Lifting the Tyroshi by his long, greasy, bright green hair, Eberon the One-Eyed inspected his nearly dead foe. He put his drawn dagger to the man's throat, and slowly slit it across, laying his face lightly on the deck of the ship, he stood, inhaling the righteously salty sea air, he was at home.
"Its a good day for reaving, Eb," jested Skywald, walking by. His bow was drawn, and he paced about the deck of the same ship.
Bodies littered the deck, as the ironborn reavers finished off their wounded foes and looted what trinkets adorned the corpses.
"What day is not a good day for a good reave, my friend," said Eberon, winking his one good eye.
Skywald put his right foot up on the rail, at the bow of the ship, and leaned over, slinging his bow to his back, he drew an apple from a side pouch, and began to eat it. Looking out, three other ships were burning at port, ironborn warriors were seen along the docks and shore, with their collections of loot, piled to the height of a common man. Skywald just smiled, while joyously eating his apple.
"Get down here, pretty boy!" shouted Thorwin from the dock below.
Skywald threw his apple down to Thorwin, who caught it, twisted it around in his hand, and took a bite, wiping the juice off his mouth, he walked back towards the shore.
The makeshift walled encampment that had once stood, with solid stone walls, and firmly constructed structures, inside, serving as a base for 'The Sea Bastards', was now a smoldering ruin. Their buildings put to torch, and bodies strewn about the ground in a mosaic of bloodied corpses.
Gripping a rope hung from a protruded sail, Skywald descended off the ship to the dock below, to meet with Thorwin.
"Sea Bastards, eh?" he said, spitting upon the deck. "I wonder how many bastards these bastards created? Probably half as many bastards as us," he jested, kneeling down to a fallen pirate, and pulling his trousers down. "I mean, look at this," he said, flopping the pirate's cock around in his hand. "Look at this tiny thing."
"You're a sick bastard indeed, Skywald."
Skywald smiled, leaving the pirate as is, and the two began to walk back up to the centre of the encampment.
There, in the encampment center, stood Harren the Red, captain of the 'Iron Warden', and the leader of Harren's Reavers, as they had become known, notoriously, in Essos and other places outside of Westeros, where only tales of folklore and myth of their antics had reached the disbelieving Westerosi.
Harren had his giant war maul fastened to his back, its maroon colored weirwood shaft, with a slightly blue-tinged Valyrian steel headpiece, a sight to behold. The only kind like it in the known world. He inspected the success of their battle, only to have the pirate leader brought before him.
"Pirate, or sellsail?" he asked the man, who was thrown to his feet, boundless.
The man just looked at the massive ironborn captain.
"Answer the question, leech."
The man just spat upon Harren's boot, a mix of blood and saliva, forcing the ironborn captain to smile. Harren slowly put his foot up, placing it against the man's face, he kicked him back. The man rolled down a small slope in the hill.
"You can always tell a man's loyalty by his company of choice," said Harren, walking after him. "But, we won't hold that against you. You see, we're pirates too, I suppose, by civilized standards."
"We're not pirates. I'm Dorys of Lys, Admiral of 'The Swords of the Sea'-"
"-Swords of? The Sea?" said Harren, interjectionally mocking the man.
"According to the Lyseni, your nothing more than a pirate. A self-titled 'Pirate King', raiding trade ship after trade ship, and disappearing the first hint of battle. I always figured sellswords, or sellsails, or whatever you figure you are, were enticed by the thought of battle? I mean, is that not how they make their names and gold?"
"Attacking us at dawn, under cover of darkness, at port, is nothing to behold, brigand."
"Brigand?" replied Harren, sarcastically. "See that booty of riches, there?" he continued, pointing at the pile of collected treasures. "No brigand warband is that wealthy."
The man just looked at him, his teeth grinding at the loss of his fleet.
"I tell you what. I will release you today, with that there pile of plunder, and a ship - crewed by my own men - to take it with you, back to Myr, and far from Lys and Tyrosh. If... If you can defeat me in single combat. I'll give you choice of weaponry for both yourself and I."
"You lie!"
The reavers began laying out assorted arms on the ground. Dorys, beginning to crawl, climbed up, stumbling, and fell upon the arms, picking for himself a longsword and shield. Putting his own sword under his closed shield arm, he picked up a tiny dirk and tossed it to Harren. "Ha, ha!" laughed Dorys, maniacally.
Harren did nothing but smile, lazily hanging his arms by his side, he circled Dorys, dirk in hand. Dorys raised his shield and sword, and readied his stance, following Harren's movement, who was walking around him.
