Post by The Smith on Nov 9, 2008 22:48:32 GMT -5
Standing at the bow of Wild Iron, Ser Wulf Pyke could now make out the sails of the ships anchored at Lordsport. He counted three and a half score of them, more perhaps. As his own ship cut across the waters and drew him closer he could make out their flags. Some flew the bloody moon of the Wynches, some the silver fishes of the Botleys, a few even flew the stony tree of the Stonetrees. Most however, flew the silver scythe of the Harlaws, and above them all was the black horn of the Goodbrothers. Though the Goodbrother’s own ships were grouping to the north at Orkmont along with the bulk of his forces, Lord Qhored was waiting for Goodbrother to sail south towards Saltcliffe to join his force to his.
He looked back onto his ship, his first mate Rodrik Blacktyde was issuing orders to the men. Wulf and Rodrik had been raiding the Stepstones together, along with Harrag Sharp and the Foam Cutter, when they heard word of the growing troubles on the Islands. They had set sail straight away to take part in the upcoming conflict. Harrag had gotten ahead of them during the journey, and most like he was already there amongst the ships at Lordsport.
They glided into the busy harbour and found a place to anchor. Wulf looked to see other ships he recognised, but there were too many for him to pick out the ones he knew. Descending from the gangplank, he found Harrag already waiting for him on the dock, a wide grin on his face.
“Good of you to finally join us,” Harrag said.
Wulf snorted, “when did you get here?”
“Early yesterday, my offer still stands to teach you how to actually sail sometime.”
“What is the state of things?” he asked, ignoring the chide as he began walking up towards Lordsport, he could see Rodrik approaching them.
“It’s like we heard at Lannisport, Saltcliffe called his banners to him a few months ago, Qhored called his own at the same time, all of Pyke and some of Harlaw rallied to him here. Tigon Goodbrother was slower to react, and he is still waiting on the last of his force to be assembled before he moves south. Most of these ships have been here ever since.”
“That would explain the Stonetrees. I suppose Balon is here too?”
Harrag nodded.
“Good, I’ll go speak to my cousins.” Qhored and Balon were not Wulf’s cousin in truth, they were his nephews, but he was of an age with them, and they had taken to calling one another cousins.
Harrag looked to say something about their lateness to Rodrik as well as the man descended the plank behind Wulf, but Rodrik pre-empted him by saying, “fuck you, Harrag, even if you can sail faster you’re still as homely as my arse.”
Wulf chuckled and they moved through the port town then left it, taking the road to Pyke castle.
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Upon entering the castle, Wulf was ushered across the wooden bridges which spanned the various islands that made up Pyke to the Sea Tower, which sat upon the outer most island. It was the oldest part of the castle, and it grew from the rock beneath it as if it was.
Wulf walked the wooden bridges with ease now, even in heavy winds. To him they were no more than the rocking deck of a ship, though he remembered a time when he crossed them at his peril. The two guards a the end of the bridge stood sentry to the entrance to the tower, soaked by the rains which lashed against the walls of Pyke as often as not. Wulf nodded to them as the door was opened for him to enter.
He followed the winding stairs to the top of the tower, where the lord of Pyke kept his chambers. Another guard stood at the entrance to Qhored’s solar, and Wulf couldn’t help notice that the man looked grim. Though upon entering the solar, he found the men inside even grimmer.
Apparently Qhored had just called the leaders of the forces he had with him to meet, as they were all there: Qhored’s brother Balon, Lord Botley, Lord Wynch and his brother Bloody Kurt, Lord Stonetree. Some of them did not hesitate to send a disgusted glance at Wulf, having a man who followed the Greenlander gods invited into their counsel did not sit well with them.
“What has happened?” Wulf asked, as he looked at the men who bore the signs that they had been shouting only moments ago.
“Wulf! Goodbrother has been betrayed, his fleet is smashed through treachery!” the young Balon Harlaw declared angrily.
“Betrayed?” Wulf asked in shock, “by who?”
“None other than the Kinslayer, this should have been expected.” Stonetree said.
“Volmark attacked Goodbrother? But he is the Lord Captain. How many ships did he have with him?”
