In the slums, on the outskirts of the bustling Capital city, where cobblestone streets wound like serpents through the vibrant tapestry of life, stood the infamous tavern known as "The Rising Sun".
Run by Dean Morgan, a former courtier, its wooden beams, darkened by the passage of time, bore witness to countless tales of revelry, intrigue, debauchery of every kind and the occasional whisper of treachery.
The tavern was a sanctuary for weary travelers who lacked coin for a better accommodation or simply arrived late, reaching the outskirts past curfew by which time the inner city gates were already closed for the night preventing access. Curfew was strictly abided by and those reaching the city after the bell tolls were allowed no further than the slums.
Morgan's establishment had become a notorious thieves den, a gamblers paradise, a meeting place for roguish merchants, sell swords seeking dubious work, pirates and drunken thugs doing questionable trades and more questionable business, a stage for the colorful characters that populated the realm, of the wrong sort, from the wrong side of the law.
On this particular evening, the air was thick with the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine, mingling with the lewd loud laughter and raucous songs that spilled from the tavern’s open doors.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the city, the tavern’s atmosphere shifted.
The flickering candlelight danced upon the faces of drunken patrons, illuminating their expressions of blissful wanton and abandon, far too drunken to notice danger. Yet, amidst the revelry, a sense of unease lingered, like a shadow lurking just beyond the reach of the firelight.
Whispers of banditry had spread through the Capital like wildfire, tales of masked marauders who struck under the cover of darkness, leaving chaos in their wake.
Run by Dean Morgan, a former courtier, its wooden beams, darkened by the passage of time, bore witness to countless tales of revelry, intrigue, debauchery of every kind and the occasional whisper of treachery.
The tavern was a sanctuary for weary travelers who lacked coin for a better accommodation or simply arrived late, reaching the outskirts past curfew by which time the inner city gates were already closed for the night preventing access. Curfew was strictly abided by and those reaching the city after the bell tolls were allowed no further than the slums.
Morgan's establishment had become a notorious thieves den, a gamblers paradise, a meeting place for roguish merchants, sell swords seeking dubious work, pirates and drunken thugs doing questionable trades and more questionable business, a stage for the colorful characters that populated the realm, of the wrong sort, from the wrong side of the law.
On this particular evening, the air was thick with the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine, mingling with the lewd loud laughter and raucous songs that spilled from the tavern’s open doors.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the city, the tavern’s atmosphere shifted.
The flickering candlelight danced upon the faces of drunken patrons, illuminating their expressions of blissful wanton and abandon, far too drunken to notice danger. Yet, amidst the revelry, a sense of unease lingered, like a shadow lurking just beyond the reach of the firelight.
Whispers of banditry had spread through the Capital like wildfire, tales of masked marauders who struck under the cover of darkness, leaving chaos in their wake.
At a corner table, draped in rich black leather fabrics, sat the duke, Tron Pentre, the king's cousin, a man of imposing stature and an evil reputation that preceded him.
The only thing knightly about him... his title as lord knight of the realm, leader of the royal army. Nothing else in him was merciful or honourable.
Sir Tron Pentre was a knight whose heart was colder than stone, if he even had one... whose deeds put murderers and marauders to shame, the only thing knightly about him was his official title as the king's right-hand-man, though tavern gossip simply referred to him as the king's butcher, and even butcher would have been mildly put when we got down to murky gory business greedily extracting every copper piece, silver and gold from the impoverished peasants during tax collection.
With every vow from the Old Code of Chivalry broken and no one to stand up to him, to stand in his way, his presence commanded much respect and fear wherever he went, especially among the dishonest attendants
His piercing eyes surveyed the room with a mixture of authority, impatience, ill concealed irritation if not downright disgust at the delay in his food delivery.
A voluptuous tavern maid brought another jug of wine to appease the customer and sat temptingly close, should the duke wish to indulge in additional services of a more intimate nature.
The duke was no stranger to the tavern; he occasionally came to celebrate his accomplishments with his men, sought warmth among the ladies of the night, or found relief among the copious amounts of cheap ales and strong brews, relishing the stories and laughter, gambles and scuffles that filled the air for a while. Yet tonight, he was not merely a patron; he was a target.
The duke allowed the young woman to fill up the cup and raised his goblet to his lips, finally resting at the end of a much talked-about tax collection week that had left a bloody trail of mangled corpses, maimed peasants and burning dwellings behind.
