A Dead Man's Sermons

[Jokern]

The world had gone silent and for a mere moment, nothing moved. The hunter was like the cliffs themselves as he watched his prey come closer. Eight feet, six feet, four feet. He held his breath as the cold sea rose up to his waist. Suddenly, like a lightning strike on a clear day, his hands shot forward at incredible speed into the water. When they rose, the prey was in held aloft. It was over and the hunter had triumphed. Cheers from the beach brought him back to the real world. Looking back, Urron Squideater saw his small group of followers, a motley group of Drowned Men, commoners and warriors. He walked back to the shore, the fish in his hands still trying to get free. Once his feet were on land again, Urron began his sermon.

"We thank you God for granting us food from your kingdom, so that we may continue honouring you in song and battle. The sea is our field, its life our wheat, and one day our bodies and those we slay in your name shall feed its people, such as it always has. To the Lord God who drowned for us, we say thanks for his harsh love."

Urron put the fish on the cliff and picked up a rock and smashed its head. Cutting it up and salting the fillets, the priest continued the sermon.

"From water you came, the stone is your bane and the steel and the salt shall be your final resting place. In the name of our Lord God who drowned for us, we thank you for your sacrifice."

Finishing his work, the Drowned Priest poured blessed saltwater on the fish. It was not much, but it would serve for the day. His followers had already caught and prepared their own meals, and a fire was already lit. The rest of the evening they spent eating, drinking and talking, with Little Fen, a bard from Orkmont, singing songs to honour their Lord God. Urron ate his meal in peace, not saying much while the others had fun. He had always been a serious man, but he did not mind that others made the cold night a little warmer. They were Ironborn after all, to sing and reave and rape was their calling. As the night grew darker, his followers got quieter as more and more fell asleep.

With a last check that the fire would not burn out, the Squideater went out to the sea to sleep, as he had done for the last ten years. He did not fear to be dragged out by the tides, for he trusted the Drowned God to bring him to the watery halls below the sea when the time was right.

"A servant of God does not fear death, for what is dead may never die."

[Jokern]

The next day, the priest and his fellows continued their journey under a pleasant blue sky and a cool sea breeze. It would seem the Drowned God smiled upon them today, Urron thought. The Storm God's wrath had plagued the isles for a week, with the waves ceaselessly battling the wind and the lightning. Had they not found a cave on the shore, they surely would have perished. The Lord God watches over his children, Urron thought while Little Fen began singing behind him. Some old reaving song about mermaids and ale, from the sound of it.

Great Wyk was the largest of the islands, with hills rich in ore and even a lake. Despite this, like most of the islands the earth was poor or bedrock. The sea was rich however, and no man with a ship would go hungry. There were also quite a few villages spotting the hills and cliffs, who always sought the guidance of a Drowned Priest. That was one of the reasons Urron Squideater ventured across the isles. Many Ironborn were in need of sermons for a good catch on the seas, children who needed to be anointed with water from the Drowned God's domain and ships that had to be blessed before their maiden voyage. It was truly a shame that not every village had their own Drowned Man, but what could be done, Urron wondered.

By midday, the group saw a large settlement in the distance; Pebbleton, home to House Merlyn. Grell Stoneface, another of Urron's followers, had been born here. It would serve the group well for the night. Once they reached the town, they found as full of life as always. Pebbleton housed thousands of people, from reavers to tradesmen to fishermen and thralls, all walks of life lived and breathed on these streets. It was not a grand city like the fabled Oldtown, with cobbled streets and mighty walls. The wooden houses seemed to have been put in place without much thought, renovated and made larger at a whim. A sharp contrast to the grand longships that rested in the harbour. No Ironborn would ever neglect his ship, lest he be the laughing stock of all the isles and beyond.

