(121-12-08) Shipwrecked!
Shipwrecked!
Summary: A ship limps into Crescent Beach - luckily, there are some rescuers.
Date: 08/12/2014
Related: None
Players:
Hawke..Killian..Delwyn..Leandro..Peri..Edwyn..Elyas..

It's evening, and dark enough outside where it's hard to see very far out into the water. It's a secluded area of the beach, far enough back from Oldtown that the watchtowers don't quite reach out this far. There's something unnatural in the way the waves are pushing and pulling - it's not the natural tide, and it's pushing the waves up on the beach.

And, distantly - a half-mile off, maybe - a mast of a ship breaks the skyline. There's something very, very wrong, though, as the ship's hull is too deep in the water and the mast is at an odd angle. The ship's sails are full, but the winds are dead, no oars are working, and it's at the mercy of the tide.

Dark or not, a tall scarred man is naked on the beach. He is crouched on the rocky spur near the beach where the seals like to sleep. Just now he is peering at the wave pattern in consternation. On seeing the mast on the horizen, he stands and squints towards the ship, then jogs out to the end of the spit.

Delwyn has cast off his finery for something far more simple. He could be smallfolk for anyone would know, in simple woolen hose and a linen shirt. A keen eye might notice his clothing is in impeccable shape, and the fabric is sturdy and fine. He wears only a dagger at his belt and a coinpurse tucked in his cod for safekeeping. He spies Killian first, and he makes his way over. "Good evening. It's good to see you again. Alive and everything."

Maester Leandro is certainly not, generally, one for evening rides along the coast, but he's allowed time to slip away from him, which is what leads him to be riding back towards the city, on a horse laden down with odds and ends. He has, as always, forsaken his maesters robes in exchange for something more comfortable, if not more fancy today, since it rarely serves to look rich when you're out riding alone. It's the naked man that catches his eye first, then the second better dressed one… a strange sight if ever there was one, and then he sees that ship. Clearly a conspiracy is afoot. Since curiosity killed both the cat and the maester he remains.

Killian takes a moment to figure out who is hailing him in the dark, "Delwyn, My Little Merrow!" he clasps his shoulder in greeting, "I happened to ride out on a hunting trip hours before the gates closed, and my men happened to be away on a deep sea fishing trip when the fevers hit, so my household survived without even a sniffle. Ye look in good health yerself. I've a worry about yon ship. She seems to have a belly full of water and no proper hand guiding her." he winces as the ship hits the sandbar. he says with a quiet urgency, "have ye rope? I'd best go in to check for survivors, but it's dangerous work best done with a rope and men to hold the other end."

The big black side of the ship goes broadside to the shore, and for a critical moment it looks like it might be slowing or turning - though then it lists heavily in the water, the groaning creak audible even from the shoreline. The tide catches it, pulling it further until it hits the first sandbar, where it hangs for a moment before there's a terrible groaning crack and it lurches forward, leaning so far sideways that it might just tip over completely.

Delwyn says, "I was myself abroad." He grimaces at the sight of the ship, and he claps Killian on the arm as he says, "I've no rope, but go quickly! I'll go find some." He sets out to run, but then he sees the man with the horse. He approaches him quickly, with hands held before him to show he's got no weapons in them. "We need rope," he says. "Please. Your horse looks fast, and we've no time to waste."

"Hail!" Leandro calls out from horseback. "Today's your lucky day, or unlucky one gathering from the way that ship's headed. There were rumours of two ghost ships filled with nothing but plague victims when I left. If that's a third it may be kinder just leaving them." That said, he remains and when Delwyn approaches he says. "I can do one better, two in fact." There's all sorts of odds and ends on this poor horse. He unhooks the coil of rope and offers it over.

Killian starts wading towards the ship, calling, "Hail those aboard! Are any alive!"

From the ship, a bird takes flight, shrieking in the tell-tale manner of a hawk. A keen eye may spot that it is trailing a cord from a leg. It spirals and wings toward the shore, cutting a line toward the nearest trees. It flies like it's exhausted, dragging low to the water before picking itself up. The ship, however, finally gives up in its valiant effort to stay upright, showing the barnacle-covered belly with the darker-stained waterline as it keels, the prow cracking as the side hits the water. It must have hit sand, as it lingers there for the moment, perhaps a hundred yards from shore. The sails pool in the water, and the whole thing groans and creaks like something alive.

There is, in response to Killian's word, a wordless shout, followed by another. That's all, though.

"The gods bless and keep you, good Maester," Delwyn says. He calls out to Killian, "There's rope!" He has no answer to the notion of leaving the men to die except for an unconscious shake of his head. He takes the rope, and he says again, "The gods bless you." He runs toward Killian, then. The sand slows him, but he surges on, holding the rope out to Killian. "Tell me what to do. I'm not a seaman."

Calls, "Try to get above decks if ye can! We're coming!" He calls to Delwyn, "Bring it here! You men hold one end, and I'll tie it round me. Two to brace is better than one. Ye're my safety, Lad. Tides are strange around a sinking ship, and a man can get trapped or swept away. I'll go in and pull out who I can find. Let's just hope no wreckers, come." He starts to tie a rope end round his waist. "Don't tie the rope around ye. If I go down, better one die than two." He heads toward the sinking end, it being easier to scale there.

Leandro's an awful maester, a terrible one in fact and if he thought there was the slightest chance he could ride off… "damn you." He mutters. "Damn you, damn you, damn you and damn your fucking gods too." He steers the horse down to join them on the sand. "You know, if there's plague on that ship it would be highly irresponsible to let it back into the city." He takes the rope, regardless. "You're going to get yourself killed."

The tide provides significant resistance, pulling and sucking at Killian as the sinking ship stirs the waters. From the masts, a solid black flag, barred with a red stripe, hangs limply from a single tie, the upper one undone from the force of the ship falling over.

