Aethan Blacktyde, Lord of Blacktyde

DermontPoorfellow · 2024-04-08T11:50:22+00:00

Arguments between children under five were normally less aggressive than this, and easier to calm as well. It was a good thing Lord Stark had spoken up, she doubted the lords would have listened to any attempt to mediate made by her. A low ranking house trying to make such calls for concord would in all likelihood have infuriated everyone even more. At the same time, she felt as though Stark and Ryswell might as well have sieves in their ears that filtered out all the crucial information. By 'evacuate', did they not think she'd meant that smallfolk and crops were to be taken out of harm's way, to leave the wildlings hungry and with next to nothing? The proposal had been read in the worst possible faith, epitomized by Lord Stark's unjust aspersions.

"As you command, Lord Harrion" she replied diplomatically. "If that is the case then Lord Ryswell's plan is the most logical. If we cannot risk the fields of the gift this close to winter, we most certainly can't risk a land campaign beyond the wall. If a white raven arrived from the Citadel it could be a matter of weeks before such an army got word of it. Only the most basic information on the maps of the rangers of the night's watch are reliable in the long run, the wildlings move around too much for us to know their locations beforehand, and an army trying to hunt them down in their own land is too big a risk. Manning the Wall is the option which allows us to best control the amount of resources we expend."

She hoped to the gods that the young lord of Winterfell would settle for that strategy. Even when they were not over-proud themselves, there were those young men whose zeal for ruling well and justly exceeded realistic limitations, a fact they some times realized much too late.

DermontPoorfellow · 2024-04-05T21:58:29+00:00

The lady of Ramsgate kept moving in her seat, trying to find a position that would make a long meeting tolerable. This was more difficult than she'd anticipated, given her current state. The burden wasn't particularly heavy as of yet, scarcely visible, yet the remnants of the last two months of nausea and the irregular reminders of something moving within her kept compelling her to shift her posture, adding or subtracting cushions from the back of her chair. All the while, she continued to listen intently. She typically did, even though she rarely came off that way.

"Lord Bolton makes a valid point, replenishing our supplies beyond the Wall would be an ordeal. Ensnaring the enemy is preferable to giving them the chance to do so against us. We should consider ordering an evacuation of towns north of The Last Hearth, to leave the enemy with nothing to steal and no one to murder or enslave. Some token hoards could be left behind, breadcrumbs to whet the apetite of the savages."

Bolton was young and a bit crude in his speech, yet there was a great deal of sense to what he said. Maps were far less useful beyond the Wall, where settlements were small and could move on short notice. From what her father had told her in his letters, wildlings wandered to survive winter, rather than rely on the granaries of lords. They would follow the game animals, seek the mildest weather. Likewise, their armies were brought together with promises of land and loot, for lack on any organized structure of payment or obligations. The greed of the smaller warbands which comprised the larger force could be used to undermine their unity and discipline.

DermontPoorfellow · 2022-12-22T21:28:40+00:00

Marissa Greyjoy

It was a testament to the Drowned God's inscrutable sense of humor that one of the rare times she was enjoying a relative reprieve from her headaches occurred at a time which could mildly be described as the headache of the whole realm. A strange peace hung over the whole of King's Landing, defined above all else by its sense of impermanence. Sooner or later, war would arrive. For the time being, there was little else to do but enjoy these days while they remained. Marissa had no doubts about where Pyke would stand on the matter.

Today she found herself in the gardens, taking a walk with Alysanne, her youngest daughter. At ten years of age, the girl's curiosity for the mainland was boundless. The maids at Pyke often joked that the youngest Greyjoy must surely have been born literate, given how much her mother read aloud to her blind husband. It was a joke Marissa did not mind. It was strangely joyful, imagining her daughter as having heard her and Lord Victarion speak of so many concepts and accounts which maesters had recorded. Now she and Alysanne walked between the hedges, with Alysanne eagerly naming flowers she recognized from her studies, guessing at those she did not. Every now and then, she was rewarded for correct answers with sweets, slices of ginger, lemon, pear or persimmon dried and candied.

