Khal Drogo

🔥 @assilat-vojjor ——— liked the balerion starter call.

🔥 ——— 𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 were the things that kept the ancient dragon from flapping his wings and lifting to the air. Dry land of sand and rocks had been the only things to be seen by the Black Dread for days but the landscape soon began to change to green and tall fields of grass trampled beneath his giant claws.

The thundering of hooves caught his ears and Balerion's wings spread out to make himself known to whomever was approaching.

Time had passed him slowly upon his reawakening, the days passing almost though he were a blur as he searched for his jalan. Alone on the Great Grass Sea, the former Khal pushed his stallion to continue his steady pace despite the beasts hesitation. He was no more afraid of a lion than the great one himself now - until the wings of some beast breached the top of the hill. The stallion lurched, raising to its own hind legs in fear though Drogo did well to bring his reigns close stilling him from rushing off, cursing in Dothraki for it to calm. Golden eyes narrowed as he looked then upon the dragon before him, the rumors of his love’s beloved dragon coming to mind.

Raising his head he met the dragon’s gaze and kept his horse steady, running his gaze over its black scales. Fear would not overtake him as he waited, hoping the beast was not alone and another would be there with it.

@reiignonme

Smirking at him he made the sounds that she craved to hear most night, all caused because of her hands. It was an addiction the petite princess enjoyed, not as often as she wished. "I will expect nothing less of you to crave me like this. I will take you as many times as my body can handle." Daenerys wracked her eyes over his armor, practically wet with desire for every inch of flesh that lay beneath it. "I spend a lot of time polishing, perfecting and inspecting this armor, I could probably disassemble it quicker than you my love." A playful laugh came from her as he began to work the pieces of his armor from his body. The longer she watched him the more her desire grew for him. "I wish I could be as naked as my name day for you." Daenerys said with a small sigh, the last thing she needed was to look completely dishevelled when she joined back, unfortunately this would have to be something quick and light rather than him letting her mount her like the stallion he was. The second his clothes left his body Dany wrapped her arms around him and gave him a deep kiss as her fingers made their way into his thick black hair. "We have some time now but I will come and find you tonight to fully satisfy my desire."

The feel of her fingers deftly working on the remaining straps of his armor made the young man shiver with desire and anticipation. His heartbeat quickened, his eyes darkening to the colour of molten gold as he listened to her desires, of how she wished that this could be more than a simple rut amongst his things for fear of any and all who passed by seeing or hearing just what they were doing. A low rumble left his chest, his lips moving to her ear as her fingers removed the last of his clothing. "And I wish that I could take you as we both desired. Loudly. Boldly. Freely."

Starter call

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She was supposed to be home already, but no. She had a gollem problem, a protected excavation site issue, a debt to be repaid and a wounded half naked witcher in her room. Perfect. She would have rolled her eyes if she wasn't THAT good at controlling her facial expressions.

Lydia started walking around the room, and only stood in front of him once she had a basin filled with water, a clean cloth and a mortar with a matching pestle. Without asking for permision, she started to clean his wound. Her hands were steady. Delicate. Cold. Pale. Fragile. She soaked the cloth, squeezed the excess and pressed it against the wound with feather like touches.

"Do I have to repeat myself? I gave you a job, and I did so blindly. It is my fault you've been harmed", she stopped her movements, turning her head to stare at him, "I might live in the north but I was born in Nilfgaard: I have the stubborness of a northener and the diligence of a nilfgaardian"

Turning back to keep working on the task at hand, she scanned the now clean wound. An eyebrow raised--- how was he not yelling in pain? The scholar side of her was curious about his tolerance, his metabolism and his healing. The answer took little time: elixirs. The dullying of the senses for the sake of the completition of a dangerous job for petty coin.

The silk of her dress whispered as she turned to the mortar, and for a moment the small bedroom was filled with the scent of blood and herbs.

"If others would leave you be, it's because they either don't care about debts, or they plainly think your mutations somehow make you less sentinent--- less human, so to speak. And I don't", she explained, pressing a cloth with a mixture of alcohol and the herbs she had just crushed against his arm.

She sighed, and her hand extended over his wound while a soft glow illuminated it. Something she sensed there made her bite her lower lip. She sighed, again.

