|Summary:||Quellyan and Tommas discuss Ironborn maids and their poisons, then the conversation turns more savory when Bruce and Alric arrive.|
|Related Logs:||Here Be Sea Dragons|
|Camps — Harlaw Ilse|
|Salty and Damp|
|Mon Feb 20, 289|
It is morning and already in the encampment, men are stirring. Further patrols to probe inland are being made, as well as trying to secure the coast. Outriders come and go, and the mist hangs enough to create a sort of blanket in the air. One can see-thankfully to the fires going in the camp. But with it comes the distinction of being a target. Amongst the collected tents and banners are several central fires serving this morning. And nigh one of them would be a man dressed out in his kit still, probably fresh from riding the coast earlier this morning. The black might not denote a family one way or the other, but the green misteltoe, easily identifies him as a Charlton. Helm off, and shield slung over his back, the knight is sitting one one of the odd stones perched in the ground, while a steaming cup is held in hand.
"No bloody wonder they come over and raid us." Ser Quellyan says mainly to himself. "This place is so fucking miserable, I'd want to see the sun, sometime.. Other than before it sets." a snort, and he slurps down a little of what is in his mug, before turning and looking off into the distance, as if there was something to see besides men, horses and this damnedable fog.
Perched on a nearby stone, one seemingly too small for his large figure, Tommas squats in his leathers and maile with his short hair twisted in a bedheaded arc. In his hands, a large knfie carefully carves a small impression into the shafter of his large war hammer. "Aye, Ser of Charlton. It's like as not the lack of sun that twists them into beasts and not average men," the big man drawls slowly.
"Or it means their women are ugly as sins yet unthought of.." A chuckle leaves Quell, before he is looking over to the other man. And a brow barely rises as he takes another drink of his mulled wine before he is tilting his head. "What are you carving there, Ser?" When in doubt chose ser. It's easier to back track from that, than by calling another knight Master. Still-Quellyan leaves it open for the other fellow to introduce himself. "As for them being average men, or not..I think they die the same as we do. With the whole pissing ourselves and making a mess of our leathers and armor as we teeter off." A shrug. "Mind you, I've never investigated an ironborn corpse. But, I am going on a hunch here."
It is, lest you offend another man who might have a blade to your back on the battlefields to come. The Charlton Knight and the Groves man sit, perched on rocks not too far from the flittering light of the game fires on this bitter and mist blanketed morning. "From what I hear, the house of the Oaks did not think so. Their bitch of a Harlaw must have been fair indeed, if poisoness as an adder," Tommas opines dryly, blade nicking out a chip of wood as he speaks. At Quellyan's question, he looks up to stare at the other man for a moment with a crooked smile. "Just the devil of our crossing, should I die then at least there will be memory of it placed into my weapon." Fire Whales. Sea Dragons. Inelegant, but visually sound in their geometric depictions. "Ser Tommas Belte, of Groves," he offers after a moment, slow to respond to the lurking question. "Aye. You've the right of that, they die as we do. A bloody pulp — but for the one monster at the death of Lord Jason Mallister, I have seen little to hail them more than men. My ma always said though, tis not the stories that make men to beasts but their deeds." That big knife takes another inch for the carving. "And in that, they be beasts sure as I have eyes."
Indeed. And Quellyan, despite his sometimes offending nature would rather count himself with more friends than enemies. Specially on this particular accursed island. "Fair indeed?" Quellyan parrots with an amused look spilling over his mug. "Give me a fair woman, any day. If they are poisonous..well. I would rather die because too much venom was in my cock than too less lust in my life." A shake of his head for a moment as the cup comes back up to his lips. "Though, I am sure that is a painful bite." a grimace at the thought before he is taking another loud sip. "Oh, You're putting a burning ship on your hammer?" apparently the seriousness of fire whales is lost on the Blackrood. "Truly an epic thing to have on one's weapon-indeed, I would even say it would make your hammer song worthy." And then there's a look down to his own sword still in it's sheathe for the moment. "Perhaps when all is said and one I might see some adornment done. After all we will get our 'riches' back from these pirates.." A glance up given the introduction and then there's a nod, as an easy grin sits on Quell's visage. "A pleasure Ser Tommas. I am Ser Quellyan…" and there introductions are done and cannot be fucked up now.