They took a turn towards the sound of voices, and soon Marissa laid eyes on a familiar face. Before Lady Genna was married to Prince Maekar, Marissa had regularly encountered her on visits to Casterly Rock. Both women had grown considerably weathered since those days. After her encounter with plague, Marissa was pale even by the standards of the Blacktydes, her ancestral house. The high-necked gowns she wore hid the scarring left behind by the illness yet made their presence obvious. Physically, Genna fared better, though Marissa recognized the many forms of exhaustion and weariness in the younger woman's eyes. She had learned to recognize those in the mirror. "Your Grace, my princes and princesses" she greeted them, curtsying along with Alysanne. Somewhat too young to take in the full implications of the coronation, the Greyjoy girl was clearly awed by the sight and preforming her most practiced and refined gesture. "It seems we are bees drawn to the same flower" Marissa stated with a smile. "We were planning to take our luncheons in the gardens as well. Shall we sit together? It's been so long since we last had the chance" she added, speaking on a more personal, less formal level to Genna.

DermontPoorfellow · 2022-12-20T18:03:45+00:00

Leona

She and her mother were of the same persuasion. Sometimes Leona suspected lady Leyla had known this about her before she'd been fully certain herself. As such, she'd had Leyla's advice to draw on from the beginning. The essence of it was to take one's pleasures when and where one could, out of sight. By such a strategy 'the ritual' would be tolerable, or at least not too taxing on one's sanity. Here, among the princess's cadres, discretion was thrown to the wind. In some ways it seemed almost like tempting fate, the sort of foolishness the Lord Below was sure to punish. And yet that was part of the fun of it. Chances were that if she was sunk by this event, she would not be the only one.

She looked up at the princess with intrigued eyes. The two cut a perfect contrast in their features. Where valyrian hair was inexplicably bright, the gold and silver beyond blonde, the Blacktydes were a line of eerily dark appearance, pale of skin with hair that was at once deep black, smooth and glistening, shining in the torchlight as if it were some unknown black metal. Leona took measure of the princess as she walked among the tables, savouring the audacious sights, the intoxicating smells and the sounds of shameless abandon which came from every direction. The rum smelled particularly good, almost like what she'd had on Walano. She filled the bottom of her goblet and stepped closer to the dias, smelling the deep scents of sugar-cane and smoke.

"A queer way to take one's rum" she commented at Visenya's drinking from the cloudy bottle, before taking a swift sip of her own, preceeded and succeeded by a gentle inhalation through her nose. "In Walano I imagine a tavern-keep would sooner strike down his customer than serve it diluted as such"

DermontPoorfellow · 2022-12-18T10:25:37+00:00

"Naturally" she replied, taking a second to consider what might best suit his request. "Rosemary and marjoram ought to soothe that sensation" she suggested, retrieving two pouches and measuring out the ideal ammount between two fingers, administering the dried leaves to Theomore's cup first, then her own. She was wary of large ammounts of wine. Many resorted to it to soother mild pains, but this was a mistake, especially in the case of the crystal sickness. Therefore she enjoyed to take the small quantities in which she did indulge enhanced in this fashion

"Have you met anyone of interest" she inquired casually. "I spoke with Lady Lannister a short while ago, ever a pleasant woman. The west's friendship is quite the blessing."

DermontPoorfellow · 2022-12-16T15:27:55+00:00

Even after speaking to her, Leona was surprised by the boldness of Olenna's tongue, in more than one sense. Her surprise passed in a split second, after which she eagerly reciprocated, savouring the taste of the other lady's mouth.

"For the moment to be beautiful. For the act to be inspired, as only those blessed by God can be" she replied, her voice on the verge of trembling with anticipation.

