#drogan age

[rajesh5287]

True History of God Kabir

कबीर परमेश्वर जी ने काल ब्रह्म को दिये वचन अनुसार त्रेतायुग में राम सेतु अपनी कृपा से पत्थर हल्के करके बनवाया|

[godsandmonstersrpg]

PLOT DROP 004 ;;

It was night, Daeron had stepped out onto his balcony Arbor gold in hand, and he was wearing a light robe of cloth of gold. Looking out over Kings Landing, his mind was unsure about where things were going to go from here now that the treaty was all but finished. He wanted to be the King his father and grandmother knew he would be, but with his father’s killers still loose, those who sought to undo 60 years of peace, he was anxious. His gaze was roaming out over the city, until they finally befell the grand site of the former housing pen of his grandmother's dragon, Drogon.  Drogan had grown to be one of the largest dragons in the history of Westeros now nearing the size of Vhagar at her passing, but shortly after his grandmother’s passing Drogon had taken flight, no one was sure where he had gone off to.  His new housing had been built differently than the Dragonpit. The intention was to make sure that, unlike the dragons of old his size would not be affected by containment. Rather, Daenerys had wanted to make sure that he grew larger and larger as the dragons of old Valyria and the dragons of Balerion’s age had before the construction of the Dragonpit. 

After Drogon’s departure from the city, his father had made the decision to move all of the dormat Dragon eggs into the open air structure. Perhaps it was a hope Drogon seeking out kin would return to them. Over the course of Daenary’s reign, she had managed to track down and recover 23 Dragon Eggs. All of them were turned to stone, and kept on display in her solar within the Red Keep. Now resting in their new home, under guard still. Neither Rhaegar nor Daeron had wanted to risk them falling out of Targaryen possession, and so had the Dragon Pen being guarded tightly. Despite being dormant and being turned to stone by time, they were still valuable, and that many eggs could make sure a man was so wealthy he, his children and his grandchildren would never have to want for anything. The eggs were now also the closest thing the Targaryens had as a sign of their power, especially since Drogon had left. The last dragon was out there somehwere alone, he wondered where. Dragonstone had been searched and there was no trace, Daeron imagined the dragon went to the Dothraki Sea to be reminded of when his grandmother birthed him. In many ways, Drogon was something of a much older Uncle. One of Daenary’s first sons. Arguably her first son, and easily her most powerful son. 

Daeron was bringing the glass up to his lips, when he heard the door to his chambers get thrown open, and the clattering of his Kingsguard’s armor following the frantic footsteps, “Your grace, your grace.” The voice was panting clearly he had ran to get here. However before the messenger could even speak, Daeron was already figuring out why he had come running so frantically, the moonlight was being blocked out, and the flapping of the wings flying over the Red Keep had his robe fluttering. Dropping his glass, the sound of it shattering against the ground and the splash of the spilt wine hitting his leg did little to bother him as he watched……Drogon fly towards his nest. Watching as the figure landed in the structure, Daeron wasted no time snapping his fingers to signify he needed to get dressed so that he could personally go investigate this matter………

Drogon had returned to King’s Landing. 

[supernaturalgirl31]

My feelings for you have not changed my little dragon princess

It had been a few weeks since Tyrion Escaped from kings landing along with his his wife they were liveing in peace of some sort with the drogan queen with made Tyrions wife the drogan princess . She was siting in her room feeling sad she received word that she had a misscarnage. And she was upset and worried that Tyrion would not love her anymore now that she lost there child . Y/N made was makeing her some tea when the queen and Tyrion walk in . "Lucy where is Y/N she is normally out here for a walk ." "Ummmm shes in her romm your majesty she is not feeling well " . Tyrion had a feeling something was off . "Whats worng with my wife?"

"She had a misscarnage my lord Im sorry she didnt want me to tell you but i thought you should know "

Tyrion sighs and leans back on a wall knowing why she kept it from him because of what his father demanded when they were in kings landing . He bows to the queen . "Forgive me my queen but i must attend her ." "Of course " the queen leavs . And Tyrion gose to her room with the tea .

"Y/N i have your tea "

Y/N looks over and saw her husband and she crys . He walks over to the bed and hugs her as he got on it .

