Fishing At Casterly Rock Episode 1

Around the bend and over the next hill, that is where the spot is; lush with its content I need, hidden below the vast reeds. I hope I will catch something today; otherwise Mr. Stanley will beat me and make me regret that I came home empty-handed. I ready my Piscifun Shadowcat Casting Rod. If there is one thing Mr. Stanley and I agree upon, it is the Piscifun brand; trusted for many years.

As I begin the morning ritual of assembling my fishing rod and choosing the right bait, I began to ponder. I make a good noose for the Casting Spinner Bait with Treble Hook; great for Freshwater Trout. If only there was a way I could get out of Mr. Stanley’s grip. He pays such a small wage for all the work I have to do. I get up before dawn each morning, cross the rigged bridge and walk across the valley of fog. I try not to listen to the fog ghosts, sending their death defying whimpers across the valley, carried by the morning breeze. Then it is around the bend and over the next hill; to the place of any fisherman’s dream. Casterly Rock, is what Mr. Stanley calls it. He has kept it secret all these years. He pays me to go there every day and catch the most beautiful trout imaginable! The reason he doesn’t go himself is that he was banned by the guardians of Casterly Rock. He had an agreement with them; he would catch trout from their pond and give it to the poor in the village. Instead, Mr. Stanley sold it at the market for triple the price it was worth. Now, he sends me to the rock, and beats me when I come home empty-handed. I do not really have a choice; I need the money to stay alive.

I use my Daiwa fishing pliers to cut the excess line from my rod. I have chosen a Rapala fishing line for today’s catch. As I ready myself to cast for the first time, I can feel someone watching me. Slowly turning around, my breath catches in my throat. Right there next to the Willow tree, stands two Casterly Rock guardians. Their fish-like gills glisten in the early-morning rays. With webbed feet and scaly bodies, they make their way towards me.

“We have watched you for a long time now, Brad. We know who you work for. We have banned Mr. Stanley from this place, so we will do with his servants.”

“I beg you, please, if I do not go home today with at least five trout in my bag, he will beat me half to death!” I stutter.

“Do not fear, Brad, for Mr. Stanley will beat you no more.” The guardians slowly make their way to the water’s edge and disappear beneath the depths.

“Wait, what do you mean?” It’s too late; they are nowhere to be seen.

As quickly as I can, I gather all my fishing tackle and put it into my Piscifun Outdoor Sports Shoulder Bag. Running as fast as my legs would carry me, I make my way to where Mr. Stanley usually waits to pick up his fish. There, right under the rigged bridge, I find him in a puddle of blood. Someone had shot a gigantic fishing hook right through his heart. Without blinking twice, I gather my thoughts together and head to the market.

As I enter the pungent marketplace, I began shouting, “Trout, trout anyone who does not have a morsel to eat, free trout for the poor!”

Instantly, there are at least five people, skinny, crawling out of the dark alleys to feast on the trout of Casterly Rock.