[b]Essos, The Road to Pentos - Ethanjory/Squrmy Collab[/b]

Born and raised in Dorne, Erryk Yronwood knew how to act in a desert. He knew that when the sun was at its highest during the day, it was unwise to travel - as horses and men alike would soon become exhausted - and he also knew that, at night, the temperature dropped to freezing levels, and the wind howled across the sand dunes: the Dornish Desert had killed many Northern men during their attempted conquests of the Southern Kingdom, but those that had been born in the harsh country knew how to survive in its climate. 

This knowledge, gleaned through a lifetime of trips to and from the desert, had served Erryk well: it had saved him from a horrible death, like a few members of the Golden Company had experienced when they fled across the Narrow Sea, and he and his Dornish companions had been able to teach the rest how to live in the desert before they, too, had perished. And so it was, as a result of his knowledge so deeply ingrained in his system it was near instinctual, that he found himself resting beneath the sparse shade given by a singular palm tree, his sandsteed just behind him - feeding from a makeshift bucket, full of dried oats. A horse was a man’s best friend, in the desert - they could mean the difference between life or death, out here, and it was important to look after them. 

The Dornishman’s head leant against the tree behind him, a small yawn leaving his lips as he peered out at the lonely road only a few metres away: his doulbe-curved bow in his lap, the man ready to use it should he have to. The road to Pentos was a dangerous one, and Erryk Yronwood had no intention of dying a nameless man at the hand of bandits. He was dressed in the light, leather armour with metal disks sewn into it, which was characteristic of his people: a flowing desert robe made from thick white cloth resting on top of the armour. It served to keep the metal disks sewn into his armour from getting too hot, as they would certainly have become had they been openly exposed to the bright sun.

His lazy blue gaze eventually moved from the road to the man who sat a few short steps away from him, the Bloodroyal eyeing Robb Reyne curiously. He trusted the man, and respected him: even if he [i]did[/i] hail from the Westerlands. He was a great swordsman, and Erryk was certain that he would need him before the Golden Company could call Pentos their own. “Beef?” He inquired, reaching into a satchel that hung from his belt - holding out a strip of dried, salted meat to the tall, broad man. 

Robb accepted Erryk’s offer of food as he took the strip of salted beef from his grasp. He ripped off a piece with his teeth and chewed voraciously before swallowing. It was hardly anyone’s idea of good food, especially considering that he had grown up as the son of the richest men in all of Westeros. Regardless of that, Robb had his fair share of poor meals during these thirteen years of exile, and there was no use in hoping that their meals would become any better. Once the Golden Company marched upon Pentos, rats and bowls of brown from Kings Landing would be all that they could possibly hope for.

Ser Robb was dressed plate and mail, both of which were rusted and well-worn, bearing no insignia of any kind. In the early days of the exile, he still work the fine armor embellished with a red lion that he received from his father in his youth. Full plate, as it happened, was well and good for a knight, but less so for a sellsword, and it wasn’t long before he sold off his prized armor and put on what he wore now. Though most of it was was hidden by the large, faded gray overcoat, that was starting to fray at the cuffs and bottom. He looked like a common hedge knight, which was perfect for the particular role that he would be playing in Pentos.

The sword that he wore at his belt was not the one he usually had. He left that sword back at the camp, it had a red lion’s head carved into the hilt, it he figured that it was best to leave behind anything that could potentially give away his identity. He honestly doubted that there would be any man in Pentos, but Robb had become a much more reserved and cautious man over these long years in Essos, he’d much rather not take the risk.

As for the man that he was making this grand journey with. . . well, he had no strong opinion of the Dornish, good or bad, but of the tales that had reached his ears regarding this one, only put him to ease. His skill with a bow would come in handy, and he was sure the Dornishman had many other hidden talents as well, otherwise Bittersteel wouldn’t have found it fit to have him accompany Robb to Pentos. If Bittersteel had the smallest reason to give this momentous task to this man, then Robb figured it was safe enough to trust him. Somewhat.

He picked up the sword in sheath that he had unfastened from his belt earlier and took a seat near his companion as he took a look up towards the sky. It was cloudless and unsettling blue. Despite the sky’s beauty, Robb wished for a few clouds, perhaps they could block out some of the sun’s unforgiving heat. With his hand, he blocked out the brightness of the sun, but he was still forced to squint a little. “It could serve us to come up with aliases before we reach Pentos”, Robb finally broke the silence, “foreigners tend to raise suspicion.”