Delwyn glances back at Leandro as he takes the rope as well, and he grins, fleetingly, but with some serious dimple action. "We're not going to get killed," he says. "They wouldn't live long with the plague on a drifting ship, would they?" He seems to have only understood half of what Killian told him, but 'hold the rope' he can get. A glance toward the naked man, and he says, "Should we enlist him?"

"Are you trying to cast some sunshine on my predictions of doom and gloom?" Leandro asks, chuckling. "It could be any number of other things. Stand here, hold the rope, look pretty. Could be any other number of reasons, like a drunk captain, or an entire cargo of that silk that caused everyone to think it'd be a great idea to go for a dip. Who knows."

Killian ignores the warnings. he knows damned well how dangerous it is, "If ye know an easy to loose sailor's not, ye might hit the rope to the horse. If there's plague aboard we'll camp on the beach. No need to endanger a whole city. Best they crashed here, I think. The Drowned God's eye is on us, I think." Killian is a farwynd of the lonely light and no stranger to tides or sinking ships. He swims like a seal, as if born to it, as if he knew the tides around a wreck like he knows his own skin. Soon he's ip over the side and looking for survivors.

"I am," Delwyn says with another one of those dimpled grins. "Perhaps you need a little sunshine." He digs in his heels and holds the rope steady. Toward the naked man, he calls, "Hail! Are you well? Can you hold a rope?" He blinks as Killian bloops into the water and swims so smoothly in the shifting tides. "Goodness, better him than me."

"I am," Delwyn says with another one of those dimpled grins. "Perhaps you need a little sunshine." He digs in his heels and holds the rope steady. He blinks as Killian bloops into the water and swims so smoothly in the shifting tides. "Goodness, better him than me." He wraps the rope once around his arm to steady it further, and he says, "I'm Del, by the way."

The closer one gets to the ship, the more one has to deal with the flotsam and jetsam of the wreck. The eddies from the sinking ship pull at Killian, causing foam to broil up around the Farwynd. There's one body aboard - slumped against the rail and recently dead, bleeding out onto the waterlogged deck from a shaft of broken-off mast-wood sticking through his chest.

There's one that's managed to make it on deck, holding up another who probably won't make it - the man looks weak and already half-dead, and had taken a grevious wound to the side. The alive one, though, somehow uninjured aside from superficial cuts and a blood-smeared face, is hanging onto the mast and cursing the mostly-dead one. "Get your goddamned feet under you, y'—" And, lo, there's a naked man, and he looks to his rescuer; the blood of the Iron Islands is clear as day to one of similar blood. "Think the ship's lost," he grits, sarcasm somehow lost as the ship heaves underfoot.

"So what's a nice guy like you doing on a beach like this?" Leandro asks Delwyn, trying to make smalltalk, making the question as cheesy as he can. He braces himself and the rope at the same time, feet sinking into the sand. "Leandro. Yeah, better him than me too. That's brave, and dangerous. Heroes." He mutters the last.

Killian's accent is the most extreme form of what they speak on the Far Isles where the Andals barely touched. He takes in the dead and alive with a no nonsense look. "I'm a healer. I'll look at him if we can get him ashore. Are there any more down below?" He comes to take the injured man's other side and help them to the edge.

"Attending a possibly plague-ridden shipwreck, apparently," Del replies. "You seemed to be doing something sensible. Going to Oldtown?" He grins crookedly as Leandro mutters about heroes. "I only meant he's the superior swimmer," he says. "Not much for heroics, then?"

"Goodness no," Leandro says of heroics. "I tremble at the thought of them. Best to leave the heroics to those with a death-wish. I was collecting coastal plants for my book. Drawing them in their natural environment so that the useful ones might be easier to find." He squints, looking out to sea. "Looks like some are alive."

"No," the more alive of the two grunts, and then the ship groans and creaks and the mast makes a noise that sounds similar to a birthing whale: it's that awful. The dying man makes a blubbery noise, and he's more dead weight than actually hanging on to Killian; Hawke grabs ahold of the railing and grits his teeth, seeming conflicted for the all of three seconds before the ship creaks again and water boils over the deck, and he promptly decides this is a place he doesn't want to be, pushing off the railing and all but dragging the dying along. He doesn't look like he's exactly in the best shape himself, but. Priorities. "C'mon, mate, time to get off this fuckin' mess."

The hawk that had abandoned the ship earlier is panting in a tree, and it shrieks noisily at Delwyn and Leandro. It's a wonder the thing hasn't flown off completely.

Killian is about to offer the more lively one his rope, but the other man shoves off, so he dives in. "I'll take him; you're half spent and I'm fresh!" He floats on his back so he can use his chest to keep the injured man's head above water, keeping his grip across his chest and swimming one handed. He's a strong man and and a brilliant swimmer but it's hard going through flotsam and tides. He calls, "Haul us in, Little Merrow!"

"I have no idea what a merrow is," Del confides to Leandro. He hauls, though. He's a strapping lad, so he's good for that, at least. "A scholar," he grunts as he heave-hos. "That's rather nice, I think. I'm taking a liking to books." He glances toward the hawk. "If you'd like to help," he calls to it, though without rancor. "You should write this down," he tells Leandro. "It's at least as interesting as a plant."

It's only then that Leandro ties the rope to his horse's tack, and starts letting the creature do a lot of the work in pulling the rope. He's not a man for heroics or hard labour. "Like a mermaid, more teeth probably." He guesses. "No. I don't do fiction, unless it sells well. I suppose if it was a naked woman we were rescuing and accompanied by illustrations then it would. More sex, less death."

