Post by The Smith on Dec 27, 2009 14:27:34 GMT -5
Steffon sat behind his desk with a glass of whiskey cradled in one hand. He sipped it slowly, and refilled the glass when it was empty. His wounds had prevented him from traveling to Runestone with the rest of the court, when news had come in of his sister's disappearance. He'd received a letter a week past that told of Princess Joanna's return to Runestone with her children. He refilled his glass again, and picked at the cold roast duck that was leftover from his dinner.
He reached across the deck and pulled over a stack of parchments that had been left earlier by his steward. Alyn Swygert was the old steward at Storm's End, a man who had served the Baratheons since King Rodrick II sat the Iron Throne. Lord Eustace had actively gone out of his way to ignore all matters related to running the fortress and manage its incomes, so Swygert and Maester Vayon had essentially between them managed the castle for decades. Steffon was cut from a similar cloth as his father, but not quite the same, and he had a good head for numbers so he had tried to involve himself in the management of Storm's End since assuming his seat.
The cost of paying a thousand dragons to the Dornish for the next five years would not be crippling to Storm's End; it was a rich land and Steffon had plenty of gold, but as he drank and sat in silence he decided that he would have to pay them. "Fuck the Dornish," he said, his voice slightly hoarse from disuse. His leg still ached, though it was healed enough that he could walk around, albeit with a slight limp. Maester Vayon said he would eventually regain his full strength, but the wound would always pain him, and slow him down to a certain degree.
The recent years had been good to the Stormlands; good summer harvests had yielded surpluses all across the Stormlands. Hunting was good and all of Steffon's vassals were paying their taxes in good time. Steffon's own taxes to his brother on the Iron Throne were manageable. He had not been happy when his the bird had come from Pentos saying he needed to re-build the ships that Rodrick had lost in battle with the Braavosi, but when four captured Lorathi Galleys had sailed into Storm's End laden with gold his anger had abated.
The cost of entirely reconstructing seven War Galleys was extensive, but the Rodrick's payment from the Free Alliance had covered that and there was more besides, most likely plunder from his victories. He refilled his glass again, and drained it again, and repeated the process for long hours into the night.
"Ser! Look, sails, to the west!" The shout came from the nest, atop the main mast of Selwyn's Fury. Rodrick looked west and saw four small square sails on the horizon.
"Is it the stragglers from of an old fleet? Or the scouts for a larger force?" the young knight murmured, more to himself than anyone else. He'd picked up that habit while at sea, and so the men on the forcastle with him knew that he was not talking to them.
"Forward, we have to catch them," Rodrick said, and his men sprang into action. His fleet of thirteen ships was in a tight wedge, with Selwyn's Fury at the point, and they sailed with a good wind. Months and months at sea had hardened his men, and trained them better than any exercises or drills could have done in Shipbreaker Bay. Rodrick and his sailors were veterans of half a dozen battles, nearly all of which were won, and so they were disciplined and efficient.
The drums began to beat, signaling the rowers, and the long oars slid out of each ship and began dipping into the water in time with the drumbeats. The thirteen warships under his command swept forward through the water, approaching the other four ships quickly, which were grouped together in a similar formation as Rodrick's fleet, but far smaller. They did not try to flee, strangely enough, but instead tried to tack against the wind and sail to attack against the larger force coming against them.
Selwyn's Fury raked the hull of the lead ship, while five of Rodrick's ships crashed similarly into the other three hostile vessels. Boarding parties charged forward, Rodrick leading his own. He was armored more lightly than usual, for this battle had not been expected. He wore chainmail over a leather gambeson, though he did not today wear his customary plate over the chainmail. He still carried his shield, a massive pavise made of solid oak studded with iron, with his crowned dragon painted in gold and black on the front.
He wielded a heavy flanged mace in his right hand, a thick oaken handle connected to two feet of steel that grew outward at the end. The mace-head was six inches in diameter of solid steel, and four steel flanges protruded on each side adding to the weight and killing power of the weapon. Several small spikes and barbs adorned each flange and the first man who came at Rodrick screamed when the cruel spikes crushed his shoulder. Blood sprayed and he went down screaming while Rodrick moved on to the next foe.
One of his sailors killed the man who'd fallen as the stormlanders surged forward onto the ship. Rodrick could not tell if the enemy sailors were speaking Lorathi or Braavosi when they screamed for mercy or shouted orders to one another but his men killed them all the same. The fighting continued for nearly an hour until all four ships had been subdued. A few of the sailors had surrendered, but since all four of the ships were too badly damaged for Rodrick to make any use of, he left the prisoners on their sinking vessels and sailed away. Only one of his own ships had taken any damage, but it was minor and easily repaired.
Rodrick's fleet sailed west leaving the destroyed vessels to sink. There was nothing plunderable on them, but few men had died and it was a small victory. They moved on to seek more enemies of the Free Alliance.
