Giraud Perrin, Montaigne Musketeer Brawn 2 Finesse 3 Wits 2 Resolve 3 Panache 2 Backgrounds ----------- Defeated (2) Advantages ---------- Able Drinker Montaigne (R/W) Musketeers Swordsman - Valroux Arcana ------ Passionate Rash Skills ------ Athlete: Climbing 1 Footwork 1 Sprinting 1 Throwing 1 Courtier: Dancing 1 Etiquette 1 Fashion 1 Oratory 1 Streetwise: Socializing 1 Street Nav 1 Fencing: Attack 3 Parry 3 Knife: Attack 2 Parry 2 Valroux: Double-parry 2 Feint 1 Tagging 2 Exploit weak 1 Rider: Ride 1 Firearms: Attack 1 --------------- The boy trudged along the dusty road, head down, watching the dirt and grass pass beneath his feet. A small bag dangled from his right hand, swinging in time with his stride. He didn't see them, not until they had stepped out from behind a copse of trees next to the road and surrounded him. "Hello, little boy." They didn't sound like very nice men. Giraud looked up. They didn't look like very nice men either. One of them, the one in front, was smiling in a way that frightened him. "'lo," Giraud almost whispered. The man in front stepped closer. He was carrying something in his hand, something sharp and pointed and waving slowly in front of Giraud's eyes. "You from around here?" The man clearly wasn't; his accent was strange. Should he run? Giraud glanced left, then right. There were three other men along with scary grin, and they had surrounded him. Giraud swallowed and nodded. "We're not." The other three men laughed, though Giraud couldn't figure out what was so funny. "We've come a long way, and we need some help." "Help?" "Oh, there are plenty of ways you can help." The knife stopped swinging, then drifted down to point at the sack Giraud was carrying. "You can start by giving us any food you've got." Giraud ducked his head. "'s mine," he said. The men all laughed again. "Sure it is, sure it is," the leader said. "But sure and your parents would want you to share with the less fortunate." He looked at the other three, smiled. "And today is your lucky day. Here we are, four people less fortunate than you." He'd heard enough. Giraud kicked the left man in his shins, then scrambled through the resulting gap. He almost made it. Almost. Then the four of them had him. The man he kicked ground Giraud's face in the dirt while the leader laughed and laughed. "Oy, Jack, look here!" The man holding Giraud down let him sit up. The leader and one of the others were looking in the bag. "It's a near fortune in sols!" "No!" Giraud thrashed about. "It's for our farm! I have to take it to the--" Then a boot filled his vision and the world went away. ---- The pounding at the door became louder. "Get the child into the bedroom!" Giraud's father hissed. "Perhaps they will be content with just me and the farm land." "No, Pierre!" Giraud's mother was sobbing openly now, tears making tracks down her face. "Do as I say!" Then the door crashed in. Several burly men filled the two-room cabin. "Why, Pierre, you've been far too late with your payments. And Giuseppe is not a patient man." Much later, Giraud would try his damndest to remember what came next. Only bits and snatches came back: Giraud wriggling out of his mother's grip. His father's expression as a sword slid past his ribs. The puzzle sword over the fireplace, beckoning him. The feel of the sword, its heft and weight. A swing, a grunt of pain, and the clatter as the sword went flying. And then his mother and he were in the bedroom, the door shut tight. Blood poured down Giraud's forehead and into his eyes. "Go, just go!" his mother cried, pushing him through the window. The blade had *sung* to him, Giraud thought dizzily. He didn't look back as he ran from the house, even when he smelled the smoke. ---- Clang! went the swords, and clang! again. "Give it up, Giraud! You're far too slow for this." Giraud grinned fiercely, the scar on his forehead pale white against his livid face. "Be careful, Reynard. Should that ego of yours swell any larger, none shall fit in the same room as you!" Round and round they went, their Master looking on. Reynard feinted, then followed up with a fast knife thrust. Giraud parried, dancing away. "Slow and cautious! You grow too timid in your old age." Giraud followed up with a series of swings that went far of the mark. Reynard parried them with ease. "This is shoddy work, even for your notoriously lax standards," Reynard said. In response, Giraud paused and gestured towards Reynard's cloak, which slithered down his back and puddled around his feet. "Very well done," the Master said, gesturing. Reynard frowned, then raised his sword in a half-mocking salute. ---- Again, a swordfight between Giraud and Reynard, this one much grimmer. Their seconds stood back and to one side, watching closely. "She's not worth it!" Reynard said, probing Giraud's defences. "Given her inconstancy, she would have left you sooner or later." "You are a cur with no honor." Giraud spat. "Cur?" Several blows followed, leaving Giraud bleeding from his left shoulder. "Say fox, rather." "I shall be sure to mention that in your elegy," said Giraud. Then the two were far too occupied to toss further taunts. It ended with Giraud on the ground, holding his side and spitting blood. "Remember this kindness, that I let you live," Reynard said before striding away and letting Giraud's second come forward to help him. "I let you live!" ---- "Drink with me, my fair lady," Giraud said, leaning back against the wall. "Certainly," she said, giggling. He couldn't even remember her name. "What shall we drink to?" Giraud paused, then raised his tankard. "To my freedom. Tomorrow I am commissioned in the Musketeers."