Urron walked through Pebbleton at a steady pace, his hardened feet covered in mud and dirt. He had not much over for towns and cities. It seemed unnatural to him, housing so many in such a small space. An Ironborn is free the day he is born, this just seemed like any other dungeon where he might be corrupted by the ways of foreigners. Merchants and traders were a disgusting sight to see, slaves to the gold price when a true man pays the iron price. Had Urron ruled the Iron Islands, all weak scum like them would be thrown into the sea.

His rants and ravings would have to wait, for he neared the end of his journey: Castle Pebbleton, seat of House Merlyn. Paying a visit to the lords of the Iron Islands was one of his many duties, as no ungodly man, nor a cowardly or weak man, could be trusted with power. Only the strong survived, and the strong prayed to the Drowned God.

Urron informed the guards at the gates of who he was and the nature of his visit, requesting a meeting with the Merlyn.

http://www.twcenter.net/forums/showt...f-House-Merlyn

[The Mad Skylord]

Word spreads through the Iron Islands that Harlaw is mustering a massive fleet. Perhaps a Drowned Priest should come to bless the ships, and to make sure the purpose of this fleet is in line with the laws of the Ironborn.

[Jokern]

After leaving Castle Pebbleton, Urron and his companions ventured around the markets to hear the latest news from the islands. What caught their interest was word from Harlaw about a great fleet amassing under the command of King Harlaw. The sea breeze blew in a south-eastern direction, surely a divine sign for the Drowned Priest. Finding a ship about to leave for Harlaw was easy, convincing the captain of the good luck of having a Drowned Priest onboard even easier. Standing on the bow, Urron Squideater felt his destiny drawing closer.

[Pontifex Maximus]

Eiric Greyjoy, having heard of the sermons of such an outspoken priest, made his way to the shallows wearing his full battle regalia. He came with Bjorn, a warrior of great repute. Both had seen their days in battle but in this, the twilight of their lives, they wished for greater insight. The agents of the Drowned One might be the most appropriate vectors to ascertain what their fate would be in the afterlife, and Urron was one of the only men preaching loudly enough to be heard by lord and commoner alike. Eiric, therefore, attended one of Urron's sermons to try to gain some wisdom.

[Jokern]

The shallow pool formed by the high cliffs made a natural auditorium, yet still allowing view towards the sea. Many people, mostly commoners from nearby villages, had gathered there to hear the words of one of the Drowned God's anointed servants. The mumble of their chatter filled the shallow, but were interrupted by the sound of bangs. Silence fell and they turned towards the front, where Urron Squideater was beating his cudgel against the rock. He slowly turned to the audience, his sharp gaze and stone face looking out over them. He knelt and filled his palms with water, stood up and let it run between his fingers.

"We thank the Lord God who drowned for inviting us into his sacred realm, from which he gave us life, purpose and rest. We are but children to him, his children, made in his image to do as he commands. No matter our standing, high or low, we are Ironborn, united by the salt in our blood. That is why no Ironborn shall spill the blood of another Ironborn, for he spills the blood of his brother, the greatest sin of all.

"I have walked among the islands for many seasons, and have seen no difference between a fisherman from Harlaw or a smith from Old Wyk. Yet we are not whole, led by greedy kingsd and ambitious lords who would rather cut their own throats than acknowledge an overlord. Indeed, an Ironborn should never kneel before the weak, but he must also recognize the strength of others, lest he perish in vain like a fool. Does not the captain bow the wind and the wave when he sails the seas? Should he try to defy the Drowned God himself? No! For if he follows the path laid out by divine hands, surely he will find the shore.

"The longships still sail, thralls and treasures still flow to our islands, but it is all pebbles compared to the mountain that is the green lands. Alone, the Ironborn cannot hope to bring it down. Children of the Drowned God, listen to my words! One Ironborn is a drop in the ocean, but a people will make a mighty wave! A wave, crashing against the mountain, time and time again, until nothing but the sea remains. Tell your family, tell your friends, tell your lords and kings! A High King, blessed with salt and stone and steel, will bring us to greatness once more! With him at the helm, the Ironborn will rule the endless seas! For what is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger!"