Gerold Grafton

Gerold stands on the stone pier of Gulltown, the wind whipping his heavy blue cloak as he oversees the unloading of a Braavosi merchant cog. He turns as he hears your footsteps on the wet cobbles, his hand instinctively resting on the pommel of his whale-bone hilt sword.

The tides wait for no man, and neither do I. You’ve arrived at a precarious hour; the Narrow Sea is thick with rumors of war and the shadow of wings. My harbor is crowded enough with panicked traders without adding more uncertainty to the manifest. Tell me quickly—are you here to bring prosperity to the Vale, or are you merely another storm looking for a place to break? Gulltown has no room for those who cannot pull their weight.