Echoes at the Edge of the World
Sixteenth Day of the Twelfth Month 292 AC
You leave Eastwatch with a list in hand of all the things the Watch is missing, a list that could be summed up as:
everything. From nails to horseshoes, to blades and arrow-heads and especially to warm bodies to use the latter, the Night's Watch is less than a shadow of what it once was, clinging to ancient oaths yet filled with gallows' bait or at best old men wishing to die with honor. Few indeed are the younger sons of the highborn who would take up a tattered black cloak over taking their chances at glory as a free blade in Essos.
Cotter leaves you with one last warning about the other sort of men one might find among the watch: loyalists of your house who traveled north rather than face he executioner's blade: "Don't got many of those fu...
fine noble sorts about but I've seen 'em enough to know they still dream of the fights they might have won. Mark my words at least one of 'em's gonna be stupid enough try to slip his cloak and come back south with ye. Probably have a sob story too. All the little shits do when they get drunk is weep in the beer."
"I'll keep that in mind," you say as you get into, oddly enough, a boat.
Rather than passing through the Wall as you had assumed, but by the use of a simple round-bottomed fishing boat passing around it. At least the weather had settled into the odd gust of snow-laden wind from the north. While the boat bobs through the choppy water of the Bay of Seals. As you cross the unseen line that stretches out from the Wall you feel a sudden lurch in your stomach as if the world surged ever so lightly sideways and does not
quite fall back into its proper form. Magic sings with a different voice here.
"You alright there?" your guide asks.
You nod, though your gaze is still fixed on the titanic form of the Wall you had felt even out here on the water. This then had been the
shadow the seal-kin spoke of.
Harwood Hoarfoot is not one to stay quiet long. Known among the rangers not only for his skill with the heavy head-splitter of an axe but also for being able to strike up a deal with wildlings and civilized folk alike, the ranger is quick to strike up a conversation. In fact you soon discover he has a rather keen interest in the world beyond the walls of Eastwatch though he explains he has never gone south recruiting because he has no patience for 'sweeping lords' dungeons.'
Before you had even touched the shore again he had begun asking of Braavos and its wonders. Of that you speak long after you had reached the stony shore and set out of steeds swift as evening's shadows over the land, of the great trading houses, the Isle of the Gods with its thousand shrines and even the return of magic to the city.
"Lucky bastards," The ranger spits. "They get traders we get bear-fuckers..."
"Perhaps the magic of the land is bound up in the people who live in it," Dany offers.
"Gods of Earth and Tree protect," Harwood says in jest.
"They might, you know," you answer drawing a sharp look.
"Is that where all the stories about the killer trees come from?" he asks after an uncommonly long pause. "I heard wildlings give men to the gods sometimes."
"Some truth to that yes," you reply, grimacing a little at having to still contend with that nonsense. "I do not bleed men before the heart tree unless they have made themselves foes of all mankind, not just me and mine, if they consort with devils or horrors of the deep which are also offered up when I can. The gods give blessings that can be seen clear as day, healing for mind, body and soul, wards against fire and other things besides."
"Fair enough I suppose... don't know much of gods and demons 'cept to try and stay out of the way of both." the ranger sounds thoughtful so you leave him to it for a time as the green and brown of the Haunted Forest flies by to your left.
"What else have you heard of us and of the Deep?" Dany asks finally.
"All sorts of things, most of it singer's fodder, though not perhaps as much as I thought: that you steal away maidens to take them into a black tower that no light touches, that you can heal folk with a touch like they said the true kings of old could do, that you live in a town full of grumpkins that pave the roads with gold and make fountains spout wine. You sure you want to listen to this shit?" the man asks, sounding a touch embarrassed in spite of himself.
"It's amusing if nothing else," you answer, at least half-truthfully.
"There's one about treacherous knights who came over to your side and got cursed by the gods with bull's heads, though some say those used to be regular bulls 'fore you made them half-man by sorcery...." he breaks off at the sight of smoke in the distance that had been so far hidden by the curve of the land. "Well there's the crab men. How do you want to do this?"
What do you answer?
[] Let him go ahead and call for parley
[] Scout invisibly
[] Write in
OOC: Decided to work the rumors in organically this time.