The room looked to Qhored, it seemed they do not know everything yet either. Apparently Qhored had not yet finished recounting what had happened. He turned around now from the window and looked at them.
“Volmark, and several other captains, took the fleet at Orkmont unawares as they were arriving to join their ships to Goodbrother’s. Volmark arrived with some five and twenty ships, but others who had already grouped with the fleet rose to his banner, and fought for him. In their confused and unprepared state, Goodbrother’s fleet was unable to raise much of a resistance. Goodbrother himself was slain, and there is no word of what has happened to the Black Terror.”
“Goodbrother slain?” Botley said, with a certain amount of desperation, “where does that leave us?”
Stonetree shakes his head, “Saltcliffe has us. His fleet is to the south, and the Kinslayer’s is to the north. They will pincer us between them and we will be destroyed.”
Bloody Kurt made a disgusted noise, “is that fucking Stonetree suggesting surrender? Allow me a moment to recover from the shock.”
Stonetree regarded him coolly, “you have a better idea?”
“Yes. Fight, of course.”
“And die?”
Kurt snorted, “and win.”
“Who do we support now though?” Botley asked, “did Tigon Goodbrother’s son survive?” He looked at Qhored.
“It does not say. Confusion still reigns at Orkmont, Volmark has not landed on the island, only set those ships that he could not man ablaze. Those still loyal to the Goodbrothers are stranded.” Qhored’s grey eyes looked off into the distance.
“Saltcliffe does not want us as allies, he wants us as underlings. The fool plans to set the Islands against the crown and Braavos, he will need uncontested power to do so. My knee will not bend for Janos Saltcliffe.”
“Nor mine,” said Lord Wynch.
“Nor mine,” added Balon.
“Then it matters not which Goodbrother we follow now, Saltcliffe must be defeated. The Kinslayer is the greatest threat as it stands, he will bloody us far more then Janos, so we will turn south first and crush Saltcliffe, then back north to deal with Volmark. These traitors will be dealt with.”
Wulf was impressed with Qhored as he watched him, he was no longer the boy he had known, but a man of salt and iron, and skilled at command.
The lords and captains in attendance nodded their heads in agreement with the plan, some reluctantly, but most eagerly and some with cheers.
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Qhored was standing aboard the deck of his ship, Reaper of the Seas, issuing commands when the Saltcliffe fleet was finally sighted. Their scouting ships had told them they were close, and Qhored had ordered his fleet to increase it’s pace to meet them. It was crucial that he defeated Saltcliffe before Volmark reached Pyke, and so this battle would need to be quick and decisive. Luckily the winds were with them, which would help them initially as the two fleets crashed together, but would mean little once the combat became more disorganised.
As the fleets neared one another, Qhored could make out the banners of the Saltcliffes, and some of the Sunderlys as well. He raised his arm straight into the air, then swung it down until it was pointing straight forward, signalling his ships to hasten to ramming speed. His brother Balon, acting as Qhored’s first mate, shouted in a voice that was impressively deep for a man of six and ten for their own oar masters to increase their beat.
Soon Qhored could make out the people on the other boats, and they he could make out their faces, and the two fleets were so close that there was nowhere else to go but into each other. With an almighty, ear-splitting crash, the rams hit into each other, and the sound of wood splintering, waves thrashing and men shouting surrounded them on all sides.
The Reaper of the Seas grappled onto another ship, and Qhored raised his sword and led the men in boarding it. They were hard fought, these were no Greenlanders, unaccustomed to ship combat, this was Ironborn against Ironborn, and it was clear it would be no easy victory.
Qhored raised his sword and sliced at a man, cutting his arm off near the shoulder. The man fell to the ground screaming, and Qhored turned to deal with another. This one was a big man, tall, broad and thick-armed. He sent a large, spiked club swinging at Qhored’s head that he only just ducked in time for. The large man was quick to adjust and tried to bring the club down Qhored again, but Harlaw rolled away, and sliced at the big man’s shin as he did so, releasing a spray of blood. Qhored never saw what happened in the end to the big man, as another man tried to take him on before he could turn around. Qhored cut that man down easily, and then another and another, until he came to the man who must have been the captain of the ship.
