A Nest of Crows
Sixteenth Day of the Twelfth Month 292 AC
After some thought you decide that some understanding of the lands beyond the Wall would not go amiss, and who better to know such things than the men set here against wildling raids? So you walk boldly up to the gates of the castle and call out: "Hail, Brothers of the Night's Watch! Friends come and would take counsel with you!"
"What kind of friends?" a rough voice sounds moments later as several black-cloaked figures emerge onto the battlements.
Were this any other keep you might be tempted to offer a name of some prestige, be it true or false, but from your correspondence with Maester Aemon you realize there is an easier way to get into the good graces of the ancient order. "Wealthy ones!"
As you guessed it would be the gate is dropped in haste to admit you, and no sooner had you entered that a rather miserable looking red-haired boy struggling against the blizzard ask something about horses. You shake your head and simply follow him into the central bastion of the keep.
Though the bones of the keep are strong they were clearly built in better days for the Watch. The hall in which you are ushered holds four pine tables each long enough to seat thirty yet you count less than two dozen black brothers seated in clumps here and there drinking, dicing and talking. The walls are covered in old trophies, jagged spears of yellowed bone, axes of bronze turned almost wholly green with age, and shields painted with crude markings: wolf and bear and an odd creature you recognize after a moment as one of the great seals of the north.
"Well now, what did the wind blow in and what wealth do ye speak of?" The speaker is the same who had called a challenge from the walls. Dark close-set eyes look upon you out of a pockmarked face, showing little interest past ill-concealed greed.
From the way the other Black Brothers look to him you would guess he is the commander of the fort. If nothing else you have to give the man credit for daring the biting wind himself instead of sending another.
"First I would know who I have the honor of addressing," you try to remind the man of his courtesies, poor though they may be.
"Cotter Pyke's me name, now talk of yer business already least ye want to be out on yer asses back the way ye came!" he growls.
An Ironborn... of course it would be a bloody Ironborn, here, on the other side of Westeros. You sigh and call on all the patience you have gained dealing with rogues and pirates. "I was not aware that it was the business of the Watch to keep any man from going north." After a precisely measured pause you add, "We would of course be willing to pay for knowledge of the wildling lands as well as any map you might have."
The master of Eastwatch looks at you measuringly, then at Ser Richard clearly armored as a knight beneath his cloack, then at last at Dany. To your surprise he says, "The Haunted Forest ain't no place for a wee lass." The sneer on his bearded face grows even more pronounced, as though he is ashamed of the brief show of softness.
"I thank you for your concern," Dany answers solemnly. "But it is north I must go nonetheless."
You are not sure if it was the certainty in her voice or the calm almost imperious way her gaze sweeps the room, but you catch a few of the men flinch.
Cotter does not loose his calm, however. "A witch are ye?" The swiftness with which he falls to that conclusion is...
troubling. Perhaps even great-uncle Aemon had been underplaying the troubles of the Watch.
Seeing Dany look to you for an answer you shrug. They would always remember her the most of all your company. She might as well play the part and so she does. "So I am Comander Pike and so we have heard of the troubles of the Watch and thought to look into the matter," she answers.
"What are our troubles to ye?" Cotter asks, the tone far less belligerent than the words, almost filled with grudging hope.
What do you do
[] Answer
-[] Write in
[] Let Dany speak
OOC: Cotter Pyke is one of those people that is very easy to just write as a dumb thug, but to become a commander in a institution like the Night's Watch would require depths beyond that. If nothing else his brothers had to like him enough to vote him and he had to be skilled enough to run the castle with only the odd raven from Castle Black and a drunk Maester.