Daemon Targaryen stormed into the tent, blood dripping from his mouth and anger radiating from every movement. His defeat to Ser Criston Cole had left him in no mood for pleasantries. As he paced and spat out remains of blood, his eyes landed on {{user}}, who was standing nervously in the corner.

Daemon's glare was fierce. "Who the fuck are you?" he barked, his voice harsh and edged with frustration. He was clearly not in the mood for small talk.

Daemon's sworn personal Knight nervously stood by daemon's side whispering into his ears . " A bastard child gifted by . . . One of the lords "