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Post by perry on Jun 17, 2020 9:24:36 GMT -5
“Well, you know how things are going right now, sending men to and fro every changing every few weeks or months, we came from the north.” He said. “Acting Lord Paramount Willas wanted to transfer us, where the danger was greatest.” He coughed. “If a letter never came from Highgarden it may be sabotage.”
The Ironborn grinned wickedly, as they spotted an entrance to the keep. Their low draft ships begin pulling forward toward their new found entrance. The Ironmen carefully jumping down as quietly as possible, they were far from the keep itself so perhaps less likely to be spotted, but still best to be wary of setting off any alarms. They would see how many could fit up this inlet.
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 17, 2020 9:57:33 GMT -5
“Wait there.”
Bellowed the garrison commander, who was a suspicious sort. He spoke amongst his fellows for a while, keeping the men below the castle waiting. Finally, he re-emerged.
“Keep your men encamped below the walls. We will send a raven to Highgarden to discover the truth of it.”
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Ten or so at a time could squeeze up the passageway. It led directly into the castle itself, likely into the outhouses by the look of the mud-coloured stream and the foul stench. It was dirty work, but it was a way into the castle that none would think to check.
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Post by perry on Jun 17, 2020 10:18:05 GMT -5
Up above the man nodded. “Fine then, but if Ironborn raiders come you best let us inside, we did not come here to die, Ser.” He said gruffly, at least a raven to Highgarden would take time. They begin setting up camp, their men remain armed and prepared, supposedly to deal with Ironborn that might come for men outside the stone walls. That night they intently watch the gates and the shoreline waiting on events to transpire.
Below the men wait for nightfall where they will be able to go unnoticed. Four groups slowly trudging through the sewage line, each group hiding in the shadows and mud as the rise up to this rather isolated portion of the keep. Forty Ironmen covered in water, mud, and shit, tough bastards, but the smell put even their sensibilities off. Their target was the gatehouse, and they had to hope to go unnoticed while the castle slept there was no way to get up enough men before sun up, or hide them. They split into two equal groups of twenty, each making an opposite trajectory toward their goal. The Ironborn are armed and ready to kill anyone that spots them, with arrows, axes, or swords. If one group is spotted and there is no way to silence the outcry, they will attempt to make enough of a distraction for the opposite group to finish the job.
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 18, 2020 10:05:57 GMT -5
The first party made it up the tunnels without incident, as did the second. Unfortunately for them, a patrolmen with a loose bladder wandered into them, or more accurately, their scent.
"Help! Ironborn!" He shouted, before being cut down. But the alarm was raised. There was fierce fighting, but the first twenty of the Ironborn were killed or forced back down the latrines.
"Block the chute." Ordered the commander. The Ironmen would have to find another way in.
Some suggested to open the gates to their fellow Reachmen camped outside the walls, but the commander grew suspicious. Another raven was dispatched to Highgarden and Oldtown, reporting an Ironborn attack on Blackcrown, with possible treachery in their own ranks.
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Post by perry on Jun 18, 2020 10:13:53 GMT -5
That night the knights once again approach the gates, as the alarms were raised. “What is this about Ironmen!” The knight asks. “My men have spotted some Ironmen moving south down the coast in their longships. Are you going to leave us out here to die!?” He shook his head. “We need to withdrawal to safer territory. We cannot risk days for a reply from Highgarden.”
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 18, 2020 10:20:41 GMT -5
"Open the gates." The commander bellowed, relenting after seeing the threat of Ironborn attack. For better or for worse, the Reachmen were let into the castle.
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Post by perry on Jun 18, 2020 10:50:13 GMT -5
The Reachmen and Ironmen made their way into the keep, those who had wet their appetite for blood and treasure in Bandallon. They numbered in the hundreds. As they perforated the keep in the dim torchlight the commander approached his counterpart in the keep. The new garrison waited with anticipation they knew what came next. “You have made the right choice, he suggests, before attempting to take the man by surprise drawing in for the attack. The others know to turn their weapons on the defenders and seize the keep, accepting any that surrender. In fact Euron said he preferred as little bloodshed as possible, though it seemed his secret hunt for keeps was at an end after Blackcrown. The plan was to force the surrender through numbers of arms.
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 19, 2020 10:26:14 GMT -5
The keep is captured, though at considerable cost. Fifty men were lost in taking the castle, though by the end of the day the banners of the victors hang from the walls.
