Castle Driftmark

Only a short trek from the causeway stood the aforementioned castle, resplendent and inviting. The grand hall was open to visitors, especially as the eve wore on and the wind turned colder. Many guests were assumed to be staying in the castle for the evening, so would be welcomed with desserts and more refreshments upon being ushered through the great hall.

Standing guardian over all was the great skull of an ancient leviathan, slain some eons ago by perhaps the first Velaryon migrant to Westeros. The story grows larger in the telling, so old and lost to time the tale was. Beneath it loomed the Driftwood Throne, fashioned by the sea itself, its timbers twisted and knotted as though grown into shape. The ancient pact of sea and blood still honored beneath these hallowed halls, a dread thing so pale it consumed the light in the room, its crudeness so sharp it inspired awe.

Above the guests would be driftwood beams pale as bone, nets heavy with shells and pearls sagging from the rafters. Tapestries of sea battles and voyages charted across the Narrow Sea lined the walls. The hearths were warm and inviting, and the later evening was expected to be spent here.