The Royal Harbor

The smoke, from its first large plume to its dispersing wisps, could be seen even from the royal harbor. The Navymen working the docks and aboard the ships, rose to the highest points the could find to view the disaster taking place more inland. From their vantage point, that is the harbor itself and not the various points from which the men chose to view the horror, there was no way to know what had caused the commotions but the rumors would soon begin to trickle in. For the moment though, the men began to speculate on their own. All the blame of the situation would fall on the new King, the Usurper. There were men in the company that spoke well of the fallen Alexander, and those that would miss his reign, knowing they were in the minority, kept those thoughts to themselves until opportune moments came for such comments. Of course in the wake of what could only deciphered as a riot, those comments were not met with such scorn. Would it have been better to let the king live out his days rather than go through the turmoil of a regime change? Great war or not, a regime change was never a thing of ease.

While most duties were abandoned for gossip and spectating, some of the men continued their works and the few cloaks on the docks were still standing vigil through the coming night. Of course, they too spoke amongst themselves to the chaos at the foot of Aegon's Hill. There had been much talk the previous night in the barracks when Alexander fell. It had been the men of the general watch, not assigned to a single rotating post that feared the most for the change of the regime. The men who roamed the streets of King's Landing were the ones that seemed to believe they held the most power derived from Alexander himself. So to the men standing guard at the docks, this sudden burst of flames and screaming wasn't so much surprising as it was expected and brought frustrated sighs to their lips, leaving them to wonder if they would all be out of a job for the recklessness of a few. The idea seemed unlikely since none of the men could recall a time since the creation of the City Watch when all the men had been replaced absent war and death. Attempting to recruit something like six thousand men would have been an expensive and dubious venture even for an ambitious king.

Relaxed in their job security, the cloaks lowered their armor covered bodies to barrels and began a game of cards to occupy themselves. With all the disruption in the Square there would be little mind paid to the docks. Not that the docks got much attention to begin with. The Royal Harbor was, absent direct orders, left rather greatly to its own devices. Captains took the various ships to the water to make sure they were still ready at a moment's notice. The ships were rotated in and out of the docks for repairs and restocking. In the time of Alexander, the royal harbor was made up of mostly Velaryon crafted. It was the noose old man Aethon liked to hold about the neck of his "dear friend". There were also a few of his own personal ships hovering just off the shore, as Driftmark was a stone's throw from the location of the harbor. The most prized possession of Lord Aethon's personal fleet was the dromond, The Sea Snake, named for the Lord's great ancestor.

It was a good day, not in the sense that everything went well for everything for a large section of the town square was just flattened but for those that were opportunists with very low scruples, well, as previously stated the day was a good day. Straga, Daemon, Hey you with the patch or whatever other name was given to him was making his way from pocket to pocket, wrist to wrist and any other place that held valuables that one did not need a crate or large box to stow things away. Not that Straga lacked an adequate box but retrieving it from the Keep may prove cumbersome. Besides, the dead definitely did not need all this finery and strolling from a mass of bodies with his hand before him admiring a couple new rings he had 'stumbled across', the pirate slipped from one alley to another making his way towards his previously desired location. The dock yard.

A few minutes later and a deep inhale had announced Straga's arrival to the ship yard, the smell of sea air not marred by the smell of shit that pilfered through every nook and cranny of the city streets. That was not to say the harbor had a scent of flowers and perfumes, not at all, it was definitely an acquired taste that not all loved but for a pirate it did not get much better than this. Regardless of the goings on within the city it seemed life here went on as normal with little to disrupt their business.

Stopping at the edge of the peer, Straga's single eye regarded one of the large ships docked against the end peer, a galley that was currently being stocked and repaired from whatever damage it had sustained on its last voyage. By the looks of the ship it seemed more a merchant vessel than one designed for combat. It certainly was not what the pirate was in the market for and as his eyes traced the ship and beyond he did see just what he desired. A dromond, one of the largest ships on the sea and from what he remembered seeing back in the ship room within the Keep, this belonged to Aethon Valeryon whom Straga had seen scurrying away from the riots within the square. The man always tried to seem so dangerous but when real danger came upon him, well, he was more a frightened rodent than a predator. Such a thing spoke to almost all nobles the pirate had ever come across.

