Dorothy
A dock near the Keep Sempiternal, the Grey Hills 

In the distance, the shimmering lights off the castle of House De Lysse could be seen flickering and wavering. One could deduce the stronghold was bustling with activity standing even miles away. There was something majestic that emanated from its aura, even late at night. The construction of the castle seemed to make the night clouds part so the moon may shine its favour upon it. 

Of course it was well and good fawning over scenery and landscape without actually being there. There was no envy on that front. 

"She'll be busy tonight, that one we dropped off," A crewman said to another, making his way to lean against one of the wooden beams on the dock. He wore a white button-up shirt, faded leather suspenders and black work-pants with some holes visible in them. He was clean-shaven and had a broken nose, which seemed to bend more to one side when he smiled. 

"I don't even understand what sorta punishment that is for 'er. 'ow's placing 'er in a fine-dinin' situation wiv uhva fuckin' nobles gonna let 'er know she's still property uhv the tradin' company?" The other crewman asked. He was dressed similarly to the first, though more neat in his appearance and possessing a handsome face. "I saw dat Skagerlly girl, she had a wild look in 'er eye," He added. "Apparently Galt-Drake found a knife on 'er during the party," He finished that sentence by taking a drag of his cigarette. 

"I'm surprised Galt-Drake finds anything uhva 'dan his tongue up the King's arse." They both laughed. "I like 'em wild. She's the best-lookin' thing I've seen in a long time whilst I'm travelling the seas transporting whatever his majesty pleases. I bet she's a good fuck." The first of the crewmen smirked at the notion. 

The second of the crewmen rolled his eyes. "She'd stab that blade uhv 'ers right into your neck if an ugly fucka like you so much looked at 'er wrong." He took another drag of his cigarette.

"Man 'as to try, aye? Every stop we make I take a woman. Uhvawise I'd 'ave to fuck you," The first crewmen laughed. "Maybe your muhva' will be on one uhv our stops. I know she always needs a good needlin'." He smirked, seemingly making his nose bend. 

"Brilliant," The second crewmen responded, annoyed. "What about the uhvas? 'er bruhver and the diplomat?" He enquired. 

"Hrrm," The first crewman sounded, stretching his back and making it audibly crack. "The King 'ad no use for 'em. Sent 'em off on some uhva ship. Probably smaller, and wiv a nicer crew." He smirked again, making his broken nose look even more bent.

"And what about... 'im, in there? The King wanted us to personally trade him off wiv Carter's men?" The second crewmen asked. 

The first one laughed again. It was a horrible, rattly thing. He looked up the gangway and saw the Black Poppy sails flapping ceremoniously in the winds. "You mean Gitten's bitch? Poor sod is still reeling after the lashings she gave 'im. For a slaver though, I thought fifty weren't nearly enough. I'd personally see to it that 'e gets hundreds more." The first of the crewmen stole an apple from an open crate being carried between two other shipmen onto the deck and bit into it. "Aye, the King wants us to hand-deliver that one to the right 'ands so justice is properly dealt out. I volunteered our crew because 'e's a slippery eel, that one. We'll whip 'im into shape. Again." 

Just as the first of the crewmen had finished speaking, a man in the only fanciful piece of clothing seen across the entire dock leaned over the starboard. It was a fine, long naval jacket, befitting only a captain. It was black, with finally sewn cloth and satin at the cuffs and clavicle, a dark, rich turquoise, in the fashion of House Maith of Tonate Proper and its sigil.

"Oi, Grennick, Moalley!" He called down. "Will you two fuckin' 'urry up?! Daylight 'as gone and we're about two mindless fuckwits away from being caught in the fuckin' storm. Get a move on!" The captain swiftly disappeared. 

"Aye, Captain Finnbargh!" The second crewman, presumably Moalley, answered. "''e's right, c'mon. I should probably make sure our guest is fed for the night before the worst uhv the waves meet us." He started to walk up the gangway. 

Grennick grabbed at his arm before he could make his way up. "Uh-uh," He said. "I'll go. 'e probably misses me." Grennick grinned with worn, cracked teeth. 