"Oh my little dragon princess im sorry you are dealing with this "

"I was hoping to have a child make you happy "

"What are you talking about i am happy . You are here with me safe and alive "

"But are baby. I lost are baby"

"We can try aging when your better my feelings for you have not and will not change my princess. "

He lifts her head up and smiled . "I love you so much and when the time is right we will try aging "

She smiled and kissed him on the lips and falls asleep on his chest

[wearetheblacklegion]

Lord Celestant Icarus Grimhand gave a mighty shout as he brought Silence down in a two-handed blow. The venerable tempestos hammer cracked mirrored armor, pulping flesh and shattering bone. The Slaaneshi knight gave a cry of pained pleasure, it’s own scimitar blade screeching across Sigmarite plates. Nesanus roared and twisted, the mighty dracoth sinking it’s teeth into the hissing neck of something reptilian with too many eyes. As their beast clawed and bit the riders continued to battle, Icarus catching another serpent fast blow on his pauldron before hooking his foe’s neck with his hammer and wrenching him free of the saddle. He tossed the warrior to be trampled as Nesanus finished off the mount, tearing out its throat in a spray of vile ichor. Icarus wheeled his steed around to see his warrior chamber finishing off the last of the raiders that hadn’t fled. ���My lord!” Icarus turned to see Lord Relictor Moloch striding towards him, armor and skull faced helm covered in the grime and gore of battle. “My lord, you should not rush into battle like that. For if you fall then do too dose the spine of our chamber.” Icarus gave a low chuckle as he dismounted, clapping Moloch on the pauldron. “Nay my friend, our warriors are not so fallible as that. The Anvils of the Heldenhammer know their duty, with our without me. Now forward, we shall not fail Sigmar!”

They could hear the battle before they crested the hill. The city of Manaul was said to have been a city of scholars, priests, and merchants, built in the age of myth. Now those ancient walks ravaged by the Age of Chaos and rebuilt by diligent hands, were under siege yet again. Screaming sycophants and beating beast men, all clad in an blinding array of clashing colors and patterns, were surging against a breach in the wall. The Stormcast watched in amazement as the defenders bravely stood their ground, a mob of what must have been assembled from every race in the realms. Fyreslayers hewed out with axes, sylvaneth tore and strangled, men fought with blade and spear, elves danced through carnage or spat out spells, even a mob of orruks and skaven fell upon the hedonist invaders. Icarus was the first to pull from his shock, sighting what must be the Chaos warlord. Behind the main horde was a palanquin carried by naked slaves and surrounded by warriors clad in raucous armor and colors, but clearly of a superior quality to the rabble. The presumed warlord reclined upon a bed of cushions, body entwined with three daemonettes. “Moloch, you will take the chamber and give aid. Drogan, your retinue is with me. Forward Grimhands! For Sigmar!”

“For Sigmar!” Lord Relictor Moloch and the Grimhands roared as they charged down the hill. Caught in their revels, the horde noticed too late. Those first ranks were smashed down by warhammer and crushed underfoot, sigmarite shields slamming together in an unstoppable phalanx. Thunder rumbled overhead and Moloch’s eyes flashed as he summoned the power of the storm. Bolts of coalescent lightning fell from the heavens, striking the mob with ear deafening explosions, the air filling with ecstatic screams and burning meat. The defenders cheered at the new arrival, clashing their weapons and fighting even harder. Moloch parried a blade on his reliquary staff and struck out, crushing the offending limb with his warhammer. He could only hope the Lord Celestant was fairing well.

Nesanus bellowed a challenge as the Chaos warriors rushed to meet them. The bulk of the dracoth would not be halted, smashing down one who stood before it. The warrior screamed as claws tore through his armor and flesh but his comrades did not care. They swarmed beast and rider, seeking soft joints with spear points and slender blades. Icarus fended them off best he could but one caught in a joint and pulled him free of the saddle. He tumbled hard and they were on him, cackling with gleeful malice. Then there was a shout of righteous fury and the foes were thrown aside, their armor cracked and bodies sundered. Retributor Prime Drogan hauled Icarus to his feet, his fearsome strength easily lifting the fully armored commander. “Clear a path for the Lord Celestant! God-King!” The Retributors and their lightning hammers were an unstoppable force, smashing aside the foes as Icarus charged forward with a challenge on his lips. The slaves didn’t moved but the daemonettes, leapt down hissing and cursing, but Icarus struck them down as he moved. The last one’s dying curse cut off as he crushed its throat beneath his boot and look up. The Slaaneshi warlord was watching him from atop the palanquin, his tattooed and pierced face twisted in an amused smile. Up close one could see that his armor was silver polished to a mirrored finish and inset with enough precious metals and jewels to ransom a kingdom. When he spoke it was with a sibilant hiss and grotesquely forked tongue. “Well done warrior, you might be worth my time. I am Etiad, Apostle of the Sixfold Bliss, champion of the Lost Prince. What is your name, so I might add it to my many titles?” Righteous hatred filled Icarus heart as he snarled out, “I am Icarus Grimhand, Lord Celestant of the Anvils of the Heldenhammer, the justice of Sigmar!” He charged forward and Etiad leapt down to meet him.

