The Ship of "the Band of the Sunset"

[Dirty Chai]

The Band of the Sunset
This is the small longship of Elyas of Feastfires, the leader of a band of fifty exiled warriors, sailing onwards on an ever-lasting odyssey, "out of the sunset." You may find Elyas nearby if you somehow come across his ship.

The Band of the Sunset

- 50 Hearthwarriors Retinue -

Elyas of Feastfires, AKA Torfin Fairhair

Age: 22, born 160 AL. Description and History Torfin was exiled after his family's failed attempt to take over the Iron Islands from the Greyjoys. His family's fall and his own experience with that defeat has broken his arrogance and old attitude. He has become quiet, reserved, humble, and remorseful. The soldiers with him are much the same, more concerned with finding a new home than being Ironborn. They want nothing to do with the Iron Islands anymore. Items +2 Sword +6 Armor Skills Points: (6) - Duels +2 (+2 Sword and +6 Armor) - Sea Captain +2 - Archer +1 - Escape +1

Old thread:

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Intro

To sail around the Hammerhorn is to dance with death, as, like the rest of the Iron Islands,
sharp rocks and reefs populate the coasts and waters of this land's coastline.....

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... If you manage to find yourself ashore, whether on purpose or not, now you must traverse the Hardstone Hills...

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... And there, upon a high rock they call the Hammerhorn, you might find the home of the Fairhairs.

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Welcome

Welcome, brave one, to the Hammerhorn, stronghold and hearth of the Fairhairs.
It has stood here for ages, long before the Fairhairs came to inhabit it, and will continue to stand alone and strong upon the Rock of Great Wyk.
Now, what business do you have here with our disgraced family?

Titles

Lord of Great Wyk Lord of Hammerhorn

Holdings

Great Wyk

House Fairhair

Description Scorned by the Harlaws and the Greyjoys alike, the disgraced bloodline of Sigrad the Fair seats its decadent self upon the rock of Great Wyk, the Hammerhorn. Its patriarch is afflicted with all manners of curses from the Drowned God and secludes himself away from the world. Its heir is rash and self-destructive. There are many things people say about the curses upon the Fairhairs: some say they are doomed to bear the greyscale upon every leader of the house, some say they are forever fated to kinslaying and infighting, and some say they are forever afflicted with the ill will of the Drowned God and his servants. But the Fairhairs have one thing, one deep-seeded hatred to outlast the curse the Drowned God has placed upon them; The kind of hate that waits patiently, waits until the perfect time to strike its foe, waits for the perfect moment for horrific and tragic irony. The kin that have come forth from the womb of Sigrad the Fair shall one day have their vowed vendetta fulfilled, and their Ironborn rivals shall tremble with fear in their wake once again. History The weakened House of Fairhair descends from Sygrad the Fair, a true and fine examplar of the infamous warrior-women of the Iron Islands and the only woman to ever sit on the Seastone Chair. In the days of Hoare Kings, she sailed far and wide along the coasts of Westeros, becoming one of the most feared captains of the Ironborn. Before the crowning of Harwyn "Hardhand", the future conqueror of the Riverlands, she managed to grab the Seastone Chair in a Kingsmoot by coercing and murdering the opposition here and there. She was only bested by Hardhand later, after a tumultuous civil war bloodying the Ironman's Bay. She bore him illegitimate children, who later formed the House of Fairhair. After the death Harwyn, Sygrad again grabbed at the throne, this time gaining more support. However, after a time, her allies turned on her, and slew her where she sat, her blood forever staining the Seastone Chair. They say that this is the curse of the House of Fairhair. Sygrad's hair was of an almost gold hue of blonde, and most of her descendants carry this trait today. Her sword, although not Valyrian Steel, made of steel black as night, named Gram after one of her lovers, has been passed on from generation to generation of the Fairhair family, now in the hands of Torfin Fairhair. Members WIP Torfin Fairhair, 19 Age: 18, born 160 AL. Description Torfin is of a generally somber temperament, but is forever tied to bouts of rage and lack of self-control. The other half of the time, he is of an arrogant behavior, insulting his betters with an assuming smile and a mocking tone. He has the potential to become a great swordsman, due to his inate speed and agility, but has lots to learn. He has been described as "young tempest, impetuous and wrathful, leaving only trouble in his wake." Torfinn has black hair unlike his ancestors, is above the average height of Westrosi men, and has a very nimble and lithe physical build, with legs to carry him at fast speeds, and quick arms to bend and turn at will in duel. His eyes are brown, and his nose is straight. History The only son of Syvald Fairhair, and his heir. His mother Eirene, was of House ... . She was warm, tender, and raised him very gently, until she died when he of 10 years of age. His "auntie", Scathach, who was really just a witch, somewhat replaced her as his mother figure as he grew farther and farther away from his father. He became a wild child, full of wrath and anger, and she took him in when he was away from the Hammerhorn. She taught him to fight, how to kill his enemy, and taught him not to be afraid to use trickery to that end. She also showed him dark and terrible secrets this world has hidden from the eyes of man, and to this day, he still believes in the dark powers of this world. Skills Points: (4) - Duels +2 (Gram +1) - Sea Captain +1 (+Great Wyk Regional Bonus) = 3 - Archer +2 (Longbow +1) - Escape +1 Special Items - Gram (sword +2) - Leather (+1) - Longbow (+1) - Pillage: 0% (+Great Wyk Regional Bonus) = 10% Deceased Eirene Fairhair, died 170 Scathach, died 174 Syvald Fairhair, died 179 Age: 43, born 135 AL. No one has seen Syvald for a long time, and you probably won't either. He is pragmatic and cynical, not afraid to hurt the ones he loves a little to further the good of his family more. His relationship with his son is one of misunderstanding, Torfinn angry at his father for his indifference to his mother's death, and Syvald failing to show his son otherwise. Having survived 3 bouts of Greyscale throughout his life, it isn't known how long Syvald's afflicted body will last. No one outside of his household has seen him for more than 2 decades, all diplomatic affairs being dealt with by his steward and heir, with Syvald pulling the strings in the background. Skills Points: (14) - Assassinations +4 - Capture +4 - Escape +4 - Sea Captain +2 (+Great Wyk Regional Bonus) = 4 - Pillage: 0% (+Great Wyk Regional Bonus) = 10%