Suddenly the tavern door swung open with a creak, and a gust of wind swept through the room, putting out some candles, flickering oil lamps, carrying with it a chill that seemed to silence the hubbub.
The patrons turned their heads, eyes widening as many figures cloaked in dark, worn if tattered garments stepped inside. Some had their faces obscured by hoods, but the glint of steel at their sides was unmistakable. The treacherous outlaws of Whitley had finally arrived, without expecting or seeking them, in greater numbers than accounted for.
The atmosphere shifted palpably, tension coiling like a spring as the bandits surveyed the room. They moved with a predatory grace, their eyes scanning for the prize that had drawn them to this lively establishment at this late hour.
The duke, sensing the danger, set his goblet down with a deliberate calm, his heart racing beneath the layers of his attire as he noticed his armed retinue were naught but a bunch of passed out drunkards, utterly useless.
He had faced many adversaries in his life, but the threat of so many bandits all at once, while so terribly outnumbered, was a different story altogetheraltogether and the odds were not in his favor.
The only thing knightly about him... his title as lord knight of the realm, leader of the royal army. Nothing else in him was merciful or honourable.
Sir Tron Pentre was a knight whose heart was colder than stone, if he even had one... whose deeds put murderers and marauders to shame, the only thing knightly about him was his official title as the king's right-hand-man, though tavern gossip simply referred to him as the king's butcher, and even butcher would have been mildly put when we got down to murky gory business greedily extracting every copper piece, silver and gold from the impoverished peasants during tax collection.
With every vow from the Old Code of Chivalry broken and no one to stand up to him, to stand in his way, his presence commanded much respect and fear wherever he went, especially among the dishonest attendants
His piercing eyes surveyed the room with a mixture of authority, impatience, ill concealed irritation if not downright disgust at the delay in his food delivery.
A voluptuous tavern maid brought another jug of wine to appease the customer and sat temptingly close, should the duke wish to indulge in additional services of a more intimate nature.
The duke was no stranger to the tavern; he occasionally came to celebrate his accomplishments with his men, sought warmth among the ladies of the night, or found relief among the copious amounts of cheap ales and strong brews, relishing the stories and laughter, gambles and scuffles that filled the air for a while. Yet tonight, he was not merely a patron; he was a target.
The duke allowed the young woman to fill up the cup and raised his goblet to his lips, finally resting at the end of a much talked-about tax collection week that had left a bloody trail of mangled corpses, maimed peasants and burning dwellings behind.
Suddenly the tavern door swung open with a creak, and a gust of wind swept through the room, putting out some candles, flickering oil lamps, carrying with it a chill that seemed to silence the hubbub.
The patrons turned their heads, eyes widening as many figures cloaked in dark, worn if tattered garments stepped inside. Some had their faces obscured by hoods, but the glint of steel at their sides was unmistakable. The treacherous outlaws of Whitley had finally arrived, without expecting or seeking them, in greater numbers than accounted for.
The atmosphere shifted palpably, tension coiling like a spring as the bandits surveyed the room. They moved with a predatory grace, their eyes scanning for the prize that had drawn them to this lively establishment at this late hour.
The duke, sensing the danger, set his goblet down with a deliberate calm, his heart racing beneath the layers of his attire as he noticed his armed retinue were naught but a bunch of passed out drunkards, utterly useless.
He had faced many adversaries in his life, but the threat of so many bandits all at once, while so terribly outnumbered, was a different story altogetheraltogether and the odds were not in his favor.
With a sudden, swift motion, the leader of the bandits closed the door behind him.
He stepped forward, his voice a low growl that cut through the murmurs of the crowd.
“Sir Tron Pentre, duke of Wessex, we finally meet” he called, his tone dripping with disdain
"I have come to claim my bounty" Announced Aynor tauntingly holding up one of the many ransom notices for his own capture
“Your stolen wealth has drawn us here, and we intend to relieve you of it. Resist and we will relieve you of your clothes, your limbs, perhaps your life as well” noted as a matter of fact
Aynor was a renowned assassin whose reputation for torture and bloodshed rivalled that of Pentre himself. Yet, unlike Pentre, he had no regards for the laws or morality of any kind, no honor of any sort, loyalty or sense of duty
He stepped forward, his voice a low growl that cut through the murmurs of the crowd.
