Ser Timon

Joren speaks, his breath labored. "Leyburn guardsmen in town . . . thought it was nothing . . . but then, visited the miller . . . were asking questions. Reckoned . . . Ser Ethan was onto us . . . prepared t' ambush . . . convinced dock-men to fight . . . didn't expect so many knights . . . Roote . . . limp as a worm's member." He wets his lips with his tongue, still speaking almost into the ground, reluctant to twist his neck and shoulders. "Didn't see how many o' mine . . . got out. Was over fast."

Down on the dock, Riverfly is being lashed to to the pier and there's lively activity aboard. It appears Ser Walton is disembarking in a hurry, probably to secure your position. The corpses lying about are a dead tell that the trap has been sprung.


The deck of Riverfly is alive with activity--first a couple of men jumped out and secured the boat's lines, hauling it tight against the dock, then there was a bit of a hue and cry and some Leyburn guardsmen rise from hiding places and start clambering over the side. You count seven of them, plus Ser Walton Strong. It was Ser Walton that bade the garrison to secure the leather barding, a task his quartermaster to which you and Ferret were set. However, you're not sure if Ser Walton is aware of your travel here. He looks much as you saw him last: stern and broad-shouldered, clad in plate lacquered white save three stripes--blue, red, green--spanning his chestplate from neck to groin.

This seems a heavy hand indeed to chase down some whore-killers.