Dressed to Kill, Chapter 4 (ASOIAF FI)

The loss of the scouts lowered the numerical disparity, but it did not remove it wholly. The recent battles between the scouts made that a moot point - the gap in individual ability more than made up for it, and so Ladon sent the brunt of his forces forward. The scouts remained separate, ready to pursue any stragglers, and with the lack of information the Ko leading the opposing force would have, the odds were firmly tilted in his favor.

He could have just taken them over like he did with the first kosar but there was a distinct desire in Ladon to gain experience in army-scale combat. The individual skills of the Dothraki he consumed were accessible, yes, but the leadership and command skills expected of a Ko or Khal were monofocused on light cavalry, raiding, and more importantly could only rely on the strength and endurance of ordinary men and excellent but not outright unnaturally good horses. He wished to develop beyond that, form tactics and doctrines of his own. This would be a battle, as lopsided as the balance of force was.

Ladon kept it simple, splitting his forces in two groups and setting them loose to hit the flanks, peppering them with arrows as they went. His forces had better stamina, speed and accuracy, so he’d leverage them.

Even the first volley was devastating - the Dothraki wore leather armor at best, carried no shields, and while they may have suspected something as the incoming ‘kosar’ split into two groups, they were ultimately unprepared when the arrows started raining. Riders tumbled from saddles, either dead or too severely wounded to remain horseback. Between the distance and movement, arrows missed the men and either sank into the soil or into horseflesh, steeds tripping or dying outright, becoming obstacles to the rest of the force.

The response was disorganized, the Ko not immediately apparent, either already lost or rendered unable to take charge as the Dothraki who remained split apart into two uneven groups, attempting to return fire with bows while pursuing, but their shots were on the whole far less accurate for multiple reasons: lack of unity between steed and rider, less strength, worse bodily coordination, eyes that did not measure up to their opponents’. 

If Ladon were playing it safe here, he would’ve just kept going with the harassment until the battle was done. As it was, though, he sent in his two battlegroups in for the kill with an old fashioned charge.

The two groups of ‘real’ Dothraki met the charges with their characteristic war cries, their voices ringing out across the plains. A handful more arrows were exchanged before the bows were stowed away, including Ladon’s first casualty - a rider, insignificant in the grand scheme of things, tumbling from his horse with an arrow’s haft sprouting from his eye, the blow instantly lethal unlike the less accurate hits sustained before. The smaller hits could be mended by a steady tithe of vigor from the grass, the horses left with the Lhazareen, and if need be even the uninjured combatants through the spiderweb connection in the Psychic Aether each body shared, after all.

The main forces did not fare significantly better than the scouts, arakhs cutting through men and horses alike. Shoves and punches and kicks were traded alongside killing bows, draining channels of vitality established with them to regenerate and repay what was drained from the reserves, but as chunks of lifeforce were absorbed there was no more room for them - and so they were directed into ‘Boro’s’ horse, making the steed match the rider. 

And there was a lot to match - the former Ko stood out from the rest of the forces surrounding him, as even the ‘fearless’ Dothraki gave him a berth once the charges shifted into a frantic horseback melee. Each of his blows struck with near-blinding speed, the blade becoming a blur of black metal and the red of fresh blood, each of his swings slaying at least one foe, smashing through attempts to block or parry and too fast to dodge.

Casualty ratios swung immediately in Ladon’s favor, and the outcome was soon foretold, the Dothraki trying to disengage, shouting acknowledgements of strength and promises of joining their new Ko’s forces. An opportunity to replace the handful of his own casualties, if he chose to do so - he’d lost a dozen of his human shells in the battle, decapitated by lucky blows or having their skulls split. His reallocation of vitality could heal wounds, not instant death.

So he let them, going through the motions of a Ko subsuming a weaker kosar into their own. Just with a few extra steps added on top. The horses were subsumed into his network, growing far more practiced and a fair bit more powerful since taking over Lazarro’s. The telepathic probes that followed examined the memories of the Dothraki themselves, finding this lot to be just as repulsive as the last - there were, however, a few sets of memories that gave him hope. Not for this kosar, but a previous one that it had absorbed. One weakened by deserters leaving in dissatisfaction with the lifestyle, declaring their intent to reach Braavos and become merchants there, some five years ago.

Considering the distances involved, there was no guarantee that they even made it there, and without firsthand access to the memories the truthfulness of their declaration could certainly be questioned, but it at the very least indicated not every Dothraki wanted to go around raiding and raping until something killed them. Or ate their minds, as recent events may be. There was a minority - a shockingly small one - that was probably salvageable.

