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Post by Royal Joker on Jul 2, 2020 13:57:27 GMT -5
 The clear skies and glowing morning sun lent an air brevity not suited to the occasion. While seagulls screeched above, hundreds of longships surrounded the island of Old Wyk. There, the lords, captains and reavers of the Ironborn had gathered once again to elect their new king. For just a year the mad and cruel Euron Greyjoy had ruled, leading his people to new conquests that the isles had not enjoyed in centuries. The world he had promised them, yet his path to glory had been cut short. The reavers spoke in awe of the mythical kraken he had summoned at Oldtown, how he had personally led the charge into the city to claim the ancient secrets of the maesters. Yet there he had been slain by the knight of the golden rose, Garlan the Gallant. Thousands had gone to the halls of the Drowned God with their king. Some mourned him, others celebrated the death of the madman. Nonetheless, the Ironborn would have to choose a successor like the days of yore, with a kingsmoot.
Several voices were raised in protest. With Victarion Greyjoy away on some mission in the East, one of the strongest contenders for the Driftwood Crown was missing. Yet there was no time to wait for man who they did not even know would return. With news of Stannis Baratheon's victories in the North and the consolidation of power around Aegon Targaryen in the South, the Ironborn needed a leader now more than ever. Several characters put themselves forward, just like last time. Lord Farwynd once again stepped forth as a candidate, pointing toward the untold riches beyond the Sunset Sea to save their people. Erik Ironmaker, Lord Steward of the Iron Isles, claimed to be the chosen successor of King Euron. Lord Gorold Goodbrother stepped forth as well, a prominent lord and the strongest contender compared to the rest. Last to proclaim his candidacy was Harren Half-Hoare, or Harren Hoare as he styled himself this day, with wild promises of reclaiming the Hoare Empire of old. Many were disappointed at the lack of a Greyjoy candidate, though there was little to be done with their fates currently unknown.
As the gifts were presented by the candidates' champions and the debates began between the gathered Ironborn, the sound of war horns rippled across the ocean. As the crowd looked around in confusion, they spotted three ships in the West, full sail toward the port of Old Wyk - black sails with the golden kraken of House Greyjoy. The more eagle-eyed could spot the shape of a young woman with black hair standing at the helm of one of the ships, waving an ax in the air. A score of lords and captains made their way down to the port just as the longships docked. Asha Greyjoy jumped off her ship with excitement, taking a deep breath of the salty air before turning to the Ironborn with a satisfied grin plastered on her face.
"Your Queen has returned."
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Post by oznerol on Jul 2, 2020 14:18:23 GMT -5
Rodrik was sitting at a broken rib of Naga, protruding from the ground like an immense tooth. He was sorely lacking in interest for any of the claimants, something of whom gained yells of support among his cousins, including Boremund the Blue, who raised voice in support of Ironmaker; Harlaw had heard he had married on of his sons to Eirik's kin, or all three of them to various granddaughters and great-granddaughters, but he did not care much. All the claimants were a disappointment, but he did not care who ruled as long as they left him alone.
If only Asha was here...
He had tried to get her to stay as Lady of Ten Towers, instead of fighting her uncles, but she was a stubborn one, like a mule. And Balon had raised her like a son and groomed her as his only heir, so no wonder Rodrik's niece dreamed and aimed high, to place herself in a throne where no woman had been before. Rodrik supported her claimed, but, alas she was defeated, but now with Euron dead...
Wait. Are my ears and eyes being fooled?
Rodrik turned his nose from the book he was reading, closed it and put it down. He jumps off the broken rib, not forgetting to place the book back in the leathern bag he carried -so it wouldn't get all wet and puffy from the humid air and the salt- and placed his Myrish lense in a small purse hanging from his belt. He walked at merry pace to meet up his niece at the feet of the hill.
"Asha!"
He called, followed by a nervous lot of cousins and retainers, numbering in the tens of men, many of them wearing one of the many variations of the Harlaw scythe.
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Post by Politburo Barry on Jul 2, 2020 14:33:39 GMT -5
Tristifer descended from Asha's longship after her, straight-backed and moving with pride. Pride indeed, at the fact that they'd endured everything the North and Stannis could throw at them and survived to return to the Iron Isles - and they had Asha's leadership to thank as much as the Drowned God and his winds of fortune for it. What he had to ascribe entirely to the latter, though, was the death of Euron at Oldtown, proving once and for all that his vision was a doomed one, mad and in a bad way. Surely they all have to hail Asha as their Queen now, the rightful heir to Botley thought as Asha made her proclamation as such. Surely even the most stubborn of us Ironborn, already a stubborn lot, have to see the merit in her argument now if they didn't before. Those of them who didn't get killed with the Crow's Eye, anyway.
Botley crossed his arms and looked out at the Ironborn crowd in the port, his large eyes quietly scanning them for any challenger - or supporter! - of Asha's who'd dare step up. His stern lips shifted to a smile when he heard the sound of Harlaw's voice, however. That man had been one of his niece's first and most loyal supporters. Even more than that, the last time they were all gathered together - that was to say, the last Kingsmoot - Tristifer felt as if he, the Reader, and the late Baelor Blacktyde were the only Ironborn in the world who weren't senselessly brutal warmongers, besides Asha herself.