Moalley sighed. "You shouldn't fuck wiv 'im the way you have. 'e's a dangerous man," He warned. 

Grennick gave another rattly laugh. "You're not scared uhv that piece uhv shit, are you? 'e's nuffin'. We get some uhv the worst crewmen in all the Isles, and I mean true to the Tides Barer, the most limp-dicked, most incompetent, useless cum stains the Isles can muster, cut off one uhv their 'ands each, get 'em deliriously drunk and they'd still be mopping the decks clean wiv the one free 'and they 'ave left after the bloodbath they created from smashing that lunatic and 'is men. Those savages from the north, 'is lot, they're just wannabe pirates. Can't man a ship to save their lives."

Moalley sighed again. 

"And anyway, I'm second mate, and you're just a crewmen, so fuck off and go scrub the deck wiv the uhva one-'anded invalids." 

"Wanka," Was all Moalley had to say to that, before finally walking up the gangway. 

Grennick soon followed up behind him. The deck was bustling with crewmen from aft to stern, with men running around following the captain and the first mate's orders. Crewmen were pulling at the halyard to raise the sails even more and capture the strong winds of Northwind. After he planted his boots on the deck, men began pulling up the gangway and untying the spring lines at the dock. Captain Finnbargh stood at quarterdeck.

"The storm will delay us a day or two, but if you all do your fuckin' jobs, we won't be 'eld-up too drastically. No vessel from the Isles 'as ever been this far north before, let alone the Witherlands. But we 'ave a mission, and I'll see to it that it's accomplished. The *King's Wisdom* Is a good bitch, and she'll see us good and protected from the Dusk Sea's chilly embrace. That's all. GET THE FUCK ON WIV IT!" He boomed, and all men who had been listening so intently almost instantly bolted back to work at the captain's command. 

Grennick, however, didn't seem to be in any particular rush. He reached over to a hollow crate where he'd placed his things on. His grey woollen flat cap, and his black salt-washed overcoat with a black poppy badge sewn into the breast. He swaggered around like he owned the place. The *King's Wisdom* Was a competent ship, as Captain Finnbargh had yelled. It was big, easily able to hold over a hundred men. It was sturdy as well, time-tested as could be told by the worn deck and paintwork. Its mast and the sail it brandished could be seen a ways away, almost like House De Lysse's castle from where they were stood on the dock.

He went down below, into the galley where the cooks were at work. "Where's the prisoner's meal?" He asked when he entered the dining area. The smell of salt, smoke and spices were pleasing. 

"Right there on the table, Second Mate Grennick. Stewed trout," A cook replied.

Without saying anything else, he took the bowl with the spoon and descended further in the *King's Wisdom*. Grennick had been working on ships for as long as he could remember, and could almost always pinpoint the exact second when his ears were about to pop the lower he went. They did so as he expected, and the sound of the old wooden stairs creaked just like Moalley would describe his laugh. It was dim down in the cells, with scarcely a candle to guide his way. Yet he knew exactly where to go. After clattering around to find his keys, he opened a dusty oaken door without a peephole. The keys groaned as he twisted. When the vague light traced into the cells, the outline of the Sea King's face, the bastard David Brass, could be made. His wrists were chained around his cell, so he was sitting on the floor. 

"The King uhv the Chair!" Grennick proclaimed, adding the first signs of life to the cells presumably had been in days. "No chair now it seems, though. A shame, really. You seemed quite taken with it." He grinned to show off his worn and crooked teeth. "What will it be now then? King uhv the mouldy, shit-ridden floor? King uhv the the chains? King uhv the iron bars? ... King uhv the whip?" That last suggestion was said in a low, ominous tone. Grennick knelt slightly so he could be at eye-level with the prisoner.

