Post by The Stranger on Apr 5, 2008 16:09:43 GMT -5
The frozen sea boiled below him. A great, deafening roar effulged every element of his senses while the sea churned as if a tempest were forming underneath his sight. The roar grew louder, shaping and forming around body like a shuddering cataclysm. His ears bled, his eyes wept, his throat grew raw with his own cry of pain, dwarfed by the great echoing bellow. And with a torrent of sea water gushing to the grey sky, a titanic beast emerged from the depths.
The many armed creature writhed as if in pain, twisting into the sky for something out of reach. It was a frightening thing, and he shivered at they very sight of the kraken. Its body was sheathed in a great jagged mass of iron, jutting from inside its body as if the kraken’s very heart, blood, and bones were made of the unyielding black metal.
He curled in upon himself, body so wracked with numbness that he could do nothing else but watch the great kraken below him roar defiantly. The icy waters were turbulent, whipping and slamming against the iron kraken as if the ocean itself was battling it. With a final roar, the kraken was torn asunder by the mighty storm, its body split into two halves with another ear shattering metallic scream. Clinging to himself, he watched with terror as half the twisted husk of the kraken was flung to, spinning into the horizon. With the creature slain, the raging tempest faded away, until nothing remained but the endless ocean and second half of the great kraken sank into the sea.
Though he was here in the icy sea, he could also see the terrible iron mass as if he were with it also, in two places. The half of the iron carcass fell into the southern sea with a great splash, out of sight of its second half. With a slow grumble of stone on stone, a giant red man stood, taller than anything he had ever seen. Kneeling, the giant red man took the half iron kraken into its arms, and sat back down on his seat, at the mouth of a great river. The red man was richly decorated, red sandstone jewels around his neck and a majestic red sandstone crown around his head. With the half iron kraken in his arms, a vast number of small men poured out from under his chair, gazing upon the twisted metal half.
With endless cheer, the small men cried out shouts of praise and worship, their tiny voices gathering together until the formed another deafening roar. Wracked with pain, his eyes began to weep, and the giant red man began to devour the half of the krakens body. No! he cried out, No! No! No! NO!
**********
“NO!” Yaron Farwynd cried out as he sat bolt upright in his hammock, body dripping with icy sweat. He could hear shouts out on the deck of the Drowned Vengeance, and with a sudden lurch, the galley twisted to starboard. As the ship straightened out, the first mate came to his feet, an unpleasant knot twisting cruelly in his gut. Before Yaron could gather his thoughts a bellow echoed across the ship that made him wince involuntarily.
“BRACE YOURSELVES!” Ulfrik Greyjoy bellowed to his men, “READY TO BOARD!” The Drowned Vengeance was flying across the icy northern water, her men roaring in anticipation for the fight. She was a good sized galley, more or less the same size as an Ironborn ship, but entirely foreign looking. Her hull was made of dark oiled wood, black as the midnight sea, with massive green-gray canvas sails, like clouds glowering in a storm. Off the stern of the ship were bodies of every region imaginable, tethered to the railing with spare rope, strips of leather, and even dried seaweed. Most of the corpses sent to drown were in some state of decay, bodies stiff and frozen in the chilly northern waters. On the prow of the galley sat her colossal ram, forged in the form of a jagged, hurtling wave, frozen in time in cruel looking blackened iron.
The whaler was less than a furlong away now. The fat-bellied Ibbenese ship cut through the icy waters easily, but its wide body and heavy iron icebreaker made it slow to maneuver. The Drowned Vengeance hurtled toward the unprotected starboard side of the ship, her iron wave ready to pierce the whaler’s hull like a ripe fruit. With an earsplitting crack the tar covered belly crumpled inward, a great fissure splitting down its side.
“TAKE HER! GIVE NO QUARTER!” Ulfrik erupted for a second time as his men began to spill over onto the Ibbenese whaler. They were a ragtag band, Ironborn, Dornish, Summer Islander, Braavosi, Ghissian, Myrrish, Yi Tiesian, and elsewhere: men as varied as the corpses tethered to their ship, but each with a cold glint in their eye; each man had been drowned by their captain. Each man served the Drowned God.
Yaron Farwynd slammed into the cabin door as the ships collided, spilling onto the deck unceremoniously. The first mate unsteadily climbed to his feet, a momentary bolt of reluctance shivered down his spine. The dream had shaken him, that much was apparent, and men muttered under their breaths in foreign tongues as they passed him to join battle. Yaron looked up to find the crew of the Drowned Vengeance swarming onto the whaler, and gritted his teeth in anger. Cursing the vision for his disorientation, Yaron grabbed his shortsword and careered to the melee.