“Sir Tron Pentre, duke of Wessex, we finally meet” he called, his tone dripping with disdain
"I have come to claim my bounty" Announced Aynor tauntingly holding up one of the many ransom notices for his own capture
“Your stolen wealth has drawn us here, and we intend to relieve you of it. Resist and we will relieve you of your clothes, your limbs, perhaps your life as well” noted as a matter of fact
Aynor was a renowned assassin whose reputation for torture and bloodshed rivalled that of Pentre himself. Yet, unlike Pentre, he had no regards for the laws or morality of any kind, no honor of any sort, loyalty or sense of duty
Gasps erupted from the patrons, and the tavern fell into a hushed silence, the revelry replaced by a palpable fear as many cowered out of the way.
The duke’s hand instinctively moved to the hilt of his sword, but he knew that drawing steel in this crowded tavern, in the present precarious circumstances, would only lead to injury.
Instead, he met the bandit’s gaze with a steely resolve, his voice steady and low as he replied
“You dare threaten the lord knight of the realm while not a stone throw from the barracks and dungeons? Have you lost your judgement? Do you have a death wish?" Scoffed Pentre
"I have the power to have you arrested and hanged for this" warned Pentre sternly, in his mind cursing the fact he had given most guards and knights the evening off and those few left had passed out and were fast asleep
The duke’s hand instinctively moved to the hilt of his sword, but he knew that drawing steel in this crowded tavern, in the present precarious circumstances, would only lead to injury.
Instead, he met the bandit’s gaze with a steely resolve, his voice steady and low as he replied
“You dare threaten the lord knight of the realm while not a stone throw from the barracks and dungeons? Have you lost your judgement? Do you have a death wish?" Scoffed Pentre
"I have the power to have you arrested and hanged for this" warned Pentre sternly, in his mind cursing the fact he had given most guards and knights the evening off and those few left had passed out and were fast asleep
The bandit leader chuckled darkly, a sound devoid of humor pulling back the hood to reveal himself and, took up a dagger, arms crossed
“Arrested? With what men at arms exactly?" Taunted Aynor questioning the noble
"Nay, my lord. Tonight, it is your gold and freedom that will buy ours. Your carriage who will ensure the guards at the portcullis open the gates without delay to give us safe passage and leave the city unharmed, unquestioned, and better accept defeat else your life hangs in the balance. What will it be, milord, a sword dance or peaceful compliance? Choosing the steel might come dear... to you” cautioned the leader
“Arrested? With what men at arms exactly?" Taunted Aynor questioning the noble
"Nay, my lord. Tonight, it is your gold and freedom that will buy ours. Your carriage who will ensure the guards at the portcullis open the gates without delay to give us safe passage and leave the city unharmed, unquestioned, and better accept defeat else your life hangs in the balance. What will it be, milord, a sword dance or peaceful compliance? Choosing the steel might come dear... to you” cautioned the leader
As the tension escalated, the tavern’s patrons began to inch away, fear etched on their faces, making themselves scarce.
The air crackled with anticipation, and the flickering candlelight cast long shadows that danced ominously across the walls.
Duke Pentre’s mind raced, weighing his options.
In his pride, he could not allow these bandits to rob him so easily and openly neither could he risk his life or limbs.
After briefly calculating his options and possible outcomes, for the first time ever, he surrendered, dropping the sword and kneeling on the ground arms raised behind the head as required off him
"Very well, I yield, do with me what you will but any lasting harm befalls me and you will pay for it" swore Pentre letting himself be robbed by the brigands, gagged and manhandled, disarmed and bundled into his tax loaded lavish carriage which awaited outside ready to whisk him away. This time towards the wrong destination. It would be hours before it halted well away from the capital.
The air crackled with anticipation, and the flickering candlelight cast long shadows that danced ominously across the walls.
Duke Pentre’s mind raced, weighing his options.
In his pride, he could not allow these bandits to rob him so easily and openly neither could he risk his life or limbs.
After briefly calculating his options and possible outcomes, for the first time ever, he surrendered, dropping the sword and kneeling on the ground arms raised behind the head as required off him
"Very well, I yield, do with me what you will but any lasting harm befalls me and you will pay for it" swore Pentre letting himself be robbed by the brigands, gagged and manhandled, disarmed and bundled into his tax loaded lavish carriage which awaited outside ready to whisk him away. This time towards the wrong destination. It would be hours before it halted well away from the capital.
