On the Edge of the World
Sixth Day of the Twelfth Month 293 AC
Sea Dragon Point, the North
Mors Umber was not in the habit of second guessing his new liege lord when it came to finding haunts, wights and other horrors, he'd seen enough up in the Frostfangs to know the King had a nose for it. But as he looked back at his traveling companions on the windswept sore of the Sunset Sea he had to wonder about how they'd been chosen for the job.
Three witches and some sort of foreign warlock who blotted out the bloody sun wherever he trod, well... alright, more like dimmed the light of midday a touch.
He must still be training, the Northerner thought with a bit of a chuckle at his own jest. "Is there anything you can do to not send most godsfearing folk drawing steel or run into the woods?" he asked, not expecting much.
"We... all possess glamours Lord... Crowfood," the sorcerer said with just enough of a pause to draw a spark of anger without giving proper cause to take offense.
"There's witches growing in the trees these days, if you hadn't noticed," Mors replied. "and that's not just in the King's fine orchards, but out in the woods and hills. If some woods witch gets an eyefull of you looking like a silk merchant's ghost come to haunt them all with shit deals from the grave..."
The gold-haired girl giggled. What was her name again... ah Goldenhammer, that was it on account of being some sort of enchantress. Sadly, Mors did not have any more time to admire the sound of her voice or the look of her smile because the wizard took the moment to turn into a snake. "Will this be a better disguise then?" he hissed.
"I don't think that species is native to the North," Lady Mia said tightly.
Looks like I'm not the only one who can do without the bloody... snake. Mors wondered if this Tor being able to change into a snake's skin in the blink of an eye said something about the sort of man he was, but he thought better of that. The pair of snake-men he'd met back in Sorcerer's Deep were as straightforward as a man could ask for.
"We don't need to all be wandering around talking to people either," the the last and quietest of the sorceresses spoke up. "Tor can keep watch on the tower itself and report if there is anything unusual going on with it while the rest of us split up to talk to the folk hereabouts. I can go with Leila, Lord Umber can accompany Mia, so there is someone skilled at the sword and someone knowledgeable in magic with both groups."
"I ain't Lord Umber lass, that's the Greatjon, Old Gods give him many more years of lordship, I'm just Crowfood," Mors replied. "Still, that sounds like a fair pairing to me..."
The wizard in snake's skin hisses his agreement.
***
Most folk thought Last Hearth was the end of the world, and it was hard to argue with them in some ways with nothing but the Wall and the wildlings further north, if you didn't count Thennhold which was hardly known outside the Thenns themselves, but Crowfood figured the lonely shore around Sea Dragon Point had a fairer claim to the title. After all, at least there was the Wall between Umber lands and the damn wildlings, but there wasn't anything between here and the Iron Islands except the sea.
The Fisher Kings had ruled here once, then sworn their oaths to the Starks of Winterfell, but they were long gone, and the only fish the smallfolk cared about were the ones that got hauled in with the evening tide to add to the poor harvest of the stony earth. They didn't much care for foreigners either since foreigners usually meant Ironborn, but they were poor enough that you could usually buy tales from someone who looked down on their luck and so they did, going from visage to village talking to farmers, fishers and hunters that set snares through the empty woods until they came to a blind net weaver whose fingers still knew the craft.
"Salt wives' Lament ye say... eye, there was a fair anchorage there in my day, but 'twas bad luck to use it unless there was at least one woman aboard, these days no one uses it 'cause they're afraid of the ghosts getting stronger. Fools I say, stronger ain't different in their hearts and whose to say the dead can't be kindly, eh?" the old woman asked loud enough that half the village could hear her.
"You've been there before?" Mia asked. "Would you guide us if we paid you?"
"And what sort of pay would that be?" the net weaver asked, clinking the coppers she'd already been paid in hand.
"Your sight," Mia replied softly.
OOC: I hope all the set-up chapters are not making things drag.
