Blood of Dragons

The 'A Song of Ice and Fire' MUSH


This log features roleplay that occurred before the change from Blood of Dragons 1.0 to Blood of Dragons 2.0 on 01-07-2013 in order to accommodate the new canon information from The World of Ice and Fire. Because of this, there may be details in this log that no longer apply to the current iteration of the game. For example, some characters may have been altered or even written out of the family trees and some events may have been changed. This message is displayed with all Blood of Dragons 1.0 logs and does not indicate that this particular log is certain to feature outdated details.
Melee on the Blackwater Rush
IC Date: Day 29 of Month 2, 164 AC
RL Date: October 27, 2012.
Participants: Jyana Arryn, Marrik Bar Emmon, Lucos Blackwood, Rafe Botley [played by Mara], Elrone Darklyn, Aliona Dondarrion, Damia Farman, Jared Fell, Eurik Greyjoy [played by Missandei], Greydon Greyjoy [played by Jyana], Garlan Hunter, Merys Lydden, Jan Marbrand, Ammon Massey, Janden Melcolm, Mara Melcolm, Farin Prester, Luthor Rivers, Romny Saltcliffe [played by Ammon], Justyn Serry [played by Missandei], Katla Serry, Walton Smallwood, Andred Stone, Tormund Stonetree [played by Missandei], Brynden Tully, Humfrey Westerling, and Ryckon Westerling.
Locations: Outside the City: Pavilion Grounds

Summary: To acknowledge the arrival of the ironborn embassy, an unusual melee is conducted: a shipboard melee, three craft joined together, with the goal to be the team with the last man standing. The teams are fairly evenly matched - in a rather unexpected way.

Autumn, as the rainy season, wreaks havoc upon the pavilion grounds. Standing so close to the river, the grounds are hardly more than a big field of mud and still pools. Rents in the ground form and are smoothed in, as runoff down towards the river constantly occurs in one place or another. Trees are upon the riverbank, but primarily willows. Within the Blackwater Rush, a pleasure boat or a merchant’s shallow-drafted ship might occasionally float by, sometimes even accompanied by a war-galley employed against piracy.

To the south, of course, the grounds come to an end when they are met by the waters of the Blackwater Rush. Further along the river, past a congregation of willows to the west, lie the tourney fields themselves, where many a reputation has been made and lost. Towards the northeast lies the Breakspear Lane, neatly kept and flanked by tall rows of trees. Ending at the King’s Gate, it links the city to its tournaments.

Fair weather clouds drift through the blue sky from the west. The wind is gusty.

The weather, it seems, has smiled for the melee today - fair clouds drift through the sky, and gusty winds fill the sails of ships along the river. Several tiers of seating, much as one would see at a joust, have been set up safely away from the bank of the Blackwater Rush.

Smallfolk and a variety of curious courtiers are already scattered in the seats and along the river, their clothing bright against the wooden seats and cheerful in the cool autumn weather. With the rumours that have been slowly moving around King’s Landing, murmurs of the ironborn and the finger-dance, bringing perhaps more of an audience. Still - there are those who merely wish to watch the glorious bloodshed of a melee, no matter how unusual it is.

The field of battle today is three shallow-draft longboats moored near the bank, a fresh coat of paint and new linen sails snapping in the breeze, bereft of decoration. The ships are wide-bellied, allowing for at least a crew of twenty plus cargo; today that crew has vanished, rowing benches removed in favour of a deck cleared of rope and barrels and other obstructions. Small ramps have been built from the shore to two far-end ships, wide enough for two men in plate to walk abreast to the river-craft. A spiked boarding-ramp has been placed between the ships craft at the widest part of the hulls, allowing men to cross betwixt them.

It’s been an eventful last couple of days for Janden Melcolm. After the encounter at the inn - rumors have swirled - with the Ironborn and the Lady Serry left him needing to think hard on one thing or another, there was a chat with his sister as well. Today? He’s decided to try himself with this new kind of melee. All the same, he looks out at the longboats in shallow waters with a less than eager expression. Plate armor has been left behind in favor of lighter stuff, consisting of some hardened leather and mail. All the better to be quick with. He mills about on solid ground, double-checking things.

Considering that he’s performed less than admirably in Lady Tully’s melee, Ser Jared Fell is here to try and make more of a showing this time around. The Stormlander is clad in a breastplate with some other plate pieces, but it’s clear that he’s decided to opt for mobility rather than full protection this time around. His sword rests within a scabbard to the left, clipped in place through a loop in the belt. Very few, if any, servants of his House are here to attend him.

Ammon Massey stands upon the field, or near enough to make no matter. He studies the longboats with a critical eye, brow furrowed, jaw clenched tight. His left hand, the maimed one, taps a rhythm on his sword’s hilt.

A melee on boats, eh? Well, it seems no one told the Blackhand—the knight wears his plate, well polished, though to worn to give much of a shine. His helm lies in the hands of his squire; the boy stands quietly by the man’s side.

Plate armor? But then, Ammon Massey squired for Dagur Saltcliffe, so perhaps he is trained to fight on deck in full armor. Or perhaps he just doesn’t care, with word coming from Duskendale as it has.
Ammon does look angry, come to think of it.

A newly-minted captain in the Sea Watch, it is likely no surprise that Brynden Tully would make an appearance at a melee happening onboard ship. That it might provide a chance to commit violence against Ironborn makes this even more attractive. Thus the Tully knight seems in good-spirits as he waits for things to begin. He has not brought his heavy plate as he might use on land, instead choosing to wear his colorful brigandine, gauntlets, sleeves and leggings too, a nasaled helm that is otherwise open for a good field of view. His shield is smaller than he might take to war as well and is round, perhaps hoping not to snag on fighting companions. The wooden face of the shield is painted in the red and blue of his house, the embowed silver trout on the field.

For the first time in years, Ser Walton Smallwood has shown up to a melee. He’s clad in simple armor, little to no plate, mainly chain mail and padded cloth armor. Arriving with a few of the Stormlanders present, friends of House Buckler or acquainted with them, he makes his way around to inspect the others who’re present. He has two men-at-arms with him, one bearing the Smallwood colors, another the Buckler ones.

Ser Humfrey Westerling has lost half a stone and much of his ruddy color since departing the Riverlands two months past. Gone too is his mane of hair-all save the inch and a half that has grown over his skull in the time since his departure from the Golden Tooth. More telling there are now a few strands of gray in the erstwhile heir’s hereto chestnut hair. Nevertheless, he is here arrayed in jerkin and lambswool leggings dyed chestnut. He is attended not by Erton who, doubtless, has made his way back to Brightwater or found service with another knight but rather by his macabre begging brother-a sinister man tall and gaunt with three teeth in his skull. These click as he surveys the field-like a lord looking, lustily, over a feast set upon his table.

Ser Humfrey of the Crag—or rather Ser Humfrey of the Hedge wears no armor. By the look of him it’s doubtful he’d be able to bear of the weight of mail and plate.

In the stands sit an odd collection - the Lord Serry, in finery of red and white, seated beside his wife; his ironborn wife, dressed in the black-and-gold of her natal house, finally appears interested in the event to come. The newborn twins are nowhere to be seen - likely tucked away with a nurse, not so close to the fracas, if not back in the Serry apartments in the Red Keep. Katla looks every inch the Greyjoy today, the only nod to her Southshield ties an iron comb in her thick black hair, the comb studded with rubies and pearls, and a heavy pendant around her neck, a heraldic rose marked out with chips of red and white gemstones. She leans over to murmur something to her spouse, who answers equally quietly, pointing to the ships.

Andred brings the only armor he has. Though he has left plate at home, he wears what he has left: a haubrek of mail. The rings are made of a crude form of iron, iron that jingles excessively as the young squire walks. The haubrek is too long. It hangs near his knees, perhaps restricting his movement, but he could not move very fast to begin with. Under an armpit, he carries his Great Helm freckled with dents not all the way hammered out. In his right hand draped over his shoulder, he carries with him the only thing of worth: his warhammer. A precious thing of madness and destruction.

Blue eyes go to the longships, the field of combat. They look intent even if this is not the large squire’s ideal field of combat. His walk is slow. He saves his energy for hammer time.

His eyes move from the ships towards the stands. They look for familiar faces. Squirely duties have severely hindered his social life at court (if it existed in the first place him being a bastard and all).

Garlan has something to prove in the field of battle. The squire jumped at the opportunity to participate, and appears eager to begin. He has chosen to wear some light leather, hoping to take advantage of the mobility it will afford him in a ship board melee.

Perhaps preparing to be thrown overboard, the Warden of the Kingswood stands amongst the other competitors in his war leathers rather than plate. His morningstar has likewise been eschewed for an axe; smaller than a battleaxe, but somewhat larger than a hatchet, though not by much. The sight may come as a surprise to many who know the Warden’s typical preference of the flashy and formal over the objective and necessary, but at least the ensamble is all done in crimsons and ermines - Ser Farin’s penchant for heraldry still lacking any device that might hint at the part of his heritage that might have done him well here.

Some might wish to fight in the style of the Ironborn with full plate on the deck of a ship but not Ser Luthor. The Riverlands bastard arrives on horseback, armoured in mail and leather only, a barbute helm perched upon his head. He swings down from his horse and passes his reins to one of his men, exchanging them for a shield of light pine rimmed in iron and blunted arming sword, good for close combat. So armed, Luthor makes his way through the crowd to the waterside nodding to well-wishers as he passes by.

Janden continues to pace, though his eyes briefly shift toward the stands where he finds Katla Serry in particular. Efforts to speak with her the day prior were unsuccessful. A reason for it? No matter now, a gauntleted hand rubbing at his thin beard as he checks a half-helm brought for added protection, a plain shield in possession along with a tourney-style sword. Most people he’s seen have gone with the lighter armor as well, opposed to the full plate. Up to now there have been no greetings offered, certainly not to any of the Ironborn as yet. It’d seem he’s more focused on just staring down the ships as he drinks from a wineskin.

Walton arms himself with a combination of round shield and a long-shafted hand axe with a hook rather than a spike at the back of it. There’s also a club hanging from his belt. He stops to speak with one of the Stormlanders while looking out among the crowds. When Ser Luthor shows up, Walton waves him over, or attempts to.

And then - there are the ironborn. They are clad in plate and mail for the most part, a demonstration of their nonchalance at the risk of drowning; most wear the sigil of their house somewhere on themselves, often the Greyjoy kraken - there is a silver serpent there, and a silver fish on green as well. They stand with their helms off, sunlight glinting off hair black as ink, and one with dark red locks: the gingers are everywhere, it seems. Almost all the ironmen are armed with bearded axes, shafts well-worn and the axeheads blunted, at least for this tourney - His Grace’s orders.

Luthor spots his cousin and sees him wave, after a moment’s consideration he makes his way over. “Cousin,” he says with a nod. “Ready for the fight?”

Wearing an ornately designed burnished steel fitted breastplate with matching shin and wrist guards, Ser Marrik Bar Emmon looks well protected, but without the heaviness of full plate armour. Strapped to his left arm is a small banded buckler that, while not very heavy, can be used to quickly knock away incoming attacks with precision. His handsome face shines from underneath a matching, ornate burnished steel barbute helmet with noseguard. The famous Captain’s confidence emanates from his posture, and the look in his eyes as he watches the other combatants.

The only true Westerling present - Ryckon - is dressed to signify his house, but not elaborately, with a surcoat in his house’s colors worn over a mail hauberk, itself over his normal set of leather armor, and a plain metal half-helm. No plate, of course, following the example of others who want to be able to move during the fight. His normal mace hangs from the left side of his belt, and he also has a hatchet at the right for closer combat. His shield, as usual, bears the blue-chiefed arms of his father. Glaring over at the ironborn as they arrive, he suddenly straightens himself out, standing tall and holding his head up, trying to look intimidating.

Walton nods to Luthor when the slightly more famous ‘family’ member approaches him. He hefts his axe up onto his shoulder and nods sideways towards it. “Got a hook axe, cannot get much more ready than that.” There’s even a small smile, a sense of excitement in someone who rarely displays such.

The competitors trickle in, and Ammon’s eyes move from longboat. to Ironborn, to the gathered knights. One small group in particular draws his attention; Ammon and his squire make their way toward the Rivers bastard and the men he speaks with. “So, it’s blades again is it, ser?” Ammon Blackhand asks his good-nephew.

The Lady Damia is here this day, but her betrothed appears not to be. Still, she seems in good spirits, in a blue linen gown pipped with bright maroon silk around the hem, arms and neckline. A belt of gold coins hangs loosely over the shape of her hips, with a gold ship as the clasp. She wears a woven golden necklace, and comes with her Septa close in tow.

Her arm is laced with that of Jyana, the Jewel of the Eyrie. The girls seem to be talking quietly together as they walk. “...duties called him away, he was terribly unhappy to miss it. I confess I do not know who I shall put my hopes behind, if Ser Dermett is not here.”

Humfrey surveys the field with chestnut eyes that—truth be told—look a bit dull. A glance from Tully and Smallwood to the begging brother. “Brother…. my mail.” There is a great deal of fishing about—and fumbling but, at last, the brother pulls it from off a drey a short distance from the pier—and sets about, awkwardly helping the thin knight buckle his mail on. When all is, at least, seemingly, as it should be. Ser Humfrey approaches the the pier—his steps a bit unsteady if truth be told. He turns then to Ser Ammon and his good nephew. “Sers. The Ironmen look rather wroth.”

In the stands, bedecked in her usual red, is Elrone Darklyn, who seems a bit fidgety as she looks over the preparing men, saying a few words to her septa every now and then as the pair study the boats. The girl seems rather nervous- which is not terribly unusual for her, really, as she slowly wrings the fabric of her skirt in and out of her fingers and chews her lip as she waits for the melee to begin.

At his place upon the curved prow of one the longships, Greydon Greyjoy rocks gently in time with the sway of the bay’s easy waters. A helm held beneath one arm, a blunted sword in the other hand, and a rakish half-smile on his face—this son of the Iron Fleet’s own Lord Captain appears all ease and at the ready. That is, if one discounts a certain gleam in his eye.

Trumpets blare, an announcement, calling the warriors to attention and the stands to quiet, at least for a few moments. “The melee will be fought as follows: two teams, with the goal of capturing their opponent’s ship. The team with the last man or men standing will divide a prize, as given by the men of the Iron Islands.” The speaking herald points to a large chest, fine enough in and of itself, wrought in heavy exotic wood with its hinges and handles and clasp gilded. “The teams will be divided as follows: Ser Ammon Massey called Blackhand, Ser Luthor Rivers, Ser Walton Smallwood, Ser Brynden Tully, Ser Jared Fell, squire Garlan Hunter, and the ironborn Rafe Botley, Lord-Captain Eurik Greyjoy, and Urron Greyjoy. The second team, Ser Ryckon Westerling, Ser Farin Prester, Ser Humfrey Westerling, Ser Janden Melcolm, Ser Marrik Bar Emmon, squire Andred Stone, and the ironborn Greydon Greyjoy, Tormund Stonetree called Bloodaxe, and Romny Saltcliffe.”

Luthor looks at the axe in Walton’s hand. “Looks solid enough,” he remarks without much feeling. He nods greeting to Ser Jared and then to his uncle. “Blades as always, this should be interesting. How do you think we shall fare? Well? Or will we all be meat for the Ironborn’s blades?”

Brynden checks his swordbelt and the blunted weapons there, then steps towards the knot of people collecting about Ser Luthor. “A good day for this, eh?” he says. “We shall do well. Let us stay together and defeat them in detail, shall we?” But then there is Humfrey approaching. “What is he doing here?” The herald distracts him with his call. “Ah, we have the Greyjoys with us… do we agree to yield the command to the Lord-Captain?”

“Then share your hopes with mine,” says the Jewel of the Farman lady, patting the arm entwined with hers, “And pray my brother—Andred—manages a good showing in the melee today. He’s eager to prove himself worthy of spurs; would that my own opinion matter much, elsewise he’d have them by now,” Jyana sighs. Behind them, Ser Noel snorts his opinion on the matter—but as the ladies seat themselves, Standfast parts from their company for a better vantage away from the stands. The Farman retainer will do more than well at minding both ladies, after all.

Walton nods to Luthor and then studies the Ironborn. “That depends if the Lord-Captain knows how to use all of us. I’d divide us into two groups, one for those who are used to fightin’ on ships and one who are used in a defensive manner,” he observes. “Position our defensive core as a hold and then have the other group drive those they can to us, hammer against the anvil.”

The heir to Lordsport and Captain of the Sea Horse, Rafe Botley surveys the group of competitors with a keen eye. The expression which he wears is one of the calm before the storm and as he notes the rest of the members who will be a part of his team, he walks in a long stride in their direction, to stand beside Jared. A curt nod is given the men, though his eyes look towards their competition in a careful manner.

Janden’s eyes seek out one face after another as names are called for the two sides. There’s a look of curoisity here, one of some distaste there, especially at a couple names on his own side, followed by a shake of his head. Whatever his level of comfort, or lack of it with those ships, he makes a point of approaching the changed Humfrey Westerling to say, “Best you remember this is a melee. No killing today.”

If the Warden’s expression does not look pleased in its state of rest, it certain looks far more displeased now that the teams have been called. Begrudingly, the lordling turns to the pacing Melcolm knight. “/Do/ endeavor to forget that the ships are on water, Ser Janden.”

Damia settles comfortably beside her friend, possibly close to invisible next to such a beautiful woman. “Consider it done,” Damia says happily. “My hopes are yours that Andred may win the day.” It’s unlikely that a man not a Knight shalln’t win, and her tone indicates that she is aware, but she doesn’t seem to stay from her hopes. “It must be quite a feeling, to be waiting for a battle to begin in this way.”

Ryckon approaches his prodigal cousin with an eyebrow raised up into his helm. “So you are really back then, Humfrey? Get rid of the begging brother, at least, and get a real squire, if you can.” After this bit of advice the teams are announced and he gives a nod to no one in particular before approaching his former master and current teammate. “Thank the gods,” he notes, “I would relish the opportunity to beat Urron’s face in one more time. And I suppose it would be better to have a man named Bloodaxe on our side rather than against us.” He glances curiously in that man’s direction to see if he lives up to his ominous name.

Ammon turns to Humfrey, lips opening to speak—but the trumpets, and herald, draw his attention. And when the teams are announced, whatever words he would have said to the disgraced Westerling are lost. “Welcome home, ser,” Massey says simply. “Fight well.” And he turns to his team.

A cheer rises from the Ironmen, and the Captain of the Defier saunters forth. He offers a coy smile beneath his oft-broken nose, his midnight hair hanging slack. At his belt: knives. And knives. And knives. In his gloved mitt, a dulled sword. Romny Saltcliffe is come to claim a prize.

Marrik moves to meet with Ryckon, without a word he nods to his fellow Knight, seeming to be completely at home aboard a rocking ship.

Janden returns a sniff Farin’s way. “Yes, I’ll just picture it as a great big drunken horse fit to hold twenty-some people or more atop its misshapen back.”