Balon was fighting a small pocket of men towards the rear of the ship, his great scythe cutting through men like their armour was butter. He roared with laughter as he moved between the Saltcliffe men, shrugging off the few cuts he received and charging at men with such ferocity that some jumped off the side of the boat in instinctive reaction without thinking.
Meanwhile, the captain raised his axe and charged Qhored, who blocked the charge and cut back at the man, slashing him across the bicep through mail and leather. The captain growled and attacked again. The two men danced around each other, trying not to lose footing on the deck which was now slick with blood.
Around them they could see that Qhored’s men were winning the fight, and soon the Saltcliffe crew who were not dead were throwing down their weapons and surrendering, leaving the lone captain surrounded. Balon and the rest of Qhored’s men looked to move in on him, but Qhored barked out an order for them to hold back. The captain cut at him, and Qhored seemed to slip in the blood in his attempt to parry the blow. The captain’s eyes grew eager and attacked thinking the fight was his, but Qhored revealed the feint and regained his footing just in time to sidestep the captain’s lunge, and bring his sword down through the man’s outstretched arm. Before the captain could register what had happened, Qhored brought his sword around again and cut the man’s neck halfway through.
The battle on all sides of them waged on much the same. The Saltcliffe fleet had been a slightly smaller than his own, so Harlaw had sacrifice depth and number of lines in the formations of his ships in exchange for lengthening the lines out in an attempt to envelop the other fleet. As the battle drew on, the soundness of the plan quickly became apparent. Saltcliffe’s fleet was being decimated, and they were being given no chance to turn and escape, as the surrounding manoeuvre had nearly completely encircled them.
The sun was setting by the time the last of the Saltcliffe men stopped fighting, and it had turned the sea a bloody red colour. The victory had been decisive, with only a dozen ships lost to Qhored, while very few of the Saltcliffe ships had been able to escape. Though Qhored was furious to discover that Lord Janos Saltcliffe himself had been one of those who had escaped.
The ships quickly regrouped, and Qhored gave the order to return north for their final showdown with the Kinslayer.
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A grey, overcast gloom hung thickly in the air as Rodrik Blacktyde shouted back to Wulf from the bow of the Wild Iron When the ships of Volmark’s fleet came into sight. They had returned north just in time. A few hours later and Volmark would have been able to secure himself in an undefended Pyke. Wulf breathed a sigh of relief for that reason when he joined Rodrik.
“We made it,” Wulf said with a grin
They looked out at the enemy fleet. It was much more smaller than Saltcliffe’s had been, but yet somehow it was more daunting. All knew the Volmark to be the greatest of generals, and they also knew that he was a ruthless man, who had taken his lordship by slaying his whole family.
The boat rocked under Wulf’s feet, bouncing along on the water, it was the most natural feeling in the world to him, his body shifting by reflex to keep balance. Larger and larger their targets grew, until they were no longer in the distance and Wulf could see the faces on the enemy ships. “Ramming speed!” he roared, and the drums and the ship picked up the pace, quickly followed by the rest of the Ironborn boats.
The two fleets came together with a loud shattering crash. The Wild Iron passed alongside a Volmark ship, snapping the oars off them as they went by. After the initial collision, the sea battle descended into unorganised chaos, each ship fighting it’s own fight. Wulf watched as ships grappled onto others and were boarded, and others were torn to pieces by rams. He looked around for a good target, and found one. The Grey Tide had hooked onto one of their own ship, and had turned around in the water exposing it’s hull to Wild Iron. He called for ramming speed again, and the grabbed hold of the rail of the ship, as it smashed into the longship with a heavy lurch.
“Reverse!” he called out, and his ship pulled away from the other, men falling out the ruin of its hull into the sea. Wulf laughed triumphantly, then found another Volmark ship had brought itself up beside the Wild Iron and was grappling on. Ironborn started pouring over the sides onto his ship, but Wulf and Rodrik marshalled the men together and pushed the enemy back, bringing the fight to their own ship. Wulf’s axe was in his hand, as he slew one enemy after another, searching for the captain. He saw that Rodrik had already found the captain. They sliced and danced around each other as the boat rocked strongly beneath their feet from the clashing waves. When Rodrik fell to one knee, Wulf moved to help him, but he didn’t reach his first mate before another ship pushed itself up against the other. The grey leviathan flag flew unmistakeably from its mast, and at its side, ready to board the Wild Iron stood Volmark, his long silver hair streaming out behind him.
