A Sellsword's Tale

by SexyFiction

A series of short stories detailing the daily routines of a sellsword company known as 'The Sentries.' During the midst of a mysterious infiltration of widlings into the south of Westeros, the sellsword group take on many tasks from some new characters and familiar faces to try and deal with the ever growing threat that comes from north of the wall.

Prologue

The sound of horses galloping through the brush along Blackwater Rush caused the crows to emerge from the trees. Various animals scampered through the shrubbery and quietly watched the small group of sellswords riding along the gold road. They had the banner of a sellsword group known as 'The Sentries.' They were on a trip to Lannisport to receive pay for a task they had to undertake down in King's Landing for an aristocrat by the name of Paxter Moss, he was the owner of a large estate near Casterly Rock that was paid by the Lannisters to keep a watch on Westerlands gold reserves.

The rain battered down hard on them as it became more apparent that winter was around the corner. It was vital that the sentries made as much gold as possible before the temperatures plummeted. They were known for their fantastic ability to rake in the Gold Dragons. They were easily one of the wealthiest sellsword groups in the Westerlands, if not all of Westeros. They had been hired by a lot of powerful men to deal with bandits, beasts and anything else that can cause trouble in these lands.

The leader was a large man with a heavy fur coat hanging off his shoulders, his hair was long and thick with grease and he had a thick black beard that he wore very well. He was in his early forties and all the riding and fighting had taken a toll on him. He had deep wrinkles that made him look far older than he was, a longsword was sheathed in a scabbard that hung on his side, it's name was 'Fang.' It was a gift to him and it was forged in the smithy of Casterly Rock where it was tempereted by one of the Lannister's greatest blacksmiths.

"Donnal!" One of the men shouted to him, pulling the reins on his horse and causing it to come to a halt. The leader stopped his horse and turned his head, looking at they Levy that seeked his attention.

"Is there a problem Corbus?" He asked, raising an eyebrow and keeping his hand resting on the top of his sword. Corbus stepped down from his horse and drew his short-sword. "I seen something in the hills sir, it looked like wildlings." He exclaimed, his voice shaky.

"Widlings?" Donnal dismounted from his black stallion and put a hand on Corbus's shoulder. "There's no wildlings this far south, there's barely any south of the wall from what I hear." He said to him, trying to reassure him. Corbus pulled away and pointed towards a large tree "Over there!" He yelled, stepping back and keeping his sword pointed in that direction.

Donnal swiveled on his heel and unsheathed Fang, looking to the tree that supposedly had a wildling behind it. The rest of the men had now gotten of their horses and had their weapons drawn respectfully. Shadows darted around the perimeter, seeming to surround the company of ten men. A bead of sweat rolled down Donnal's face as he seemed unsure about the situation, holding his sword with two hands.

Blood curdling screams came out from around them and several men dressed in tattered furs rushed out from behind the trees, branding makeshift axes and spears. They rushed the men, there was at least twenty of them, all looking to rip the sellswords to shreds. Donnal raised his sword to one of the spears and parried it out of the way before pulling his sword back and slicing up the widling's chest, spraying a thick red liquid over the grass. Another one came from behind and sliced down his back, Donnal grunted in pain and thrusted his sword backwards, impaling the wildling on it.

One of the sellswords was grabbed by two wildlings and ripped limb from limb by the axes, the sound of steel on steel was heard throughout the forest, the animals that had been watching before had now scattered, leaving just the men there.

There was around five sellswords left, Corbus attempted to parry one of the spears but instead it slid down the blade and stuck into his chest, stabbing into his heart and causing his life to snuff out almost instantly. Donnal kept swinging Fang towards the wildlings, cutting them down, but he kept on taking hits and slowly losing his strength.

He shouted out and hacked the sword into a wildling's shoulder and the blade cut all the way down to his waist, nearly slicing him in half. As he pulled the sword out an unseen man came from behind him and buried an axe into his back. He grabbed the wildling and threw him forward, stomping on his head. Another came from the side and stabbed a spear deep into his leg, as he attempted to pull it out, another wildling came from infront of him and rammed an axe deep into the side of his neck. As warm blood spilled out of him he slowly fell to the ground, watching as the wildlings scattered away, not even taking any of the possessions of the men. Donnal could taste his blood as he rolled onto his back, letting the rain fall down on him. The blood was soaked into the mud and Donnal shut his eyes, feeling his body go limp and weak as his hand slowly slipped from his sword and lay in the mud.

Perhaps some travellers would come across their corpses and report this madness to Westerlands men. Or perhaps not, perhaps the torrential rain would bury them deep into the mud, along with their legacy. It didn't matter to Donnal, he lived his life well and made a lot of money doing it. He wasn't going to let something as measly as death stop him, he was sure the gods were in need of a man that could use a sword. His thoughts were interrupted as the life slipped out of his body and from that moment all there was was silence. The birds didn't sing, the animals were all gone, all that remained was the soft pitter-patter of the rain on the carcasses of the men that had lost their lives. It was clear then, that this wasn't the first attack that was going to happen here.