Dale
Darin's journey to Iron Gate was fraught with much boredom and bitterness. Sure, he hadn't died, but getting captured wasn't all that much better to Darin. The cuffs were too tight. The rag they had put in his mouth to stop him from biting more people and constantly blaring obscenities tasted like old sweat and crotch rot. The little wagon he was tied up in really didn't meet the standards of what he considered to be adequate nobleman transport. Maybe for some half-wit Baron, but he was a *Duke!* He deserved a bit of respect. And perhaps worst of all, he had this constant ache at the back of his head from whatever club they had doinked him with, and he couldn't even rub it or anything. Honestly, right now Darin would have been quite comfortable a couple feet under the ground in a hastily dug grave. Still, that didn't stop the duke from planning his escape. He was dead-set on not being brought before John De Burgh. At one point the dingy wagon he was thrown into the back of hit a rock and bounced a bit. With this momentum, he managed to throw himself backwards and tumble over the edge, onto the ground behind it. Of course the guards immideatly noticed this escape attempt and threw him back on, so all it accomplished was getting his clothes a bit more dusty. Still, Darin wasn't planning on going easily. That much became evident as he attempted three more escape attempts, none of them particularily fruitful, and only making his guards increasingly paranoid.

This miserable journey went on for about a day or so. Darin wasn't keeping much track. But soon enough, the men on his wagon recieved a message of some sort. There was a sudden mumble and commotion, and the odd comment about "Do we *HAVE* To..?", but suddenly Darin found the gag removed, the cuffs replaced with something a bit more manageable, his clothes dusted off, and his presence treated with a lot more respect. At first it made him suspicious, and he attempted another escape attempt during a bathroom break, but was pinned by three fellows who quickly tackled him. So he went with it, for now. As much as Darin disliked it, he'd have to bide his time, and wait for an opportune moment where he could spring into action and get away. That was, if such a moment even revealed itself. Not particularily shockingly, it didn't.

Darin briefly enjoyed the respect he was suddenly given. Being given actual food instead of leftover slop was a nice change of pace, and people referring to him as "Duke Zacharov" Wasn't bad either. But soon, it dawned on him what this all meant. And it filled him with absolute dread and loathing. While they had never formally met, Darin was somewhat familiar with De Burgh. He knew that he had a silver tongue, and easily subdued the more dimwitted nobles with his speeches and orations. A clever man, no doubt. And a clever man like that had no reason to have Darin treated respectfully if he was just going to be brought to the capital to be slammed onto some executioners block and promptly beheaded, as to nip any further resistance in the bud. No, this all pointed Darin towards one logical conclusion- De Burgh was going to bring Darin before him, then give some grand speech and try to convince him to join his side, because blah blah blah, good of the people, blah blah blah, Northwind does not need a war, and blah blah blah, think of the children or whatever other sentimental schlock he'd spill. Just thinking of it made Darin groan loudly and throw his head back, staring at the cloudy, and increasingly cold, skies. He didn't want to be here. He'd rather be back in the Grey Hills, doing anything other than this.

Still, this all presented an opportunity. As much as he hated it, Darin would just have to play along for now.. At least until he got to Iron Gate. He had gotten out of trouble before. That one time he had been captured during the Wars of Grey Hills Succession by the Lord of Blackstone had been resolved dramatically, with him leaping out of a window several floors high, landing in a pile of hay, and fighting his way to the stables using a woodcutter's axe he nabbed before making a hasty getaway on a stolen pony. He'd make *Something* Up, at *Some* Point. This he was confident of. Unfortunately he didn't make something up quick enough, and while in the process of eyeing possible paths among the snowy rocks he could make a run for, he failed to realise an important detail- He had already arrived at the eponymous Iron Gates of, you guessed it, Iron Gate.
Jeremy
"Oh Merc, I think sending him a bloodhound should get the message across" Kharlyle stated. "And oh I meant something other than the letter" Kharlyle tossed a ring across the table. "The sigil of House Morcaster, Yeah, I've never gotten your taste, but I thought it might go well with your collection" The man's finger was attached to the ring, but Kharlyle thought it best to keep that part to himself.

"Well, I'll be honest guy, dis was simply delightful, the ride up 'ere, it was" Whalren said without emotion on his face. "I may not know you, or of you, but them guards can keep a conversation mate" The bear man stood up and towered over the guard behind him, putting his massive paw on his shoulder. "Dis one right 'ere yeah, Stannis"
Bobby
"Hm. This will be good in manipulating things under his name." Mercurio murmured as he inspected the signet ring of the late Morcaster. He had to admit that it was quite garish. It had fancy swirls on every crevice on the piece of jewelry, making it hard to read and quite frankly made it stood out. Not in the good way.

Mercurio then thanked the servants as they brought forth the main course for dinner tonight. Roasted winterquail along with shepherds pie, accompanied with some red wine to match the meats.

"And a bloodhound, you say?" He picked up his fork and knife and began cutting up the pie. "Shall we also equip him with our armor and a sword as a message of goodwill?" 

He then the piece of food in his mouth, chewing as he awaited his brother's answer.
Jeremy
"Oh don't worry. He will be well equipped in slaver armor, a bloodhound trademark" Kharlyle grinned as he feasted on bread, pushing away his main course. "And as for the sword, I was thinking he'd use the kleaver, impractical as it may be, it instills a sense of intimidation carrying around a thick serrated blade like that" Kharlyle only ate the crusts of the bread, leaving the soft center in the bowl. "Maybe we'll have him kill one of Zacharovs kids or something, I just want to get that message across"

Kharlyle sighed at the thought "Yes, maybe Duke Zacharov the Kind would mistep with his wording and say something he might regret just to find his youngest hanging above his bed" Kharlyle's eyes stared open unblinking at Mercurio's "Though I suppose child killing isn't an apt topic for Sunday dinner" And Kharlyle laughed loudly.
Bobby
"Now, now, brother. Killing a child will certainly unprofessional, especially when this Zacharov can be a potential customer." Mercurio said, unfolding the parchment and placing it on the table for both to see. 

"Don't you see? With a conflict like this, he'd need someone like us with our bountiful resources. This is an opportunity. And perhaps, if this Duke plays it right, John may see himself losing. And who will he turn to for more resources?"
Jeremy
"That's exactly why Merc, you think Zacharov will refuse the buisness of a man willing to kill his son for nothing" Kharlyle tore bread from its crust."No, he'll have no choice but to take our buisness. The fear we instill with be a lasting relationship, he'll learn to love it in time" Kharlyle slowed his tone "Though, just a thought"

"Just a thought" He repeated.
Bobby
"Keep in mind that we also want him to think that we're on his side." Mercurio countered. "Killing his child, a means to carry on a bloodline, would be rather offensive and detrimental to his name. No, we can't do that, Lyle. Not to mention, he might turn *Against* Us. We certainly don't want that."
Jeremy
"Hell, someone turning against us. That'd be a nice change, at least someone who isn't a slave that is" Kharlyle laughed again. "Fine I'll compromise, we'll kill his daughter" Lyle grinned widely and waited for his brother's reaction to laugh. "Alright fine Merc, just don't go soft on me. I feel like we aren't instilling the fear we could be, and the fear we need to get any room in this bloody insatiable country. Merc, I hate to say, but there are men out there willing to do much worse than us for much less... We can't give anyone any advantage at all" Lyle sounded genuinely frightened, and though he didn't know of any man worse than him, he did know of Northwind and he was certain they existed.