"I'll even let you take the first strike," said Harren, boldly.
Dorys lunged froward, jabbing his sword forward, only to miss a fully aware Harren, who sidestepped the strike with ease and relative fearlessness. Foolishly, Dorys struck again the same way, and took several swings, Harren only backing just out of range of the sword's tip, still having not raised the dirk.
Dorys charged once more. This time, Harren brushed the sword strike aside his bracer, and walked forward, grabbing Dorys's throat with his free hand, laughing, and engaging the cheers of his men, turned the dirk sideways, and jabbed it into his opponent's ear, driving it deeper into his head.
Dorys's mouth opened, and his tongue stuck out, eyes fixated ahead, no blinks, just dazed, before Harren just released his throat, and watched him collapse to the sand.
"Right then, load up the ship, collect the dead, and finish this port to torch. We're sailing back to Lys. The Pirate King of Grey Gallows is of no more threat to them."
The Iron Warden, Captain Harren's massive 'great longship', was custom and no other would match its size or speed, in the world. Years of perfecting, with engineering enhances from every corner of the world - traveled by the fearsome vessel - have led to not only one of the speediest of seafaring vessels, but also the speediest of its size.
Crewed at full, the ship has a capacity of 750 reavers, with supply holds for that number, for a voyage up to three months in length, but can be crewed at minimum capacity of just 100 men. The ship packs powerful rudders that can turn its direction with ease. The ship also boasts a powerful ramming headpiece, made of an extremely rare and hardened wood, called Titanwood, the ram could power through the bowels of any vessel that can currently float.
Shortly thereafter, aboard the Iron Warden
"Another sound victory, Harren," said Sigmund, thumbs resting in his belt.
"Would you have expected a different outcome, old friend?"
"I miss The Islands," said Sigmund, looking out over the bow of the ship to the open sea. "How long has it been since we last returned? Four, five years?"
"Longer, to my recollection."
"We've lost 257 men, in the years since we set sail for Essos. That number never escapes me."
"Worthy deaths. Deaths in combat and at sea. If we all end up so lucky, we shall dine every night afterwards with the Drowned God."
"How many reaves do you think we have left in us, old friend?" asked Sigmund, the question causing Harren to stop eating.
Harren wiped his hands off, and looked to his friend. "Is there something wrong with our course, Sig?"
"I don't mean it like that. I meant, how much plunder do we need to satisfy ourselves enough to return home? We've been doing this for over decade, Harren."
"Rightly so. It is our birthright. It's our livelihood. Our profession, Sig. It's what we were born to do. This. And we are quite fine at it, as well," he said with a smile, returned by Sigmund.
"I mean, we are far wealthier than our ancestors could have been in a life time of reaving. We have ships full of plunder that we couldn't spend in a lifetime."
"Suffice to say, you know better than I, you old sea crab, that this isn't about the plunder. It's about the reave."
"Forget it, Harren. An old man, with a decaying mind," he said, forcing a smile.
"It troubles you so, old friend. Perhaps we will make a trip to The Islands before long, and, you could step off the ship one last time, and live out your days with a troupe of Lyseni salt wives to bare you many sons before you pass."
"As much a dream as that seems to be, my place is here, at sea, my friend. With you. I have fathered plenty of bastards in my travels. I look now for the day to rest these weary bones. But I shall never give up reaving, to do it."
"Rightly so. I am blessed by the Drowned God to have you help me lead this rabble," he said, jokingly.
A knock on the cabin door came. "We are approaching port, Red."
Harren pushed himself back out of the chair, and wiped his hands together. "Perhaps we'll receive a triumph upon our return."
Walking out onto the deck, the men had docked the ship, and readied their exit off it. Harren walked by them, Sigmund on his rear.
"Red," they all uttered, as he passed by them, an acknowledgement to their captain and leader.
First off the ship were two ironborn, armed with spear and round shields, they stood at the bottom of the plank walk. Harren passed by them, only taking with him a small retinue to the manse of his supposed-financier, Theban Rydahl.
Theban was one of the wealthiest merchant princes in the Free Cities. He was certainly one of the - if not the - wealthiest and most influential merchant prince in Lys, of whom, Dorys of 'The Sea Bastards', was a thorn in said thigh. He had a manse in Lys, which dwarfed a Westerosi Lord's hold. His manse, deep in riches, adorned with the rarest of tree orchards and vineyards, fountains and canals, and towers, manned by his immensely vast personal army.