Hawke hits the water hard, and though he's a strong enough swimmer, he's also not exactly in the best shape. He isn't shy about lunging for the rope, though, taking hold of it as he coughs and sputters saltwater. Pulling in the three is no easy task, especially as the eddies caused by the floundering ship try to suck them under, but the horse's aid does wonders - soon enough they're stumbling ashore, and really Hawke makes it as far as wet sand before collapsing into a heap onto his back, cursing like a sailor and limbs refusing to really cooperate. The ship is bleeding wood into the water, masts snapping as the ship lolls fully onto the side. That's going to be a mess to clean up.

Killian kicks strongly with his legs to help the haulers as much as he can, and tries to steer a bit with the arm he has free to swim with. He knows full well the ship could take them under if they are still in the water when she goes. Once he has his legs under him, He lifts the dying man in his arms and carries him up the beach. he booms out in his captain's bellow, "Make light, one of you, and the other help that man above the tide line. Water's uncertain 'round a wreck!"

"You," Leandro's loud. "Are you injured? Can you stand?" He has the worst bedside - or is that beachside - manner. He calls out to Killian. "Just the two?" Then to Delwyn. "Need to get off the beach if we're healing them. This fucking sand's going to get into everything. It's bad enough in my boots. We're going to need a fire, and some fresh water." He rolls his eyes at Killian. "Yeah, yeah, already on it, was just waiting for you to get here. Put them both on the horse."

"I'm all for more sex and less death," Delwyn says. Then the men are pulled ashore, and when Killian calls for a fire, he says, "I'm on it." Healing? Best left to men who know what they're doing. Fire? Fire he can do. He starts gathering up dry driftwood and stacking it around handfuls of dried weeds and sticks for kindling. He's got flint with him, because one never knows when one might need to set something on fire. Within moments, there is a crackling fire, and Delwyn waves them over, as if they're not going to be able to find him by the blaze.

Hawke makes a limp sort've gesture with an arm. He'll be alright, really. In a year or three. He does, however, drag himself to his feet, trips, catches himself, and stumbles into more dry sand, the sand clinging to his sopping, torn clothes, and he finally chances a look back toward the sinking ship and grimaces, curses again, and then eyes the three. "Stroke o' luck you three was there, eh," he grumbles, half a thanks; the man Killian's dragging has gone unconscious.

The hawk, wary of the fire, takes flight and circles, landing again on the closest bit of outcropping it can without being in arm's reach.

Killian eyes the horse warily, "Maybe it's best I carry him. He's not going to be sitting by himself and the less we shift him the better. The other man looks more fit for such." He starts walking up towards Delwyn and the fire, carrying the man as steady as he can in his arms like a bride. He's shaking a little from the adrenalin and still trailing rope. "That's all that made it. The Drowned God has the rest. If he can find my clothes and pack I've water and a few things for emergencies. What I need first is light though." He sets the man down gently and starts cutting clothes away to check the wounds, I knife being faster than fumbling with soaked ties. Absentmindedly, "I don't like being away from the surf song if I can help it. The City has a stink to it, but the air's clear out here."

"Psst, better not let them hear you say that or else they'll think that's the only two things on offer," Leandro comments. "No sex, or death for you." That's said to Hawke and the other man. "You hear that, you're going to live, like a Maester, if you can call that living." He nods to Killian. "Well, if you can carry him. W're not all built like packhorses." He offers Hawke an arm to help steady him.

Delwyn laughs quietly, despite the situation, and he shakes his head. "I would be a terrible Maester." He sweeps away some of the left over bits of wood to make room for the stranger and the near-corpse. The hawk gets eyed. "Yes, yes, and we'll take that into consideration," he tells the creature. He then peers, pursing his lips, as he searches the beach for Killian's departed pants. And the rest of his stuff.

The man, once Killian has taken his clothes off, has a nice gash in the side, but the worst of it is a caved in ribcage. His entire torso is going black with the internal bleeding, and the bones around there are nauseatingly soft.

Hawke, though, clutches at the Maester's arm, spitting saltwater off to the side as he limps heavily with him. "Death I'm tryin' to avoid. The sex, though, I make no promises." That's gritted out through a grin that's as forced as it is cocky, and he grimaces and chances a look over toward the dying man, and huffs out a short breath through his teeth. "Damn it."

The hawk stares at Delwyn. It's an open, fearless stare, and faintly judgmental, if birds could judge.

Killian flashes Leandro and Delwyn a wicked smile, "I'll take the sex, myself, given a choice." Killian had no pants, but he did have a tunic, boots and weapons. The are not far from the jetty where Delwyn spotted him, the firelight helpfully making the pack cast a long shadow. Killian himself is only wearing the thigh sheath from which the knife came.

Leandro just takes one look at the other man that's been rescued, tries to make eye contact with Killian and shake his head, slightly. And all of this means he's moved to block Hawke's view as he settles the man near the fire. He chuckles at Hawke. "Well, unless you like seals, which I hear some sailors do, your options are pretty limited right now. Once you get into the city though, the whole world's your oyster, or snail as you see fit. Now, are you injured?"

Delwyn eyes the hawk. Oh, raptors can judge. So judgy. "Nice birdie," he says. Then he jogs down to the jetty to gather up Killian's clothing. There's a resigned sort of patience about him. There was a shipwreck, a man is dying (but being helped), a rescued stranger, a hawk is judging him, and every time he sees Killian, one of them is naked. This his life now. As he walks back toward the fire, he searches through Killian's gear for the water. "How is he?"

The ship continues creaking and groaning. By high tide, the ship will likely have been pushed up to the beach, but for now it has mostly settled. Bits and pieces of wood and flotsam are nudging at the beach now. Oh, looters will have a time.