Eyes flit to the fire for a moment, as a mirthless chuckle rattles out, but doesn't hang for long. "Lord Jason was indeed killed by a bastard of a man. And I would agree that they are indeed bestial people. I will concede on that.." A pause. "Though I'd have not any man thinking they the like to turn into a bear or something on the field. Wives tales and that."
Along the beach moves a man with confidence and a calm smirk. The wind from the sea blowing through Alric's hair. A sword hanging from his hip. Eyes looking around the area as he walks. Seeing the gravestones and whatever else is around. A soft sigh as he stops and startes to the sky. But when he lower his eyes he can see some people not too far from him. Starting to make his way towards them.
Coming close when Quellyan speaks. "Gentlemen, I hope you are both alright." Alric offers with a calm deep voice, and a nod to each. Not saying anything about what Quellyan say, if he even heard. "I hope I'm not intruding on anything." Looking back and forth between the two.
"Fair enough that the Camden wished to wet his cock, so speak," Tommas says flatly, lifting his shoulders in a shift that might be a shrug. "I never met the welp, myself." Heresay is heresay, as it stands. "I much prefer to keep my cock out of adder-cunts. It isn't worth the burn. Those are all yours, Ser Charlton. I'll not stand between you and the snakes." All while he speaks he continues to chip away at his hammer, only looking up to answer Quellyan's question about his carving with a rueful, "No." Silly man, seeing things in the fog. "And nae, you're right. I was there to see him fall, while there may be something in these ilses…but, the hellsent squids themselves are merely men." At the greeting, Tommas looks up and cants his gaze towards Alric with a brief raise of brows. "Good morn."
Bruce is in the process of walking back through one of the camp's "gate's", really just a small, open section that's not been dug up. Instead of the double ditch outside the rest of the camp, the "gate" has a pair of barriers made out of wood and lashed together, to present impediment to anyone on horse or for that matter, walking in formation. Ser Bruce and his second, Serjeant Stefan Turner, have just been visiting the picket line outside. New priority - lunch.
"Then it must be a beauty. I've heard that all the women here had cunts with tentacles so they could swallow you whole like a kraken. Or maybe that is just Greyjoy women." A grin there given back to the other knight. "I think I like you, Ser Tommas." and the laugh that comes with it, confirms it. "Oh?" But, the knight doesn't press about what in the seven hells that Tommas could be carving. Instead, he merely offers his own grin. "I was there as well, good Ser. I understand that Lord Jason was an excellent fighter, and I will admit it brought me low to see him fall. Or rather, spurned me on to kill as many of the squids as I could.." A shake of his head. "I am glad though that we are pressing it to them. Too long have they come to our shores and harassed our people. I'd like nothing more than to salt their fields and kill men who can raise weapons..Be done with it." grim work all that. But there's no sound of pining glory in the Charlton knight's words. And there's a turn of his head as the newest arrival joins in.
"Good morn, to you." Quell replies evenly enough, from his cups. "Interrupting? No. We're just talking about the Harlaw cunts with snake teeth in them..Among other things." a glance to Tommas. 'Does that cover everything?"
Alric's eyes move back and forth between the two, listening to their conversation. A chuckle leaving him. "You really shouldn't be so vulgar." He tells Quellyan, although not really sounding like he cares either way. "That sounds rather painful, though there are always ways to tame even a snake." He replies. As for Tommas comment he just smirks.
He knows Quellyan fairly well, seeing him around a bit. But as for the other man, he isn't certain. He might have seen him around and such, but he hasn't kept his name on his mind in that case. A hand offered. "Alric Fenster, young lord of house Fenster." He tells Tommas, looking right at him.