Urron has an eye to Ryckon - the squire that came to Farin so quickly after Urron himself graduated form his wardship, and then Farin, the erstwhile master and kinsman. Urron smiles, perhaps a little too toothily for comfort, before turning back and listening to Brynden and Luthor and Walton, and his uncle Eurik.

The Lord-Captain of the Iron Fleet looks out at the other men and then towards the other team. “The question is, how many of you have fought shipboard before, or have you all had your feet on dry land the whole time?”

Tormund Bloodaxe hefts an axe - blunted - and looks between Farin and Janden, Ryckon and Humfrey. The older man grunts, slapping the head of the blunted bearded axe into his hand. “As long as you don’t fucking hit each other the whole damn time and remember to fight them, not each other,” he grunts, nodding once to Rafe and once to Romny, captains both - and he, well, merely the master-at-arms of Pyke, now.

“That is a good lad,” Farin replies to Janden, his tone lacking in any real confidence on the matter. “Fight well then, coin or no. We have too few swordarms in this fight,” he mutters, and steps away to face Ryckon.

“Aye, then show him how well you learned to do that. But Blood axe or no, I’m more worried for the Lord Captain. The Greyjoys do not give away titles simply by heritage.”

Upon hearing the teams, Andred meanders towards the ship. He seems to be hungover or just in desperate need of comb. His hair is hopelessly in a ratsnest. It stays that way for only a moment more. He looks up to his sister. Though unknowing of her confidence in him, the young man offers her a sheepish smile before shoving his helmet on his head. The helmet on his head hides the mess of hair for now. Now, all one can see are his blue eyes, those Andalian blues, a matching pair watches him now, a matching pair rules the Vale.

“Land or sea… you hit someone in the sternum with your hammer. They go down.” His commments seems to be no one in particular, but they are loud enough for anyone to hear.

“I’m a drylander,” Walton notes with a nod to the Lord-Captain. “And willing to command the defensive group, of those who are just like me. I’m used to making my voice heard and have seen my fair share of battles on foot.” He looks to the others to see if there’s anyone else who has other ideas or might offer up other strategies. The Smallwood knight checks the handle of his axe and shield one more time while observing the others.

“Good day for something at least,” Luthor quips to Brynden with a smile for the Tully knight. Then he turns to the others. “Walton’s plan seems sound,” but then the Lord Captain is amoung them and the Riverlands bastard holds up a gloved hand. “I’ve fought on ship before.”

Ammon glances to the Lord-Captain. “I earned my name aboard ship, such as it is, and lost my fingers there.” And that is all for the Greyjoy; Massey turns back to Luthor. “I’ve seen Saltcliffe fight, he’ll be little more than a distraction. The Westerlings will give us trouble, and Stone.”

Humfrey Westerling for all his pallor summons a sardonic smile for Ser Brynden Tully. “I have come to fight, Ser.” He turns then to Ser Janden and spares Black Anchor a nod—then slips the tourney blade from the out of his scabbard. At his cousin’s words, Humfrey turns to Ryck. He opens his mouth as though to speak—but merely nods as the trumpets blare.

The last look is directed to Ser Ammon. A nod. “And you, Ser. fight well.” At the sight of young Stone nearly as wobbily as he, Humfrey spares the youth a taught stare. “Are you quite well, Andred?”
Janden turns from those he was speaking with to instead take in the Ironborn present. Some may have been there at the inn the other evening, for all he can recall. “Are we going with a certain strategy, then?” Like as not, he’ll be content to do as little running around as necessary.

Marrik stands in silence, looking the combatants over. His brow furrows as he studies the Greyjoys, obviously disliking what he sees.

“The trick is in the aiming,” drawls the ironborn Gredyon to the young Vale squire nearby. He does not bother looking at Andred. His eyes are on the other team across the way; particularly, he looks to his father on the opposing side. He hoists his helm as if in salute—sarcastic? honorable? it could be either—before settling it over his own, less nested, head. “A ship is a fickle bitch, as any woman is, boy. You’ll see.”

“I have been an officer on board ship in Dorne, Lord-Captain.” Brynden says. “And I am a captain in the Sea Watch here. I should hold my own.” he offers.

Ryckon answers Urron’s smile not with a smile of his own but with an eyebrow raised in an aloof challenge, as his attempt at an intimidating posture returns and he takes a step away from Farin, keeping the other Westerman out of his reach. He eyes whatever huddle the other team has going. “...The other team seems to be organizing some strategy. Perhaps we should as well, or will it be sufficient to just charge in and hit them until they fall off?”

Walton stares at those around him with a hint of disbelief. “Are everyone a sailor except me? Well, I can’t hold a defense on my own. Those with the least experience, or most experience with defending a position, should opt to stay with me then.”

Jared nods once to Rafe as the ironborn approaches, studying the opponents’ ship and team. “I assume we must needs act quickly and in unison to achieve success today, though I am not a sailor and do not quite understand how naval combat works beyond the basics.”

Garlan breaks his silence and nods in Walton’s direction, “I am not a sailor… you’ll have good company in me. I will aid in the defense.”

Jyana sighs as she looks out over the competing teams—indeed, it’s easy to pick the large manchild that is her brother Andred among all the rest, even at this distance. “He’s rather hopeless when left to matters such as hygeine,” she notes to Damia at her side; she keeps her arm entwined with the other, and the Farman lady could note the tension in Jyana’s slight frame. “But he’s a formidable fighter. Still… this is wholly different than any melee I’ve seen before…”

Finally, Ser Marrik breaks his silence and nods to Garlan and Walton, “Correct, there needs to a defense team left behind as a boarding party attacks their ship.” Continuing, “I am going to take part in the boarding party, seeing as I have much experience in fighting aship. Who shall join me and who shall remain as defense?”

Ammon looks to Walton, then, listens to his strategy. He shrugs. “I’ll hold the line with you.” And the Blackhand draws his blunted steel.

“Good,” Walton points with his hand to Garlan then. “On defense: You, I,” He does the same in Jared’s direction. “You. And one more. A four person defensive shield wall, then six on the offensive, if I heard the names right…” He hears Ammon speak up and nods to him. “Sounds good. Then we have four.

Andred offers stiff nod to Greydon. “Alas, that is why I aim for the chest. I miss I hit an arm.” His blues shaded his Great Helm flit towards the Humfrey. “I shall be better in a few moments. The clang of steel, salt air, the chance of blood perfect are cure after a night of drink. Any wish to take out the Lord Captain with me?” If no one else thinks strategy perhaps, it falls to the bastard squire. Cut the head off the snake seems to work in small encounters like this.
“I’ve sailed, but not so much lately,” Janden says in an almost cryptic fashion. “I’ll help with guarding our side.”

Jan Marbrand’s been inconspicuous for most of the events so far, his discomfort at being aboard a ship - even if they are moored - readily apparent. He leans against a railing by Ser Farin and Ryckon but, as the fighting appears to start getting underway, rights himself and grasps the hilt of his blunted sword. He nods at Marrik and replies, “Given my /in/experience, I propose I stay behind in defense, then” he says with a wary grin.

In the stands, Katla shifts, raising a hand to shield her eyes for a moment, and looks down at the scenes - she raises one hand as she looks towards the team with Janden and her dear friend Romny - not to mention her cousin Greydon - and tries to catch Janden’s eye, long enough to smile and wriggle her fingers in what might be a wave. To her brother, and her uncle, and the Botley captain, a wicked smile, something mouthed, and then she leans back, contented, for a time.

“It is, isn’t it,” Damia says, reaching over to lay her other hand across Jyana’s upper arm in an attempt to calm her nerves. “In truth I am delighted to see it. The symbol of my house is three ships, as you know. We are no Ironborn but the sea and the ships are our lives. See here,” Damia removes her hand from Jyana’s arm, pointing across the ship’s deck. “How the deck rises and falls always, but only one one side, then the other? It is not so much here now, but it is worse out to sea. One must learn even how to stand again - how to ride teh ship, as it is known. To swing a blade, to parry and step forward or to retreat - it will be those who can anticipate the location of the deck best that will do well.” She lowers her hand, and looks a moment at Andred. “Perhaps so, but he is a handsome sort too, and he appears very strong.”

Lucos wanders over to the stands, and joins the crowd looking on, inquiring to noone in particular: “Have they mostly finished with the posturing? This is why brawls in Bravosi taverns are more entertaining; the preludes are ever so much more entertaining.”

Jared nods once to Walton, resting his forearm against the pommel of his sword rather comfortably. “Sounds good to me,” he replies in a near-murmur, drawing in a breath and releasing it slowly.

Aliona is a bit late, her hand lifting to tuck her rebellious curls into their neting, but she moves through the penches and makes a space for herself near Katla with a wink and a grin, an excited flush coming to her cheeks. Finally sport has come that the tall Dondarrion woman appreciates entirely. “Lady Serry, it’s a beautiful day is’t it?”

Ammon nods, spits into the dirt. “Keep your shields tight together; we’ll likely have more luck knocking the whoresons overboard with our shields than swinging our swords. We fight together, and mind your fucking balance.” Even as he says it, Ammon’s cool eyes find Marbrand in the crowd, and he smiles.

Humfrey Westerling lifts his shield—a glance to Stone: “I will fight their Captain alongside you, Stone.” At the appearance of a somewhat seasick Ser Jan, Humfrey spares the knight a slim smile. “Ser Jan, our Aunt Manysa bid me send your her regards.”

“Well, let us seize the initiative.” Brynden says. “Let us choose our ship and dress our lines, such as they are.” He looks back the Greyjoy. “Do you care to have the honor?”

Greydon smirks to the Melcolm knight, and nods once—sharp and decisive. “Aye, stay behind and guard the girl,” and his meaning might be obvious, then, “I’ve heard a man or two say you’re quite the hand at that.” It’s hard to tell by the look in the Greyjoy’s eye or the in the tone of his voice if that is meant as a compliment. He turns, then, and moves into position to be one of the fighters ready to infiltrate the other team’s ship.

Lucos notices Katla, and makes his way over to her. “Well met, Lady Serry. It has been too long. And I am sorry,” he continues, turning to Aliona, “but I do not belive I have made your acquaintance lady…?”

Steps are finally taken for Janden to board the ship their side is tasked with holding, and there’s a notable moment of hesitation before he simply runs up the ramp rather than dally further. If he caught the look from the Lady Serry, no acknowledgement is returned. Instead, his lips move wordlessly, no doubt a prayer of a sort. Of all things, Greydon receives a snort of amusement. “Indeed.”

Eurik looks at the Tully, his face impassive as he steps up with his helm, setting it on his head and raising his axe to the opposing team, waiting for an agreement to begin the fracas. Urron takes his own position not far away, his plate bright in the sun, ready to race across the boarding-planks to the middle craft.

Walton makes a last minute adjustment to a sword rather than his axe, for a defensive position rather than one where he’d be pulling people down on offense, and then leads the defensive group: “Come on! I am Ser Walton Smallwood, if you did not know my name already. Good to meet you all. Now, let’s hold that ship at all costs.. except our lives.” He gives them a restrained grin before he waves the three others to start towards their ship and position.

Garlan takes up position alongside Walton, drawing his blunted sword from its sheath swiftly.

Ammon’s answer for Walton is to spit in the mud again. He offers no name for himself, not yet, but follows the Smallwood aboard, loosening his shoulders as he goes.

A brief smile at Aliona, for Katla Serry looks altogether too pleased, and she raises a hand in Lucos’ direction as well. “My lord of Blackwood,” she answers the man who, curiously, managed to successfully miss most of his kin’s feuding. “Leave it to you to sneak back to King’s Landing just in time for another debacle. I’d think you disliked the court if I didn’t know how you fed on its gossip.” She turns then to Aliona, and smiles. “A fine enough day indeed, and the sort of sport I think we like the most.”

Luthor rolls his shoulders and moves into position behind the Lord-Captain. Chivalry is for the chivalrous and he has no problem let the fully armoured captain take the brunt of the charge to open the way for him to cross. He looks to Brynden. “Cover my back, I’ll cover yours.”

Jan offers a weak smile in reply to Humfrey and nods. “I heard you’d ridden to Ashemark, ser. I’d like to sit down and talk about how it went under less…hectic circumstances.” On cue, he follows quick on Janden’s heels, the two of them both agreeing to defend their ship, and both displaying their trepidation in coming aboard. Only once finally in place does he look across to the other team, returning Ammon’s smile with a hand raised briefly in salute, before he has to use it to brace himself.

Aliona considers Lucos, considering his face intently and sifting hrough her memory before she shaes her head, “I don’t believe so my lord. But if you are a friend of Lady Serry’s than it is a pleasure to meet you, Aliona Dondarrion of Blackhaven.”

If Brynden is annoyed by others giving commands, he does not show it. He also takes up a place behind the Lord Captain. “Agreed. Let us finish them quickly.” He stretches for a moment. “May we all come away from this whole.” he says, perhaps that’s a prayer?

Humfrey turns to Jan. “Are you quite well, Ser.” Then the boat rocks and Humfrey nearly stumbles. “Ah, I see…” He steels his courage then turns to his foes. “Stone, with me!” Despite his the loss of half a stone Humfrey Westerling runs across the deck bound for the vessel betwixt the his ship and his foe’s. He doesn’t look back to see if Andred and his fellows follow.

Lucos bows courteously to Aliona. “Lucos Blackwood, and listen to none of the calumnies lady Serry may direct at me. I happen to avoid politics as a matter of habit. I enjoy surviving, and the one thing in common between Westeros and the Free Cities is that politics is worse for the health than wandering naked in midwinter.”

Under his great helm, there would be matching irrelevant. But, now only his march towards the ship matters with his hammer at the ready. He cannot see Eurik, trying to place him, because he cannot see the Lord Captain. He must content himself with fighting another, but whom? The choices are endless. Right, now he just stares down the opposition sizing them up. His eyes seem to settle upon the Tully knight.

Walton positions himself shoulder to shoulder with Ammon, or next to. Their shields are not crammed together but rather allows some space of movement, so they can defend the man to the left or right of them should there be need. Like that, he awaits the oncoming attackers.

Marrik eyes the Greyjoy Ship-“Lord” with disdain and mutters, “Bloody pirates. Always have a high name for themselves.” Drawing his sword he prepares his attack.

Readjusting the sword in his grasp by a turn of the wrist, Jared prepares for the onslaught by having the weapon wielded overhead, and by both of his hands, which means simply not using a shield at all, but it doesn’t seem to phase the Fell knight much. And for now, he waits.

Jyana can only nod as Damia notes points of interest on the longships, though she seems to soak in the information as if filing it away for later reference. “I have not been on boats all that much—but I was thankful the trip down the river did not cause me the kind of sickness that plagued others,” she comments as she leans forward, trying to get a look past a man that stands of a sudden in front of them to shout a word or two down below. “It gives me hope I might weather a sea journey, some day.”

Aliona gasps softly, “You have been to the Freecities? You’re going to have to indulge me in listining to a thousand of my questions one day then Lord Blackwood. After the fight of course.” Her hands clasp together in her lap excitedly. “I don’t believe, at any of the melee’s I’ve been to Lady Serry, that I’ve ever seen any of your uncles fight.”

Marrik raises his buckler and gives a commanding shout, “Stay and defend, or come with me and fight. Make your choice now, and let’s knock these men into the sea!.” With a yell, he leaps across the rail and runs forward across the bridge connecting the ships.

Every muscle in Rafe’s body tightens and releases in a steady pulse to match his breathing. With weapon in hand, he walks in a slow swagger forward, looking to take the offensive. For a long moment he scans his opponents in the far distance and that is when he spots a familiar face before he calls out, “Greydon Greyjoy, be on your ready!” The musculature in his arm tenses once more and he looks prepared to spring into action and make his way across.

Humfrey quickly closes with Urron Greyjoy. Cold sweat pours down his face from his brief run, clearly he has not recovered from his penance. His tourney blade whistles as he closes with the Ironman and swings at the man coming in high just below the warrior’s gorget.

Humfrey attacks Urron with his sword…with no result as the two warriors battle!

Marrik attacks Eurik with his sword…and strikes him with a shattering blow!

As it all begins, Janden takes to pacing and remaining as light on his feet as he can. The ships move in place, enough that it will need to be accounted for. Sword and shield are out and he places himself closer to the ramp leading to the middle of the three ships than not, muttering, “Fucking huge, drunken horse.”

And then Marrik moves, and so does Eurik, moving to close with the Bar Emmon. He grunts at the contact as Marrik’s blade connects and scrapes across the shoulders of his plate. The Lord-Captain lets out a blood-curdling cry, hefting his axe and swinging back at the green lands sailor, aiming for the knee.

Eurik attacks Marrik with his mass weapon…and merely strikes a glancing blow!

Greydon skims the planks between his ship and the middlemost deck; light as a feather despite his heavy armor. A swing and a miss from some random oncoming knight sees the Greyjoy dip, spin, and continue on—but a familiar voice calls him out. He stops, a sly grin visible beneath that helm, and in response to Rafe’s threat: lifts a hand, and crooks his fingers once. “Come at me, then!” Then barks a laugh and does not bother to wait for the other ironborn before advancing.

Walton waits and sees Tormund rushing over to attack their defensive line, his sight on Jared on Walton’s other side. The Smallwood knight realigns and engages the Ironborn with his shield and blade to try to topple him.

Greydon attacks Rafe with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a powerful blow!

Damia nods with a soft smile. “I daresay you shall, but you must be cautious. Sea journeys - everyone is sick on their first one. There is no respite from it. But many become used to it, after time.” She goes quiet then, setting a hand once more on Jyana to try and relax her as the fighting begins. “Who is that Ser Ryckon is fighting? Ser Merys? How lovely it would be to see Ser Merys do well this day - I have met him twice and have been quite impressed with him so far.” And of course, Ryckon’s fall is always a delight to witness.

Urron watches as Humfrey, the disowned Westerling, swings for him, and manages to raise his blade up in time to defend against the attack. He spins around, weapon extended, hoping to connect with Humfrey’s torso and knock the knight off-balance.

Urron attacks Humfrey with his sword…and merely strikes a glancing blow!

Marrik sees the Ironborn’s attack coming and moves his leg just in time. It only scratches his leg. Using his shield to shove Eurik back, he makes another attack with his sword.

Marrik attacks Eurik with his sword…and sees his blow go wild!

Luthor is cautious in his advance, shield up sword laid against its steel rim as he makes his way across the planks to the enemy ship. Once on the far side he searches the deck for foes and finds one in Romny Saltcliffe. With a wordless shout he charges at the captain of the Defier, swiping at him high with his shield while his blunted blade sweeps low at the Ironborn’s ankles.

Luthor attacks Romny with his sword…and strikes him with a powerful blow!

Ryckon begins charging forward, in Urron Greyjoy’s direction, and he scowls when he sees that his cousin is attacking the young ironman instead. He mutters something about Humfrey ruining everything and then continues his charge, running up to the first unoccupied man he sees, in this case Merys Lydden, a fellow Westerman. He furrows his brow at him in a glare and wordlessly lifts his mace and swings it at the Lydden’s chest.