That was true everywhere- Westeros and Essos. [i]If someone looks different from the rest, then they’re immediately distrusted,[/i] reflected Robb. But that was only natural. Men preferred to stick with those that they were familiar with, though it would be much less of an issue in a place like Pentos, with its extremely active port that was riddled with foreign traders and sailors. Even so, they would be noticed, especially if it was required of them to go outside the main port and slums.

“I could possibly be a sellsword knight looking for work, and you may be my squire, if that suits you. I’ll take the name of Robert, since it it close enough to my real name to avoid any mistake on your or my part, and different enough so that it doesn’t matter.” Robb paused for a second as he let that sink in. “If you have a better idea, then run it by me. The reason for being in Pentos does not need to be overly complicated.” He took another bite of his salted beef.

Erryk eyed the man eating his beef, nodding his head occasionally as the man spoke - blue gaze narrowing somewhat at the Reyne’s suggestion that he pose as a Knight, and Erryk as the man’s squire. His pride urged him to dismiss the idea immediately - but, Erryk decided, the idea did have some merit to it. Robb was a much greater swordsman than he, and he looked the part - he had plate and chainmail armour, and Erryk did not. It would be a good cover story, but one that would require the Yronwood to swallow his pride and submit to being beneath a Northerner. Even if it [i]was[/i] just a cover story - a fantasy, a means to an end, it was hard for Erryk to stomach it. 

He pulled a piece of beef out for himself, biting off a piece of the dried meat and chewing on it with the endurance of a man who had been living on field rations for years. Erryk was used to eating disgusting food, now - it had been a long time indeed since he had tasted the food he was served on a daily basis back home in Dorne. After a long moment of silence, chewing on his food and staring at the man who had decided to move closer to him, the Dornishman gave a nod. “It’s a good idea, certainly - and it’ll get us inside the walls, I’m sure. What about the other Sellsword Company? The Bright Banners, wasn’t it? Will we request to join their ranks?” The man perked an eyebrow, glancing over his shoulder at his horse - checking that the beast was still eating. His concern for the animal was evident: the stallion was the one thing he had left of his homeland, and he was determined to look after him well. 

Looking back to the Reyne, he waited for his response - brushing a golden curl out of his eyes, and back behind his ears. 

Robb nodded in simple agreement. “It will serve us to offer our skills to the Bright Banners. At least it will give us a legitimate reason to ask an audience with Ascario Cosca, whenever such an opportunity presents itself.” He finished off his beef before adding, “I’ve never seen a sellsword company that will turn away prospective recruits, no matter where they hail from. That much should prove to be easy, I hope.”

The biggest of their concerns was obviously enlisting the aid of the Bright Banners, and any other company currently present within Pentos. If they could only enlist the the Bright Banners, that was well and good. That would give them at least 2,000 good fighting men within the walls of the city, enough to perform sabotage as needed, and even ambush a few of the prominent magisters and take them prisoner. After all, they were the true power behind Pentos, though it may prove to be useful to take the Prince as hostage regardless. Any bargaining chip that they would gain had to be used, no matter how much it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Once the Golden Company surround the city, the chaos that it would bring would have to be used to their advantage so that they could create even more disorder. If they managed to prevent the Pentoshi from mounting a defense, then that would give them the ability to open the gates of Pentos. Once the Golden Company was in the walls, the city would be theirs. Getting the Bright Banners onto their side, Robb realized, was critical to their success.

Robb had never met the man named Cosca who commanded the Bright Banners. Whether he was fickle or not was uncertain, but Robb had a feeling that he would turn his cloak when offered enough gold. Sacking a city as wealthy and large as Pentos wasn’t something that did not make those involved rich. As long as you grabbed the wealth lying around before others did.
“We may have a need of your natural Dornish charisma when we finally have a chat with Cosca”, Robb mused, “a man like him will be turned by gold. Only problem is that all we have is promises and could bes.” Robb grimaced at that notion. “And I hope your aim is true”, Robb motioned to Erryk’s bow, “I do not doubt that you will have plenty of chances to practice your skills with a bow.” Moreover, he knew that he would have to kill many men once again, and the anticipation made his fingertips tingle. That was just the kind of man he was and always would be. A killer. But Robb was fine with that. After all, he was among the best at what he did.

