Post by The Smith on Jul 3, 2009 21:45:20 GMT -5
Aurane Velaryon crouched down and scooped a handful of seawater from the shallow surf, splashing the water onto his face in an effort to clear the exhaustion from his mind. One hundred yards away, the Sealion rocked gently against her anchor line, the setting sun reflected in the wave tops thrown up as the shifting current broke against her hull. The young Velaryon marveled at the gleaming hulls of the other seventeen ships beached just beyond the Sealion, above the high water mark of the beach.
He stood up and turned his back on the shoreline, walking slowly up the gentle beach of the slope of the beach at the Saltpans, arching his back to stretch his tired muscles. Aurane glanced around him as he walked observing a land of wilderness of sandy dunes and salt marshes beneath a vast blue-grey vault of sky.
At the Saltpans, he had found only death and desolation. Any survivors of the Cult had fled and the dead had long been given to the ground, but the corpse of the town itself remained ashen and unburied. The air would have at one time smelled heavily of smoke, but now it was all clear, the cries of the seagulls floating overhead sounding almost human, like the lamentations of lost children. Even the castle had seemed forlorn and abandoned. Grey as the ashes of the town around it, the castle consisted of a square keep girded by a curtain wall, built so to overlook the harbor – now burnt down to the waterline. Hence the ships had been beached for repair and refitting on the nearest beach.
Aurane had arrived at the Saltpans three weeks before, meeting the ships from the south that had made their rendezvous at his uncle’s orders. The captain, an apparent long time friend of his uncle’s, was named Tyrio Querini. A Lysene, Tyrio was in his early fifties – still strong and fit, much of his graying indistinguishable from the blonde streaks of his hair - but with eyes of a quite remarkable indigo, much like his uncle's own, indicating a Valyrian ancestry.
Tyrio had been irrepressible from the time he had opened Aegon’s letter of instructions. He and the young Velaryon had sailed around the shore of the Bay of Crabs, recruiting sailors and rowers for the fleet. Many of the local people had had their homes and chattels destroyed and the livelihoods taken away by the Cultists operations and it had not been difficult to lure men to their employ on the basis of solid work and sufficient victuals. Tyrio had also proceeded to not only begin training the new crewmen and sailors on the fleet but also Aurane himself in both seamanship, but also the techniques of naval fighting. Aurane’s head had swum with the amount of information and knowledge that Tyrio had shared with him, but knew as the fleet’s new - but nominal – commander, he needed to begin thinking as a commander of the sea, rather than of the land.
Tyrio had had impressed upon the young Velaryon the need for teaching their sailors and rowers how to ram other ships, when all of Aurane’s reason and training demanded that they should be trained for boarding other ships, as one would assault a castle in a siege. Many of the new trainees under Tyrio’s tutelage were already skilled sailors from their time as fisherfolk on the Bay and for them it was simply a matter of adapting their skills, teaching them how best to manoeuvre a galley whilst choosing the most appropriate oar-stroke. For Aurane the process was a little longer as he had to put aside the arts of land warfare he had been taught from childhood. However he was a fast learner.
Today Tyrio had promised would be their most demanding exercise yet. So important that Tyrio would show the command crew of each galley this exercise one by one to ensure they remembered the lesson. With the other galleys still being scraped of barnacles, Aurane finally made his way onto to the Sealion which cast off moving away from the beach at two knots – steerage speed. Her pace had been dictated by the fact that they needed to conserve the strength of the rowers for the lesson ahead, a lesson that would be learnt at their expense. Tyrio had kept this lesson until last, knowing it be the most important for the crew as well as his young charge.
Once the Sealion cleared the shallow water, Tyrio ordered all twenty five new trainees including Aurane below to the slave deck to join the rowers, many of them also raw recruits.
“Men” Tyrio shouted his voice muted by the press of bodies and the surrounding timbers, “this deck represents the strength of your ship. These rowers are part of your crew. You must treat them accordingly. To abuse them is to sap your own strength."
“In battle” Tyrio continued ‘…you will face many challenges. The principal one will be your ability to know and understand your ship and its capabilities. Of your ships' capabilities, one of the most important is the strength of your men at your oars. These rowers give you the ability to out-manoeuvre your enemy or escape or close in for the attack. The crucial thing you must know is that their strength is finite. Once it is spent your ship is lost.”
“Battle speed” Tyrio roared.
The hundred oars of the Sealion increased with the command of the drum beat to battle speed, seven knots.
“The rowers of the Sealion can row at battle speed for two hours. During that time, the twenty reserve rowers will also be used to keep that pace.”
Tyrio let them row for thirty minutes. At that point the first few reserves were called up to replace the weaker rowers of the crew. The trainees, including Aurane, were pushed aside as the hatchway to the lower deck was opened and some of them were given a brief glance at daylight above them.
The rowing continued on at battle speed, the only sound being the beat of the drum keeping time on the crowded deck. At the sweat began to increase on the backs of the rowers and their breathing became more laboured, Aurane began to form an understanding of what Tyrio had spoken about.
“Attack speed!”
