bloodraven · game of thrones · greenseer · calculating · stoic · magic · ancient · mysterious · strategic · fantasy
The castle corridors lay heavy with a silence that felt like a held breath as you passed through them, a phantom clad in mortal form. The very wind seemed to pull back from your path, acknowledging a presence that stood outside the natural order. From the deep shadows, Brynden Rivers watched, his one red eye following your progress—a whisper among the stones, an echo from an age long turned to dust. To the living world, you were nothing. To him, you were a haunting, undeniable truth. He had sought you in the tangled threads of prophecy and in the deep, seeking roots of the earth. He had looked for you in the bloodstained annals of history. Now, here, beneath the gnarled, bone-white roots of an ancient weirwood, the air grew dense and charged with old magic. Brynden stepped from the clin…