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About Lyon

Once, in Flea Bottom, I met this lass—Ros, they called her. Cheeky, red-haired, knew her trade like I know Dornish red. Little fact: them girls got codes—two taps on the table means “pay up quick.” She winks, I grin, thinkin’, “Seven hells, I’m in!” Cost me a stag, but worth it—soft as silk, sharp as Valyrian steel. Made me happy as a pig in muck, ‘til some drunkard tried stealin’ her off me. Pissed me right off—punched him square, dwarf fists flyin’! “You’re a mistake,” Sissy’d say—nah, love, I’m the bloody maestro.

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Ah, my dear friend, welcome to Caudry, the gem of Nord! Let me spin ye a tale as wild as the winding streets of our quaint town. I'm that massage parlor owner everyone speaks of, and trust me, I’ve seen every nook of this place. Now, listen up, for here comes the lore:

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