The morning dawned clear and cool over the Myrosh coast. Maegor, mounted atop his magnificent Sand Steed – a beast of boundless energy and surprising intelligence – led his company inland. The black dye on his hair was now entirely gone, his silver strands catching the early light, a visible declaration of his identity. Balerion, a majestic silhouette against the rising sun, soared high above them, his occasional shriek echoing across the fertile plains.
His Targaryen Royal Guard, now sixteen strong including Ser Kaeto and the ever-watchful Ser Barristan, marched with a new sense of purpose. The former slave guards, dressed in simple but effective leather and wielding their spears and shields, moved with a quiet, disciplined efficiency that impressed even Barristan. Daenerys and Viserys followed in the small carriage, guarded closely by Lyra and two of the Royal Guard. Viserys, still clutching his "weak" dragon egg, looked out with a mix of fear and dawning ambition, while Daenerys watched Balerion soar, a growing light in her eyes.
As they rode deeper into the Myrosh countryside, the signs of recent conflict became stark. Fields were trampled, farmhouses smoldering, and the occasional pillar of smoke still rose in the distance. This was Drogo's work. The Khalasar moved with brutal efficiency, leaving a trail of conquest in its wake.
By midday, they reached the outskirts of a moderately sized town. It was walled, though the defenses looked more suited to fending off bandits than a full Khalasar. Beyond the town, on a small rise, stood the castle Maegor intended to make his seat – a sturdy, stone keep, unadorned but clearly defensible. And everywhere, now, were Dothraki.
Thousands of them.
Their screamers on their short, stout horses were everywhere, a living tide of bronze and braid. They rode with a wild joy, their arakhs still red-stained, their faces flushed with victory. The stench of smoke and blood hung heavy in the air.
Maegor saw Khal Drogo at the head of a massive contingent, near the town's main gate, which now lay splintered and in ruins. Bodies, both civilian and Dothraki, lay scattered in the dust. The conquest was brutal, as he had commanded.
Maegor spurred his Sand Steed forward, leaving his Royal Guard to follow at a measured pace. Balerion, sensing the convergence, descended in a glorious spiral, letting out a piercing shriek that cut through the Dothraki clamor. The screamers looked up, then their excited shouts died in their throats as they recognized the black dragon. A wave of reverence, bordering on terror, swept through the Khalasar.
Khal Drogo, atop his magnificent black stallion, saw Maegor approaching, the silver hair, the purple eyes, and the dragon descending behind him. He dismounted, and to the astonishment of his assembled ko and bloodriders, he knelt.
"My Khal!" Drogo bellowed, his voice raw with devotion. "Myrosh is yours! It burns for your glory!"
Maegor dismounted from his Sand Steed, the majestic beast nickering softly as he stroked its neck. He stood tall before the kneeling Khal, Balerion landing on his shoulder with a heavy thump. The Dothraki around them, seeing their Khal kneel, instinctively followed suit, dropping to their knees, a ripple of submission spreading through the entire contingent.
"Rise, Khal Drogo," Maegor commanded, his voice clear and resonant, amplified by his Draconic Persuasion. "You have ridden well. You have proven your loyalty. Myrosh is indeed ours."
As Drogo rose, Maegor surveyed the ravaged town. His eyes, cold and calculating, took in the carnage. "The castle," he stated, pointing towards the keep on the hill. "Is it secured?"
"Taken, my Khal," Drogo confirmed, his voice filled with pride. "The small garrison resisted, but they are food for the crows now. The castle is clean. It awaits your banner."
"Good," Maegor said. He turned to his Royal Guard, who had now caught up, forming a disciplined line behind him. "Ser Barristan, Ser Kaeto. Take the Royal Guard. Secure the castle. Establish patrols. Ensure its defenses are solid. And prepare the highest tower for my banner."
"As you command, my lord," Barristan replied, already barking orders to the guards. The sight of the legendary White Sword of the Kingsguard, now serving a true Targaryen, filled the Dothraki with even greater awe.
Maegor then turned his attention to the town itself. "Khal Drogo, the town is ours. Let your men take what they need, but ensure there is order. There will be no more random slaughter. I will not rule over ashes. The people here are now my people. They will provide tribute, not be plundered into extinction. Their skills will be vital for what is to come. Only those who resist my rule, or conspire against it, will face the arakh."
Drogo looked surprised, but he nodded. "As you command, my Khal. My men will obey. The town will be yours." He then barked orders to his bloodriders, who disseminated the new commands throughout the Khalasar.
Maegor spent the rest of the day observing. He watched as his Royal Guard, with grim efficiency, swept through the castle, securing every corner. He saw Lyra lead Daenerys and Viserys into the castle, ensuring their safety. He watched Khal Drogo bring a semblance of order to the wild Dothraki, directing them to gather provisions rather than simply burn everything.
As dusk approached, Maegor rode to the castle. Its gates, though battered, were now open, guarded by his Royal Guard. He dismounted, and as he stepped into the main courtyard, he looked up. From the highest tower, swaying proudly in the evening breeze, was a newly raised banner.
The three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, black on a field of crimson.
Balerion, circling high above, let out a triumphant shriek.
[ Mission Complete: Establish the Dragon's Stronghold ]
Objectives Fulfilled:
Coordinate with Khal Drogo's Khalasar to conquer the region of Myrosh. (✓)Secure and fortify the small castle in the central town of Myrosh, establishing it as your primary seat of power. (✓)Raise your banner (the Targaryen sigil) over the castle. (✓)
Reward Granted:
Ability Upgrade: Valyrian Insight (Tier 3) - Masterful understanding of Valyrian lore, magic, and bloodline; limited ability to detect ancient Valyrian artifacts/locations.System Rank: Landed Lord5 Game of Chance Cards received!
Maegor felt a profound sense of achievement. He was no longer just a claimant; he was a Landed Lord, with a stronghold, an army, and a small, but growing, realm. The Valyrian Insight (Tier 3) upgrade hummed in his mind, already sharpening his perception of the ancient energies of the castle, hints of older stones, older powers. And five more cards awaited him.
He walked into the great hall of the small castle, its rough-hewn stone walls echoing with his footsteps. This was his, a foothold in Essos, a place from which to plan his return to Westeros. He knew the path ahead would be long and brutal, filled with more conquests, more battles. But he had fire, and he had blood. And now, he had a home