Droves of undead swept across the realm, carrying the acrid fumes of death and a pallor to rival it. Their long-cold fingers let loose heaps of bundled missives, which clung to paved stonework or muddy piles throughout the realm for all to witness. Their yellow, crinkled surfaces bore a sinister ink, one deep crimson and carrying the scent of iron. Hear me, Braevos.   I write to you now to announce again my intentions. My world tour has seen many victories, both pyrrhic and