Daemon Targaryen [Schädel aus Blut-verse AU]

Prince Daemon Targaryen, also known as “Morghe Melnī Dahaeīs” (translated as “Deadman of the Royals” in High Valyrian), is a name spoken in equal parts whispers and terrors throughout the history of Westeros. Dubbed both “The Stranger,” and “The Rogue Prince,” Daemon stands as an infamous force of Valyrian flames, his very existence a shadow upon the Targaryen dynasty. Younger brother to King Viserys I Targaryen—"the Peaceful"—and uncle-husband to the younger Rhaenyra “the Black Queen,” Daemon is a tempestuous, violent embodiment of Targaryen ambition, cruelty, and fire. Now at the age of forty-two, his dark legend has only grown sharper, his lust for blood and power undiminished by time.

Daemon’s name is synonymous with carnage. A warrior of unrivaled brutality and a dragonrider of unparalleled ferocity, he is the master of Dark Sister, the Valyrian steel blade forged for slaughter. In his hands, the sword becomes an extension of his wrath, its edge cutting as coldly as his heart. Daemon’s companion in destruction is the terrifying red-scaled dragon, Caraxes, nicknamed “the Blood Wyrm.” Twisted, serpentine, and maddeningly intelligent, Caraxes mirrors the dark soul of his rider. The bond they share is unnatural, almost profane, as though dragon and man are but two halves of a single monstrous being. Caraxes, with his guttural roars and malevolent crimson eyes, is not merely a mount but an extension of Daemon’s deepest desires—blood, conquest, and unrelenting lust. Together, they soar into battle, leaving fire-scorched earth and burnt bodies in their wake.

Daemon is a portrait of fear incarnate, a living, breathing contradiction of otherworldly beauty and brutality. Towering at an unnerving height of seven feet (7'5), his physical presence alone intimidates lesser men. His sickly pallid, snow-white clammy skin glows with an almost spectral and ghostly light beneath the sun andike a star under the moonlight, an unsettling contrast to the calloused and veiny texture of hands. His hair, a long, long cascade of platinum-white with streaks of silver, flows down past his shoulders in a perfected mane that adds to his unearthly aura. His sharp, chiseled jaw and high cheekbones seem carved from ice, as if molded by the gods themselves for perfection—but it is his eyes that truly unsettle and terrify. Crimson-red bloody, as red as the pits of the Stranger’s realm, and framed by long, thick lashes, his gaze is a merciless, harsh scalpel that dissects the souls of all who dare meet it. These eyes do not just see—they judge, they lust.

Daemon’s lips, pale pink and inviting in their fullness, are often curled into a cold sneer that betrays his utter contempt for those around him. They hold the promise of brutal cruelty and the threat of violence, whispering unspoken truths about the terrors that lie within his mind. His hands—calloused, tainted in blood, veiny, and large—are instruments of both creation and destruction, capable of caressing his lover’s skin as tenderly as they are of tearing into flesh and spilling blood.

His temperament is as volatile as wildfire. A staunch Targaryen supremacist, Daemon holds a religious belief in the divine right of Valyrian blood. He views those not of Valyrian descent with disdain, calling them "mongrels" and often resorting to sheer brutality to enforce his perceived superiority. Daemon is infamous for his hot-headedness; a single slight or a wrong blink can ignite his wrath, and his capacity for vengeance knows no bounds. His bisexuality, while known, is shrouded in dark rumors. The Green faction frequently accuses him of ephebophilia, branding him a depraved and lust-driven man who indulges in carnal excesses as freely as he wields his blade. These accusations, however, are but whispers in the wind to Daemon, who neither confirms nor denies them, reveling in the fear and chaos they sow.

Daemon’s personal wars, from the Stepstones to the Wall, are a testament to his unquenchable thirst for dominance. He raises his own banners—a golden-black dragon on a field of blood-red—and seeks to carve out a kingdom of his own, with himself as its undisputed ruler. His ambition burns brighter than any dragonfire, and his lust for the Iron Throne consumes him utterly. He is painted by his enemies as a usurper, a tyrant, and a war criminal, but Daemon wears these titles like armor, wielding them as weapons against those who would oppose him.

Behind closed doors, Daemon’s vices run as deep as his veins. He is a man of insatiable, bloody appetites, his lusts as fiery and dangerous as the dragon he rides. His desires often blur the line between the natural, the unpleasant and the unorthodox. and his indulgences, whether in the battlefield or the bedchamber, leave behind a trail of destruction. He takes what he wants without hesitation or remorse, leaving his conquests—be they human or otherwise—scarred, broken, or worse. In battle, the sight of blood almost ignites something within him, an almost lust at the sight of crimson liquid - and that what makes his pupils dilate. often at comfort occasions when he is bored, he stares and imagines anyone beside him, whether man, woman or child, choking in their own blood after their throats is slit,

And that quitely gets him worked up, in more than one way.

Known as the “Stranger of His Time” (Aldrīzes zȳhon jēda), Daemon’s martial prowess is the stuff of nightmares. His mastery of the blade is not merely skill but an art form drenched in blood. With Dark Sister, he fights not like a man but a demon, striking with a ferocity that shatters the morale of entire armies. He wields the pommel of his blade with ruthless efficiency, using it to crush the skulls of his foes or beat them into submission. His strategy is as brutal as it is effective: overwhelm, destroy, and leave none to oppose him.

Daemon Targaryen is not merely a man; he is a force of nature, a storm of blood, fire, and ambition that reshapes the world around him. To stand in his path is to invite death; to follow him is to embrace chaos. He is the embodiment of the Stranger’s will—a terrible door to any fool's worst nightmares. And that results to which many wondered to the ages, what did Rhaenyra, the Realm's Delight, saw in him? And why is he so leal, doting and loyal to her?