There shall be no running from Andred. Just cautious step after cautious step. He is not fast. There is no use pretending to be here. So, slowly but surely, he makes his way to the other ship. His eyes set upon Brynden Tully. His hammer is held in a low position. “Tully!” He yells out as right before he enters striking distance. Where this occurs depends on how Brynden moves. If he rushes forward, it will be on Andred’s ship. If he does not, it should be somewhere near the middle. Regardless of where it will be, a hammer swing attempts to strike Brynden slam into the Tully Knight’s side.

Andred attacks Brynden with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a shattering blow!

Ryckon attacks Merys with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a shattering blow!

Tormund Bloodaxe is comfortable in his own heavy plate, taking long strides across the deck of his starting ship, and then the boarding-planks to the middle. He evades a few wild swings from someone-or-another, and then he is standing just before the second boarding-bridge, raising his axe to Jared, hoping to close with him, and heaving the blade down towards Jared’s shoulder, the goal to dislocate - of course. Nothing more.

Tormund attacks Jared with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a shattering blow!

Urron’s blow slams clips Humfrey in the shoulder—but the knight draws back as the Ironman completes his spin and narrowly avoids the brunt of it. Humfrey’s reverb is aimed at the knight’s chest just above the groin a wicked diagonal cut.

Walton attacks Tormund with his sword…with no result as the two warriors battle!

Humfrey attacks Urron with his sword…with no result as the two warriors battle!

Rafe grins broading at Greydon, his own feet moving swiftly over the plank to close the distance between himself and his chosen opponent, ““Glad that you are so eager to accept my invitation.” With that jest still at the tip of his tongue, he draws his mighty axe back just as Greydon lands a hard blow aginst his chest, which more than gives him pause. “And no holding back, nice!” His hand tightens about the hilt of his weapon before he returns the attack with one of his own.

Rafe attacks Greydon with his sword…and strikes him with a swift blow!

Ser Farin has waited for an opportunity, and finally he sees one - the Stone squire has engaged Brynden Tully, and the Prester knight begins to hasten to that fight to join it (though unsteadily, on the rocking ship.)

Jared attacks Tormund with his sword…and strikes him with a shattering blow!

Eurik laughs as Marrik’s blow goes wild, the sound echoing in helms and carrying, even, on the gust of wind up to the stands, the clash of weapons and screech of metal-on-metal, and softer thuds on leather with it. He reaches out with his axe again, blow carrying heavily towards Marrik’s torso, as if to cleave him in two.

Romny Saltcliffe, Captain of the Defier, stands ready. Luthor’s shout draws his attention; the Ironborn raises his own shield to meet that of Luthor’s—but he never sees the blunted blade swinging at his legs. Blade strikes calf, and Romny stumbles to the left with a shout—but his own sword is swinging even as he stumbles. A high strike, from a man off balance.

Eurik attacks Marrik with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a shattering blow!

After being struck by Tormund’s axe upon his shoulder, Jared howls in both pain and rage as the attack is barely deflected by his armor, so he bears down his sword, albeit a bit precariously as he reels back from the attack, in a slam at the Ironborn’s torso as he charges forward to meet the man in battle. Walton’s approach is given a nod of acknowledgement but nothing more, as he starts to advance back upon his attacker.

Romny attacks Luthor with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a shattering blow!

Walton manages to lock Tormund in an exchange of blows, trying to open the Ironborn up for Jared to strike back, and it seems to be a success when Jared delivers a slicing blow down onto the attacker.
Urron almost seems to dance away from Humfrey, and any catcalls are muffled by his heavy helm. Still, he swings out again with his blade, hoping to press the other knight back towards his own ship - or better yet, towards the railing of one of the longships, and into the drink.

Urron attacks Humfrey with his sword…and misses by a narrow margin!

Merys is caught off guard by Ryckon’s attack and suffers a heavy blow to his midsection, doubling him over. He recovers quickly enough, however, and swings his sword down on the Westerling’s shoulder.

Brynden moves forward, intending to do so in good-order with at least the Greyjoys and Luthor. Already blows have begun to fall nearby, though. He attempts to hold a spot between Luthor and Eurik, but an opponent chooses him quickly enough. “Stone… I am going to have another row with your knight. He…” then the squire is swinging that hammer, the blow going past his shield and striking him in the ribs. He grunts in pain but reflexively swings for the shoulder of Andred’s weapon-arm before he can draw back, or so he hopes.

Brynden attacks Andred with his sword…and has his blow intercepted by Andred’s shield.

With that swift blow coming in response to his own heavy hit, Greydon just barely manages to twist in time to give the other man a well-armored side to take the brunt of that blunted axe. He uses the momentum of the movement to swing around again, this time aiming for Rafe’s shield arm with a decisive energy.

When men come together and clash with one another, Janden positions himself closer to one of those ramps leading to the middle, legs doing their best to shift with the motion of the deck. A quick glance toward the others on the defensive side and he says, “Be ready to meet them in the middle.”
Walton shouts out: “Draw them over! Do not engage too far! Hold the line!” while he keeps engaging Tormund, trying to bear down on him to remove him from the fight.

Greydon attacks Rafe with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a hard blow!
Rafe is knocked down!

Marrik attempts to dodge the incoming axe, but fails. Letting out a grunt as the weapon slams into his breastplate and knocks the wind out of him. Taking a step back to recover momentarily, Marrik makes a quick feint to the left and lunges at Eurik with his sword.

Marrik attacks Eurik with his sword…and strikes him with a hard blow!
Eurik is knocked down!

Merys attacks Ryckon with his sword…and strikes him with a hard blow!

Tormund, caught by surprise by Walton, lets out a loud bellow of annoyance, and then he lets the newcomer rest, focusing his attention on Jared, on knocking the tall Stormlander off his feet and onto the decks. Another blow, this one aimed towards his knees and the lighter armour there.

Luthor never saw the blow coming only the flash of white that crosses his vision as the blade strikes his helm with the force of battering ram. Luthor stumbles a step, gets his feet under him and with a roar, swings back half-blind his sword coming down in a vicious arc.

Tormund attacks Jared with his mass weapon…and has his blow intercepted by Jared’s shield.

Luthor attacks Romny with his sword…with no result as the two warriors battle!

The far boat sways under the heavy tramp of fighters; men are engaged here and there. Ammon Massey holds his place, eyes scanning the tumultous melee—and he sees Farin’s advance upon Brynden. Massey breaks ranks—nobody has ever accused him of being a patient man—and it is a simple thing to slip over the gunwales into the next boat. He moves with some small grace for a large man, and appears at home on a ship. His gait is unsteady, true, but what of it? So is Ser Farin Prester’s, and the two come together before the heir to Feastfires reaches the Tully. Shoulder to shoulder with the trout now, and Ammon uses his sheild as a weapon, smashing it toward the advancing Ser Farin.

Ammon attacks Farin with his sword…and strikes him with a hard blow!

As blunted steel meets blunted steel, the adrenaline of the moment spurs Jan to at least partially forget about the fact that he is not on solid land. He answers Janden with a purposeful nod and positions himself in front of the adjacent ramp, letting out a whoop as Greydon and Marrik strike down their foes.

The Ironman’s vicious blow sends the former heir backpedaling. Humfrey falls, then ducks narrowly missing Urron’s blow—wood chips fly from the gunwales of the boat! Humfrey’s reverb is aimed, once more, at the region just above the Ironman’s groin—but this time it is a stab rather than a slash.

Humfrey attacks Urron with his sword…and strikes him with a hard blow!

When the next attack from Tormund gets no purchase and Jared blocks it, Walton sees his chance to move forward, and he tries to push the Ironborn back.

Walton attacks Tormund with his sword…with no result as the two warriors battle!

Ryckon attempts to move back unsuccessfully from Merys’ blow, though the motion does take some of the edge out of it. He continues his backward stagger, though, and then charges forward again, swinging at Merys’ sword arm and offering his opponent a detached, focused frown.

Ryckon attacks Merys with his mass weapon…and merely strikes a glancing blow!

Urron grunts as he totters, Humfrey’s blow sending him almost double, the blow low—low indeed. He straightens, his blade arcing and glimmering in the light, and then it comes for Humfrey’s sword-arm, his elbow, a blow hard and fierce even as the deck beneath the warriors sways and shifts in the Blackwater’s currents.

Blocking Tormund’s attack, Jared replies in a thoroughly method ic fashiob, this time a lower slash towards the Ironborn with a faint grin flashed at him.

Jared attacks Tormund with his sword…with no result as the two warriors battle!
In the wild chaos of the melee, Jared and Tormund are carried apart from one another.

Urron attacks Humfrey with his sword…and sees his blow go astray!

Though Brynden’s generosity is appreciated out there upon the shore, off the tourney field, here upon the ship it matters naught. Instead of words, Andred exchanges with the knight blows. His kite shield raises intercepting the sword blow, but no thanks to the ship that rocks him almost throwing him off balance. The blow to his shield sends shockwaves down his arm, but the young man thinks on it not. He must fight. It’s all he has. His hammer raises its glint seen off the afternoon sun. Then, its shade descends upon Brynden’s shoulder.

Andred attacks Brynden with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a swift blow!
Brynden is knocked down!

Romny Satcliffe, never one to pass up a chance, surges forward as Rivers is knocked back—and a fortunate thing! For Romny has moved under Luthor’s attack, catching the man’s descending wrist upon one slender shoulder. Humorless eyes stare into Luthor’s visor; a hard man, this. And Romny simply attempts to shove his opponent back with a shoulder. Whether he was successful in tangling the man’s legs with his own is anyone’s guess.

Typically it is Ser Farin who opens combat with a bull rush, but the Massey knight catches him by surprise with the shield. Farin’s own shield shoulder deadens on impact for a moment, and it is all the Prester knight can do to swing around the axe intended for Brynden on Ammon instead, before he even gets a good look at who it is attacking him.

Romny attacks Luthor with his mass weapon…and sees his blow go astray!

Farin attacks Ammon with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a powerful blow!

Merys sidesteps to his left as Ryckon attacks, receiving just a light hit to his forearm. In response, the Lydden knight swings his sword sideways at Ryckon’s side.

Merys attacks Ryckon with his sword…and strikes him with a swift blow!

The grin on Rafe’s face widens for the briefest of moments. He looks to be in good humor during the start of this match, his blunted axe swung in a mild arc to just glance across Greydon’s armor. It’s when he is drawing that axe arm back and swerving his torso to raise his shield that another powerful blow strikes at him. This time, rather than simply pushing him back, the force is enough to bring him crumbling to his knees. “Argh.” He cries out, teeth clenching.

Eurik grunts as he’s knocked down by the Bar Emmon, and it might be anger, it might be surprise - or it might even be pleasure, who knows how those damnable ironborn are. He takes a few moments to rise, plate gauntlets holding at the rail of the ship as he pulls himself up, regaining his footing and looking around for a few moments at the battle, at his opponents.

Marrik takes a step back and quirks his head to the side with a demeaning look down on Eurik, “I thought you were a Ship-“Lord” Eurik? Doesn’t seem very Lordly to be laying on the deck like that.” Taking the back of his hand to his upper lip, he wipes the away the sweat, “Why don’t you get back up?”

Walton sees Ammon break ranks but cannot quite get away from the fight with Tormund. However, when Tormund is brought away from the melee engagement by the chaos on deck, he tries to look around to see where Ammon has gone. He sees one person falling, then another.. Too many falling from their side.

The Ironman’s sworn glistens in the early morning light descending toward Ser Humfrey’s arm—indeed, it is a blow that would shear the knights arm from off his shoulder were his blade sharpened and honed. The deck rocks and Humfrey rolls away from the gunwales, then—he narrowly misses the Ironman’s slash and comes up swinging his shield at Urron’s gorget.

Humfrey attacks Urron with his sword…and has his blow intercepted by Urron’s shield.

Tormund and Jared are pulled apart in the fight, and then it’s a few long moments before Bloodaxe can catch sight of his enemies again. The bloody red-painted axe starts bouncing in the air again with the ease of long practice as Tormund goes back to close with Jared - and Walton, as well.
Luthor gives ground as Romny shoves forward, but he does not fall. One step, two step and then he drives his back foot into the deck and his shield forward at Romny’s face leading with the iron rim.

Luthor attacks Romny with his sword…with no result as the two warriors battle!
In the wild chaos of the melee, Luthor and Romny are carried apart from one another.

“Hold here,” Janden suggests to Jan, not an order though. “One of ours has a couple on him.” However, as some from the other side take a fall early, it may open up other chances. All the same, he takes the ramp forward to the middle of the three ships, that sort of no-man’s land, steps especially cautious when the path between them is crossed.

Marrik beckons forth the Ship-“Lord,” “Come Eurik, I’ll give you the first swing.” Standing almost non-chalantly, Ser Marrik awaits Eurik’s attack.

Ryckon hardly seems bothered by Merys’ blow even as it lands and even as he tries and fails to step to the other side to avoid it. This is a little annoying. Once again he takes the time to straighten out his posture and stand tall, even as the battle rages around him, and he trains his foucsed glare back on Merys and rushes at him again, trying to drive his mace into his stomach.

Ryckon attacks Merys with his mass weapon…and has his blow intercepted by Merys’s shield.

Perhaps the pain distracts him, or perhaps his shield is too small after all? Whatever reason, the Stone squire’s hammer falls on him again - this time on the same shoulder. The blow makes him lose his footing on the deck and he goes down in a heap, but he keeps his sheild interposed in case of a further blow. He does his best to rise in the midst of the melee.

Perhaps the pain distracts him, or perhaps Brynden’s shield is too small after all? Whatever reason, the Stone squire’s hammer falls on him again - this time on the same shoulder. The blow makes him lose his footing on the deck and he goes down in a heap, but he keeps his sheild interposed in case of a further blow. He does his best to rise in the midst of the melee.

Urron raises a gauntleted hand and blocks the blow from Humfrey, pushing the Westerlands knight back with the gauntleted hand while swinging again, once more towards the sword-arm and the elbow, hoping to knock the weapon away, at least.

Urron attacks Humfrey with his sword…with no result as the two warriors battle!

And so falls the Botley; Greydon spares the moment little recognition. The mock battle is in full swing now, an attack looming at any moment. The Greyjoy spins on a heel, steps lightly as the deck rises to meet his foot. He shoulders past a knight fighting another ironborn, giving the other—on his team, at any rate—a slight advantage by the unsettling it causes the knight’s defense. That scene very nearly repeats itself next—Greydon’s move places him near enough to Farin, engaged with a man lacking a few fingers. “Piecemeal!” calls the Greyjoy to the Blackhand, and slides himself closer.

The Captain of the Sea Horse rubs at his shield arm which had taken the entire impact of the toppling blow. Spitting out upon the planks of the ship, Rafe slowly brings himself to stand; his broad shoulders hunched over, knees bent. His weapon arm now raises to wipe the little bit of spittle from his off his mostly dry lips. “Good show.” He mutters gruffly to Greydon, whether the young Ironborn hears him or not.

The Bloodaxe turns to Jared and Walton, and once more his eyes are on Jared, as if Walton means nothing to him, and he lets his axe gain momentum with its gentle bounces in the air before cleaving down, down, right towards Jared’s chest. The blunted axe is bright in the afternoon light, its red clear against so much silvery plate.

Tormund attacks Jared with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Jared is knocked down!

Humfrey grunts in pain as the Ironman’s powerful arms push his shield toward and into his own throat. Yet his sword is quick even though his muscles are still wasted and frail. He parries then slashes at Urron’s fingers in a reverb—and in an effort to free the Ironman’s hand from his shield.

Humfrey attacks Urron with his sword…with no result as the two warriors battle!

This time Merys is ready. He moves his shield in front of Ryckon’s mace and intercepts the blow, though the sheer force of it is enough to make a loud thunk and drive Merys back a step. He changes his momentum, though, and drives toward Ryckon with a hard overhead slash.

Merys attacks Ryckon with his sword…and strikes him with a powerful blow!

Prester’s axe cuts into Ammon’s shoulder; sparks fly despite the blunted steel—blunted even more now, to be sure. His sword arm hangs limp, he is forced to a knee, rises in a moment. But Ammon is not badly injured, and his blade comes up in a guard—as Greydon calls to him! Two against one then, and it’s the newcomer who gets Massey’s attention. Ammon’s sword flashes towards Greydon’s helm, as good a strategy as any, one can hope.

Romny’s advance is halted, this Greenlander is a crafty one! But shield meets shield, and the two men are carried apart.

Ammon attacks Greydon with his sword…and merely strikes a glancing blow!

Jan nods at Janden and holds his ground. His eyes flick warily to the skirmish between Luthor and Romny, not far from where he stands. He shifts his body to face them and slowly inches forward, sword still raised in a defensive stance.

Walton sees Jared go down next to him, and his attempts at organizing the defense are abandoned as he tries to get the situation under control. Two against one and they fail.. He growls and shouts a wordless battlecry as he tries to deliver a blow home against the Ironborn.

“Stay down, Tully.” It is almost grunt, almost a growl, definitely bold. With a hammer in hand, Andred gets that way. With the clang of steel around him, his eyes set only upon the Tully, freshly minted Captain of Sea Watch. His hand tightens allowing the man to rise all the way as much as chivalry dictates and get ready, but after that, he does not relent. A hammer raises. A hammer falls. A hammer aimed for that same shoulder. In his eyes, those seas of blue, rages a tempest of intensity. He lives for moments like this.

Walton attacks Tormund with his sword…and sees his blow go wild!

Eurik looks at the Bar Emmon once more, flipping up the visor of his helm - just long enough to spit on the decks, close to Marrik’s feet - ever so close. And then the visor is closed again, and Eurik steps forward to close with Marrik, blade swinging in the light towards his neck and whatever armour, there, protects him.

Andred attacks Brynden with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a swift blow!

Eurik attacks Marrik with his mass weapon…with no result as the two warriors battle!

Shoved aside as his shield strikes nothing but the other shield, Luthor stumbles and goes to a knee. He swings wild arc as he rises to clear away any foes but he needn’t have bothered none are close enough. He takes a moment to catch his breath and then searches the ships seething with fighting men for a man without a foe. He spots Jan Marbrand, and approaches him raising his sword in a quick salute to the other before he begins with a slash at Jan’s middle to test his defenses.

Luthor attacks Jan with his sword…and strikes him with a hard blow!

The Blackhand’s strike glances off as Greydon ducks to one side quickly—almost not quickly enough. The reaction is quick, sure, and steadily aimed for the man’s already weakened sword arm—

Greydon attacks Ammon with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Ammon is knocked down!

Almost lazily Marrik moves his head back and the Ironborn’s swing misses. Letting out a mocking sigh, Ser Marrik raises his buckler to the left as he ducks down towards the right and slashes at Eurik behind the knee.

Marrik attacks Eurik with his sword…and strikes him with a swift blow!

