BigPapaBelial — Roleplayer Guild

Cidran Harlaw

It’s fairly easy to get anywhere when you have control of the ocean. The Drowned God can reach up and guide your ship, take it to the place you want to go. But he can also stop you cold, and make it harder to get where you’d like. Cidran counted himself lucky. And that the Drowned God smiled up at him from the bottom of the black abyss of the sea today.

It had been a short time since Peytr Harlaw had returned from the waters. Having trailed Tyget’s fleet all the way down to that spur of land that house Banefort. The pair of Iron Fleet ships that Peytr had lead along with Captain Saltthroat had trailed and dogged the path of the Crakehall fleet for two days, before stopping, and heading back to the Iron Islands with all speed. As soon as he was, and had a day of rest in him. Cidran and Peytr had summoned the captains on the waters back to the islands. Their ships no longer needed to protect the island out on the water anyway. No they were needed for something else entirely.

As soon as his son was rested, Cidran sent out the word. By Raven and by ship. Sent far and wide across the islands, and a few left for the Greenlanders to find. The letter read as follows:

To the Lords of the Islands, all Ironborn men and women,

A joyous day has come indeed. Some of my own Ironborn and bred brothers and sisters will think I’m spouting blasphemy almost. But I think this time is joyous indeed! The Greyjoys are scattered, their scions thrown to the far edges of the kingdom. The Crakehall spawn have fled back to their safe green havens on the main land. Leaving the Iron Islands to the Ironmen. But it leaves Pyke untended. And the Seastone Chair without an ass to sit upon it.

There are some among you that would think that the great house of Harlaw has every right to sail to Pyke, and take the Seastone Chair. Being one of the stronger and richer houses in all the Islands. But no! We won’t do that. Not after the Crakehalls tried to give it to the great house of Harlaw before the Crakehalls tucked tail and ran from the islands like whipped curs! That’d be taking the gold price. And no Ironbron would ever take the Gold Price.

Not when you can take it by the Iron Price, or through agreement of a practice that hasn’t been used in a long long time indeed.
Years ago, when King Balon Greyjoy fell, an occasion came about that warranted a ritual of old. The likes of Theon Greyjoy called Reek for a time, and Asha Greyjoy, took part in the Kingsmoot. And as the Greyjoy family is scattered, perhaps it’s time for the Iron Islands to use this ancient tradition once again.

At this time House Harlaw of Harlaw Island puts out the call and the word. Begin to raid, begin to pillage. Reintroduce the world to the view of the sails of the Ironborn approaching the shores to burn and rape yet again. Gather your prizes and gifts Ironborn! For in two months time, do we meet at the accustomed place to see who would sit the Seastone Chair once more.

You Greenland Lordlings. If you read this. Tremble. And know this isn’t your fault. This is the fault of your Kinglet Tyget Fucking Crakehall. If you seek protection, do not stand in our way. If you need recompense, seek out the Kinglet Tyget. For it was his foolishness, attacking the Iron Islands like he did, that unleashed the fleets of the Iron Islands upon you.

But know, we take the Iron Price from you now. Don’t attempt to pay us off by leaving gifts on your shores. You’ll find them burned and trashed upon your door steps once we’re done. Stand before us, with sword, shield and axe in hand, then expect to know the bite of the blade yourself.

Cidran Harlaw, Lord of Harlaw Island and Ten Towers

With his son rested, Cidran called his own ship the Black Vision to be reprovisioned and repaired for a raid on the main land coast. With the Black Vision, an Iron Fleet ship, armed with Scorpion spear launchers and Spitfire bomb launchers. As well as three times the crew of a normal long ship. As well as another four longships. Numbering some one hundred and fifty souls. And quite a few of them being warrior women. Women of the Iron Islands who want to fight beside their menfolk. Cidran’s own wife Tillia stood beside him now in dressed in weathered fighting leathers, and fingering an axe at her waist. She had specifically said she’d be coming with the two men of her life. Her son and husband of course. She would not wait at home and knit while they sailed the waters and fought and shed blood in the name of the Iron Islands.

