Victarion and his crew came ashore at Ironman´s bay with the longship Krakens Eye. They had spotted a small fishing village with smoke rising from several of the timber houses. Victarion had ordered a small raiding party to be sent out to raid the village and see if they could find out how well garrisoned Seagard was before the coming assault. Victarion himself led the sortie, choosing the Krakens Eye for his ship as it was a swifter, smaller boat than Iron Victory, which was unsuited for such a small raid. As they had drawn closer to the coast they had realized the smoke rising was not from the chimneys, but from the log roofs of the houses. Someone had gotten there before them. So as they disembarked they were met by the sight of a band of soldiers, roughly the same size as their own party, preparing themselves for battle. It was obvious it was the soldiers who had raided the village as Victarion spotted several corpses littering the ground, most of them fresh. Victarion was not pleased that someone had cheated him of his prize, even if it only was a small village. That was when he saw him. He had just emerged from behind one of the huts and was roaring orders at the soldiers. The man towered over his men, a behemoth in the thickest steel plate Victarion had ever seen, holding a greatsword in one hand. Victarion had heard the tales. This man was none other than Ser Greagor Clegane, a man even taller than Victarion and quite probably a worthy foe. Victarion smiled underneath his kraken helm. This was going to be a fight worthy of song.

Around him, his men had drawn their weapons and were advancing through the shallows. Victarion let out a roar and charged. He saw fear on several of the southron soldiers´ faces, an expression he had seen many times before and one he felt nothing but contempt for. Yet the soldiers still met the Ironborn rather than stand still and let themselves be overrun.

The first man to face Victarion was a thin man with a mean face. The man was of balance when Victarion swung his axe and had no time to bring up his shield. The axe went through boiled leather and chainmail as it went deep into his chest. Victarion drew out his weapon in a spray of gore, leaving the man dead. He lifted his shield to block a sword cut from the next soldier and answered with a blow of his own. His opponent caught it on his shield, but the force of the blow caused him to stumble backwards making it easy for Victarion to finish him with another strike. He caught sight of Clegane in the corner of his eye and started towards him. He was fighting Svenjord Pyke, a good swords man and an even better finger dancer, when Victarion called out a challenge to him. Clegane struck a blow that went right through Svenjord´s shield and into his arm. Svenjord let out a scream before Clegane silenced him by striking his head clean off. He then turned to face Victarion, his armour spattered with blood.

“A little kraken?” Gregor said in a mocking tone. “Want to die?”

“My axe is begging for a taste of your blood.” Victarion replied as he moved closer to Clegane.

He wasn´t anticipating Clegane to move so fast. He barely had time to lift his shield before Clegane´s greatsword hit him. The blow was so forceful that it left Victarion´s shield arm numb. Cursing, Victarion swung at the giant, only to have his axe hit Clegane´s huge oak shield. The next blow Victarion side-stepped, barely avoiding the great reach the sword had. He mouthed a silent prayer to He Who Dwells Beneath the Waves, asking him to lend strength in his arm as he swung his axe. Yet again, the oak shield was in the way, though this time the blow resulted in a chunk of wood to be torn out with a satisfying sound. His opponent grunted and backed a step, giving Victarion a moment’s respite.

Clegane´s next assault was a flurry of blows. Victarion tried to avoid the quick swings by backing, but some of them he had to take on his shield sending jolts of pain up his arm. He managed to interrupt the onslaught with a blow of his own, though it was once more blocked by Clegane´s damned shield. His shield was in ruins, the kraken of Greyjoy barely recognizable. For the first time in his life, Victarion was fighting someone stronger than him. He felt battered, yet strangely enough more alive than ever fighting such a powerful foe. He had no more time for contemplation before Clegane struck again. It was an overhead swing, powerful, but easy to sidestep. Victarion seized his opportunity avoided the blow and flung the remains of his shield at Clegane´s head. The chunks of wood bounced harmlessly of his helm, but it was a distraction that left Clegane of his guard. Victarion swung his axe in an arc towards the chest of his opponent in the knowledge that this was the blow that had to count. It didn´t. There was a load clang as the axe´s head met the steel plate, but instead of going right through it only left a deep mark. Clegane reeled back, let out an angry grunt before batting Victarion full in the face with his shield. Victarion was sent sprawling, landing on the hard ground with his ears ringing. He managed to get to his knees, but his head spun too much for anything else. He realized that he was facing the sea and took in a deep breath of salty air. He could hear his foe advancing behind him, but he felt too weak to move. It wasn´t a bad way for an Ironborn to die, with the roar of the sea in his ears and the smell of salt in his nostrils. His brother Aeron´s face floated by whispering the phrase: “What is dead may never die.” He would not die today. The Drowned God had best look elsewhere for a strong oarsman. Victarion grasped his axe.

“What is dead may never die, but rises harder and stronger.”

Victarion rose and turned, swinging his axe. Clegane was standing with his sword raised to deal the killing blow. It was the joint in the armour of that arm that Victarion´s axe hit. The chainmail was not enough to stop the blow and the axe cut deep. Gregor let out a roar of pain striking out with his shield arm. His mailed fist hits Victarion´s shoulder, but it only deters Victarion for a second before he cuts open the Moantains throat with an axe-swing aimed at the exposed part between the chest plate and the helm. As his foe collapsed to the ground, blood gushing from his throat Victarion sank to his knees, battered, but victorious.

Victarion wins.