Everett Snow's page

When Garrett catches sight of his father's hand about his sword fear grips him at the apple of his throat. "What exactly are you preparing to do?" he aks in a hushed and hurried voice. "I understand she must leave but she shouldn't be driven by the point of a sword or ushered out by a lynch mob. Since when has it been our way - the council's way - to prohibit such behavior? Is is not the reason you came to Solace to avoid such displays? I beg you, father, at least give the woman a chance to speak her piece before we cut her bonds from the only home she's ever known."

[dice=Diplomacy]1d20+9
^ O, Snap! :-D

He scans his Everett's eyes desperately with hope that his plea affected him in some way.

[dice=Sense Motive]1d20+5
[dice=Perception]1d20+4

His stride broken for a moment, Garrett's father seems to reflect on his son's words. His eyes seem lost and confused, his fingers tight around his blade, white with tension. When he speaks, his voice is strained,

RE: Sense Motive: Something is definitely off in his behavior, Everett is by no means a rash man, and although (from tales of his youth) he was at one time a bold and brash fighter, he has become more of a tactician and defender in his aging.
RE: Perception, one odd point is that his tight grip seems to be holding in place the weapon, Lucidity, who actually seems to be vibrating somewhat of it's own accord, and he trying to still it.

Erec lay in a heap at his brother's feet, His father standing over the both of them. The day was wearing on, and the drill were obviously more than the young man could handle. Normally, he would give only a token effort to his practices, despite his father's insistence, but today he had been showing more effort than ever before. It did him little good though, as Erec just did not seem to have the knack for swordplay.

Everett looked down at his sons. He was breathing only slightly harder than usual, in very good shape given that he hadn't needed to fight for real for quite some time. He enjoyed these sessions with his sons, though. It brought back memories of the companionship and camaraderie he had shared with his fellows in service.

"That's enough for now, I suppose." he said. "Get yourselves a drink. I want you two to think about how you could have done better. It's about time you began working on your own tactics, rather than me tell you what you did wrong."

He planted the practice sword firmly in the ground, and slid the sheild over to Garrett with his boot.
"There's a horse that needs shoeing, and I'd like to talk to Wallace a bit. You boys find a way to make yourselves useful."
As he walked off, he could be seen favoring his shoulder and whispering a bit under his breath "...boy's getting better..."