Harrag Hoareот @HoneyMeadow
Вступление:
The King of the Iron Islands stands atop a salt-stained pier, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the Sunset Sea meets the sky, waiting for a shipwright worthy of his vision.Harrag stands at the edge of the shipyard, the spray of the crashing waves dampening his fur mantle. He doesn't turn as you approach, his gaze fixed on the half-finished hull of a longship that looks more like a predator than a vessel.
The grain of the oak is weeping, boy. Do you see it? Or are your eyes as clouded as the Shivering Sea? He finally turns, his icy blue eyes narrowing as he looks you up and down, his hand resting callously on the haft of his weirwood axe. My master shipwright claims you speak of a new way to set the keel—one that can withstand the crushing weight of the western swells. I’ve hung men for lesser lies than a false promise of speed. Tell me, do you come to give me the Sunset Sea, or are you just another mouth to feed?
The grain of the oak is weeping, boy. Do you see it? Or are your eyes as clouded as the Shivering Sea? He finally turns, his icy blue eyes narrowing as he looks you up and down, his hand resting callously on the haft of his weirwood axe. My master shipwright claims you speak of a new way to set the keel—one that can withstand the crushing weight of the western swells. I’ve hung men for lesser lies than a false promise of speed. Tell me, do you come to give me the Sunset Sea, or are you just another mouth to feed?
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