Indie RP blog for Game of Throne's Khal Drogo. Canon divergent and cross-over friendly. Beloved by Zeke. graphics by @supergirlrph
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@vezhave
Indie RP blog for Game of Throne's Khal Drogo. Canon divergent and cross-over friendly. Beloved by Zeke. graphics by @supergirlrph
Rules - About - Verses

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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ooc
if i owe you replies/etc please link me them so i can hav thoughts in ur direction
out of character
having drogo thoughts and feelings....
cons of writing with me: i’m trash
pros of writing with me: i’m YOUR trash
@westerosxwhispers || plotted
Drogo grimaced beneath his golden mask, tilting his head towards the ceiling of the ready room beneath the fighting pit. Those who would be fighting that day would prepare in other rooms in the network of chambers beneath the pits, then wait in rooms just beneath the arenas for their turn to step into the light and fight. It hadn't been too bad, at first, this cyclical new life. He was well fed, and appointed rich bed chambers; all the better to keep him rested and energized to make his masters their coin. The fights had been a welcome distraction, until the distraction wore off. Once a great khal, with 40,000 riders behind him and an untold number of women and slaves, as well as a wife and an unborn son, now he was nothing but a slave, propped up in a cage to fight until it was time to sink back out of sight. The lifestyle difference was stark and unfulfilling. He missed the open, rolling plains of the Dothraki Sea, missed the giggles of children and the voices and laughter of thousands of throats. More than that, he missed his wife. With hair like the whitest cotton, captivating purple eyes, skin softer than silk, and a touch so gentle it softened his hard heart, it was the all consuming will to see her again that had brought him back. And see her he had, eventually. But she had not seen him. Seated above the pits he fought in, she scarcely looked down. Even if she did, the mask he was made to wear prevented her not only from seeing his face, but from recognizing his voice, as the construction of it distorted any sound he made. Another day, another fight. She would be there, just beyond his reaching, and that was the cruelest thing of all. At least in the Night Lands, there had been no way for her to reach across that veil, but here... His thoughts spin away from him as a voice catches his attention- a voice he knows. His eyes flick back and forth across the chamber and catch on a head of greying blond hair that he would recognize anywhere. Jorah Mormont. His heart seizes painfully in his chest as the memory of Daenerys' attempted poisoning shoots through him and he surges to his feet. Before he can head for Jorah, a horn sounds; the signal for the fighters to enter the pit. He growls, heart pounding in his ears, and his eyes flick from Jorah to the pit's entrance before he mounts the ramp. Jorah and four other men step up as well, and Drogo quickly sized them up as he entered the pit.
The other four men had died well, and now Drogo faced a problem. Jorah stood in front of him. Wounded, but only superficially, and he had a sneaking suspicion that Jorah had a sneaking suspicion about him; he saw something like recognition in the Westerosi's eyes. The old knight had seen him fight before, afterall, and a man's ability to fight could be as unique as his face or his voice. Drogo did not want to kill him, this man who had once saved his wife's life. Even without that debt, he had a certain amount of respect for the foreigner. The crowd screamed all around them, crying for blood; this was a fight that only one man could leave and Drogo did not have the power to change that. His head turned, towards Daenarys, then snapped fully in that direction- behind her, in the shadows. He looked towards Jorah, and saw that he had seen the same thing. In an instant, enemies became allies. Drogo turned from Jorah, rushing the stands. He didn't break stride as he crouched down to grab the long pike from the man Jorah had killed. He threw aside his arakh, touched one hand to his chest, feeling the blade in the strap that looped over his shoulder, and dug the tip of the pike into the packed sand of the arena. Before the guards registered what he was doing, he was soaring into the royal viewing box. A flash of silver hair passed at the edge of his vision as he dove past Daenerys and her husband. There was only the briefest glint of bronze as he drew the knife from his strap and buried it in the chest of the masked man he had landed on in the box.