"Aye? And how many cups deep was the man who told you that? Are you certain that he didn't mistake one of the properly briney beasts for a Greyjoy," Tommas wonders amiably, slow spoken voice moving at his own pace. His hands move quicker than his words, chip-chipping away at the carving. "There is nothing to salt here that the ocean has not done already." He turns his blue eyed gaze to rake over the stoney wasteland that they have settled in at present. There is not much to be seen. At Quellyan's glance, he ducks his chin in an ungracious nod. 'That is the large of it.' At Alric's greeting, Tommas does not take his hand but instead folds himself in an ungainly sort of bow from his seated position. "My lord. Ser Tommas Belte of Groves."
Serjeant Turner splits off to see to the Nayland side of the camp. Ser Bruce, however, keeps going straight until he's at the area that many of the knights and lords have made their unofficial camping spot. Or at least where they all congregate, eat, drink and sit around the fire telling stories. Upon approaching the trio of men, he reaches up to unfasten his chinstrap and pull his helmet off. "Morning, gents. M'lords." The former is directed towards everyone, the latter specifically towards the Charlton and Fenster.
A raise of his cup back towards Ser Bruce as he comes up to join them. "Ser." called out evenly enough before he's looking back to the Groves man with a chuckle. "That, I cannot safely say, Ser. I would imagine as many as I was in at the time. If not more." a sniff and down goes the rest of his drink which leaves the man to eye the empty cup, as his own smirk wears down. "That is true. But, I would see them suffer for what they've done all the same. Pay a price." a half hearted shrug before he's looking back toward's Alric. "Oh Lord Fenstar, my pardons if I have bled your ears. It's camp talk as we are in camp. I find it better musings though, than worrying about what sword, spear or axe may find my belly. Surely you can agree, at least that a woman's.." cunt. " Ah sanctuary is a finer place to rest than on the dreams of spear points." And there's a look to the Nayland knight- as if he would at least get agreement from him.
There is a smirk present on Alric's face as he pull his hand back. A nod offered instead. His hand at his side as he turns to look at Bruce who is on his way to join them. Noticing him when Quellyan calls out. As for what Quellyan says, he grins and nods. "It is no real worries. If I would force everyone to speak in a more polite tongue I'd be decapitated." He replies with a soft chuckles. "And I would believe that it is indeed better than a spear." Turning more attention to the approaching man now. "Ser" Offering a nod to the knight.
"They deserve whatever price we pay out to them," Tommas agrees, mild voice edged with something fiercer. In dims and he regards Quellyan with another lopsided smile for his apologies, tipping his head towards the Lord Fenster. He does not note that it would certainly be a different sort of spear, in the regard with they speak. "Ser," he greets Bruce, greeting him with a short nod. "A more comfortable one too." That sanctuary.
At first, Bruce is keeping well out of the conversation. He moves to the cookfire, seeking if there's water or tea on the boil. Finding that there is indeed, the Stonebridge knight smiles, pulling his trusty wooden cup from a side pouch on his thick belt and filling it. However, Quellyan's comment gets a grin and a chuckle. "Aye, m'lord. What's right is right. Still, we'd get greater success if we offered an amnesty if they turned side. Most of them won't, of course. And that's when you ravage town or country." A shrug. "Eventually, some will rather not see their homes burned, crops taken, wives raped and the men put to the sword. Some will yield."
"Decapitated? No. Stabbed-possibly. And hated. Yes." Quellyan outlines before, he's nodding back towards Tommas. taking time to set the cup down by his feet. "Agreed, Ser Belte." A laugh rising up. "On both accounts. Find me a good warm sheathe to shiver in and I'll be right as there is rain on this fucking island." His own hand searching for something along one of the pouches worn on his belt. A shrug and the cup is nabbed up, and stashed inside. Eyes regard Bruce for a moment before he is nodding again.
"Right you are, Ser." And with that the Charlton knight is shifting himself from his rock perch and coming over to offer his hand, once the man's seen to his tuck. "Amnesty would indeed be better for all of us. But we all know, no one will take it, and we will offer it only before we allow our own hungers to be raged out.." a shrug there. "Nature of war." And with that he offers a grin. "I believe you came with the Naylands yesterday. Ser Quellyan." Might as well know those he might be dying with.