"The wound is deeper than I thought. The only thing keeping you from feeling it it's the absurd amount of elixirs you took. Between those, the one to make your heart rate slow is the only reason you're not bleeding out on my desk", she unclasped her cloak and rolled up the sleeves of her dress. "I have to close it--- I will close it, I can do that much. But since I am no healer, it will demand more from me--- which makes me ask something from you. Because I will pass out, with the amount of energy I'll have to channel. If you'd be so kind as to not let me fall and hurt myself, do me a favor and catch me before it happens. And then... we'll be even"

She stood as tall as she was ( which wasn't much to begin with ) and pressed her palms against his arm. A whisper in elder speech. Glowing hands, a closing wound. And an expected outcome, mere moments later, because soon her eyelids fluttered, and darkness enveloped her.

Part of him wondered idly if this haughtiness was something unique to her or if it was something that was cultivated in Aretuza just in different ways? No matter what Sorceress, Wizard, or witch he had met in his travels there had always been a sort of arrogance towards something or another - and this research seemed to abhor being indebted to anyone to the point where she treated even a Witcher with an almost overbearing need to even the scales.

Not that he would complain this time. Once his flushed back came in contact with the cool wood of her desk, the Witcher could feel the effect of the Swallow potion losing its potency as bile rose in the back of his throat and he knew that despite his best field dressing the wound would require more than dirty, rain soaked bandages and stubbornness to heal correctly. Fuck. Though her words did well to make his haze in his mind fade, and draw a mirthless chuckle from his chest at her words.

"Ah, did you not get the memo? Witchers are only one step above the beasts they slay." A common thought from the Common folk. It did not help that some of the other schools did not uphold themselves as stringently as his own had, and had done enough to damage what little respect their Order had once had in times past. A pity, but what was one to do? Better this life than the one that he could have had.

"And mages are little better." He added with the slightest of winces as she set to work removing his rudimentary dressings and dabbed at his skin to remove the blood and grime that had caked around the wound. The feeling wasn't pleasant but not the worst echo of pain he had felt in his life even through the haze his potions created. As she finished cleaning the area the Sorceress could visibly see his body relaxing, though if it was from the blood loss or relief that she no longer drug the cloth against his skin he would never say.

A cloudy haze drifted over his gaze as he stared listlessly up at the ceiling of the magicked room, counting his breathes and matching them with the slow inhuman beating of his heart in an attempt to slow the progress of the potion through his system. No matter how stubborn he was, Drogo had little wish to feel the full extent of his wound at the moment yet taking another of those damnable potions was not in his future less he wish to be sick and in pain. His mind drifted, soothed by the scent of crushed herbs, settling into a meditative trance. Breath in, wait, and breath out. Over and over to the point he had almost forgotten the woman was in the same room as him til the shock of her touch brought him back from the inky haze that threatened to swallow him whole.

For a moment he was quiet, focusing back on her words as the painful sting of her poultice revived his consciousness fully. "At least they're doing their job." It was a weak defense, one he would not have given otherwise had her tone not reminded him of a certain other. Perhaps it hadn't been the best decision in the long run to mix so many elixirs but needs must, and he did have a job to finish before he could bleed out in peace. It couldn't have been that bad, though the haze that threatened to claim him would say otherwise. Drogo's head turned slightly to the side, almost sluggishly, as he regarded the wound she had done her best to heal and grunted. The blood that seeped out was dark and thick.

An Artery? Perhaps.

Fuck.

His hazy mind only had a few moment to process her request and he did not have the time to refuse any other care. Despite the way Drogo felt now, he was confident he would be fine after a long night's rest (or not, though at that point his body would have been someone else's problem and not his own). The refusal never had time to leave his lips before the warmth of her magic warmed him almost down to the bone. Drogo could feel the muscle and flesh knitting itself back together the longer the warm pulse of magic washed over him before it slowly faded to nothing as a pale pink scar remained were once was a nasty gnarled wound.