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Post by perry on Jun 19, 2020 11:17:48 GMT -5
The men go about securing any of the Bulwer family and any treasure present in the keep. Before carting the items away. They leave behind a standard garrison of 200. The garrison will fly the Golden Kraken here. The prisoners and treasure are taken with the longships below, and they retreat back to the Arbor to enact the next part of the plan. Euron would not be pleased that their cover had likely been blown after only a few keeps, unless the Tyrells were fools.
Back on the Arbor Euron awaited word from his men. Holding court with the now Lord Browntooth, and the other newly raised lords of the Arbor. Euron’s son had been born, by the red headed maid, but there had been no reason to turn on the two.. not just yet. He gently sipped at his Shade of the Evening. His men were still drunk, it seemed to the King that they always were. There were mercenaries among their number too now, and a handful of Reachmen too. Both groups disgusted him as much as the Ironmen did, but the Crow’s Eye was all smiles for the time being. He would need to visit the dungeons shortly to see his brother, and the Blackbar prisoners from Bandallon.
Torwold was enjoying his new lordship, drinking his banners underneath the table. The Browntooth had been born from common seed and was as average as men came. He scratched at his lice ridden beard. He’d had new banners made up for Ryamsport, a rotten tooth like his own on black. Life in the Arbor was good, more so after they opened her up to trade with the East.. Ironmen did not sow they took what was theirs, but technically they still didn’t, the Arbormen did the sowing and the trading. As such the laws of the Old Ways remained unbroken, if only in technicality.
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 19, 2020 12:06:41 GMT -5
(I think the army of the Reach arrives in Blackcrown, now?)
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Post by perry on Jun 21, 2020 20:02:46 GMT -5
The Ironmen were getting antsy. Some had started raiding the largely defenseless southern coast that they had captured through intrigue. They were tired of these games, they had found both in the Arbor, but some were growing restless. Torwold stalked the halls, looking for his King Euron Crow's Eye. He found the man sitting in Lord Redwyne's chair, the thing was an unsightly greenlander's chair. Wood covered in precious metals and carved with imprints of grapes upon it. A few other men were milling about, being served wine and refrencments by the captured female residents of Bandallon and Blackcrown.
"Browntooth!" Euron screamed, a mix of frustration and elation in his voice. "Why are you pestering me, have the cellars run dry?"
"No." Torwold said plainly, scratching away at the lice in his beard. He hardly had the appearance of a warrior, let alone a lord. Still wearing the sun and salt stained leathers that he always wore. Only now he covered his hands in fine rings, and his neck in pearls and gems. "Some of the men do not wish to wait any longer, Euron."
"Wait we must." Euron replied, sinking deep into his stolen throne. The driftwood crown resting lopsided on his head. "The cowards hide from me, stuck in Oldtown. I suppose that shows how much they care for their vassals." He shrugged lazily, playing with a string of pearls between his fingers. "I am beginning to wonder if anything could get these Reachmen to defend themselves." He mused.
"Why not head for Lannisport, or Casterly Rock." Torwold suggested. "If the winds are with us we can be there within a fortnight. And the Lions are spread far too thin."
Euron's smiling eye darkened as he shifted in his seat. "In time.. but until Oldtown is taken we are not in a position to leave." He replied plainly. "We can't have the enemy take back all that we won." And I need the secrets the Hightower holds, he thought, though he kept his true reasoning to himself.
"Leave it be, Browntooth." The Red Oarsmen chided, the man had dressed himself up like some southern lordling, even without the title. But, even in silks and cotton, the red headed bastard was as Ironborn as they came. "We don't want to sail elsewhere just yet. Get fucked up the ass by these southern bastards." He slapped the ass of one of the passing Bulwer girls, the women scoffed indigently, but the red head answered her with a horrible laugh.
Browntooth's face twisted into a grimace. "Do you have a plan at least, your grace?"
"I have many plans, dear Browntooth.." He smiled wickedly, with blue lips. "Trust me, we will not be here much longer." He dropped the pearls from his hands onto the floor. "This murmurs farce will be over soon enough." With that the eldest living son of Quellon Greyjoy rose to his feet. "Things are just coming together."