"That'd be fitting, wun' it? Considering 'ow many you've put to it before and 'ow now you're branded by it." The irony wasn't lost on the captive, he was sure, though he did enjoy parading it right in front of the man's face. "You certainly don't look like any King uff the Seas I've ever seen. Not after a *Woman* Pulled you down like a common peasant, stripped you from your garb and *Whipped* You in broad daylight like a dog. Why, I dun' even know if you look much like a man anymore." Grennick laughed. It almost sounded like he was choking on smoke. Almost like a blacksmith's hammer had been lodged in his throat, but continued its master's bidding by ramming and rattling around in there, conjuring up Grennick's amusements rather than good steel.
Boyd
The sudden light and subsequent harassment from his food-bringer met the self-titled Sea King's eyes and ears all at once. The Brass King looked less kingly while he sat in the shadows like a beggar on his knees. David's face, once fully in view, looked unkempt; his normally short brown hair and beard looked more like seaweed, blackened by the dirt from the ship and dampened from the sweat and oil off his unwashed body.

He spat at Grennick's feet. "You southerners never speak with a clear voice," The Brass bastard said. His throat sounded drained and dry as he spoke his insult towards his food-bringer. He didn't have much to drink, only enough to keep him alive for whatever the Pirate King wished from him. 

The dim lights of the dark cells flickered each time David moved, so he had to be careful with each of his movements, not wanting to stumble into the remnants of his last meal that littered his cell. The stench was hidden by the strong smell of the salty waters, almost a blessing from Dovka herself, blocking the awful odours from his cell. The darkness did well to also hide the wounds on his back. They had mostly healed, but his scars run deep. The dark yellow rags placed on him were very unsuitable for a king of any kind. Though they barely covered him, he was hidden by the dimness of the cell.

David took a moment before leading back and gazing upwards at Grennick. "That *Woman* Would snap your neck quicker than a winged scale stealing a stone-shell's eggs. You speak only now with backbone." The chained king coughed before addressing his food-bringer. "I never thought the likes of you could be first mate. My forgetfulness has gotten the best of me down here. Either way, I didn't know they had the duties of a waitress in the south. You look dressed for such a part." David did well to hide his anger as he rubbed his chains across the floor slightly as he continued to speak. "You cannot move me as the sea herself guides me, do you not see that?" He questioned.

The blowing of the wind from the sea could be heard as silence between the pair took over. The unkempt captive chattered his teeth slowly before uttering his next words, looking into Grennick's green eyes. "This is the third time I've had to suffer under your unwanted smile. I suggest you just depart after offering my feed." He rattled his chains. "Unless you offer anything worth my hearing, I'd rather sit within my throne of chains, wearing my crown of cold and sitting within my royal hall of fucking darkness than hear you entertaining yourself." David shook his head then paused and started laughing; a long and twisted laugh, the sound twisted almost like the wind from outside on the ship.

The Sea King was, after all this time, entertained, realising something. "You do walk down here to entertain yourself. First mate is a position that should be carried with a point, not carried as a burden. Yet you hold it as a burden and you want to lessen such a burden on me, because at this moment I may be under your power, as you think. Nay– even now you hold no true power, just a pretender with a cracked face. Jester. That is what you'll be. A jester for the Sea King is what you are."
Dorothy
Grennick had spent almost the entirety of the time the captive had been flurrying barbs and shanks his way by helping himself to his meal of stewed trout, taking extra time to lick the spoon clean and chuckle at whatever his prisoner had to say. 

"Fuuuuckin' 'ell," He said after the Sea King had finished his ranting and ravings. "It really is like the ramblings of a soft-'eaded lunatic whenever you speak, innit?" He asked, taking another spoon-full of the meal. 

"You say us southerners don't talk so good, but I couldn' understand a single fuckin' word that came out uhv your stupid mouth just then. 'Winged scale' and 'stone-shells'. What the fuck *Is* That?" He sounded almost angry enquiring about it. The very notion of that foreign, ridiculous man remarking about some foreign, ridiculous thing seemed to offend him. "Absolute poppycock *Shit,* Whatever it is. Made up bollocks from some inbred savage fool, lordin' ohva uhva inbred savage fools. Your bruhvas and sistas most like." The thought caused Grennick to chortle. If David's laugh was the twisting winds of the waves, Grennick's was the sound of crashing ships. 