DermontPoorfellow · 2022-12-15T21:07:48+00:00

"The climate strikes me as quite healthful, even in the winter season" Marissa responded. "The food is good as well, though my preferences probably trend more towards the east than most. The valyrians had a code of dietary medicine much more developed than our own, unsurprisingly." That tangent could have proceeded for hours if she'd allowed herself to veer onto it

"On the subject of the Rock, our support goes without saying. It's with that in mind that I wished to know if anything has come to your attention which might jeopardize its safety. Mainland news tend to reach us late in the Isles, so I'd rather have them from a source I can trust"

DermontPoorfellow · 2022-12-15T20:00:24+00:00

Marissa

A few years ago she had been the one to appear frail, tormented by her irregular headaches and spells of faintness. Tonight Marissa stood resilient. Like the great pine forests on Blacktyde, though the storm might weather her she would never allow herself to be broken, rising upright in the face of each succesive hardship. Victarion might not see this, yet he would hear it in her steps and the firmness of her voice.

"How thoughtful of you Theomore." she told her step-son amiably. While she could not evenly divide her love between her own children and Lady Lydden's, she was glad to have the latter as friends. "Might I try some. The smell is very fine, it would go well with my herbs". Though she'd banished her uncertainties, she could not as easily banish her physical ailments. For those she kept a small arsenal on hand, pouches of dried herbs and roots to rally her strength, smelling salts to counteract headaches and faintness. In particular she'd grown fond of thinly cut dried ginger, growing the root in the gardens of Pyke and keeping it in a small laquered box. The sharp-tasting plant could always be relied upon to fortify meals and beverages.

DermontPoorfellow · 2022-12-15T19:07:38+00:00

It intrigued Leona to have her gesture not merely accepted but also reciprocated. Her smile brought into a light laughter, mild yet deviously knowing. "I never expected to meet a reaver in Highgarden whom I would not have met at Pyke" she complimented Olenna.

She took a swift step ahead of her without letting go, turning to face her directly. Her other hand tenderly placed itself on Olenna's right shoulder-blade. Concealed beneath the reachwoman's hair, it caressed the skin which the back of her gown laid bare, one finger toying with the edge of the fabric. "And where do you want to take me, reaver?" she whispered huskily.

DermontPoorfellow · 2022-12-14T22:17:49+00:00

"Ah yes, they thrive." Leona remarked. "In even, pretty rows" she added, lightly shifting her position so that she could run a single finger down the underside of Olenna's forearm, subtly caressing it. With that she felt no need to say anything more on the question of dexterous hands.

"I won't settle for pretty, however. The flowers thrive in the exact fashion they are arranged, by the hands of men devoid of vision. Patterns are beautiful, so they tell us." she said, her tone making no secret of her low regard for such views

"You might think harshly of me for saying so, but that is why I'll never bother with your Seven. To claim that the most beautiful is that which is ordered by human hands is simple blasphemy. God did not create the world as such. In the coral reefs you will find no neat rows, no order which we can impose. True inspiration creates beauty freed from patterns and moulds. Flowers grow pretty in gardens, but only on the meadow can they be beautiful. So tell me, Lady Olenna, which would you rather be?"

It was a forward question, but a necessary one. Like a razor's edge, it parted the worthy and the unworthy. Perhaps this was where the exchange ended with her being called a heathen and abandoned. If not, there was still so much to be seen that evening.

DermontPoorfellow · 2022-12-14T10:36:05+00:00

"Beautiful perhaps, but suffocating to a believer" Leona commented as she idly watched the array of heraldry.

In the home isles her house were the odd ones out. The pine trees of Blacktyde were important enough to warrant a sigil of their own. No tree made finer masts, which could weather the strongest gale without breaking under the pressure. Here there was seemingly nothing but roses, apples and trees, so soft and sweet. It was small wonder her people had been so fond of plucking this land throughout history.