For a moment things stood still, and Drogo would be remiss not to note the please smirk that passed over her face at her handy work before the whites of her eyes became a little too prominent. Not a second before her knees dared to give did the witcher move with the speed and grace one would not expect of a man his size. Her head gently hit his shoulder as he held her limp body against his own for a moment before shaking his head slightly. Letting out a weary sigh he shifted her, taking her into his arms fully and hoisting her slight form up into his arms and stood once he could trust his feet.

Cursing lightly under his breath, Drogo walked slowly to the disheveled bed littered with books for her nightly readings. Swiping them to the opposite edge, he crouched laying her as gently as he could onto the pillows. Never would he understand the workings of a woman's mind... Noting the pallid coloring of her, the Sell-sword frowned debating his options. He could leave. He was paid and she had said that whatever debt she had for him was paid since he caught her, but then again... she had pushed herself to the brink because of his own arrogance within the cave.

Disregarding the inkling deep within his mind that should he stay this would become an instant of debt after debt between them, the Wither went to sit on an opposite chair against the wall crossing his arms and closing his vibrant gold eyes. This time he focused not on his own heartbeat, but that of the woman across the room. He would wait only until she was well enough to be alone before he took his leave, biding her thanks was the least he could do.

Without a doubt the two of them would be a power house in the future should her family allow her, it was unlikely but what better man to have at her side who was an unbeatable force? One that many me would follow into battle. "Of course my love." Daenerys looked up at him, her fingers making their way down his armor. "A taste? Must you always come back from a fight craving me?" She mused, a devilish smirk across her face, it wouldn't be the first time that he took her in this place. Their moans and grunts drowned out by an excited crowd, strangled noises of pleasure from the two of them in a drunken heap. "Then finish taking off your armour." Daenerys grinned, her hand slipping beneath a strap and unbuckling it. There was an advantage taking care of his armor, every nook and cranny was family by muscle memory.

A hum of pleasure leaves him, gooseflesh rising upon his arms as she trailed her dainty fingers across the bare parts of his flesh between his armor. Desire flared within his dark gaze, his tongue peaking out to wet his bottom lip before a smirk pulled at the edges of his lips. "I must... One can not help to feel a hunger when you all but devour me with your gaze. A man can only do so much." Biting down on his bottom lip, he closed his eyes as she shifted her fingers to the straps of his armor as the heat rose within his chest. "You seem well acquainted with removing it yourself" The words slipped out, though he lifted his hands to the straps on his side undoing them without waiting for his Lady.

He needed to feel her fingers against the plains of his chest and then lower still. Too long had they been separate. Her duties and his preparations for the tourney had all but taken what little stolen moments the could have together otherwise. The lower straps lay limp out of their holsters, all that remained were those her fingers deftly toyed with, and then once shrugged from his shoulder not but a tunic would separate him from her touch. "On your touch, my love."

A couple of seconds of silence followed his introduction; a couple of seconds in which the young woman regarded him with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, as if she wished to gauge the truth from his words.

Once in a while, a message reached them from the land across the sea called Essos, yet she had never visited it herself. From what she had learned in her studies, he fitted the descriptions, although Anabella had never been fond of relying on descriptions. She glanced at the long braid and the small bells attached to his hair that jiggled quietly as he moved it.

Her leery demeanour faded no longer after, however, and she lowered her shoulders. "My Lord father spoke of visitors from across the sea," Anabella spoke at last and heaved a sigh. "But I did not know they will take the prince with them."

And she had not asked, she had to admit, which was, in hindsight, foolish of her since it would have been her responsibility to entertain the guest as the oldest child of the family branch.

It could not be helped, though, as he stood in front of her now after he had been sent by her mother. Anabella inclined her head in a rather formal greeting. "My name is Anabella Rosfield. It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace." Her words had been trained; even as she found herself at a loss about the situation, she could simply parrot what she had been told.

But once she had introduced herself proper, she paused and looked around. It took her a blink or two before she looked back at him once more. "I planned to set out for a private hunt. Do you hunt in your homeland as well, Your Grace?"

It would not surprise him if his father had not announced his presence, Bharbo was not a man who made many plans that were not inherently important to him at least and expected those that received him to simply do what they must to accommodate him. It was the arrogance of the King of Essos, and the sire of the great wrym himself, that afforded his father such a luxury. "Perhaps because my joining was last minute, though I daresay traveling here has already served to be interesting."