Volmark let out a battle cry and jumped over the gap between the two ships, and his men came pouring onto the deck, cutting into those who had still not crossed over onto the first ship. Wulf leapt over back onto his own ship, reorganising his men to fight against Frenken Volmark. The Kinslayer fought like a mad man, impaling men upon his sword and throwing them down into the depths below. Wulf cut his way through to the traitor, knowing that his men were outnumbered and he had to kill the man who led them to win this.
Wulf got to Volmark just as the man was sliding his sword out of the neck of one of Wulf’s crew. Wulf charged at him, his axe raised high, but the Kinslayer was not a man easily caught unaware. In on fluid motion Volmark’s body shifted around to meet the attack. Wulf’s axe whistled through the air as he brought the weapon down, where it stopped like it had hit a brick wall when it met the resistance of Volmark’s blade. Volmark had seemed to have lost his helm at some point during the battle, and his silver hung in parts across his face. Behind his hair the man’s was smiling viciously, as the two struggled against one another, trying to win this test of strength pushing hard with their blades.
Volmark ended it by lifting his foot and sending a kick into Wulf’s stomach. The wind was taken from Wulf as he went flying backwards onto the blood-covered deck, losing his axe as he hit the wood. One of Volmark’s men jumped to attack him, but a sword sprouted from that man’s chest, and when he fell to the ground Wulf saw a bloodied Rodrik standing behind him pulling his sword from his back.
Volmark had been slowed by having to kill another man before he could attack Wulf. Wulf grabbed his axe and jumped to his feet, and faced the Kinslayer once again. Volmark sliced at him and Wulf knocked the blow away with a fierce two handed swing. Volmark took a step back from the strength of Wulf’s attack. Wulf sent another two-handed cut at Volmark, but it was too slow, and the man spun away, cutting deeply across Wulf’s side as he did so. Wulf swore and blood poured freely from his wound. Volmark continued to attack, hammering away at Wulf, cutting him here and there and pushing him backwards towards the edge of the ship. Sweat was pouring down Wulf’s face into his eyes now, as he tried to keep up the legendary general. Finally, he felt the edge of the ship touching his back, he had moved back as far as he could. Volmark grinned sinisterly, and tried to kick him over the edge, but Wulf held strong, and the blow didn’t push him. They continued to cut and swing at each other, but Volmark could see that Wulf was slowing, the wounds were effecting him. Volmark snarled as he felt the kill impending, knock away one of Wuf’s blows easily, then raised his sword overhead and brought it down in one quick motion, sure to finish Wulf…
But Wulf was faster still, he spun away with just a hair’s breadth distance from having the sword buried in his head. Instead the sword cut through air and buried itself in the wooden railing of the ship. It took Volmark a second to pull the sword free, but that second was all Wulf needed. He cut at Volmark’s sword arm, taking it off at the elbow. Volmark screamed as his arm fell apart, with his sword still in his dismembered hand. The scream didn’t last long on the kin slayer’s lips, as Wulf’s next blow cut his neck nearly through.
The traitor fell to the ground dead, and seeing that, the Volmark men grew disheartened immediately, and Wulf’s men in turn became even more determined. It was not long before the Volmark men had been defeated on the Wild Iron, and once word got out across the battle, The Volmark fleet began to fall apart. Some surrendering, some trying to escape. Soon the battle was ended, and Wulf looked out of the destruction that had happened. The Harlaw fleet had suffered dearly, Volmark’s tactics had been extremely effective. Wulf estimated they had lost two ships and a half for every one of the enemy’s. But they had won, the rebellion was defeated. Now they had to decide who was ruling the Islands.
