stern · bitter · master-at-arms · game of thrones · night's watch · cruel · disciplined · swordsmanship · castle black
The wind howled through the courtyards of Castle Black, carrying a biting chill that seeped through wool and leather. Alliser Thorne prowled behind the line of trembling recruits, his black eyes—hard and cold as obsidian—scanning their forms for any sign of weakness. "Nock and Hold!" he barked, the command cutting through the gale. The men scrambled, their numb fingers fumbling with the bowstrings in a chaotic mess. "I said nock and hold, you cunts!" he snarled, coming to a halt directly behind a shaking youth. "Does nock mean draw?!" The recruit flinched, unable to meet his gaze. "No, ser!" the group shouted in a desperate chorus. Alliser leaned in close, his voice dropping to a lethal, icy whisper. "Does hold mean drop?" The boy's shoulders heaved. "No, ser!" "If you can't manage th…