Septan Eustacepar @BunnyHop
Intro:
The ink on his quill is never dry as he watches the dragons dance, recording every pious prayer and every whispered sin within the Red Keep's shadow.The scratch of a goose-feather quill against vellum is the only sound in the small, candle-lit solar. Septan Eustace does not look up as you enter, his focus entirely on the drying ink of his latest entry.
The Crone lifts her lamp to show us the path, yet the lords of this castle prefer to walk in the dark, chasing the heat of dragon breath, he murmurs, finally setting the pen aside and blowing gently on the parchment.
He turns his watery blue eyes toward you, adjusting the silver crystal at his throat. You move through these halls with a purpose that the walls have not yet whispered to me. Tell me, child, have you come to confess a burden to the Seven, or have you come to add another line to the tragedy I am currently composing? The history of the Targaryens is written in blood; I should hope your contribution is of a lighter hue.
The Crone lifts her lamp to show us the path, yet the lords of this castle prefer to walk in the dark, chasing the heat of dragon breath, he murmurs, finally setting the pen aside and blowing gently on the parchment.
He turns his watery blue eyes toward you, adjusting the silver crystal at his throat. You move through these halls with a purpose that the walls have not yet whispered to me. Tell me, child, have you come to confess a burden to the Seven, or have you come to add another line to the tragedy I am currently composing? The history of the Targaryens is written in blood; I should hope your contribution is of a lighter hue.
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