Signs of the Future
Fifth Day of the Second Month 293 AC
The oddest thing you find about the Dothraki while living among them is that they are, for all their deserved reputation for savagery and barbarism, a people defined by ancient immutable custom. They live amidst a web of carefully woven beliefs where chance has no place and every occurrence, no matter how small, serves some hidden purpose waiting to be unveiled. Every shape in the clouds or shift in the wind marks some portent, every dip or protuberance in the land is a sign of some significance to the Living Earth to whom they give homage. So they are born, tangled in omens said to foretell their fate, and so they die, their passing attributed to dozens of strange conjunctions.
That is not to say the Dothraki always
agree on what fate has in store or how it might be fulfilled or thwarted. In your time among the khalasar you have seen as many brawls over the theft of talismans, the supposed breech of some taboo, as over wealth and prestige. The two aspects are impossibly tangled together so it is more than you can say after mere days' observation where one ends and the other begins.
It is in this unspoken understanding that everything is tied together that some of the more savage acts of the people of the Great Grass Sea find their spiritual bed-rock. Beyond plunder and rapine there is the honest belief that to turn over the earth and make it flower and fruit as man wills work blasphemy, casting out the spirits of the earth and blinding one to its signs.
Sitting quietly at the campfires in the evenings you hear a dozen tales and more about the greed and folly of settled people who do not move on to let the earth rest but instead enslave it until it likes rotting and spewing foul miasmas and plagues. There are other tales you have to ask Rhango to tell, for no other among his people would dare speak them to your face: ones speaking of the evils of magic.
'Sorcery is like the flame that burns one corner of the tapestry to illuminate the whole,' one of the most well known ballads of the Dothraki decries before going on to recount the evils of magic, some of which you sadly recognize as the distorted echoes of Valyrian practice: the warping of flesh and the rot that overtakes the soul.
"Why did you give your people onto me though you died in the doing?" you ask the old khal curiously as he finishes yet another tale of 'witchery' and the ills it supposedly brings.
"The whole world was alight," he answers softly, his single eye darkening with the memory of horror. "What was there for a man to do but lay down to die... or challenge the wisdom of those who have come before that his sons may live on? This too is fire, and yet without it we would perish or be little better than beasts among the long grasses," he finishes, motioning to the banked embers of the flame in the center of the tent.
"You seem to have been doing quite a bit of challenging," you reply, not hiding the admiration you had unexpectedly come to feel for the old man. For all his many,
many sins he is struggling to be a good and fore-thoughtful lord for his people, more than many 'civilized men' can claim. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
"I thought that was what your bloodrider-kinght was doing rattling the heads of fools who thought they could get through his steel?" he replies with a laugh. "Unfair business, that. From the look of him he could have won against any three of them at once naked as the day he was born and them armored in steel shells." For all Rhango wears his new cuirass, with pride even, it is clear even he thinks a full suit of plate is excessive.
"Other than a great triumph to raise the banners high, having sorcerer here, a healer best of all, would give me something to point to and say 'here is magic that has saved the lives of warriors'."
What do you reply?
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OOC: I know you guys might have preferred an update of Richard swatting Dothraki, but that was a foregone conclusion so I could not find a way to make it interesting.