(I'm glad you're enjoying it so far! I'm honestly not sure which path they will take... I have two scenarios at the moment Oh, also, since Thrynn and Cynric got were sent information-gathering by Margret and not Eltrys, the circumstances of how they ended up framed for murder are a tad different)
By the time the prisoners were herded back toward their cells, Thrynn’s arms felt leaden and his muscles ached with the jarring pattern on mining. He was a fighting man, not a laborer; indeed, he had run away to join the bandit clan to avoid a life of farm toil. He grimaced, shoving his way back through the milling convicts.
He wasn’t blind to the suspicious looks sent him way by clusters of the prisoners. It was true that the prison was thick with the Forsworn, then, and naturally they didn’t take kindly to Nords. He pretended to be oblivious to their hostile looks and mutterings. Three or four Bretons he could handle, but he was alone and one unfamiliar territory, unarmored and vastly outnumbered. He was not so bad a gambler that he would take those odd unless something crucial rested on them.
His plans of avoiding immediate confrontation were foiled when someone knocked into him. His attention had wandered, but it only took a moment to realize the threat seizing him up. The man who had knocked into him was tall, for a Breton, and had muscles of a miner. His head was shave, aside from a strips in the middle that stuck up like a coxcomb.
Knocking into Thrynn had obviously far from accidental.
“This isn’t a place for you, Nord,” the man growled, taking a step towards him again.
The man might have been tall for a Breton, but Thrynn still had height on him, and he bristled right back. “Yeah? Well if you’ve got any suggestion on how I might leave, I’d gladly take them,” he said, crossing his arms and meeting the man’s stair.
“I could think of one,” the Breton said, glancing at something behind Thrynn. A crowd was beginning to gather- the hardest-looking Bretons mostly, their pallid skin and muscled form testament to long years in the mine. They ranged from old and grey to barely out of adolescence, but all had the same hungry look in his eyes. “I’ve come to regret not killing more Nords when I had the chance. And now look… one delivered here, just for us.”
Thrynn ducked aside of the Breton’s first blow at his face, and came back with a swing of his own. His fist caught the Breton on the side of the jaw, snapping his teeth together and knocking him sideways.
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timeasmymeasure
Escape 2.1/?
Date: 2014-03-02 08:59 am (UTC)Oh, also, since Thrynn and Cynric got were sent information-gathering by Margret and not Eltrys, the circumstances of how they ended up framed for murder are a tad different)
By the time the prisoners were herded back toward their cells, Thrynn’s arms felt leaden and his muscles ached with the jarring pattern on mining. He was a fighting man, not a laborer; indeed, he had run away to join the bandit clan to avoid a life of farm toil. He grimaced, shoving his way back through the milling convicts.
He wasn’t blind to the suspicious looks sent him way by clusters of the prisoners. It was true that the prison was thick with the Forsworn, then, and naturally they didn’t take kindly to Nords. He pretended to be oblivious to their hostile looks and mutterings. Three or four Bretons he could handle, but he was alone and one unfamiliar territory, unarmored and vastly outnumbered. He was not so bad a gambler that he would take those odd unless something crucial rested on them.
His plans of avoiding immediate confrontation were foiled when someone knocked into him. His attention had wandered, but it only took a moment to realize the threat seizing him up. The man who had knocked into him was tall, for a Breton, and had muscles of a miner. His head was shave, aside from a strips in the middle that stuck up like a coxcomb.
Knocking into Thrynn had obviously far from accidental.
“This isn’t a place for you, Nord,” the man growled, taking a step towards him again.
The man might have been tall for a Breton, but Thrynn still had height on him, and he bristled right back. “Yeah? Well if you’ve got any suggestion on how I might leave, I’d gladly take them,” he said, crossing his arms and meeting the man’s stair.
“I could think of one,” the Breton said, glancing at something behind Thrynn. A crowd was beginning to gather- the hardest-looking Bretons mostly, their pallid skin and muscled form testament to long years in the mine. They ranged from old and grey to barely out of adolescence, but all had the same hungry look in his eyes. “I’ve come to regret not killing more Nords when I had the chance. And now look… one delivered here, just for us.”
Thrynn ducked aside of the Breton’s first blow at his face, and came back with a swing of his own. His fist caught the Breton on the side of the jaw, snapping his teeth together and knocking him sideways.