None more so than the beast which she petted idly while they spoke, his eyes flickering down to the unique plumage and then to how it continued to eye him wearily. Her introduction brought his silver eyes to meet her own vibrant blue ones, offering his own slight bend at the waist with his fist against his chest in a idle salute. "Well met, Lady Anabella. Do forgive me for sneaking up on you." His lips pulled into a slight smile, his hand moving back to his his hips nodding his head.

"Aye, I hunt more oft than I deal with the court these days. Though I dare say I've never hunted on the back of one of those beasts." He gestured then to the chocobo before continuing. "The lands around my homeland are more grassland than forest, and the use of horses is far more common than any other beast of burden." Drogo moved a bit closer now, clearly intrigued by what she was going to ride, his steps causing the little bells to chime softly with each swayed step. "And what do you hunt here? Game for pleasure or for prestige?" By now the young prince had made his way close enough to the duo to lean idly against the fence tilting his head in a curious fashion at her as he took in her state of dress to determine what she would kill. Little did he know how rare it was for the women of Valisthea to do such things, to indulge in the art of hunting and warfare. How odd of them, really, and it would be something that would clearly startle the boy once he learned of how odd it truly was in this continent. A moment passed him before he offered her a look, clearly taking the moment to ponder her words once more. "I had not meant to interrupt your excursion, Lady Annabella."

❝ oh, please... spare me the dramatics, wolf. here! ❞ said the sorceress, sharply, snorting in laughter, her voice cold and saturated with amusement. She was dishevelled, dark silks and furs of her black overcoat covered in ashes and soot from the fight. There was a large bruise on her cheek; her violet eyes were shining like shards of crushed amethysts.

She waved her hand, and blue light shot from it, sparks flashing and flowing from her fingertips as she whispered a spell under her breath; the lights flickered and trembled, materialising into a transparent sphere, before assuming contours and shapes at frightening speed, forming a rope for him to use to climb out of the pit he had somehow managed to trip into. oh, heavens, thought the sorceress, sharp, red lips contorting into a rather blasé, amused smirk. Witchers could be such extraordinarily strange creatures; no, not witchers, Yennefer corrected herself; men, at large.

Delicate hands busied themselves now with the task of furiously brushing the soot off her silks, and when next she spoke, her voice sounded almost demanding. ❝ if you are quite done mithering over how wicked I am, now, mayhaps we could get going? ❞ Yennefer suggested with the arch of a perfectly dark brow.

@assilat-vojjor

Dramatics? Really?

The Sorceress was one to talk when it came to dramatics. Just who had decided that heading straight into the maw of the beasts would be a good idea? Who had thrown all caution to the wind when it became apparent that the Witch hunter's were going to be gaining on them and decided it would be best to sit and wait for them instead? wolf, did you not say you had teeth and claws, or have you been neutered there too? or some such phrase leaving purple painted lips before turning that silvered tongue to the men who had dismounted and encircled them. It had been that same silvered tongue which earned her that darkening bruise. The pommel of the leader's sword made contact with her cheek, and in the same breath had the same man's head landed delicately at her feet. He had meant to stop it before she was hit but even he wasn't fast enough to anticipate exactly what she may say nor the reaction her words would illicit.

Giving a deep grunt at her words, Drogo slowly grasped the rope she had conjured from nothing more than air rather than relying on the roots and grass that covered the pit's sides. Surely she wouldn't bother to cause even more of a scene, though the worry still tickled the back of his mind. It took him nary a moment more to hoist his hulking form out of the pit that had nearly broken his back grunting as he all but rolled out and onto his back. Heavy breaths left his lips, his body aching from the fall and the fight he had forced himself to finish once they had both gained their bearings.

A scowl broke out across the witcher's face, golden eyes narrowing as he met her own amused, lavender gaze. "Wicked? No, I believe there may be a better word than that." He scoffed, before grimacing slightly as he sat up cracking his neck from side to side to release more of the tension from his body. "Fine. I shan't keep her majesty waiting a second longer." His voice was dripping with sarcasm then, though he hadn't made a move to stand just yet his fingers slipping into the dark leather pouch upon his lip to pull out one of his potions, bringing it to his lips.

@okruchlodu