Game of Thrones: I am Dothraki, not a barbarian

Chapter 14 Burning Camp
The moon was at its zenith, and in the forest, the only sounds were the rustling of the treetops in the breeze and the occasional animal calls.

Lahalo climbed up a tall pomelo tree. The dense branches and leaves could hide his figure. Through the gaps in the leaves, he overlooked the Khalasar below.

On the hillside, herds of cattle, sheep and horses were grazing quietly in the night, and there were countless of them as far as the eye could see!

In Karasari, densely packed tents almost filled the entire valley, the number far exceeded previous estimates. In total, the number of troops was several times more than he had expected!
However, the Dothraki were naturally free and unrestrained, and the camp was in chaos, with no signs of a major battle about to break out, which was also a common characteristic of all khalasars.

The bonfire danced in the night, casting distorted human figures on the tent.

Warriors holding wine bags were everywhere, their chests covered with battle scars exposed, staggering around. The roars, screams and groans mixed together and could be heard from far away.

In contrast, Laharo was able to make his elite troops obey orders and keep their mouths shut, which was a favor from the horse god.

Over trivial matters, such as whose warhorse was stronger or whose slave was more coquettish, fierce quarrels would break out at any time and end in swords.

Although the enemy's military discipline was lax, their numbers were too large. He originally thought that he could take advantage of the enemy's unpreparedness and defeat Fogo in one fell swoop, but now it seems that the difficulty has increased significantly.

If he ran away like this, the reputation he had just built up would be destroyed.

And a khal whose reputation is ruined will soon be overthrown.

No matter what, we have to fight this wave!
...

In the center of the camp, a huge tent is particularly conspicuous. It is heavily guarded and is undoubtedly the main tent.

In the tent, Khal Fogo sat high on a throne made of animal bones and leather, his fat body almost crushing the chair.

He was shirtless, his fat had slacked, his chest was covered with crisscrossing scars, and in his hand was a piece of roasted horse meat, greasy juices dripping from his short, stubby fingers onto the carpet.

There was a sinister smile on his face and his eyes were full of contempt.

"Laharo? That sheep-man bastard? Hahahaha! He thinks he can contend with my Khalasar with only 20,000 soldiers? Ridiculous!"

His words caused a burst of laughter.

His blood guards were all big and strong, with muscular bodies and hideous tattoos. Some of them held wine glasses in their hands, while others directly grabbed bloody pieces of meat and devoured roasted horse meat and kumis with unscrupulousness.

The tent was in a mess, with wine bottles, food scraps, and torn clothes scattered everywhere.

Several trembling slaves knelt on the ground, their faces filled with fear and despair.

Although they shared the same almond-shaped eyes and wheat-colored skin as the Dothraki, only those who dwelt upon the Sea of ​​Grass could tell them to be Lhazareen, the people of Rhallor's mother.

The young slave was pinned to the ground, crying and shouting, but his cries were soon drowned out by waves of evil laughter.

Fogo turned a blind eye to all this and continued to curse Laharo loudly, insulting his mother and cursing his ancestors with all kinds of obscenities.

He became more and more excited as he spoke. He grabbed a jar of wine and took a few big gulps. The wine flowed down the corners of his mouth and wet the hair on his chest.

He suddenly stood up, staggered to the foot of the throne, and smashed the empty wine jar to the ground, sending fragments flying everywhere.

He roared, his voice echoing in the tent.

"I want that lowly sheepman Laharo to kneel before me and tell him in person that he must give me, Fogo, what I want!"

His bloodriders burst into wild cheers again, drinking and having fun without restraint, and the chaos in the tent reached its peak.

Finally, Fogo could no longer hold on and fell drunkenly onto the throne. The piece of meat in his hand fell to the ground, his head tilted to one side, and he let out heavy snoring.

...

The night was deep, and Laharo held the reins tightly. Two thousand warriors had already gathered in the darkness, waiting for his order.

Rahalo took a deep breath, lit the torch in his hand, raised it high in the air, and drew a circle. Then, countless torches ignited in the darkness, like stars in the sky. "Roar!"

Rhaharo let out a rasping war cry that cut through the air.

This is the origin of the name "Dothraki Roaring Warrior", using roars to intimidate the enemy and boost morale.

"charge!"

Laharo was the first to rush down the hillside.

Two thousand cavalrymen followed closely behind, like a rushing river, sweeping towards the Karasa of Fogo.

They also let out the same roar, which gathered into a huge wave of sound that echoed across the grassland.

In an instant, countless fires lit up again in the darkness. Those were the cavalrymen lighting the Molotov cocktails in their hands.

Then, the Molotov cocktail streaked across the night sky, leaving a long tail of fire and landing accurately in the camp.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

A series of breaking sounds were heard, and grease splashed everywhere, instantly igniting the sheepskin tents, straw and firewood.

Unlike the orange-red color of ordinary flames, these flames were a strange yellow-green color and spread rapidly in the camp like hellish will-o'-the-wisp.

The camp turned into a sea of ​​fire, the flames engulfed everything, and thick smoke rose up, blocking out the stars!

The enemy soldiers who were not drunk were instantly awakened and ran out of the tents, all with expressions of fear on their faces.

They were often responsible for burning camps, but they had never seen such a strange flame. Fear destroyed their morale, and someone shouted in panic: "Green fire! Green fire! It's the devil's fire!"

A large number of enemy soldiers were burned and let out shrill screams. Those who were drunk and dreaming were buried directly in the tents and could not even scream. Some people trampled on each other in the chaos, resulting in countless casualties.

Fogo was also awakened, stumbled out of the tent, rubbed his sleepy eyes, and looked incredulous.

Looking at the green sea of ​​fire in front of him, his fat body trembled constantly.

He shouted at the top of his lungs, trying to organize a counterattack, but his voice was quickly drowned out by the screams.

Laharo's cavalry were like a pack of bloodthirsty wolves, wielding sharp Atak scimitars and mercilessly slashing at these disorganized and chaotic enemies.

The flashing of swords and the flying of blood and flesh, the screams and wails, and the clashing of weapons were intertwined together, creating a hellish scene!
Laharo led the charge, the scimitar Askara in his hand was like the scythe of the god of death. Wherever he passed, heads flew into the sky, blood was all over the ground, and not a single piece of armor was left!
In his sight, an enemy soldier was wielding an Arak scimitar and slashing at a warrior who had been pulled off his horse. Rahalo rushed forward with a roar, cut off the enemy's arm with one blow, and then with a flash of the knife, his head soared into the sky.

Laharo led the cavalry to charge left and right in the camp, dividing Fogo's troops into several groups and then defeating them one by one.

However, Fogo had seen a lot in battles, so he calmed down and suddenly grabbed a warrior's braid.

"Don't retreat! Kill them all!"

Fogo pushed the warriors away, blew the horn, then drew his sword and mounted his horse. Relying on his strong prestige and experience in fighting the enemy, he gradually organized the remaining troops.

More than 5,000 people died in the will-o'-the-wisp fire. The remaining 4,000 to 5,000 warriors heard the horn and began to gather towards the big tent, trying to stop Laharo's offensive.

The situation on the battlefield is gradually reversed!

Although Laharo's two thousand cavalrymen were brave and good at fighting, and achieved great results in the initial chaos by relying on the advantage of surprise attack, they did not blow up the camp after all, allowing Fogo to survive.

Faced with enemies that outnumbered them by more than twice their numbers, their advantage was disappearing and they were gradually falling into a tough battle.

If they cannot defeat Fogo's main force as soon as possible, their situation will be very dangerous!

(End of this chapter)