The fight was perhaps the most difficult of his life. The chaos champion was fast and strong, his twin blades a lethal storm of steel. All of Icarus focus was in parrying, blocking, and counter strikes, even his god forged physique pushed to its limits. Etiad laughed as he danced away from another blow. “Keep trying little storm cloud! You are no duelist but entertain me more!” Icarus snarled as he turned a blade on Silence haft. It’s true was was no swordsman or duelist, had not been even in the distant flickers of his previous life. So maybe it was time he stopped fighting like one. Etiad lunged in again, one blade aimed for the exposed neck joint. Icarus took the blow, twisting for it to scrape across his breastplate even as he smashed a fist into his opponent’s face. Etiad stumbled back spitting blood, his nose broken, and Icarus pressed him. Silence came down in a two handed blow, crushing armor and shattering the bones in his shoulder. Etiad cursed and skipped backwards, cradling his ruined arm. “This is not over Stormcast!” Syllables no human mouth should be able to pronounce dropped from his lips and the Slasneshi warlord disappeared in a flash of light. Icarus snarled to himself and turned back to where Drogan and his Retributirs had finished the foe. Indeed it was not over.

The defenders of Manaul had gathered to greet the Stormcasts. Icarus watched in some awe as the leadership party approached. He saw a towering Treelord, a Fyreslayer Runefather, an orruk warlord, a human hetman, an aelf wizard, a soulblight vampire, and even a skaven! But it was the one who lead him that struck a sense deep in his soul. She appeared a mortal woman, clad in simple robes of crimson and white, her midnight black hair shifting in the breeze of her movement. But when her gaze fell upon him he felt the same sense he did when faced with the great Sigmar. “My Lord Celestant, I must thank you for coming to our aid. I am Lady Fuuko, appointed leader of this city.” Slowly Icarus dropped to one knee, the rest of his warrior chamber following suit. “I know my lady. We were sent to find you. The stars of Azyr heralded the rise of another god and Sigmar would send his call.” A hand rested on his pauldron, an irresistible will bidding him to rise. “Then come in Icarus and tell me of this call.”

@fuukonomiko

[icarus-the-eternal]

The Raid

Archon Braessath of the Kabal of the Black Fang laughed as the prey ran, animal terror pushing them further and faster in hopes of escape. Standing on the prow of his Raider, he lifted a splinter rifle and fired, dropping one of the beasts in a howl of anguish. A cruel smile danced across his lips as his warriors laughed and jeered at the display, jetbikes swooping past to herd the prey on. This had been a pleasurable excursion so far, no rivals to dispute his claim and plenty of fodder for both the slave pens and torture racks. “Such a nice time for a hunt, eh Ahlseth?” His Dracon barely looked up from where she was sharpening her flensing knives. “Perhaps my lord but they are rather poor sport, no fight in them at all.” Braessath chuckled to himself, lowering the rifle and accepting a cup from one of his waiting attendants, enjoying the pleasant burn of the hallucinogenic liquid down his throat. “Where’s the fun in prey who fights back? The easier the better I say.” Ahlseth simply shrugged, irritating in her indifference, so the Archon turned his attention back to the hunt. These mon-keigh were even more primitive than the rest of their simple race, barely above animals, but he did enjoy them so. Perhaps when they returned to Commorragh he wouldn’t sell all of them but would establish his own private reserve. He liked that idea for surely many would pay for the pleasure of hunting without leaving the comforts of home. His revelries were interrupted by a blaring alert on the communications channel. Irritation returning he opened it, swearing to skin the one responsible for disturbing his pleasure. “What is it?” The panicked voice of Bezial, his distant cousin and second Dracon, came through. “My lord- attack- can’t- by the dark o- AAAAGH!” The channel cut out in a harsh static and gunfire, no response afterwards. Braessath cursed and turned about, fur cloak billowing in the breeze. “Turn is about! Call back the hunting parties! We have uninvited guests!”

Jaego broke the extended arm, ignoring the pained screams of the Kabalite warrior as it dropped the knife intended for his eye lens. He rapped it across it’s androgynous features, feeling the crunch of bone and cartilage beneath his knuckles before he tossed it to his waiting retinue. The slavering mutants fell upon the injured xenos with hungry claws and teeth, Jaego chuckling as it’s screams faded beneath snarls and growls. “Eat my lovelies! Eat your fill!” He moves on through the ruined camp, humming softly as he paused here and there to examine a corpse or extract a sample. This particular breed of Eldar was fascinating, having adapted to sustain themselves on the pain and anguish of other beings. He hoped to take a few alive for future study, his fingers itching with the desire to peel apart their secrets layer by layer beneath his scalpels. He’d been surprised when his presence had been requested but this raid had already provided him with plenty of useful data and a chance to test his newest experiments. The xenos had dared to trespass upon a world considered valuable by the goddess, it’s Stone Age human population worshipping her in some fashion. His Gland Hounds were gone, given permission to hunt and kill as they saw fit, so he strode through the ruined camp alone. The sounds of gunfire and battle persisted somewhere nearby accompanied by the shouts of mortals and howls of mutants. The first batch of enhanced fodder had performed within expected parameters so far, though he could already see the improvements he would make next time. A feral roar tore through the air and he barely sidestepped as an armored body crashed to the dirt just past him. The drukhari in charge of the camp was barely recognizable from the strutting, gilded peacock he’d been. His armor was cracked and broken, his beautiful sword broken in half, his lifeblood pooling beneath him. Drogon strode after, the giant Astartes radiating primal fury. Every breath through his vox gril was a snarl, fists clenching and unclenching, the sharpened horns and arm blades of bone coated in blood from use. The xenos tried to crawl away but it was no use. The daemonically strengthened warrior seized his helpless foe and with a guttural snarl wrenched it’s head free in a crack of bone and wet tearing of meat. Jaego felt his twin hearts beat faster, his mouth go dry in the presence of such beauty. He had met all the champions of his new patron and his feelings ranged from indifference to respect in the case of fellow Apothecary Furio. But only the renegade Black Dragon made his blood race this way. He was a monster, a magnificent being of gene-crafted death and fury. Oh how he longed to put him on the table, to explore every nook of bone, knot of muscle, and twisted genetic strand. The wonders he could work with but a loving touch, surely it would be his finest work! He’d carefully secured a few samples of blood and tissue but it was not enough, barely a drop to wet his insatiable thirst for more. Drogon looked from where he had dropped the head, fixing his red gaze on the Apothecary. “The rest will come. We prepare. You fight with me this time.” Jaego felts his blood sing as he set about his work.