The brigands robbed the guards uniforms, adding a charge of impersonation to the endless list of ever rising crimes these outlaws cared little about.
Before anyone could raise alarm the party left the place swiftly, not before paying Dean Morgan generously for the lost income.
As predicted, when the guards spotted Sir Pentre's ornate carriage approaching, they sprang into action, their faces a mix of duty and edgy nervousness. With practiced efficiency, they raised the heavy iron bars of the gate, allowing the vehicle to pass through without delay or question. Little did they know that hidden within the plush velvet interior was the kidnapped black-hearted knight, his presence masked by the shadows and the fine drapery.
The bandits, emboldened by their successful ruse, urged the horses onward, galloping with urgency as they ventured deeper into the countryside.
The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows that danced among the trees, and the air grew thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. They navigated winding paths, their hearts racing with the thrill of their audacious heist, leaving behind the safety of the normally heavy guarded city and plunged deeper into the untamed wilderness.
Once they had traversed a considerable distance into the heart of the forest, Aynor, the cunning leader of the bandits, raised a hand to signal a halt.
With such motion the group came to a jarring stop, hooves crunching on the underbrush as they dismounted.
The atmosphere shifted, tension crackling in the air as Aynor turned his attention to the captive knight.
With a predatory glint in his eye, he approached Sir Pentre, who was still reeling from the ambush.
“Time to make sure you don’t follow us,” Aynor sneered, his voice low and menacing.
He produced sturdy ropes from his satchel, expertly binding the knight to a gnarled tree, its bark rough against Pentre’s back.
The knight struggled against his restraints, but the knots were expertly tied, leaving him securely fastened and unable to escape.
With the knight incapacitated, Aynor turned to his men, a triumphant smile spreading across his face.
"As agreed, I’ll take two-thirds of the gold and my loyal crew. You lot can keep the rest.” He gestured dismissively toward Robin and his smaller band of brigands, who stood nearby, their expressions a mix of excitement and apprehension.
The remaining bandits exchanged glances, their eyes flickering between the gold and the knight, weighing their options.
Aynor barked out orders and his men quickly gathered the spoils from the carriage, loading the heavy bags onto their horses. The sound of clinking coins filled the air, a sweet melody of victory.
With a final glance at the bound knight, Aynor mounted his horse, his men following suit and they rode off into the depths of the forest, leaving behind the discarded, burnt carriage, its charred remains a testament to their ruthless efficiency.
The crackling of the dying flames echoed in the stillness, a haunting reminder of the chaos that had unfolded in all but a short time.
As the last echoes of hoofbeats faded into the distance, Robin and his band stood in the clearing, the weight of the remaining third of the gold heavy in their hands. They exchanged uncertain glances, the reality of their situation settling in.
The knight, a formidable foe, was now their captive, and the forest loomed around them, both a sanctuary and a prison.
Before anyone could raise alarm the party left the place swiftly, not before paying Dean Morgan generously for the lost income.
As predicted, when the guards spotted Sir Pentre's ornate carriage approaching, they sprang into action, their faces a mix of duty and edgy nervousness. With practiced efficiency, they raised the heavy iron bars of the gate, allowing the vehicle to pass through without delay or question. Little did they know that hidden within the plush velvet interior was the kidnapped black-hearted knight, his presence masked by the shadows and the fine drapery.
The bandits, emboldened by their successful ruse, urged the horses onward, galloping with urgency as they ventured deeper into the countryside.
The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows that danced among the trees, and the air grew thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. They navigated winding paths, their hearts racing with the thrill of their audacious heist, leaving behind the safety of the normally heavy guarded city and plunged deeper into the untamed wilderness.
Once they had traversed a considerable distance into the heart of the forest, Aynor, the cunning leader of the bandits, raised a hand to signal a halt.
With such motion the group came to a jarring stop, hooves crunching on the underbrush as they dismounted.
The atmosphere shifted, tension crackling in the air as Aynor turned his attention to the captive knight.
With a predatory glint in his eye, he approached Sir Pentre, who was still reeling from the ambush.
“Time to make sure you don’t follow us,” Aynor sneered, his voice low and menacing.
He produced sturdy ropes from his satchel, expertly binding the knight to a gnarled tree, its bark rough against Pentre’s back.