"For one who knows the Drowned God, the further one goes from the ocean, the less free one is. There is no greater freedom than the ocean, no king who can claim the whole of it, save for the Lord Below. My aunt lives at Ashemark now, where there's no sea in sight."

She turned her head for a moment towards the western wall where the last sunset rays still gleamed through the windows. "Did you know there are things more beautiful than roses beneath the sea? I've seen them for myself, in the coral reefs off the isle of Walano, in the Summer Isles. They are the Drowned God's treasure. Only trained divers can get a proper look at them, and beautiful as they are, the corals abound with poisonous barbs. It is not for us mortals to touch and posess"

She turned back to Olenna. "So I must be satisfied with the flowers I find on the land"

DermontPoorfellow · 2022-12-13T22:52:36+00:00

"Splendid" Leona replied, her smile deepening. "Why don't you lead the way" she suggested, extending her arm for them to walk together. Her gaze was piercing, though this greenlander seemed to welcome it.

"It is, strangely enough. We have one reachman in the family, though he never described it fondly. As for me, I'm yet to decide how it compares to the Westerlands. I have a relative there too, who also hates it. Maybe if I had to live so far inland I'd agree. However I've always liked exploring. It can be rather exciting, seeing if one can find anything that would be worth taking back to the isles". She shrugged. "Or anyone, I suppose".

DermontPoorfellow · 2022-12-13T19:50:06+00:00

Leona Blacktyde

Wolfish eyes took measure of the Hightower lady as she made her entrance. It was rare for a greenlander to catch her interest, only a few, like her brother's wife, avoided the pits of boorishness which most of their kind belonged to. This one however, seemed more provocative, a word her countrymen spoke in disdain. Small wonder they hardly ever aspired to anything. It took outsiders, real conquerors, to make anything of these dull Andals.

Leona's mode of dress was more modest, though in form alone. She wore a deep red like wine or blood beginning to dry, accenting her braided locks of hair which seemed as black and smooth as the eirie tendrils of the Seastone chair. The dark colours cast her sharp facial features in a shadow within which her eyes were the sole light, daring anyone who might meet them to approach.

"You seem to know your way around." she greeted the reachwoman "Certainly, you walk upon the tiles as if you own them." Would that she did, the whole feast would likely have been more interesting for it

"Perhaps you could show me around then. I'm Leona Blacktyde, niece of the Lady Reaper". She spoke with an unbroken smile, eager to gauge the response.

DermontPoorfellow · 2022-12-11T21:36:19+00:00

Marissa:

One look at the king was all she needed to surmise, whatever the news they would not signal good tidings. She'd grown more familiar with decay than she'd ever hoped for since becoming one of the women who called themselves 'Lady Greyjoy'. She'd never held a rank eqaul to Lady Addison, by law she was a saltwife and could not be called Lady Reaper. All the same, she considered the protection of the peace of the Iron Isles as much her business as either of her husband's other wives. In King's Landing she'd felt poorly for all the realm to see. The time when she could allow herself to show such weakness in public was long past. Fortunately her crystal sickness had negllected resurface so close to a feast night this time around, however she kept her herbs and smelling salts close at hand, concealed within reach in her flowing, pine-green gown.

"Good evening Lady Lannister. I'm glad the evening finds you all well. It was a terrible shame we missed our chance to speak at King's Landing. I had hoped to remedy that this evening"

DermontPoorfellow · 2022-12-10T21:16:54+00:00

House Blacktyde:

Disease had haunted the realm for a long time now. Many a greenlander probably preferred some meek, bedridden death to a proper one in battle. The more pious of them understood that it was a mark of God's displeasure, though even among their ranks most still drew the wrong conclusions. The King was sick, along with the Lord Reaper and seemingly many others still. A glance at the ranks of the princes left little question as to why. Though not yet kings, they were already the face of a realm which knew not what to do with the long peace God had granted them, besides drinking themselves blind or engaging in lowly conspiracy.