The fur-covered shield yielded like parchment paper below Ulfrik’s bardiche and sliced into the Ibbenese sailor’s arm with a sickened crunch. Screaming something unintelligible, the man’s clutched the ruin of his forearm to his chest and lunged at the Ironborn captain with his hand axe. Ulfrik chuckled darkly and sidestepped the lazy blow, sending the pole-end of his weapon slamming into the ribcage of his foe. With a shriek, the whaler slid over the side of the ship, disappearing into the freezing waves.
All around him, his men were slowly beating back the Ibbenese to the aft of their ship. Blades whirled and steel sang, and the screams of dying men filled the air. Ulfrik cackled again as he advanced with his men, using his boot to push the dead or close to it into the hungry maw of the sea. The foolish few who chose to engage him ended up just the same, the cruel looking blade of his bardiche snapping legs, impaling hearts, and spilling bloody coils of serpents to the deck. His first mate Yaron Farwynd has joined the battle, his twin shortswords dancing past rusted axes and furred shields, spilling the lifesblood of the coarse haired Ibbenese whalers.
In less than half an hour’s time, the battle was done. A group of five Ibbenese were shoulder to shoulder at the very aft of the ship, each brandishing their axes as fearsomely as defeated men could. Ulfrik’s crew parted like the sea as he strode forward, Yaron close behind.
“Men!” he shouted to his own crew, “What you see before you is weakness! Weakness wrought in their very bones as punishment from the Drowned God! Any man who cannot hold his ship with iron in hand and salt under foot is the embodiment of the Storm God’s weakness!”
“Drown them!” a man shouted.
“Aye! Send them to the sea!” another replied.
“Drown them! DROWN THEM! DROWN THEM!” the cry was taken up. The ship shuddered with the pounding of feet as the Drowned Vengeance’s crew chanted at the quaking whalers. The air thick with electric tension, Ulfrik bellow a wordless command and rushed forward with his men, blades hacking armor, weapon, and flesh as they pressed their foes back, sending them tumbling into the sea.
With a pound of the butt of his polearm on the deck, his men scattered with wild abandon, searching above and below deck for any item worth taking. The captain strode across the deck to a fallen Ibbenese and crouched beside him. A whalebone necklace hung from the dead whaler’s neck, and with a violent rip, Ulfrik Thrice-Drowned tore the pendant from the thing: a shark’s tooth larger than his eye. The captain slung his bardiche to his back and stood again, tying the tooth into his beard with a series of deft knots. With the sounds of pillaging and high spirits fading from the whaler, he crossed the deck and returned to the Drowned Vengeance.
“Cap’n Ulfrik?” Yaron spoke, quickly after him to return to their galley. He had a voice like ice rasping against the hull of a ship, “Cap’n, I hadda ‘nuther… Y’know, one of ‘em dreams a’gin. Told me t’tell yerself, y’did Cap’n…” Ulfrik dipped a ladle into a barrel of chilly seawater and took a long drink before looking to his first mate. “What came of it?”
“Cap’n, iffin y’recall th’ storm that went on an’ on fer days. Y’know, one that made’er Iron Recokin’ disappear? Well, Cap’n, I gone an’ seen strange an’ terrible things afore, but nothin’ like this. Great big squall sprung up, Cap’n. A… well, a kraken with iron armor sprung up from th’ sea and was wailin’ somethin’ fierce. The storm grew so fierce, Cap’n, that it tore that kraken right asunder. One half sank under icy seas, it did Cap’n, but the other half got flung t’south. Right giant red sandstone man, dressed all in finery, picked it up, an’ all them smallfolks was cheering when he ate ‘im… Cap’n…” Ulfrik was expressionless as his first mate spoke, his gaze resting off the bow of his ship to the east.
After what seemed like an eternity, he turned to the Farwynd and nodded, “Tell the crew to board the ship and make ready to sail. It’s past time we’ve caught my brother.”
Yaron belted ordered to the crew, and with a staggering stroke, the galley pulled away from the raided whaler, seawater gushing into where the ram had been. “Sailin’ where’for, Cap’n?” he asked tentatively after the ship was readied.
Ulfrik let a smirk play on his lips as he watched the Ibbenese whaler drown, belly of the ship filling with brine and slowly sinking beneath the waves. “We sail for King’s Landing.”