The knight struggled against his restraints, but the knots were expertly tied, leaving him securely fastened and unable to escape.
With the knight incapacitated, Aynor turned to his men, a triumphant smile spreading across his face.
"As agreed, I’ll take two-thirds of the gold and my loyal crew. You lot can keep the rest.” He gestured dismissively toward Robin and his smaller band of brigands, who stood nearby, their expressions a mix of excitement and apprehension.
The remaining bandits exchanged glances, their eyes flickering between the gold and the knight, weighing their options.
Aynor barked out orders and his men quickly gathered the spoils from the carriage, loading the heavy bags onto their horses. The sound of clinking coins filled the air, a sweet melody of victory.
With a final glance at the bound knight, Aynor mounted his horse, his men following suit and they rode off into the depths of the forest, leaving behind the discarded, burnt carriage, its charred remains a testament to their ruthless efficiency.
The crackling of the dying flames echoed in the stillness, a haunting reminder of the chaos that had unfolded in all but a short time.
As the last echoes of hoofbeats faded into the distance, Robin and his band stood in the clearing, the weight of the remaining third of the gold heavy in their hands. They exchanged uncertain glances, the reality of their situation settling in.
The knight, a formidable foe, was now their captive, and the forest loomed around them, both a sanctuary and a prison.
Sir Pentre seethed with rage as he watched his prized carriage being reduced to splinters before his very eyes.
The thugs, led by the brutish Aynor, laughed and jeered, their cruel delight evident as they vandalized his property.
Once they had moved on, leaving the wreckage behind, Pentre turned his gaze to Robin, who stood nearby, uncertainty flickering in his eyes as to whether he could buy his way out.
"Release me, and I swear that you will walk away unharmed" Pentre urged, his voice steady despite the turmoil within.
"Spare yourselves this folly, and I will ensure your safety and a hefty reward. You have my promise."
His eyes locked onto Robin's, a mix of desperation and determination shining through.
"Think carefully, my friend. This is not just about me; it’s about your lives as well. Let me go and you will live. You have my word of honor" Pressed Pentre
The thugs, led by the brutish Aynor, laughed and jeered, their cruel delight evident as they vandalized his property.
Once they had moved on, leaving the wreckage behind, Pentre turned his gaze to Robin, who stood nearby, uncertainty flickering in his eyes as to whether he could buy his way out.
"Release me, and I swear that you will walk away unharmed" Pentre urged, his voice steady despite the turmoil within.
"Spare yourselves this folly, and I will ensure your safety and a hefty reward. You have my promise."
His eyes locked onto Robin's, a mix of desperation and determination shining through.
"Think carefully, my friend. This is not just about me; it’s about your lives as well. Let me go and you will live. You have my word of honor" Pressed Pentre
Until that fateful day, Robin had been a righteous man, a lesser lord presiding over a modest manor. But everything changed when Sir Pentre seized his lands and laid the village to waste.
"Honor? You wouldn't recognize it if it stared you in the face, you don't have any" Robin scoffed, his voice trembling with a mix of hurt and fury.
"Just last week, you pillaged our village, slaughtered my wife and daughters, and took my home. What honor do you speak of?" He shook his head in disbelief, the weight of his grief etched across his features.
As he divided the stolen gold among the small group of peasants, their eyes sparkled with a blend of gratitude and weariness as they shuffled away, burdened yet relieved.
Robin then turned his attention to the bound prisoner, his focus sharpening. He began to throw daggers with deadly precision, each blade whistling through the air and narrowly missing its mark.
His heart raced, fueled by an insatiable desire for revenge. Each near miss served as a reminder of the pain inflicted upon his people and his family. With every throw, he envisioned justice being served.
Yet, for all his faults and flaws, Robin was a better man than Pentre. Murder was never his intent. He would ransom the lord eventually—sooner rather than later—once his people were safely out of the reach of the black-hearted knight.
"Honor? You wouldn't recognize it if it stared you in the face, you don't have any" Robin scoffed, his voice trembling with a mix of hurt and fury.
"Just last week, you pillaged our village, slaughtered my wife and daughters, and took my home. What honor do you speak of?" He shook his head in disbelief, the weight of his grief etched across his features.
As he divided the stolen gold among the small group of peasants, their eyes sparkled with a blend of gratitude and weariness as they shuffled away, burdened yet relieved.
