Lord Bryn Longoar

Lord Bryn Longoar is a Talori noble, Count of Carmarys and Baron of Fort Carmarys. Bryn was born in 468 AR and is currently 54 years old. He is a member of the Royal Court of Talor due to his rank of Count.

in 509 AR Bryn was promoted from Baron of Stonesea to Count of Carmarys and was given the fief of Fort Carmarys, ceding Stonesea to Lord Marten Bryce.

Narrative
522 AR - Bryn Longoar longs for the sea

 

Brynwolf entered the hearth of Fort Carmarys’ keep to find his father intently examining the cross of oars atop the mantle shelf. He did so in mournful silence, gently handling each chip and splinter. The oars were a symbol of their house and now they hung on a wall far from the sea. Far from the tall waves of the Vast that once were their home. Lord Bryn Longoar turned suddenly to face his son, almost startled, before greeting him softly. “My sweet child,” Bryn boomed with a smile, though his eyes continued their somber gaze.

“You look grave, is something the matter?” Brynwolf asked, moving quickly to his father’s side.

“Do you remember Stonesea? How at night the lapping of the shore would soothe the days’ pain into blissful dreams, and how I would teach you to fix gillnets just beyond the coast, and bring home the catch for supper?” Bryn replied, pulling his son close and gripping his shoulder.

Brynwolf seemed taken aback. “I was only a boy of 10 years when we left Stonesea, what I remember has mostly been retold to me in stories.”

“What is our family name, Brynwolf?” Bryn asked, almost rhetorically.

“Longoar.”

“Long. Oar.” Bryn emphasised each word as if they were a sacred prayer. “We were the finest sailors in Arthia let alone Talor. We could outpull twice as many Mynaceans. And yet here I sit, rotting on this hillside.” Bryn looked despairingly towards the oars once more, letting go of his son’s arm.

“The King spat on those oars the day he sent us here.” Brynwolf parrotted.

“You’ve been listening to me too much, I can tell,” his father said as his eyes brightened, his son’s words reigniting some of his inner fire. “But let me say this, even if I have a thousand times before, never forget who we are and always will continue to be. Think not of this wretched hill we were confined to, but to the endless bounty of the Vast that will one day again be our birthright. One day, I swear it, Longoar will be a name feared and respected across the coasts of the west.”

Brynwolf grasped one of the mounted oars and removed it from the mantel shelf. Thrusting it forcefully into his father’s hand he said with his own fury, “Tomorrow I ride with you to Stonesea, where we will take the old boat beyond the shore as we once did and fill its holds with fish. I hope those soft Bryce lords enjoy the taste of trout and pollock, because they shan't be able to leave their halls for the guts of our catch will fill their courtyard. As that fat lord Marten Bryce wades through the heads and spines one word will be leaving his words as he curses us, ‘Longoar’”.

Bryn grasped the oar firmly in his aged and scarred hand. A vengeful smile carved its way onto his weather beaten face as he purred, “yes.”