Results:
Lord Qhored Harlaw’s Naval Battle increases towards Master
Lord Qhored Harlaw’s Sword increases to Expert
Ser Wulf Pyke’s Axe increases to Master
Ser Wulf Pyke’s Naval Battle increases to Expert
Rodrik Blacktyde’s Sword increases towards Master
Rodrik Blacktyde’s Naval Battle increases to Noteworthy
Lord Balon Harlaw’s Scythe increases to Expert
Lord Balon Harlaw’s Naval Battle increases to Expert
He looked back onto his ship, his first mate Rodrik Blacktyde was issuing orders to the men. Wulf and Rodrik had been raiding the Stepstones together, along with Harrag Sharp and the Foam Cutter, when they heard word of the growing troubles on the Islands. They had set sail straight away to take part in the upcoming conflict. Harrag had gotten ahead of them during the journey, and most like he was already there amongst the ships at Lordsport.
They glided into the busy harbour and found a place to anchor. Wulf looked to see other ships he recognised, but there were too many for him to pick out the ones he knew. Descending from the gangplank, he found Harrag already waiting for him on the dock, a wide grin on his face.
“Good of you to finally join us,” Harrag said.
Wulf snorted, “when did you get here?”
“Early yesterday, my offer still stands to teach you how to actually sail sometime.”
“What is the state of things?” he asked, ignoring the chide as he began walking up towards Lordsport, he could see Rodrik approaching them.
“It’s like we heard at Lannisport, Saltcliffe called his banners to him a few months ago, Qhored called his own at the same time, all of Pyke and some of Harlaw rallied to him here. Tigon Goodbrother was slower to react, and he is still waiting on the last of his force to be assembled before he moves south. Most of these ships have been here ever since.”
“That would explain the Stonetrees. I suppose Balon is here too?”
Harrag nodded.
“Good, I’ll go speak to my cousins.” Qhored and Balon were not Wulf’s cousin in truth, they were his nephews, but he was of an age with them, and they had taken to calling one another cousins.
Harrag looked to say something about their lateness to Rodrik as well as the man descended the plank behind Wulf, but Rodrik pre-empted him by saying, “fuck you, Harrag, even if you can sail faster you’re still as homely as my arse.”
Wulf chuckled and they moved through the port town then left it, taking the road to Pyke castle.
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Upon entering the castle, Wulf was ushered across the wooden bridges which spanned the various islands that made up Pyke to the Sea Tower, which sat upon the outer most island. It was the oldest part of the castle, and it grew from the rock beneath it as if it was.
Wulf walked the wooden bridges with ease now, even in heavy winds. To him they were no more than the rocking deck of a ship, though he remembered a time when he crossed them at his peril. The two guards a the end of the bridge stood sentry to the entrance to the tower, soaked by the rains which lashed against the walls of Pyke as often as not. Wulf nodded to them as the door was opened for him to enter.
He followed the winding stairs to the top of the tower, where the lord of Pyke kept his chambers. Another guard stood at the entrance to Qhored’s solar, and Wulf couldn’t help notice that the man looked grim. Though upon entering the solar, he found the men inside even grimmer.
Apparently Qhored had just called the leaders of the forces he had with him to meet, as they were all there: Qhored’s brother Balon, Lord Botley, Lord Wynch and his brother Bloody Kurt, Lord Stonetree. Some of them did not hesitate to send a disgusted glance at Wulf, having a man who followed the Greenlander gods invited into their counsel did not sit well with them.
“What has happened?” Wulf asked, as he looked at the men who bore the signs that they had been shouting only moments ago.
“Wulf! Goodbrother has been betrayed, his fleet is smashed through treachery!” the young Balon Harlaw declared angrily.
“Betrayed?” Wulf asked in shock, “by who?”
“None other than the Kinslayer, this should have been expected.” Stonetree said.
“Volmark attacked Goodbrother? But he is the Lord Captain. How many ships did he have with him?”
The room looked to Qhored, it seemed they do not know everything yet either. Apparently Qhored had not yet finished recounting what had happened. He turned around now from the window and looked at them.
“Volmark, and several other captains, took the fleet at Orkmont unawares as they were arriving to join their ships to Goodbrother’s. Volmark arrived with some five and twenty ships, but others who had already grouped with the fleet rose to his banner, and fought for him. In their confused and unprepared state, Goodbrother’s fleet was unable to raise much of a resistance. Goodbrother himself was slain, and there is no word of what has happened to the Black Terror.”
