Euron smelled the decay of the city before he had laid eyes on it.

The men abroad his vessel, The Grey King, guffawed, drank and jostled among one another, relating bawdy songs and taking pleasure in how their newly seized salt wives - many of them with faraway glazes over their eyes as if they now viewed the world through a fogged pane of glass - winced and suppressed groans of disgust as the Ironborn's gnarled hands, sometimes still faintly stained crimson from the bloodshed upon the stepstones, groped and tugged upon tender mounds of flesh. Euron had long since grown jaded and withdrawn from the practices of his fellows, viewing it as little more as the course of nature that the weak would be forever subjugated by the strong. And the Ironborn seem to be most in touch with their bestial side. Roderick 'Roddy' the Red in particular, one of the most skilled and equally boisterous raiders under Euron lapped away his ale like a pig to trough before loudly slapping the rear of his buxom salt wife, a woman with almond skin and shining emerald eyes that seemed to be on the verge of breaking into tears. One of the thralls that had been serving the man suddenly froze at the sight of this, face and cheeks going as dark a red as the blood he looked ready to spill, which contrasted heavily with his indigo eyes and silver hair.

Somehow, he seemed to restrain himself, humbly serving another man a goblet of ale and enduring the insults with a naught but a smile. A brief moment of laxness laid over the boat and in that stillness, the man pounced with the agility of a cat and the precision of a hawk. "What the bloody fu- GAK" Roddy was cut off, his freckled face lighting up with surprise at the unpredictably strong hands that now wrapped around his throat like the constricting length of a serpent. Some of the Ironborn continued to drink and look on, while others rapidly pushed themselves onto their feet and began to advance towards the brawl. While all their attentions were averted, none but Euron noticed the almond skinned woman, with a swift swipe of her hand place something into his ale.

Intrigued, 'Blackjoy' himself rose to his feet and slammed his fist onto the oaken table, the sharp thud silencing the men and briefly halting the shuffle. "Enough." Euron's eyes, liked chipped ice, snapped onto the two combatants, the silver haired man who stared down his opponent with a cool confidence and Roddy, who gasped and snarled with excretion and rage as burning as the hair that earned his nickname. "Who are you and why did you seek to draw the blood of a Ironborn?" The question was delivered to the silver haired man who replied calmly: "I am Vogarro of Lys and this filthy animal touches my wife as if he had never seen a woman before in his life. I refuse to suffer it." Roderick jeered in response, spittle flying forth from his mouth and catching in his beard. "This blade sawing off your fucking head is what you're goin' to fuckin' suffer and after that, I'll fuck your wife's cunt bloody. I'm sure with your little cock she's still tight." Roderick twisted his head to his captain. "Euron, let me deal with this wretched fool right quick so me 'n da boys can get back to drinking." Euron impassively turned his head back to the silver haired man, than to Roderick again before announcing: "You two shall duel." The murmur amidst the raiders went up to a roar, but Roderick himself merely scoffed. "Aye, I could kill this idiot with one hand on my cock and the other one on his wife's arse." Laughed raucously, grasped the mug of ale that the almond skinned woman, apparently Vogarro's wife, handed him with a disarming, delicate smile. Gulping from it freely, he briefly squinted and smacked his lips as if something was albeit odd but finally shrugged, grabbed an axe and walked out to the deck to confront Vogarro.

Euron, accompanied by his First Mate Martyn Codd watched as a ring of Ironborn formed around the two combatants, the looming spires of King's Landing over the horizon appearing as a giant spectator of the event. "Weapon of choice, Vogarro?" Inquired Euron as the ship rocked beneath their fleet and water splashed from the sea and whipped at the men that occupied the deck. This Lysense appeared unaffected by seasickness and confident in his skills -- most likely than not, he was a Stepstone Pirate himself. "Sword." Martyn fetched one of the captured blades and tossed it to Vogarro who caught it with expertise. The silver haired Pirate examined the blade, murmuring something about the grip being ill fitting before taking a Essosi fighting stance, inspired by but not quite emulating the fluid dueling style of the Braavosi Bravos.