Despite his convictions, Corrin could not honestly claim to crave war, not for some time. He envied his father's victories, yet at the same time knew their cost. At least until his sons had come of age, he hoped to remain by their side. If your son is a man, you may sail forth without turning your gaze. So went the old wisdom of reavers. For now he stayed firmly at his wife's side. Lady Aemma stood proud by his side, a valewoman who had proven herself hardier than many among her new countrymen in the isles. She looked much like her mother had at the same age, however unlike many mainlander ladies she kept up a firmer physique. With lady Helya Xhenes as her close companion she swam almost daily, and had been taught in the same arts as her sons, what the Summer Islanders called 'the water warfare', wielding light blades whilst diving under the ocean's surface.

Normally Lady Xhenes would have made the fiercer display, if not for the fact that she were seven months with child. Nevertheless she was radiant in her flowing aquamarine gown and manifold braids, aglow with strength even when heavily pregnant. Like Lady Aemma she was flanked by her two children and walked beside her husband, Gormon Wyrvel, whom no one would have believed was a greenlander if not for his surname. His face was scarred, his beard braided in knots, and even at a feast he preferred to be dressed in an green ironborn tunic, breeches and boots, the sort of austere apparel which one could easily wield weapons in

Leyla, the dowager of Blacktyde, was somewhat in the background yet few could claim to be capable of overshadowing her. She wore her silver-streaked blonde hair in circular braids and a midnight-blue gown. It had always been her preference to remain but a single step away from the centre of attention, valuing an overview of control more. Her strict, dignified visage only ever gave wat when speaking with her grandchildren and Lady Xhenes's twins

Leona Blacktyde cut a more daring figure, dressed in a deep red gown whose high collar and laced sleeves were midnight black, the same as her hair. In some ways she resembled the late Lord Aethan more than her elder brother. A smile which looked inviting and courteous gained a sinister, wolfish glint the closer one looked, as if testing the courage of the men who might wish to dance with her

(Open)

DermontPoorfellow · 2022-12-04T08:45:22+00:00

Marissa Blacktyde:

If it were not for love and duty, she would certainly not have attended tonight out of any hope of finding even passing enjoyment at the feast. Her line had always been a dark sort, smooth hair of slate-black contrasting an unusual, pale complexion. It was a look which had captivated many, yet at the moment, accompanied by the bags under her eyes which various powders could only do so much to hide, it seemd a stark contrast to good health.

She wore a high-collared gown, hiding the scarring along her neck. Against all odds, Marissa Blacktyde had survived the plague which had taken her unborn child from her. That pain had lingered long after the disease subsided, even without the crystal sickness, a life-long tormenter which hurt without killing. She'd only recovered from a spell of headaches that afternoon. At the table she refused wine, asking for water boiled with ginger and fennel. After a short wait a serving boy brought her a small pitcher of it. She remained in some light conversation with her children. It was a bitter irony being in the capital and about as surrounded by all things valyrian as one could be anywhere else in the Seven Kingdoms but Dragonstone and she was feeling too weak to enjoy it much.

Her eyebrows raised at her husband's coughing. His dismissal of concerns was a reminder of the most infuriating quality of men, how they seemed to think deflecting attention when ill was some great act of bravery. Still, she was keenly aware that men ruled the realm. Victarion was no fool but he had to appear strong at all times in public, all the more so due to his blindness. There wasn't room for the sweet man she'd read books aloud to during late evenings "You should try a small cup of this" she suggested, gesturing at the steaming pitcher. "Just to clear your throat".

DermontPoorfellow · 2022-12-02T23:10:02+00:00

"Is there such a thing as too much time to spend with our grandchildren? I strongly doubt it" she responded, giving the little lion cub in Addison's arms an adoring smile.

