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Old 11-26-2013, 12:33 PM

Thought is get feedback on something I write, before wasting my time if it is no good?

A struggle of seas

Davos

His fingers grasped tightly to the rails carved from grey cedar, affixed to the forecastle of the ship, he had awoken early unable to sleep and paced until they had neared Sharp point. Behind him the sail occasionally cracking like a whip, as the oars creaked mournfully, and rhythmically, a comforting chorus to Davos, but even so he shifted his grip slightly, feeling the sweat that had started to creep onto his palms grip to the weathered wood. He leant forward putting his weight upon his arms. He's face taut and showing no emotion, except perhaps the slightest concern, just ever so slight or just the beginning of the leathering caused by the salt spray and coarse wind, the start of his youth disappearing. Davos was definitely not a unhandsome man, but neither did he stand out amongst others. He's clothes were plain and practical, although he never squandered his valuables, he wore quality hosiery, and shirts, he had supplied himself this night with a pair of dark leather brais that covered his entire lower half including feet, allowing none of the cold dark sea to penetrate his under garments, his midnight blue doublet the only thing with any colour appearing on his slender form, a pair of soft black boots that he had been given recently by a new Lysene acquaintance, that offered him fantastic grasp on his deck.
Licking his teeth behind his pursed lips he Peered into the distance where the shadow of land could just be seen to a keen eye. Scattered in the backdrop of the morning mist like needles were what he knew to be the masts of the blockade, all sails furled up, sleeping lazily. It wasn't this armada that made Davos feel this apprehensive for only the second time in his life. He knew many of those slow galleys, and knew his ship better. They would not recognise him from any other lysene trading vessel with his new pastel sails, even if they did, with the wind landward they would have no chance to reach him out this far. No not out this far. Besides they had their orders and wouldn't bother with a smuggler as himself regardless of his current renown. Davos was used to out running many a craft sent on missions to deter entrepreneurs such as himself, or slipping past them often to the embarrassment of their captains. But that was usually one or two, perhaps a small patrol of half a dozen lightly manned craft, but what he planned to do put him on edge, since he was seventeen he had become a cautious man, hence a man still alive, but this scheme put into him an uneasiness that he hadn't been used to. Tonight he knew that he would no longer be a smuggler, but he Davos was a soldier, and the crew of Black Betha would be silently sailing to war. It was going against all his instincts nurtured in him through the last decade. But something else deep down stirred, that guilt that caused him pain everyday, the thought of his two sons coming to harm at the hand of a madman. This was his undertaking to attempt to create a safer future for them, and he was putting his faith into Lords he hopped would stand for the average man. Davos almost laughed at himself, faith was something he used to think belonged to the pious and the gullible, all those fishwives tales, myths and fate, all those things as a younger man he would discredit with some cocksure remark, about creating a mans own fate. Ideas that events and the Gods had since changed.
Davos was finding it hard to make out any landmarks around Storms end from here, but could imagine their route from memory, as if he himself was flying there, in fact as a child he would pretend to be a warg changing into a gull drifting in and out of the coves and inlets. This night he would fly on the dark wings of his ship, Black Betha, hundred good strong oars, shallow hull, and winched keel, capable of operating in the shallows effectively, most important for sneaking in and out of hidden anchorages. She couldn't carry as much cargo due to her shape, as other so called traders, but what was the point of carrying anything if it was going to be sequestered by a corrupt kings collector? Better not get caught, little and often Davos liked to think.
Heading to Buckled hole, a small ragged cove just north of Storms End, he would meet with an agent, by the name of Kipling Musgood, according to his so far reliable source. Kipling was supposed to be some lowly cousin of a Lord of the Stormlands, and loyal to the Baratheon Family. He hoped... However though Davos enjoyed the company of this Lysene Pirate, his source and new acquaintance, this self styled Prince of the Narrow sea. Davos never trusted anyone in his line of work, barely himself included. He assured Davos his motives were purely noble, however hinted that a friendly Baratheon family Ruling the Iron throne would be most profitable, especially if they happened to turn a blind eye to the goings on of a simple Lysene trader.
Black Betha would reach Buckled hole, and fill her hold, and be on their way just before Dusk, but before that he would have to negotiate around Black water bay, and the Arbor fleet led by Paxter Redwyne, a sleuth of a man, and cunning, but despised by some of his crew, Davos would hear rumours from time to time from some seafaring folk that frequented brothels about his unsettling practices, and disturbing tastes.
His stomach turned, he couldn't make out precisely why, from his thoughts on Redwyne, the upcoming errand, or the smell from the pottage being cooked below, it wasn't often that Davos would allow his men to cook on a subtle journey like this but none of them would have anytime after this point to do so, and unknown to many of them this could be their last meal, he thought to himself he owed them that much at least.
Davos finally succumbed to the idea of forcing something down, he turned away from the bow, handed over his place to the lookout, the young oarsman Arnold from Greenstone, and stepped slowly towards the scents of almonds and honey, he knew the cook would have placed some bland fish caught over night in the thick stew, similar to that of the sister stew that was so popular further North. He stepped down and as he walked the weather deck, past open sacks that had been lined up, seemingly full of strips of tattered cloth. He strode towards the ladder, as he reached it, he nodded to Durwin, The Whale Waters his first helmsmen, one of the three men not including himself that knew their real destination. Durwin was a short and stout man, his skin blotched by heavy drinking, and his walk effected by bad gout, no matter what the weather he wore two heavy jerkins, that would cause him to sweat profusely, one underneath of now brown, what colour it was originally none could tell, and a green woollen one on the outside with yellow stitching on its edges. Durwin was never a going to be athletic nowadays but apparently in his youth was a true behemoth of a man, he was not even very cunning, but the knowledge that he held was unsurmounted by anyone he knew,although it could take some prompting before it eked out. He climbed down the ladder and stooped along the passageway beneath the low overhead, all areas and crew quarters including his own were cramped, to increase Berthas cargo capacity, besides Davos wasn't the man to lord over the crew. as he made his way instantly he could smell mixed in with the cooking, and stale sweat, the fresh caulking along the hull and bulwarks, pushing gently past occupied hammocks, listening to the slow quiet beat of the drum to keep the oarsmen in time with one another. He trusted this crew in the entirety, and nineteen out of every twenty onboard he would trust almost with his life, hand picked over years, sometimes Davos wondered what it would have been like to be born on the Iron islands, he'd like to think that the crew he would be able to muster would have been like the legendary crews of the past, loyal to last breath for each other above all others beside the drowned God. But Davos wasn't keen on the idea of drowning, he much preferred to stay on either board his ship, or dry land not beneath the waves. Perhaps if things went awry the crew could gain some mercy in the fact that they had ignorance in the plan, he seriously doubt it however, a flash of a memory awoke in Davos, memories of flame and burning flesh. Yes he seriously doubted it, more reason to keep it as secret as possible and reduce the chance of one carelessly breathed word from one of the hundred and eighty men under his command. One hundred and eighty that he knew all by name,

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Old 01-01-2014, 12:26 PM

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