“Massey?” Farin growls in surprise as he struggles to find his footing after an unintentially strong axe blow. Ammon’s already attacking Farin’s fellow crewmate, but that doesn’t stall him. The ship does, however, and he wobbles for a bit (greatfeul that Ammon chosen not to attack now) and…Ammon goes down, before Farin can right him. Wordlessly, Farin tromps away, in search of new prey.

And again, Urron and Humfrey - well-matched, it seems; the Westerling and the Greyjoy. The younger man laughs and would likely be bouncing on his feet if it were possible in plate. But it is not—and then he moves, swift and hard, his sword blade aiming much as Humfrey has done to him, the gorget and the soft places around the neck.

Urron attacks Humfrey with his sword…with no result as the two warriors battle!

The boat cringing below his feet, Walton comes closer to harming himself than anyone else with his blow, and he stumbles and doesn’t manage to contribute what so ever to the assisting of the assailed Jared.

Lying on the ground after that last attack by Tormund, Jared tries to get back upon his feet, bleeding and bruised, but certainly not yet fearful of the Ironborn style of competing in melees. He reaches for his sword as he attempts to clamber back to his feet.

Watching as Merys gives Ryckon trouble, Janden moves in that direction to lend a hand, finally picking out a fight to involve himself in. “Hold steady, cousin!” Which is enough for Janden to do just as he takes a measured path forward.

Once he is steady on his feet, Rafe whirls around him to see who is in his immediate vicinity. After such a poor showing just a few minutes earlier, the Ironborn captain looks ready to seek out his next opponent when he notices one of his teammates also falls to Greydon. “Impressive.” He says with a grin to his former opponent, “Are you ready for round two?”

Jan raises a hand in salute to Luthor in return - causing him to temporarily lose his balance, yet again. He has no chance of dodging Luthor’s opening parry, it striking him square in the chest and driving him back. He stumbles and plants the tip of his blunted sword on the deck to keep from falling over, then swings it upward at Luthor’s sword arm.

Jan attacks Luthor with his sword…and strikes him with a hard blow!
Luthor is knocked down!

Brynden rises, then swiftly pushes forward to attempt to crash his shield against the young stone. He knows his strength is likely not a match for the squire, rather he seeks to get inside the range of that hammer. He swing his sword around the far side of his opponent’s shield, aiming at Andred’s knee, hoping to bring him down.

Brynden attacks Andred with his sword…and strikes him with a swift blow!

Again, Westerling narrowly parries the younger and stronger man’s blow. They fight, hack, and slash—neither gaining the better of the other? Given his weakened state, Humfrey ought to be dead several times over, what is it then, Mayhaps a fighting Ironman is in his blood? The Crag has always been in the path of their reavings. Humfrey lets go of his shield and ducks! He slashes with all his speed and nimbleness at Urron’s cuirass.

Humfrey attacks Urron with his sword…and strikes him with a hard blow!
Urron is knocked down!

Ammon has fought aboard deck, that is true enough. Galleys of the King’s Fleet. Tall, multi-masted warships, not these wobbling, hells-sent things. He doesn’t even bother to block Greydon’s attack—not because he doesn’t see it, the curse shouted from his lips is evidence enough he does—but because he’s too busy trying to remain on his feet. Axe strikes arm, sword falls from numbed fingers, and Massey tumbles to the deck.

Ryckon grunts when hit and staggers back, adding in a growl as he continues putting up a poor show against the Lydden. He takes a few more steps back, glancing behind him to make sure he doesn’t accidentally step off the boat, and then the various angry vocalizations cease as he charges silently at Merys with a wide swing for his chest again, putting all his strength into his mace.

Ryckon attacks Merys with his mass weapon….with no result as the two warriors battle!

Tormund swings around on Walton, who seems to somehow be able to duck and dodge - and now that Jared is out of the way, for a time at least, he can focus on the other man. So he does, and Tormund’s axe swings, but it is a distraction more than anything - for he lashes out with a gauntleted fist to punch Walton straight in the chest, instead.

Tormund attacks Walton with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a swift blow!

Walton attempts to bring his shield up in defense but with the unsteady ground and his rather lacking dexterity in his armor, he fails miserably and is /punched/ through his defense. The warcry all forgotten about, he tries to go back on the basics and just.. you know, try to remain on his feet. He tries to lash out with a counter-blow with his sword to try to keep some distance between him and Tormund, desperately backing up.

Walton attacks Tormund with his sword…and strikes him with a swift blow!

The Greyjoy youth triumphs yet again, and turns just as quicly from the Blackhand to find his former opponent taunting him again. Greydon barks a laugh, seemingly little tired from his efforts in this mock battle. “Ready for another taste of this bitch’s bosom?” he mocks, hefting his weapon in a point to the deck below their feet. Then he readies his stance, preparing for what will come as a result of his mockery.

Merys checks Ryckon’s blow with his sword, and moves to his right. He swings his sword at the Westerling’s side, hoping he won’t have time to recover.

Merys attacks Ryckon with his sword…and has his blow intercepted by Ryckon’s shield.

Luthor’s blade falls from numbed fingers as Jan’s blade strikes home. “I yield,” he says. Stepping back from the Westerman, empty sword hand raised. “Though if you want some sport, let me get my sword and we can try this again.”

The blow hits right below his hauberk of mail. It causes a a soft wail. It forces a slight pause. On the uneasy footing of the ship, Andred almost falls straight on his ass. However, he manages to keep his balance. His eyes still a raging sea of blue. His only strategy is pure offense, unrelenting offense so his opponent is always on his back foot and that is what the does when he regains himself. With ease, he raises that hunk of steel over his head and then brings it down upon Brynden’s (well aimed to strike there at least.

Katla looks to Aliona, grinning wryly. “It’s because they’re new-come,” she answers finally, distracted by the melee for so long. “My uncle, I mean, and my cousin, and then Romny and Rafe and the Bloodaxe besides. They won’t joust, they’ll only fight in melees - or true battles, if it comes to it.” The ironborn woman’s eyes are bright with excitement, and she looks back to Damia, to Jyana, to the other women, watching friends and cousins and kinfolk exchanging blows on the ships below.

Andred attacks Brynden with his mass weapon…with no result as the two warriors battle!

Urron grunts as he’s knocked down, and then takes a few moments to stand, shaking his head, looking to Humfrey, raising his blade in a mock-salute. Then he takes another few moments to look around at opponents, who stands where, waiting.

Standing to his feet, Jared shakes his head for a moment before wielding his sword again, charging towards Tormund after that as he shouts, “We’re not done yet, ser!” The silver of his blade gleams under the scorching sunlight.

As he closes in on the fight between Ryckon and Merys, Janden witnesses both of them fail to gain further advantage over the other. In the moment he’s close enough, there comes a shout from the right of the Lydden knight and heir to Deep Den as the Melcolm one strikes out with his sword for the man’s open midsection.

Jan’s swing causes him to lurch forward and he nearly falls himself - so the look of surprise on his face is palpable when he finds Luthor on the deck instead. He tilts back his head and laughs. “Get up and take another shot, Rivers, if you dare,” he calls with a grin.

Janden attacks Merys with his sword…and strikes him with a swift blow!
Merys is knocked down!

Romny Saltcliffe rushes forward yet again, just in time to see Luthor’s blade fall away. Disarmed by a Greenlander! “Rules say, you get to fall once,” says Saltcliffe as he picks the bastard’s blade up from the deck—and tosses it over the side!

“Good luck to you.” And the Ironborn Captain aims a kick at Luthor’s ribs.

Romny attacks Luthor with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a hard blow!

Ryckon suddenly seems to have remembered that he does, indeed, have a shield that he can use to defend himself, knowledge that might have been useful earlier. Still, better late than never, as he quickly lifts up his shield to block the blow and then pushes it forward, trying to bash Merys with it… but then he’s already down, at the hands of his cousin. He offers Janden a grateful (but curt and solemn) nod.

Swift and now steady feet carries Rafe to where Greydon now stands, looming over his newly fallen opponent. The Botley’s eyes look down to Ammon for a brief second as he deftly avoids the man, before his axe once more rises to strike down at Gryedon’s shield arm. “Always.” He says with a sneer in reponse to Greydon’s taunts.

Rafe attacks Greydon with his sword…and strikes him with a swift blow!

Humfrey Westerling rises, covered in cold sweat—he returns the Ironman’s salute, then turns about looking for another foe. It looks as though Urron’s team is having the worst of it.

Brynden’s reflexes and comfort fighting on-deck finallt assert themselves and he steps aside from a blow that would have likely put him down again. He circles to the Stone’s left, away from the hammer. He tries to slide his shield to the near side of Andred’s shield, to push it aside as he aims for the elbow of his opponent’s shield arm.

Brynden attacks Andred with his sword…and merely strikes a glancing blow!

Eurik has waited a few moments in the battles, but now he pushes forward again towards Marrik, his blade moving to cleave into the armour around the knight’s shoulders. He moves forward with the momentum of the ship’s movement, and the swinging of his weapon serves, if nothing else, to encourage the Bar Emmon to take several steps back.

Eurik attacks Marrik with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Marrik is knocked down!

Again, Greydon twists and this time gives Rafe’s sword a well-protected shoulder—not quite quick enough to raise the actual shield in time. He grunts, perhaps feeling that hit well enough. Indeed, it leaves a noticable dent in thie pauldron, but it does little to stop the Greyjoy from swinging a strike up that—if succesful—will levy a formidable strike at the other man’s chest.
Greydon attacks Rafe with his mass weapon…and misses by a narrow margin!

Ammon rises to his feet, a slow process in his plate, but it’s a task accomplished. The scallywag who felled him fights another man now, but what of it? Massey’s sword lies forgotten on the deck, but he aims a kick to the side of Greydon’s knee.

Ammon attacks Greydon with his sword…and strikes him with a hard blow!

Merys was winning his fight; he had Ryckon on the ropes. But that was before it became an uneven match. Janden Melcolm arrives and saves his cousin, at the expense of Merys. The Lydden is attacked and taken completely off guard, keeling over and falling to the ground. “Damn sneak attack,” he mutters from the deck of the ship. Though by no means expected, Janden’s blow was not crippling, and Merys is able to push himself to his feet without trouble, now looking for a new target to attack, this time hopefully just one.

“Ooh- ooh!” Elrone is watching the battle raptly- well, for the most part. Every sway of the ships seems to make the girl shift herself as she tries to deduce who is falling due to the water’s motion and who to blows.“Oh- this is so hard to keep track of!” It seems she is trying to follow one or two men in particular- a difficult task in all the chaos- but her squints do seem aimed toward certain matches more than others.

A grunt escapes Luthor’s lips as Romny’s boot strikes him hard in the ribs. The bastard knight backs up as step and finds he’s reached the edge of the ship. He coughs but meets the Ironborn’s eyes with a smile and tugs his shield from his arm. “Alright then. Let’s do it your way.” He flings the shield at Romny’s face and charges in after it. Whether the shield hits or not he throws himself at his opponent trying to drag him down to the deck.

Andred turns with him. Slow deliberate steps. Easy now. The boat continues to rock uneasily. The boy born so far from the sea remains unbalanced. His eyes track Brynden’s movements and move with them. His elbow is clipped by Brynden’s sword aimed for his shield arm. It sends a tingly sensation up that bone and in relation, the arm. It causes him to lower his shield just a bit. He lowers it and moves it to the side. It gets out of the way for something. That something is Andred’s hammer. A hammer poised to strike Brynden’s sternum or where Andred thinks the sternum is.

Luthor attacks Romny with his sword…and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Romny is staggered by Luthor’s blow, but manages to keep his feet!

Andred attacks Brynden with his mass weapon…and sees his blow go wild!

A quick look to Ryckon follows from Janden, one to acknowledge the assist as he nods and steps back out of the way, eyes sweeping the deck for others in case there’s a need to assist or fall back. He begins to move toward the middle of the center ship again, still thinking defense first.
Rafe is not only quick on his feet, but quick on his strikes as well. Despite the earlier bruising and soreness at his arm, the Ironborn brings down his mighty weapon upon the armor protecting the other man’s shoulder. Calculating eyes now watch over his opponent more carefully and once he spots Greydon’s only assault, he immediately draws back so that the Greyjoy’s weapon barely knicks him. Catching sight of Ammon when the man joins the party, he offers a sly grin, before bringing his axe back down on that same arm which he had struck just earlier.

Rafe attacks Greydon with his sword…and strikes him with a hard blow!

Winded, for the nonce, Humfrey tears the helm from off his helm—the liner is soaked with cold sweat and the knight’s skin as a clammy complexion. He hangs back, breathing heavily toutney blade gripped tightly in his hand—winded but still at the ready.

Marrik staggers and falls to the deck as he loses his balance beneath the strength of Eurik’s blow. Rolling a few feet away he makes his way back to his feet. Anger simmers within his sea grean eyes… Like if the ocean were boiling. Making no comments or insults he rolls his shoulders a few times to work the pain from them.

It’s not fair to Jared to spend so much time with him - so Tormund keeps his focus on Walton, unaware of Jared’s rising up again behind him, and Tormund’s blunted blade swings at the Smallwood’s torso, trying to strike on the side, angling his strike at a weak place in the armour, separate it, if possible.

Tormund attacks Walton with his mass weapon…and misses by a narrow margin!

Romny laughs as he ducks under the clumsily thrown shield. “Soft Greenlan—oooof!” But Luthor’s shoulder doesn’t miss, and the two men are driven toward the gunwale. The ship sways, water splashes over the side. The wind is knocked out of Romny, and he is tangled by the stinking greenlander, but he shifts to the side. He hauls on Rivers’ armor, attempting to toss the man from the boat and into the still waters of the bay.

Romny attacks Luthor with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Luthor is knocked down!

Now that Walton has abandoned all pretense of fancy fighting or taking charge of things, he’s able to avoid being hit by Tormund, dancing back, using his reflexes to his advantage. With the blow avoided, Walton lashes out again with his sword, a quick counter-thrust.

Walton attacks Tormund with his sword…and merely strikes a glancing blow!

Well. That’s what overconfidence will buy you—a miss, and a swift kick in the knee when you’re too busy recovering from a swing that finds no purchase. Greydon stumbles and collapses onto that knee—surely that pains it further. He growls in response, starts to lift his weapon in a weak swing at the Blackhand…

But Rafe’s strike knocks the piece from his hand entirely and the Greyjoy must draw that arm back with a grunt of pain.

With a snarl of rage—gone are the sly grins, the jesting words—Greydon swings his shield around and pushes to his feet with a forward thrust, wielding that shield to knock his full weight into Rafe’s body.

Greydon attacks Rafe with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a swift blow!

Merys, now back on his feet, glances around for a new opponent. He spots Marrik, getting up from his own fall. Merys charges to the Bar Emmon, swinging his sword at him once in range.

Merys attacks Marrik with his sword…and strikes him with a hard blow!

It is then, when Tormund’s busy, that Jared attacks him, by striking at the other man’s left flank with a powerful swing to the upwards in an attempt to get him off balance.

Jared attacks Tormund with his sword…and strikes him with a powerful blow!

Tormund is staggered by Jared’s blow, but manages to keep his feet!

Humfrey pushes himself up from off the gunwales and charges Urron, once more, his tourney blade whistles as he slashes at the Ironman—aiming, once more for the his cuirass, just above the ironman’s gorget.

Humfrey attacks Urron with his sword…and strikes him with a hard blow!

Brynden shifts his feet just right, a helf-step back slide him just out of position so Andred’s blow finds no purchase. He shifts his weight then, stepping forward again to thrust his sword at the squire’s weapon arm this time.

Brynden attacks Andred with his sword…and strikes him with a powerful blow!

Marrik is hit by a hard blow by the unseen combatant, “Seven hells!” Turning to face the attacker, he quickly makes his responding attack.

Jan’s eyes widen as his teammate tosses Luthor’s sword overboard. He shakes his head at his own teammate. “Ironborn…” he mutters disapprovingly, before shooting Luthor an apologetic glance.

Emboldened by his small victory, however lucky, he scans the ship for anyone in need of assistance, seeing Marrik clatter to the deck. He yells and awkwardly sprints across the ramp to meet Eurik, slashing the sword horizontally at the Greyjoy’s chest.

Marrik attacks Merys with his sword…and strikes him with a hard blow!

Jan attacks Eurik with his sword…and strikes him with a hard blow!

Even as Greydon goes down, rises, and launches himself at Rafe, Ammon is moving. He is disarmed, but not helpless—for the Massey knight outweighs many of the men fighting here today, and he is in full plate. He launches himself at Greydon, attempting to drag the man to the ground even as his opponent attempts the same to Rafe.

Ammon attacks Greydon with his sword…and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Greydon is knocked down!

Farin’s prowling ends when Marrik is knocked to the ground. From his vantage, he can see Jan Marbrand rushing in to assist…and Farin himself wobbles to a beneficial position, manuvering as best he can along the deck to get behind Eurik, and trying to time his axe strike with Jan to make the pincer undefendable.

Farin attacks Eurik with his mass weapon…and merely strikes a glancing blow!

Just as animated as Elrone, Jyana leans this way and that to get a better view of the melee just beyond them. “Ela,” she calls to the girl not far away, “Can you see Andred? I’ve lost sight of him…” The young woman huffs, puffs, and blows a strand of hair from her face. “Cursed ships, I can’t see anything at this distance.”

Merys makes solid contact, but Marrik responds with an equally powerful blow. Merys grunts when he is hit, but otherwise seems unfazed. He ducks low and thrusts his sword upward, driving for his opponents collarbone.

Tormund grunts, swinging his axe around to Jared this time, surprised by the attack from behind, a distraction from his exchange of blows with Walton. So he swings, low and fast, towards Jared’s groin and thighs, axe a blur and a solid weight in the Bloodaxe’s hand.

Merys attacks Marrik with his sword…and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Marrik is staggered by Merys’s blow, but manages to keep his feet!

Tormund attacks Jared with his mass weapon…and has his blow intercepted by Jared’s shield.

The wild blow left Andred unbalanced. His shield is hopelessly to the left, not at the ready. It gives Brynden the perfect opportunity to perhaps turn the tide. The sword thrust finds purchase upon the squire’s shoulder. It causes him to almost lose grip of his hammer, but he lets out a loud pained groan. The boy starts to get angry, but he’s flustered right now. The side rocks him with the new pain. It takes a few moments, but it is then that his anger is expressed. A shield bash, a wall of wood and muscle attempts to push Brynden out and stagger him and it’s almost immediately followed by a swing from his hammer aimed towards Brynden’s ribs.

Andred attacks Brynden with his mass weapon…...and misses by a narrow margin!

Rafe continues his little dance with Greydon, his body half-turned as he quickly raises up his shield to attempt to ward off the expected blow. The shield pushes up against the force of the Greyjoy’s attack, but the swift impact upon his shield arm sends pain shooting throughout his already sore limb. He doesn’t dawdle for long and once more that blunted weapon of his rises, but before he can swing the blade at Greydon one more time, Ammon delivers the finishing blow. “Hrm.” The Ironborn Captain murmurs, though he does grant Ammon a respectful nod, before his eyes narrow to see who else would make an interesting opponent.

