Post by Malthazar Nazaryl on Jul 25, 2015 20:16:31 GMT -5
The Blue Rose traditionally makes port in Gulltown and White Harbor. The ship is not in fact blue, though there are the faint stains of old paint across the hull. The ship's owner and captain Raskin has a distinct Northern accent, but it is buried beneath the even more distinct slurs of an Alcoholic. He is proud of his vessel, and claims it as fine a vessel as any ship owned by Redwyne himself. He spits every time the name is mentioned, and unfortunately for the deck, Raskin is a proud man. Indeed, the finest thing to be seen onboard are Captain Raskin's moustaches, which are the envy of any man who cannot afford a proper barber.
The crew are a mix of Northerners and Valemen, perhaps two dozen in all. One man claims to be Braavosi, but when pressed, will admit he was only born there, and only knows a few curse words learned from his whore mother, may the Seven find good use for her soul. Uniformly though, the crew is a superstitious lot. Not particularly so, but it is not uncommon to see them offer prayers to the Merling King, ('Him Who Claims Souls like Driftwood') or the Drowned God on occasion. None have the ability to elaborate the precise theological distinctions between them, beyond the hasty assurance that they're not bloody heathens, and don't you think they are anything like those pillaging scum from the Iron Islands. This trip though has inspired a greater predilection for the Merling King than usual. The prayers aren't exactly inspired by any sort of liturgy, but the gist can be described thusly.
'Please let us return from Witch Isle alive, whole, and sane.'
King Terrence's edict to retake the isle has inspired more than a few fortune hunters to make their way to the curious island, but it has not inspired nearly so many willing sailors. Witch Isle has long been understood to be 'touched' in some way, even after the last supposed sorceress queen married the King of Mountain and Vale, transferring her realm to the control of Andal and sanity. The fog is perpetual, the weather fickle, and the isle is just small enough to miss when it doesn't want to be found. What House Stark could care about it now, in this time of such great concerns, is unknown. When questioned, local nobles acknowledge they have received no actual letter from Eddard's Rest on the matter. Yet the posters are seen in many a tavern and town square, appearing as official as though written in the hand of Brandon the Builder himself.
By Order of His Grace, Terrence Stark, Lord of Eddard's Rest and King of the North,
Witch Isle has been deemed a territory of great value. His Grace has Declared that Whomsoever should return this tiny but lawless realm to the Reign of House Stark shall be Entitled and Rewarded appropriately. Know that while His Grace remains Obliged with greater matters concerning both North and South, He is not one to ignore the Smallest Portions of His Great Realm.
The Blue Rose is one of the few who will sail past the isle, and perhaps the only one that will land there willingly. According to scuttlebutt, civilization there revolves mainly around fishing and a reliable harvest season. There are perhaps a thousand locals on the island, though the last census was taken during the time of Old Lord Conroy Upcliff, who passed more than twenty years ago without heir. Ships like the Blue Rose occassionally make port there if only to ferry the occasional departing local.
****
The winds are fair, but the sun grows dim as the fog approaches. Raskin sings a hymn to the Maiden in a voice that may have been beautiful in his youth, but is now merely passable. And the Blue Rose sails forward, having left Gulltown behind three days hence. When asked how far their destination is, the crew members merely shrug, as though they believe sailors have as little to do with sailing as goodwill has to do with greyscale.
The crew are a mix of Northerners and Valemen, perhaps two dozen in all. One man claims to be Braavosi, but when pressed, will admit he was only born there, and only knows a few curse words learned from his whore mother, may the Seven find good use for her soul. Uniformly though, the crew is a superstitious lot. Not particularly so, but it is not uncommon to see them offer prayers to the Merling King, ('Him Who Claims Souls like Driftwood') or the Drowned God on occasion. None have the ability to elaborate the precise theological distinctions between them, beyond the hasty assurance that they're not bloody heathens, and don't you think they are anything like those pillaging scum from the Iron Islands. This trip though has inspired a greater predilection for the Merling King than usual. The prayers aren't exactly inspired by any sort of liturgy, but the gist can be described thusly.
'Please let us return from Witch Isle alive, whole, and sane.'
King Terrence's edict to retake the isle has inspired more than a few fortune hunters to make their way to the curious island, but it has not inspired nearly so many willing sailors. Witch Isle has long been understood to be 'touched' in some way, even after the last supposed sorceress queen married the King of Mountain and Vale, transferring her realm to the control of Andal and sanity. The fog is perpetual, the weather fickle, and the isle is just small enough to miss when it doesn't want to be found. What House Stark could care about it now, in this time of such great concerns, is unknown. When questioned, local nobles acknowledge they have received no actual letter from Eddard's Rest on the matter. Yet the posters are seen in many a tavern and town square, appearing as official as though written in the hand of Brandon the Builder himself.
By Order of His Grace, Terrence Stark, Lord of Eddard's Rest and King of the North,
Witch Isle has been deemed a territory of great value. His Grace has Declared that Whomsoever should return this tiny but lawless realm to the Reign of House Stark shall be Entitled and Rewarded appropriately. Know that while His Grace remains Obliged with greater matters concerning both North and South, He is not one to ignore the Smallest Portions of His Great Realm.
The Blue Rose is one of the few who will sail past the isle, and perhaps the only one that will land there willingly. According to scuttlebutt, civilization there revolves mainly around fishing and a reliable harvest season. There are perhaps a thousand locals on the island, though the last census was taken during the time of Old Lord Conroy Upcliff, who passed more than twenty years ago without heir. Ships like the Blue Rose occassionally make port there if only to ferry the occasional departing local.
****
The winds are fair, but the sun grows dim as the fog approaches. Raskin sings a hymn to the Maiden in a voice that may have been beautiful in his youth, but is now merely passable. And the Blue Rose sails forward, having left Gulltown behind three days hence. When asked how far their destination is, the crew members merely shrug, as though they believe sailors have as little to do with sailing as goodwill has to do with greyscale.