Oakenshield

[Fel]

One of the Shield Islands, that sit before the mouth of the Mander.

[Fel]

The Ironborn celebrate their victory with a feast. Lord Qhored sits on the high chair with a look of rare satisfaction as the celebration goes on before him. On his right side is Lord Jakop Kenning, on his left is Lord Bannen Blacktyde.

[The Flint]

Far on the back benches sits Jarid the Long Spear. He waves his short sword in triumph and takes a tug on his drinking horn.

[Fel]

One of Greenoak's terrified serving women passes by Rodrik Blacktyde carrying ales. He grabs her, sending the ales crashing to the floor, and pulls her down onto his lap.

"They say Reachwomen's cunts smell like flowers, is that true? They say when they spread their legs a man smells lilac in the air like on a spring breeze. I've never had one before, so I wouldn't know. Our women's cunt smell like fish that's been left sitting in the sun for a week."

[The Flint]

"Don't believe it!" Jarid grunts, "Women is all pretty much a like for the most part. Still, I've got me a North girl, and a lass from Seagard. I might as well add to the collection."

[Fel]

Rodrik laughs, "pluck your own flower then, this little one is mine." He grins at her savagely. She is too frozen with fear to squirm in his arms. "Though I can't say I'll have use of her long, no fight in this one. Gimme a woman who'll crack one of yer teeth before ya get he down."

[Erik]

The Greyjoys are in attendance, of course. They sit at one of the long tables, Jhorgo and Octavion both with a young Reach girl on their laps and Helya with a captured former sailor rubbing her shoulders.

"You won't find any of that with these Mander wenches, Rodrik!" Helya calls up to him. "Timid little flowers, the lot of them! Almost as bad as the men!"

[Fel]

"Aye, Helya!" Rodrik calls back, "but then at least it is a cunt between her legs, I hear tell your cock is longer and fatter than my leg!"

[Lord Balon Harlaw]

Balon sits on a trestled table, a Reach woman dangled in his lap with a look of pure terror splashed across her features. He roars and joke with the rest of his crew.

[Creyon Harlaw]

//////

Creyon Harlaw's Iron Maiden and 3 other longships bearing his arms of a scythe on blue arrive at the docks of Oakenshield. As Creyon and his men make their way to the keep, a dirty old thrall grabs Creyon's hands, begging for food.

"Disgusting. Take off his hands and nail them to the wall outside the keep. These thralls need to be kept in line."

Gevin the Gross takes out his huge axe and lops off the smelly thrall's head in one easy motion.

"I said to to take his HANDS, not his head. I'm trying to appear badass, not bloody unreasonable."

"Is just easier to cut the hands when they not struggling boss."

"Well hurry up, Farwynd has probably heard of our arrival by now." Gevin starts chopping as Creyon and his men continue toward the keep at Oakenshield.

[Fel]

They find Harran Farwynd sitting at a long table in the great hall of Oakenshield's keep. He turns his attention towards Creyon and his men as they enter.

"Creyon Cheaptrick," he said with annoyance. "Harlaw sent word that you were coming. Well I don't like having you here, but there's nothing to be done about. So keep to your business and don't bother me. And if I hear of you using your woman's poison on anyone, I'll kill you myself, understood?"

A guard comes up and whispers in Harran's ear then walks off.

"And you owe me a new fucking thrall, you mad man."

[Creyon Harlaw]

Creyon smiles at the mention of his old nickname, and calls out to Farwynd before he leaves the hall. "My, my, why so grumpy Farwynd. I thought all this nice weather would'a improved your temper by now. I have good news for you though." Creyon draws out his shortsword and changes to a serious tone, "I'm here to relief you of your command! You may retire from the shields immediately." Creyon's men, unsure of what is happening whip out their weapons too. Allowing an uncomfortable pause, the tension in the room builds. Creyon studies the reactions of Farwynd and his men and does his best to savor them, a bemused smile lights up his face.

"A joke Farwynd! I was trying to cheer you up," Creyon sighs as he puts back his sword. "Let's get down to work then. Better than thralls, I've brought skilled carpenters, shipwrights, smiths, engineers and the like from Harlaw to improve the defences of the islands. I am here to ensure the Shields do not fall as easily as they were taken. I will need 50 thralls from each island... if you are willing to loan them of course.

[Fel]

When Creyon had taken out his weapon Harran had jumped up from his seat, axe in hand, looking almost half pleased to be getting a chance to fight Creyon.

Now he stared darkly at Creyon, his axe still out. "Do you think you're fucking funny, Cheaptrick?" he growled. "Pull a weapon out on me again and I won't leave you time to explain yourself."

He sat back down slowly, leaving his axe out on the table.

"Fifty thralls from each island?" he said, looking as if he was trying to find a reason to refuse Creyon. "Fine," he said reluctantly after a moment, and he indicated to one of the men sitting with him to go with Creyon to arrange it, "now go from here before I change my mind."

[Creyon Harlaw]

"As you say," said Creyon, and followed up with a dramatic bow. On his way out, he says to no one in particular, "now the fun starts."

[Fel]

//////

Harran Farwynd sends word for Creyon Harlaw to meet with him.