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Post by Royal Joker on Jul 2, 2020 15:51:59 GMT -5
Asha gave Rodrik Harlaw a warm smile when she saw him and heard his voice. It felt so good to be back home with her kin, to smell fresh sea air and feel the salty wind ruffle through her hair.
"Uncle, it's good to see you're still alive. We've got much to talk about but let's leave that for later. First I have a kingdom to rescue. With me, men!"
Asha sallied forth up the hill toward Nagga's bones, the rest of the Ironborn following close behind. The debate had turned to murmurs of her return, while the other candidates had been relegated to the sidelines as the Greyjoy stepped up above them all, framed by the ribs of the ancient sea monster.
"I, Asha Greyjoy, true Lady of Pyke, stake my claim to the Seastone Chair! Tristifer Botley! Qarl the Maid! Ser Harras Harlaw! Do you stand as my champions this day once again? Step forth!"
She confidently looked out over the crowd, commanding their silence with her gaze.
"The last time we held this kingsmoot but a summer ago, I warned you what further bloodshed would bring our people. I presented the 'treasures' we had taken in the North... cobblestones, pinecones and turnips! I offered you land, peace and victory, but did you heed my calls? Or did you chant the name of a madman, charming you with gold and false promises of an empire to span the world?"
She took a brief moment of pause, to let her words simmer in their minds.
"I ask you, where is your empire? The Shields and the Arbor, a feat to be sure. Smashing the Redwyne fleet, a worthy victory. Yet where is your king today? Where are the thousands of brave men who threw themselves at the walls of Oldtown? Dead and drowned, and the Iron fleet in shambles. Fathers and sons, gone to join their ancestors in the Drowned God's watery halls."
She sighed in exasperation, holding up her empty hands. Then she grabbed her ax and held it up for all to see - upon its head, a crowned stag was imprinted.
"My kin, I've returned from exile with empty hands. No treasures I offer you this day, no promises of a mighty empire to span the seas. These are the empty promises of fools stuck in their dreams of past glories. I offer you the future, with peace and justice. I have fought beside a man with true iron in his blood, who has risen from the ashes time and again. A man who none on these Isles can call a weakling. Stannis Baratheon, the true King of the Seven Kingdoms. With Stannis, we have a future, and a just peace."
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Post by oznerol on Jul 2, 2020 16:04:37 GMT -5
Rodrik eagerly listened his niece, who made a fair speech, like the first time. She would make a fine ruler for the isles, far from the fools who let themselves by ruled by wanton ambition and empty dreams of conquest, like Euron, like his brother Balon, like Dalton the Red Kraken and all those who believed they were entitled to own the world, yet they died miserable deaths. So, Harlaw yells in support of his niece, expected to be followed by his retainers and kin:
"Asha! Asha! Greyjoy!"
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Post by Politburo Barry on Jul 2, 2020 20:46:31 GMT -5
For his part, Tristifer boldly stepped forward when called upon by Asha. The sensation of being one of her champions filled his heart with further joyful pride, as did the realization that she'd called on him first ahead of Qarl the Maid and the heir to Harlaw.
When the rightful Lady of Pyke and ruler of the Iron Isles finished her speech, Botley wasted no time in joining Harlaw's acclamation. "Asha! ASHA! ASHA QUEEN!" He chanted as he beat his chest with a fist, voice swelling with passion - and not just romantic affection, but a genuine, fervent belief in Asha's vision for the Isles. Granted, he knew well that the harsh Baratheon King would suffer no other crowned head on the continent, and if she was to truly make peace with the latter she'd have to give up the Driftwood Crown sooner or later - but she needed to have the crown in the first place to give it up, and in any case, this was still a Kingsmoot.
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Post by Gandalf on Jul 2, 2020 20:56:35 GMT -5
Some joined the chant, but many others still held their own claims.
“So you have knelt to the Greenlander, woman? You let Stannis Baratheon fuck you hard until you bent the knee?”
Said the Half-Hoare, which drew a few laughs and cheers. One of Ironmaker’s sons rose to speak.
“We can rule ourselves. Just because Euron was a shit king doesn’t mean we have to bend to some Greenlander. Less so Stannis, who put many of our kin to the sword. You should support your Lord husband, lady Asha, and then you might rule as queen if our Lord father still wants to plough you.”
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Post by Royal Joker on Jul 3, 2020 15:31:26 GMT -5
"And who asked for your opinion, Half-wit? Who are you even, some bastard whose whore mother told him tales that Harren the Black is his great-great-grandfather? The Hoares are dead, and thank the Drowned God for that. They were the same sort of fools as my uncle who thought they could build an empire, and the isles suffered greatly for their folly."
Asha scoffed at the Half-Hoare, a fool whose bloated ego was frightening. She did not even remember if he actually had some Hoare blood in him.