“Goodbrother slain?” Botley said, with a certain amount of desperation, “where does that leave us?”
Stonetree shakes his head, “Saltcliffe has us. His fleet is to the south, and the Kinslayer’s is to the north. They will pincer us between them and we will be destroyed.”
Bloody Kurt made a disgusted noise, “is that fucking Stonetree suggesting surrender? Allow me a moment to recover from the shock.”
Stonetree regarded him coolly, “you have a better idea?”
“Yes. Fight, of course.”
“And die?”
Kurt snorted, “and win.”
“Who do we support now though?” Botley asked, “did Tigon Goodbrother’s son survive?” He looked at Qhored.
“It does not say. Confusion still reigns at Orkmont, Volmark has not landed on the island, only set those ships that he could not man ablaze. Those still loyal to the Goodbrothers are stranded.” Qhored’s grey eyes looked off into the distance.
“Saltcliffe does not want us as allies, he wants us as underlings. The fool plans to set the Islands against the crown and Braavos, he will need uncontested power to do so. My knee will not bend for Janos Saltcliffe.”
“Nor mine,” said Lord Wynch.
“Nor mine,” added Balon.
“Then it matters not which Goodbrother we follow now, Saltcliffe must be defeated. The Kinslayer is the greatest threat as it stands, he will bloody us far more then Janos, so we will turn south first and crush Saltcliffe, then back north to deal with Volmark. These traitors will be dealt with.”
Wulf was impressed with Qhored as he watched him, he was no longer the boy he had known, but a man of salt and iron, and skilled at command.
The lords and captains in attendance nodded their heads in agreement with the plan, some reluctantly, but most eagerly and some with cheers.
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Qhored was standing aboard the deck of his ship, Reaper of the Seas, issuing commands when the Saltcliffe fleet was finally sighted. Their scouting ships had told them they were close, and Qhored had ordered his fleet to increase it’s pace to meet them. It was crucial that he defeated Saltcliffe before Volmark reached Pyke, and so this battle would need to be quick and decisive. Luckily the winds were with them, which would help them initially as the two fleets crashed together, but would mean little once the combat became more disorganised.
As the fleets neared one another, Qhored could make out the banners of the Saltcliffes, and some of the Sunderlys as well. He raised his arm straight into the air, then swung it down until it was pointing straight forward, signalling his ships to hasten to ramming speed. His brother Balon, acting as Qhored’s first mate, shouted in a voice that was impressively deep for a man of six and ten for their own oar masters to increase their beat.
Soon Qhored could make out the people on the other boats, and they he could make out their faces, and the two fleets were so close that there was nowhere else to go but into each other. With an almighty, ear-splitting crash, the rams hit into each other, and the sound of wood splintering, waves thrashing and men shouting surrounded them on all sides.
The Reaper of the Seas grappled onto another ship, and Qhored raised his sword and led the men in boarding it. They were hard fought, these were no Greenlanders, unaccustomed to ship combat, this was Ironborn against Ironborn, and it was clear it would be no easy victory.
Qhored raised his sword and sliced at a man, cutting his arm off near the shoulder. The man fell to the ground screaming, and Qhored turned to deal with another. This one was a big man, tall, broad and thick-armed. He sent a large, spiked club swinging at Qhored’s head that he only just ducked in time for. The large man was quick to adjust and tried to bring the club down Qhored again, but Harlaw rolled away, and sliced at the big man’s shin as he did so, releasing a spray of blood. Qhored never saw what happened in the end to the big man, as another man tried to take him on before he could turn around. Qhored cut that man down easily, and then another and another, until he came to the man who must have been the captain of the ship.
Balon was fighting a small pocket of men towards the rear of the ship, his great scythe cutting through men like their armour was butter. He roared with laughter as he moved between the Saltcliffe men, shrugging off the few cuts he received and charging at men with such ferocity that some jumped off the side of the boat in instinctive reaction without thinking.