==========
Ulfrik Greyjoy advances from Noteworthy Polearm to Expert Polearm.
Ulfrik Greyjoy advances from Novice Naval Battle to Apprentice Naval Battle
Yaron Farwynd advances from Apprentice Shortsword to Noteworthy Shortsword.
The many armed creature writhed as if in pain, twisting into the sky for something out of reach. It was a frightening thing, and he shivered at they very sight of the kraken. Its body was sheathed in a great jagged mass of iron, jutting from inside its body as if the kraken’s very heart, blood, and bones were made of the unyielding black metal.
He curled in upon himself, body so wracked with numbness that he could do nothing else but watch the great kraken below him roar defiantly. The icy waters were turbulent, whipping and slamming against the iron kraken as if the ocean itself was battling it. With a final roar, the kraken was torn asunder by the mighty storm, its body split into two halves with another ear shattering metallic scream. Clinging to himself, he watched with terror as half the twisted husk of the kraken was flung to, spinning into the horizon. With the creature slain, the raging tempest faded away, until nothing remained but the endless ocean and second half of the great kraken sank into the sea.
Though he was here in the icy sea, he could also see the terrible iron mass as if he were with it also, in two places. The half of the iron carcass fell into the southern sea with a great splash, out of sight of its second half. With a slow grumble of stone on stone, a giant red man stood, taller than anything he had ever seen. Kneeling, the giant red man took the half iron kraken into its arms, and sat back down on his seat, at the mouth of a great river. The red man was richly decorated, red sandstone jewels around his neck and a majestic red sandstone crown around his head. With the half iron kraken in his arms, a vast number of small men poured out from under his chair, gazing upon the twisted metal half.
With endless cheer, the small men cried out shouts of praise and worship, their tiny voices gathering together until the formed another deafening roar. Wracked with pain, his eyes began to weep, and the giant red man began to devour the half of the krakens body. No! he cried out, No! No! No! NO!
**********
“NO!” Yaron Farwynd cried out as he sat bolt upright in his hammock, body dripping with icy sweat. He could hear shouts out on the deck of the Drowned Vengeance, and with a sudden lurch, the galley twisted to starboard. As the ship straightened out, the first mate came to his feet, an unpleasant knot twisting cruelly in his gut. Before Yaron could gather his thoughts a bellow echoed across the ship that made him wince involuntarily.
“BRACE YOURSELVES!” Ulfrik Greyjoy bellowed to his men, “READY TO BOARD!” The Drowned Vengeance was flying across the icy northern water, her men roaring in anticipation for the fight. She was a good sized galley, more or less the same size as an Ironborn ship, but entirely foreign looking. Her hull was made of dark oiled wood, black as the midnight sea, with massive green-gray canvas sails, like clouds glowering in a storm. Off the stern of the ship were bodies of every region imaginable, tethered to the railing with spare rope, strips of leather, and even dried seaweed. Most of the corpses sent to drown were in some state of decay, bodies stiff and frozen in the chilly northern waters. On the prow of the galley sat her colossal ram, forged in the form of a jagged, hurtling wave, frozen in time in cruel looking blackened iron.
The whaler was less than a furlong away now. The fat-bellied Ibbenese ship cut through the icy waters easily, but its wide body and heavy iron icebreaker made it slow to maneuver. The Drowned Vengeance hurtled toward the unprotected starboard side of the ship, her iron wave ready to pierce the whaler’s hull like a ripe fruit. With an earsplitting crack the tar covered belly crumpled inward, a great fissure splitting down its side.
“TAKE HER! GIVE NO QUARTER!” Ulfrik erupted for a second time as his men began to spill over onto the Ibbenese whaler. They were a ragtag band, Ironborn, Dornish, Summer Islander, Braavosi, Ghissian, Myrrish, Yi Tiesian, and elsewhere: men as varied as the corpses tethered to their ship, but each with a cold glint in their eye; each man had been drowned by their captain. Each man served the Drowned God.
Yaron Farwynd slammed into the cabin door as the ships collided, spilling onto the deck unceremoniously. The first mate unsteadily climbed to his feet, a momentary bolt of reluctance shivered down his spine. The dream had shaken him, that much was apparent, and men muttered under their breaths in foreign tongues as they passed him to join battle. Yaron looked up to find the crew of the Drowned Vengeance swarming onto the whaler, and gritted his teeth in anger. Cursing the vision for his disorientation, Yaron grabbed his shortsword and careered to the melee.
