[hr][hr][h2][center][color=00a99d]Lysono Saan - The Stepstones[/color][/center][/h2]
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The striped hull of the galleas Sharako's Revenge glided around the headland and into the narrow rocky bay of the Triarchy stronghold just as the Sea Snake docked below. Upon its prow, stood its captain - Lysono Saan, Lord of Wreckstone. He cut a striking figure, purple satin finery under a coat of scales, silver hair unbound down his back. His left leg was raised up upon the ship's rail and to his eye was pressed a Myrish spyglass. Through its cunning lenses he watched as Daemon's men poured forth from the decks of the Sea Snake and onto the islet. 

[b][color=00a99d]"It appears we are right on time."[/color][/b] He spoke in Low Valyrian, and to no one in particular it seemed, his men all being busy stowing the sails or arming themselves. His voice was soft with the flowing and musical tones of the tongue of Lys. A knowing smile played across his lips as he folded the spyglass and thrust it into a pocket. So far everything was going according to plan. 

Behind him, another striped galleas swung into the bay, the Orphan, followed by a sailing cog and finally a galley. A small detachment of the Wreckstone fleet arrived without prior warning in the closing stages of the battle, just in time to take a share of its plunder. Like vultures circling a dying man. News of Corlys' renewed campaign had come to Lysono as they had rounded Estermont a few days before. He had been planning to return straight to Wreckstone after his errand in the north, but the opportunity to seek plunder for crew and steal some glory from the Sea Snake was too much to pass.

They had not hurried themselves in coming to this desolate isle. Their oars did not pull at full speed nor were their sails full rigged. They had advanced at a leisurely pace, letting the Sea Snake fight its way into warren of islets and sandbanks before following sedately in its wake. Garin had wanted blood as always, but Lysono was more than content to let Corlys exhaust his own men first. Besides should the old man take an arrow in the fray... who would that leave at Daemon's right hand?

[color=00a99d][b]"All hands to the deck! Prepare for landing!"[/b][/color] Men swarmed up onto the decks from below, an assorted motley of every colour and creed, heavily if diversely armed. Essosi wielding rapier blades and stiletto daggers, Westerosi in metal plate, Dornish spears, Summer Islanders with their great bows, hairy Ibbenese holding axes, and standing a head above all of them, a muscled Brindled Man with a sword like a meat cleaver clenched in his barbaric fist. His crew.

[color=00a99d][b]"You should all know the score by now! Any plunder belongs to the ship and will be split amongst the crew! Any man found hiding his share will be punished! Kill all who resist, those who surrender we take for ransom, or for slaves!"[/b][/color] 

The empty berth alongside the Sea Snake was only a few hundred feet away now. Lysono raised his silver gilt helm onto his head, it was decorated with scenes that would make a whore blush and crested with peacock feathers. He looked across the Orphan that was pulling alongside them. Garin, in his gleaming bronze armour, was giving the same speech no doubt as was Lem beyond him and Torreo beyond him again. It was the code of the fleet. His father's code originally. The quayside drew level with the ship. Lysono lowered his visor.

[color=00a99d][b]"Valar Morghulis! Now let's get out there and make ourselves rich!"[/b][/color]

The gangplank fell, and they rushed in for the slaughter.