Post by The Smith on Sept 5, 2008 20:12:40 GMT -5
Faint and far away the light burned, low on the horizon, shining through the sea mists.
Rhaegar Velaryon was shouting orders. Sailors scrambled up and down the two masts and moved along the rigging, reefing the heavy black sails. Below oarsmen heaved and strained over a bank of oars. The deck tilted, creaked as Sealion, the ship that Rhaegar had named in honor of his missing son, heeled to starboard and began to come about.
Rhaegar stared ahead, not knowing what awaited him beneath that distant light. Death, dragons or glory he knew not. The journey from Dragonstone had not been easy. It had taken his and Ameron’s combined seamanship to get as far as they had. Both men as well as their crew were exhausted, but Rhaegar had been driven on by his hate and desire for vengeance.
The last of the night’s stars had vanished as dawn approached…all but the pair dead ahead. Two stars now. His uncle Ameron stood beside him.
“Two eyes,” Ameron mused. “The Titan sees us.”
The Titan of Braavos. Rhaegar’s father Jaehaerys, who had for a time served as ambassador to Braavos for his cousin King Callen, had told him stories of the Titan back on Driftmark. According to his father, the Titan was a giant as tall as a mountain and whenever Braavos stood in danger he would wake with fire in his eyes, his rocky limbs grinding and groaning as he waded out into the sea to smash the city’s enemies. Jaehaerys had often ended about how the Titan used to feed on the flesh of little highborn boys and girls, making Rhaegar and his brother and sister shiver with fear. His uncle Daemon had often told them though that the Titan was only a statue and their father’s stories were only stories designed to frighten them.
Dragonstone and Driftmark are fallen, Rhaegar thought with a pang of grief. His father and uncle had died years ago. His siblings, wife and mother were also missing, possibly dead, and his young son Monterys too. Rhaegar blinked away sudden tears. It did no good to think of them. All men must die.
The Titan’s eyes seemed brighter now and further apart. Upon enquiring whether the Titan was the god of Braavos, his uncle Ameron had told him that all gods were honoured in Braavos. The Seven have a sept in Braavos, the Sept-Beyond the-Sea, but only Westerosi worshipped there. Ameron had told him that instead the Moonsingers, the Father of Waters and the Many Faced God were widely worshipped. The Moonsingers had the largest temple, but the Many Faced God could be found on an isle in the middle of Braavos.
Rhaegar did not know the Many Faced God, but if the god answered prayers, he would prostrate himself at the god’s feet. Rhaegar prayed often. Rickon Baratheon he thought. Breck Dondarrion, Tallahar Tyrell, Peyton Redwyne, Grant Connington, Gerald Kellington. There were only six now. Once there had been one for each of the Seven. Benfry Smith had been one of them, but he was dead.
“Rhaegar look!” Ameron took his arm and pointed. “Can you see? There.” He pointed.
The mists gave way before them, ragged grey curtains parted by their prow. The Sealion cleaved through the grey-green waters on billowing black wings. Rhaegar could hear the cries of seabirds overhead. There where Ameron pointed, a line of stony ridges rose sudden from the sea, their steep slopes covered with pines and black spruce. But directly ahead the sea had broken through and there above the open water the Titan towered, with his eyes blazing and his long green hair blowing in the wind.
The Titan’s legs bestrode the gap, one foot planted on each mountain, his shoulders looming tall above the jagged crests. His legs were carved of solid stone, the same black granite as the mounds he stood on. Around his hips he wore an armored skirt of greenish bronze. His breast plate was bronze as well and his head was in a crested half helm. His blowing hair was made of hempen ropes dyed green and huge fires burned in the caves that were his eyes. One hand rested atop the ridge to his left, bronze fingers curled around a knob of stone; the other thrust up into the air clasping the hilt of a broken sword.
The Titan gave a mighty roar, a sound that was as huge as he was, a terrible groaning and grinding that drowned out Ameron’s voice and the crash of waves against the pine-clad ridges. Rhaegar was startled at the loudness, taking a step back from the rail. Ameron laughed. “He warns the Arsenal of our coming”, he shouted. Rhaeger grinned back and shouted. “Remind me next time we come to Braavos to plug my ears.”