The fur-covered shield yielded like parchment paper below Ulfrik’s bardiche and sliced into the Ibbenese sailor’s arm with a sickened crunch. Screaming something unintelligible, the man’s clutched the ruin of his forearm to his chest and lunged at the Ironborn captain with his hand axe. Ulfrik chuckled darkly and sidestepped the lazy blow, sending the pole-end of his weapon slamming into the ribcage of his foe. With a shriek, the whaler slid over the side of the ship, disappearing into the freezing waves.
All around him, his men were slowly beating back the Ibbenese to the aft of their ship. Blades whirled and steel sang, and the screams of dying men filled the air. Ulfrik cackled again as he advanced with his men, using his boot to push the dead or close to it into the hungry maw of the sea. The foolish few who chose to engage him ended up just the same, the cruel looking blade of his bardiche snapping legs, impaling hearts, and spilling bloody coils of serpents to the deck. His first mate Yaron Farwynd has joined the battle, his twin shortswords dancing past rusted axes and furred shields, spilling the lifesblood of the coarse haired Ibbenese whalers.
In less than half an hour’s time, the battle was done. A group of five Ibbenese were shoulder to shoulder at the very aft of the ship, each brandishing their axes as fearsomely as defeated men could. Ulfrik’s crew parted like the sea as he strode forward, Yaron close behind.
“Men!” he shouted to his own crew, “What you see before you is weakness! Weakness wrought in their very bones as punishment from the Drowned God! Any man who cannot hold his ship with iron in hand and salt under foot is the embodiment of the Storm God’s weakness!”
“Drown them!” a man shouted.
“Aye! Send them to the sea!” another replied.
“Drown them! DROWN THEM! DROWN THEM!” the cry was taken up. The ship shuddered with the pounding of feet as the Drowned Vengeance’s crew chanted at the quaking whalers. The air thick with electric tension, Ulfrik bellow a wordless command and rushed forward with his men, blades hacking armor, weapon, and flesh as they pressed their foes back, sending them tumbling into the sea.
With a pound of the butt of his polearm on the deck, his men scattered with wild abandon, searching above and below deck for any item worth taking. The captain strode across the deck to a fallen Ibbenese and crouched beside him. A whalebone necklace hung from the dead whaler’s neck, and with a violent rip, Ulfrik Thrice-Drowned tore the pendant from the thing: a shark’s tooth larger than his eye. The captain slung his bardiche to his back and stood again, tying the tooth into his beard with a series of deft knots. With the sounds of pillaging and high spirits fading from the whaler, he crossed the deck and returned to the Drowned Vengeance.
“Cap’n Ulfrik?” Yaron spoke, quickly after him to return to their galley. He had a voice like ice rasping against the hull of a ship, “Cap’n, I hadda ‘nuther… Y’know, one of ‘em dreams a’gin. Told me t’tell yerself, y’did Cap’n…” Ulfrik dipped a ladle into a barrel of chilly seawater and took a long drink before looking to his first mate. “What came of it?”
“Cap’n, iffin y’recall th’ storm that went on an’ on fer days. Y’know, one that made’er Iron Recokin’ disappear? Well, Cap’n, I gone an’ seen strange an’ terrible things afore, but nothin’ like this. Great big squall sprung up, Cap’n. A… well, a kraken with iron armor sprung up from th’ sea and was wailin’ somethin’ fierce. The storm grew so fierce, Cap’n, that it tore that kraken right asunder. One half sank under icy seas, it did Cap’n, but the other half got flung t’south. Right giant red sandstone man, dressed all in finery, picked it up, an’ all them smallfolks was cheering when he ate ‘im… Cap’n…” Ulfrik was expressionless as his first mate spoke, his gaze resting off the bow of his ship to the east.
After what seemed like an eternity, he turned to the Farwynd and nodded, “Tell the crew to board the ship and make ready to sail. It’s past time we’ve caught my brother.”
Yaron belted ordered to the crew, and with a staggering stroke, the galley pulled away from the raided whaler, seawater gushing into where the ram had been. “Sailin’ where’for, Cap’n?” he asked tentatively after the ship was readied.
Ulfrik let a smirk play on his lips as he watched the Ibbenese whaler drown, belly of the ship filling with brine and slowly sinking beneath the waves. “We sail for King’s Landing.”
==========
Ulfrik Greyjoy advances from Noteworthy Polearm to Expert Polearm.
Ulfrik Greyjoy advances from Novice Naval Battle to Apprentice Naval Battle
Yaron Farwynd advances from Apprentice Shortsword to Noteworthy Shortsword.