Game of Thrones: I am Dothraki, not a barbarian

Chapter 11: Morale Boosted
Doria held the leather bag and poured the mixture of fat and sugar into the bottle.

Then, Ji Qi twisted the cloth into thin strips, tied a knot at the end, soaked it in oil, and used a small wooden stick to poke the knotted end into the bottle mouth.

"Make sure it's packed tightly," Daenerys said, lowering her voice. "Otherwise, it'll fall off after a few bumps, and all our efforts will be wasted."

R'haro called these bottles "Dothraki," which means "firestorm" in the Dothraki language.

After lighting it and throwing it out, the target area will be turned into a sea of ​​fire in an instant.

In her cognition, fire is sacred, and the ancestors of the Targaryen family conquered the continent of Westeros with dragon flame.

Last night, she dreamed of a dragon again.

This time, in addition to Viserys, there was another man in her dream. She felt very close to him, but the next moment she realized that the man was an enemy.

Then, the two men disappeared, and a giant dragon appeared, its scales as dark as the night. It opened its huge mouth, and flames that burned the sky and boiled the sea shot out from it.

The dragon seemed to sing to her, so she stretched out her arms and let the flames consume her.

She felt her muscles burning and blackening, her skin necrotizing and peeling off, and her blood boiling and evaporating, but she felt no pain. Instead, she felt stronger than before. It was a feeling like being reborn from the ashes.

She came back to her senses from her memories, picked up a newly sealed Molotov cocktail, and gently stroked the cold bottle with her fingertips, as if she could feel the violent power hidden inside.

Daenerys seemed to see countless "Dothrakira" explode, and the flames devoured the enemy like demons. The entire sea of ​​​​grass was burning and making crackling sounds.

"Khaleesi, it's all full." A voice interrupted Daenerys' thoughts.

Eroye, the maid of Laharo, carefully placed the last Molotov cocktail into the wooden box and breathed a long sigh of relief.

They had hardly slept for three days, but even so, the number of Molotov cocktails was still a drop in the bucket compared to the 30,000 enemy troops that were about to arrive.

Can these few boxes of "Dothrakara" really withstand 30,000 iron hooves?
Daenerys walked out of the tent, the night wind blowing across her face. She closed her eyes, and the roar of thousands of horses galloping seemed to ring in her ears. The ferocious horse heads on the enemy's flags seemed to be sneering at her mockingly in the dark.

"Thirty thousand men...Rahlor," Daenerys muttered to herself, a feeling of powerlessness welling up in her chest.

"Khaleesi." Doria followed Daenerys out of the tent, her face still covered in black grease. She hesitated and asked, "Is this enough?"

"It must be enough," Daenerys stared at her with her purple eyes, her tone unusually calm, "because this is our only chance!"

Daenerys returned to her tent and saw Rhaelor looking at a map intently.

She wanted to put her hand on Rahalo's shoulder.

But Harold was 1.9 meters tall, much taller than Daenerys, so he had no choice but to put his hands on his chest.

"Molotov cocktails are ready, do what we can."

When Laharo was alone with her, he seemed like a different person. He behaved properly, spoke in an extraordinary way, and even seemed like a child who had never grown up. He was like the handsome knights in her childhood fantasies.

Moreover, there are many fantastic ideas, revealing a temperament that is incompatible with this wild grassland.

Sometimes she even thought that he should not have been born in the wilderness.

"Thank you, Dany." Rahalo grasped her slender waist and lifted her up to sit on the table.

"Oh..." Daenerys exclaimed, then felt Rhallor's heat, and a sense of security came over her. "We will definitely win!"

She didn't know if Molotov cocktails could really defeat the enemy, or if Rahalo's plan would work, but at this moment, she chose to trust him.

...

The next day, Rhahalo gathered his bloodriders and warriors.

The crowd gathered on the riverbed that once flowed, but now only cracked soil remained, trampled by horses' hooves, raising clouds of dust.

Rhahalo rode his tall black warhorse at the front of the team, his eyes sweeping over the rugged faces and slightly worried eyes.

His voice reached everyone clearly: "Khal Fogo has arrived! Like a greedy beast, he seeks to take everything from us! He wants us to linger on like wild dogs on the grasslands, and eventually die a miserable death!"

He suddenly drew the scimitar from his waist and pointed it at the sky. The blade flashed coldly under the scorching sun.

"But we are Dothraki! We are the lions of the grasslands! The horse gods will protect us. We would rather die in battle than surrender! We will use our scimitars and blood to let Fogol know who is the real khal! Who is the true master of this grassland!"

Laharo's voice became even more high-pitched and full of allure: "Fogo has countless women, countless horses and sheep, and mountains of gold, but he guards them like a miser and won't share them with us!
Think about it, warriors!
Defeat Fogo, and those women will be our spoils! Those horses and sheep will fill our camp! That gold will buy countless silks and slaves!

Fogo has gold, we have machetes!

Defeat them, let our steeds trample over Khal Fogo's body, and take what we desire!"

The warriors were ignited by these words, brandishing their scimitars and letting out deafening roars that swept in all directions like a hurricane.

Laharo signaled for everyone to be quiet and took a Molotov cocktail from Rakharo. It looked like a wine bottle, nothing special, except that there was a piece of cloth soaked in grease at the mouth of the bottle.

He held up the bottle and showed it to everyone.

"This is Firestorm! It will be our weapon to defeat Khal Fogo!"

Laharo came to a huge rock and set the cloth strip on fire.

Then, Laharo threw the bottle with force, and it drew an arc in the air and hit the rock.

"boom!"

With a crisp sound, the ceramic bottle shattered, and grease and syrup splashed everywhere, burning rapidly, forming a sea of ​​fire with a diameter of more than three meters, and the air was distorted.

Because of the addition of bitter thorn juice, the flame took on a strange yellow-green color, burned more fiercely than ordinary flames, and made crackling sounds.

The flames burned for a full five minutes before gradually dying out, leaving only a charred mark and a pungent burnt smell.

The soldiers were shocked by the scene before them.

They had never seen such terrifying flames. These flames seemed to have life, greedily devouring everything around them!
The Dothraki people believe in the horse god, but now their traditional ideas are gradually being shaken!

When they looked at Laharo again, their eyes were full of admiration, as if he was not a human, but a god who controlled fire!
"Kao will win!"

"Long live Khal Rahalo!"

The warriors roared like thunder, full of confidence in the upcoming battle. Under the leadership of Khal Rahalo, they would surely be able to defeat the powerful Fogo!

(End of this chapter)