As they struggle Luthor throws elbows and fists into any weak point he can find in Romny’s armour but they’re too close together for the blows to do much good. “Whoreson,” he snarls at the Ironborn as they grapple, then his eyes widen as Romny takes hold of his armour and twists him off balance on the slick deck beside the gunwale.

Luthor scrambles for something to grip onto but finds nothing, his hands rake the air as he falls and then suddenly with a splash they vanish beneath the surface of Blackwater bay with the rest of him.
Walton sees Tormund miss another blow. Finally, the tide is turning against the Ironborn, and Walton is ready to press the advance. With the other man hurt from Jared’s crushing blow and his own quick counter-attacks, he tries to feint and swing past the man’s defenses. “Go down, will you!” he shouts.

Eurik smiles behind his visor at his cousin and the Marbrand knight, barking out a laugh as he is struck once, twice, by the greenlander knights. Then he lifts his axe, and with the rocking of the ship’s deck, he swings at Farin’s shoulder with as much force as he can muster, trying to catch the momentum as he does.

Walton attacks Tormund with his sword…and strikes him with a hard blow!
Tormund is knocked down!

Eurik attacks Farin with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Farin is knocked down!

“I know, Jyana!” Elrone scoots closer to her Arryn friend. “I think it must be quite hopeless trying to pick out any of them.” She peers toward the ships, rising a bit from her seat to try to make out some of the shapes- and points at one before her septa pulls her by the skirt back into a more proper sitting position. “There, is he that big one? Or is there someone else his size out there?”

Marrik staggers back in pain as Merys hits his neck region very hard. Coughing a bit he winces and shoots a glare at the opposing knight. Taking his sword and swinging at Merys’ groin, he lets out a strained yell.

Marrik attacks Merys with his sword…with no result as the two warriors battle!

Now that he is no longer fighting, Ryckon seems to suddenly realize how dizzy he is, from the rocking of the ship and the lingering disorientation of the fight that he almost lost. Frowning uneasily, he attempts to right himself and return to his serious posture, which was no doubt imitated from his former master. Taking a deep breath and a steady step, he scans the battle for a vulnerable opponent, an eye on Janden to see what his cousin does.

How quickly the strong can fall in such a field as this; Greydon is thusly dragged from his fellow ironborn opponent by the Blackhand’s lunge. He hits the deck, then rolls off with a superficial kick that serves only to part him from the knight rather than impact the man. Out of wind and at a loss for his weapon, Greydon manages a low profile as he crawls across the weathered wood to reclaim his piece.

Urron grunts with Humfrey’s other blow, and then he stays down, and it’s not classy, it’s not graceful - it’s ironborn, is what it is, and that means Urron simply takes several short but fast steps forward, using his body weight and the pommel of his sword to rap Humfrey on the chest, as hard as he can.

Urron attacks Humfrey with his sword…and strikes him with a hard blow!

Merys parries his opponents blow, sidestepping in the process. He swings down his sword on Marrik, now with less than adequate footing, in the hopes of a finishing blow.

Upon witnessing Ammon get the best of Greydon Greyjoy, Janden starts in the direction of the Massey man and calls out, “Cousin!” Another pair of shaky steps follow before the focus sharpens, the fight grabbing more of his focus. “Let’s have at it, Ser,” he intones as he seeks to slip in past Ammon’s defenses before he’s ready, aiming with a broad swipe at the legs.

Janden attacks Ammon with his sword…with no result as the two warriors battle!

Merys attacks Marrik with his sword…with no result as the two warriors battle!

Eurik’s timing with the momentum of the ship couldn’t be better, and Farin’s manuvering couldn’t be worse. The heir apparent to Feastfires is knocked staggering back a few paces, before falling on his back. His axe slides along the deck another pace or so behind him, as the Prester knight begins trying to roll himself right to stand back up…

And then it’s Walton who knocks Tormund down, and the Bloodaxe slides to the deck of the ship, the blade falling from his fingers with a clang to the deck. It’s a few long moments before he can reach it, and a few longer before he can stand up and regain his footing.

Eurik’s helmed head turns to Jan moments after Farin goes down, and he advances on the other knight, blade swinging in an arc from high above to intercept at the neck and collarbone of Jan’s armour, and blunted though it may be, if it connects it will surely leave a fine bruise as a memory of the fight.

Eurik attacks Jan with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a shattering blow!

Ammon falls with the Ironborn, uses him as a crutch to stand, and offers a mirroring nod to Rafe. Friends for a moment, at any rate—and then the Melcolm knight is moving to the attack. And he is gracious enough to give the Blackhand fair warning enough to retrieve his sword. But Ammon doesn’t take the opportunity; he moves forward, unsteady on the swaying boat, sweeping his shield low to catch Janden’s sword. An uppercut to the Melcolm knight’s helmet then, steel against steel.

“I’ll wait here. Go help the others.” Jared tells Walton, staring at Tormund before drifting away and trying to find a new target.

Ammon attacks Janden with his sword…and strikes him with a shattering blow!

With a little bit of luck, Marrik rolls under Merys’ incoming attack and lands on one knee behind Merys. Quickly he makes an upward slash at Merys’ back.

Marrik attacks Merys with his sword…and strikes him with a hard blow!

Humfrey grunts as the pommel of the ironman’s sword takes him full in the chest, the Westerland knight flails and pinwheels—and falls! At the last moment he grips the gunwale and halts his fall. Before righting himself, he slashes, brutally and awkwardly at the Ironman’s legs in an effort to put him of balance long enough to regain his own footing.

Humfrey attacks Urron with his sword…and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Urron is knocked down!

Brynden gives a step or two of deckspace, still not trying to match strength with the mighty Stone, that allows him to avoid another spirited blow. “Good, good.” he says with enthusiasm, then steps in again quickly to swing at Andred’s hammer arm once more.

Brynden attacks Andred with his sword…and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Andred is knocked down!

Somehow Marrik avoids Merys’ blow and gives a slash to the Lydden’s back in the process. Seemingly even more irritated, Merys lets out a yell as he spins around, sword intended for Marrik’s sword arm.

Merys attacks Marrik with his sword…and strikes him with a swift blow!
Marrik is knocked down!

Walton nods and shouts “Keep an eye on him!” to Jared before he sets off for the middle ships, walking unsteadily but rather quickly to engage the opponents that remain. One of them just got the better of Urron Greyjoy and seems to be unsteady enough - Without a shout or grunt to announce his presence, Walton rushes Humfrey and seeks to shield bash him to the ground.

Walton attacks Humfrey with his sword…and strikes him with a powerful blow!

And Romny Saltcliffe, on the far boat? He chuckles as Luthor is thrown in the drink; the Ironborn has regained his balance as if this fight was on dry land. And so his eyes scan the conflict, safe in the back at the moment, with nobody to challenge him. A smart thing, that, to lead from behind.

When Luthor splashes into the water his sellswords who came to cheer him on laugh. Though when he does not surface right away those laughs die away and few of their number, those who can swim, rush forward to retrieve him. Luthor rises from the depths before they get there but is in sore need of their help, his helm is lost and blood runs freely down from above his hairline. The water’s shallow enough to stand in and so they take his arms over their shoulders and lead him to the shore where he lays back on the dirt and spitting water.

It will be awhile before he sits up and awhile longer before he regains his feet, but he’s alive, and for the moment that’s all that matters.

“Right,” Ryckon simply affirms Janden’s proposal, in an uncharacteristically direct tone of voice. He follows behind his cousin, staggering towards the Blackhand and waiting until he and the Royal Huntsman are already engaged before charging forward and swinging at Ammon’s undefended side.
Weapon and breath regained, Greydon makes it to his feet and shuffles for a step before his balance fully restores itself. He ducks a wild swing from some unknown opponent, whirls away, and finds a moment of respite to scout the others still engaged on the deck. To stay here, or try for the other ship? The latter seems to be the decision, and the Greyjoy casts a wary glance around him as he makes his way across the width of the longship towards those other planks.

Ryckon attacks Ammon with his mass weapon…and sees his blow go wild!

And Humfrey’s slash is enough to do it; Urron is struck unexpectedly on the legs, and at such an angle that it sends the Greyjoy over the low rail of the ship and into the - admittedly shallow - depths of the Blackwater, and then he straightens up out of the water, it sluicing off his plate; he limps, for something must have been injured, out of the water and up the banks.

Jan quickly realizes the folly of his choice in opponent as his and Farin’s coordinated charge is answered and the Prester knight ends up on his back. Jan, surprised at how swiftly Eurik returned their blows, shoots an ill-advised wide-eyed glance at Farin, then turns just in time to see Eurik’s sword come down on his neck with force. “Shit!” he yelps in pain, instantly dropping his shield. Miraculously, though, he stays on his feet, the fight now coarsing through his blood, and he jabs his sword in at Eurik’s side, briefly exposed after his downward swing.

Jan attacks Eurik with his sword…and misses by a narrow margin!

Humfrey Westerling is still trying to right himself, still reeling from the last blow he received from the Ironman when Walton charges him—the Smallwood’s shield takes him full in the chest—Humfrey grunts and a terrible high pitched whine escapes his lungs—his slash is desperate and quick—aimed at the famous seacaptain’s shanks.

Humfrey attacks Walton with his sword…and has his blow intercepted by Walton’s shield.

Again, a missed strike. Again, a powerful strike to his hammer arm. But, now he is disarmed. His hammer clanks onto the deck of the middle ship. Andred kneels down to pick it up. It takes a moment, but the boy does eventually collect his hammer. Slow and cautiously, he rises back to his feet. He breathes heavily after a long fight with Brynden, now a brief break to catch his breath. He just stares at Brynden with those oceans of turbulent blue. “Let us finish this, Ser Tully.” It sounds like he says between pained grunts and heavy breathing.

“Looks like we have company once more.” Rafe mutters through clenched teeth to Ammon as a new opponent nears. When Janden and Ammon go head to head, the Ironborn watches the movements and impacts given from out of the corner of his eyes, though his attention is drawn to Ryckon who is the lone man out in the near distance. If Ryckon doesn’t make a move on him, Rafe certainly does, moving quickly to attempt and block the Westerling from where Ammon now fights, with his blunted weapon drawn back to slash out in an arc towards this newcomer’s chest.

Rafe attacks Ryckon with his sword…and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Ryckon is knocked down!

The counter to Janden’s attack leaves the Melcolm knight reeling for a moment, knocking his half-helm askew before he can lift his shield in time to deflect it. “Shit..” he says, shaking his head to clear it, shield hand up a bit late to shift the thing back in place as Ryckon moves in for his attack. A moment later, after motion on the boat nearly causes him to go down to a knee, he charges in again at the opposite side Ryckon does, attempting to hammer at Ammon’s attacking hand with his own shield - even as Rafe jumps in to go for Ryckon!

Eurik shifts his weight with the motion of the deck and narrowly avoids the sword blow. “Nice try,” he calls out from beneath his helm, before swinging his axe again at Jan’s knees, an effort to knock him to the not-so-gently rocking deck.

Marrik is hit by Merys’ devastating blow in the sword arm. The force of the attack is such that he drops his sword. Grudgingly he raises his hands, “I yield!” Slowly standing he gets his sword and makes his way from the boats.

Janden attacks Ammon with his sword…and strikes him with a shattering blow!

Eurik attacks Jan with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Jan is knocked down!

Walton’s shield is between him and his opponent, and it is with that very shield that he presses Humfrey enough to avoid any kind of wide swings or attacks. With the quick counter blocked by the round shield that the Smallwood knight carries, he sees his opportunity and swings his sword at Humfrey, trying to get past his guard.

Walton attacks Humfrey with his sword…with no result as the two warriors battle!

Movement at the corners of his eyes—or is there? Always hard to tell with a visor, but Ammon reacts as if there is. A wind passes him by, unfelt beneath the armor, but Ammon moves just enough to escape Ryckon’s mace—and Rafe moves in to handle the new-made knight. Unfortunately for Ammon, his movement brings him right into Janden; the Valeman hammers at Ammon’s hand; the Blackhand curses—and slams his own helmed head at Janden’s own.

Ammon attacks Janden with his sword…and strikes him with a swift blow!
Janden is knocked down!

Though his strength is flagging and his lungs burn like wildfire Humfrey Westerling quickness endures—his parry is weak, but quick, when Walton’s sword cracks against his—Ser Humfrey’s arm warbles and strains. He rises painfully and swings at Walton with shield in a feint. At the last moment he pulls away from him, losing his sword from the painful entanglement with Walton’s brand and slashes at the knight’s gorget.

Humfrey attacks Walton with his sword…and strikes him with a swift blow!

Tormund stands, finally, and looks to Jared. “Shall we dance again, little man?” he asks, fingers grasping the haft of the axe and swinging it up again in an oddly graceful gesture over his shoulder. “Or will you find another partner?”

Ah, and just there in the way of Greydon and the planks to the other ship—the Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet, Eurik Grejoy, his own father. That brings back the wicked smile to the young man’s face. His fingers flex around the grip of that weapon, he tests his shield arm—then calls out to the man: “Come now, father—quit picking on these knights and test your strength against your own!”
The Tully knight does not press his attack, though he truly should, he lets Andred claim his weapon and set his feet once more. “Let’s do. You are mighty already, Stone.” When Andred seems ready, he feints a swing at the squire’s head but turns it at the last second for the shoulder he has been concentrating on.

Ryckon is so focused on fighting Ammon that Rafe’s approach goes completely unnoticed, and just as Ryckon is preparing to deliver another blow to the Blackhand after his first one has failed the Botley attacks him and knocks him off balance. With a swear, he topples down to the deck and grabs his mace. He begins pulling himself away from the battle and, more importantly, the edge of the ship.
Walton staggers back and curses, his offense halted for the time being. He tries to regain his guard, pushing the shield up to try to cover his face.. and then, going back on what worked before, he tries another crushing blow with his body, shield and all against the Westerling knight.

Walton attacks Humfrey with his sword…and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Humfrey is knocked down!

“I feel I have an unsettled score with you,” Jared replies, looking back to Tormund before flashing him a dangerous grin. “Which we should probably take care of immediately. Are you ready?”

In the stands, Elrone fidgets next to Jyana. As more of the men go down or are put over the the side the battle grows easier to follow. And so it is clear when she lets out a pained “Oooh- oh no-” that she is watching the hard blows dealt almost simultaneously to Ammon and Jan. She winces again as Ammon responds with a headbutt to Janden. “Oh, dear- that looks like it hurt both of them…”

Brynden attacks Andred with his sword…and strikes him with a shattering blow!

Eurik’s laugh is a bellow, and he moves - slightly slower than he might normally, carefully stepping around downed men - and closes the deckspace between himself and his son. “Time to see how well I’ve taught my son, is it?” And then, a swift swing of his axe at Greydon’s torso, straight over the youth’s heart. No sympathy, no pulling of the blow.

Eurik attacks Greydon with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a hard blow!

Movement from the far ship, Romny Saltcliffe is cat-quick on the roiling ground. But he is focused on -something- now, and quickly moves from the far ship to the middle. a coy grin is on his lips.
As Farin rises to see Jan fall, the Warden winces, feeling the pain of Eurik’s blow on himself as he watches Jan take it. However, as Greydon Greyjoy comes to intervene, Farin decides to leave the fighting to his cousins. Turning back, he sees that Massey is on his feet again, and close by enough for a fight. “Ser Ammon!” he calls out, taunting. “I did think I told you to stay out of battles involving me, hm?” he laughs, before leaning in for a quick strike.

Farin attacks Ammon with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a swift blow!
Ammon is knocked down!

Jan’s desperate lunge is deftly and inevitably dodged by Eurik. His knees cut out from under him, Jan falls to his knees, and the lurch of the boat sends his face into the deck. He unsteadily rights himself with his sword and, though his nose is bloodied, he sways with the boat while scanning the ships for an unoccupied foe.

The Bar Emmon knight cannot scramble away any longer, and Merys’ sword strikes true, knocking Marrik down onto the deck. The Lydden knight sees both Ryckon and Janden fall, and a smile washes over his face. He moves over to the victorious Ammon just as the Blackhand rushes to a new opponent and immediately falls. Merys decides to take Ammon’s place, in the fight at least, and rushes Farin, sword swinging down.

Jyana is as up and down as the heave and ho of the boats on the bay; she has no septa of her own to snatch at her skirts today, in the company of Damia’s attendants. And Noel, down closer to the smallfolk watching, alongside Andred’s twin. She mutters to herself, then glances in the direction Elrone notes; the Blackhand knight, against the Melcolm. “Gods,” she says, not minding her tongue in this moment, “Is there any part of that man’s body he won’t use to fight with?”

Merys attacks Farin with his sword…and misses by a narrow margin!

One problem with Janden’s attack on Ammon? It, along with the constant motion of the ship, leaves an opening for the headbutt. It catches the Valeknight square, though one saving grace is the reinforced spot right over his nose. Otherwise, it might’ve been broken again. The counter is enough that it sends Janden sprawling, helmet knocked a few feet away. A scramble begins to retrieve it before it rolls too far out of reach as he seeks to move closer to his own ship once again.

Humfrey Westerling is pressed, no smashed against the railing of the middle ship. Blood dribbles from the corner of his mouth as he collapses on the deck. He is still for a long painful interlude, then slowly comes to his feet—blood pouring from his mouth—a split lip and a bit tongue. “Well fought Ser.” Humfrey coughs and hacks—a hand is placed over his chest to still his coughing. He wipes the sweat from off his brow then lifts his dropped sword.

The shield is not fast enough, and Eurik’s lesson is a well learned thing upon Greydon’s breastplate. The son chokes out a breath, takes a step back—but then he uses that backstep to anchor himself. His own arm swings to uppercut a swift strike that angles just so, a sure aim for his father’s helm.

Greydon attacks Eurik with his mass weapon…with no result as the two warriors battle!

Jared’s words receive the heavy bounce of the axe behind Tormund’s head as an acknowledgement, and then he steps forward in a swift shuffle towards Jared, the axe swinging low and swift at his opponent’s knees.

The sound of blunted weapon against armor is loud and deafening, especially when one is in the middle of combat and right next to the impact zone. The force is so hard that Rafe pushes his opponent back just as Ammon does the same with his. His good arm tensing, the Ironborn keeps steady watch on Ryckon, but not before noting that someone else has come up to go against his current teammate. “Sneaky little bastard.” He growls in Farin’s direction, though notices that Merys now goes after the man. He will keep a slight watch on the altercation there, but for now, he looks between Janden and Ryckon to see if either will make a move on him.

The Warden of the Kingswood is able to dodge his father’s Westerman counterpart more by the luck of the ship’s rocking than by skill; but in any case, he is untouched. Farin turns, and while he would normally rely on speed, he maintains a focus instead, aiming for one midsection strike while trying to keep his own balance.

Farin attacks Merys with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Merys is knocked down!

Jared attacks Tormund with his sword…and has his blow intercepted by Tormund’s shield.

Tormund attacks Jared with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a hard blow!

