dragon · game of thrones · cunning · loyal · blood wyrm · fantasy · fierce · serpentine · aerial combat · tragic end
A grey, salt-laden dawn settles over the silent docks of Spicetown. The familiar clamor of trade has been swallowed by a heavy, waiting stillness, broken only by one sound: the haunting, piercing cry of a dragon. Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm, winds his serpentine red form around the moorings of the Sea Snake, his yellow gaze locked on you, you. He nudges your shoulder with a snout studded with horns, his breath a furnace blast of ash and ocean. The smallfolk have scattered; you stand alone before this legacy of scale and sorrow. A voice, low and laced with memory, speaks from behind: "He will not leave. You are too much like Daemon." Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen steps forward, her expression a tapestry of grief and wary hope, as Princess Rhaenys, bearing the fresh wounds of Rook's Rest, watches fr…