Grennick stood his full form once again, causing his knees to pop. He took another mouthful before saying, "I'm second mate, you blitherin' wanka. You know that." He wrapped his idle hand around the iron bars that secured the Sea King on his new throne. "See, ranks and stations actually mean somethin' on the Isles. Every nook and cranny 'as significance in traversing what the Tides Barer sets out to test us wiv. We saw 'ow well your crew and ship fared. Nuffin' but a bunch of gormless northern fuckwits 'oo'ed sooner bash an oar ohva anuhva' rower's 'ead and bare-back 'is unconscious body than use it to sail the seas." He settled down the dish inches away from, only a finger's reach away from being able to grab it.

He lowered himself once again. "You fink I'm the jester 'ere, but... Just look at you, wearing those shit-stained rags, sitting down 'ere in the dark, not knowing if it's dawn or dusk, pouting over the lashings a woman much stronger than you gave you. The sea guides you, aye.'' He took his other hand and wrapped it around the iron bars and pulled himself closer to the prisoner. "It guides you directly to your deaff. You've lost, my friend. You lost everyfing in one fell-swoop and you still fink you've got a big enuff cock to say uhvawise. You're in the bowels uhv the *King's Wisdom* Yet you are the most delusional, mindless man in any realm, anywhere." 

Grennick leant his elbow and forearm across the bars, taking a more casual stance. It also blocked the view of David's mouth, which pleased him. "I *Really* Don't fuckin' like you. The very first time I saw you poncin' and gallivantin' about the mansion, I knew you were someone 'oo fought' they were untouchable. People 'av said that exact same fing about me before, but I never cared. I s'pose we're similar on that front. Why care if someone don't like you if they're weaker than you, or lesser than you?" He looked up and down the iron bars and tested their integrity by shaking them, which rattled David's chains. "It's all about power, though. I 'ad the power to not give a shit if some lickspittle didn't like me because I knew I could crush them, and you knew it didn't matter if someone didn't like you, because you and uhva people were stupid enuff to fink that you're some sort uhv king. You believed no one would dare touch the king." Grennick laughed again, like nails scratching on chalk. "But now you're in 'ere, completely 'elpless. Would that really happen to the king?"

The second mate swiped the dish he saw the beggar king had been eyeing since he set it down and held it in his hands. He snorted as painstakingly long as he could with his broken nose before coughing up a clump of mucus and saliva into the dish. It looked like a malignant poison had corrupted the contents of the meal. He then proceeded to pour it over the captive's head until it was dripping off of his head and onto his worn rags. The stewed trout mixed with his saliva and snot crowned the fallen king, like he had been immersed in some foul witch's concoction. It poured off him in clumps, like a malignant ichor from a pustular sore. "That's the fing about power," He told him after he was finished pouring it onto him, still holding it in its slanted position. "It's eva-changing. Out there, before, you were king uhv some rock and I was some middleman uhv some cargo ship. But in 'ere, now, you're nuffin' but a beggar, and I'm the fuckin' king. And it is with righteous aufourity that I decree that you, my 'umble subject, will be broken by the time you're 'and-delivered to Carter." He stared at him for an uncomfortably long period. "No one's untouchable," He said, before turning to leave.
Boyd
David Brass leaned back against the shadow-covered walls for a long moment, aiming to understand the foreign accent of his watcher. He felt his chains rattled, but never rose to the provocation. David remained silent for the duration of his captor's spiel, allowing the second mate his sense of control, the sense of power, though truly thinking that all of Grennick's words were humorous. His smirk was hidden by his poorly-groomed beard and the shadows of his confines. It was entertaining to David; his jester was doing what he wished. 