Unused to compliments, the young squire just nods stiffly to it. “As are you.” He mutters out. That is all. Then, he gets back to fighting. He waits for Brynden’s strike, its at his head. His shield raises, but no sword hits it. No. The sword hits his shoulder. The shoulder that already has quite a large bruise upon it from earlier. That bruise only gets larger. His grip upon his hammer slackens. He grunts out more pain. His hard breathing continues. He just stares forward for a moment lost in that pain before he makes his move. A hammer swing, low towards Brynden’s flank.

Walton grunts something in response to Humfrey while the other man recovers, then swings around to try to catch what’s going on in the rest of the battle. Just like before, he goes for someone who looks like they just recovered from something - Jan, this time. Go in, feint, and shield bash his face!

Andred attacks Brynden with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a hard blow!

Jared attacks Tormund with his sword…and strikes him with a shattering blow!

Walton attacks Jan with his sword…with no result as the two warriors battle!
In the wild chaos of the melee, Walton and Jan are carried apart from one another.

Taking a hit on his chest, Jared staggers back a little before recovering and rearing back his sword before launching a powerful uppercut from the left to the right side with the blade, stepping forward.
Silencing a groan, Ryckon pushes himself up, not an easy task amid the rollicking of the deck. Glancing around, he notices plenty of opponents left and plenty of allies needing help to fight them, and so he attempts to make himself scarce, another difficult task given his great size, as he examines the field to decide who to attack.

A quick strike is enough, especially with this unsteady ground, and the blade of Farin’s axe comes in. Ammon hollows out his middle, thrusting his hips back, and the axe barely scrapes the Blackhand’s breastplate—but the quick motion is too much. The ship tips, Ammon stumbles back with it, and he stands on the bring for a moment, waving his arms to catch his balance—and fails with a *SPLASH*. Ammon sinks quick enough, with all the weight of his armor. But there are men waiting for just this eventuality, watching intently from shore, and the know their work well.

“That’s it, my son,” Eurik calls to Greydon, mocking, pulling his head out from beneath Greydon’s swing just in time. Then a blow from the opposing side, axe switching to his left hand, and then cleaving towards the blade-hand, pressing forward, forward, forward as he does.

Eurik attacks Greydon with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a hard blow!

Jan is still recovering when Walton charges him, aiming his shield right at Jan’s bloodied nose. Fortuitously, Marbrand loses his balance and stumbles to the left…inadvertently dodging Walton’s attack. Quickly, he swings his sword down overhead at Walton’s shoulder.

Humfrey finally steadies himself and looks about to see father enaged with son. The air whistles as he spins his blade in a practice slash then charged at Eurik, Lord-Captain of the Iron Fleet. “Westerling!” Perhaps he is rage is born from all the villages the Ironman have sacked over the centuries—what his slash lacks in strength it more than makes up for in speed. His blade glistens as it descends toward Eurik’s left pauldron

Jan attacks Walton with his sword…and has his blow intercepted by Walton’s shield.

Humfrey attacks Eurik with his sword…and merely strikes a glancing blow!

The blow catches Tormund by surprise, and he lets out a roar of surprise and shock and anger. He rocks back, and then swings his axe to Jared’s chest, hoping to dent the armour above it, or at least knock the breath out of him.

Tormund attacks Jared with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Jared is knocked down!

Bless that shield again. Shield bashes - the gift that keeps on giving. Walton gets his up in time, slamming it in between the Marbrand knight’s sword and his precious skull. With the other man’s sword up there, it hopefully gives Walton an opening and he swings his own sword in an arc from the lower right.

Walton attacks Jan with his sword…and merely strikes a glancing blow!

Apparently, Jared’s defenses aren’t all that good. He takes a hit to the chest, a too powerful hit, in fact, and drops to the floor, unconscious. His sword clatters across the floor.

“Oof.” Brynden grunts as Andred’s blow falls on his ribs again. “Damn!” He attempts to step inside again, thrusting his sword to the man’s shoulder again as he goes. His shield os down, hoping to keep Andred’s hammer from being pulled back again.

Brynden attacks Andred with his sword…and strikes him with a swift blow!

After getting that helmet back, moments before it rolls off a ramp and into the water below, Janden rises with a hand against the side of the ship. Seeing Farin’s taken care of Ammon, he looks then toward Ryckon and picks out Rafe. Well, there’s an Ironborn. Why not? He sets his feet and moves as swiftly as the ship will allow, leading high with his shield only to drop it low and hammer down at Rafe’s head.

Janden attacks Rafe with his sword…and has his blow intercepted by Rafe’s shield.

“Err…” Elrone makes a sort of apologetic half-shrug. “I suppose not.” She raises a hand to her mouth as Ammon is quickly taken by a blow for Farin and sent into the water- but there are men there to drag him out and she soon manages a semblance of propriety again. “All of the remainder seem fairly closely matched, no?” She almost bounces in trying to keep her vantage without actually standing.

Again, that confidence turns on Greydon, sending his blow useless and leaving him open for his father to heft a mighty swing on his fighting hand. Again, the weapon clatters to the wood.
But this time, another teammate sweeps in and buys the son time enough to regain that weapon and settle his footing just so. This time—grim-faced and steely-eyed—Greydon strikes again, a more conservative swing, but at the helm again.

Greydon attacks Eurik with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a hard blow!

Brynden’s strike has purchase, but it’s only short sting. A moment’s cringe, but nothing more. The pain is numbed by his adernline pumping fast. Though always there and irksome, he must press on like he has been trained. So, with a pained battle roar, he raises his hammer once more. A shadow from casts down on Brynden. Then, the hammer attempts cast itself down on Brynden’s helm.

Andred attacks Brynden with his mass weapon…and has his blow intercepted by Brynden’s shield.

Perhaps Merys was tired, or maybe just too aggressive. Regardless of the reason, Merys misses his strike and is knocked back by Farin’s counter. He might have kept his footing if not for the uneasiness of the rocking ships. Merys loses his footing and begins to stumble, falling over the ship’s railing and into the water below.

Rafe notices Ryckon’s great size first and so sets off to make his strike against the Westerling. However, there is interference in the form of one Janden Melcolm. “No matter.” The Ironman states in a flattone and despite the Melcolm’s best efforts, Rafe raises his shield effortlessly to ward off the incoming blow from his new opponent. Ryckon forgotten for now, with one arm still raised in a blocking position, Rafe brings his weaponarm down and across to strike at Janden’s side.

Rafe attacks Janden with his sword….and strikes him with a shattering blow!

Ryckon scowls when he hears Humfrey call out the name of the house that he no longer belongs to, and he opens his mouth to call out something to that effect before changing his mind, shaking his head disdainfully and scanning the field once again. He spots the cousin who is actually still a cousin fighting one of the ironborn, and decides to return the earlier favor, rushing to swing at Rafe’s undefended side.

Ryckon attacks Rafe with his mass weapon…with no result as the two warriors battle!

Greydon’s blow, and Humfrey’s too, knock Eurik back a step, two - and then he takes another pair of steps back, hand sliding down to the very base of the axe, and swings to strike Humfrey first, and then to switch hands and make a matching sweep at his own flesh and blood.
Midships now, Romny Saltcliffe slinks amongst the carnage. He bends double, moving quickly, angles just so, and comes at Walton from the flank. Romny slashes quickly, dulled blade gleaming in the light.

Eurik attacks Humfrey with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a shattering blow!

Romny attacks Walton with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a powerful blow!

The Ironman’s blow takes Humfrey in the gut and sends the Westerling to the ground—from his prone position, he spits a mouthful of blood then lifts his sweat and blood stained forehead—Humfrey bullrushes the man going for his gut in an attack that is truly savage—aiming to slam into his gut with the full force of his helm.

Humfrey attacks Eurik with his sword…and strikes him with a hard blow!
Eurik is knocked down!

Janden may be born of a place known for its seafaring ways, but circumstances led to him having almost know skill whatsoever aboard a ship. It’s been enough just to avoid freezing up each time he gets a closer look at the water below, even if it’s not deep enough to swallow him up. The fighting is a distraction, more than just that as his side stings from a square, hard shot he takes against the padding and mail he wears, driving him back to spin around while Ryckon jumps in. Upon completion of that spin he thrusts his shield at Rafe’s head, a jabbing blow.

Janden attacks Rafe with his sword…with no result as the two warriors battle!

Jan leaps backwards, just in time so that the tip of Walton’s sword merely grazes his midsection. He raises his left hand as if it was holding a shield, before realizing that Eurik caused him to drop it long ago. “Oh, yeah…” he mutters with disappointment, as Romny joins the fray. Jan quickly echoes Romny’s slash with one of his own.

Jan attacks Walton with his sword…and strikes him with a hard blow!
Walton is knocked down!

Two blows, from two directions.. that’s too much. Curse Romny, preventing Walton from getting the ‘last to fall’ award. Walton is caught in a very bad position after the sudden attack from Romny, and he stumbles to the side, pain shooting through his features, and then Jan’s attack gets him in the other shoulder. He stumbles back, then falls with a crashing sound of chain mail, shield and sword.

Brynden was unable to lock his opponent’s weapon down, so his shield is free to bring up just in time to deflect yet another vicious hammer blow. Letting his reflexes take over, he swings at Andred’s shoulder again. “Go down, Stone!”

Brynden attacks Andred with his sword…and strikes him with a hard blow!

As the swirling melee continues around him, Ser Farin takes a moment or three to pick out one of the only fights that doesn’t involve more than two combatants…yet. Stepping cautiously and swaying as he moves, though with some additional confidence, Farin makes his way around Brynden Tully’s far side, and leans in for a quick strike across whichever side the Tully knight leaves open, the arc of his axe swinging unsteadily on the ship.

Farin attacks Brynden with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a hard blow!
Brynden is knocked down!

Walton spits a glob of blood and starts getting up on one knee, trying to get his shield back in position for any sudden attacks while he’s still rising. There appears to be way way too many hostile faces around him, right now..

The chaos of the melee is begining, somewhat, to clear now. Walton falls, and Romny considers him with scorn. He nods to Jan. “You Greenlanders are too soft. He can stand back up; best to hit him now, while he’s down.” Walton stands then, and Romny raises his brows at Jan. “See?” that look seems to say.

And Romny’s boot flashes out toward that shield. Perhaps Romny will knock two knights into the bay this day.

With one strike landing and hitting hard against one opponent, Rafe is keen enough to notice Ryckon’s own assault on him and immediately he braces himself for the impact, every muscle in his form tightens as he raises his weapon to meet with and diflect the younger man’s blows but from out of the corner of his eyes, he notices the ginger’s attack and immediately swerves to lift his his shield arm, feeling the pressure placed upon him when the other impacting shield comes down. On quick reflex, he brings his weapon back down now, this time aiming for Janden’s leg.

Romny attacks Walton with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a shattering blow!

Rafe attacks Janden with his sword…and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Janden is knocked down!

A frustrated grunt escapes from Andred’s mouth as another one of his blows fails to find purchase on anything, but shield. He raises his shield, but the sword cuts through hitting the boy upon his shoulder once more. He barely has a grip upon that hammer anymore but he raises it again to strike Brynden, but the man’s already down taken down by the Prester Knight. The bastard simply nods to him not in thanks, simply in acknowledge and then, he slowly steps into the fray searching for another to fight.
Ryckon is born of a place known for fighting the Ironborn for centuries, and he has trained against at least once extensively (Urron Greyjoy, now knocked off the ship). But so far that hasn’t particularly helped him, because like Janden he has no sea legs about him and he has trouble balancing his great mass enough to drive it into a blow. He still tries, though. aiming for any spot that might be vulnerable during his attack on Janden.

Ryckon attacks Rafe with his mass weapon…with no result as the two warriors battle!

Brynden is concentrating far too much on Andred, so he hardly notices as the Warden hits him from behind… at least until the blow falls. It knocks him sprawling to the deck, and he finds that he cannot rise again even though he does try. “Hells.”

Jan rolls his eyes at Romny and spits on the side of the deck. “Don’t call me soft again, Ironborn,” he hisses, one eye on his teammate and one eye on the Smallwood knight in front of them. Perhaps because he’s too busy responding to the Saltcliffe knight, a brief opening is left for Walton after Romny lands his heel on Walton’s shield.

It’s almost no contest, the matchup between Janden and Rafe. Another attack that goes nowhere only for the Ironborn to break through as if the Melcolm knight has no defenses of his own aboard a ship - which might as well be true - and he’s down and out. Thankfully, not in the water. Just damaged enough in one leg that it’s too difficult to get back up so he grimaces as he drags himself over toward one side to inspect the hurts.

Walton is kicked in the chest as he tries to get up and he stumbles back, the sword knocked out of his hand. However, he still has the club, which he tries to sneak into his hand while faking a coughing fit. And with that, he tries to deliver a crushing blow to Romny’s knee as the Ironborn goes in for another humiliating kick.

Walton attacks Romny with his sword…and misses by a narrow margin!

Katla leans back, and there’s an odd expression of contentment on her face - even though her brother and her uncle have fallen, it doesn’t much seem to matter, for Rafe and Greydon and Tormund have only fallen once - and Romny, the man who offered to take her away from King’s Landing - has not fallen, yet. The ships rock, and it’s been a struggle - a mass, a mashup, the confusion of a true shipboard battle, but without the excess barrels and cargo. Her eyes are bright, and her tongue darts out, wets her lips, every bit of her attention focused on the melee below.

Romny spits himself, down onto the deck, as Jan speaks. “Don’t be soft, and I won’t call you so.”
And he kicks out at Walton again, an attack the knight clearly guesses at—but Walton must be tired, for his misses. Narrowly. But does the Ironborn’s foot?

Romny attacks Walton with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a swift blow!

Rafe is performing far better than when he went up against Greydon Greyjoy early in the competition. Each strike sent his way is blocked or dispatched quickly enough and at this moment, Rafe is making his efforts look easy. When the the edge of his blunt weapon slams into the Melcolm knight’s form, there is a low growl emitted when the red head falls. There is no time to celebrate such a short victory, however, and as soon as one opponent is dealt with, the Ironborn lurches forward with his weapon to meet with that of Ryckon’s incoming blow. Just as blade grinds upon blade, Rafe lifts his hand to guide Ryckon’s blade off to the side as he moves in with his other arm to slam his shield against the Westerling’s side.

Rafe attacks Ryckon with his sword…and strikes him with a shattering blow!

Lucos yells loudly enough to be heard over the clamour of battle “A gold dragon to the man who sends Humfrey for a swim!”

Andred notices another large figure, Ryckon, fighting Rafe Botley, some ironborn he is not familiar with apart from what the herald called him. Slowly, he makes his way over to the two. Step after step, just barely trying to keep his balance as he walks over to them. “Botley” yelled out as a chivalric courtesy before the ironborn is introduced to the hunk of steel in his hand called his hammer. An introduction made at the man’s shoulder.

Andred attacks Rafe with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a shattering blow!

Jan watches, unimpressed, as Romny manages a second kick on Walton’s shield, with little result. He chuckles. “You have a weapon; you do know that, right, Ironborn? Guess I have to clean up your mess,” he snaps, following Romny’s kick with a hard, straight swing and Walton’s side.

Jan attacks Walton with his sword…and sees his blow go astray!

Does the Greyjoy son thank the other knight for felling his father? No. Greydon merely wheels back from both men, then cuts across the deck. His speed belies the weight of his armor; the training it takes to run in such belies his poor showing of skills against the man who taught him the same.
No matter, though—the melee favors his team, and he stops at the planks to the other deck to look back and survey the odds. A smile slowly stretches beneath that helm.

Walton, called ‘Iron Walton’ in his imaginary realm of awesomeness, is apparently staying in the fight. Romny’s next kick is a swift and not that powerful one, allowing Walton to get back up on his feet and get his shield up, and now he seeks to perform his trademark move: Shieldbash Romny into oblivion, hopefully dragging down Jan with him as well. “Get off me, insects!” he shouts.

Walton attacks Romny with his sword…and strikes him with a hard blow!
Romny is knocked down!

Ryckon, who actually wields a mace rather than a blade, is caught off guard by all of Rafe’s unbalancing and takes all of them. “Gah!” Scowling, he does his best to stagger back for another charge, and he notices the arrival of Andred, older than he is but still a squire. He offers the bastard a curt nod in gratitude like he gave Janden and then charges again, swinging at the shoulder not attacked by Andred.

Ryckon attacks Rafe with his mass weapon…and misses by a narrow margin!

“Look, look!” cries the Jewel of the Eyrie, each hand reaching out for either lady at her side—she grabs hold of both Elrone and Damia’s arms, giving them a shake. “Andred is doing quite well—did you see the way he hit that one, just there?” But she can’t point, alas, so tight is her tense grip on the ladies’ arms.

Romny chuckles at Jan’s taunt—men on the same team, taunting each other?—, louder as he misses. But it’s true, Romny -DOES- have a weapon, gripped tightly in his hand. “Well then, let us finish it.” And he steps forward—right into Walton’s shield.

The Ironborn moves into Walton’s oncoming shield, grunts loudly at the hard wood strikes him. He tumbles to the deck, rolls—right toward Jan’s exposed legs!

Romny attacks Jan with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a shattering blow!

Damia laughs at Jyana’s excitement - a good-natured laugh that seems to enjoy the woman’s enthusiasm. “I did, it was smartly done.” She goes quiet a moment, her mouth wrinkling into a little purse of a frown. “I would like to see the other team do a little better, though, to make it a bit more of a fair battle.” And see Ryckon fall, no doubt.

Humfrey Westerling rises from the fallen Captain of the Iron Fleet and spits another moutful of blood—for the nonce he remains at the edge of the fighting mopping the blood and sweat off of his face.

Jan curses in frustration as his swipe misses, but it pales in comparison as the Ironborn, on the receiving end of Walton’s shield again, comes crashing into his legs. Jan tumbles to the deck along with him - but plants a palm into Romny’s face to brace himself and keep upright. “Damnit, Ironborn, at the least you could stay out of my way!” he growls, before recklessly charging Walton and swinging down on his shoulder: the one holding his shield, of course, which he’s proven quite skilled with.

Blade, mace, it’s all the same to Rafe! The swaggering and oddly graceful movements of the Ironborn’s dance is cut short when he is forced to bunker down against a suprise assault made by Andred. Cursing his carelessness in not noticing this new opponent’s arrival, Botley snarls in Andred’s direction. More attentive now, however, he doesn’t miss Ryckon’s own attack and with swift movement, he is able to return back to his Iron dance again, despite the slower movement at his injured shoulder. Rather than go after Andred now, he lifts his blade swiftly to bring it down hard against Ryckon’s shoulder right after he had dodged the Westerling’s assault.

Rafe attacks Ryckon with his sword…and strikes him with a swift blow!

Jan attacks Walton with his sword…and strikes him with a swift blow!
Walton is staggered by Jan’s blow, but manages to keep his feet!