Wind and wave had the Sealion hard in hand now, driving her swiftly towards the channel. Her bank of oars stroked smoothly lashing the sea to white foam as the Titan’s shadow fell upon them. Standing at the prow Rhaegar looked up as they slipped beneath the Titan’s legs. Rhaegar could see arrow slits dotting the insides of those great stone thighs and when Rhaegar craned his neck around to watch the ship’s mast slip through the gap easily, he spied murder eyes beneath the Titan’s armored skirts and pale faces staring down at them from behind the iron bars. Rhaegar marveled at the ingenuity of the Titan and mused that perhaps something similar could have been built at the entrance to Dragonstone harbour.
And then they were past.
The shadow lifted, the pine-clad ridges fell away to either side and they found themselves moving through a great lagoon. Ahead rose another sea mount. A knob of rock that pushed up from the water like a spiked fist, its stony battlements bristling with scorpions, spitfires and trebuchets. “The Arsenal of Braavos,” Ameron named it. “I’m told they can build a war galley in a day”. Rhaegar’s eyes sparkled at that revelation. He could see dozens of galleys tied up at quays and perched on launching slips. The painted prows of others poked from innumerable wooden sheds along stony shores like hounds in a keenel, lean and mean and hungry, waiting for a hunter’s horn to call them forth. There were too many to count.
Two galleys came out to meet them. They seemed to skim along the water like dragonflies, their pale oars flashing. A great horn sounded. The galleys passed wither side of them, so close Rhaegar could hear the muffled sound of drums from within their purple hulls.
Then the galleys were behind them and the Arsenal as well. From the wet heart of the broad expanse of pea green water arose the city proper, a great sprawl of domes and towers and bridges, grey and gold and red. The hundred isles of Braavos in the sea. It was a flat city and Rhaegar who had never been to Braavos before was immediately struck by the fact that the city had no walls.
A harbor was visible off to the right, a tangle of piers and quays crowded with bug bellied whalers out of Ibben, swan ships from the Summer Isles and moré galleys than a man could count. The city had seemed like one big island from where the Titan stood but as the Sealion came closer, Rhaegar could see that it was many small islands close together, linked by arched stone bridges that spanned innumerable canals. Beyond the harbor he glimpsed streets of grey stone houses, built so close they leaned upon one another.
The Sealion moved towards the harbour. Ameron who had visited Braavos before pointed out to the north was the Purple Harbor, where Braavosi traders tied up beneath the domes and towers of the Sealord’s Palace. To the west lay the Ragman’s Harbor, crowded with ships from the other Free Cities, from Westeros and Ibben and the fabled far-off lands to the east. “They speak the Common Tongue at Ragman’s said Ameron. “We should make our way there.”
Rhaegar shook his head thinking of the gold that lay in the hull of the ship and pointed north. “No, the Purple Harbor will be better.” It was Ameron’s turn to shake his head stubbornly. “Only Braavosi are allowed to use the Purple Harbor. Ragmans is our only option.” Rhaegar sighed and acquiesced.
Ragman’s Harbor was a poorer, dirtier and noisier port than the Purple Harbor. As they drew close Rhaegar could see that the wharves and alleys of the Harbor were crowded with traders and sailors from half a hundred lands. Rhaegar could see boisterous Tyroshi with their booming voices and dyed beards; the fair heaired Lyseni, squat dark-haired sailors from Ibben growling curses in low raspy voices. Ameron pointed out some who were wearing feathered cloaks of red and green and yellow and with skins as smooth and dark as teak. Summer Islanders. Rhaegar could see Westerosi as well, oarsmen and sailors out of carracks from Oldtown, trading galleys out of Duskendale, Kings Landing and Gulltown and wine cogs from the Arbior. Rhaegar’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the Westerosi ships. It would not do to be recognized, especially before he had finished his arrangements.
As they docked, two customs officers from the Chequy Port were waiting for them. Rhaegar did not attempt to bar their entry to the hold of the Sealion, allowing them to board, inspect the ship’s valuable cargo and depart. He disappeared with the customs officers below deck for quite a while and when they finally emerged Rhaegar was smiling.
