283 A.C.
In the woods outside of Cider Hall
Rolly
Rolly was good as dead. He was just a simple smith's son, raised to the castle garrison, and working as hard as he could to better appease lord Caswell. Lord Caswell was kind and amiable; the man had been good to Rolly and his father. But his son, was another subject entirely.
Lorent Caswell was a wet shit, nothing like his father, impulsive, half-witted, with the worst manners you could possibly imagine. Lorent was a weakling, yet the whoreson received knighthood, and doing nothing to earn it. He probably had his father pay a knight to knight him, Rolly thought. He was already untouchable, and speaking out against was a death sentence.
The real true problem started on Rolly's sixteenth nameday; his father had forged an especially custom longsword. And as if the Gods had some dark humor, Lorent saw it and tried to take for himself. To add insult to injury, Lorent claimed that Rolly's hands were fit for a hammer and not a sword. There was some hint of truth to that, as Rolly took up his father's hammer, breaking both of Lorent's arms and half of the ribs, to which he fled Bitterbridge thereafter.
It's only been a fortnight since Rolly fled. He hadn't slept a wink, fearing old lord Caswell's men were on his trail.
It had been three days and two nights had passed since Rolly had eaten last, and his strength was beginning to fail him. All he had taken with him was his longsword and his boots. Soon enough, Rolly's vision blurred from exhaustion, and he collapsed. He could hear the galloping of a horse nearby, but he blacks out before he could see who it was.
"Wake up," a muffled voice calls out, but Rolly paid it no mind, until he felt a wet sensation on his face. His eyes shoot open only for them to meet a pair of glowing, fiery golden eyes, and a face shrouded in the darkness of the night. "Do you have a name?"
Rolly rises to his feet then, licking his lips to find that wine was dowsed on his face. "R-Rolly… and you are?"
"Naelyria…" she replied. "Mind telling me what the hell you're doing half dead in the middle of the woods outside of Cider Hall? Don't you know bandits prowl these parts at night?" she scrapes the rocks together, igniting the pile of twigs between them. As the flames grew, they revealed Naelyria's sun-kissed skin, short, ivory white hair, shorter than Rolly's. She had a sword holstered to the belt of her ebony and scarlet surcoat that hid her legs. Under the surcoat she wore black scale mail. Her eyes glowed brighter than the fire.
"If I'm being honest, I haven't really known life outside of Bitterbridge." Rolly states.
She raises an eyebrow then. "So why are you here and not at Bitterbridge?"
Rolly looks away then. "I kind of can't… see, I brutally injured Lord Caswell's only son and heir with a smith's hammer."
"And how did that come about?" she appeared interested.
"He attempted to steal my nameday gift." He presented the greatsword to Naelyria.
He examined the blade fiercely. "Great craftsmanship. I would've done the same thing. For an exquisite sword, such as this. Who crafted this masterpiece?"
"My father…" he replied. Naelyria looked up at him with frank disbelief.
"You're a blacksmith's son. Allow to extend my gratitude towards your father; blacksmith is a noble trade. He truly has a gift."
"You are most kind, Naelyria."
Their discussion is instantly ended when a number of horses can be heard galloping around them. Five men on horseback surrounded them
"Well, well, well…" the man in front of them dismounted from his horse "It's been awhile Rolly."
"You know these people Rolly?" Naelyria asked.
"This is Ser Edwyn. We all served in the Caswell castle garrison together."
"Lord Caswell will be pleased to know that we have found you." Ser Edwyn was clearly full of himself, as Rolly always noticed about the man. "Though he'll probably settle for your pickled head… just like your father… I took his head ya know…"
A sharp pain struck Rolly then, his father was dead; killed for his son's actions. Rolly grips the sword intensely, his face burning red with grief and anger. He felt Naelyria's hand on his shoulder then, shaking her head. Ser Edwyn is just provoking me. Right?
"Wait, since when do fathers answer for their sons' misdeeds? The sins of antiquity go the other way around." Naelyria is shocked.
"Either way, come quietly," all the men drew their sword and surrounded Rolly and Naelyria.
"I was hoping to spill some blood." Naelyria displayed a sinister smile then. "It's been a very, very, very, very long time since I've stained my swords with blood."
Naelyria draws the sword holstered to the belt of her surcoat. The blade itself was black and moderately curved; the flames revealed the many ripples in each part of the blade. The only other time he saw ripples like that, was when Randyll Tarly and his army passed through Bitterbridge. "Valyrian steel," Rolly gives her a look of exasperation. "Where did you get Valyrian steel from?"
"Not the time or the place." She spat at him. "Survive… and I'll tell you."
"Enough of this," one of Edwyn's men strikes at Rolly before he could react. To everyone's surprise, the same man was now on the ground at Rolly's feet, headless.
Rolly turns to Naelyria; her blade was dripped with blood. The others men back away in fear. "Who's next?" and with that, Edwyn was the last man there, as the other three ran, forgetting the fact that they had horses.
"Rolly," she withdrew her sword then, sitting down by fire. "It's time to prove your metal."
"What do you mean?"
"I want to see what you're made of…" she said. "I just decided that I don't want to continue my journey alone, but in order for you to come with me, I need to know how good you truly are with a sword and can take care of yourself combat-wise."
"What's in it for me if I do go on this journey with you?"
"I don't know… a horse's weight in gold... a royal pardon... knighthood-"
"Deal," Rolly assumes the position to fight Edwyn…