“Oh yes, that was spectacular blow, Jyana.” Elrone bounces again, then finally sneaks into a standing position next to the Jewel- without the prevention of her septa this time, for if the Jewel is doing it it /must/ be proper. She gasps as Jan is knocked back. “Gah! Who is that holding Jan at bay? I think he just fended off two men with a shield.” She lifts her heels from the ground, still angling for a clearer view. “Seven, how is he still standing?”

“I told you, get out of..” Ooomph. Another blow to his shoulder, past his shield, hitting him and sending Walton reeling. A few steps back, and he’s stabilized again, and now it’s Jan’s turn. This time it looks like he’s on the receiving end of the shield.. only at the last moment, Walton draws it back and strikes with his club instead, towards the man’s knee, thigh, side.. anywhere will do!

Walton attacks Jan with his sword…and strikes him with a hard blow!
Jan is knocked down!

And a curt nod back Ryckon receives, the boy younger than he and now a knight. Jealousy shall have to be repressed whilst they win this melee and get some gold. His shield bashes out attempting to stagger Rafe and then, another hammer blow aimed to strike the man somewhere on the chest. In truth, he will attack anywhere that is vulnerable, because with this rocking ship his aim is admittedly bad.

Andred attacks Rafe with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a swift blow!

Aliona claps loudly as the battle starts to shrink and Walton knocks out another of the ironborn.

“Indeed, lady,” Damia says to Elrone. “I do not know him either, that one,” she says, her cloudy green eyes following the figure of Walton with a curious look. “I do not know that I have seen him ... no, wait. I think he may be some cousin of Ser Luthor’s, but I cannot tell from here.” She sits up a little taller, as if trying to get a closer look.

Lucos leans to Aliona and nods towards Walton. “That one has the tenacity to succeed anywhere. I’m still hoping he takes that Westerling down a peg or two.

Humfrey Westerling sees his cousin fall and lunges at the Smallwood intent on avenging him for his brutal shield bashes, the erstwhile heir’s blow whistles toward Walton coming down at the Smallwood’s left pauldron.

Merys emerges from the water on his own power, though after quite a bit of time. He has a slight limp, and his squire helps him walk off after he reaches solid ground.

“Marbrand!” The shout of the Prester lordling comes too late to save Jan, as do his steps, too slow on the deck of the wobbling longship as they would have been on land. He does not, however, hesitate, and he comes to land a blow with his axe against the Buckler retainer’s right shoulder.

Humfrey attacks Walton with his sword…with no result as the two warriors battle!

Farin attacks Walton with his mass weapon…and sees his blow go astray!

Garlan shrugs himself off from his prolonged entanglement with Tormund and joins ranks with his team

Aliona nods over to Lucos, “Ser Walton was Lord Buckler’s Master of Arms at Bronzegate. You can see why can’t you?”

Argh! More of them! They’re everywhere! Walton can’t get rid of one, or two, before there’s two more on him. Farin and.. wait, who’s that, Humfrey? Again? Didn’t Walton knock him down earlier? The Smallwood knight stands his ground, bleeding from his mouth, and blocks and parries Humfreys attempts, then Farin narrowly misses. That leaves a moment for him to try to counter, and he attempts a reflexive overhand blow against Humfrey while staying on the defensive.

Walton attacks Humfrey with his sword…with no result as the two warriors battle!

The fight is not going particularly well for Ryckon, and Andred seems to be doing a better job of fighting Rafe. Grumbling at the hit against his shoulder, he aims a short, vicious swing at Rafe’s side and then immediately staggers back before he can see its effect. Only when he is a safe distance away does he pause to see its effect, ready to charge back in if necessary.

Ryckon attacks Rafe with his mass weapon…with no result as the two warriors battle!

“Fuck,” is the single word issuing forth from Greydon’s mouth as he sees Romny go down from the bite of a shield. He steps back towards the middle of that deck, flexing his grip once more—

But Rafe comes into view, and that trajectory changes. Without a word, without a smile, he looks as if about to sneak an attack on the man’s back—

Garlan adopts an aggressive transformation on his face and steps forward with drive. He steps in front of Walton and swings his sword in a swift glancing motion at Greydon.

Garlan attacks Greydon with his sword…and has his blow intercepted by Greydon’s shield.

Romny is down, but not out—and he isn’t down long, for all that. He stands, ready to fight again, though Walton is otherwise engaged. And so Romny Saltcliffe, Captain of the Defier, turns his merciless eyes upon the fallen Marbrand.

“Soft,” he says, rubbing his bruised chin. “Clean up -my- messes? Funny, that.” He marches around the fallen westerman, his back to the crowd now—and to the rail. “My cousin’s so-called ‘squire’ thought to clean up after me and lost some fingers for it. Soft, all of you soft.”

Again, it is Humfrey’s speed and nimbleness that saves him, at the last moment, he lifts his shield and Walton’s blade bites into it, shearing three of the white shells in twain. Humfrey does not hesitate, but for the middle of Walton’s cuirass, low in an effort to take Walton in the left lung and wind him.

Humfrey attacks Walton with his sword…and has his blow intercepted by Walton’s shield.

The Warden’s first attack against the Smallwood does not connect - both men are swaying too much on the deck - but Farin turns himself and aims, this time, taking a moment to wait for the right timing of the ship and its momentum to carry his blow.

The sudden swipe from the Hunter’s comes as surprise—but just so, Greydon’s shield shoots up to knock it aside. Quick, then, is his rejoinder: a stabbing blow just from beneath that shield, straight to the gut.

Farin attacks Walton with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Walton is staggered by Farin’s blow, but manages to keep his feet!

Greydon attacks Garlan with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a powerful blow!

Walton manages to throw up his shield just in time to catch Humfrey’s blow for his chest when a strike comes in at good timing from the other side, and the Smallwood knight is struck - again - by his opponent. He staggers at the moment and tries to fight his way to anywhere where he could get out of their two-sided assault and have his shield to both of them. Backing off, he tries another quick strike at Humfrey, a blow for his shoulder, mid-stride.

Walton attacks Humfrey with his sword…and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Humfrey is knocked down!

In his recklessness, Jan leaves his side exposed, which is smashed with Walton’s club. His breath knocked out of him, timed with the lurch of ship, causes Jan’s sword to clatter to the deck, his blood to come from his mouth, and and his momentum to stumble backwards and hit the deck again. “Shut the hell up, Ironborn! It was your fault for getting in the way in the first place!” he shouts, face red with blood and anger. He gets up, enraged,and charges the Saltcliffe man, tackling him; and they both go tumbling over the side of the ship, two splashes hitting the bay simultaneously.

A bead of sweat drips down Rafe’s forehead, even in this cool weather, for the very exertion of this mock combat is enough to heat his body up like a furnace. Off in the distance, while he might not be able to see it clearly, he can make out the impact of weapon against weapon when his lone standing teammate defends against an onslaught of their opponents. After his own body follows into the movement of his attack against Ryckon, the Ironborn man tenses his muscles once more for he knows all too well what is coming next. It’s Andred’s quick strike that batters down upon his shoulder, forcing him to spin slightly in a quick turn to the side. But that doesn’t mean that he lets down his guard and just at the moment of impact, when he is hit, he quickly raises his shield in time to ward of Ryckon’s attack. Still recovering from an earlier strike against him from Andred, his movements continue to drag with every step he takes. With that in mind, when he realizes that his chosen opponent is now out of blade’s reach, he swerves to bring that blade down against Andred’s weapon arm in the hopes that it will do some much needed damage to the opponent who is causing him grief.

Rafe attacks Andred with his sword…and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Andred is knocked down!

Garlan is caught off-guard and off-balance, an amateurish mindset, having missed his opening attack. He absorbs the retalliatory strike and bellows over, trying to keep his feet.

The Prester lordling stares in disbelief as he manages a terrific blow on the Buckler retainer - and he just keeps plugging, taking down Ser Humfrey without much effort. Steeling himself for another rough blow, Farin simply rears back, times the hit, and sends his axe smashing down towards Walton’s collar.

Farin attacks Walton with his mass weapon…and sees his blow go astray!

Garlan groans loudly, huffing in a deep breath. He hangs overbefore bringing the butt of his sword up at his attacker.

Garlan attacks Greydon with his sword…and merely strikes a glancing blow!

Greydon ducks that next strike with a growl and sidestep. If he’s tired, it shows only in the way that he gives no quarter to his opponent—no hesitation for the next attack that snakes from his fighting arm. This time, he aims for the weak spot between head and shoulder, just there at the neck.

Greydon attacks Garlan with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Garlan is knocked down!

Walton stares, if just for a very brief second, as Humfrey goes down after a cracking blow to his shoulder and then he’s once again hard-pressed by Farin. At least now it’s just one. Walton has reached a place where he can’t really back off any more.. and so, he is desperately trying to parry and sidestep the Prester knight’s attacks. When there’s the slightest opening, Walton attempts to free up some space, again going at him with the shield, trying to slam it in the man’s face.

Walton attacks Farin with his sword…and strikes him with a powerful blow!

With a limp, Janden seeks to further disengage himself from the ongoing fighting by putting careful, cautious weight on the spot Rafe had attacked. The path is along the ramp back to his own ship so he can sit back down more out of the way, but the motion makes it very slow going and he looks a bit green in the face.

Ryckon’s caution is vindicated as Rafe takes Andred down, and the young Westerling hustles away before he can become the Botley’s target again. After a moment he decides to actually pay attention to his direction and he changes it, to where his disowned cousin Humfrey has just been knocked down by Walton, another, less familiar cousin still fighting Farin, Ryckon’s former master and Walton’s own cousin in turn. Ah, the web of family. He speeds up as much as he can without losing his balance and comes in swinging at Walton’s side.

Walton’s reverb takes Humfrey in his left side—the Westerland knight grunts and plummets his knees going out from under him. His head hits the deckboards and, yes, there is more blood. He merely lies there for a moment then begins to pull himself away from the carnage, rising to a crookbacked crouch stepping to the edge of the gunwales—gripping his ribs in pain and spitting into the water.

Ryckon attacks Walton with his mass weapon…and sees his blow go wild!

The young squire proves inefficient in this bout, the strike whacking against his chin as he attempts to dodge it. He falls over onto his side, clutching onto the handle of his sword. If he’s going to fall, at least he will remain armed.

“Oh, /dammit/,” hisses Jyana, who finally releases those ladies to ball up her fists and shake one at the boats. Andred is down, and the Jewel is none too pleased about. Do those septas in the company of the other ladies afford her a glare for such unladylike speech? It seems to matter very little to the young Arryn, who even goes so far as to mutter a word worse than that—though that, at least, is quieter than the last. She sits, then, and crosses her arms with a dark look marring her pretty features.

Farin is particularly keen not to have his face smashed in, and so his shield arm is raised at an awkward angle to absorb the blow instead - sparing his face, but leaving the Warden gasping in pain at the weight of the shield on his elbow. In a last ditch desparation, the Warden attempts to lock shields, and leans in for the extra close combat…raising his axe, but driving the butt end of it down into the side of Ser Walton’s head.

Farin attacks Walton with his mass weapon…with no result as the two warriors battle!

Greydon dispenses of the Hunter knight easily, and moves again to his original target—
“BOTLEY,” he bellows to Rafe, swaying with the rocking of the deck beneath their feet, “Let us put a proper end to this.”

Yet another individual joins the fight, and Ryckon’s blow seems more bad luck than anything else, since Walton didn’t even have time to see it. Farin is then there, locking shields, and it is only with a growl and a push that Walton manages to get the Prester knight away from him, mere moments before the butt of the axe comes down. Narrow miss, and Walton has some space, enough to maintain his shield guard against Farin and try for a blow against the other man’s head now that he extended himself.

Walton attacks Farin with his sword…and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Farin is knocked down!

With Ryckon gone, Andred becomes the target and Rafe strikes true.

His strike hits Andred in the shoulder of his sword causing him to wobble. He groans out in pain, but those groans are interrupted by his slip. The boy slips backwards falling from the middle ship into the water below. Thankfully, he falls on butt first. It causes quite a splash and causing water to lap against the long ship’s hull. The young man does not get up for a moment and just sits chest deep in water nursing his sore shoulder whilst he is down. He takes off his helmet. Sweat has only made his hair day worse. So, he immerses his head in water then, slowly rises shaking it out like a dog as he walks over to the stands to watch.

Lucos stands and claps as Walton strikes the decisive blow knocking Humfrey to the deck. “Walton may not have given Humfrey the ducking he deserves, but I’ll give him a gold dragon none the less. This is an impressive showing.”

Damia gives Jyana’s arm a pat. “He’s done very well, and it appears that he is alright. Oh!” And then Andred slips. But he gets up. “There, see? He’s quite alright, and he made a fabulous showing.” But anyone’s showing is overshadowed by Walton. And Damia’s eyes, like most eyes, gravitate back to him. “That man is like a beast - look how he moves through all those Knights. Oh! Even my dear cousin has fallen before him!” Damia gasps at that, hands coming up to cover her mouth in surprise.
Rafe’s attack does more damage that he had expected, but with the wildness and brutality of his swings in this weary condition, perhaps, he did not estimate his own strength. Still, there is no time to rest and once he spots Walton doing his best to rid himself of all the nuisances in his corner, the Botley knight takes one step in that direction before a shout catches his attention. “Well, well.” The Ironborn captain responds to Greydon’s call. “Let’s have it at then.” His weaponhand clutching tightly around the hilt of his blade, he moves with a renewed vigor as he closes the distance between Greydon and himself, his arm raised to bring the blunt of his blade down on the Greyjoy’s weapon arm.

Getting back onto his feet, Garlan places both hands on the handle of his sword. He surveys the melee in front of him, seeking an opportunity to make a more positive impact for himself and his team.

Rafe attacks Greydon with his sword…and strikes him with a hard blow!

And there, far away from the fighting, on the edge of a rail: a hand. Another. And a sodden Romny Saltcliffe pulls himself, smiling around the edge of his dulled blade, from the water. No fear of drowning for this follower of the Drowned God. Little by little, the Captain of the Defier makes his way back aboard and onto the deck.

A grunt registers that blow against Greydon’s striking arm. The arm falls beneath the pain, but at least this time his grip does not loosen and drop his weapon. It leaves him with little choice, then, but to try and bull into the other ironborn with his shield. The Greyjoy throws his full weight into the rush, growling a litany of curses.

Greydon attacks Rafe with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a swift blow!
Rafe is knocked down!

Tormund straightens from his position, indolently leaning against a mast. The bloody red axe, though only paint today, bounces in his hands as he surveys the three remaining men - one ironborn, one knight, and one squire. “Now, which of you wants to play with the Bloodaxe? I’ve danced with you,” he points with the axe to Garlan, “and you,” and he points again to Walton—and then Rafe goes down, a second time. “Ah, so. Who would dance again?”

Ryckon begins to remark to Farin, “I thought I was done saving—” but he is cut short as Farin falls rather than being saved after all. Well, then. It seems like Ryckon is left alone against the Buckler-sworn man who has defeated so very many of his compatriots, and he can only try to stem the tide. He finds a spot that is hopefully exposed and propels his mace into it with a short, vicious swing.

Ryckon attacks Walton with his mass weapon…and sees his blow go astray!

Katla claps her hands together in unadulterated joy as Walton manages, against all odds, to survive an unending stream of blows, and knocking down not only Humfrey but Farin as well in short order. Then Rafe is down - but Garlan, her husband’s squire, is back up again, and her eyes are on the young Hunter.

A moment’s respite, and another miss from Ryckon, as Walton takes a step back and re-steadies himself, panting hard as he tries to do so. He exchanges a few light feints, trying to gather some strength before he suddenly lunges for Ryckon, trying for a blow with his mace from below while the shield is aimed for the man’s chest.. and possibly chin.

Walton attacks Ryckon with his sword…and strikes him with a shattering blow!
Ryckon is knocked down!

Garlan is more spirited than smart to re-engage, but keen to make amends, he chases after Greydon. Both hands on the handle of his sword, he launches a powerful attack against Greydon, aiming directly for the chest.

Garlan attacks Greydon with his sword…and strikes him with a hard blow!
Greydon is knocked down!

Humfrey spits another mouth of blood into the waters and despite his two defeats at the hand of Ser Walton—he finds himself smiling through bloody teeth as Walton cuts down men left and right—until, at last, the odds are even. The one-time heir turns his bloody and bruised face from the gunwales and smiles through a bloody mouth. He brings his hands together and begins to clap.

Watching Garlan knock Greydon down - and Walton strike down the Botley captain, Tormund looks to Romny. “Looks like it’s us versus them,” he calls, stepping forward to the two greenland men, axe still bouncing. “So. Which one of you will swing at me? I’ll let you pick. Or will you try me both at once?”
The sweet taste of success sours quickly—just as Greydon recovers from tipping over the Botley man, a powerful strike lands across his chest… and relieves the Greyjoy of his breath and balance entirely. The young man falls hard, sprawling against the deck before curling himself around the pain throbbing beneath his well and truly dented breastplate.

Soft padded leather on the deck, squelching from the wet. He slips quietly along, eyes on the squire and the man who has proved the match for everyone. Romny turns to Tormund. “I’d have taken this bastard out from behind, if you’d kept your mouth shut, Bloodaxe. Let’s have an end to it, then. Easy as that.”

And Romny rushes toward Walton, blade flashing.

Romny attacks Walton with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a powerful blow!
Walton is knocked down!

Walton takes every moment he can get to recover some of his exhaustion. He just stands there.. his shield still held high, looking from one to the other. “I will get the nobody, I can knock him out, just survive against the Blood.. whoever, for a moment, the Old one” he says, coughing in between words and spitting blood at the end.

Fresh off of yet another miss, Ryckon is unable to collect himself before Walton charges at him and knocks off his balance. He flails his arms in the air for a moment trying to collect himself but his great mass brings him down and he topples to the ground, rolling toward the edge and helped along by the ship’s heaving. Swearing, he attempts to catch himself on the railing. “Seven hells, shit, no—” But it is to no avail, and he tumbles into the water with a clumsy splash.

Confident, but tired and sore all over, Rafe brings his blunt edge down hard upon Greydon’s weapon arm. The attack seems to have done it’s trick in hindering the Greyjoy slightly, but that is not enough. Just as he is about to withdraw his blade arm back and lift up what remains of his battered shield to protect him, his opponent pushes forward to ram shield against shield to drive him further and further back upon the deck of the ship. Rafe tries desparately to regain some ground and to halt his movements, but damage has already been done and through his own weariness, he is unable to put a halt on Greydon before the man pushes him, outright, over the rail of the ship and into the drink. He lands on the water’s surface with a big splash!

Buoyed by the landing of his decisive blow against Greydon, Garlan steps up to Tormund. He watches as Walton crashes to the floor and, with all of his strength, pierces his sword at his target.

Garlan attacks Tormund with his sword…and strikes him with a swift blow!

Walton barely has time to say that he’ll take Romny before the Ironborn is on him, and he takes the revenge for Walton’s strike earlier.. and Walton is struck to the deck, his shield not even raised high enough in defense for him to block the blow. He just tumbles. Knocked down, knocked out.