Hawke snorts at Leandro, though. "Then get me into th'city, mate. If aught'll cure these wounds, it'll be that." The words are coarse, though, dry, dark. "See t'him first, I'm well enough." Liar. He's likely got a broken rib of two by the way he's moving. And, to Delwyn, "Don't touch 'em, he'll take a bloody finger. Th'bird, not th'man."

Killian is actually good at this. He purses his lips and shakes his head 'no' at Leandro and sets to work on the dying man anyway. He compresses the worst wound and when Delwyn comes back starts giving directions for what he needs from the pack. He has an air of command that belies his dreamy vagueness the day Delwyn met him. Right now he is all healer and ship's captain, giving orders he expects to be obeyed as he works to save the man's life, not particularly caring which of them hands him things and puts fingers or hands as directed as long as someone is doing it. As it turns out he has clean bandages, certain prepared concoctions in pots and needles and thread in his pack along with a water skin, a mean skin, jerky, hooks, and a variety of other supplies one might need for battlefield medicine. He cleans the wound with mead, then uses a foul smelling paste, before setting about sewing the man back together. "If he wakes, best he be held still…."

"Well, you're free to walk to the city if you so choose," Leandro says. "And likely, once there, they'll call upon one of the few maesters who isn't still recovering from the plague. Oh, that would be me. But please, enjoy the walk. Or sit down, and let this man," he offers a nod in Killian's way, "do his work." As Killian starts trying to save the dying man, Leandro, despite his misgivings will play nurse. He does actually have a leather bag, filled with a whole bunch of maesterly supplies and equipment, if any are so needed, but he'll take from Killian's supplies as directed. He even manages to keep his mouth shut.

Delwyn is just (sort of) a weaver, but that means he studied under someone and he's good at taking direction. He stands by faithfully to give Killian what he asks for, no questions. He eyes the bird, then looks at Hawke and says, "I'll take that to heart, as I rather need my fingers. I use them every day." He glances to Leandro as he hands something off to Killian, and he says, "Aren't you glad you stopped?"

"Hmm, what would I rather be doing, freezing my ass off on a beach with three…" Leandro glances at the not quite dying man, "four men of dubious character. Or back home, in bed with a good book and a better glass of wine? Hmmm let me think on that?" As Killian starts trying to thread the needle he mutters. "You, wash your hands, heat them up by the fire, your fingers must be numb by now." He looks to Delwyn. "Your fingers working? You any good at sewing? And have you ever sewed up a man before?"

Killian tries threading the needle, but his hands are still shaking from adrenalin and the icy water. He says some very foul and unlikely things about the needle's ancestry. "Rinse your hands in the mead, and heat the needle over the fire." he moves his back closer to the fire, but insists on holding things closed and directing the sewing. From his directions, he has done this sort of surgery before.

There's a horrific crack from the ship and it groans like a dying man, and Hawke looks out to the sea with a grimace like that sound is a crack from his own bones, and he wearily eyes Leandro. "I'll get to walkin' here once I start feelin' my feet again," he grumbles, stubborn, but makes no move to get up; the glances he steals toward the man that Killian is working to save are difficult to read, but they look cloudy.

"My character has rarely been dubious," Delwyn says. When asked if he can sew, he says, "Maybe a little. Stitched up a man?" He squints as he thinks. "A few times. They didn't have many healers where I'm from." By his accent, one might guess the Riverlands. He goes to the fire and takes the mead to pour over his hands. "Do you want me to give it a try?" he asks Killian, the Pantsless Healer.

Killian nods to Delwyn, "I'll show ye what to stick and in what order. It's delicate work and my hands can't do it. If we can patch him together, he's a good chance… What happened yer ship, Stranger? Looks like ye've had rough sailing. I hight Killian Farwynd. I'm Captain of the Seal Prince out of the Lonely Light.""

Leandro sets a canteen of water boiling on the fire… well really he should have done that earlier. "You got a name?" he asks Hawke. "I'm Maester Leandro, only the second…" he glances at at Delwyn, "nay third best healer on this here beach. Your gods must have been smiling upon you after all since someone here can work miracles. You want a blanket or anything?" That goes for Killian too it would seem.

Delwyn nods to Killian and says, "Of course. Lead the way." Leandro's words get a snort from him, and he says, "I'm no healer. I just know how to work a needle and thread." He does, too. Once Killian shows him where to make the stitches, he does them nice and neat, with a precise and steady hand. "Just as well you're asleep, dear fellow," he murmurs to the mostly-dead man. Without looking up from his work, he says, "Delwyn of Tarth."

"Crew fell sick a fortnight ago," the pirate says, neglecting to mention exactly how this came about. "Lost more'n'more until was just me'n four others. Ran up a reef, took too much water, lost one of th'crew overboard. Just us three couldn't bring 'er up." He spits off to the side again, pink-tinged. "Fire's dryin' me up nice." Killian's name gets a glance over, the Greyjoy's eyes holding some hint of a reaction to the name, but the flickering firelight masks many subtleties in his expression. He doesn't offer up a name immediately, but when he does he just says, "Hawke. Captain of a pile'o'fuckin' firewood." And, he juts his chin toward the man. "How's he?" He doesn't sound particularly hopeful.

Killian flashes Leandro a bright smile, "I'd love one just now, but can't spare the hands for dressing. Thank ye." He looks at Delwyn with real respect, "Ye'd make a fine chirgeon, Delwyn of Tarth. If you ever want learning of the rest of the art, let me know." His gaze is clear and friendly enough as he looks at 'Hawke,' his honest face not showing any sign of suspicion, "Ye've the sound of the Islands about ye…. how many days since the last of your sick was lost?"

Leandro does have a blanket in amongst his stuff. It admittedly smells of horse, but he unpacks the saddles so he can get at it and then shucks it over Killian's shoulders.