David continued to think about many matters at that moment. He paused his anger-filled convictions and watched on. The entertainment just kept going. For a man that said the Sea King rambled, he spoke more needlessly than Old Vickon. Unnecessary ego was a true showing of a weak man, all capped off by the actions and words of this bragard David was faced with. *He could have dropped the food and departed, but no. My jester wishes to please himself like a common whore before me.* He looked at the meal in question that had been placed mere inches from his cell. *I'll allow it, and soon twist him to my will.* David thought that could be his way out of chains. *By Dokva does he ever shut up? This is just sad now. A man wishing to just be so self-important. All I have is time, yet still he is wasting it*.

The mind of the Sea King stopped at an idea, and leaned forward as much as his chains allowed him. He cleared his throat. "A man of great insight. Again, a pity you remain down here so much with a mindless, delusional vagrant such as myself. Still, you entertain... Entertain yourself, *And* Myself." He carefully rose to his knees, so he no longer remained on the filthy floor. The effort proved to be a great struggle. His physically fit body had started to deteriorate in captivity, alongside his treatment from the Southern Islanders. When he properly positioned himself, he breathed and sighed heavily whilst eyeing Grennick, so much so that it almost dulled the sounds of the waves beneath them. Eventually, he coughed out a laugh. The laughter was short, but dark in nature before David Brass spoke again. "Your time is clearly more valuable than mine. Why not speak of your observations to your crew. They must respect you, eh? With you being second mate and all. Or perhaps...," He paused, his lips up-turning into a slight smirk. "Well, I shouldn't be telling tales. A king shouldn't produce discontent."

David Brass then felt the stew pour on top of him in slimy, cold clusters. The half-eaten, poorly-aged meal dripped down his forehead. He did not rise to it, however, and remained stone-faced as his tormentor spoke his piece. The situation didn't call for any rash reaction. A king knew when to allow his rage to take him, and when to allow a slight, only to perhaps return the favour later on. The prisoner of the *King's Wisdom* Shrugged his strong, sinewy shoulders and slowly sat back down. His dishevelled form rejoined with the shadows of his cell. "What do I know? I am the only man with nothing to gain from speaking this to you. Still, perhaps you'll be able to visit me more often with less duties to hold."

"Your words ring true, no man is untouchable." The king gritted his teeth as his dark silver eyes remained locked on his food-bringer, his jester, his way out, perhaps. "Some can be more difficult to touch; less under threat when not alone. It seems at this moment you are alone, at least to my eyes and," He gestured around him. "I know that feeling of being alone also. Our reasons for that are different. I remain locked up in darkness. You are alone up there, being used by a crew that doesn't respect you. And well... Perhaps the position of second mate might be changed." He clicked his tongue at the end, to punctuate his point.

*Delivered to Carter,* David thought to himself, *Which one, the cold elder head of their selfish house or the petulant younger brother that failed in rebellion against the elder? Well, a failed rebellion is what scrolls and rumours told me.* David pondered that a moment longer. *It was a battle of Carters, the details were not important. Anything of worth is written within my family's collection of tales to remember. The spiked squid uses its mind as well as its jagged tendrils to prepare for danger. Either one of those despots of the mainland would take my head. Dokva would not allow that and neither will I.* David's thoughts drifted for a moment almost like the sea carrying the boat they were on, not even allowing the words of his watcher to really sink in.
Dorothy
The second mate of the *King's Wisdom* Had poured the contents of what would have been the prisoner's meal over his head to shut him up and assert his dominance over the situation. When Brass huddled backwards into the shadows, without another word, contradiction, or utterance, seemingly defeated, a sick satisfaction washed over Grennick. He smirked the most insidious smirk he could muster before smugly beginning his ascent back up to the ship. 

That was until the bastard spoke from the depths of his gloom. 

Grennick stopped in his tracks, almost denting the waned woodwork on the floor within the vessel's jail cells with the heel of his boot with how abruptly he stopped. Those words from the dark, it was nothing more than the drivel of a ghost; a damned, heathen soul that would soon be snuffed out when the Tides Barer dragged it to the pit of the sea's never-ending damnation. Or... He would answer to whatever heretic god he never shut his mouth about. The thought of this oppressor, this supposed king being attainted by the very god he worshipped was better than any fuck from any wench waiting at the port towns for him. Yet still, even with that thought presiding in him, he had halted at the Sea King's words. 