Before the officers departed, Rhaegar pressed them for information about certain establishments in Braavos and found that for a further small fee the officers were most co-operative, even offering assistance with the transportation of his precious cargo. Rhaegar accepted gratefully and was relieved to see soon after a small guard draw up before the gang-plank of the ship with a covered wagon. Rhaegar spoke briefly to the captain of the small band of men, who after Rhaegar had pressed a small bag of gold coins, drew back and saluted. Helped by Rhaegar’s small crew, chest after chest was brought out from the hold of the ship and was loaded on the wagon to the interest of many a bystander including some, Rhaegar noted with some alarm, Westerosi. In seeing the interest in his activities, Rhaegar was careful to keep his face and light hair covered as much as he could
Once the chests were loaded, Rhaegar seated himself at the front of the wagon and Ameron took up a position at the back, while the guard and some of the crew took up positions around the wagon watchfully. Rhaegar’s right hand was never far away from the hilt of his sword. As the wagon through the streets, with his men tramping beside them he could feel eyes upon him, peering down from balconies and windows, watching him from the darkened doorways. On the Sealion Rhaegar had known every face. Here everywhere he turned he saw another stranger.
The gates loomed ahead of them. The building itself was made of white stone, which Rhaegar thought looked a little like rare snow-white marble that Ameron claimed the Temple of the Moonsingers was constructed from. Behind a set of iron wrought gates guarded by Braavosi soldiers was a set of large carved bronze doors, twelve feet high. Rhaegar dismounted lightly from the wagon and approached the gates. He spoke briefly to a guard in the Common Tongue and then again in High Valyrian and then entered through the doors.
A few candles burnt along the walls, but gave so little light that Rhaegar could not see his own feet. Slowly his eyes adjusted. The bank seemed much larger within than it had seemed without. Silent as a shadow Rhaegar moved between rows of long stone benches. The floor was made of stone, not like the marble he had seen without. The air was warm and heavy and he coud smell the candles.
Rhaegar came to a set of brightly polished doors that the light from the candles seemed to reflect off. He reached out and touched the door. Silver, he marveled. Rhaegar pushed upon both doors with the flat of his hands, but neither would budge. Locked and barred. Rhaegar uttered a curse before he curled his right hand into a fist and pounded. “I am Rhaegar Velaryon of Driftmark, the Lord of Tides.”
The doors made no reply except to open. They opened inward all in silence, with no human hand to move them. Rhaegar took a step forward into the blackness and then another. The doors closed behind him, and for a moment he was blind.
A hand touched his arm. Rhaegar wheeled. A hooded man in a long robe of indeterminate colour stood behind him. Rhaegar’s hand dropped to his sword. Beneath the cowl all he could see was the faint red glitter of candlelight reflecting off his eyes.
“The man said some words that Rhaegar did not know.
He shook his head “Do you know the Common Tongue?”
The man nodded. “I do. Welcome to the Iron Bank of Braavos.”
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Rhaegar emerged from the Bank with a look of satisfaction on his face. He grinned at Ameron. “It took some persuasion, but I’ve convinced them to do as we wish.”
Rhaegar beckoned to Gyleno Dothare, the captain of his new Braavosi guard and issued him with instructions. The unloading of the wagon proceeded at pace. Chest after chest was carried in. Rhaegar followed the last chest and disappeared into the Bank again.
He emerged shortly after. “The gold is as secure as we can make it.”
Ameron nodded with satisfaction.
Rhaegar spoke with Captain Dothare again. Ameron couldn’t catch all of the words, but he didn’t need to when Rhaegar told him that Dothare had been ordered to find a secure place of lodging for them and make some inquiries on bands of sell-swords in the area. “Secure lodgings I told him uncle. Even out of Westeros, there are still many about that would seek to harm us.”
Rhaegar had one last instruction for his uncle. “You know Braavos well. Go and find Godry.”
Results:
Rhaegar Velaryon and his uncle Ameron Velaryon arrive in Braavos.
The gold Rhaegar Velaryon had hidden in Dragonstone is deposited in the Iron Bank of Braavos in Lord Velaryon’s name.
Rhaegar Velaryon hires a small band of well armed Braavosi retainers as an escort and bodyguard.
Rhaegar Velaryon moves to Expert in Seamanship
Rhaegar Velaryon moves to Novice in Persuasion
Ameron Velaryon moves to Noteworthy in Seamanship