Delwyn smiles without looking up from his work. "You speak too well of me, Killian Farwynd. I merely did a fair bit of tailoring in another life. Perhaps I'll find the time to learn more. In case I run into many perforated men." He listens, then. Iron Islanders. No friends to the Riverlands. Hmm.

It's evening and there's been a ruckus on the beach that's no doubt reached Oldtown proper by now: a ship limped into the harbor with a gut full of water and promptly smashed itself on the beach, and now about a hundred yards out from the beach a large older ship lays on its side, the prow bent and broken and the masts snapped, the sails pooled in the water. Flotsam is pushing up onto the beach, foam bubbling around the loose wood.

There's a fire built on the beach, and a rather waterlogged and sandy man is sitting by the fire while Killian, Delwyn, and Leandro work on an unconscious man on the beach.

Hawke eyes Killian for a moment, studying him, and shrugs a shoulder. "I been there one or twice," he says, in the manner of 'understatement', but doesn't elaborate. "Week, maybe ten days. When it hit, it came 'n went fast."

Peri is walking, in an improperly tied gown, long wet curls cascading down her shoulders. She has a knife sticking out of her basket and has quite clearly been swimming somewhere nearby. The fire does draw her curiousity, causing the tall tawny woman to wander towards it, bruised knuckles a bit sea crusted.

Killian grins at Leandro, "Thank 'e. That is better." They have made a fire up on the road. Killian is naked except for a horse blanket, a rope round his middle, and a thigh sheath, currently empty. His hair dripping wet still from the rescue. He is shaking from adrenalin and sea water, though starting to warm up. He hands are bloody and holding bits of a half dead sailor closed and directing Delwyn where to sew. There's an open backpack with medical supplies nearby. He nods acknowledgement at Hawke's answer. his accet is all rolling r's and archaic vowels, "What do ye think, Maester? I was in the woods when the sick took the town. Ought we all camp here or is it safe to take them back?"

Edwyn has escaped the care of his healers. After taking a beating in the tourney melee the young Lannister was determined to be up and about as soon as he regained conciousness. He is riding along the beach on his golden charger trotting along rather slowly looking relieved to be out in the air but slightly pained as well. He wears a loose ivory silk shirt and golden brown breaches of leather with matching boots. He looks like something out of a storybook and he rides up to the gathering eyeing the ship and blinking in surprise as he pulls his horse to a stop near the group.

Delwyn makes neat stitches, slow and patient. After he finishes the last one, he says, "There we are. I think that should hold." He snips the thread, and he offers the needle back to Killian. "I'm going to wash my hands, I think." He's dressed in simple hose and a linen shirt, plain as any smallfolk. He rises to his feet and moves around to the fire where there is water to wash with. Edywn and Peri get a glance, and he smiles as he says, "Evening." Like camping on the beach with a half-dead sailor while pieces of a wrecked ship wash ashore is a perfectly unremarkable way to spend the night.

Peri shifts a bit, taking out a skin to tap Killian's shoulder with. "Dump this on the wounds." she directs, softly, observing the men "Do you need assistance?" she asks, hands together, "Use the alcohol to clean your hands, perhaps?" she asks, curiously to Delwyn, observing Edwyn and giving a small wave.

"Hmm, looks like here's your knight on a shining charger to rescue you," Leandro comments idly as he returns with some more fresh-water to boil on the fire. He's doing it mostly for something to do, makework, since Killian has everything in charge healing wise. "And, someone finally brought sexy to this beach party, so deaths' no longer the only course on offer." He raises a hand to greet Peri, but does nothing to approach. "Hmm, I'd think it's safe," he says to Killian. "We can get them quarantined at the citadel though, only likely they'll want to keep you there too least you come down with symptoms so you may want to make yourself scarce if you've not previously been exposed. If it's plague and not food poisoning though I'd think it'd have alrady burned through these two if it could so likely they're immune.."

There's a hawk perched on a rock outcropping, and it stares at the newcomers, just as judgey as when it was staring at Delwyn.

Hawke looks up as more approach, and blows out a hefty exhale. "Welcome to th'party, mates," he drawls, some pain running in a tense undercurrent in his voice. Adrenaline has done its due, and now ow. "We aren't sick," he grunts, and then eyes the man lying on the ground. "'less you count him."

Killian rinses his hands and the needle with meade again, "Ye've a steady hand and steadier nerve, Delwyn of Tarth. Stitching up a man's harder than a tunic. Ye did well." He starts spreading more of the nasty smelling poultice on the wounds with surprisingly gentle fingers. "Best to be getting out of those wet clothes, Hawke, so we might get a look at any injuries and so ye might warm faster." It is at this point he notices the others. He hasn't a hint of embarrassment about being in the all together, "Good, a second horse. That'll help to take these wounded to town." He shakes his head at Peri, "I've rinsed all well with mead and this poultice'll keep out the fester. He'll live if he's enough blood still inside to keep him breathing. I'll keep to myself here on the beach, if that's all right, Maester. I'd rather be close to the water and I'll watch myself for signs."

Delwyn takes the alcohol and washes his hands with it. "Thank you," he says to Peri. He seems like he's in good spirits, all things considered. At least until another set of horse hooves clipclop up the road. The man saddled on the beast wears the blue and pink livery of House Tarth. Delwyn grimaces, and he quickly sets the alcohol aside. "I've got to go, I'm afraid. Captain, always good to see you again. Captain," this one to Hawke, and he nods. "Maester, Peri, person-I-don't-know…"

"Lord Tarth," the horseman calls over. Delwyn grimaces. "All right, all right."

"Up to you," Leandro says to Killian. He looks to Delwyn, then to Killian. "Perhaps you could return with the injured man? Unless our healer thinks it would be ill to move him so soon?" He looks to Killian. "Or get someone sent from the citadel with the proper gear for moving him. Fare the well anyway."