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Post by perry on Jun 22, 2020 16:03:40 GMT -5
The Ironmen rolled their ships steadily along the land, log after log. The smallest ones were hoisted up at the sides and carried. The sun was still hot this far south, and the men were sweating this far from the ocean, most had never been beyond the sea's cooling winds in their entire lives. "Come on boys, we got a lot of land to cover before sundown." Lord Torwold boomed, he was hot and sticky, his salt stained leathers clung to his skin like a prison. "Come on men, just like that." Torwold had wanted action, but this wasn't exactly what the man had in mind. The days were long and hard, the nights too, but they had to get to the Honeywine. The sight of the river after the long march was a welcome relief. Some of the Ironmen leapt into the water to cool themselves, as they slid their ships into the might river. The water fit the shallow hulls of their longships like a custom made glove, Torwold wonder how long it had been since Ironmen had sailed the Honeywine. "Alright men, get the boats out on the water, you can take turns resting when its done. We still got work left to do here." The Lord of the Arbor smiled beneath his lice ridden beard, this plan was madness, but their King had a habit off pulling off mad things. The man had called the Drown God himself down on the Redwynes after all.
Further to the south.
Euron sat aboard his vessel, the Silence, his shallow draft cutting through the waves like butter. He stood proudly upon the blood red deck. He watched the sea in silence for many hours, feeling the sun and salt lick at his skin. Behind him came hundreds of ships, and thousands of men and hundreds if not thousands of prisoners. The bulk of his force, and perhaps to an onlooker the entirety of it. His mute mongrels ran about the deck, attempting to catch the fierce winds. He turned leaving the sun's light, for the safety of his quarters.
The King of Salt and Rock had many baubles strewn about the room haphazardly, in the corner sat the three warlocks, huddled together like beaten dogs. "Friends." He said coyly, pouring himself a cup of his shade of the evening. "Why so frightened, aren't you happy I'm back?" The warlocks sat in silence, their only response to push further back up against the wall. "I'm your king, no?" He questioned, voice soft and low, as he took a sip. "Aren't you happy to see me!" His voice cracked up in volume, nearly out of nowhere. The mutilated warlocks nodded fervently, throwing themselves on the floor, fearful of the madman. "See, that wasn't so hard, no?" He said, his smile returning to his face effortlessly. "This better work, you know.. this better work." They did not reply, one mumbled incoherently under his breath. Euron rolled his summer eye in disgust, moving to his bed and removing his eyepatch. "I need to have a discussing with my would be salt wife." The word rose up in his throat, a jape perhaps, or something else. He paused, the broken creatures still cowering on the floor. "You heard me, go." He said, gently gesturing them forward with a flick of his hand. The broken wizards rose and quickly made for the door. "If this doesn't work I'll feed one of you to the other two." He called out after them, as the wrinkled creatures passed out the door.
The Red Oarsmen sat in his ship, along the railing of the Red Bastard, he wore no shoes, and reached his toes out to touch the waves that crested high along the vessel. "We almost there boys!" He called out to the crew, busy guiding the sails. "Aye captain, we can see Blackcrown on the horizon." The Red Oarsmen nodded. "Good I cant wait to unload this useless baggage." He replied, jumping back onto the deck of his ship. The timbers of the deck were hot beneath his bare feet, heated by the powerful southern sun that hung above the Whispering Sound. His eyes turned toward a group of prisoners, women and children mostly, one women was with child. "You her that friends, your trip is almost over." He said merrily, though the prisoners pulled back, chains rattling. The Red Oarsmen laughed. "I'd be frightened too, if I were among ya, poor sods." His eyes turned back toward his men, some of whom were eying the female prisoners, after their attention was drawn there by their captain. "Back to work, there will be time to use those pinpricks you call cocks once we get where we're going."
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Post by perry on Jun 22, 2020 18:26:51 GMT -5
Euron could see Oldtown in the distance, the Hightower sitting directly ahead at the far end of the Whispering Sound would be difficult to miss. He brought with him hundreds of ships, Longships and Galleys of Ironborn make, but also the portion of the Redwyne fleet that he'd stolen near on a year ago. A prisoner was strapped to the bow of every ship: cut, bleeding, and close to drowning the the salty swells that the ships cut through. Some wre preists, other nobility, some were children and some women heavy with child. Their screams were like honey to Euron's ears, some prayed to the Seven, to the Red God, to the god of tits and wines, but to Euron he could hear nothing, nothing but his own name upon their lips. The idea of it brought a smile to his own lips.
