(122-05-15) Two Ironmen on a Dock
Two Ironmen on a Dock
Summary: Trigho and Killian meet by the docks.
Date: Date of play (15/05/122)
Related: None
Players:
Trigho..Killian..

The Seal Prince is a classic Ironborn longship, of a style popular several centuries ago. Sailors are offloading a catch under the direction of a man who's clothes also suggest the style on the Isles, a century or two before the conquest. The accents of the men are as out of date as their clothing, all archaic vowels and rolled "r's." a mingling of northern and Iron Islands accents, with a rather old fashioned. To another Ironborn man, it is clear they must be far Islanders, from the Lonely Light Archipelago, though what Greenlanders might make of there tattoos and odd ways, who can guess. The Captain has a dreamy look about him, his eyes not quite focusing.

Trigho departs from a warehouse in the company of Drakkash Greyjoy, Captain of the Wake of Blood. The first mate and the captain seem to be discussing something that about weights, volume and gold. Triago bends his head to listen carefully, nodding now and then to show that ge gets some point or another. Upon reaching the pier where the warship is anchored, Trigho is dismissed and departs the captain's company. He takes a seat some ways down the quay close to where Killian is situated and takes out some vellum and quill. He's clearly unhappy to do some math, especially by torchlight, and especially when the wind is blowing. His long black hair whips about his face and makes it even more difficult. Several well chosen swears from his homeland erupt from him now and again.

Killian eyes the man doing sums, and carries one of the lanterns over to and holds it up at a good angle to help illuminate the paper. The lantern is the sort one often has aboard ship with a basin floating in water, so if the thing gets overturned, the flame is doused rather than endangering the ship. The unworldly looking man does not even glance at the paper, but continues watching the unloading.

Trigho glances up warily for a moment and gives Killian a quick study. "Thank you." he mutters and scratches out a few more figures. "You'd think Lord Dalton would have have given Capt. Drakkash the use of a numbers slave on a trade mission but no. He knew the chore would fall to me." He grunts as he rolls up the papers and puts the materials away. "And the quick of it is, if I fuck up these figures, the Captain will make his corrections with a knife point in my hide." He stands and extends a hand. "I'm Trigho Harlaw, first mate of the Wake of Blood." He doesn't quite smile but his mouth softens a bit with mild humor.

Killian nods politely, "Thou art welcome. Best not to be bringing thralls here to Oldtown. Customs would seize them. Best to be careful about what is said about the keeping of the Old ways on the Islands. They are followers of the false gods of the east here and frown on thraldom and reaving." he shakes his head, "It is not right a man should be marked except in battle or on his own account in peace time. Oarsmen are not for flogging." He gives Trigo an easygoing smile, "I hight Captain Killian Farwind, Heir to the Lonely Light."

Trigho's eyebrows raise up. "Farwind? I thought your folk were isolationist. We only see you on the Pyke on special occasions." He cracks a smile but then remembers what the other man said and looks around with some paranoia. "You're right, the mainlanders think they set the standards for civilization but they enslave others in their own, less straightforward, ways." He looks at some of ships moored in their births. "Which one is yours, cousin?"

Killian smiles gently, "Aye, it is true, we seldom come into the Big islands and our Reaving North of the wall, but I was sent to the greenlands to find a wife a tad less related and so I am here. I thought it best to let my Lady wife get more used us before taking her home. I have given her to the sea and she took her marks right bravely." he nods at his comment about the Mainlanders and says firmly, "The Old ways are Best." He gestures to the sturdy and maneuverable looking Seal Prince. "My Seal Prince is the pride of Lonely Light, she was my Father's and My Grandfather's before me, and I hope one day I will have strong sons to sail her out reaving."

Trigho takes a few steps toward the ship and gives her a long hard look. "She looks mighty swift, she does." He chukles, "Has your greenlander wife met your first wife?" Trigho gestures to the prow of the Seal Prince and moves back over. "I may get married some day but I'm only a third son. I think the only ship I'll ever have as my own will be one I take from an enemy." The young man finally tires of haviung his hair whip into his eyes and takes a red leather lace from his pocket to bind it behind his head.

Killian laughs, "Aye, She has." His pride and his obvious love for both Lady and ship is in his voice. "She's a fierce little thing and quick with a knife when it comes to all other women but this one. She's fond of the crew and my Seal Prince. Winter will be hard for her out on the islands, but she's got grit to her and she's chosen this life of her own will. I've sworn to take no Salt Wife while she lives and I mean to keep my vow." He looks at him then, with his sea coloured eyes, "In the Old days, the Oarsmen would vote for the next Lord from amoung the sons of the Old Lord, Rock or Salt. Though I be my father's own first son, I still thing the old ways are better. A man should be voted Lord or captain on merit. Ships are still won that way on many Islands and not just the Lonely Light. It is a shame your house is touched by the Sothron Decadence."

Trigho crosses his arms and looks out over the water as if he might be able to see the home island of House Harlaw. "There's more to it than that." he says, but seems reluctant to elaborate. "You should at least no that my father is an honorable man. Any difficulty with my birthright or with my standing among the kin of my house is entirely on my shoulders." He takes a deep breath. "I don't suppose your quartermaster might toss over a bottle of Myrish Red?"

Killian smiles crookedly, "Ah! Thou won't be the first man to take to the sea on another man's boat under those conditions." he shakes his head no, "Alas! I've not the taste for these Sothron drinks. I can offer thee good ale or mead if thou likest?"

Trigho brightens visibly. "A draught of a good ale would fix me nicely." He sits back down on the crate top and looks down at his bare feet, hardened and weathered by years on the deck. "So where does a man go in Oldtown for a game of dice?" he asks the other. He yawns and turns his head to look over some of the rooftops. "Is that the Citadel there?" he asks looking to some towers. "This is my first time in another land." He grins with self-conscious embarrassment.

Killian simply passes him over a skin of fresh brewed ale from his own belt, and switches to a less formal mode of speech. "Ye can't really see the Citadel from here unless ye get invited up the Hightower." He does point in the right direction, "It is that way, on the other side of yon Honeywine, up beyond the fine Manses of the Sothron Lords." He says the last with contempt, his opinions of the Sothrons in general not being particularly high. In a lighter tone, "Best not be bothering with Maesters. If ye are injured, best to come to me at Beakhead house, that's the one looks like a ship a little ways up harbour street. Ye can see her rigging right there." he points to a Manse made out of an old ship with a view of the harbour. If ye want dicing and don't mind a chance of a knife between the ribs, the Tooth 'n nail exists. For clean beds and good ale, better the Quill though it be infested with Maesters. The Fist is for serious drinking and a good brawl.

Trigho listens intently to Killian's recommendations and files away the names. Eyes shining in the lamplight as he glances in the direction of the ship-manse he exclaims, "That is so fantastic!" He laughs, reaching for the skin and helps himself to a healthy pull of the ale. Handing the ale back to Killian, he seems about to say something further when a shirtless young riggers jogs over from the Wake of Blood with word from Captain Drakkash. Trigho sighs and turns to Killian to excuse himself. "Duty calls, cousin, but I would pay you a visit again soon. Thank you for all your help."

Killian thumps his shoulder friendly enough, "Stop by and drink our ale!"

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