Edwyn slides down off the horse eyeing the group. Leandro's words have him blushing a bit as he steps forward offering Peri a little return wave. He looks to Leandro and tilts his head. "Not that I'm not flattered but why does everyone think I'm a knight? Do I look that knightly?" He glances himself over and smiles wryly. "Nope I'm just a squire..currently knightless too." He offers a polite dip of his head. "Lord Edwyn Lannister, heir to Lannisport, now that introductions are out of the way….is there anything I can do to help?" He is pointedly not looking at Killian. Everytime he so much as glances in that direction his cheeks grow a bit darker.

"You could get naked and give this man your dry clothes?" Leandro suggests to Edwyn, completely straight faced. "We're unfortunately suffering from a fabric shortage, too many injured, not enough clothes, and we don't want this fine man to catch his death after he just escaped the shipwreck due to his wet under wares?"

Hawke eyes the bandaged man with a critical eye, and then eyes Killian a bit more. "Hawke," he draws toward Edwyn, "Cap'n of that wreck." And oh, the sigh in those words. "Pardon, m'lady," he asides toward Peri with a tight grin and a wink before stripping off his shirt at Killian's request, revealing a good few tattoos of sea origin, some rougher than others. He's got a nasty bruising on his side, and all manner of cuts and scrapes, but he's a lot less damaged than the mostly dead one.

Killian nods his goodbye to Delwyn, "I'm at Beakhead house if ye be wanting lessons." As the horse comes closer he squints at the rider, "Is that Lord edwyn? what did ye do to yerself, Lad?" He winds on the bandages, "Take him gently, lest he tear the stitches and don't let the Maesters touch the bandages. They'll likely wash him again and lose the virtue of the medicines. Warmth and a proper bed might be worth tthe rish. he'll need heat after all that." He snorks at Lord Edwyn's comment, "Ye look knightly enough I guess, but I'm no expert." He moves around the fire to get a better look at the other Captain.

Peri eyes Killian "Hello." She watches Killian "Bad water tonight. All kinds of wrong currents." she offers, absently "I got caught in a tide and pulled quite a ways out of the way." she smiles to Dewyn "Good night, my lord." she touches Killian's shoulder "I can teach you to stitch flesh, I find it easier than a tunic personally." proooobably because she doesn't want to sew, at all, ever. She touches a few tatoos of Killian's with a look between a studious and flirtatious one. She eyes Killian for a moment "Can you help me just a touch? I'll give you some of the oysters I gathered." she gestures at her gown "I need to adjust it around, in my hurry to get away from a rather angry sea snapper I put my gown on a bit backwards. Hello Lord Edwyn." She watches Leandro "Actually, do one of you have a knife?" she asks, grinning lopsidedly "I am not a lady, only a pretty woman who owns a bath, come in for a free spa treatment - massage, hot rocks, and a good soak in clean water with soap and oils." she offers with flirty wink. Her dress is soon enough up, the tatoo work on her feet and henna on her calves and lower thighs showing in the process. She undoes the drapes of the silk gown without any fussing, plucking bits of string to free it. Cut it here, and here. The dress is at least four times longer than the large woman is tall. Although she's very naked and very unbothered by it.

"Tell them Maester Leandro put on the poultices and they're to leave them be," Leandro says. He glances at Killian. "You're right, if they think you did it they'll just go and redo everything needlessly. I couldn't have saved him, I'm not sure many maesters that are left could. You worked miracles there to even give him a chance." He'll offer over his own knife to whomever wants it. "And now this is a story I could write and sell. Plenty of nudity, risk of life and limb, no death though. A few illustrations, or mostly illustrations and everybody will want it." With all the work done he goes to pick up his paper and some charcoal, in order to start with the ideas.

You've a lordly way about you," Delwyn tells Edwyn. He says it with a straight face. A sincere face, even. The guardsman rides to a halt beside Delwyn and gazes down at him, tight-lipped. Delwyn glances around slowly, like the guard might be annoyed at someone else. Someone who isn't him. Yes? No. "We could bring him back," he offers. That's right, guard. Glower at him, sacrifice your horse to the half-dead man. That's how that works.

Edwyn does look at Killian as the man speaks to him. He blushes heavily. "I'm fine." He lies rather terriblly. "Okay…I got beat up pretty bad by Ser Malcolm and a Princess in the melee but I'm okay..I just couldn't stay abed any longer. I'm not dying so why do I need to be in bed?" He sulks a bit and then sighs looking to Leandro. "If you need clothes you can have my shirt…but I'm keeping the pants. I'm not riding back naked." He pulls off the white silk and offers it up in a rather gentlemanly fashion.

That grin that Hawke offers over toward Peri would probably have more life in it if he hadn't just been dragged from a shipwreck, and even so he's not shy about letting his eyes linger. "I could get to likin' this town," he drawls, and then sheds his shirt and grimaces, muttering a handful of sailor-curses in the mix. Ribs are pain.

Leandro seems almost surprised that the remove your clothes line actually worked. It's a good thing Leandro doesn't have any real authority or else he'd undoubtedly use it for evil, or yet more sexy beach times. Who knows. He's drawing now though, charcoal working quickly as he tries to capture the scene, with just the firelight to help illuminate things. "I'm starting to feel over-dressed." However he doesn't rectify things.

Peri grins a bit "Can you perhaps leave out my stretchmarks then, friendly Maester?" she asks, pausing "And make my ass a hair smaller?" she jokes, warmly. "I look damn fine for having a babe two months ago, I tell you." she jokes, with great cheer. She eyes Ed, pausing "Oh dear, I've embarassed a lord. Don't worry a younger woman won't have so many battle scars from pregnancy1" she teases with a grin, slicing her own gown into thirds, and handing the silk to whoever looked like they might need them, redraping the silk to form a short gown, exposing her thighs "Because when you are healing you need to rest. She shifts towards Hawke, rubbing her hands together before offering to touch the ribs - to ease the discomfort and nothing more with the warmth of her hands.

