13, 2018 10:27:07 GMT -5
Post by Swithin on Oct 13, 2018 10:27:07 GMT -5
Swithin knelt in the dirt as Eothain began to explain the situation, trying to ignore Athelstan drunken beside him and focus his hearing upon the man speaking quietly. The drawings in the earth were fair to help his understanding, though he wished that his brother were with him. Oswin had a way of looking upon him and knowing if he had caught the instructions; re-explaining with enunciation. Even if they need speak quietly, Swithin never had trouble reading his brother’s lips.
However the young Eored rider seemed to make a solid explanation of the encampment, the hostages, and the Rohirrim. He nodded. “You lead,” he agreed. Swithin trusted not his own skills to listen properly. Though he was experienced with blade and spear, it all meant nothing if he walked himself right into a trap for the lack of his tarnished sense.
“I can lead.”
Speak of tarnished sense, Swithin had no chance to protest before Athelstan had already drawn his sword, starting off toward the village. “Athelstan--” he hissed after the man. “Stop now, stop, you should not even be out here.”
It did not matter though for the man was set on risking his life and that of the others, of the hostages, the way he barreled through the bracken in route to the city, and Swithin was cringing, hunching low as he traced behind him. If it were not the dark of night, Swithin’s face would have been shown red with his anger.
Brennevin, the foul drink. He’d had enough of it for his whole lifetime, and he knew deeply in his heart his own Father’s disregard of the liquor. If Astrid and Adelais were not enough; this was outright a threat upon all of them and every hostage between. He would never partake for mere sport again, if this is where sport drew common sense.
Rushed, too rushed, it was when Swithin came behind Athelstan, giving a tug of the sleeve at his elbow, trying to direct the man in the direction Eothain had pointed that they were meeting. Sure enough Swithin saw the others, yet his attention was drawn to the sound of screaming, and his stomach fell at least to his knees as he paused in step and stared wide eyed at the building.
“Here, over here,” Swithin whispered as he saw first the four men departed the glowing building ahead, and then came the silence and the pikes upright outside the door. The redheaded man crept to await the orders of the Marshal and the Captain.
Beorhtric @eothane ÉOMER BALDOR
However the young Eored rider seemed to make a solid explanation of the encampment, the hostages, and the Rohirrim. He nodded. “You lead,” he agreed. Swithin trusted not his own skills to listen properly. Though he was experienced with blade and spear, it all meant nothing if he walked himself right into a trap for the lack of his tarnished sense.
“I can lead.”
Speak of tarnished sense, Swithin had no chance to protest before Athelstan had already drawn his sword, starting off toward the village. “Athelstan--” he hissed after the man. “Stop now, stop, you should not even be out here.”
It did not matter though for the man was set on risking his life and that of the others, of the hostages, the way he barreled through the bracken in route to the city, and Swithin was cringing, hunching low as he traced behind him. If it were not the dark of night, Swithin’s face would have been shown red with his anger.
Brennevin, the foul drink. He’d had enough of it for his whole lifetime, and he knew deeply in his heart his own Father’s disregard of the liquor. If Astrid and Adelais were not enough; this was outright a threat upon all of them and every hostage between. He would never partake for mere sport again, if this is where sport drew common sense.
Rushed, too rushed, it was when Swithin came behind Athelstan, giving a tug of the sleeve at his elbow, trying to direct the man in the direction Eothain had pointed that they were meeting. Sure enough Swithin saw the others, yet his attention was drawn to the sound of screaming, and his stomach fell at least to his knees as he paused in step and stared wide eyed at the building.
“Here, over here,” Swithin whispered as he saw first the four men departed the glowing building ahead, and then came the silence and the pikes upright outside the door. The redheaded man crept to await the orders of the Marshal and the Captain.
Beorhtric @eothane ÉOMER BALDOR