The Dirge of Caragore

Bastardknight, POV #1

Blood sprinkled as Gerold removed the arrow from the bandits throat. That one single arrow most certainly was worth much more than some damn desserter. Back in Essos Bloodbeard would geld him and than sell him to the wickedest, most twistted Ghiscari slaver – the kind of scum Westeros does not see. The man does not know it but he got off easy.

Ah the goold old times, when all you had to do was fight, and if you won – 15 bed slaves would tend to your every need. and Volantene wine would flow in streams_he thought as he tied the twitchy wounded old man to the horse.

“Quit moving old man, you got one scratch, stop acting like you are dieing.” he yelled as he and Robb Stonecrow started riding back to Gorehall.

Robb was a fine lad, a sellsword himself he could definitely relate – even tough he had that gloomy tone to him. It was half a day as they rode, and finally the walls of Gorehall appeared. As Robb carried the wounded old fart to the maester Gerold entered the Great Hall unnerved with his eyes rolling with displeasure. Eorlanas was a lunatic, everybody knew that, no one dared to say it out loud. Bloodbeard was a lunatic too, but at least that lunacy led the Company of the Cat to battle often, and there they could share the spoils of war. Eorlanas on the other side just sat in his big stone chair and looked at people with those eerie eyes of his, as if he is to cut everyones head in an instant.

“My Lord” the kennelmaster with the longest, most courteous of bows, “It is my utmost pleasure to inform you the desserters have been dealt with – they are dead unfortunately however, there was no other way”

Eorlanas gave a thin, evil smirk “Men who plunder on my lands deserve nothing but death, Bastard knight”

Gerold felt sickened as he called him a bastard, many men lost their ability to speak anything at all after they lost a tongue after calling him that, but, a Lords a Lord.

“In that case it is my honor to inform you that justice has been served my Lord.”

Eorlanas proceeded to tell him of the tourney in the Crag where archers, jousters and fighters will meet to compare skills – we are to go there and bring honor on House Caragore.
With yet another bow, Gerold left and met Rob in the hallway – "Way ahead of you, the horses are ready, I heard everything "- the sellsword said. Picking up some salted fish and water from the kitchens, two men sat in their horses and rode like the wind.

“Well well, even this a marvelous palace” Gerold said sarcastically upon seeing the rundown castle of the Crag. “Come now, let us go to the inn”.

The sellsword did not want to imminently drown himself in ale as Gerold did, and that caused quite a commotion. After hours and hours of arguing however, they did end up in the nearest inn.

There, knights, squires, pages and servants gathered. The famed Westerosi charade best visible during a toruney.

Paying no mind to these things, which he loathed, he continued to gather gold. Gather gold, and proceed with the scheme.


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