(122-05-11) Ambush on the Road to White Harbour
Ambush on the Road to White Harbour
Summary: Tellur Shnow and Ser Malcolm Storm are Ambushed.
Date: Date of play (DD/MM/122)
Related: http://gobmush.wikidot.com/plot:something-is-rotten-at-winterfell

The road winds through more of the reasonably flat country here about, with a mix of woods and farmland. They are headed mostly East, but subtly South. There was no sign of the men at the Inn when they left, which proves nothing. They might be ahead or behind on this road. They might be riding some other way.

Tellur has chosen to ride over two days rather than one. His owl is on his falconer's glove, and the three canines are trotting next to his black gelding "Malcolm?" he says to the Knight "Have you ever wanted your own hound?"

Malcolm grins at him, "I think I am happy sharing Carolis' Hound with him. What need I for more?"

Tellur raises an eyebrow, amused, and then he says "I can give you no mount, for your horse is fine. No dogs…do you like falconry?" He is not exactly relaxed, but he is reliant on Dog hearing what he might not. Perhaps too reliant.

Malcolm looks at him with some startlement, "But I do need a horse, a fast riding horse. I can't keep up with all you Starks. Motley's perfect for war and jousting and the like, but I could use a fast beast, trained to jump…. I'm never hunted with birds or hounds. I use traps. Wolfling is this about that thing we discussed before leaving Weirwood Manse?" He too is so busy tryig to read Tellur's face that he's not really thinking about trouble.

"Ah! I thought you were adoring of Motley to the exclusion of all others," grins Tellur, and then he adds "I'll be training Loathely's foal, and also hoping for another from her next year, perhaps we should start breeding a line of mounts specific to our needs? It's a long term goal, but…" He shakes his head at traps, a little, and then he laughs "No, not really, I am just in a…did you hear something?"

Up ahead is a small wooden bridge over a stream, with a bit of wood on the other side. On this side is a field of wheat. A sharp eye might catch a glint of metal in the wood and an irregularity in the wheat. Dog's nose might pick up the scent of a man when the light breeze turns the right way.

Malcolm laughs, "No. Indeed, there was talk of new beasts for you and I both from Lord Nathaniel's stables, but nothing came of it." He pats the horse's neck, "I'm fond of my boy, but it would be good to be able to switch between depending on what I am doing."

Tellur inhales, sniffing himself, when he sees the way that Dog is acting. His eyes narrow a little, and he reaches out to steady himself on Malcolm "I think this gelding really isn't my style…" He has, however, gripped Malcolm's arm tight, and then he taps it, and glances towards the wheat with a sharp expression. Then he says to Malcolm "Yes, well, offered gifts just seem to not materialise!"

Malcolm's expression and light tone don't change, though he moves his hand close to his hilt casually "I know you are a bit at sea without your Loathley…. Indeed, a man must gallop fast to get what is coming to him."

"Am I about to hear some more of your knightly philosophy?" wonders Tellur. He whistles a little, calling up the dogs, so they are alert, and then he says "Snow, go for a wing up into the blue!"

It is at this moment the first arrow looses and Ser Malcolm signals Motley into a gallop towards the bridge, as low and flat as he can make himself.

Tellur gives a sharp yell "Hang back, Dog!" he does not want to risk his beloved companions, but the wolf snarls at him, not particularly thrilled by the whole idea of being left behind. He launches himself, as well, heading off directly behind Malcolm, and unslinging his bow from his side as he does so. He reaches behind himself for an arrow "Grace! Go for the throat!"

Two men stand up from the wheat on each side of the road, shooting. Mal has no bow, but his sword is drawn as he barrels towards the third in the trees. hooves clop loud on boards, and the men shoot again.

Tellur takes an arrow up and he nocks it tightly, sitting up in his saddle. As he does so, he presents a better silhouette, and an arrow slides off the edge of his arm, leaving a hot, bright rill of pain and blood "Fuck me," he growls, and looses one of his own arrows as he sends Grace on in an attempt to kill.

Motley is trained for this, and has charged outlaws in Stormlan woods as well as tilters in the lists. This sort of charge is what beasts like him are bred for. Mal keeps his head down and the arrows miss, but as he reaches the woods, he sits up to slash at the third archer.

Tellur's mount is, by comparison, not designed for such things - it shies as people keep appearing, as arrows fly. Tellur's return arrow catches the brigand a glancing shot, and he is once more readying himself. There is a sudden THONK - pinning himself to his own saddle through the upper thigh. Tellur screams.

The man darts back away from Ser Malcolm and manages to get a last shot off into his shield shoulder before running for the horses. It is definitely the man with the fairly good teeth. At least they are in the cover of the woods now and harder targets to hit. Ser Malcolm hears the scream and does his level best to take the running man's head.

Tellur does not fall from his horse, and it is hard to tell which one is more surprised - himself or his mount. Neither of them are in a good mood right now - his return arrow takes the marksman in the shoulder. He grits his teeth and he hisses "Grace - take the other man down!"