Harren and Sigmund mounted up by horse, accompanied by Skywald, Thorwin, Eberon, and Aleth.
"Saron, see to the protection of the ship. Encourage the men to spend their fortunes. We will not be here for long."
"As you say," replied a grizzled Saron.
"Let's make haste. We may as well get this over with. Theban will be expecting us."
The six men, mounted up, and departed for the manse on the other side of Lys.
After riding through the immense city, they arrived at the gatehouse to the manse. Four spearmen were present at the gate, lined across it. Above, in the gatehouse, sided with two towers, were four archers, looking over at the visitors.
A fifth man on the ground came from a side door in the gatehouse, to greet them.
"Harren the Red," he said, extending hands to the man, the two embracing each other. "Is it done?" he asked, inquiringly.
"It is. Dead and gone," replied a dismounted Harren, turning to point at a sack, the bottom reddened by blood. "Dorys of Grey Gallows."
"Oh, how I would love to see it, but we have strict orders from the prince. We are to usher you through as soon as you arrive. He cannot wait to hear the news. He's in the grand gardens, now, having some wine," said the commander, snapping his fingers to have the gates opened, whilst a rider came through.
"This rider will escort you and your men to the gardens."
"For you, my friend," said Harren, placing a pouch of gold dragons in the commander's hands.
The man smiled. "Thank you, greatly."
Mounting up, Harren led the others onto the property, where they followed the lone rider to the royal gardens. In what seemed to be an inordinately long ride, they arrived, passing over the perfectly constructed bridge - a testament to the unique Lyseni architecture - they passed down a path, lined with spearmen.
"Harren the Red to see the prince," said the rider, gaining access past a makeshift checkpoint.
Inside the gardens, dozens of shirtless man-slaves, with bounded heads, waited patiently, four with large Bojwa tree leaves, fanning the prince, who laid upon large, stuffed silken pillows, enjoying a golden chalice of red wine, as he watched a half dozen of his children play in the water of one of the fountains.
The leisure platform, held up by two dozen slaves, was held six feet in the air. The prince's adjutant leaned in and whispered to him. The prince darted up out of his resting place, and proceeded off. A slave held a pillow above his head, on which created a step for the prince to come down. Two others had linked arms, holding a pillow just by their chests, between them, which was the second step, and a third slave held a large pillow on his knelt and bent over back, serving as the last step down. The prince moved to greet Harren.
"Harren the Red, savior of Lys!" he shouted.
"Theban. It is good to see you, friend."
"Prince Theban!" replied the prince, with a stern look. He quickly broke into a large smile. "I am joking, my friend. Do you have news for me?"
"I do. The deed is done. Dorys is dead."
"By all that is bright, that is splendid news! Come, sit with me," he said, leading Harren to two chairs overlooking the vineyard on the side of the walkway.
Harren turned, and gestured in a nod with his head for Aleth to proceed, with the sack in hand.
"Where is this dog's head? Show it too me, my friend."
Aleth proceeded forward, opening the sack, putting his hand in, and drawing up the head of the slain pirate, the dirk still embedded in his head.
"Oh, he is more beautiful now, than he ever was before!" jested the prince.
"Over a month of hunting. Nine ships found. Nine ships burned," said Harren, receiving a gold chalice of red wine, from a slave.
"This pirate scum," replied Theban, spitting on Dorys' decaying face. "I curse you, dog."
"The Pirate King of-"
"-Air!" replied Theban. "Grey Gallows, bah," he continued, spitting upon the ground. "He is no more. The notorious pirate of the Stepstones, no more," said Theban, snapping his fingers, to signal over another man, dressed in luxurious wear, common of Lyseni.
Harren looked over, but quickly lost interest.
"This," said Theban. "This is the future. My cousin, Salladhor Saan. He is a new trader. A former sellsail, he knew Dorys for many years, before becoming a trader, himself."
"It is true," replied Salladhor. "I knew the man. As dervish was he was, he was quick-witted and bold."
"Up until the minute I shoved that dirk in his skull," replied Harren, taking a chug of the wine, rather than an eloquent sip.
"The most famous of pirates, bested by Lyseni gold!" boasted Theban. "Tyrosh will be pleased with this news, as well. Oh woe unto the Myrish, for their companion on the Stepstones is vanquished!"
Salladhor Saan did not smile, as he received a chalice full of wine, as well. It was as if he still had a soft spot for his old friend, now no more than a severed head.