Meanwhile, the captain raised his axe and charged Qhored, who blocked the charge and cut back at the man, slashing him across the bicep through mail and leather. The captain growled and attacked again. The two men danced around each other, trying not to lose footing on the deck which was now slick with blood.
Around them they could see that Qhored’s men were winning the fight, and soon the Saltcliffe crew who were not dead were throwing down their weapons and surrendering, leaving the lone captain surrounded. Balon and the rest of Qhored’s men looked to move in on him, but Qhored barked out an order for them to hold back. The captain cut at him, and Qhored seemed to slip in the blood in his attempt to parry the blow. The captain’s eyes grew eager and attacked thinking the fight was his, but Qhored revealed the feint and regained his footing just in time to sidestep the captain’s lunge, and bring his sword down through the man’s outstretched arm. Before the captain could register what had happened, Qhored brought his sword around again and cut the man’s neck halfway through.
The battle on all sides of them waged on much the same. The Saltcliffe fleet had been a slightly smaller than his own, so Harlaw had sacrifice depth and number of lines in the formations of his ships in exchange for lengthening the lines out in an attempt to envelop the other fleet. As the battle drew on, the soundness of the plan quickly became apparent. Saltcliffe’s fleet was being decimated, and they were being given no chance to turn and escape, as the surrounding manoeuvre had nearly completely encircled them.
The sun was setting by the time the last of the Saltcliffe men stopped fighting, and it had turned the sea a bloody red colour. The victory had been decisive, with only a dozen ships lost to Qhored, while very few of the Saltcliffe ships had been able to escape. Though Qhored was furious to discover that Lord Janos Saltcliffe himself had been one of those who had escaped.
The ships quickly regrouped, and Qhored gave the order to return north for their final showdown with the Kinslayer.
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A grey, overcast gloom hung thickly in the air as Rodrik Blacktyde shouted back to Wulf from the bow of the Wild Iron When the ships of Volmark’s fleet came into sight. They had returned north just in time. A few hours later and Volmark would have been able to secure himself in an undefended Pyke. Wulf breathed a sigh of relief for that reason when he joined Rodrik.
“We made it,” Wulf said with a grin
They looked out at the enemy fleet. It was much more smaller than Saltcliffe’s had been, but yet somehow it was more daunting. All knew the Volmark to be the greatest of generals, and they also knew that he was a ruthless man, who had taken his lordship by slaying his whole family.
The boat rocked under Wulf’s feet, bouncing along on the water, it was the most natural feeling in the world to him, his body shifting by reflex to keep balance. Larger and larger their targets grew, until they were no longer in the distance and Wulf could see the faces on the enemy ships. “Ramming speed!” he roared, and the drums and the ship picked up the pace, quickly followed by the rest of the Ironborn boats.
The two fleets came together with a loud shattering crash. The Wild Iron passed alongside a Volmark ship, snapping the oars off them as they went by. After the initial collision, the sea battle descended into unorganised chaos, each ship fighting it’s own fight. Wulf watched as ships grappled onto others and were boarded, and others were torn to pieces by rams. He looked around for a good target, and found one. The Grey Tide had hooked onto one of their own ship, and had turned around in the water exposing it’s hull to Wild Iron. He called for ramming speed again, and the grabbed hold of the rail of the ship, as it smashed into the longship with a heavy lurch.
“Reverse!” he called out, and his ship pulled away from the other, men falling out the ruin of its hull into the sea. Wulf laughed triumphantly, then found another Volmark ship had brought itself up beside the Wild Iron and was grappling on. Ironborn started pouring over the sides onto his ship, but Wulf and Rodrik marshalled the men together and pushed the enemy back, bringing the fight to their own ship. Wulf’s axe was in his hand, as he slew one enemy after another, searching for the captain. He saw that Rodrik had already found the captain. They sliced and danced around each other as the boat rocked strongly beneath their feet from the clashing waves. When Rodrik fell to one knee, Wulf moved to help him, but he didn’t reach his first mate before another ship pushed itself up against the other. The grey leviathan flag flew unmistakeably from its mast, and at its side, ready to board the Wild Iron stood Volmark, his long silver hair streaming out behind him.