Back and forth between all three of the men as Alric studies them. Chuckling at Quellyan's reply. "True." Then over to Bruce, when the man speaks. "I believe that might be a reason for me being around. I could probably convince some of them to surrender themselves." A bit overconfident perhaps. "However, as you said, most of them probably won't. So they will die." A grin and nod to Tommas, about it being more comfortable. Then shifting his eyes to land on Quellyan again. Considering his reply to Bruce as well. But he stays silent for now, as the others introduces themselves.
Quellyana's mirth is regarded with a half smile, dimmed by other subjects that settle themselves. "Think you truely that they will take that amnesty? It was too tidy an act of war." Tommas shakes his head, spitting in disgust at the thought. As for fields salted and wives raped, he'll say nothing on that. His countenance reveals nothing but digust for those who might see it done.
"Whether a whole house takes it or not, I don't know. But every war has deserters, and this will encourage more of 'em to desert. Some of them gotta know they're going to be brought back into the King's Peace, one way or another. Smallfolk are more likely than nobles." Bruce offers a long glance at all of them, and then nods. "Aye, m'lord, I did. Ser Bruce Longbough, Nayland or Stonebridge Captain of the Guard. Whichever you please. Until Ser Rygar and the Stonebridge levies are found, I'm in charge of our men."
To be fair, a lot of Quellyan's mirth is supported by his appetite for drink. Quellyan nods towards the Nayland and offers a pat to the man's shoulder. "I think I'll stick to Ser Bruce or Ser Longbough for now. Lest I anger your Lord." a shake of his head there for a moment. "Well, whatever it is worth, I am glad we ran into you all. It adds to our numbers that have been strangely scattered about by the fucking seas." and fire whales.
Speaking of which-there's a look back to Tommas "Some will, others won't. It will depend on who is too proud to beg." a sniff before he's rubbing his nose with a bare hand-once gauntlet is pulled off. "Ser Bruce, if I may- Ser Tommas Belte of the Groves contingent here, and this." a gesture towards Alric "is the young Lord Fenstar." Luckily for the Groves' man. Quellyan is at least not focusing on slating and raping, and that subject is let to fall.
Though a snort is given to Alric. "Yes, I am sure you could, my Lord. In fact next time we see a bunch of the bastards. I elect you walk over to them, and ask them how they are feeling…"
"I couldn't care less about killing them. But if we can spare our men, it is worth it." Alric offers a shrug at. Nodding to Bruce. "Yes, I believe you are right, ser. Folk that have their families to feed, and such, are more likely to surrender. It's just a matter of finding those that seem more likely to stop fighting." Then nodding as Bruce offers his name. As well as when Quellyan introduces Alric. "I trust you keep your men alert, and whatnot, then." He says to Bruce. To Quellyan he just laughs. "Perhaps I will, along the head of one of the, in one hand and a blade in the other. If that works better with these kind of folks."
At Quellyan's introduction, Tommas raises a hand in greeting to the Nayland knight and smiles shortly. "Ser." The action looks a little more threatening than he intends, since it is the one with his oversize knife in it due to lack of hands. He shakes his head at the subject of organizeing the men and returns to his carving. Chip. Chip.
Bruce's sleepy blue eyes go from Alric to Tommas. "M'lord. Ser. Well met. The more boots we've got crunching up this rocky shite, the better. My men are as afraid of breaking discipline as the Ironmen, I think, so they're ever vigilant." He echoes Quellyan's snort with a good natured chuckle. "But now, lunch." He goes to grab some from the nearby mess tent. You know, the one designed to serve the important folks in the camp. He's back soon after. Unfortunately it's nothing too appetizing, but it will do. Fish stew and coarse black bread. The latter's been dumped into the former.