“At attack speed the Sealion is moving at eleven knots." roared Tyrio above the noise of creaking wood, the beat of the drum and the grunts of the rowers as they strained at their oars.
Many of the trainees marveled at the incredible speed. For a sailing ship it was the equivalent of running before a strong wind, a tricky manoeuvre that was rarely attempted.
“The rowers of the Sealion can maintain this speed for fifteen minutes. It is only three knots faster than battle speed, but the extra effort required cuts their ability to an eighth of the time.” said Tyrio addressing all the trainees, but only looking at Aurane.
“Ramming speed!”
The drum master of the Sealion repeated their order and increased his beat. The rowers redoubled their efforts, many grunting through the pain of the back-breaking pull. Others cried out as cramped muscles gave way under the strain.
“At ramming speed, even the best rowers will collapse after five minutes!” Tyrio shouted over the cries of pains and the grunting.
The first rower collapsed after two minutes. Within another sixty second another twenty rowers were down.
“All stop!” Tyrio shouted, putting an end to the enforced barbarity of the lesson. He spat the bile of self-shame from his mouth at the sight of the near broken men, many at the end of their strength, while others who had gone beyond their strength lay prone under their oars. One did not rise again, his heart broken from the effort.
Tyrio had told Aurane that he did not flinch from pushing his rowers to their limits when the situation required it.To show compassion could endanger the ship. Aurane believed him. The young Lord resolved to treat his rowers well, not only because healthy men rowed better, but as Tyrio had impressed upon him, the tables could one day be turned and they might find themselves two to an oar. Aurane doubted the second, but Tyrio at times seemed almost fatalistic.
Tyrio ordered the oars to be withdrawn and the sail raised. For the next hour, the Sealion would have to make do with canvas only. He ordered the trainees back onto the main deck once more and then standing on the aft he beckoned Aurane to stand beside him and addressed them once more.
“We do not know what lies ahead for our fleet. At the very least we will be called upon to engage and destroy pirates. We might even meet the Cultist fleet in battle. In either case you will need all your resources to stay alive and in the fight. Lord Velaryon here…”, he indicated Aurane, “is our fleet commander and I am his second in command as well as captain of his flag ship. The Sealion has fought in many battles and has survived them all. That is because I know that each man on board is valuable in the fight.”
His voice rose higher and Aurane didn’t know if he was speaking to the trainees or solely to him.
“To ignore any part of your crew is to doom your ship. The lesson is this…..Know your ships. Know your crews. Know your strength.”
Results:
Aurane Velaryon takes command of his uncle’s fleet of eighteen ships at the Saltpans
Men are recruited from the local area to bring the crews of the ships up to full strength
Aurane Velaryon moves to Noteworthy in Naval Battle
Aurane Velaryon moves to Noteworthy in Seamanship
He stood up and turned his back on the shoreline, walking slowly up the gentle beach of the slope of the beach at the Saltpans, arching his back to stretch his tired muscles. Aurane glanced around him as he walked observing a land of wilderness of sandy dunes and salt marshes beneath a vast blue-grey vault of sky.
At the Saltpans, he had found only death and desolation. Any survivors of the Cult had fled and the dead had long been given to the ground, but the corpse of the town itself remained ashen and unburied. The air would have at one time smelled heavily of smoke, but now it was all clear, the cries of the seagulls floating overhead sounding almost human, like the lamentations of lost children. Even the castle had seemed forlorn and abandoned. Grey as the ashes of the town around it, the castle consisted of a square keep girded by a curtain wall, built so to overlook the harbor – now burnt down to the waterline. Hence the ships had been beached for repair and refitting on the nearest beach.
Aurane had arrived at the Saltpans three weeks before, meeting the ships from the south that had made their rendezvous at his uncle’s orders. The captain, an apparent long time friend of his uncle’s, was named Tyrio Querini. A Lysene, Tyrio was in his early fifties – still strong and fit, much of his graying indistinguishable from the blonde streaks of his hair - but with eyes of a quite remarkable indigo, much like his uncle's own, indicating a Valyrian ancestry.
Tyrio had been irrepressible from the time he had opened Aegon’s letter of instructions. He and the young Velaryon had sailed around the shore of the Bay of Crabs, recruiting sailors and rowers for the fleet. Many of the local people had had their homes and chattels destroyed and the livelihoods taken away by the Cultists operations and it had not been difficult to lure men to their employ on the basis of solid work and sufficient victuals. Tyrio had also proceeded to not only begin training the new crewmen and sailors on the fleet but also Aurane himself in both seamanship, but also the techniques of naval fighting. Aurane’s head had swum with the amount of information and knowledge that Tyrio had shared with him, but knew as the fleet’s new - but nominal – commander, he needed to begin thinking as a commander of the sea, rather than of the land.