Malcolm is so distressed by his wound and furious at the injury to Tellur, that he swings wild and completely misses the fleeing man. At least the trees and his sudden changes in posture protect him from more arrows. He swings again.

The injured man struggles to shoot despite his injury and the pain of shooting makes him drop the bow after. The other bowman tries again. The fleeing man turns and draws his blade. The swords meet in a quick flurry, but neither can get past the other's guard.

Tellur hits the injured man again, as he himself is hit, and Grace falls upon the same man he is aiming for, instead of the other one "Malcolm!" he rasps "I think we're in trouble!"

The injured man in the field goes down. The other one looks a bit alarmed, but it's too late to stop now. Ser Malcolm's man gives an ugly grin as ghastly as Malcolm's furious grimace. Mal calls, "Do you want to yield to them, Wolfling?"

"I don't feel like dying," Tellur gasps as he wheels his horse about. The arrow aimed at him flies far too high, and he points to the other man, turning to the man still holding his bow. He draws, grimace on his face, Grace springing towards teh man.

The man being attacked by a massive dog and what looks like a wolf scrieks and runs. Malcolm and the third man keep clashing, with neither making much headway.

Tellur cannot shoot into that mess, so he kicks his mount forward, riding hard there "Grace!" he snarls. His dog leaps forward, attempting to take the man by the ankle!

The terrified man falls, and is soon pinned by the massive beast. Ser Malcolm actually manages to slash the man's arm, but the pain of his wounds is visibly wearing on him.

Tellur gasps as he wheels the horse closer "Ser Malcolm - don't kill the idiot, we can kill him _after_ we interrogate him!" He is not exactly the most patient of men right now.

Malcolm is about to do something very final to his neck, but turn the blade to slash the man's sword shoulder. The man drops his blade. The man barks "yeild" through clenched teeth. Mal growls, "They hurt you!" But he holds the sword point to the man's neck without actually killing him.

"Yes, but I can't feel it right now - answer up!" Tellur snarls at the man, still pinned to his own saddle "Who do you serve?!"

Malcolm is not in a mood to play around. He pricks the man's neck just enough to draw blood, but not in a dangerous amount. The man looks between them and realizes that really, the choices aren't good. He sighs and drops the fake northern accent, "I was… hired in Lannispotrt. I'm a Sell sword. I don't know who I serve, but I was paid good money. Lord Carolis Stark…" Here he spits, "Killed my brother at hunter's home."

His true accent seems to be of the Iron Islands.

"How was the hiring arranged?" Tellur growls, spitting onto his horse's back. There is some blood in it, from a bitten lip "…I doubt it, unless he was attacked first. You've been fooled."

The man snarls. "The usual. Word was spread about the taverns nigh a year ago that there were men hiring at the Seahorse and we were short coin and went. My brother went on a ship Easdt, but I was needed for work elsewhere. We just got word my brother were killed and so we were riding that way. The little coward pushed him naked from a window!"

Tellur blinks, a bit surprised by this, in all honesty "…what…was he doing in the same room as -" He shrugs "The Cat of the North is more honourable than any. Did ye think ye could get close to Carolis? You're all fools." He considers, a moment or two, and then he rolls his shoulders back "What would _you_ do with prisoners, normally, Sellsword?"

The man rolls his eyes and sneers, "I've no idea why your Lord surprised my brother in his chamber…" He eyes Tellur, "I was hoping to take you and use you for bait to trap the cowardly rose of Winterfell."

"Then you've been lied to." Tellur is nothing if not utterly, completely loyal in every way "Why on earth do you think that Lord Carolis would come looking for his Master of Hounds, you fool? 'Tis Winterfell I serve - Cregan is the man who rules over us all!"

The man laughs then, "And them that pay us would be just as happy for an accident to befall him. either way, we'd win."

"Tell me how and where you are picking up your money," Tellur rasps. He is swaying, slightly.

Malcolm's not doing mucvh better his hand is shaking and he pricks the man again. The Ironman eyes them, "Why should I tell you? All I need do it wait and I win after all."

"Because if you don't, I'm going to have Dog rip out your throat," Tellur says, thickly "As it is, you're seeming a bit too amused for a man who might die if he doesn't shape up."

He lifts his chin, "I've fought well and hard and paid the Iron Price for what I have. Odds are, I'll be an Oarsman when I die. Can you say the same, Northerner?"

"Gods, no," Tellur says, grinning horribly "I'm a _wolf_. We don't like ships, not so much." Malcolm may have to stop him, but Tellur is already closing up, and he hisses "Grace!"

The man breaks at the last minute, "They come to pay us when they give us new orders! Iron born, like me!"

Tellur half-draws back, though Grace is drooling now, growling over the man. He curls his lips, aware now of where things are happening - and, possibly, who is involved "Rrrrhhh," Tellur growls, under his throat "Malcolm? What's the Knightly thing to do in this case?"

Malcolm sighs, "We could hold them for ransom, I suppose, or march them to the Manderlay's and have them imprisoned there. I believe their horses and arms are forfeit." He is looking very pale from blood loss and the shaking is worse.