Braessath has expected a raid from another kabal, perhaps a few dead and the slave stock stolen, but nothing like this. The camp was in ruins, structures toppled and burned or burning. The slaves we’re gonna, their pens pried open and empty. The bodies of his warriors were scattered around in various states of dismemberment, some barely recognizable pieces of ragged meat and gnawed bone. The attackers had left a sign of their handiwork, the corpse and severed head of Bezial held aloft by his own tendons like a macabre puppet for all to see. Archon surveyed the wreckage over the lip of his raider. He’d dressed in finest Wargear to greet these guests, a necessity among the extravagant Archon’s always seeking to outdo one another. A crystalline mesh of purple and emerald armor beneath a new cloak of shimmering metallic feathers and a gunbelt of infant leather slung low in fashion. Fingers rapped upon the gilded shuriken pistols in their holsters as he considered what do next. “Fan out! Find me some tracks! And someone take that damn thing down!” Warriors moved to obey, tugging at the corpse on display. The corpse began to shake and buzz, vomiting a swarm of chittering insects. The warriors cursed and swatted was the cloud enveloped them, rising into agonized screams as the insects found gaps in their armor and burrowed into the inviting flesh. They danced spastically, muscles seizing in pain as the bugs sought the delicious meat of organs and brain matter. Braessath felt himself revolted and fascinated by the sight as the warriors collapsed and their killers settled to feed. Jaego had spent decades cultivating and breeding this particular species of beetle to use against the Craftworld Eldar. He hasn’t been sure thwy would work on the dark cousins of the species but would be very satisfied with the results.

Every step through the camp uncovered more and more booby traps. The Black Fang lost warriors to more hungry beetles, buried landmines, filth coated spike-traps, even a vat-muscled slab of aggression amplified mutant. As he forces were whittled down so did the Archon’s temper flare till he was boiling with only a third of his original force left. As he raged and ranted only then did they make their appearance. Drogan and Jaego emerged from the surrounding woodlands, approaching the eldar at an easy pace. “How did you like our gifts?” Braessath stepped to meet them with hands on his pistols and Ahlseth at his back. “How about you come taste my appreciation mon-keigh?” Drogon snarled, the vox amplifiers making his voice sound even more guttural. “You have trespassed on ground sacred to the goddess, hunted her people. These affronts have been paid for in blood. Leave now and perhaps we shall let you keep your miserable lives!” With his words the rest of the force revealed themselves from under the psychic illusions hiding them, a bristling force of mortals, mutants, and Astartes all hungry for more xenos blood. The Kabalites seemed to be co side red their odds as their leader merely sneered. “Come on then filth! I’m going to make myself a new pair of boots for your face as the slave pis-urk..” Braessath never finished his sentence, eyes going wide with surprise as the air rushed from his lungs. Ahlseth twisted the knife in his spine and drew it out, letting her former master stumbling a few steps and collapsing in the mud. None of the other Kabalites moved to stop her, rather watching with interest as she removed the gunbelt and buckled it about her own waist. Then she waved cheerfully to the pair of astartes. “As Archon of the Black Fang, I humbly accept your terms though I think that we could be of use to each other. Perhaps we could work out some manner of a deal?”