Killian nods to Peri, "It's a rough night for swimming. Normally, I sew well enough, but it was a rough swim with a half dead man on my chest and his fingers were nimbler tonight." He hands over the knife he used to cut the wounded sailor's clothes off, "We'd best be checking Captain Hawke here over. He had a rough time of it too." His voice softens and he says, "Mistress Peri, ye know I'm well taken. Indeed, I might send My Blaithe to ye that ye might give her an idea what she's in for out on the Rocks when Winter comes. It may be yon Lannister be a better man for the adjusting of a woman's dress." He crouches to start gently prodding Hawke's ribs for damage. "Thank ye, Maester Leandro. We've much studied the tending of wounds and the means to keep off fester and fever. I'm not the man ye want for an ague, but for a man drowned or cut, better me than them at the citadel, no offense." He laughs, "I don't think I'm the stuff of stories, but do as ye will." He eyes Edwyn, "Ye got beaten by a Princess? What melee? Speaking of interesting tales." He says to Delwyn, "He'll need a man to ride behind him to keep him ahorse and hold him stable."

"Your ass is lovely as it is," Leandro says. "Some people prefer plump peaches to hard pears. Being a Maester, I wouldn't know about any of that though. So far they've denied my requests for financial assistance in writing any books on such matters. They seem to be of the opinion that people will use books of naked models for less savoury purposes than just intellectual interest. Can you believe that, as if simple biological illustrations could be perverted in such a way." He keeps on sketching away. He chuckles at Killian. "None taken. Better yout han I."

Hawke sends a glance toward Delwyn, the the Iron Islander's features are considering, drawn tight, but then he sends the Tarth an upnod, even though he eyes the guard with some suspicion. "Thanks. For-" He jerks his head toward the stitched-up mostly dead man by the fire. And then, he sends a smile toward Peri, strained though it is, at her hands on him. "Y'do a mortally wounded man well, m'dear, I- fuck," he grunts, indelicately, as Killian starts prodding at him. "I think I like her hands better." The hawk on the rock is rumpled down, and it looks wet and unhappy.

On the fringes of the beach a man emerges from the shadows to see what's going on. He hovers uncertainly for a bit, more so when he recognizes Leandro among those on the beach, but then he takes a deep breath and approaches the Maester. "What happened?", Elyas asks him, eyeing the people lying about, "Shipwrecked?"

"And that is why we've no female maesters," Leandro comments. "People might enjoy the healing a bit too much." It's said under his breath, and to a certain degree of amusement. He's not at all serious. He looks over at Elyas. "Looks like it. You're a bit late though, unless you're here to salvage and then you're just on time. Things should be washing up soon enough and if you get your crew down here you'll get first dibs on whatever plague-ridden cargo they were carrying. Assuming the sea hasn't destroyed it." He looks to Hawke. "Speaking of which, what were you carrying?"

Delwyn tells Killian, "Lovely, my guard can do that." The guard said, "The horse is for you, my lord." Delwyn corrects without missing a beat, "I can do that." The guard clear his throat and says, "Is that a good idea, my lord?" Delwyn's smile doesn't dim. "It's a brilliant idea. Help me move him." The guard dismounts, and he eyes the lot of them like each and every one (especially the hawk) are to blame for his young lord going astray. As he and Delwyn manage the moving of the injured man, the latter tells Hawke, "He'll be in good hands. None shall bring him to harm under my roof." Delwyn mounts the horse, and he helps the guard get the injured man situated in front of him. "Like bringing home a drunk from the tavern," he says. Behold his lordly splendor. "Good evening, then."

Peri considers "I fared better than Ser Brynden Hightower…" she muses to Killian "I could perhaps buy you the paper Maester." she jokes, rubbing slowly and gently. "Well, Maesters do not shuck clams. Which is why they do not have any lovely pearls." she grins at Killian "It isn't so bad, its just taking time to get back to normal, I'm lucky I'm a robust woman." she moves Killian's hand "Gentle, like you are smoothing a skin from a hunt." she reminds, with a roughness to her voice. "Your wife will be quite fine, most of the pregnancy was very calm, I was quite upset when my feet vanished from me and I had to have a girl put my shoes on me." she's observing the injuries, accessing the captain curiously. "You really should have the salt rinsed from your flesh as soon as possible." she muses, in thought. "My arse is larger than a whale!" she quips

Elyas grins at Leandro and turns his head back to where he came from. Indeed, the other Dornishmen are coming out of the woodwork, still lingering while they wait to see what their leader will report back. "Excellent.", he says without a trace of guilt or bad conscience. He looks towards Hawke with a frown. "They Iron Islanders?" And oh yes, do tell what they were carrying. Elyas is most interested in finding out.

The hawk just stares at Delwyn, radiating disapproval. Then again, it pretty much radiates disapproval at life at the moment, and it flaps its wings and gapes its beak at Elyas as he nears. Big, dangerous bird. Fear the bird.

Hawke asides to Elyas, "He'll take your bloody fingers if you touch 'em," in as casual a manner as inviting someone for a drink, and declines commentary on the Iron Islanders question. He does, however, snort at Peri. "Don't do yourself a disservice, I've been on a ship with this lot. A pretty face is a sight for sore eyes." To the question of what he was carrying, he just vaguely says, "This 'n that. Bits and—" He winces again at whatever Killian's doing, voice catching, and grits his teeth, "Nothin' o' particular value."