Pulling out a small telescope from his inside pocket with the front lens cracked and it's very structure so frail that it seemed to bend in the middle, it was surprising the thing worked at all. Marking mentally the ship he desired, Straga looked about the ship yard to now find a way to get out to the dromond that was not so conveniently tied to the peer. Standing out against the regular peer workers would make things a little more taxing so first order of business, bribe, bury or bully his way onto said vessel and all of them seemed like rather fun options.

Even while still musing over the happenings inland, the men moved about their duties. They lit lanterns to stave away the coming darkness. The night was always darker by the sea. The smell of the ocean and the initial hiss of flame to a wick was a sweet smell for any Navyman. The nights were usually calm with a few men working through the darkness to repair this or that but mostly it was quiet with only the lap of the waves against the docks and the sides of the ship; a sound you had to fight against to remain awake. The evening sun was starting to disappear under the horizon and that soft lull of the ocean was like a song that rose from her very breast. It was a song all seafaring men learned to love and fear. While she was beautiful she was also an unforgiving mistress who taunted you for a slightest misstep and it was so like a man to take that chance anyway.

Underneath a shabby awning, surrounded by barrels that would need to be filled come morning, two of the gold cloaks sat watching the docks rather aimlessly. Their conversation had fallen into familiar grunts and hmms. Having been partners to the task for many years, their silence as comfortable, both men taking a moment to appreciate the rise of the tide and the tranquility of their guarded space lacking in human bodies. It was no secret that the men from this barracks, assigned mostly to the docks and bowls of Flea Bottom, enjoyed their tenure in relative peace. Even though Flea Bottom was poor the people were civil and unlike the bolstering peacocks that roamed the inner city streets, the old men of the cloaks on this side of town, showed the same sentiment to their charges.

The monotonous movement of people upon the docks was disrupted by the arrival of a man that stood out. Not only did he stand out but he stood suspiciously at the end of the dock peering at the ships through a broken telescope, idly weaving back and forth as though he were digesting his second barrel of rum. He seemed unaware that he were so plainly in view and his so obviously deeds so easily beheld by those that would jail him just for the deed. Sharing glances of disbelief the two cloaks, who had since been in peaceful mum, rose and came into the few of the telescope.

"Oi," said the first, a man of average height with plain features, bushy eyebrows and oil slicked brow hair. "This area is off limits to civilians."

"Ain't got no business here," The other chimed, nodding his half shaven head.

Then both men took a moment to commit this strangers face to memory. The shabby captain's cloak, the shiny bobbles new against dirty fingers, the well broken in boots and wide sash about his waist holding all sorts of affects. They squinted at the man, simultaneously lifting gloved hands to shoo him away.

Straga's form was doing some strange loops, feet wobbly as his torso seemed to fight to stay still and upright while the broken telescope barely even stayed on target. That being said he was barely even looking through the thing, his eye's more occupied with the new jewelry and rings that lined his finger's and wrist. Sure they stood out like a sore thumb against an otherwise grubby figure but they brought about an heir of sophistication to an otherwise less than fortunate soul. That, or he just liked how they looked. One could never follow the mind of one, Captain Straga.

When his single eye looked back into the telescope again the ugly mug of a man took up the entire view which had Straga jump in shock, take down the telescope and jump again only to turn and see another male with him and stagger back a step with another frightened squeal. "Don't you know it's frightful bad luck to sneak up on a man." Even though the men hardly snuck, their armor made all the noise they needed when they ran towards him but you think Straga payed that much attention? Well, if he did no one could even tell.

"A civilian? If I see one I will be sure to let them know they are not allowed."

Tipping his hat to both men Straga stepped to the side and started to make his way towards the peer where one of the ships was mourned and by the looks in the dying light it was barely being guarded at all save for the two men he was now walking away from. Tucking the telescope back down to size and into his pocket he held his head high, adjusted his cap and walked away as if all was right in the world.

Another look of confusion was exchanged between the men. Bad luck? Of course his reaction to their arrival didn't help either. He really believed they snuck up on him. Had their armor not been lound in the middle of this quiet perch? Surely so. How could he have missed them? Although... the man did seem a touch unhinged even in his drunken state or perhaps he was simply unhinged and not drunk as the he lack a smell of anything alcoholic upon him. Come to think of it, despite his grime he seemed to lack a smell of anything other than sea salt and mild sweat; the heat had not yet left King's Landing in favor of cooler autumn winds. The two were so deep in puzzling over the man and his appearance, that they were forced to jump to attention and following him down the pier, his flippant reply ringing in their ears.

