[center][h2]Torwynd Crowsbane | King of of the Stoneborn[/h2][/center]

The Bay of Seals was no great distance from the North’s mainland and yet the waters surrounding the isle were rough and treacherous. This held particularly true in autumn, and no sane man - Skagosi or otherwise - would dare to even think of the journey come winter. As it was, Torwynd had marshalled the Skagosi as summer waned and turned to autumn, the cold winds would not have overtaken the bay yet. At least on the way there. Torwynd had made no contingencies for returning to Skagos. 

He stood at the hull, an eye on his rowing men. Two thousand men, nearly fifty longships. His Skagosi captains had insisted on bringing their mounts. No matter that the unicorns - suited for the rocky outcrops on their isle - would be of little use on the mainland or against any cavalry. The creatures bleated and called to each other, the noise punctuating the mens’ grunts and huffs as they rowed. It had taken Torwynd over two decades to accomplish this. It was an achievement but a meaningless one if the weapon he had honed missed its mark. Though striking during autumn was a strategic decision, the North could field enough men to crush them without ever having to touch their full strength. At least, that would be the case in open warfare which the Crowsbane had no intention of offering. 

Yrsa joined him silently. She painted her face and body in the way of the Skagosi warriors but she fit no exact position within their society. She had been a killer from before she was born, her twin brother dead in the womb, she had the soul of both. She trained and fought but was not recognized as a warrior. She studied beneath the shamans but could never claim that title. She was all things and none. She seemed to understand it, though it still left Torwynd puzzled as to how their society actually worked. It was no matter, he did not need to understand it, only use it. 

“This final push will bring us to shore within the day.” He spoke, and received only a nod in answer. Yrsa would not disembark with her father. Where the Skagosi had taught her as one of their own, her father had taught her of Westeros proper. He had taught her what he knew of the houses and rulers. Word traveled slowly, but occasionally the wildings would even have news to pass on. And so it was not the raiding or pillaging that his daughter would undertake, but one of diplomacy. Their men would never be enough to do more than leave a cut too easily healed. No, Torwynd knew that he would need the North to be unbalanced. The best option, unless much had changed since he was exiled, was House Bolton. Yrsa would travel on with three ships and a small contingent of men to The Dreadfort. 

[hr]

They had come on land, some weeks back, at a small fishing village. The inhabitants had called it Eyron’s Pier. Small-folk and their imaginative names to seek favor with the ruling men who would just as soon crush them beneath their boots. His men were now scattered along the coast, raiding, pillaging and burning the small settlements and farms they came across. Fields were being harvested and preparations made to dry, store, and preserve the fruits of the summer past. The Skagosi had not seen such bounty and Torwynd had to stop them from burning everything - to last the winter, they would need the stores just as much. 

Further inland, no more than three days’ march from Karhold proper, he was certain, Torwynd was encamped with the bulk of his forces. They were one thousand strong, with ten of his mounted captains. Runners kept news going between their smaller camps and further north where a small force kept guard on their vessels. The men had waited long enough and could be denied no longer. Their king gave the signal and preparations were made. 

The small outcrop of buildings was known as Wylla’s Eye. The women and men rounded up had been quick to caution that they were under protection of the Karstarks. They called the men wildings, though the Skagosi looked nothing like the free people of beyond-the-wall. They looked nothing like the tall man still dressed in black leathers and furs as if his watch continued yet. Farmers by and large, the warriors had set their fields aflame to draw them out. It was a simple thing to round them up into the hastily made wooden pens that now circled round a roaring bonfire. The air was heavy with smoke and heat. The orange-red glow illuminated and obscured the night sky. 

Torwynd Crowsbane, King of Skagos, stood in front of the fire. “Men, the last First Men, you stand upon the lands of your forebears. You stand upon the land taken from your ancestors. The time has come to take it back. Nourish yourselves with the flesh of your enemies, the true fight begins soon enough.” His voice echoed just moments before the assembled men's raucous shouts drowned him out. Screams then filled the air, guttural and visceral as the Skagosi warriors pulled the men out of the pens to be butchered in front of the women and children.

Some pieces of flesh were tossed to the flames to be charred but left raw, organ meat never touched the flame lest the fire burn away its essence.  The men passed around skeins of fermented doe milk to wash down the ritual feast. Torwynd stalked the edge of the camp to watch his men partake. He would not deny them their rites - he would never have united them had he tried - but neither did it feed his proclivities. Captain Uthor melted out of the darkness, a short man but broad and heavy, the Skagosi were unexpectedly stealthy. “The women you marked have been pulled out and are ready for you, Crowsbane.” Torwynd grunted, the men respected his rule, but honorifics were not natural to them. 

No, he would let the men finish their feast, and partake in his own ritual in solitude as he preferred. A cruel smile, cold and hungry, passed over his face. He licked his lips expectantly. “Good. I’ll not keep them waiting.” 

[hider=TL;DR]
Some time prior to the start of the tourney, the Stoneborn host arrives on the mainland. They burn and pillage their way south and inland towards Karhold. 

The majority of the host remains with Torwynd where they set upon a small farming village and slaughter the men in a cannibalistic ritual. Torwynd has other plans with the women captured. 

Yrsa has continued on with a much smaller contingent (~100), sailing to The Dreadfort.
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