Volmark let out a battle cry and jumped over the gap between the two ships, and his men came pouring onto the deck, cutting into those who had still not crossed over onto the first ship. Wulf leapt over back onto his own ship, reorganising his men to fight against Frenken Volmark. The Kinslayer fought like a mad man, impaling men upon his sword and throwing them down into the depths below. Wulf cut his way through to the traitor, knowing that his men were outnumbered and he had to kill the man who led them to win this.
Wulf got to Volmark just as the man was sliding his sword out of the neck of one of Wulf’s crew. Wulf charged at him, his axe raised high, but the Kinslayer was not a man easily caught unaware. In on fluid motion Volmark’s body shifted around to meet the attack. Wulf’s axe whistled through the air as he brought the weapon down, where it stopped like it had hit a brick wall when it met the resistance of Volmark’s blade. Volmark had seemed to have lost his helm at some point during the battle, and his silver hung in parts across his face. Behind his hair the man’s was smiling viciously, as the two struggled against one another, trying to win this test of strength pushing hard with their blades.
Volmark ended it by lifting his foot and sending a kick into Wulf’s stomach. The wind was taken from Wulf as he went flying backwards onto the blood-covered deck, losing his axe as he hit the wood. One of Volmark’s men jumped to attack him, but a sword sprouted from that man’s chest, and when he fell to the ground Wulf saw a bloodied Rodrik standing behind him pulling his sword from his back.
Volmark had been slowed by having to kill another man before he could attack Wulf. Wulf grabbed his axe and jumped to his feet, and faced the Kinslayer once again. Volmark sliced at him and Wulf knocked the blow away with a fierce two handed swing. Volmark took a step back from the strength of Wulf’s attack. Wulf sent another two-handed cut at Volmark, but it was too slow, and the man spun away, cutting deeply across Wulf’s side as he did so. Wulf swore and blood poured freely from his wound. Volmark continued to attack, hammering away at Wulf, cutting him here and there and pushing him backwards towards the edge of the ship. Sweat was pouring down Wulf’s face into his eyes now, as he tried to keep up the legendary general. Finally, he felt the edge of the ship touching his back, he had moved back as far as he could. Volmark grinned sinisterly, and tried to kick him over the edge, but Wulf held strong, and the blow didn’t push him. They continued to cut and swing at each other, but Volmark could see that Wulf was slowing, the wounds were effecting him. Volmark snarled as he felt the kill impending, knock away one of Wuf’s blows easily, then raised his sword overhead and brought it down in one quick motion, sure to finish Wulf…
But Wulf was faster still, he spun away with just a hair’s breadth distance from having the sword buried in his head. Instead the sword cut through air and buried itself in the wooden railing of the ship. It took Volmark a second to pull the sword free, but that second was all Wulf needed. He cut at Volmark’s sword arm, taking it off at the elbow. Volmark screamed as his arm fell apart, with his sword still in his dismembered hand. The scream didn’t last long on the kin slayer’s lips, as Wulf’s next blow cut his neck nearly through.
The traitor fell to the ground dead, and seeing that, the Volmark men grew disheartened immediately, and Wulf’s men in turn became even more determined. It was not long before the Volmark men had been defeated on the Wild Iron, and once word got out across the battle, The Volmark fleet began to fall apart. Some surrendering, some trying to escape. Soon the battle was ended, and Wulf looked out of the destruction that had happened. The Harlaw fleet had suffered dearly, Volmark’s tactics had been extremely effective. Wulf estimated they had lost two ships and a half for every one of the enemy’s. But they had won, the rebellion was defeated. Now they had to decide who was ruling the Islands.
Results:
Lord Qhored Harlaw’s Naval Battle increases towards Master
Lord Qhored Harlaw’s Sword increases to Expert
Ser Wulf Pyke’s Axe increases to Master
Ser Wulf Pyke’s Naval Battle increases to Expert
Rodrik Blacktyde’s Sword increases towards Master
Rodrik Blacktyde’s Naval Battle increases to Noteworthy
Lord Balon Harlaw’s Scythe increases to Expert
Lord Balon Harlaw’s Naval Battle increases to Expert