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Viewing Single Post From: Frostbitten

A piece of himself was damaged when the Hiskr spit his comment back up. Following her ears as they twitched, and she, annoyingly leaving the comment for the squires. Had she not seen the manacles on Brown's wrists? It appeared to him, she was looking for trouble, but Leraway could not claim he wanted any for himself. Though still it bothered him, even long after she had left and returned to her station by the fire. He couldn't get her pretentious figure out of his head. Quiet brushed over the table, much like the storm that was begging rap against landscape outside. They all felt lesser for the experience shared. Except for Brown of course, mocking Leraway with all his might.

Leraway found his spectacles in his leather satchel. By this time everyone was content with their meals, and the knights were done drinking (excluding himself). The party appeared to be winding itself down, as everyone slowly funneled themselves from the building. He rarely took note of any, only finding one or two odd characters that met his interest. One of which stopped for a moment to converse with the Hiskr, Leraway had so blatantly insulted--a brawny man, the one Nev had pointed out to be the blacksmith. Though that only lasted for a moment and then he was off into the snow.

"We should make our way to the rooms." He told the knights.

"The horny stable boy said something about the squires sleeping downstairs." Dayton shrugged, "I just don't wan't one of the pubes sleeping with me is all."

"Alright." Leraway replied.

"Nev," He grabbed the boy's attention, "watch after everyone down here, okay?"

The boy nodded.

Leraway wretched his bastard brother by the arm, forcing him to stand--stumble--walk. Brown struggled intravenously, glancing off to the Hiskr as they made for the upstairs. Waving haphazardly at the last moment. The stairs were a challenge or he made it a challenge for Leraway. He was tired no doubt, being drug behind a cart was a tiring notion. But the rate in which he took each step was the problem, a-minute-a-step, climbing slowly and with each hold a new moan of pain. Halfway up the case of steps Leraway had his fill, his hand had begun to prod at Brown, rising annoying jeers from his mouth. Once they met the three open doors, Leraway put his brother in the middle one, calling for the knights to talk in the hall a moment.

He told them, they would be alternating shifts for Brown's watch. The first would be his, watching him for the first cluster of hours. Then he would pass the torch onto Dayton, who he would rouse from sleep at around twelve or one. Dayton would take the watch on until three or four, whence the old fart could take over. Leraway set it up to be easier for the old man, and surely he would have been good and rested by the time of his watch. They all agreed and headed for their predestined rooms.

Leraway unpacked his satchel, finding some loose parchment, quill, and a bottle of ink. He moved to a desk, placing the items upon it and began writing. Brown had been put to bed, and had long since revoked the gifted cloak. Though, Leraway couldn't help but feel like he was being watched. You won't catch me asleep. I know that's what your looking for, brother. If can call you that. He glanced over to Brown, worried he might have intercepted some of his thoughts. Then he went back to his writing, putting down a story that was very similar to the events of the day. Though the main character "Rayl", whom was obviously himself in story form, found a beautiful maiden at the pub as he returned with the villain.

The night went on, storm falling upon the land. Their watches shifted and eventually it ended up with the old knight, Oryn. Instead of facing the desk, like Leraway did or sitting at the door like Dayton, Oryn sat watching the bed. He sat staring at Brown. Eventually, he felt himself become drowsy, his eyes slowly sinking into darkness. He fought it, sure, but only at first. When he was convinced Brown was asleep, he followed the same pattern.

Brown slid from the covers as he heard old Sir Oryn snoring. He stopped a half-a-pace away from the door, chains rattling, afraid Oryn might wake to the sound. Luckily it was not so, but then, another fright was in store, one that met him with the creaking of the door. Luck found him once again. He crept down the hall, not bothering with the door again. He made the first step downstairs, and would have continued, but a clangor erupted below. He retreated quickly, spinning about nervously. Then, he suddenly came to the realization of the first door. When the knights that held him captive brought him up, they walked past the first door, to their open three.

What could be in there? He approached it, quiet as he could, knowing he could not fall back any further. Putting his face against the wood, he sniffed at it like an animal. Though no stamps of scent hit him. Chains chimed as he spun the doorknob. First just a crack, just enough to see the fresh morning light fall upon a tender face. Too easy. Brown slipped in, letting the door click behind him. Quickly as he could, but with little noise, Brown put his hand over the sleeping elf's mouth.

"Scream," He whispered in her pointy ears, "and I'll cut your throat." His hand held heavy against her face, letting the cold metal chain fall across her throat.

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Frostbitten · Hiskarin Mountains


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