Post by Ascahilion on Dec 27, 2007 20:50:03 GMT -5
Steel rang on steel as he and his squire circled. Sigmund, the squire, feinted low before reversing and making a cut towards his opponent's left temple. Again steel rang out as blade met blade.
"Not bad", remarked Beldegg, "You've been practicing."
The squire barely grunted in reply but rather doubled his efforts, intent on sneaking past his Master's guard. His Master smiled and dropped the pretense of this being a fair match and sent the squire's blade flying from his grasp with a finger numbing double strike.
"But you still need more practice if you think to take me down, Boy."
Still shaking his thickly padded hand, Sigmund moved to take the practice blade from his Master. While not truly edged, getting hit by one of them could still break a limb even through the pads. He knew he'd have a bruise in the morning. He smiled at that...he wore them like badges of honor and in truth the lasses near his age always looked with favor on those with calloused hands, corded muscles and the occasional bruise or two. He rarely lacked for any of the three.
His Master, Beldegg, was a Captain of Riders among the Rohirrim and had earned his way there even as he, Sigmund, did now. Soon they would leave Edoras for the untamed and unwashed wilds of Bree at the 'advice' of Grima Wormtongue. Many of the Riders had been sent far and wide at his urging, leaving Edoras with steadily fewer able bodied men to defend her and to patrol the Mark. To say that his Master was unpleased would be an understatement but one did not say no to Theoden King.
Weeks on the trail ended with a battle in a little town called Archet. It had been a close fight. Had they and a few others not been there, Archet would have fallen. Even so, victory had not come without a price. Many families had lost a father or a son, sometimes both. Fires had burned many buildings and scorched many crops. Sigmund knew that it was but the beginning. More blood would spill and more mothers would lose their sons.
Even now he and his Master sought out a man whose name they had been given in Archet, a man rumored to be a Ranger. From there they would travel to a place called the Shire to meet one of the Little Folk, for whom he had a message and an offer. His Master's orders had been clear, "Go forth into the North and strike the enemies of Rohan that you find there". Sigmund knew that his Master had his own ideas about who Rohan's enemies were and that Beldegg was already planning the campaign that would take them home.
Shaking the water off, they moved inside towards the bar. Frogmorton was aptly named as the air was so thick with rain that frogs could walk upon it. The Barman pointed to one of the Little Folk whose cherubic face belied the fortitude required to bear the massive red breastplate that sat next to him drying by the fire. Pulling a letter from an oil skin, Beldegg walked to the table.
"Not bad", remarked Beldegg, "You've been practicing."
The squire barely grunted in reply but rather doubled his efforts, intent on sneaking past his Master's guard. His Master smiled and dropped the pretense of this being a fair match and sent the squire's blade flying from his grasp with a finger numbing double strike.
"But you still need more practice if you think to take me down, Boy."
Still shaking his thickly padded hand, Sigmund moved to take the practice blade from his Master. While not truly edged, getting hit by one of them could still break a limb even through the pads. He knew he'd have a bruise in the morning. He smiled at that...he wore them like badges of honor and in truth the lasses near his age always looked with favor on those with calloused hands, corded muscles and the occasional bruise or two. He rarely lacked for any of the three.
His Master, Beldegg, was a Captain of Riders among the Rohirrim and had earned his way there even as he, Sigmund, did now. Soon they would leave Edoras for the untamed and unwashed wilds of Bree at the 'advice' of Grima Wormtongue. Many of the Riders had been sent far and wide at his urging, leaving Edoras with steadily fewer able bodied men to defend her and to patrol the Mark. To say that his Master was unpleased would be an understatement but one did not say no to Theoden King.
Weeks on the trail ended with a battle in a little town called Archet. It had been a close fight. Had they and a few others not been there, Archet would have fallen. Even so, victory had not come without a price. Many families had lost a father or a son, sometimes both. Fires had burned many buildings and scorched many crops. Sigmund knew that it was but the beginning. More blood would spill and more mothers would lose their sons.
Even now he and his Master sought out a man whose name they had been given in Archet, a man rumored to be a Ranger. From there they would travel to a place called the Shire to meet one of the Little Folk, for whom he had a message and an offer. His Master's orders had been clear, "Go forth into the North and strike the enemies of Rohan that you find there". Sigmund knew that his Master had his own ideas about who Rohan's enemies were and that Beldegg was already planning the campaign that would take them home.
Shaking the water off, they moved inside towards the bar. Frogmorton was aptly named as the air was so thick with rain that frogs could walk upon it. The Barman pointed to one of the Little Folk whose cherubic face belied the fortitude required to bear the massive red breastplate that sat next to him drying by the fire. Pulling a letter from an oil skin, Beldegg walked to the table.