[OPEN] Like the stars chase the sun, over the glowing hill, I will conquer

[dorzalta]

WHO? Daenerys Targaryen & YOU!
WHAT? Ship shenanas, dreams, and next mission stuff when the time comes
WHEN? Various times in Dec/Jan
ANYTHING ELSE? Fire, dragons, spider monsters, blood, death, titties, and insta-boners... the usual GoT warnings, I guess?

This is serving as my catchall for some base shenans, as well as for any mission logs that arise in January. If you'd like to thread something out, feel free to throw me a prompt, or poke me on bubblytangerine to hash out some deets :>

Comments

DREAMS

[dorzalta]

[dorzalta]

I. Oh, the king gone mad within his suffering
When you come to, it's to the wind whipping your cheeks. Air cold enough to numb your fingers. Pale, silver hair knotted in a singular plait, streaming behind its owner and brushing your cheek. She doesn't look at you, her gloved fingers gripping darkened scales of the giant beast you ride.

No, not a beast: a dragon.

Beneath you, a horde rides the sea of green. The Dothraki's war cries echo like a siren's song, horses galloping to an imagined drumbeat. Those you do manage to see wave their sickle-like blades in deference to you both. The dragon you ride roars, and Daenerys tenses. "Hold on!" she tells you above the howling winds.

Further ahead and quickly approaching is an army. Beyond that, King's Landing stands in all its shimmering glory. She spares the city one glance, one brief moment of yearning, and then her attention is back on the Lannister army. Banners with red and gold--a lion its centerfold--stream in the air.

"Dracarys," Daenerys commands, when close enough.

And Drogon breathes flames upon the troops directly ahead of you.

[dorzalta]

II. Called out for relief, someone cure him of his grief
She stands before the khals, back straight, hair long since fallen out of its elaborate braids. She dons not the fineries of a queen, but the textiles of a Dothraki. And you? You're seated beside Khal Moro. Daenerys meets your gaze, her blue eyes cold like sheets of ice. You shouldn't be here, her look seems to say.

"Who cares about her? She's a midget," one of the men says in Dothraki.
"I like her."
"She's paler than milk."
"I'd like to know what a khaleesi tastes like."

Their banter continues around you both, demeaning, and their raucous laughter seems to expound upon this. On and on the bantering goes, so very disrespectful, but Dany maintains an impassive, almost bored look, until finally, Moro says: "She belongs to the Dosh Khaleen."

Debates about horses and her being wanted by the Masters follows, as these little men with their drink and beards, belittle her. Who are the Masters, you might be wondering? It's of no matter, for soon she speaks: Dosh Khaleen, the Stallion Who Mounts the World, a sorceress, her dead baby and husband (Khal Drogo, do you remember him?). Moro is quick to counter and speak of her foolishness.

By this time, she's stepped up to the dais and stands near the fires on their stands. "You are small men. None of you are fit to lead the Dothraki." The men who sit around you stiffen, about to rise from their seats. "But I am. And I will."

Laughter. More threats.

"You're not going to serve. You're going to die."

And the flames erupt, roaring like dragons, engulfing the entire tent with you all in it. Bright light fills your vision--

--and then you are both standing in crimson-soaked snow, the corpse of a very large dragon before you.