Upon the bow of the Silence was the red haired woman that Euron had been bedding, much like Flowers, the girl had thought she would be Euron's wife and that they would be happy.But, the Crow's Eye had other plans, he did not feel such things as other men did. Euron stood upon the blood red deck of the Silence as they drew ever closer, his baby boy, dark of hair with bright blue eyes rested in his arms. Beside the would-be salt wife was the Bulwer girl, the lord's daughter or some such. His brother Aeron was dropped at his feet with a thud. The priests wrists and ankles gripped in chains. "Tell me brother." He mused openly, as the mongrels went back to their work about the ships. "If I threw you overboard with those chains.. would the Drowned God save you?" He did not look at his brother, merely cradled the child, almost gently.
"What are you doing with that child?" Aeron questioned, his sunburns had healed in time, though some of the scraps and cuts had grown noxious. Euron did not reply. "Euron.. brother, kinslaying is a crime above all others.." Euron cut his little brother off. "Answer the question!" He screamed, the baby began to wail. "Now look what you've done." He chided. "Its last moments were to be pleasant.. but you couldn't have that." Aeron shook his head solemnly. "The Drowned God saved me before.." He stated, humbly. "If it were His will He would do so again." Euron laughed, and a chill ran down Aeron's spin. As he laughed Euron rocked the baby back and forth, its cries fading. "Yes, yes. Who could forget how faithless Aeron found.. god." His words were dripping with irony. "Have you ever stopped and thought.. maybe, just maybe, you simply knew how to swim." He laughed wickedly at his own joke. "I suppose such a thought never crossed your mind.. you were always the second dimmest of us all." He sighed."I'm going to miss this, when its all over Aeron." Aeron did not reply, uttering a wordless prayer to the Drowned God. If his time had come, it had come, anything would be preferable to being Euron's plaything.
Euron raised a hand, and one of the mutes stabbed a prisoner on board in the stomach. The prisoner already had his tongue removed, and could do little more than grunt as the mongrel threw him overboard into the choppy water. Soon new sporadic screams rose up from the fleet as hundreds of prisoners from raids, the capture keeps, and from seized merchant vessels were thrown overboard. A trail of bodies followed as they made their way the final short distance to Oldtown.
As the bodies began to drop Red Oarsmen lit up with joy. "Alright men, now's the fun part!" He cried. "Send em to the Drowned God with bloody bellies and slit throats!" He laughed heartily as his longship sped forward. His Ironmen gleefully followed their captain's decree, blood seeping into the timbers of the deck. Soon blood began to stain the foam upon the Whispering Sound, as dozens of corpses were tossed into the sea from hundreds of vessels, like blood stained rag dolls. "Take heart!" He screamed, between the splashing of corpses entering the sea. "You're gonna be the first Ironmen to fuck Oldtown in generations!"
Forces:
King Euron Greyjoy
Red Oarsmen
14,000 Men
263 Longships
62 War Galleys
On the Honeywine
Down the Honeywine came Lord Torwold and his forces, they had taken down the sails, and relied solely on oar power and the current to push them forward now. They came with little fanfare, unlike Euron and his fleet creeping down the river in their shallow draft vessels. Behind them came a small entourage of fishing vessels, packed with wool, loss twigs, timber, and simple cloth vestments, all gleaming slightly upon close inspection. His men were silent as the grave, for now. Discovery wouldn’t be a problem, but keeping an element of surprise for as long as possible would serve them well.
Lord Torwold Browntooth
4,188 Men
90 Longships
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 24, 2020 10:36:53 GMT -5
Word is brought to the Lord of Oldtown and Ser Garlan of the Ironborn in the harbour. The City Watch had assembled at the docks, and the forces garrisoned within the city awaited further instructions from their lords as to how to proceed. Some ships still lay in the harbour, eighty or so ships that could be sent out of the harbour to engage with the Ironborn fleet.
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Post by Gandalf on Jun 25, 2020 15:59:44 GMT -5
As the Ironborn ships approach the mouth of the Honeywine, they find half the remaining fleet of the Reachlords tied together, blocking their passage down the river. The rest of the ships lay behind them, waiting for the Ironborn attempt to break through the blockade. The defences are ready, the bristling spears of the City Watch visible even from the sea. Oldtown was well defended, and the Ironborn would have a fight on their hands trying to break through the lines. However, Garlan can only watch from the harbour as an Iroborn fleet approaches from the north-west, a host of sleek longships flying the banner of the Browntooth and the Kraken coming towards the mouth of the Honeywine where the city sat. A bunch of fishing vessels and merchant crafts lead the charge, making straight for the harbour; the Reachmen were caught between two fleets.
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