A look is given back towards Alric, and Quellyan bows his head "Of course it is, but be sure to use one of their heads. " A chuckle and he's moving back for his rock. taking time to shift about in his armor. He'll be sure to get his squire to clean it this evening and see to any repairs that might be needed. Still there's a glance back to Bruce, and then a faint grimace as the scent of lunch comes wafting over to the Charlton knight. "I see morning and new meals are the same.." But that doesn't mean the knight isn't going to skip the meal, because soon enough he's grudgingly headed that way as well. "I pray this doesn't give me the shits.."
Alric smirks and nods at Quellyan, "Of course." Then falling silent as he looks at the others. Staying in his posture as he looks around. Only looking at the Charlton, when he speaks. Personally not hungry at the moment. As he has eaten moments ago. He glances out over the sea and then in towards land. Seeing no reason to speak right now.
Tommas remains on his perch as the others move to collect their lunch or breakfast, depending on the length of time which they've been awake. His knife is neatly sheathed at his belt, fingers gently brushing over the shaft of his hammer as he eyes his work before nodding with approval. Reaching into a pounce at his side, he pulls out a small stone and begins smooth out the rougher edges.
"Well, we dug some new latrine trenches near the edge of the camp, so you'll be shitting in style, m'lord, with the smell of the sea and the wind whipping up your arse." Notes Bruce, pulling his dull, metal spoon from the same pouch as the cup and digging in to the stew. "Don't see how anyone can eat fish all day, every day. Then again, I'm not from the coast."
"Nor am I." Quellyan responds when he's had his seat and his stew. Though unlike the other, bread is used more or less to dig from the trencher before he's looking back up. A bite of fish. "But, It'll suffice- I believe. At least until we can find further stores, or take them." And with that the other knight turns his head over towards Tommas, and faint raise of his brows. "How is it coming, Ser?" nearly finished- seems to be the unasked question.
"A hungry man can find cause to eat anything. Fish is easy to catch and'll fill the plate well enough, Sers," Tommas opines easily, having eaten a fair few fish in his life. His hands stay busy and steady as he looks up at Quellyan with a smile. "It's not masterwork, barely a craftsman as I am. But I like it well enough, Ser." Fire Whales.
Still staying silent as the others speak. Alric seems to be busy with other matters, thinking things over in his head. Is about to give reply about the fish, but Tommas beat him to it. Letting his eyes look at the work of the man. Grinning at that. Fire Whales…
"Aye." Bruce scoffs down his food like a man who's not eaten in days, rather than hours. That done, he puts his bowl back in the mess tent for some squire to wash, most likely, before saying, "Well, off to form the men up for noon parade. Tell them what's going on and the like. Afternoon, m'lords, Ser." And like that, he's stalking off towards the Nayland section of the camp.
Quellyan grins around a mouthful of Fish and bread before he's chuckling, the trencher sat down, as his hand is quick to go up in his mouth, and fish out a long bone from his teeth. Turning the Charlton knight spits before looking back at Tommas. "Good then. May the carving bring your weapon good luck. And may it kill many men who riverland women, widows." And then there's a bit of a laugh towards Bruce. "Ah, yes the wind at my arse. Exactly, what is needed." there's a wave of his hand before he is coming up and off his perch as well. "Ser Tommas. A pleasure as always." There's a nod towards Alric "Keep an eye on the good Lord here, I must get out of this armor, if briefly." not that he is ecpecting anything, but In war one simply doesn't ponce about as they normally would.
Alric offers a nod to Bruce as he leaves. Then grins at Quellyan. Offering a nod there as well. Then a final nod to Tommas. "It is no problem. I was just on a walk anyway. Thought I might as well meet some of the men." He offers and smiles. Nodding to the man as he leaves.
Tommas buffs the last scrap of of edges of of his hammer as he rises, tucking the stone back into his pounch. "And might your head avoid the blows of Ironborn," he returns to Quellyana, offering him a short salute. To Alric he turns, dipping in a short bow. "Beg your lords pardon, but I must return to Lord Groves. Thank you for sharing the fire." With that, the big man nods once more before setting back off towards where the Groves tents are gathered.