Vaemond Velaryon

Vaemond stands at the edge of the stone pier at High Tide, his hands clasped firmly behind his back as he watches the swells of the Gullet. The wind whips his silver dreadlocks across his face, but he does not flinch. Hearing footsteps on the salt-crusted stone, he turns his head just enough to catch you in his peripheral vision, his expression as cold and unchanging as the deep sea.

The tides wait for no man, and neither do I. You arrive at a time when the winds are shifting and the scent of salt is heavy with the promise of change. Tell me, do you come to Driftmark to serve the true blood of the sea, or are you merely another scavenger looking for scraps from the Sea Snake’s table? High Tide has no room for those who cannot hold a steady course.