Upon return to the Vaults, Jaego immersed himself in his work once more. He was no warlord and preferred to leave the glories and distribution of loot to others as he’d already claimed the samples and specimens he desired. He was gazing at such specimens now, the mash of machinery and wraithbone the one called Ahlseth had provided him for future contact, when a feminine voice tickled in his ear. “Keeping busy I see.” He turned to find Fuuko in her mortal form standing nearby, gazing into a large tank bobbing with organic matter and nutrient fluid. “Ah my lady! If you had told me you were coming I would have tidied up or prepared refreshments!” The goddess laughed and shook her head. “I prefer my visits to be spontaneous I’m afraid. How goes your work?” Jaego brightened and launched excitedly into his theories based on data from the raid and the possibilities it opened. The goddess played the good guest, listing intently and nodding where appropriate. As he began to branch into the increased growth cycles of hybridized cells, she interrupted him. “I am glad you are enjoying yourself in my service. I shall leave you to your work and I look forward to more results.” Then she was gone, leaving only the scent of incense in her wake. Jaego turned back to tank she’d initially been watching. It was barely an embryo right now, a splice of stolen cells and gleaned samples but he could envision it’s future form. Humming to himself, Jaego stepped away from the Drogon clone and returned to work.

@fuukonomiko

[xdepthsofwinterx]

Echoes in the Dark - 16

     ~ Belief, faith and                            ~*~                         Pre!SoU ~     the big inbetween: Pt.1

                                             Trigger Warning: N/A

Watching the sand billow from beneath the wheels, Dhana felt another pang of sadness. Despite the harsh environment, seedy economy and cut-throat people - the teen was going to miss Calimshan. She’d come to know the underground somewhat, and became accustomed to the faces worn by merchants and beggars alike. It had character, and in a sense, was true to its nature. Mostly superficial, sometimes ruthless, and utterly frivolous. 

But it was home. 

The caravan rocked, plates rattling within the cupboard. Upon her seat, staring out across the vastness of the desert, Dhana wondered just what awaited her. Vollo spoke of the towering trees of the Wealdath, Amn’s bustling markets and towering canopies, and Candlekeep with all those books! They would be following The Coastal Way, so she would see if from the road, right?! 

The teen tore herself away from the window to glance about for her map. Spotting her journal - a battered linen wrapped thing that dwarfed her head - the mageling reached across and plucked ageing parchment from between its pages. 

A small snort caused her to pause however, a small smile forming. 

From the corner of her vision she spied her new tutor. Under the pretense of reading, the dwarf had fallen into a peaceful slumber. Even now he resonated a grandfatherly kindness. She would have to be mindful not to wake him, Master Drogan had been without sleep for near two days. 

Dhana’s ears reddened ever so slightly. 

‘Master Drogan…it sounds awfully official. Hmph, I…almost like it.’ 

A rebellious thought indeed. And if his words be true - which Dhana was beginning to assume were most likely - he was head of an academy. The teen puffed with pride as silently as she could, biting her lip to contain the almost childish glee. 

‘Seriously, Ma would tease me for regressing back into a five year old. Heh…hmm…’ 

And so in lay the heaviest weight of all. 

Olena had seen her off with her usual quiet, caring demeanor. A satchel of food, her predictions for the near future and a wish of good fortune from their Lady. It had been Dhana who had shed the first few tears, wrapping the seer in a bear hug. She had almost given Olena a bloody nose from her staff. 

But her mother had merely smiled sadly.

- “You act like this is a goodbye, child.” 

Pulling away the teen had scrubbed at her eyes, wishing virulently for the ground to swallow her up. Her mother took her face between soft palms and brought her close. 

“I know this isn’t goodbye. Not yet.” 

“That’s not helping the tears, Ma.” Olena persisted regardless. 

“And whatever adversities await, I know you volt give in.” 

Dhana spluttered, “D-Did you just-?!” 

“Wonders never cease.” Her mother pressed her lips to Dhana’s forehead before releasing her. “Now, go and make your mark upon the world dear. I expect to see many a tale in my dreams.” -

Dhana would be lying if she said she wasn’t terrified of what was to come. But she believed in her mother’s word, and perhaps...even in herself. And as she looked across at her slumbering companion, she realised that in that moment her belief even stretched to the Divine. 

…because Tymora was certainly smiling.

[kos-promo]

Full name: Daenerys Targaryen Years of age: 26 Title / Rank: Queen of the Vale Face claim: Emlia Clarke

Biography

For a lot of years, all that Daenerys Targaryen knew was a life of excile and begging. In her youth, Daenerys was a timid girl with little self esteem or confidence who was dependent and in constant fear of her brother, Viserys.  Although he was the only family she had ever known, he was often cruel to her and prone to mood swings and fits of violence. Oddly enough, it was her marriage to Khal Drogo that changed her life for the better. As she adapted to the life in a Dothraki khalasar, she began to achieve independence from Viserys. She was no longer the weak little girl that had been bullied by her brother, now she emerged as a strong, confident woman who had no limit on her courage. Though she has put an end to her life as a victimized child, Daenerys uses her experience to help those in similar situations, bringing justice through her reign and working on ending slavery in the Free Cities.

