The innkeep delivers the horn of ale to the table with the Paege contingent, and answers as he returns to the bar. “I’ve got a few birds for roasting with onions and squash. I’ll roast a few more for your men. There’s four rooms left; yours for five silver stags each. The rest of your men can sleep in the stable or outdoors as they will, but I'll have a stag for each horse in the stable. Horses have a way of shitting on the floor more than men do, I find.” His price is not low, but not unreasonable either. Innkeeps have faced hard times, given the banditry plaguing the realm.
Once you’ve concluded your business with the innkeep, the lordling calls out to you. “Ser Vladimir Kirov, is that you?”
Ser Walton moves swiftly to carry out your orders, filling Lew the Outlaw’s squalling mouth with a strip of sail and marching him out to the deck. The miscreant does his best to scream out slanders, but the cabin door muffles them reasonably well, as does the gag. Out on the deck, the Longpalm is twisting a rope in his hands, throwing a length across the knot and catching it on the other side as he winds it around and around. Once satisfied, he tosses it over the main yardarm and secures the other end to the hull.
The two crews and the Leyburn men stand silently to the side as Ser Walton forces the condemned to stand on a stool and fits the noose about his neck. After you give the command, Walton gives the stool a donkey kick and it scoots out from beneath Lew's scrambling feet and falls to its side. The outlaw twists in the wind for a few moments and then it’s over.
DISREGARD: Soon enough you’re under way once again, cutting through the river. Around a bend, the other two branches of the Trident join yours, and the river swells to twice its former width. A dozen other boats are in sight, ranging in size from humble fisherman’s rowboats, to wide flatbottom barges, to even a Tully river galley, headed upriver with an iron-shod ram and a double bank of oars.
Presently, Lord Harroway’s Town comes into view on the south bank, instantly recognizable for Harroway Tower, and the unplanned spread of huts, herd pens, and taller inns and warehouses. It’s said that the River Kings of old refused to charter a city at Harroway Town, thereby forbidding the lord of the town to lay out a grid of stone roads. Reedtown evaded this restriction, for Reedtown needs no true network of stone roads, but relies on canals and bridges instead. As a result, the Leyburn's town has always had a more predictable, orderly presentment than that of House Roote.
Up ahead, the docks splay into the water like great wooden fingers. The dockman seated atop Crier’s Mast surveys the other docks from his perch, before booming out for you to approach the Fowl Dock.OOC: Did you want to have both boats come with you? I left this post ambiguous as to which boat you’re on. And who commands each boat?
Ferret gulps, clearly not pleased with the idea of facing down a lord. Lords can be terrifying in their wroth, but having served at the elbow of several knights, you’ve learned the measure highborn chastisement, and how to endure it. You’ve never met Lord Roote, but you’ve like as not met his type. Perhaps he’ll be like Ser Garland Hobbs, crushed by his station and desperate, or like Ser Vlad, stern and tormented, or Septon Kyle, measured and unyielding.
The miller mumbles something incomprehensible, his eyes half-lidded. He’s not in much of a state to be traveling anywhere under his own power.