The Great Hall

[Kurts]

Where King Killion Greyjoy holds court. The Seastone Chair sits upon the dais, transported from Pyke to the new Ironborn capital, made of a block of oily black stone carved into the shape of a kraken.

[Malthazar Nazaryl]

Malthazar's chair was a few steps down from the Seastone Chair, which was a quaint old thing that looked rather uncomfortable to the Braavosi. Not covered in knives uncomfortable, just... not designed for lumbar support. The Master of Coin's chair, however, while appearing plain to anyone not actually sitting in it, was cushioned and built for comfort, not intimidation. It also came with a nice little platform for setting his tea and documents upon, and had a lovely little extendable foot cushion that he dared not use during court, but was still pretty wonderful.

Being financial and legal consultant to a house who explicitly 'did not sow' was not without stress, and the Master of Coin reserved his few pleasures.

[Lyonel]

Standing amidst the crowd, wearing his flippant red velvet uniform and with his usual badly shaven stubble, was Sweets, Krakenhall's favorite fool. As always, the last thing he wanted was to be there, he had a headache from last night's trip to the tavern, his balls were itching and he was sweating all over... The jester constantly wondered why in the seven hells had he taken this shit of a job; everything about it him, especially those fucking jiggles on his stupid hat. Every ten seconds, trying to distract himself from the bore that sat on the throne holding court, he took a sip of grog from one of the many flasks he held beneath his clothing.

[Leona Redwyne]

Ragnar strode across the floor, stopping by the Master of Coin's chair.

"Greetings. I wondered if you'd care to share a bottle of rum? We king's men should stick together."

[Malthazar Nazaryl]

"Well..." Malthazar had served in the Sealord's court more than once, where sobriety was almost mandated. Here, it seemed half the business was conducted while drunk. "Oh, sod it, I can take some." The Master of Coin finished his tea, and offered the cup for filling. "Drumm... your house possesses a Valyrian blade, if I recall correctly."

[Leona Redwyne]

"Aye. Red Rain." He patted the hilt of his sheathed blade. "Would you like to see her?"

He poured a generous measure of dark, spiced rum into the Braavosi's cup.

[Malthazar Nazaryl]

He took a sip, choking on it slightly. "I mean, yes, I would love to."

[Leona Redwyne]

Ragnar's eyes danced with amusement. He drew Red Rain slowly and her the blade up to show off its ripples, red and grey and black all melded together.

"She's pretty, isn't she? Vicious too."

[Malthazar Nazaryl]

"She reminds me of an old lover. Beauty beyond compare, but deadly to touch. I still bear many scars from that encounter." He traced the flat of it. "Other Braavosi houses possess such weapons, but not House Nazaryl. My great grandfather traded his to repay a debt a hundred years ago. Just as well. We breed few warriors anyway."

[Leona Redwyne]

"Ah yes, you Braavosi are less given to breed warriors than the men of the Iron Islands, or even mainland Westeros. Valyrian steel is wasted if a man has no sons inclined to wield it. But what of the bravos? I've sailed to Braavos a time or time but it seems to me the bravos are more about showing off than undertaking the hard training of a true warrior. Have any such men wielded Valyrian steel in the past?"

[Malthazar Nazaryl]

"Oh yes! My family's weapon, Stormbringer, is now wielded by such a man! A proud bravo named Kharguul the Resplendent. So proud that though I could buy back my ancestral blade a hundred times over from this man, he refuses any offer I make." He frowned. "It is not the blade itself I desire, but the honor it represents. House Nazaryl was at its most impoverished when it lost Stormbringer. My father and I have rebuilt its reputation and coffers. To possess it again would signify to all of Braavos that we are once more a family to be feared and not idly trifled with!"

[Leona Redwyne]

Ragnar grinned wolfishly at the Braavosi.

"I understand that a man must pay his debts but that was long past. If you desire the sword's return, you may have to pay the iron price. You serve the Iron King now, there is much honour to be had in taking what you desire from those who are weaker. If the blade is as valuable as you claim, it would be well worth paying the iron price for it."

[Kurts]

////

After returning from his less than fruitful pirate hunt, King Killion Greyjoy decided to hold court. Typically he left the dull task to his queen, but this day he decided it had been too long since he sat the Seastone Chair.

[The Forgotten God]

He immediately recalls why he never sits the seat, being initially bombarded by people, probably, based on their complaints, assuming they'd be dealing with Tristessa. After the third supplicant with excessive whining is sent for corrective action, the others take note and decide their complaints can wait. That leaves those of legitimate concern. Killion's first meeting of any import is with an ambassador from Sothoryos, from the new port town Slayer's Bay. Queen Janelle's representative is about thirty five, with a fighter's build. He has the dark skin of a man from the Summer Isles but speaks Westerosi without an audible accent. "Your Grace," he said. "My queen sends her fondest greetings."

[Kurts]

Killion perked up in his chair a bit, having nearly dosed off from the seemingly endless procession of petitioners.

"Do pass on my best to Her Grace in return and my gratitude for the aid she sent against Myr." he replied amiably, leaning in. "The Order is always welcome in these halls."