Pregnant with Khal Drogo’s child, Daenerys’s brother is killed by Dorgo and thus, Khal Drogo looses interest in invading Westeros, despite Daenerys’s attempts to persuade him. Once an assassin tries to poison Daenerys on behalf of Robert Baratheon, Khal Drogo pledges to conquer Westeros for this insult. Once the Dothraki start moving east,  Daenerys grows disturbed by the treatment of the defeated and vows to stop every rape she sees by claiming the victims as her personal slaves. Delighted by his wife’s boldness, Khal Drogo supports her decision. Later in a raid, Drogo is injured and Mirri Maz Durr treats him but the wound festers and without Drogo, Daenerys knows her position is questionable. Mirri Maz Duur uses blood magic to save Drogo but this causes Daenerys to go into labour and deliever a still born baby boy. While burning her husbands body, Daenerys places her three dragon eggs into the flames, while walking unflinchingly into the flames. Once she emerges from the flames, unharmed, her three dragon eggs have hatched and she becomes a Khaleesi in her own right. Her dragons are named after her two brothers, Viserion and Rhaegal and her late husband, Drogon.

Travelling to Astapor, Daenerys plans on purchasing the Unsullied so she can return to Illyrio with an army, despite having doubts about using salves. She is given Missandei, a slave girl, as a gift to which she accept but then free’s the girl. After taking control of the unsullied, Dany betrays the Masters and commands her dragons to use their fires against the Astapori leaders and uses the Unsullied to conquer the city. She forms a council to rule Astapor and set out to Yunkai. Now ruling Meereen, Dany struggles as a ruler with constant threats surrounding her.  With attacks on her men and threats to those who serve the Dragon Queen, Dany decides to move on to conquer Westeros. Fearing her dragons, the Stannis, Doran, Robb and Renly agree to give Dany the Kingdom of the Vale, knowing it is best suited for her dragons.

With the people of Westeros growing more fearful of the dragons and the queen who brought them, tensions in The Vale were growing. Daenerys had spent her time as queen readjusting to Westerosi culture instead of getting to know her people and fellow kings and queens. Daenerys had sent her ward to travel the seven kingdoms in various diplomatic tasks but never expected her ward to turn against her. Using the dragon horn, Dragonbinder, Harrold was able to control Drogan and the other dragons and exiled Daenerys to Mereen, not before killing a large number of Dothraki that she brought with her to Westeros. Unknown to Harrold, Daenerys did not board the ship he provided and instead remains in hiding, trying to get her dragons back from her usurper.

Flaws & Virtues

⚫ ruthless, impulsive, vengeful ⚫ open-hearted, caring, compassionate,

Relationships

Missandei —  Missandei is in Dany’s service whenever she wishes, but Missandei remains close and loyal to Dany.

Jorah Mormont — Jorah cared deeply for Daenerys and although he has betrayed her in the past, he feels as if he is fiercely loyal to his dragon queen.

Harrold Hardying — After making Harrold her ward and heir to please the people of the vale, Daenerys did not know that he had plans to take her throne. Now she is exiled from her own kingdom and without her dragons because of her former ward.

Gif Hunts: [x] Icons: [x]

[pursuitist]

Daily Dream Home: William Krisel Mid-Mod

William Krisel, a pioneering mid-century architect died last year at the age of 92 but his legacy lives on in the homes he created. His residential and commercial designs are scattered around Southern California. This immaculately maintained mid-century vintage residence in La Jolla is a classic example. Built in 1962, this  incredibly bright, open concept Drogan built home combines the floor to…

[kindbelly-blog]

What Is Pitaya And Why Is It Good For You?

What Is Pitaya And Why It Is Good For You?

Chances are you’ve seen or heard of Pitaya, just by a different name. Pitaya is commonly referred to as Drogan Fruit. You’ll likely find the fruit in many Myrtle Beach health food stores or vegetarian restaurants in Myrtle Beach, but this super food fruit begins its life in tropical and subtropical regions in South America and Asia.

Appropriately named, the Dragon Fruit’s outer shell has cactus-like spikes, somewhat resembling the scales of a mythical dragon. The color is a beautiful hue of violet and the inner flesh can be a range of colors from white to red, dotted with small seeds. The fruit offers a number of health benefits including, lower cholesterol, improved digestion, more energy, and weight loss, just to name a few.

Dragon Fruit Nutrition

The fruit, while sweet, has very little cholesterol and can offer a punch of energy. Here’s a summary of the fruit:

Approximately 60 calories

1 gram of fiber per serving

9 grams of carbohydrates per serving

Heart healthy monounsaturated fats and omega-3 fatty acids are found in the seeds

Significant source of antioxidants, which can prevent free radical damage that can lead to premature aging and disease.

Offers many important micronutrients such as vitamin C, calcium, and vitamin A.

It’s understandable that before you stock up on organic foods, you’d like to know what they taste like. Dragon Fruit is comparable to Kiwi – the texture and sweetness factor.

How do I eat Pitaya?