"Stop." Said one.

"Stop there," chimed the other.

"Who do you think you are? I said no civilians on these docks. These here is the king's docks. His royal ships. They ain't for you."

"Ain't for you." Nodded the clearly dimmer of the two loyal lightbulbs.

Straga was halted again, honestly thinking he had settled their woes and be allowed to continue on his path. Leaning back a little when stopped, arms up by his side as if completely perplexed why they were before him again he blinked his single visible eye. The same one that danced back and forth between the two guards. Leaning a bit closer to the one that was a mere step behind the other he looked the man up and down, blinking as if trying to figure him out.

"I think your echo grew legs and chases you. You name it? It's quite the party trick mate."

Standing back upright again Straga shook his hair and adjusted any loose strands that may have fallen about his face, not that any did considering they were always dreadlocks and tied behind him in a tight ponytail. Though right now they were a little cleaner than usual thanks to a certain tall bombshell. Curious of the guard's question, Straga poked the man's metal chest plate before replying.

"The King you say. The King says I. We go way back. You should ask him about Big Bertha." A visible shiver went through the pirate at the seeming thought of the person he spoke of. "On second thoughts, touchy subject mate. What with the itch and all." Leaning to the side Straga pointed to a ship in the distance, one of the Dromonds, the largest one it seemed. "That one. It got a name?"

One soldier glanced at the other. One was taller than the other. The "echo", of course, the shorter of the two. Neither of the dim bulbs understood the pirate's reference. Both made a quick look about to see if another had joined the little squabble. It made the dirty pirate finger a startling attack causing both, not just the one poked, to jump back. Nothing that the pirate said made anything sense. Was he alluding to the new king being diseased by a whore? Did he really expect them to believe that he knew the King personally enough for that story to be true. He certainly believed his own lies. What with that shiver at the thought and all.

Again they shared a glance when the man waved them away from such thoughts of the king. Thoughts he had put into their heads. Struggling to stay abreast of what was going on in that devious mind, both men whirled around to follow his line of sight, and easier task than following his line of thinking. Without much thought to it, they both leaned to see the ship then righted and shook their heads.

"Ain't got no business with that ship, you don't."

"That's the Sea Snake. Fastest dromond ever built they say."

"Hush!"

The dimmer of two bulbs blinked. "That Lord of Driftmark would be proud to have inquiry of his ship." He nodded to confirm.

The other soldier turned on him, just about pushing Straga out of the conversation. "Ain't no reason to go telling civilians that man's business."

"Ain't that common knowledge?"

"If it were, would he be asking?" he scoffed.

When the two started to look around for someone that wasn't present Straga too looked behind him on either side until all three met in their neutral position again only to have them glance to the ship. No matter what one would think of Straga and his level of intelligence, these two were definitely stationed at the docks for obvious reasons. There was hardly a brain cell between them, even though a learned man would find it impossible to keep up with Straga's ever shifting line of conversations. Yet the echo started to spill what was required and the pirate simply stroked his beard in thought.

When the two guards started their back and forth debate Straga chimed in with another point to add. "I hear The Wraith is the fastest in all the waters." A pause held him in place to see what they would do and given they were hardly even facing him, should they return to their solo conversation once more, Straga slipped away silently yet quickly and found himself upon the ship that was still docked at the peer. It was no Dromond for those needed special area's to make berth but this was indeed a fancy vessel, one of the galley's used to transport men and cargo from one end of the Seven Kingdom's coasts to the other.

Standing at the helm of the ship, a hand upon the wheel, Straga held his head high as the breeze caressed his tanned skin and whipped the tails of his jacket about his person. Too long had he been denied the kiss of a true sea breeze and much like an alcoholic without his sin the Pirate King was all but shaking in his withdrawls of the cruel temptress' embrace.

The two cloaks continued to argue the point of sharing information until the stranger chimed in with an outlandish point. The Wraith was a ghost ship captained by a man who had lived a hundred years over and a hundred years again. The stories around the ship were as wild as the supposed appearance of the ship itself. It was a ship said to be manned by monsters of the sea, men who lived so long on the waters that the sea began to take shape on their human forms. It was a black ship, framed in the bones of giants devoured by the Kraken and its figurehead was that of an ancient Sabertooth. The ship sailed by black sails wrought with holes from the decay of hundreds of years on the sea; it was a ghost ship after all. The reality of the sails were that the patches made many times over the years were done with silver threads that reflected the landscapes around them, giving the appearance of holes in the sails. It was a fearsome ship said to have been birthed from the dying breath of the son of the Drowned God. It has sailed every sea in the known world and some in the unknown and conquered every port it has ever docked within.