"If you're shucking clams looking for pearls you'll be at it an awfully long time," Leandro says. "Unless the clams here are different." To Hawke he then asks. "Is there anything of sentimental value, on the ship, that you'd appreciate having returned? If so I'm sure this dear man here, Ser Elyas, would be more than willing to find and retrieve it for you." He chuckles at Peri. "It's not the cost of the paper itself, but that of paying the models for their time. Of course I imagine you've already got a lot of women of various body types working at your baths have you who might not be opposed to earning a little extra money? Although perhaps a serie sof paintings would be better than any book."

Killian starts picking at the salt water logged knots of the rescue rope, letting Peri take over the prodding, at Hawke's request, "I'm sorry about your Lady going down. I know I'd be heart broke if my own Seal Prince went so. She was my Grandfather's ship afore me. He doesn't look at the hawk directly, "All I have's dried meat. Think your bird might like one of Mistress Peri's oysters? Killian is wearing nothing but a horse blanket, a necklace, a thigh sheath, and the rope around his waist. He's a big jagged scar across his ribs and several less impressive ones, and a well done tattoo. he nods to the stranger, "These were all that survived. They had the sick. I wave my crews right of salvage to thee, Dornishman. I'll not have them taking the fever." He gives the departing Delwyn a friendly wink and a wave. To Peri he says, "I'm glad ye weathered it fine. Ye look none the worse for it."

Elyas eyes the bird a little curiously. "We shoot beasts like you down by the dozen in Dorne for a nice barbecue.", he informs the hawk just as casually as Hawke warned him of the bird. That'll scare him! Then he glares at Leandro when he drops the moniker 'Ser' and snorts. "We'll see what the cargo brings huh? Not going to risk sickness for a bunch of ragged furs from the Iron Islands." He lingers a bit linger in case more information is forthcoming but he seems ready to join his friends again to start searching for goodies.

Delwyn bears the hawk's disdain with as much dignity as he can summon while trying to keep an unconscious man on his horse while his guard looks long-suffering. Killian gets the full brunt of a broad, dimpled grin, and then he sets off back toward town.

Peri eyes Elyas "Killing an man's hawk is a very fantastically quick way to meet your god of choice, love." she smiles "If he'll take it, by all means give him some of the oysters." she rubs her head a bit "Killian, is it true they pearl dive off your lonely little island? Deep under the kelp ribbons?" she asks, curiously. She eyes the wreck " If there are any good furs I might be partial to buy them." she offers to the Dornish man with a wink. "My babe's crib needs a soft lining that will keep him warm." she pauses "Captain, I do think you'll survive comfortably."

Elyas eyes Peri approvingly for a longer moment… until she mentions a baby. "Will see, what I can do, Ma'am.", he grunts, then he's gone again, a shape in the darkness, watching out for what the sea will bring.

The hawk just stares at Elyas, now, little bird-eyes judgmental, and Hawke tsks. "Don't go shootin' my bird, I'm fond of 'em. And if ye'd be so kind, Killian, I'm sure he'd appreciate it, he's had a long few days." To the apology regarding the ship, the outcast Greyjoy grunts, looks dark, and says very little. "Aye, I think I'll live. These ribs may creak a bit yet."

"I'm going to head back to the citadel," Leandro says. "You want a ride?" he asks Hawke. "Or woudl you rather brave it out here with the much better view?" His gaze flicks to Peri for a moment making his intentions clear. Either way he starts packiing up his horse to return.

Killian snorts at Elyas, dismissing him and his ignorance in one disdainful sound. He starts coiling up the rope, Which he offers back to the Maester, before putting things back in his pack left over from the emergency surgery. He says with a quiet menace, to Elyas, "He lost his ship. Have some respect." He shucks an oyster and sets it far enough from the bird so as not to risk his fingers. he moves with a slowness designed not to startle, "I've no bird myself, but I've a friend who does…. It was good meeting you Measter. Thank you for you help."

Peri smiles "If you wish to walk back, I'll let you stay in my bath house - although its still a bit damp in the corners." she offers, plainly "But any attempts to drown me will be met with my fists, I warn." she offers plainly "My little one needs his mama and I did not escape less lovely conditions to die like a rat." she admits, rubbing her side "Tell your wife the worst pain of motherhood is after the child is born and she has to return to her daily schedule of work, Killian. I can tell you the first couple days I cried and wanted to go home most of the day." she offers with an honest smile.

The hawk makes the oyster disappear down his birdy gullet post haste. The bird clearly has absolutely no fear of people, but it stays just out of arm's reach at all times. He does, however, give a flash of a grin toward Killian, the expression soured just faintly by the situation; many of those are a wee bit forced just now. "As much as I'd love th'view," he says, "I'm lovin' the thought of food and a drink or ten even more." He levers himself to his feet after snagging his shirt, wobbly despite best efforts, and staggers over toward Leandro's horse. "But I may take your offer to visit your bathhouse, m'dear. Can't be any more damp in the corners than my ship." He pulls a sour face at that, but seems angled to take Leandro's offer. The bird, having inhaled the oyster, prepares to take wing as well.

Leandro's offer Hawke a hand up onto the horse, which is more than used to carrying multiple people. And then with a final farewell heads back to the city.

Peri grins at Hawke "Come in the morning and drink my sea tossed barrel beer I bought from a sailor from Braavos. I found it too.. hoppy." she offers with a cheery wave.

Killian smiles the smile of a smitten man, "Ah, she'll not be rushed to work. I plan to treat her like a Princess as best I can. She's agreed to convert, did I tell you? All we need's a priest. I'm hoping I can talk him into giving her to the sea like he would a babe and not the other way, but that's to be seen. I'll do it myself if i must, but better by a Priest." He shucks another oyster and sets it a touch closer to the bird, a last snack before it flies. He makes no attempts to touch it.

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