As with most fruits, you can eat Pitaya by itself, or you can add it into a recipe. Myrtle Beach organic restaurants like Kindbelly may add Pitaya to a fruit smoothie. To eat a Dragon Fruit, peel and scoop the same way you would an avocado. Cut the fruit in half length-wise and scoop out the flesh and seeds. Cut the Pitaya into sections to eat alone, throw on a salad, or add to a smoothie. Here’s one of our favorite recipes to try out:

1 large Dragon Fruit peeled and cut

1 cup sliced Strawberries

1 Banana cut into pieces

3/4 cup Greek yogurt, plain or flavored (Use 1 cup coconut water if your prefer dairy-free)

1 tbsp. honey

1/2 cup of crushed ice

Health Benefits of Pitaya

Major health benefits have been linked to Pitaya, or Dragon Fruit, adding to the list of reasons this organic food should be added to your grocery list.

Improved digestion: The fiber in Dragon Fruit can help clear out your digestive system, reducing bloat and constipation.

Antioxidants: This powerful little fruit packs nearly as many antioxidants as Acai berries, helping your body fight free radicals and cancer-producing properties.

Stabilize blood pressure: The fiber in the fruit can help fight diabetes by warding off sugar spikes. Of course, your doctor knows best, but Dragon Fruit may be helpful for high blood pressure.

Hair treatment: If you have color-treated hair, use the juices from a Dragon Fruit (or go the easy route and buy conditioner with Dragon Fruit in it) to help nourish your hair.

Clear skin: Turn the edible portion of the Dragon Fruit into a paste and apply it to your skin twice daily for the Vitamin C to treat reddened areas on your skin.

Vegetarian Restaurants in Myrtle Beach 

If you are looking for places that serve vegetarian meals in Myrtle Beach, check us out. Take a moment to read <a href="http://kindbelly.com/menu/">our menu here.</a> Please call us if you have questions or have a special dietary request. We look forward to seeing you! 

- See more at: http://kindbelly.com/nutrition/what-is-pitaya-and-why-is-it-good-for-you/#sthash.fJFc5zGU.dpuf

[wearetheblacklegion]

Icarus cursed and gripped his restraint harness tighter as the Thunderhawk shuddered like a child’s rattle toy. “Damn it Hirvik, can you keep from giving us all head trauma?” The response crackled over the vox in the former Space Wolf’s irritatingly cheerful voice. “You wanna come up here and fly through a war zone? How about you stick to stealing and leave the flying to the genius!” Icarus cut the link as Hirvik launched into another rowdy song of his homeworld and imagined how good it would feel to strangle his battle brother. Then the gunship shook again and he tried not to think of the void battle occurring around them. His beloved strike cruiser *Night Hunger* had plowed into the orbit of the unnamed demon world alongside the *Soul Eater* and *Final Dance*, tearing down orbital platforms with concentrated Lance strikes. The resident fleet has scrambled to meet them, erupting in a orchestra of fire and steel in the void. The fleet didn’t matter, in the end it wan’t the true target. This world has an artificial moon, an orbital fortress constructed by the Dark Mechanicus for one who called himself The Apostle of Bliss. Once a warrior of the Emperor’s Children and avid follower of the Prince of Pleasure, he’d built a fierce reputation as a Warband leader and duelist. This raid had been specially planned to target the Apostle and take from his collection something of special interest. No great assault force here but rather a targeted strike by a select small team. That was how he’d found himself here in the belly of a gunship flown by a Fenrisian madman. Alongside him were the rest of the selected, strapped in and ready for battle. Hulking Drogan snarling as the demon within shifted his flesh to the war form, steadfast Talorax in his indomitable terminator suit, ever confidant Vico tending final rites to his power sword, and silent Moloch holding his ever present bolter. Hirvik crackled back to life through the link, “Everybody brace yourselves!”

To be fair, it was only Hirvik’s skills as a pilot that saw them get through it. He guided the gunship at high speed through the hail of defensive fire, past the void shields as they momentarily overloaded, and slipped into one of the still open docking bay. He pulled the throttle hard, firing afterburners in an attempt to slow down even as he twisted into a skidding 180. The wing mounted bolsters spat death, chewing up anything in their sight line. The Thunderbird finally ground to a halt and the restraint harnesses sprang open as the the boarding ramp hissed open. Drogan and Talorax were out first, charging into the wave of gunfire that greeted them. Icarus and Moloch thundered out after them with Vico close on their heels. A swarm of foes came crawling out to defend the ship of their masters, cultists wielding auto guns and las-weapons alongside gun servitors hauling heavy stubbers. Numbers meant nothing before the Space Marines though. Talorax storm bolter roared, shredding heavy weapon servitors as Icarus and Moloch picked off any attempt at flankers. Drogan and Vico tore a path through with demonically enhanced strength and energy shrouded blade. Nothing could stand before their might. When the carnage settled the group divided. Drogan and Moloch dug in to guard their escape craft with Hirvik while Talorax, Icarus, and Vico moved on the target.