Ser Rodrick Baratheon improves toward Grand Master Sea Battle
Ser Rodrick Baratheon improves to Expert Maces/Warhammers
Lord Steffon Baratheon improves to Expert Drinking
Lord Steffon Baratheon improves to Novice Stewardship
He reached across the deck and pulled over a stack of parchments that had been left earlier by his steward. Alyn Swygert was the old steward at Storm's End, a man who had served the Baratheons since King Rodrick II sat the Iron Throne. Lord Eustace had actively gone out of his way to ignore all matters related to running the fortress and manage its incomes, so Swygert and Maester Vayon had essentially between them managed the castle for decades. Steffon was cut from a similar cloth as his father, but not quite the same, and he had a good head for numbers so he had tried to involve himself in the management of Storm's End since assuming his seat.
The cost of paying a thousand dragons to the Dornish for the next five years would not be crippling to Storm's End; it was a rich land and Steffon had plenty of gold, but as he drank and sat in silence he decided that he would have to pay them. "Fuck the Dornish," he said, his voice slightly hoarse from disuse. His leg still ached, though it was healed enough that he could walk around, albeit with a slight limp. Maester Vayon said he would eventually regain his full strength, but the wound would always pain him, and slow him down to a certain degree.
The recent years had been good to the Stormlands; good summer harvests had yielded surpluses all across the Stormlands. Hunting was good and all of Steffon's vassals were paying their taxes in good time. Steffon's own taxes to his brother on the Iron Throne were manageable. He had not been happy when his the bird had come from Pentos saying he needed to re-build the ships that Rodrick had lost in battle with the Braavosi, but when four captured Lorathi Galleys had sailed into Storm's End laden with gold his anger had abated.
The cost of entirely reconstructing seven War Galleys was extensive, but the Rodrick's payment from the Free Alliance had covered that and there was more besides, most likely plunder from his victories. He refilled his glass again, and drained it again, and repeated the process for long hours into the night.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Ser! Look, sails, to the west!" The shout came from the nest, atop the main mast of Selwyn's Fury. Rodrick looked west and saw four small square sails on the horizon.
"Is it the stragglers from of an old fleet? Or the scouts for a larger force?" the young knight murmured, more to himself than anyone else. He'd picked up that habit while at sea, and so the men on the forcastle with him knew that he was not talking to them.
"Forward, we have to catch them," Rodrick said, and his men sprang into action. His fleet of thirteen ships was in a tight wedge, with Selwyn's Fury at the point, and they sailed with a good wind. Months and months at sea had hardened his men, and trained them better than any exercises or drills could have done in Shipbreaker Bay. Rodrick and his sailors were veterans of half a dozen battles, nearly all of which were won, and so they were disciplined and efficient.
The drums began to beat, signaling the rowers, and the long oars slid out of each ship and began dipping into the water in time with the drumbeats. The thirteen warships under his command swept forward through the water, approaching the other four ships quickly, which were grouped together in a similar formation as Rodrick's fleet, but far smaller. They did not try to flee, strangely enough, but instead tried to tack against the wind and sail to attack against the larger force coming against them.
Selwyn's Fury raked the hull of the lead ship, while five of Rodrick's ships crashed similarly into the other three hostile vessels. Boarding parties charged forward, Rodrick leading his own. He was armored more lightly than usual, for this battle had not been expected. He wore chainmail over a leather gambeson, though he did not today wear his customary plate over the chainmail. He still carried his shield, a massive pavise made of solid oak studded with iron, with his crowned dragon painted in gold and black on the front.
He wielded a heavy flanged mace in his right hand, a thick oaken handle connected to two feet of steel that grew outward at the end. The mace-head was six inches in diameter of solid steel, and four steel flanges protruded on each side adding to the weight and killing power of the weapon. Several small spikes and barbs adorned each flange and the first man who came at Rodrick screamed when the cruel spikes crushed his shoulder. Blood sprayed and he went down screaming while Rodrick moved on to the next foe.
One of his sailors killed the man who'd fallen as the stormlanders surged forward onto the ship. Rodrick could not tell if the enemy sailors were speaking Lorathi or Braavosi when they screamed for mercy or shouted orders to one another but his men killed them all the same. The fighting continued for nearly an hour until all four ships had been subdued. A few of the sailors had surrendered, but since all four of the ships were too badly damaged for Rodrick to make any use of, he left the prisoners on their sinking vessels and sailed away. Only one of his own ships had taken any damage, but it was minor and easily repaired.
Rodrick's fleet sailed west leaving the destroyed vessels to sink. There was nothing plunderable on them, but few men had died and it was a small victory. They moved on to seek more enemies of the Free Alliance.
Ser Rodrick Baratheon improves toward Grand Master Sea Battle
Ser Rodrick Baratheon improves to Expert Maces/Warhammers
Lord Steffon Baratheon improves to Expert Drinking
Lord Steffon Baratheon improves to Novice Stewardship
Hope you all are well and happy.