The Undead Horde Of The Great Grass Sea (GOT)

The people of this world see themselves as superior, everyone assuming they are better than the next. The white-haired fool stares at me like I'm a great weapon to aim at his enemies. The merchant, clearly a pawn for someone else, also seeks to curry my influence for reasons I don't yet know. The only one among them without greed clouding her eyes—for now—is the young girl, the so-called future Mother of Dragons. If she truly is what the witch foresaw, then I will take a few more cities and unite the Dothraki under my banner.

We were in one of the horse palaces, though calling it a "palace" was generous. It was more like a Dothraki tent outfitted with pillows, pads, and shortened tables. I found thrones pretentious and uncomfortable, preferring to lounge as I spoke. Sitting across from me were the prince and princess. The girl still wore my headpiece on her head, a silent testament to her new position. Slowly, I addressed them.

"You cannot offer me what you do not possess. And what you do have, I can take for myself," I said, my words translated by Maria for the two men who seemed more confused with every sentence. "If you want the Dothraki to cross the sea for you, then give us a city."

Viserys, ever confident in his delusions, declared, "I will give you a city in Westeros after I reclaim my birthright."

"You misunderstand, boy," I said, locking eyes with him. "Take a city here in Essos. Gift it to the Dothraki, and then I will cross the sea for you and win back your chair."

He stood in stunned silence. "You have nothing to offer me, nothing to win my favor."

At this, his desperation began to show. "You can have my sister," he blurted out.

"She is not yours to give," I replied coldly. "She has set foot in Vaes Rhaeshisofrak and thus belongs to me. You belong to me. Him too," I said, pointing at the merchant. "He bought his way into this city and may leave if he wishes. But as I said—gift me a city, and I will gift you a kingdom."

Maria translated my words with fervor, and I noticed the merchant pale. The young prince, predictably, reached for his ornate sword. Before he could draw it, I picked up an apple and threw it, smashing it against his nose. He dropped his sword in shock.

"Now, as I was saying—go. Tell your masters to bring me a city. My horde will move only when I have what I demand," I said with cold intensity. "We are a warring people. Essos was never going to be enough. Qohor fell quickly; so will Norvos, Pentos, and the Triarchs. I have only just learned these names, yet I know they will fall in time. Unlike you, young prince, we are not taught to fear. We are taught to kill, to attack, and to die. You run in hopes that your name will grant you power. We run to create power."

The room fell silent. Maria, with her usual vigor, translated my words. I turned to the girl. "And you, little princess—what is it you desire?"

Her answer caught me by surprise. "I want a dragon," she said, her voice steady.

The room grew deathly quiet. Even the young prince, clutching his bruised nose, stilled. I considered her for a moment before replying. "Then it will be done." Whether I intended to keep my word was a question for another time.

I turned back to the merchant. "Leave. Tell your masters I am no one's dog. The next time you set foot in my city, make sure you can pay your way out properly." With Maria's translation, the merchant was dragged out, pale and trembling. The siblings, however, remained, their shock evident.

"Do not worry, boy," I said with a smirk. "You will become a man." I looked at my bloodriders. Kota would prefer raiding at night, which was too dangerous for someone like Viserys. Doromon wasn't a teacher and would likely break him. Jogo was too skilled to waste on this task. "Braga, Bejan—make him a competent rider and fighter."

The twins exchanged a glance and muttered in unison, "Impossible."

"Do it anyway," I ordered. Without hesitation, they dragged the boy from the room. His sister tried to intervene but was held back by Zha.

"And you, princess," I said. "If you are to stay among my women, you will dress like them, speak like them, and be decorated like them." Maria, eager as ever, displayed the macabre bone adornments in her hair and dress. Among the Dothraki, such decorations had become a sign of status and culture, spreading throughout my growing khalesar.

Here's an edited and polished version of your passage for improved flow, clarity, and immersive storytelling:

Myr, The Golden Company

The man with blue hair and a matching beard held a parchment in his hands, his expression a mixture of concern and confusion. In the mercenary city-state of Myr, encounters with the Dothraki hordes from the Great Grass Sea were not unheard of. Yet the rumors he now faced were unlike any he'd heard before: whispers of the last of the House of Eres's kin being held by the Dothraki, and of a new power rising among the horselords.

This message in his hands, however, carried graver tidings. It warned of an imminent Dothraki attack—not a raid, but a full conquest. The man frowned, reading the final lines of the message once more: "Leave the city before the horde begins its march."

Myr was not defenseless. Its reliance on slaves and mercenaries gave it access to seasoned fighters, including those of the Golden Company. But even with skilled soldiers, fighting the Dothraki was a perilous endeavor. The horselords were never easy adversaries, and this new threat loomed far larger than any scattered khalasar Myr had faced before.

The Main Character's POV

The endless skies of this world always held my gaze. The swaying grasslands stretched wide and far, their beauty undiminished by the blood spilled across them. I stood on a ridge overlooking Vaes Dothrak, the city sprawling below, watched over by the massive horse statues that marked its entrance.

So many sights, yet I never felt cold. My thoughts wandered as I glanced down at my attire: leather pants and a padded vest, reinforced with the scales of a lizard the Dothraki had slain in the forests of Qohor. I often wondered why the Dothraki scorned armor. Yet, I could see them evolving, albeit slowly. Bone trophies and leather decorations now adorned their bodies—headpieces, shoulder guards, and more. They still called them "trophies," but I could see the practicality in their design, marked with arrow holes and slash marks from past battles.

I didn't force them to change, but neither did I stop them from adapting. The Dothraki were a people in flux, and I would guide them as they evolved.

Lost in thought, I noticed a white horse approach. A small figure rode atop it, a delicate form draped in Dothraki attire. Over her face, she wore a horse-skull headpiece, its hollow eyes giving her an eerie majesty.

"Ah, little princess," I greeted her with a faint smile.

"My Khal," she replied, her voice distorted by the mask. She turned her gaze to the horizon. "It is beautiful, in its own way."

I followed her line of sight, looking over the vast expanse of my camp and khalesar. My numbers were considerable—fifteen thousand people, with ten thousand warriors among them. The rest were women, children, and slaves. Beyond my camp, other khals had gathered, their khalesars sprawling like great beasts across the plains. None were as vibrant as my own, though. Some painted their bodies; others bore tattoos. But none wore the full-body paint or bone trophies my warriors had adopted.

Tonight, all the khals would enter Vaes Dothrak for reasons I could only guess at. The Dosh Khaleen had summoned me personally, no doubt eager to speak with the man who had sent so many slaves and warriors to their gates.

My rivals were here as well, the men I would have to kill to bring the remaining khals under my banner. I glanced again at the princess, her skull mask tilted slightly as she observed the city. For now, she remained a companion, but the weight of what lay ahead pressed heavy on my thoughts. Tonight, Vaes Dothrak would hold court, and I would either emerge as a true ruler or another name whispered in the endless grasslands.

Authors take 

i thought about that stock piling thing then i remembered how much i hate waiting for new releases so imma throw that patreon thing it aint me im an Coder and a fic writer on the side so i looked myself in the mirror and thought "damn i need a haircut " then i thought "i like your appreciation way more and if i some how make money off of your enjoyment in the future then why make you wait write and release is more my style anyway oh yeah and at least review the shit out of the story apparently that does something i dont know what yet cause manual are for bitches and i learn as i do so power stones and reviews i think they do something dont know what though "