"Would three hundred thousand novals suffice? It was the going rate, doubled as of last month, for the collapse of this pirate network."
Salladhor spit up, choking slightly on the wine, he wiped his mouth quickly, for none to see.
"Keep your money, Theban," replied Harren.
"I assure you, three hundred thousand novals will buy you an immense palace, with an army of servants to tend to your every comfort for the rest of your life, my friend. They are of the same size and value as your gold dragons, in Westeros."
"On The Iron Islands, we take by force, we do not do for hire. I forgot to mention that to you, when we spoke last."
"Right, forgot to mention," replied Theban, with a smile. "Well, I owe payment in some fashion to you, Harren."
"I took my payment from the pirate cove. Gold and jewels. If you see that as fitting to release, then that will be payment enough."
Theban clinched his jaw, his tight skin showing the bones of his face, as he downed the rest of the wine, breath held awhile, then released. "Done."
"Theban," interjected Salladhor. "The plunder recovered is vastly more than promised as reward for the quelling of the network-"
"Silence, Salla. It is done!"
"I suppose we are done here then," said Harren, rising from his seat.
"You did Lys a justice, Harren. One which could not be easily repaid. For that, you are always welcome here, a Warrior-Lord of Lys!"
"An honour I intend to take up, one day," replied Harren, looking to the Lyseni whores who accompanied Theban.
"You need find yourself a wife, Harren. You are getting old. It is time to settle down," joked Theban.
"My wife is the sea, Theban."
"Understood," replied Theban, emptying his chalice. "Oh. There is a messenger for you... From your homeland. He awaits you at one of the guest villas. Rodahr will show you the way."
Spinning the chalice in his hand, Theban cleared his throat. "I know we did not always see eye to eye, Harren. That you once pirated this fine city as well, pirated... Me. However, you have redeemed yourself, and in our new found friendship, we have established the basis for a great alliance between us. I have never visited The Iron Islands, but perhaps, one day I may."
Harren began to walk to his mount, tossing the empty chalice to a slave. "It is home for me, but lack of luxury for you, good friend."
Mounting up, Harren and his men followed the rider, Rodahr. Their ride to the other side of Theban's expansive property was seemingly long, before they passed through the gatehouse to one of the guest villas. There, the lot of them dismounted and they proceeded up the steps to the entrance of the villa. The slaves opened the doors, and they walked through, Rodahr at their lead.
Inside, they were led to the feasting hall, and inside, four of their ironborn brothers were feasting, one of which got up, rubbing his hands together, and proceeded to greet them.
"Captain Harren, I have urgent news from Rodrik Greyjoy. Perhaps we could speak in private?"
"I keep nothing of the sort from my men. That said, this Lyseni can leave, but my brothers will stay," replied Harren, waving away the Lyseni escort, who exited the hall, closing the doors behind him.
Looking at the food before them, a meal for a dozen, prepared for four. "Have at it, boys."
All the men seated themselves and engorged on the abundance of food.
"So what of this news?"
"You have been summoned to Pyke. Any reavers and ships under your command are to return post-haste."
"Do I look like a common alley dog to you? I do not answer to such demands," he said, laughing. All his men bursted into laughter, as they ate.
"It is of the utmost in urgency. K... Lord Balon wishes it so," said the messenger, looking around at the faces of the other men, hoping none noticed his mistake.
"What of this urgency? Has Nagga's mate risen from the depths?"
"I have been ordered strictly to inform you to return, Captain. You will be fully briefed of the recall, once received at Pyke."
Harren took a deep breath, and looked over to Sigmund. Knowing his friend wished to return to The Iron Islands after a long time, and to the rest of his men, whom he knew wanted to return as well, sooner rather than later, as they had not made the journey back for the better half of a decade.
"Right then, we shall return. Adorned in the plunder of our reaves!" bellowed Harren, earning the roars of his men.
"Make leave when you wish, brother. We will return in our own time," said Harren, as he sat down to eat with them. |
Biarchus
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water god they believed in. He could wave that maul around with one arm, like it was a hammer," continued Robert, looking up from Barristan to Jaime, and back. "He took down a dozen knights from Lordsport to the courtyard of Pyke, including two of your brothers," he said to Barristan.
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Wrinkly Wordsmith
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The Scribbling Scotsman
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h, Thorwin!” yelled a pain-stricken Dagon, his fist clenched, reddened and gushing blood, as he looked around for his ring finger, severed on the middle knuckle, as he found the tip of his middle finger - severed on the top knuckle - the men around them laughing hysterically. 