Bannermen

Lord Grimold Goodbrother Lord Triston Merlyn Lord Eric Sparr Lord Aladale Farwynd

Levies, Armies, and Fleets

Army of Great Wyk 7,000 Ironborn Hearth-Warriors 4,000 Harlaw Reavers 11,000 in Total Positioned on the Fleet of Great Wyk Fleet of Great Wyk - 30 Ironborn Longships Positioned in Nagga's Cradle

[Trot]

A disgruntled looking man appears
I want a seeing with the lord o this castle

[Dirty Chai]

The black-bearded guard, salt crusted on his tired face, glares at the man.
Then after a few moments he calls out for the portcullis to be raised.
Two more disgruntled guards from the inside meet him on the other side of the portcullis, demanding any weapons.

[Trot]

he hands over an obsidian knife and a stone axe
thats all I got know let me see the lord o this here castle

[Dirty Chai]

One guard grunts and the other smirks.
They "escort" the man between them up a number of steps, taking him to a bleak stone room with a small wooden chair upraised on a stone dais, dust gathering upon it. The wood is red, and pleasing to the eye when everything else in the castle is stark grey.
A tall and pale man, with a long gray beard, and chains around his neck, stands next to the throne.
"I am Maester Darron, his lordship of Great Wyk is currently indisposed. What can I help you with?"

[Trot]

mi business is with the lord alone but I garentee he'll like it mi propestion

[Dirty Chai]

The grim maester's expression doesn't change.
"And the lord is indisposed."
A whispering noise is heard from a dark hallway, and the maester rushes to it.
"My lord, you're... you can't .."
The black cloaked figure waves him off and struggles to the red chair.
His face is covered by a silver mask, the face of a sea monster.
"What is it you wish to discuss with us?" The slurred voice crackles out, almost tired.

[Trot]

Id rather discuss it away form andal ears
he says gesturing at the maester

[Dirty Chai]

"Very well" the figure says while waving the maester away. The guards stay at the wildling's flanks.
"The room is now devoid of Andals. What is it you have painstakingly come to tell me, wildling?"