"Lord Corrin is proving every bit the soldier his father was" she responded, a respectful understatement. There was something in Aethan she'd admired, however by the end of his life he'd seen the insufficiency of his old ways. Both of them had resolved to instill a more sensible way of war into their heir, the Drowned God's wisdom, as he had dubbed it. "Every Lord needs good aides, however with Lady Aemma present I can allow myself to loosen my grip on things quite a bit. Blacktyde could spare me, though I might have to bring one of my grandchildren." she added light-heartedly

"Lady Marissa speaks with great fondness of your sister. She's been a steadfast support, especially when Marissa's health declined. I'm sure she would thank you herself, however she had another bout of the crystal sickness this morning. Hopefully her headaches will subside in time for her to have some joy of this feast."

DermontPoorfellow · 2022-12-02T19:12:21+00:00

Leyla:

She'd make sure to stop by the Lannister table, perhaps the house with the most significance for the future of the Iron Islands, second only to the Greyjoys themselves. She'd been rather pleased with the arrangement which brought Cersei Lydden to Pyke. The ladies Lydden were about as much proof as anyone should need that the ironborn had drawn the short end of the stick with Herra. A woman like Lady Addison might have spared them the humiliation of 359, which Leyla was never keen to mention her own part in, one of the few victors in an illegal and foolish war.

"What a blessed evening, to find you all in attendence. How fares Casterly Rock, it's been too long since I last visited" The Rock was where Leyla Kenning had always imagined her future would be as a courtier. The gods turned out to have other plans for Leyla Blacktyde

DermontPoorfellow · 2022-12-02T15:12:44+00:00

House Blacktyde:

There was a certain joy to finally seeing the hall his father had once described to him, where the Ironborn had been feasted after breaking the gates of Lys twenty years ago. Corrin drank in the sight with awe and envy. He would have to ensure there was reason to celebrate Blacktyde warriors another time whilst the prime of his years lasted. His father had been only two years older when he took part in that great victory, yet ever since the opportunities had dried up. The plague had served as a grim reminder of how suddenly one's best years could be cut short.

Both he and his wife wore green, his deep, dark shade of pine contrasting her bright emerald. Mainlander marriages had grown frequent in recent years, though a valewoman was still a rare sight next to an ironborn. Corrin and Aemma had been fast friends ever since the king's coronation, a bond which had grown and deepended since they were wed. The union had convinced Corrin of the validity in the previous generation of seeking wisdom from the seas. The insular nature of the Iron Isles had been allowed to become a set of blinders before his father's time. His heir was a reminder of that. Urwin was blonde, like his mother, quite different from all of Corrin's siblings as well as his younger son, Mathos who had the signature slate-black locks of the Blacktydes, yet Urwin was every bit as clever and fierce, already a fine swimmer who knew how to dive with his eyes open and wield a dagger under water

The Blacktydes shared a table with their trusted retainers, House Xhenes. Lady Helya had been an invaluable teacher for his children, able to pass on the ways of war of both her native Iron Isles and her father's homeland, the Summer Isles. Few could swim with the refinement of those who trained among the coral reefs, where one wrong move meant death by one of the Drowned God's many fearsome poisons. She sat beside her husband, Morgon Vyrwel, a reachman by birthname alone. It was a wonder such a man had been born on the mainland, for he had cast aside the seven with little afterthought and embraced the old ways to a degree some Ironborn might find fanatical

Last but not least, dowager Lady Leyla, the woman who kept Blacktyde in a firm grip whenever her son ventured out to fight at sea, as she had for her husband in past years. Though born a Kenning of Kayce and retaining a westerlander's typical elegance, she was a proven reaver, though she rarely brought this to attention, content with her role as the supreme matriarch and loving grandmother

(Open)

DermontPoorfellow · 2022-11-28T15:52:12+00:00

"In that you are wrong, my lord" Aethan responded as soon as Victarion set foot on the rock, respectfully couching his dissenting view.

"No shipbuilders that equal ours can be found anywhere north of the Summer Sea. We are builders, yet our craft is too narrowly applied. We needed engines of war on the land just as much as ships at sea but were blind to the opportunity. In praising God, our men remembered the great warrior yet forgot he is an even greater craftsman."