Robin then turned his attention to the bound prisoner, his focus sharpening. He began to throw daggers with deadly precision, each blade whistling through the air and narrowly missing its mark.
His heart raced, fueled by an insatiable desire for revenge. Each near miss served as a reminder of the pain inflicted upon his people and his family. With every throw, he envisioned justice being served.
Yet, for all his faults and flaws, Robin was a better man than Pentre. Murder was never his intent. He would ransom the lord eventually—sooner rather than later—once his people were safely out of the reach of the black-hearted knight.
Peregrin would soon find that his spot in the forest this evening, was not far from the events taking place for poor Pentre. The smoke in the sky would prove too much for his curiosity, and he would find himself on a path that would ultimately lead somewhere quite unexpected. A simple detour on his way to the Capitol, would end up vastly changing his life.
He had come from very poor circumstances, and had finally decided to escape to a new life in the Capitol. Escape being more literal than one would think. He had been traveling through the forest all day, but just when he was ready to stop for the night, the curiosity over the smoke gave him a new burst of energy.
When he reached the edge of the clearing, he was only somewhat surprised by what he saw. Carriage robbings were unfortunately getting a bit more common, however the man tied to a tree being used as target practice was not as common.
Watching the proceedings for a few minutes, ensuring that the one throwing knives was quite alone with his target, he decided to step in. He wasn't exactly righteous or anything, but this wasn't exactly a fair fight with one of them tied up. Though he hadn't been hurt yet, that didn't mean the angry one wouldn't get angrier.
"I don't know what he did to deserve being your target, but I am sure this is not helping your case any. I suggest you go ahead and release him now, as opposed to later, or I'll have to release him myself." He said firmly, stepping out from behind a tree, his hand cautiously resting on the dagger at his belt.
Unfortunately, his stature did not seem to match the command in his voice. Being short and scrawny tended to make people underestimate him, but there was a fire in his eyes that Robin would be better off not testing.
He had come from very poor circumstances, and had finally decided to escape to a new life in the Capitol. Escape being more literal than one would think. He had been traveling through the forest all day, but just when he was ready to stop for the night, the curiosity over the smoke gave him a new burst of energy.
When he reached the edge of the clearing, he was only somewhat surprised by what he saw. Carriage robbings were unfortunately getting a bit more common, however the man tied to a tree being used as target practice was not as common.
Watching the proceedings for a few minutes, ensuring that the one throwing knives was quite alone with his target, he decided to step in. He wasn't exactly righteous or anything, but this wasn't exactly a fair fight with one of them tied up. Though he hadn't been hurt yet, that didn't mean the angry one wouldn't get angrier.
"I don't know what he did to deserve being your target, but I am sure this is not helping your case any. I suggest you go ahead and release him now, as opposed to later, or I'll have to release him myself." He said firmly, stepping out from behind a tree, his hand cautiously resting on the dagger at his belt.
Unfortunately, his stature did not seem to match the command in his voice. Being short and scrawny tended to make people underestimate him, but there was a fire in his eyes that Robin would be better off not testing.
Robin raised an eyebrow, a scowl playing on his lips as he adjusted the grip on his dagger.
"A fight for a corrupt murderous knight, is it? How quaint." Mocked Robin
"This man murdered my helpless family, robbed my village in the name of the king... do you even know who he is?" Quizzed sternly
"He certainly deserves all he gets. But... I'm a fair man, you can have the black hearted thug tomorrow sundown.
When my men are far from his grasp, I will hand him over to you, mostly unharmed, I promise.
If you want to release this foul creature right away, however, you'll have to fight me for it, you'll have to earn him." Dismissed Robin
He stepped forward, the tension in the air thickening as he sized up his opponent.
"What say you? Shall we dance with our steels? Are you ready to test your mettle, traveller? Or do you prefer to bide your time?" Quizzed Robin, eyes narrowed, a flicker of determination igniting within them as he unsheathed his sword
"A fight for a corrupt murderous knight, is it? How quaint." Mocked Robin
"This man murdered my helpless family, robbed my village in the name of the king... do you even know who he is?" Quizzed sternly
"He certainly deserves all he gets. But... I'm a fair man, you can have the black hearted thug tomorrow sundown.
When my men are far from his grasp, I will hand him over to you, mostly unharmed, I promise.