[Trot]

"freefolk," he corrects the lord "Mi king has sent to ask how a proud folk would come to bow so low. i mum was from bear island before her ship crashed on the shivering shore an she told mi stories of the fierce ironborn raider who attacked their shores men who bowed to a king they chose by merit not by blood much like mi own people but now you bow to a dragon king without dragons why is that?"

[Dirty Chai]

The silhouette coughs a while, his shape rattling on the chair.
"Just because a dragon is breathless does not mean it is no longer a threat. It's teeth are many, its claws sharp, its tail like thunder, and its scales impenetrable."

[Trot]

"Pah a fools excuse he still has enemies in the north and south the dragon took your way of life and you bow still what would happen if lords rose up if your proud people became independent and more lords became independent kings again are you truly kneelers bowing to a weak lord because they use to have dragons" he spits at his feet

[Dirty Chai]

"Then the dragon would be toothless, clawless, and tail-less, his scales ripped from him, wouldn't he?
Until such a day comes, these worthless pieces of rock that our cursed god raised for us will have to be submissive if we are to survive until such a day comes." The masked figure coughs violently again.
"Is there anything you want to bring to the raven's table, man from beyond the wall, or are you just here to throw insults at our person?"

[Trot]

bah divide and conquer do you know any lords that would be willing to turn against their master and would you send ships in secret to the north to bring our warriors around the wall or lend warriors to help us conquer the rest of the north

[Dirty Chai]

"Our vessels once sailed the whole of the western seas, rulers of the sunset. No longer..."
Deathly coughing once again sounds from behind the silver sea-serpent face.
"If you would stay as an envoy for a while, you will see that change will soon come to the isles, and will require the full attention of my resources until it is seen to the end... Perhaps after that, we can talk of such things..." His coughing throws him from his chair this time, keeling over upon the dais, the maester running to help him from the shadows.
"My lord, you need your medicine!"
The sickly man tries to shoo him away, but eventually succumbs and lets the old bearded maester help him back to his room.
The maester comes back to stand beside the throne a while later, rain now coming in through the pane-less rectangular holes they called windows. Water gathers upon the stone beneath it.
"You may stay here for a time wildling. If you choose to stay, we must know your name and who you serve.."

[Trot]

I am Gormund Greybeard who I serve is no mater to you your lord knows and that is what maters I thank you for the offer I will stay for a time I need to learn more about your culture anyway and it's safer here then on the mainland I will not kneel though.

[Dirty Chai]

"No one kneels here on these islands. I'm sure you'll be right at home."
The maester ruffles his bearded muzzle, obviously unconcerned, and walks away, back into the shadowy hallway behind the throne.
The two guards show the wildling to his room.

[Trot]

He sits down examining the room it's nicer then any place he's ever been. He decide to wait until these changes come around
ooc just pm or vm me when these changes come around and i'll move Gormund back into the game

[Wassersaeufer]

Beron Chenlaw

Three longships had anchored at Great Wyk, or at least in front of it, and two boats had been made it's way to she shore. At the sails of said ships were two sealions pictured, yet the image had faded a bit over time and wasn't as great as they were a few years prior. That's seawind for you.
From the shore the small party of armed men, fifteen to be precise, had started the ridicoulus hard way up to Hammerhorn, some of them mumbling and cursing the landscape. They moved on purpose through ways that could be seen from the castle walls and they showed their shields and colours, indicating that they had no foul intentions. Finally they arrived the castle gates and the massive, broad shouldered man at the front just looked up to the battlements. His hard face showed no emotion other than perhaps a bit of bad temper as he said: "I am Lord Beron Chenlaw. I want to speak to Lord Fairhair."
It was funny that, although he had to yell, he did not sound as if he yelled. More like he was just speaking very loud.

[Dirty Chai]

No guards are placed outside of the walls, many placed upon the ramparts, mostly watching the horizons as sentries. A handful have gathered to stare at the Chenlaw party amassed below from the gatehouse.

One blue-plumed sentry runs to the ramparts, looks over a crenelation, and after his expression turns from skeptical to shocked and surprised, he dashes back the way he came.

A tall, grey-bearded man comes out to the ramparts after a time. His robes are dark brown and ruined in places, humbler than a septon's or Drowned Man's, yet he stands tall and dignified.

The blue-plumed guard stands beside him and calls out to Beron:
"Welcome, Lord Beron of Blacktyde. The House of Fairhair has not heard from your family in some time."