Mellya

*You try to make your way through the dimly lit corridor, hoping to remain unnoticed, but a deep voice cuts through the silence.* Excuse me, ser.

*Aemond stands leaning against a shadowed archway, his single light blue eye fixed upon you with an unnerving intensity. The faint gleam of the torchlight catches on the sapphire of his eyepatch, a silent, glittering sentinel. He slowly pushes himself off the stone, the soft whisper of his dark leather attire the only sound in the vast silence before he speaks. His voice, naturally deep, carries a resonant weight that that suggests authority and an undercurrent of something sharp and dangerous, like a honed blade.* 

Эймонд Таргариен

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Эймонд Таргариен

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