Before them, they could see the shore of the mainland. And on it, a small trading and fishing town. Cidran really could not care what this Reach land town is called. As far as he’s concerned the place is lightly defended, it has goods and it has things that they can raid and pillage. It’s name doesn’t matter. It’ll burn if they fight, and it will give the Ironborn a good start to their raids.

It was such a nice day in the dock and trading town North of Blackcrown. The seaside market had opened early, metal and jewel smiths with wares made from trading ships that had come around the southern coast from other towns and locations were hawking their delights. A clam and cockle girl roamed the dock, calling her wares. A few mixed patrols of Bulwer and Tyrell soldiers made their lazy way down the lanes. The town is thought to be safe, this far from the main lines of battle in the other parts of the kingdom. The soldiers unworried.

It's a small child who notices something out of the ordinary. He’s playing with a wooden ball, when he notices the big shark figure-headed ship heave into the port. Followed close by four smaller ships with other dreadful figureheads. A killer whale, a kraken, drowned man his eyes buldging, face painted blue and the last a hammer head shark. He giggles and points the ships out to his mother beside him. She looks up, and gawks. No Longship had been seen this far south in decades, maybe in a century.

She watches, as there’s the plain sound of a heavy rope being released, and a massive iron spear sails off the large ship, through the air, and crashes into a stone wall, almost utterly demolishing it. It’s quiet for a time, before a quick succession of twangs and whumps are heard from the big ship again, as another huge Scorpion is fired, and the Spitfires are fired as well. A long spear, with several torches attached sailing through the air and slamming down into the roof of a building, setting the insides ablaze. Men running, some coming out onto the streets with sword, dagger or axe. The soldiers running to the docks, confusion writ plain on their faces, who is attacking them? What in the devils is going on? They are witness to the four longboats beaching themselves at either end of the docks, one of them crashing up and shattering a wooden dock like so much kindling. Leaping off the front, a sight to behold. Harlaw men and women. Armed and armored. Swords, sabers, axes and shields. Moments later, like some great leviathan from the depths the huge shark figureheaded ship slid up to the docks. And Cidran in his chestplate, club in one hand and sword in the other is the first over the gunwale, falling 9 feet to the dock. His wife, son, and brother Maxos “Merling” Hawlaw with him soon after.

Cidran grins, watching the carnage and spotting the soldiers. As other Iron Islanders join him he points forward with his sword, “Take everything, gold, jewels, weapons, food, liquor and wines. Anyone who stands before you, lay them low. Kill no one who doesn’t take up arms.” He starts moving forward. The soldiers of the Mainland finally get their balls to work again and charge. Cidran’s eyes light up at the chance of a fight. His wife sides her axe off her belt, and his son draws his paired sabers off his hips. Cidran’s brother produces a heavy iron mace off his back. And before long the fight is joined. It’s a melee. But nothing like what the soldiers are used too. The leader of the soldiers had stepped forward to ask the Islanders to stand and put down their weapons. And prepare to be arrested. He never gets the word out. As Cidran lets out a growl and almost parts his jaw from his head with a vicious swing from his club. Dropping the wooden bit and two-handing his broadsword he steps forward engaging another foe. Maxos takes out a man with a single swing of his mace, caving in his chest. Peytr taking apart another pair of soldiers with deft smooth movements of his sabers. It’s Tillia that astonishes the first of the Mainland soldiers into running. As she runs forward with a ululating scream, hurling herself forward and bears the man down under her weight, hacking into him with an almost mad abandon.