"Begin."

Roderick, to his credit, did not savagely charge forward like the barbarian one would expect him to be. Both, skilled and experienced warriors, he and Vogarro circled one another, like lions battling for control of a pride. Vogarro was the first to strike, swinging his sword towards Roderick's side. The raider smirked and twisted his wrist to deflect the blow, only to discover it to be a feint and receive the flat side of the blade in his gut which caused him to briefly kneel over. Unrelenting, Vogarro lunged forth with burning eyes, and perhaps too eager for the kill, attempt to bury the point of the sword into Roddy's throat. However, Roddy had recovered quickly and managed to bat the swords aside with his axe and in the same, fluid motion, snap his elbow across Vogarro's cheek. A sparkle of white took flight through the air - a tooth. The silver haired duelist staggered backwards, leaning, but not quite slumping, against the railing of the vessel. "Feel good, fucker?" Taunted Roderick who grinned wolfishly and wrapped two hands around the handle of his axe. Vogarro spat out a wad of blood and smirked. "Enough that I feel obligated to return the favor."

And so they clashed, Vogarro moving in a liquid, flexible manner, parrying, side stepping and riposting while Roderick used his strength to swing and hack in a far more brutish manner. Despite the asymmetrical nature of their combat, one seemed to match the other. Soon enough, however, Roderick's strikes would become sloppy, sluggish, his eyelids heavy. Euron's mind couldn't help but wander back to the image of the almond skinned woman dropping a liquid into Roderick's drink. *Clever. The women shed the tears of crocodiles so they would not think her a threat."

With a final roar, Roderick lifted his axe above his head, intending to cleave open Vogarro's head like a ripe melon. Instead, Vogarro moved with the swiftness of a lightning strike. Roddy's eyes widened as cold steel bit through his stomach. The veteran raider staggered to the side, mouth agaped with rivulets of crimosn spilling forth like death's river. Attempting to stagger forth towards Vogarro and lift his axe in one last, desperate attempt for victory, he soon lost his footing and collapsed to his knees. There, his intestines slithered from his belly, red and steaming. Roderick fell onto his face, twitched and then the light went out of his eyes. The stench of voided bowels confirmed his death to Euron who ordered his body thrown over the railings and given to the Drowned God.

Vogarro dropped his blade and embraced his wife, speaking to her in a corrupted dialect of Valyrian, though he could identify the world 'Kiera' being used to acknowledge her, most of the Ironborn raiders being too shocked to react. Eventually one small, black bearded one stepped forth to Euron and sputtered out: "We're just gonna let 'em kill Roddy like that?" The 'Blackjoy' impassively turned to the man and responded: "Roderick was a cunt." The various Ironborn looked at one another. "Fucker owed me ten dragons for years now ever since I beat him at cyvasse." One finally agreed and the situation was solved with a silent murmur of agreement. Euron strided towards Vogarro.

After a brief talk, Vogarro agreed to join Euron Greyjoy, replacing Roderick because as Euron put it "You can either brave the streets of King's Landing and try to find a boat back to Essos or you can serve here with us and be paid far more than whatever rag-tag band you served with paid you."

Soon after this incident, The Grey King would soon dock at King's Landing, dropping anchor amidst a buzz of activity that the Grand Tournament brought, the various shiphands and dock workers swarming and running about like a gigantic insect colony. Euron left his crew mostly to their own devices as he slid on his chainmail hauberk, strapped his shield and axes to his body and ventured forth into the wretched underbelly of the corrupted city that bled filth like a pus filled wound, deciding to explore before presenting himself at the Red Keep or whatever the Ironborn would be quartered more out of curiosity than anymore.

[Open. Anyone may encounter and interact with the strong, half summer islander Ironborn Captain Euron Greyjoy.]