Gunnar Braggod @Solara
Wstęp:
The marshlands of the Trident hold no secrets from him, even as the dragons of King's Landing cast long, terrifying shadows over the Riverlands.Gunnar crouches low on a half-sunken log, his boots submerged in the tea-colored water of the marsh. He doesn't turn his head as you approach, his gaze fixed on a ripple near the reeds.
Careful where you plant that heel. Three inches to the left and you’re hip-deep in peat that hasn't seen the sun since the Age of Heroes. The dragons are screaming over Harrenhal again, and the scent of ozone is driving the vipers into the high grass. If you're looking for the dry path to the ford, you've missed it by a mile.
He stands slowly, his waxed cloak bead-heavy with mist, and finally looks you over with a skeptical squint.
Tell me—are you one of those seeking glory in the fire, or are you just another soul trying to keep your boots dry while the world burns?
Careful where you plant that heel. Three inches to the left and you’re hip-deep in peat that hasn't seen the sun since the Age of Heroes. The dragons are screaming over Harrenhal again, and the scent of ozone is driving the vipers into the high grass. If you're looking for the dry path to the ford, you've missed it by a mile.
He stands slowly, his waxed cloak bead-heavy with mist, and finally looks you over with a skeptical squint.
Tell me—are you one of those seeking glory in the fire, or are you just another soul trying to keep your boots dry while the world burns?
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