Further down the dock, another group of Bulwer soldiers arriving to be instantly waylaid by another group of axe and saber wielding Iron Islanders. Nearby that fight, a quartet of Islander kicking in the door to a gemsmith, disappearing within. Moments later the gem smith, still holding the smoking hot iron poker he had tried to attack one of the men with comes sailing through his front window. The man who he tried to stick coming out holding his arm where he had taken a brush with the poker. He picks up the gem smith by the collar, dragging him over to the waters edge and plunging the man’s head into the water, roaring, “This is the only thing you should fear. Fire can be extinguished! Water is eternal!”

Cidran battered the shield of one of the mast standing soldiers aside, grabs the blade of his own sword and half-swords the man across the temple with the guard of the sword. Spilling him to the ground. Peytr finishing of his own final opponent by chopping off his sword hand. And Tillia pulling her axe out of the shoulder of the final soldier. Maxos chuckles and booms in a low voice, “I knew I’d get to cave someones head in if I came with you brother.” Cidran grins at his younger brother but taller brother, “I aim to please. Come! I want to see if this place has something I can wet me throat with, and then I know there is a jeweled sword or pendant somewhere in this town with my name on it. Come!” He marches forward, a small hoard of islanders following behind him and his family. There is a similar scene like this in other parts of the town. And Ironborn men and women sweep through the town, kicking in doors, grabbing up loot and goods, setting some building alight, chasing people who don’t attempt to fight out of the city. No woman is raped, taken like an animal though. On express orders. And no man is violated by the women of the Islands either. They come for prizes and pillage, and the chance again to wet Ironborn steel with Greenland blood.

On the edge of the city, one of the few surviving soldiers, just a handful left, looks to a young man from the village, handing him a message, as already the rookery has been burned the birds within set to the flame, or shot out of the air before they could take wing to far by Islander bows. The message says only that the Iron Islanders are in the town, flying the colors of House Harlaw. Atleast one hundred and fifty strong.

A scene similar as this happens all up and down the west coast of the mainland. As small fleets of Iron born ships, often with one or two Iron Ships with them attack along rivers, or up and down the coast. Almost all the houses of the Islands are shown to be raiding. Blacktyde burned a town in the North up a river. A daring Raid by House Stonehouse from Old Wyk and House Stonetree from Harlaw, attacked, gained entry too and raided the docks, banks, and storehouses of Seagard, it’s fleet of ships taken to task by twenty long boats, and three Iron Ships.

The biggest altercation being the simultaneous burning of ten coastal towns on the Westerland coast lead by ships flying the colors of Houses Harlaw from Harridan Hill, Grey Garden, Harlaw Hall, and Tower of Glimmering as well as Houses Kenning and Myre from Harlaw Island.

The message of the raids is clear. The Iron Islands have been roused. And woe to any that stand in their way now.

Tyler shoved the last bit of his burger into his mouth, chewing and swallowing it nearly whole. He coughed, and chased it down with a huge gulp of water from his canteen. he then got up, thumping his chest to clear it, "A few hours huh? Well I'll get those magazines finished up. Two each for the next operation. Everyone can give them a try. I don't want to be the only one blowing foot deep holes through solid cover." He headed back into the Gunshop, and pulled a few of the other smiths over to help him. Showing them how he was doing it. Wildcat rounds being rather easy to make, once you know how anyway.

That would keep him busy until such time as the briefing was called. And the order to get things ready to either go on standby or kit up and head out was given. 

As he worked he started to murmur to himself a story it sounded like, "So up north you know, way above 60 degrees. There's this college anthropologist going out into the North Lands, wanting to see if he can get any stories out of the old men and women. All those old trappers right? The guys and gals who still live off the land. Trap for a living, scoring pelts and meat. Anyway this college fellow gets a hold of a trapper named Bill. He's got a friend, called Ol' Huck who lives way up there. Out in a cabin he made all his own...." He keeps on yattering telling this story to anyone who would listen. Working on. Even after that joke story finished he had another one. As some of the other smiths laughed at the last one, Tyler is throwing himself into another one. It's part of his charm.

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