When Walton takes out Ryckon, Damia is almost leaping from her seat with joy, and she cheers the man softly. “So well done! So very well done! I cannot think of a Knight who has made a better wshowing!” Even after Walton falls, Damia’s enthusiasm for the knight’s fight seems not to have lessened at all.

Elrone Darklyn is slack-jawed, her early bounce steadied in favor of, well, staring. “What- that man, he- he may as well be that entire team. You said he is a Smallwood, Damia?” And even when the man is taken down, she claps with admiration. “I think you are correct, cousin, he is quite fearsome. The Riverlands should be quite proud of him.”

Tormund is struck by the squire and steps back once, almost as if he’s surprised that the youth has actually struck him. He laughs once, the sound echoing from his helm, and then he steps forward, axe careening towards a favoured place, the sword-arm, to knock the blade from the greenlander youth’s hand - or break his arm. Whichever happens.

Ser Farin takes a knock to the noggin, and is more surprised that one managed to get through than anything else. The shock of it makes him lose his grip on the shield he had locked in with Walton’s, and comes at an unfortunate time during the rolling of the waves. Farin falls back, and stumbles over the form of some other combatant who had fallen earlier, and twists to catch himself - which he doesn’t, crashing hard onto the deck.

Tormund attacks Garlan with his mass weapon…and has his blow intercepted by Garlan’s shield.

Garlan is unamused by his aggressor’s humor. He spots the attack and places all of his weight behind his shield, glancing the attack off of him. He has no time for jokes, and slices his sword at Tormund’s side.

Garlan attacks Tormund with his sword…and strikes him with a swift blow!

Another blow - and more surprise, and the plate dents a bit with Garlan’s strike, and a gauntleted hand reaches down to touch the dent. “Brave little squire. Unexpected, I think, but brave enough, and skilled to strike the master-at-arms of Pyke.” And then Tormund rushes forward, his body weight and speed behind the swing of his axe as it comes swinging at Garlan.

Tormund attacks Garlan with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a shattering blow!

Damia nods again. “I believe so. I cannot precisely recall - I believe I met him while I was with Ser Dermett and Lady Simona, but Lady Simona’s daughter was selecting her first mount and she was quite dear about it, and I was quite distracted.” She smooths her hands over her legs. “Although he shalln’t win, I hope his performance will be called out for his bravery, strength and fortitude.”

The axe crashes against the squire’s shield, which only manages to deflect some of the damage, as it smashes into his shoulder. He ignores the conversation, or perhaps has no choice but to reserve all of his energy toward another attack. Taking the sword in his unhurt arm, he swings deftly, despite his exhaustion.

Garlan attacks Tormund with his sword…and sees his blow go wild!

Romny steps over the fallen man, his eye on the fight between Garlan and the young squire. He watches the match disinterestedly, leaning against the mast of the ship.

Tormund glances over at Romny, muttering an oath, something that might have to do with salt-wives and too much rum, and then the ironman neatly avoids the wild blow from the young squire. “Practice, though,” he advises, flipping the visor of his helm up, “not so damn cocky.” And a swing, something almost as indolent as Romny’s stance, the blunted axe heading for Garland’s chest.

Tormund attacks Garlan with his mass weapon…and strikes him with a hard blow!
Garlan is knocked down!

And with that, Romny sheathes his sword and wipes his hands on his trouser legs. “Well, then. Gold is it?” the Ironborn Captain asks as he approaches Bloodaxe.

Walton is unconscious, so unless someone helps him, he’ll stay there.

Garlan clammers to the ground, unable to withstand the might of his opponent in the end.

With a polite murmur of good-byes to the ladies Damia and Elrone, too distracted by her own temper to manage more than that—Jyana scoots from stands to meet up with Ser Noel and Ondred down below.

Humfrey Westerling claps his gloved hands as the epic battle comes to an end, then slowly—painfully, the one-time heir moves to where Ser Walton lies prone and crouches down to help the large man his feet. “Ser, are you quite well? I can scarce say I have ever seen such a feat of arms—that is, not since the war.”

And, finally, the thing is over and the team Janden’s on barely comes out on top in spite of the odds being far in their favor for most of the thing. A grimace follows as he pushes back up to his feet, extending the leg this way and that. It’ll hold. As soon as it’s time, he’s getting back on solid ground, a few words of praise for those who did well.

Brynden made his way back to the bank while the melee raged on. “DO the Smallwoods have more like that Walton, ser Luthor? We should recruit a special force of them, I think.” he says to Luthor. “Are you well, then?”

Marrik nods to the winners of the melee, not saying a word. They are, after all, Ironborn…

Garlan stirs and sits up on the deck, happy to see himself dry, if not unscathed.

Elrone does get off a little whisper of a goodbye to Jyana as the Jewel heads off, though her hands are occupied with ferocious applause as she smiles toward Damia. “What tenacity! Those last few who remained- wonderful showings, all around!”

In the end, Katla and Justyn remain, for a time at least - brief conversations, and ensuring that Garlan is checked over by maesters before being pronounced fit to ride. It’s not too long, though; there are things, a pair of them, small and mewling, that require Katla’s attention. And if she seems, somehow, just a little bit more polite to her husband, not quite so frosty and bitter - well, it’s strange the things that melees cause, isn’t it?

Jan stands on the bank, dripping wet and still fuming from his feud with Romny. Still, he offers begrudging applause - both for the feats of Ser Walton and Garlan, and the losing team, and for the remaining knights on his, the winning team.

When all is said and done—wounds dealt with, the unconscious carted away to be tended by maesters, the ships now swarming with ironmen who immediately work at untying the longships from one another—Eurik Greyjoy gathers the victors to share in the reward. A heavy chest was there on the bank, waiting to be seized by those who carried the day. And so he opens it—and reveals a rich treasure: furs from the North, amber from the northern reaches of the Rhoyne, ivory from Yi Ti, golden torcs from the Iron Islands, silks from Qarth, bags of spices from the islands of the Jade Sea, coins from queerer places still—honors from Slaver’s Bay, iron coins from Samyriana and Khaykhayanaya.
It’s a goodly treasure… and one that’s rather hard to divide up readily.

“I agree,” Damia says, watching the jewel as she leaves. “I do hope she is not terribly upset by her brother’s fall. He held until close to the end among many a reputable Knight.” Her own rasperry lips tilt into a little bit of a frown, but she turns her attention back. “I cannot remember when I have seen a better showing. Ser Dermett will be most unhappy he has not been here to witness this.”

Walton remains still, but he is most certainly alive. Slowly enough, others come up him, and one of his men at arms from House Buckler has found him, and they splash him with cold water. After some of that, he slowly starts to recover. “Huh.. what.. what is happening?” He groans in pain and spits out some more blood and salt water from the buckets poured over him. “Nhhgh.” He stares, confused, at Humfrey but slowly accepts the man’s hand. “That was.. immensely. Difficult. I am so tired.” Another groan of pain.

Ryckon manages to fish himself out of the water and onto the shore, helped by a page and an attendant. Grimacing, he shoos them away and drops his soaked mace onto the ground, and then turns to see who is left on board. He glances between them, and his eyes widen in shock. “Wait… we won?! How did… gods be praised.” Or maybe just the Drowned God should be praised considering that they are both ironborn, but he is willing to overlook that for the moment, and he applauds, and approaches the treasure chest as quickly as he can. While he takes nothing just yet he maintains a predatory vigil over it.

And beside Jan, dripping as well, Ammon Blackhand. He offers no applause of his own, simply standing there in silence. But he does clap Jan once on the shoulder before moving off toward the city, in the company of his squire.

As the riches of the chest are revealed to all, Janden stands by to await whatever’s left for him, whether it’s bolts of silk, furs, spices, coins or whatever. The thing is, once he has his portion of it all, he’s the first to approach Walton and offer him half of it. “Ser, your side may not have won today but you certainly earned this. Please, accept it as my way of showing my appreciation of the way you stayed on your feet and whittled down our side. You made it closer than it looked like it’d be and you deserve it.”

Marrik looks the treasure over with a measuring look. Not seeming very impressed by his portion he waits till last to collect it.

“Humfrey Westerling claps Walton on the shoulder. “It was an honor, Ser. You must come to the Three Hills to share a horn of ale with me and my squire—such as he is.” Here Humfrey directs a look to the begging brother, then claps Walton on the shoulder.”

Ruffling his hair with a hand, Jan offers Ammon a curt nod as he leaves, then struggles aboard the ship to join the rest of the victors. He peers into the treasure chest curiously, his poor mood visibly lightening at the array of treasures. He refrains from making a move towards anything inside though - after all, he may have hurt the team as much as helped it.

“You greenlanders,” Tormund Bloodaxe says, as the others look to the treasure, grinning his ugly grin, “may divide these treasures as if you all did the same work.” A pause… and then, bluntly, “I say different. I stood last of you lot, I merit the greater share.”

As the last man to fall, Ryckon clearly deserves a slightly larger portion than the others, and so he begins to carve it out while others approach. His eyes are immediately drawn to the coins, and he picks one up to examine it. He frowns. “Iron? That is… worthless.” He pockets the coin as a curio without taking any others and takes some more for himself. Not too much, of course. A golden torc here, a pelt there, a small ivory tusk and a small bag of spice… He nods to Tormund since he benefits from what he said.

Walton finally recovers and is brought over to the place where the prize winnings are collected. Humfrey’s assistance is well received and he thanks the man, even if the Buckler Master-at-Arms seems too tired to appreciate politeness or anything else for that matter. Once they reach the prize pile, he lays down and is helped with his armor.

Garlan is helped by his maesters to his feet and off to the rest of his team. He limps over to Walton, “It was an honor to watch you fight, Ser.”

“Who says you get to choose first, boy?” Tormund rumbles at Ser Ryckon. “The bigger share, _and_ the first choosing. That’s my claim. I’ll fight any man who says otherwise. One man, two, three—makes no difference.”

The easy way he says it, the cold look in his eyes as he says it, shows he means business.

“Enough, Tormund,” Eurik Greyjoy, bruised but little else from the contest. “You’ll have these lads trying to pay the iron price for what they’ve already rightly won.”

Marrik shakes his head with scorn, “You people act as if you’ve never seen loot before…” Reaching down to take a few choice objects he dares Ryckon or Tormund to stop him with a cold hard look at each. Looking over the rest of the treasure he gives a contemptuous snort, “This is the best Ironborn can come up with, eh? Enjoy the rest.”

Ryckon seems unphased by Tormund’s aggression, and he raises an eyebrow at the Bloodaxe in as nonchalant a challenge as he can manage. “There are still things left of whatever I have taken, Ironborn. If you truly want them so much, help yourself to them, or go out reaving for them. I might remind you that I was the last man on our side to fall, which puts me… ahead of the others, at least, by your logic.”

A silence, from Tormund Bloodaxe, at Marrik’s effronty. Not so from the other ironborn, those who fought, and those who watched in their hundreds. Some spit, some curse the man, some egg Tormund on.

And then Bloodaxe turns and takes from an attendant behind him the weapon that gives him his byname: an axe of the finest Qohorik steel, etched with queer designs. By some art, the steel is red, blood red—not enamel, not paint, as common smiths might do; this is some magic.

“Do you think,” he announces aloud, hefting the axe in both hands, eyes glaring a challenge, “that I am a fucking _CUNT_, to have my rights taken from me? Bring out your steel, then, if you’ll deny me!”

Humfrey Westerling looks upon the wealth—his squire steps forward with a pair of saddle purses. The Westerland knight lifts a golden torc then turns to Tormund without missing a beat. Bruised and bloodied, his pride is undamaged. “We divide the spoils in equal shares.” A glance to Eurik Greyjoy, the last man Humfrey fell—then he turns to Bloodaxe. The challenge is unspoken, but it is there. When Tormund draws steel—the begging brother rushes off toward the Westerland knight’s drey. Humfrey waves the man off—a hand falls to his tourney blade. “I will not kill you, but I will beat you black and blue if you persist.”

Damia is on her feet now, having been chattering a bit until the sounds of conflict travel up to the stands. She looks, brows furrowed, to the redhead beside her. “Is the fight not over?” She asks, seeming quite confused. “Or are they arguing? The Ironborn are very particular on their ways, perhaps some slight has been made by accident. Gods above, is he challening Ser Ryckon?!”

Rolling his eyes as the rest quarrel, Jan looks back to the chest and ponders for a moment, rubbing his beard. He discretely reaches into the chest takes a modest haul - one of the Qartheen silks, and a pouch containing a few of the various coins. That done, he backs away from the rest of the victors as Tormund rages. Just in case, he keeps a hand on the hilt of his sword…which tightens as Humfrey answers the challenge.

“What… is.. going on.” Walton slowly sits up, looking out at the chaotic mess that is the treasure pile, and, well, the people arguing over it. He groans in pain from the multitude of bruises and bleeding scratches that can be seen over his arms, face, hands, wherever, now that the armor has come off.

“Errr.” Elrone shuffles closer to Damia. “I suppose some of the men are not prepared to split the prize….” she murmurs. The rising voices have drawn the looming figure of Ser Haensyl into the stands from where he had been watching the fight below, so that he might better protect his charge.

One of Walton’s men at arms informs him in a whisper, and Walton merely shakes his head at it all, checking his surroundings with a groggy appearance to him.

None of the ironborn draw steel on Tormund’s behalf—a man pays the iron price on his own behalf. But their sympathies are clear. And there are those who grow agitated in the crowd, knights and lordlings alike, who mutter at the man’s bluster and demands.

Things are on the edge of turning ugly. So it’s for Eurik Greyjoy to say, at last, “Enough! Tormund, put up your steel.” And then to the others, “And you, you bold _sers_, let no man take from the treasure until you have decided what is equitable. It is my prize to give, and I will say when it will be given. Will you rob a poor man before his very eyes? It is not yours, until I say so.”

“Enough of this, all of you,” Janden says, and though his hand lingers near his own steel it’s still the tourney blade. “Each should take relative to how he performed. I was one of the first out, so my claim is small. Ser Marrik? Well, he knocked down this one here and that should account for something,” he says, motioning toward Eurik as the Ironborn comes in to make his case known. “I defer to you, all the same,” he adds to the Greyjoy.

Marrik looks Tormund up and down with disgust, “You want your share Tormund? Here it is.” The baubles he took from the chest are in his hand, and with one quick motion he casts them into the bay, “Go after them -Ironborn-. You have nothing of value to me.”
Ryckon barely holds himself from rolling his eyes at Tormund’s buffoonery, even if he seems impressed at the red-colored axe. “I deny you of nothing, as I said—” Eurik’s arrival cuts him off, and he nods in agreement with his orders, though it takes him another moment to actually set down what he has collected, quite reluctantly.

Damia moves an arm to Elrone’s, a little gesture of concern. “Are they all mad? They have fought for glory, honor and gold and now they forsake the first two to squabble over the last? Oh, Ser Ryckon surrenders his take - he must have taken before his time. But look there,” Damia tilts her head, smiling. “The brave Knight who carried so many victories today - he stays above the fray. The finest fighter and a true, honorable Knight, he must be.”

Humfrey looks to his cousin, then to the wroth Ironmen. He turns to Eurik and nods to the eldest Greyjoy present—then turns to his cousin, to Bloodaxe, and to Ser Marrik. Humfrey spares Eurik a nod, then glances to the black brother who places the saddle purses back upon his dray.

As discretely as he reached inside the chest, Jan places it back upon Eurik’s command - arranged in a neat little pile so he can grab it again, if warranted. “I’ve made my claim - I think it is a modest one. Please, sers, if you were among the last standing, take your share and let’s be done with this.”

Walton rises up at last, and with the others squabbling or fighting over the treasure, he takes his time to start moving out from the area. Not seeking attention, not talking to those who might want to congratulate him unless they directly approach him.. the Smallwood knight is on his way out together with his two men at arms - one Buckler, one Smallwood.

A curl of his lip, and Tormund slowly lowers the axe. But his eyes are cold as the winter sea when they look at Marrik. “You’ll fish for those after we’re gone, boy,” he tells him… and then looks to Humfrey Westerling and his emaciated figure and barks a laugh. And then he thrusts the haft of the ax through a loop at his belt and shoves men aside to claim his share of the treasure. It is not inconsiderable, and it’s plain he favors the torcs of gold and bracelets of ivory, the wealth he can wear.

Marrik gives a slight smirk to the back of Tormund’s head. “Pirates… Always thinking they are more than they really are,” he mutters to himself.

“He is certainly quite the fighter.” Elrone nods to Damia, her eyes remaining on the treasures as the men split it up- grudgingly or otherwise. She raises a brow as she sees something thrown into the waters. “Did that man throw some if it in? Is he an Iron Islander, do you know? Perhaps it is some sort of sacrifice to their god.”
Ryckon once again has to keep from rolling his eyes as Tormund gobbles up all of the jewelry like a greedy woman. He begins picking up what he set down once again, taking one of the few torcs not stolen by the Bloodaxe along with some of the spices, silks, and furs—presumably the easiest goods to sell later. He also takes a couple more coins, though not enough to suggest that he desires them for their monetary value.

By the time it’s all said and done, Janden shakes his head at the people fighting over one thing or another. He’ll end up with roughly 7% of the prize, or the equivalent of about 70 dragons in value. That’s still a good portion as far as he’s concerned, but stepping away from the lot of them it appears he’s looking for someone else. “Did anyone see where Ser Walton got off to?”

Damia stands on her toes to see the man who tossed something into the sea. “No,” she admits. “He is no Ironborn I have ever seen. I should have remembered him - that is a hard man to forget.” It’s true - Marrik is a gorgeous specimine. “But that one there, he is Ironborn.” She says, nodding to Tormund. “He must have a lady he selects for - Ironborn do not wear gems or jewels, but he is taking that which is meant to be worn.” She sighs, smiling to Elrone. “Come, let us slip away or we shall be caught in the crowd.” Damia’s Septa and the Farman guards move to follow.

Jan slinks away from the chest with a small handful of furs and silks and a pouch lightly filled with coins. His anger having subsided, he offers a bow and a smile to Eurik. “Many thanks for your hospitality. I hope King’s Landing treats you and your followers well,” he says, and he is genuine. He walks off the boat as the sun finally finishes drying him off.

“Yes, I suppose you are right….” Elrone’s look lingers over the men- noting in particular what a certain Westerlands knight seems to be taking from the trunk- as least as much as she can over the press of the crowd. She purses her lips when she finds she cannot quite make it out. “Ah, well. We shall be free of the crowds closer to the keep, I think.” She trails after Damia with her own septa and guard following as well.

Ryckon blinks and sees Jan thanking the Ironborn leader, and remembers his manners. Glancing over his take he frowns and sets down one of the furs to make things ever so slightly more even, and then approaches Eurik with a nod. “Indeed, my lord, many thanks, and may the friendship between House… er, our houses last forever.” Not having made the best impression, it might be best if Ryckon does not tell Eurik exactly which house to reave. Even though he is wearing his house’s surcoat, and the Crag will be reaved anyway. Nonetheless, Ryckon offers another nod and continues to take his haul back home.