Erryk grunted, nodding his head; tearing off another mouthful of the salted beef with his front teeth, with none of the airs and graces he would once have had at his father’s table in Castle Yronwood. “I’m sure that they’ll be happy to enlist us - especially if you mention your Squire’s skill with a bow,” He shrugged, running a hand through his curls with a sigh - looking up at the sun above them, which was gradually beginning to move towards the West. “A Hedgeknight and his squire from Westeros - I don’t have much of an accent anymore, so we’ll say we’re Deserters from the Riverlands, or something along those lines. Shouldn’t be a problem.” He paused, a grin spreading across his lips. “And I’ll have to make some time to explore the Pentoshi brothels - it could be a good way to bond with the Sellswords. Whether you admit it or not, all of us like a good fucking.” He shrugged, eyes twinkling with mirth as he swallowed what had remained of his beef, rising to his feet. 

“I’m sure that he’ll turn - I’ve heard from a few of the boys that he’s somewhat of a whimsical man. If we woo him with promises of grand castles and vast amounts of gold, I’m sure he’ll come over to our side - besides, from what I hear, the Magisters are stuck-up bastards: he probably dislikes them. Hopefully he does, at least - that way we might not have to do much persuasion at all: just provide him with the reassurance that he’ll be backed by our men when Bittersteel arrives with the rest of the Company.” A pause. “I could even try to use my [i]real[/i] Dornish charm on him,” He smirked, “You’d be surprised at the amount of important men who like to bite the pillow behind closed doors - our own so-called Blackfyre Heir amongst them, from what I’ve heard.”

Erryk laughed, obviously teasing the man - an eye kept upon him to see how he reacted to his joking, as his footsteps carried him towards his sandsteed. He ran his hand down the yellow-coloured stallion’s side, leaning forwards and resting his forehead against the animal’s neck - murmuring quietly in its ear. Once he was done, the horse whinnied - the Dornishman slapping its neck, and returning to his previous position: legs folded in the strange, Dornish fashion. “Aye,” He murmured, referring to the man’s previous statement. “I’ll riddle a few of their Magisters with arrows - and perhaps even the Bright Banner’s leadership, if the time comes. We can’t have loose ends, if this is more than just a sacking - and I get the feeling that it is. Bittersteel wants more than just gold to keep the Company together from this sacking.”

The Dornishman was cocky and arrogant, Robb admitted, though he didn’t dislike the man because of it. He had been just as arrogant before the rebellion, but, he supposed, all things have to change. And since those days, he sincerely hoped that he was wiser than he was then, it would prove to be certainly useful when faced with the many challenges that would appear in the coming months. Even so, of the man himself, Robb knew very little, other than the fact that he was the rightful heir to the Yronwood lands, much like how Robb was the rightful heir to Castamere. Unlike this Dornish counterpart, Robb had little interest in reclaiming his family lands. If reports were true, his younger brother, Rory, had taken to being a lord like a fish to water, and Robb was well aware that he would no doubt make for a poor ruler. He was always the most comfortable with steel in his hand, and that certainly hadn’t changed for the past thirteen years. Besides, he’d have to face his brother if he wanted those lands, and Robb was no kinslayer.

“Save those arrows for when they turn against us, Yronwood. I’d rather not be in the midst of negotiations and have Cosca take an arrow to the throat”, Robb joked, which was evident by a half-smile on his face. It had been such a long time since he last smiled, and that seemed odd to him when he had smiled so often when he was young. [i]I’ve changed much more than I realized,[/i] Robb thought to himself.

The rest of their journey to Pentos would prove to be uneventful, or so Robb hoped. He had no interest in engaging a motley band of highwaymen- there was no challenge in engaging men who barely knew have to fight. Besides, there would be definitely plenty of that after they were inside Pentos. For now, at least, it was probably wise to keep moving, they probably already lingered in this area long enough. 

For the time that they both had been travelling together, Robb had heard no complaints from the Dornishman, which was to be expected, considering that he had been in exile with the Golden Company for as long as Robb. Besides, it almost seemed that he was born to ride, considering the skill that he displayed in horsemanship and the love he had for his steed. Though many considered Robb to be an exceptional rider, it was clear that he paled in comparison to his companion. For that reason alone, perhaps they would arrive in Pentos even faster than expected.

He finally rose and strapped his sheathed sword to his belt. With a stretch that made his back crack, he finally said, “It’s time for us to move on. Once you’ve finished with your gourmet meal, of course.” He moved toward his courser, and though he owned a destrier, he had opted for a much less impressive horse, in an attempt to make his role as a poor hedge knight more believable.. The Gods knew that he already looked the part. Still, a poor man can kill as easily as someone who is rich, and he knew that he had many to kill.