[b]Dyre Den Harbour, Crackclaw Point, Crownlands[/b]

Accompanied by three bodyguards and four servants, Lord Balfar Brune, his brother Ser Armon and his nephew Ser Oswald proceeded down the waterfront to the ship waiting to bring them to Gulltown. It was still early in the morning but already the waterfront was filled with dockworkers and merchants standing at every pier and warehouse. The harbour of Dyre Den extended for over a mile and was flanked on both sides by tall looming cliffs. Merchant ships brought wares predominantly from the North and King's Landing but many ships would also anchor overnight to seek shelter from rough waters or for the crew to enjoy the local ale and women.To the west lay the road to Maidenpool; to the east high on the cliffs stood the castle Dyre Den with its three crooked towers. 

The Houses of Crackclaw Point had always quarrelled over one thing or another and more often than not such disagreements ended in violence. However, for the last few years things had been remarkably quiet. Armed patrols still walked along the pastures in the country side and the quarries hidden in the forests but it has been a long time since the last skirmish. After the Blackfyre Rebellion, with many noble houses still recuperating from their losses, Lord Balfar brune took the opportunity to mend old grievances. Along with his allies by marriage the Pynes, Balfar bribed and intimidated the other Houses into a shaky peace. 

Arriving at the ship Balfar and Oswald dismounted and the servants started unloading the cart. Two coursers were brought on board and soon the servants followed carrying gifts, clothes and the armour and weapons of Ser Oswald. Ser Armon would not join on the trip however, choosing to oversee things in Dyre Den rather than deal with stuck up Andals.

“I doubt the little brat even knows who you are.” Ser Armon said as he watched a chest of silks being carried aboard.

“We’re not going for that stuck up Andal whelp” Balfar replied and gestured for Oswald to board the ship. “No one is.”

“You are out of place. You just refuse to see it. In Crackclaw Point we matter. Out there we are alone.”

“You only dream about gold, about your whores in Crackclaw Point, about the Dyre Den… I dream about the Crownlands, about King’s Landing.”

“You only dream of yourself!”

“Because no one else fucking does!” Balfar snapped and turned away. “Nothing is given to me. Everything I leave to my son is what I worked for, what I have bled for. Your son is a knight because of me.”

[i]And your son ran away.[/i] Armon almost said but thought better of it.

No more words were exchanged. Armon turned his horse and headed back to the castle. There was work to be done. Lord Balfar used money and political connections to create stability on the Point, or so he convinced himself. Ser Armon used soldiers and thugs to beat people back in line. Perhaps some lords were swayed by Brune gold and promises but if things turn sour, so Armon mused, he would have the support of knights and men-at-arms. While Balfar and Oswald would sail for Gulltown, Armon would pay a visit to a minor lord sworn to the Crabbs. Every man has his price Balfar would argue, but Armon saw that every man also had his limit. A limit to how many soldiers he was prepared to sacrifice… or how many fingers he was prepared to lose.