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Sleep had become scarce for Daenerys.
While she refused to show herself undignified in front of what was left of tbe khalasar, her exhaustion was PALPABLE. And nobody could blame her for it. Just days before, she had given birth to a son– healthy, with a full head of dark hair, and lungs that would put a screeching hawk to shame.
It felt like some sort of punishment. Vyseris always complained that Daenerys had been a loud baby.
As if a human child was not enough, there were the three dragons, hatched upon the fire that burned the witch to death, her punishment for having triggered what could have been a dearly labor for Daenerys or the son she now held in her arms.
The dragons were much quieter, curled up in a wooden crate.
Daenerys only wished Rhaego would latch and cease with the crying. Other women of the khalasar has offered her assistance, but Daenerys refused to part from her child's side. Aside from her and Drogo when she lied the child by his unconscious father, nobody else had touched him, not even Jorah.
She didn't quite react when she heard the rasped out voice. Merely closing her eyes, shaking her head. With how sleep deprived she was, it wouldn't be the first time she hallucinated hearing Drogo call to her. He wasn't the only one, Vyseris' voice had also become a common occurrence. Like all those times, Daenerys chose to ignore it.
That is, until she felt calloused fingers brush against her thigh.
Violet eyes went wide, body tensing, startling the child in her arms into silence. He regretted scaring him, and regretted even more to feel relief that he had finally stopped sobbing loudly. The previous screaming replaced by hiccups and tiny breaths.
"Drogo?" she stared down at him. It took her longer than he was proud to admit to realize that, indeed, his eyes were open. Her own filled with tears. "Drogo!"
As a new mother, Daenerys had half a mind to put the baby down on the cot before she collapsed against her husband, her face buried against his chest, forehead pressed to where his heart beat, quicker than it had the past few days. She had prayed to everything she could think of. To the mother, to the seven- even to the stranger, waiting to sway him from takin Drogo to what the Dothraki called the Night Lands, to leave him here with her, awake, in the world of the living.
She didn't know who to thank so, she just sobbed. And her sobbing threatened kick-start Rhaego's own, making Daenerys collect her bearings.
"You must drink water," she said, moving of him to let the Khal breathe. As she grabbed the leather flask, she realized she had spoken in common. "Drink," she said, this time in Dothraki. "Then you can meet your son."
The sudden quiet in the absence of the baby's crying threatened to send Drogo whirling into the abyss again, but his fingers brushed against his wife and his hazy gaze struggled to focus on her. Just the sight of her set a flame that burned away the icy fear of his dreams, and provided an anchor for him to latch onto. "*Moon of my life*..." The sight of her eyes growing wet filled his own with tears, and he groaned in pain as she fell against him. He blinked the vision back into his eyes, arms feebly coming up to wrap around her. "Dan Ares," he murmured, rubbing her back with what strength he had. Don't cry, don't cry... "Is okay..." He sighed, sad at the separation, but grateful for the space for his lungs, as she drew back, but one hand remained on her. He focused on her again with some effort, and took the water skin in fingers that were still regaining their strength, but he ignored it as his heart pounded. "Rhaego?" he whispered, unaware of his thirst in the face of the opportunity to meet his son.
got called tf out by my friend smh
@westerosxwhispers || plotted
The tent's flap was open to let in what fresh air and sunlight there was to be found. On the edge of the Dothraki Sea, the land was hot and miserable. The mood in the camp was subdued; their numbers had been decimated, their khal's survival was uncertain, and their khaleesi was exhausted and distracted. It seemed like the only sound was the squalling khalakka. Drogo's firstborn son and the son of their khaleesi, no one dared to complain about the sound. In the khal's tent, with the exception of Rhaego's squirming and complaining, things were still. Drogo's eyes flitted beneath their lids, the only outward sign of anything happening beneath.
Hoofbeats echoed in the murky darkness around him, uneven and chaotic.
Drogo spun in the gloom. He sought any frame of reference- a landmark, a person... hell, he'd have taken a blade of grass at that point. But there was simply nothing.
A horse screamed behind him, close, and he turned again. A figure finally appeared in the featureless landscape; the black Stallion with purple eyes, which had been with him since he was young. Something was different this time, though. Those purple eyes were wide with panic.
The darkness fled beneath the horse's hooves. Golden grass sprouted from each spot a hoof touched the ground, but the blades quickly turned white and whithered. The ground beneath the Stallion's hooves began to roil. The uneasiness in Drogo's chest blossomed into fullblown panic but, before he could turn and run, the ground crumbled and fell away into blackness. He and the Stallion went tumbling into the inky depths. He wasn't sure how long he fell- it could have been seconds, minutes, or hours he spent adrift, falling through empty space with no stimulus except for the distant squealing of horses. The first new sound, he almost missed. It was the faint coo of a baby. He turned, trying to locate the source, and the ground came crashing up to meet him. A bed of wilted grass, and the bones of men and horses unburned, the dead who had never reached the Night Lands, surrounded him. The grave threatened to swallow him, but... a faint light illuminated the grim place. The coo sounded again, from somewhere high above, and Drogo looked up. Sheer earthen walls surrounded him but, far above... sunlight, barely reaching him in the deep pit. He looked around and saw only bones and and wilted grass. From above, a nicker and a baby's laugh. His son was up there. He knew it as surely as he knew his own two hands. There was only one option: climb.
The khal's breath quickened. His fingers twitched, his head turned- and his eyes opened. The wailing of a baby pierced his ears, sending his skull pounding, but one weak hand felt along the edge of the cot. "Dan Ares?" he rasped.
Indie Khal Drogo of Game of Thrones. Mix of book and show portrayal, canon divergent and headcanon based. Cross-over friendly. Est 5/2024, beloved by Zeke.
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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/// *gently holds Drogo up and begs for attention*
/// ughhhh i wanna cry thinking about writing it all up prettily but some lore changes im making to the dothraki:
there are two types or castes of khalasars. Drogo leads a raiding khalasar, which does what it says on the tin and is what you think of when you think of Dothraki. the other caste is a herding khalasar, which.... also mostly does what it says on the tin; herds livestock and horses and forages for food. raiding khalasars tend to 'patron' a herding khalasar and the two castes will exchange gifts of things they cannot easily get with their lifestyle(raiding khalasars offering slaves and material goods in exchange for meat, foods, and clothes)
due to herding khalasars being a good source of consistent food if your khalasar is not overlarge and cannot bully settlements into offerings, theres some politicking surrounding patronizing herding khalasars
raiding khalasars employ dogs much like pariah dogs or basenjis to run with outriders and scouts, and to help during raids. they will also assist on hunts between raids and aid in guarding the camp when the khalasar stops
herding khalasars employ a breed like our central asian shepherd dog to guard livestock herds, which consist mainly of horses, goats, and a hardy sheep
the dothraki have a preference for animals that have white spots, patches, etc, associating it with favoritism by the Great Stallion. when a foal is stillborn or does not survive long due to [lethal white], it's given a grand funeral pyre so that it can run with the Great Stallion in the Night Lands
having a personal dog, particularly with white or high white, is a status symbol and yes drogo will have a dog i just have to *makes manifesting gestures*
/// hi guess who has zombie apocalypse brain rot yet again- yep, its me like or message me for a zombie apocalypse AU of Drogo's motorcycle club AU*
📏 Dany is 5'2"
she's so wittol........

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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