If you want to release this foul creature right away, however, you'll have to fight me for it, you'll have to earn him." Dismissed Robin
He stepped forward, the tension in the air thickening as he sized up his opponent.
"What say you? Shall we dance with our steels? Are you ready to test your mettle, traveller? Or do you prefer to bide your time?" Quizzed Robin, eyes narrowed, a flicker of determination igniting within them as he unsheathed his sword
Evil Sir Pentre toyed with the stranger's emotions, his voice smooth and persuasive.
"Don't be swayed by this thug's empty promises" he began, his tone dripping with feigned sincerity.
"Every man who owes taxes harbors a deep-seated resentment for the knights of the realm. But let me remind you that we are merely fulfilling our duty to uphold the law of the land. It may be unpleasant, that we do our duty, but it is necessary." Assured Pentre
He leaned in slightly, his eyes narrowing as he pressed his advantage.
"If you consider yourself a righteous citizen, one who understands the importance of order and justice, then you must see the truth. Release me at once, and I will ensure justice is served and the laws upheld." Insisted Pentre
"He is but a disgruntled outlaw, nothing more. Whose side are you on?" muttered Pentre
His words hung in the air, a calculated blend of charm and menace, as he awaited the stranger's response.
"Don't be swayed by this thug's empty promises" he began, his tone dripping with feigned sincerity.
"Every man who owes taxes harbors a deep-seated resentment for the knights of the realm. But let me remind you that we are merely fulfilling our duty to uphold the law of the land. It may be unpleasant, that we do our duty, but it is necessary." Assured Pentre
He leaned in slightly, his eyes narrowing as he pressed his advantage.
"If you consider yourself a righteous citizen, one who understands the importance of order and justice, then you must see the truth. Release me at once, and I will ensure justice is served and the laws upheld." Insisted Pentre
"He is but a disgruntled outlaw, nothing more. Whose side are you on?" muttered Pentre
His words hung in the air, a calculated blend of charm and menace, as he awaited the stranger's response.
Peregrin glanced from Robin to Pentre as one spoke then the other, a calculated smile gracing his face.
"I am on no side. I know not the reputation of either of you, but I know what I see. The game of a coward." He said, looking pointedly back at Robin.
"Should he really be as you say, and you as capable, he would not still be unharmed, nor would you have set a fire in the open.
Instead you have opted to remain in hiding. Foolish to goad before releasing. You'd better have skills to back your word." He said, shaking his head as he brandished his dagger, crouching down in preparation. Being short, might just have some advantages.
"I am on no side. I know not the reputation of either of you, but I know what I see. The game of a coward." He said, looking pointedly back at Robin.
"Should he really be as you say, and you as capable, he would not still be unharmed, nor would you have set a fire in the open.
Instead you have opted to remain in hiding. Foolish to goad before releasing. You'd better have skills to back your word." He said, shaking his head as he brandished his dagger, crouching down in preparation. Being short, might just have some advantages.
In the heart of the Forest of Brune, the air was thick with tension as Robin faced off against Peregrin.
The moonlight filtered through the dense canopy, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor, where the two figures circled each other, weapons drawn.
Robin, with his signature green tunic blending into the foliage, gripped his sword tightly, determination etched on his face.
"He won't take from my poor vassals any longer!" he declared, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him.
With a swift movement, Robin lunged forward, aiming to strike Peregrin down.
The blade sliced through the air, but at the last moment, Robin's sword missed its mark, embedding itself into the soft earth with a thud.
With a renewed sense of purpose, Robin prepared for the next round, ready to turn the tide of the battle in his favor. The fight was far from finished, and he was determined to protect his people, no matter the cost.
Robin regained his footing, his heart racing.
He knew he had to outsmart Peregrin, not just overpower him.
The forest was his ally, and he would use it to his advantage.
Robin's mind raced with strategies. He rose the sword and lunged forward for another attack, Pentre's whistles and taunts proving a terrible distraction and his tiredness and lack of food and sleep not helping matters at hand, nonetheless, he would try to delay Pentre's release at all costs, give his men time to gain more distance.
The moonlight filtered through the dense canopy, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor, where the two figures circled each other, weapons drawn.
Robin, with his signature green tunic blending into the foliage, gripped his sword tightly, determination etched on his face.
"He won't take from my poor vassals any longer!" he declared, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him.