"Well the Ironmaker certainly can't bend the knee if he cannot even get off his fucking chair. I hope you've been warming my keep for me, because you and your entire family better be gone from Pyke when I take it back. And I don't remember marrying some old coot, but I did hear that my uncle wedded Erik Ironmaker to a seal. Perhaps you could take a few salt wives from Lonely Light, I'm sure Lord Farwynd won't mind too much."
The Greyjoy princess
"But thank you for strengthening my point. My uncle was a shit king, whose mad plans only brought ruin and death. Yet some of you claim his legacy, who think that we are able to defend what we have and take even more. You burned the Reach! And now the Tyrells bow to the returned Targaryen. What will they bring if not fire and blood if we continue this path of self-aggrandizing importance. Stannis, though I despise the man, has proven himself time and again to be unstoppable in war, and uncompromising in his positions. With him we can salvage what little we still have, and rebuild into something greater. We will find a peace where our deeds will be justly rewarded."
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Post by Gandalf on Jul 3, 2020 15:50:28 GMT -5
Goodbrother rose from his own seat, his myriad of daughters and sons at his side.
“I would promise peace and more, but I would not bend my knee to any Greenlander. Follow me for peace but in strength, where we do not bend our knees but stand strong and free.”
However, a few more lords were swayed by Asha’s words. Half-Hoare kept his silence as the feeling of the Kingsmoot was clearly geared towards peace. Harras Harlaw, having lost his seat on Oakenshield, stepped forward and took his place by the Greyjoy woman. But still many more stood by Goodbrother - so much so the contest was almost even.
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Post by Politburo Barry on Jul 3, 2020 20:30:55 GMT -5
"How many ships and warriors survived Oldtown and the rest of Euron's war in the south, Lord Goodbrother?" Tris Botley spoke up, intent on aiding the woman he was championing. "Anyone?" He looked out to the crowd for only a moment before throwing in his own guess.
"If I can hazard my own guess: not enough. Not enough to fight the full strength of the Greenlands' navies, once Stannis and the returned Dragon have finished bleeding each other, and most certainly not enough if the former is victorious, which I expect him to be." The young man crossed his green-clad arms. "If Euron Crow's-Eye, with the full might of these Isles, could not defeat even the fat flowers of the Reach, well. It's as Ironmaker there said earlier. Stannis is many things, but a weak or inexperienced admiral he is not, nor is he the sort of man to rest while any one of the Seven Kingdoms remain outside his grasp, as I - and I'm sure the rest of you - well remember." He let his words, and their implications, hang in the air: even the fiercest of this bunch must recognize that there could be no hope of victory against the Green Lands for another generation, far more time than any of them had right now, or so he hoped.
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Post by Gandalf on Jul 3, 2020 21:43:49 GMT -5
A few more of the islanders give their grudging respect to Botley’s words, lending their voices in chants of agreement to Lord Balon’s chosen heir. In the end, it seemed to be an almost evenly divided vote - Harren and the others had convened under Goodbrother’s banner, whilst the rest had flocked over to Asha’s claim to the Seastone Chair. The bickering had ceased for now, after long hours of debate that went nowhere. An agreement would have to be brokered if there was to be a claimant chosen that day, something that the Ironborn would have to dwell on as they returned to the lodgings provided by Lord Drumm.
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Post by oznerol on Jul 4, 2020 3:51:12 GMT -5
Having to face the reality of the situation, knowing the Ironborn were too foolishly proud to accept a woman -and Asha maybe slightly to stubborn to contemporize-, Rodrik went to parlay with Half-Hoare himself.
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Post by Gandalf on Jul 4, 2020 7:33:01 GMT -5
Half-Hoare waited in Drummtown, he and his gang of reavers having taken ownership of the longhall of some captain or chieftain slain at Oldtown. Despite being young, the kid was no green boy - he had cut his teeth at the Shields and fought at the Arbor and Oldtown, and wore a score of scars on his arms and torso to prove it.
“Reader.”
The Ironborn was in his cups with some of those who’d backed his claim, captains who’d sailed under the banners of Drumm and Goodbrother during the attack on the shields.
“Why have you come?”
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Post by oznerol on Jul 4, 2020 7:38:27 GMT -5
"I'd rather see a tranquil end to all this mess, don't you agree?"
Said Reader, with a smile. He takes a seat and stretches his legs: he was more than fifty, his joints started to ache, specially since he spent most day on the open. He was acompanied by a score of retainers and kinsmen, including Harras Harlaw, because he didn't trust much the temper of his countrymen if things got heated.
"I know you have the ambition to become a king, but maybe you could settle for something else? What would satisfy you if you were to yield your claim?"
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Post by Gandalf on Jul 4, 2020 7:44:06 GMT -5
“I already yielded to Goodbrother, Reader. He promised me ships and men and a castle of mine own, as well as one of his daughters.”
Replied Half-Hoare, who was warlike and savage but certainly held more wits than one might expect. He was no Victarion Greyjoy.
“If the Greyjoy woman can give me more, I might turn to support her. But Goodbrother is a generous man. Might be that he’d reward you and her too if you submit to him.”
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