Tyrio had had impressed upon the young Velaryon the need for teaching their sailors and rowers how to ram other ships, when all of Aurane’s reason and training demanded that they should be trained for boarding other ships, as one would assault a castle in a siege. Many of the new trainees under Tyrio’s tutelage were already skilled sailors from their time as fisherfolk on the Bay and for them it was simply a matter of adapting their skills, teaching them how best to manoeuvre a galley whilst choosing the most appropriate oar-stroke. For Aurane the process was a little longer as he had to put aside the arts of land warfare he had been taught from childhood. However he was a fast learner.
Today Tyrio had promised would be their most demanding exercise yet. So important that Tyrio would show the command crew of each galley this exercise one by one to ensure they remembered the lesson. With the other galleys still being scraped of barnacles, Aurane finally made his way onto to the Sealion which cast off moving away from the beach at two knots – steerage speed. Her pace had been dictated by the fact that they needed to conserve the strength of the rowers for the lesson ahead, a lesson that would be learnt at their expense. Tyrio had kept this lesson until last, knowing it be the most important for the crew as well as his young charge.
Once the Sealion cleared the shallow water, Tyrio ordered all twenty five new trainees including Aurane below to the slave deck to join the rowers, many of them also raw recruits.
“Men” Tyrio shouted his voice muted by the press of bodies and the surrounding timbers, “this deck represents the strength of your ship. These rowers are part of your crew. You must treat them accordingly. To abuse them is to sap your own strength."
“In battle” Tyrio continued ‘…you will face many challenges. The principal one will be your ability to know and understand your ship and its capabilities. Of your ships' capabilities, one of the most important is the strength of your men at your oars. These rowers give you the ability to out-manoeuvre your enemy or escape or close in for the attack. The crucial thing you must know is that their strength is finite. Once it is spent your ship is lost.”
“Battle speed” Tyrio roared.
The hundred oars of the Sealion increased with the command of the drum beat to battle speed, seven knots.
“The rowers of the Sealion can row at battle speed for two hours. During that time, the twenty reserve rowers will also be used to keep that pace.”
Tyrio let them row for thirty minutes. At that point the first few reserves were called up to replace the weaker rowers of the crew. The trainees, including Aurane, were pushed aside as the hatchway to the lower deck was opened and some of them were given a brief glance at daylight above them.
The rowing continued on at battle speed, the only sound being the beat of the drum keeping time on the crowded deck. At the sweat began to increase on the backs of the rowers and their breathing became more laboured, Aurane began to form an understanding of what Tyrio had spoken about.
“Attack speed!”
“At attack speed the Sealion is moving at eleven knots." roared Tyrio above the noise of creaking wood, the beat of the drum and the grunts of the rowers as they strained at their oars.
Many of the trainees marveled at the incredible speed. For a sailing ship it was the equivalent of running before a strong wind, a tricky manoeuvre that was rarely attempted.
“The rowers of the Sealion can maintain this speed for fifteen minutes. It is only three knots faster than battle speed, but the extra effort required cuts their ability to an eighth of the time.” said Tyrio addressing all the trainees, but only looking at Aurane.
“Ramming speed!”
The drum master of the Sealion repeated their order and increased his beat. The rowers redoubled their efforts, many grunting through the pain of the back-breaking pull. Others cried out as cramped muscles gave way under the strain.
“At ramming speed, even the best rowers will collapse after five minutes!” Tyrio shouted over the cries of pains and the grunting.
The first rower collapsed after two minutes. Within another sixty second another twenty rowers were down.
“All stop!” Tyrio shouted, putting an end to the enforced barbarity of the lesson. He spat the bile of self-shame from his mouth at the sight of the near broken men, many at the end of their strength, while others who had gone beyond their strength lay prone under their oars. One did not rise again, his heart broken from the effort.
Tyrio had told Aurane that he did not flinch from pushing his rowers to their limits when the situation required it.To show compassion could endanger the ship. Aurane believed him. The young Lord resolved to treat his rowers well, not only because healthy men rowed better, but as Tyrio had impressed upon him, the tables could one day be turned and they might find themselves two to an oar. Aurane doubted the second, but Tyrio at times seemed almost fatalistic.
Tyrio ordered the oars to be withdrawn and the sail raised. For the next hour, the Sealion would have to make do with canvas only. He ordered the trainees back onto the main deck once more and then standing on the aft he beckoned Aurane to stand beside him and addressed them once more.
“We do not know what lies ahead for our fleet. At the very least we will be called upon to engage and destroy pirates. We might even meet the Cultist fleet in battle. In either case you will need all your resources to stay alive and in the fight. Lord Velaryon here…”, he indicated Aurane, “is our fleet commander and I am his second in command as well as captain of his flag ship. The Sealion has fought in many battles and has survived them all. That is because I know that each man on board is valuable in the fight.”
His voice rose higher and Aurane didn’t know if he was speaking to the trainees or solely to him.
“To ignore any part of your crew is to doom your ship. The lesson is this…..Know your ships. Know your crews. Know your strength.”
Results:
Aurane Velaryon takes command of his uncle’s fleet of eighteen ships at the Saltpans
Men are recruited from the local area to bring the crews of the ships up to full strength
Aurane Velaryon moves to Noteworthy in Naval Battle
Aurane Velaryon moves to Noteworthy in Seamanship