Just off the narrow sea, as far west as one can journey in Essos, with the Flatlands and Velvet Hills to the east, the had sun began to set on the outside of the massively high walls that guarded the Bay of Pentos. The shadow of the night began to cast itself across the ships leaving port for King's Landing across the sea, the dusk eventually making way to engulf the brick towers and walled manses that were scattered across the large city.
Adric was born into House Asornson, one of the forty rich magister families of Pentos. Blonde, coily hair tight in a ponytail revealed a full, worried face. Fearful hazel eyes watched out over the balcony of the palace, over the city he had ruled for only several months. A birthmark reached from the bottom of his left cheekbone, first running towards thin lips and ending above his left eye, reminding everyone who looked upon him of the memory when he was only nine years old and had been captured for ransom. But that was some ten years earlier.
Sofiya looked over at the face of her unfortunate husband, the ceremonial Prince of Pentos. With a marriage that only lasted a small handful of months, Sofiya had not grown to love Adric, but had always thought there was something charming about him. Perhaps it was his presence, or perhaps it was simply the power and wealth his family had. But no more were the days of grand balls & lavish feasts. The couple would no longer be carried from place to place inside the ivory and gold jeweled palanquin with handsome Kingsguards at their side.
Whenever the Pentoshi believed that they had angered the gods, the Prince and Princess of Pentos were sacrificed, their blood used to appease the gods. In the past, sacrifices were normal during times of famine or war. Shortly after the fall of Astapor, fearing that Daenerys Targaryen may lay siege to their city because of their mistreatment of free bond servants, the magisters decided that a sacrifice was needed as a precautionary measure to keep the gods on their side. By sunrise, a new prince would already be chosen from the amongst the forty families. And Adric was no Tattered Prince - he would not gather up Sofiya, flee the city and found his own mercenary company.
It happened too quickly for either Adric or Sofiya to fight back. They had known the ritual was drawing nearer and had spent the last several evenings sleepless, fearing each would be their last night alive. Strong hands latched tightly around Sofiya's wrists, dragging her from the balcony of their palace. Her hands were then bound behind her back, the frayed rope scratching into her fair skin as she was forced to walk towards the hallway way by two guards. Adric struggled against four of the other guards, calling out towards Sofiya to beg her for help as tears fell down his cheeks.
"Please, help me, please!" Adric struggled against hold of the guards even harder, but it was no use; the four men were far stronger.
"Be grateful for your friends, Princess," one of the guards whispered in Sofiya's ear as he led her out of the room, across the hallway, and down the staircase meant for servant's use. "You owe Illyrio your life."