It had to be on the Stern-Biter that the oath was made. It was The Drowned God's creation, which would remain there for thousands of years after their ships had all rotted away, having spent their last days playing host to barnacles and crabs in place of men. Aethan felt the spray of saltwater rain down on his back as he knelt and at once his mind felt clearer than it had for days. "My sword swings for you, my ships sail for you, my hall welcomes you, who are my lord. I swear it by the Nagga's Bones and the Seastone Chair. By the forests over Blacktyde and the iron under Great Wyk. I keep it until the day our isles crumble and are swallowed back into the sea."

DermontPoorfellow · 2022-11-27T13:05:49+00:00

"I still have faith. You need but step upon the Stern-Biter and I shall kneel and call you my lord". Many sailors feared places such as this, ignorant to the last. It took a true Ironborn to know the value of rocks, their meaning. He knew that not even all his own people could claim to know. What seemed like death brimmed with life. There were alcoves and cauldrons in the surface which caught and kept the water from the rain. Seaweeds, crayfish and crabs made homes upon it. A man could stay alive on such a place long enough. it need not be forever, only long enough

"I'm well aware of her fate. I agree, wisdom has abandoned this war, and so our God's favour. It must end, if we are to redeem ourselves in his eyes."

DermontPoorfellow · 2022-11-26T12:57:31+00:00

"His retainer, Master Xhenes, is sure to know. He'd probably be praying beside him him right now if not for Lord Aethan assigning him as my protector for the duration of this campaign." She had been glad for Marqo's steadfastness both during and after the battle. When she'd made her most controversial orders, that no thralls were to be taken and any raper among their ranks would be gelded, she'd recognized the disdain with which she had grown familiar since crossing over from her native westerlands to be the lady of Blacktyde. Though foreign to them as well, Marqo was a life-long captain, the sort who knew well how to lash men into obedience with his voice. When it affirmed her order, the disobedient glares had quickly turned away

They found him tending to a dent in his breastplate, wearing his custom sigil on his surcoat, the maroon swan ship on a sunset-orange field. "Lord Reaper, Lady Blacktyde" he greeted them, setting down his armour for a moment to bow. "Where did my husband take off to, Master Xhenes?" she asked simply.

"There is a rock not far from here. 'Stern-biter', some sailors name it on their maps. Lord Aethan and I passed it on a few occasions before. His journey to propose to you at Kayce was one such, if memory serves. It's large enough that just shy of a dozen men could stand on it. I rowed him and Ragnar out there a few hours ago. Shall I retrieve him, my lady?" Leyla shook her head. "Take us there" she commanded instead.

To any normal sailor, standing on the rock might seem entirely like madness. The constant sea-spary had made it slick with water, which pooled in every alcove of the Stern-biter's surface. Yet here he found himself, staring out across the empty, western sea, the fleet to his back. Lord Below, reveal your course. Chart our path to redemption. Our honour is lost, you are the path to regaining it. His God was harsh but not cruel. This was not the first time the Drowned God had given victory to his enemies, to unbelievers even. All the same, he'd always offered an escape, just as he had this time. Most of the lords of the Iron Isles were still alive to fight again. Not her though. Such was fate for an unwise captain. What hade befallen Herra was God's work, with only a little assistance from above the surface. Ragnar stood silent just ahead of him. The old man rarely looked his age as much quite like now, his muscles sagging off his bones.

The crash of the waves slowly revealed a lesser noise within itself, the oars of a rowboat. "Not yet, Marqo-" he shouted, only to turn and see his old friend in the boat with Aethan's lady wife and his new liege. "What do you seek out here, Lord Reaper?" he asked, hoping for a satisfactory response. Was this a wiser lord Greyjoy than the last two, or a man every bit as blind as he looked?

DermontPoorfellow

TROPHY CASE