"Kill, Grace," Tellur says. It is unpleasant, and it is brutal, and it is very quick. His dog does not even hesitate - she can smell that her Alpha is angry and frightened, she can tell that the man is in danger. She lunges, and while it is quick, it is also bloody.

Malcolm lifts his sword and lets it happen. When it is done, he slumps forward doing the sort of breathing a man might do when he's struggling to stay conscious.

Tellur is breathing hard "The others ran. Mal. I can move Dog to protect us, but I need help. You have to stay awake. You have to cut this thrice blasted arrow out so I can dismount, Mal. I know you're not feeling up to it, but I can't stop you bleeding until I'm able to move without wanting to scream my fool head off."

Malcolm simply nods. He urges the horse close. "You'll need. To hold. It steady. I've but. The one. Good hand. It will. Hurt."

"I'm going to be steady, Malcolm, but you need to be very quick, because you're losing a _lot_ of blood, and I am losing none," Tellur grins, a little savagely.

Malcolm nods dully, and he is quick, but clumsy, given his state.

Tellur does scream. And he staggers as Malcolm helps remove the arrow. He also moves. So it tears, and suddenly there is a warm rush of blood down over Malcolm's fingers. Tellur swears, but he has already started getting into his first aid kit. Pragmatically, he ties his own leg off first as he slides down, leaning on his horse, and then he is prying at Malcolm "Show me!"

Malcolm does have the presence of mind to apply pressure until Tellur slides off the horse. He has a number of minor cuts and grazes. It's the arrow through his upper left arm's that is the problem. The black leather hides how bad it is, really, but that whole side is slick with blood. The arrow is best cut out and the vessel needs stitching as well as the flesh.

"Sit down," Tellur says, and he reaches up to take his pack down "We need another human here," he adds, and he adds "Grace, love, guard we fools." The brachet is whining worriedly and licking Malcolm's face, while Tellur finds himself a sharp knife and simply slices through the lacings, without bothering to untie them. He does not wait, not even to give Malcolm a warning - the slice into his arm, the leverage out and the arrow is on the ground while he is grabbing handfulls of gauze and wadding them into a thick, herb-slathered mess to wedge onto the man. It is, alas, excrutiatingly painful, and Tellur is trying to work fast, faster, faster still.

Malcolm slides off, landing awkwardly and having to hold to Motley's saddle to not simply drop. He finds a nice tree to rest against and absently pats Fiona. He yells loudly and passes out rather abruptly as Tellur gets the arrow out. This is likely a lucky thing as he misses most of the excruciating part.

"Bastard," Tellur mutters, with some jealousy, but he continues his work. Since Malcolm is unconscious, he scrapes back some of the herb and packing material, and gets out a fine waxed cord and his needle. The sewing work is not perfect, but it is certainly enough to hold the wound shut, and Tellur's fingers work quickly. Fiona whimpers, and Dog growls low, but Tellur finishes off, ties the thread, then re-pads the external wound, and wraps it all tightly. That done, he runs fingers over Malcolm's body, looking for anything else that needs attention.

Somewhere, the last surviving ruffian is running away as fast as his injured legs will carry him. Meanwhile, Motley is edging up to the three outlaw horses, looking to make friends.

Malcolm has a cut to his right leg and two arrow grazes to his ribs.

Tellur examines, binds the cut, and lets the grazes scab over with blood. He then rolls Malcolm onto his uninjured side and covers him with a blanket. Breathing hard, he staggers up to go and attempt to get the sellsword's mounts, to make sure those reins are secure, and tie his own, less well behaved gelding there. He is managing to remain on his feet. Staggered, unhappy, he comes back and starts to search through the corpse's clothes.

The horses are a trio of bay mares, study beasts with the sort of ankles one wants for rough terrain. They have been decently kept, but not pampered the way a truly loved horse tends to be. There is camping gear and spare weapons. The corpse is well supplied with coin and has a rough map of what looks suspiciously like the area around Deepwood Motte and a bunch of arrows suggesting troops movements in assorted colours.

Deepwood Motte is West and slightly north of Winterfell and just South of Bear Island. It's where Cregan's army and the Boltoin army are beseiging the Glovers.

Malcolm breaths slowly and heavily, not stirring at all while Motley flirts with the mares and Tellur searches the leader's body.

Tellur folds the map back up carefully, and examines Malcolm. He considers the entire affair - and the worst thing is that they have still not made it to the Coast. With a grunt, he moves towards the other body, and then crouches to search it as well. Then he drags both men off the beaten path, and he checks the animals over. The bay mares he ties onto leader ropes, that he then affixes to Motley. And speaking of Motley…it takes a horrible amount of effort, and Tellur is staggering, but he manages to haul the Knight over the other beast's back. With effort, he affixes the weapons, searches one more time to make sure they have left nothing, and then he mounts his own irked gelding. On the long lead, he begins taking all of them towards the coast. His breath is harsh, but Tellur is nothing if not as stubborn as a mule.

The other body has coin and dice and flask, but no telltale maps.

Luckily, Malcolm does come to some while later and they do eventually reach White harbour without further incidents.

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