It's berth is the fabled Island of Torturer's Deep. Torturer's Deep was said to be an Island among the Stepstones that rose out of the sea as The Wraith reached the currents around The Stones. It was a moving landmass made habitable by the salvaged parts of conquered ships and many of its "roads" were waterways. Many believed the island was actually the back of a great turtle bond to the ghost ship and the town of Torturer's Deep built upon the back of his great shell. This town was inhabited by the souls murdered by the pirates of The Wraith and the family of the crew and those lost souls who turned to the sea for the freedom of death; a gift of freedom forever upon the sea.

Every sailor, pirate or otherwise, knew the stories of The Wraith and Torturer's Deep. They knew the stories of the Dread Pirate Straga, a man who lived so long as the sea raged, a man that fought the great beasts of the sea and survived, kissed by the Drowned God and resurrected time and time again. Every sailor, pirate or otherwise, both feared and desired, to see those ghostly black sails and the head of that beast appearing from the mists on their horizon.

Because of the wild and crazy tales surrounding the offhanded addition to their conversation, the gold cloaks standing guard on the quiet docks, shared look before they both burst into another argument, this one of the validity of The Wraith itself. Once the argument was settled, by the logic that the ship did not exist, the two turned to address the man who should have been standing there. They jumped an scuttled to find him upon another ship at the dock.

"Oi, you there. What do you think you're doing?"

"Aye, aye, get down from there this instant."

The creaking of the ship and lapping of water against it's bow was as soothing to the pirate as a mother's lullaby while his fingers caressed across the ship's wheel. The two guards were busy debating over a tid bit information Straga had plopped into the midst of their discussion so it bought him enough time to reminisce about voyages passed and ones present and the one yet to come as his single crimson hued eye looked out to his next possible venture.

The Pirate King, a title anyone with even a remote interest in the sea would know but none knew the face of the man or woman who bore it, was a position of power yet one more dangerous that any noble or land loving King could understand. It was a title not found in lineage or handed down in the conventional sense but one born of blood and power. Not too dissimilar from how Dante came about his new station but one far less secure. Where Dante had an army about him and a Kingdom at his back, a Pirate King only possessed his own wit for even those within his crew could try to claim the title for himself at any moment. Loyalty was not something so freely flaunted among the oceans inhabitants. Yet this life, the life of a Pirate, a criminal with little honor other than what it took to get ones's next handful of gold, it was a life of freedom and a life that drew many a folk to it like a Siren's song. None so drawn as the man who barely seemed capable of holding his own in even the simplest of conversation. Daemon to most yet Straga to but a select few.

How he came to this life, this place in time where he was more myth then reality even he had forgotten. Perhaps the stories were true and he was hundreds of years old. Perhaps the life he held before becoming such a figure was not worth remembering. It hardly mattered as a smirk tugged on the edge of the man's lip and his single blood red orb almost seemed to glow in the growing moonlight. There was no mistaking the man's deadly nature when seriousness took hold in his person but just as quickly as it would come, it faded. When the two guards jumped at his disappearance and came running to where he stood, both his hands shoot off the wheel and held up in the air as if completely startled once again by their presence.

"Don't you know it's bad luck to sneak up on a man."

Lowering his hands once again he shook his head and patted down his coat.

"Could give a man a heart attack, then where would we both be? Eh?"

Complete nonsense of course as was most of the things that flowed from the man's lips yet it seemed to do enough to confuse the guards for a second longer.

"I'm simply admiring the King's wears, don't you find yourself doing such mate? Fine ships these." His gaze cast to the Dromond for another moment then back to the guards. "Fine ships indeed." With that Straga hopped off the ship, not to the dock and dry land, no, instead he jumped off the other side of the ship and into the water. A few bubbles of air rising after the ripples settled but no body, no breaking of water as he rushed up again gasping for air, nothing. Where he had gone or how long he planned to stay under there was a mystery. But should one tell of a crazy person that jumped on one of the King's ships and then off the other side. Well. Who would really care for such a tale in light of everything else going on within the Kingdom this day.