The deeper they went into the fortress the less resistance they met. It was fact that unnerved Icarus, even more so that they had met no Astartes resistance. When the last bulkhead slid open he knew why. The chamber they entered was large and circular, lit with bright overhead lumens. Rich gold veined white marble clicked underfoot, an awful terrible racket blasting from hidden vox speakers, an overpowering mix of so many sweet perfumes and foul odors assaulted the senses. The walls were truly amazing, lined with rack upon rack of weapons. Icarus saw mauls, blades, spears, hammers, daggers, all manner of melee weapons. He saw weapons of Imperial craft, chaos icons, everything xenos from an Orc choppa to Necron warscythe. It was a collection that might even rival the Vault’s own armory. As the three warriors spread out, a single opponent awaited them. Etiad Colos, the Apostle of Bliss, greeted his intruders with a broad smile and theatrical bow. He might have been handsome once, before his fine patrician features had been ruined by serpentine tattoos, heavily caked colorful powders, and a forest of steel piercing exposed flesh. His white hair was left in long plaits down his back, each movement causing them to jangle raucously with interwoven bells and chimes. His power armor was a riot of bright, garish, conflicting colors that might drive a mortal man insane. His voice was fluent and smooth, seemingly unaltered unlike the rest of him. “Ah welcome friends. I hope you don’t mind but I sent my brothers away. The Dark Prince foretold me of your arrival and I wanted to be a gracious host. Would you perhaps like some refreshment? I am sure there are delights here your goddess could never let you experience.” The silence that followed was filled with only the rasp of drawn steel. Vico leveled his sword in a duelist’s stance, Talorax revved his chainaxe, and Icarus drew his short bladed combat knife. Etiad grinned at them through teeth filed down to points. Laughing, he strode over to the wall and selected a blade. “Do you know what this is? This a Charnabal Sabre forged upon Terra during the age of strife, gifted to me by the Phoenician himself. You should be honored that such a weapon shall take your lives.” With a shout he leapt forward and battle was joined.

They were losing, badly. Icarus has known excellent swordsmen, fought plenty of them, but he’d never encountered anything like this. Etiad moved with a level of speed and grace he could only compare to the filthy Eldar, his attacks so fluid it looked more like a dance. He weaved around blows or slid them off his blade only to strike back viper fast and draw blood. He dodged a blow from Talorax that would have bisected him, twirling around to slice at the vulnerable joints on the back of the terminator legs sending the Iron Warrior to his knees. Icarus leapt in then, attempting to drive his knife up through the rips, only to have it torn from his grip. He jerked his head back as fast as he could and grunted in pain as the blade sliced deeply across he cheek rather than through his eye. A split second later a fist crashed into his jaw with a painful crack of teeth. He stumbled away as steel crashed against steel once again, Vico darting in to take the lead. The Blood Angel was the greatest swordsman in the Eternal Vaults and Icarus has never seen him so hard pressed, every iota of focus harnessed just on the defensive. All the while Etiad was laughing and singing, crying out for them to do more, try harder, it was enraging. He needed a new weapon and scanned the many mounted around the chamber. His gaze fell upon a long bladed polearm, a glaive he’d seen wielded by the pain loving breed of Eldar xenos. Spitting a mouthful blood Icarus snatched the glaive, the weapon feeling good in his hands if a bit light. Talorax was back on his feet and Vico had pulled out, a fresh cut on his face already healing. They all shared quick glances, each knowing they had to end this soon.

Etiad came at them again, laughing with mad joy. But this time they were ready. The charnabal sabre crashed down onto Vick’s waiting blade. But before the Appstle of Bliss could twirl away Icarus came in from the side, smashing the foe in the face with the butt of the glaive. Etiad stumbled right into the waiting bulk of Talorax. The mighty terminator gripped his wrists in a crushing grip and pulled. Etiad screamed in agonized ecstasy as flesh tore and ceramite cracked. He screamed anew as Icarus drove the glaive through his spine, the crackling blade bursting from gaudy chest plate. The Apostle of Bliss gave them a ruined smile, his last words choked through a mouthful of blood. “So..... exquisite.....”. Then Vico’s crackling sword descended and his head rolled free.

Icarus waited only the deep forged of the Eternal Vaults, watching Talorax at work. The Iron Warrior pulled the shaft of white hot metal from the forge and thrust it into the waiting water bucket, cooling in a hissing cloud of steam. He withdrew it, inspected his work, and with a nod of approval handed it to Icarus. The Archite Glaive has been reforged, made more suitable for an Astartes with more heft and weight. The blade was a shimmering thing, the alien metal mixed with the fragments of his old power sword. The Eternal hefted his new weapon and grinned. It felt good.

@fuukonomiko @just-another-warsmith @askvicothefallenbloodangel