He snarled, grinding his worn, chipped teeth together, and clenched his ringed fingers into a fist until they grew white. He inhaled before turning back to the darkness that beckoned him. 

"You nevah shut that stupid fuckin' gob of yours, do you? You fuckin' *Love* Natterin' on and on, 'earin' the sound of your own voice, don't you?" He paced back to iron bars and pounded his clenched fists on them, making the frame rattle slightly again. Grennick gripped at the bars whilst he pressed his forehead to the bars. His flat cap shadowed his face, obstructing his features like a visor of darkness.

"You're someone that finks that they can and always *Will* Get the last word. That's what you fink constitutes as power...," After a moment of contemplation, he stood back up right and moved back slightly into the narrow, dim column of light that the torch from the hallway offered. 

"I s'pose that's what a king finks 'e's entitled to. The final say." He laughed, shaking his head. It sounded like the rattling of a snake before it striked. "Not down 'ere, boy. Nah. Down 'ere this is **My** Fuckin' domain. You 'ear me?! **I AM THE FUCKIN' KING DOWN 'ERE!"** The rage in Grennick's voice when he shouted seemed to shake the entirety of the dungeon. The one torch that gave them a modicum of vision faded even more. There was a silence in the bowels of the *King's Wisdom* That seemed to last a century. Eventually, Grennick laughed again, realising he was playing into Brass' game. 

"I bet you fink you're so fuckin' smart, don't you?" He asked, starting to pace back and forth whilst he fixated on the figure alone in the black. "I'm sure you fink you're coy, or cunning. Try'na sow seeds of doubt and make it out like them boys up there walk all ovah me like shit on their boots. Right. Very good." Grennick laughed again. It sounded like the bastard's chains scraping against the floor whenever he would move them. "I'm sure on your dismal little rock that's what counts as intelligence. I guess that's why you're their king... Or well, *Were."* He smirked, and so his broken nose appeared even more crooked. Grennick was a man with a nose that bent very easily, but an ego that refused to ever bend to anything.

He looked up for a moment, extending his neck upwards so much so that it almost appeared to be a strain. In the dark, his murky green eyes looked almost reptilian when he locked them onto the ceiling. Then, his gaze drifted back to the object of his infatuation. He sucked his teeth. "'ey, listen mate, I get it. 'undreds of years ago, our Isles were no be'ah than yours. We was just a buncha savages. That was until we were colonised and turned all 'civilised'." He gave an exhale, indicating amusement. "So I'm sure, considering your circumstances and where you come from, you *Are* As coy and cunning as you fink you are." 

Grennick scratched at his clean-shaven face. The irritant he felt was stubble coming in, or perhaps something else. "As for me being someone else's whippin' boy, I'm afraid you're the only in 'ere 'oo fits that role. I don't get walked on. **I** Walk on them. 'ell, I *Leap* Over 'em and stomp the bottom of my 'eel into their skulls to get ahead. 'ow'd you fink I got to be second mate in the first place?" He laughed into the vast, empty darkness. "Mah'er of fact, the lads and I got a bet goin', yeah." He reached into his pocket to pull out some valuables. "Three pieces 'a silver goin' on when I can break you to the point you renounce your 'eretic god. The lads fink it'll take me a while, seeing as you're barkin' mad. But I ain't evah lost a wager on the *King's Wisdom."* He smirked, pocketing the coins once again. 

He knelt down once again to retrieve the dish he had used to pour the Sea King's meal on his head. He threw it between the iron bars, sending it crashing and cluttering into all the other plates Brass' cell had been littered with. "Grub's up. Enjoy it, *Your grace.*" The second mate made his way out the oaken door of the jail cells, taking a second to look back before slamming it shut.
Boyd
The Sea King David Brass simply smirked in the shadows as he reached towards his meal. "I will enjoy it. Jester." The Young Brass chuckled to himself.