With a swift movement, Robin lunged forward, aiming to strike Peregrin down.
The blade sliced through the air, but at the last moment, Robin's sword missed its mark, embedding itself into the soft earth with a thud.
With a renewed sense of purpose, Robin prepared for the next round, ready to turn the tide of the battle in his favor. The fight was far from finished, and he was determined to protect his people, no matter the cost.
Robin regained his footing, his heart racing.
He knew he had to outsmart Peregrin, not just overpower him.
The forest was his ally, and he would use it to his advantage.
Robin's mind raced with strategies. He rose the sword and lunged forward for another attack, Pentre's whistles and taunts proving a terrible distraction and his tiredness and lack of food and sleep not helping matters at hand, nonetheless, he would try to delay Pentre's release at all costs, give his men time to gain more distance.
rolled 1d2 and got a natural 2.
Note: 1- hit, 2- missed
To go up against a sword with a dagger seemed a bit of a fools errand, yet Peregrin didn't not seem concerned. Opting to stay defensive at first, he was easily prepared to dodge Robin's first attack. Instead of attacking when his sword hit the ground, he allowed the bandit to pick it back up. He wanted a fair fight, and he supposed the other wasn't used to aiming so low.
They continued to circle around a bit, Peregrin studying the way his opponent moved his sword, choosing to take opportunity when he prepared to make his next attack.
As Robin lunged toward him, he dropped to the ground and rolled diagonally out of the way of his sword, swinging his dagger toward Robin's leg as he jumped backwards to his feet. Unfortunately the distance was a little off, his cloak being the only victim of the blade.
Moving backwards out of immediate reach, he waited for Robin to turn back around. Neither had landed a hit yet, but that wouldn't last for long. They seemed a decent match for each other, but one would have to win eventually.
They continued to circle around a bit, Peregrin studying the way his opponent moved his sword, choosing to take opportunity when he prepared to make his next attack.
As Robin lunged toward him, he dropped to the ground and rolled diagonally out of the way of his sword, swinging his dagger toward Robin's leg as he jumped backwards to his feet. Unfortunately the distance was a little off, his cloak being the only victim of the blade.
Moving backwards out of immediate reach, he waited for Robin to turn back around. Neither had landed a hit yet, but that wouldn't last for long. They seemed a decent match for each other, but one would have to win eventually.
rolled 1d2 and got a natural 2.
Note: 1 - hit, 2 - miss
In the dim light of the forest, the air was thick with tension as Robin and Peregrin continued their confrontation, each determined to come out on top.
The clash of steel echoed as Robin and the traveler, Peregrin, remained engaged in a fierce battle. Both equally honourable insistent in maintaining a fair fight.
Peregrin's blade narrowly missed as Robin sidestepped, countering with a slash of his sword.
With a swift and calculated move Robin lunged forward, his sword glinting ominously, slicing through the air, landing a successful strike,
hitting the target.
The two men dancing around each other, exchanging blows in a flurry of movement.
The battle raged on, each man refusing to yield, the forest around them alive with the sounds of their struggle.
The clash of steel echoed as Robin and the traveler, Peregrin, remained engaged in a fierce battle. Both equally honourable insistent in maintaining a fair fight.
Peregrin's blade narrowly missed as Robin sidestepped, countering with a slash of his sword.
With a swift and calculated move Robin lunged forward, his sword glinting ominously, slicing through the air, landing a successful strike,
hitting the target.
The two men dancing around each other, exchanging blows in a flurry of movement.
The battle raged on, each man refusing to yield, the forest around them alive with the sounds of their struggle.
rolled 1d2 and got a natural 1.
Note: 1- hit, 2- missed
As the clash of swords continued, Sir Pentre, bound to a nearby tree, watched the duel unfold with growing impatience.
Sir Pentre struggled against his bindings, frustration evident in his tone.
His brow furrowed, and he called out to Peregrin, his voice laced with urgency
"Finish him up already! This is no time for hesitation or honourable fights! We need to get out of here before more of his kind show up!" Pressed Pentre
Sir Pentre struggled against his bindings, frustration evident in his tone.
His brow furrowed, and he called out to Peregrin, his voice laced with urgency
"Finish him up already! This is no time for hesitation or honourable fights! We need to get out of here before more of his kind show up!" Pressed Pentre
Moderators: Tusitala Guardian_Girl Archivalist