Game Of Thrones Wine Goblet 소설 & 이야기

He was carrying a large cup. It was the ceremonial chalice. It was a beautiful thing, made of solid gold and covered in dark red rubies that looked like frozen drops of blood. It was filled to the very brim with dark, purple wine. “It is time, Darius,” Rowan said softly. He held the cup out to me with both hands. His face was very serious. I looked at the wine. It was dark and deep. The smell of it was very sweet, like overripe fruit, but there was something else beneath that sweetness. Something sharp. Something that smelled like old metal and bitter herbs.

Those from the tribe consider the loss of the Divine Goblet to be nothing short of catastrophic. Uncle George, who was kneeling on the ground, suddenly jerked his head up, glaring at us with bloodshot eyes and screaming maniacally, "They're the ones! They did it! I saw them stealing the Divine Goblet!" Vincent abruptly snapped out of his daze, glaring at Mom and me with eyes brimming with malice. He yelled hoarsely, "They're the ones who took the Divine Goblet! They filled the goblet with their filthy matters! That goblet of yours should still be near that rundown thatched hut they stayed in before!"

With bristling steps, three servers entered the dining hall with two of them holding golden trays held above their shoulders, perfectly balanced on their right hand while their left hands were folded behind their backs. Lord Igor's eyes sparkled with interest for the first time since he came as the third server started placing the blood-mixed wine goblets on the table. Picking up the medieval-times gold goblet Lord Igor inspected it with a secretive twitch of his lips as his gaze scanned the fifty clueless cunts sitting at the table with Valdis and him unaware that at the end of the night not a single one of them was going to survive. It was a code, an inner joke between their family. Every

The bonfire spits embers into the blood-red sky, each spark burning out before it can reach the swollen moon. The pack gathers in a tight circle, their faces painted with ash and ochre, eyes reflecting flames like hungry animals. I stand beside Arthur, my fingers curled into the sleeve of his ceremonial robe—too tight, but I can't let go. The fabric is rough under my nails, real enough to anchor me when everything else feels like it's slipping away. Arthur raises the silver chalice. The wine inside is dark as a fresh wound, swirling with something thicker than grapes. I catch the scent—bitter, like crushed herbs and rust. Wolfsbane. My stomach twists.

The dinner too, she had introduced another dose but Prince Jaqen barely touched the food either thanks to his nervousness. The aged wine was brought by the people in charge and Lady Gaia excused herself to prepare the wine before the sword ceremony finished. She took her time to add enough wolf’s bane in the drink of Prince Jaqen this time around. She made the maids line up and told them the names of the people who owns each drink they were carrying on their trays so there wouldn’t be any mix up whatsoever since her main target was Prince Jaqen.

He nodded his head. "It tastes like our wine" he commented. "Damn, have you looked at the dancers? They are hot" Mason chimed in, with a goblet of Sira in his hands. Dale raced behind him in a hurry. "You stop right there, give that goblet back to me. You already had 3 goblets. It's not good to drink so much" Dale said trying to snatch the goblet away from Mason. But Mason laughed and raised the goblet higer over his head, away from the reach of Dale.

She tiptoed towards him, leaned forward and looked over his shoulder and gasped in fright, breaking his concentration. He quickly spun round and hugged her face to his chest to stop her from seeing the ghastly sight before them but it was too late. She had already seen it. A skeleton with bits of clothing on it in tatters and a huge part of it's skull missing. On it ring finger, it wore a gold ring with De Luca written on it.

pressed light between the branches overhead, casting red across his bare chest. He was naked from the waist up, skin pale and gleaming with sweat, muscles corded like ropes strung too tight. Black ink covered his arms, ancient runes twisting down from shoulder to wrist like ivy born from darkness. He held something in his hands. A silver goblet... tarnished and dented... filled to the brim with blood. Not just anyone’s blood. Hers. Collected from the sigil tree. From the altar she had bled on. From the ground she had walked upon. His scouts had stolen it, drop by drop, feeding it to the chalice like an offering.

And in her hands, she held a silver goblet, twirling it between her fingers as though it was a trophy. “Fiery little bitch, good morning” she sneered, grinning as her fangs came into view. She slowly circled me, making my skin crawl in disgust. “A little birdy told me you've been such a good pet to your master” she purred. The silver goblet in her hand slightly slipped, the thick red liquid inside almost spilling. I frowned, the scent of the liquid filling the air. It was wine, but laced with something else…..poison, maybe wormroot and maybe ashroot too.