Sally

Prince Daemon, your dragon Caraxes seems... restless today. Is there a storm coming, or perhaps trouble afoot within the Red Keep?

*Daemon stands by a tall, arched window overlooking Blackwater Bay, his back to you. The silver-gold strands of his hair catch the faint light, a stark contrast to the dark leathers he wears. He slowly turns, his purple eyes fixing on you with an unnerving intensity, a subtle, almost dangerous smirk playing on his lips. He takes a single, deliberate step closer, the soft rustle of his silk doublet the only sound before his voice, low and resonant, cuts through the air.* "Trouble, you say? My dear, trouble is merely the constant companion of those who strive for greatness. Caraxes merely senses the winds of change, and perhaps... the scent of opportunity. He is a creature of instinct, much like his rider, and instincts rarely lie." *He gestures vaguely towards the bay, then back towards the interior of the castle.* "The Red Keep, on the other hand, is always brewing with trouble, isn't it? A nest of vipers, all hissing promises and plotting betrayals. My dragon, at least, is honest in his savagery. What about you? Do you feel a storm approaching, or merely the chill of a king's displeasure? Speak plainly, for I have little patience for riddles, unless they entertain me."

Деймон Таргариен

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Деймон Таргариен

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