The next matter would be… the kosar’s baggage train, now that the survivors of the raiding force were subsumed. More horses, more slaves, and the supplies of the force, although they were clearly better off than Ko Boro was, crates and sacks piled almost precariously high in the supply wagons. It suggested good things of Lhazareen carpentry, if nothing else.

It was nearly midday, so Ladon couldn’t exactly justify making camp and reenacting last night’s trick. Therefore, he just had ‘Ko Boro’ grunt and get everyone back en route to the north. They were not exactly heading the same route as the detachment split off before the battle, but the influence spreading across the grass meant that they still moved on known terrain, already scouted and known to be safe. With the horses drawing the carriages also subsumed into his network and walking slaves ordered to get onto the wagons - as cramped as they were - let them traverse faster than any Ko or Khal had managed before.

It still would not be fast enough to reach his destination today, that would take around ten days in total, but it was still faster by dint of not having his strategic mobility outright crippled by having the involuntary support staff walk while all his forces were cavalry. And so his main force cut across the plain, the forward scouts from the original group finding the occasional burned village, sometimes empty, other times hosting a handful of minds hiding in scorched huts as they glimmered with fear. This was evidently an area the khalasar or at least some of the outriders had passed through. Slim pickings were he here to raid. It also explained the relative lack of other Dothraki - Ko Boro was one of the farthest-out groups, and the kosar Ladon had struck today were slightly deeper in but falling behind, thus ending up in his trajectory.

The body hopper took it in his stride, subsuming the grass and cattle of each and every village, quietly tagging the minds of the survivors. He would let them all know of each other, so they could regroup and rebuild as they saw fit once the night fell. For now, though? He just relaxed. 

It was surprisingly fun to roll down a grassy hill as an unshorn sheep.

The afternoon passed uneventfully. No enemies to face or suborn, no obstacles to bypass, no accidents to worry over. The highlight of the day was a half-hour of gentle rain, warm and far too little to actually impair travel but refreshing enough. Evening arrived without any interruption and ‘Ko Boro’ started giving out orders to set up the camp, tents and cookpots set up, rations distributed to calm growling stomachs. The life pulled through the network healed wounds and refined bodies, but it did not cover the body’s need for food and water.

Furtive telepathic probes were already picking up notes of suspicion, the sudden ‘discipline’ and silence of the Dothraki putting them ill at ease. They clearly expected their captors to be planning something - which he admittedly was. Ladon’s nefarious plan just happened to be setting them free with supplies, horses, and information to find those still hiding in the razed villages. More problematic was their plan to refuse sleep tonight, having a fair bit more energy thanks to the privilege of riding on the wagons to back their arguably well-founded paranoia.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t as easy as to push a telepathic button and have them fall asleep. Ladon’s instincts when it came to his powers had carried him far, but it seemed like making melatonin start pumping without causing any damage was very much in the ‘fuck around and find out’ box. ‘Thankfully’ there were a dozen or so pleasure slaves and broodmares whose minds were so broken that he felt little compunctions experimenting on them, since he would be mercy killing them tonight no matter what. Nevermind how they were so checked out there was an honest argument for them not being cognizant of anything he’d do to them.

It was… not a simple affair. There was clearly a connection between the mind and Psychic Aether, and while he could manipulate the brain through it in some limited manner, it was not at all precise. Nothing was labeled, after all, and no two minds were identical. The first subject died quickly, an overestimation of how much a damaged psyche could take, her consciousness breaking open like an egg, fragmented memories leaking out like yolk and hurriedly slurped up before it could dissipate away into the astral ambience. The second was given more care, a deeper examination and gentler probing of her mind having at least some physical results - twitches of limbs, eyes rolling in their sockets, inarticulate noises slipping from their throat.

Ladon felt vaguely like one of those old-timey showmen who shocked corpses and proclaimed it necromancy. 

The second subject died not long after, breathing turned off and his failure to turn it back on resulted in her suffocation in short order. The third subject lasted a fair bit longer, only perishing after the sun had already set, this time from an aneurysm. He idly considered whether or not this subterfuge was really worth it as he moved on to the next, which turned out to be the fortunate soul where he figured it out. It was admittedly an extremely unsophisticated method of achieving his goal. Granted, it was less ‘release melatonin’ and closer to a targeted psychic hammer of “Go the fuck to sleep”. 

It worked, and single uses caused no apparent damage to the mind of the target. Ladon was fairly certain repeatedly using it on the same person would be rather harmful by its nature alone, but for a quick and relatively inconspicuous knockout? It did its job just fine.

He still ran through the rest of the mindbroken women, having a decent sample size was important and it furthermore helped him figure out how to slide partway into the minds he was manipulating to make sure the almost-fainting spell didn’t have them hit their heads. Or seem overly unnatural. It wasn’t that different from the tricks he’d picked up for subsuming horses mid-gallop, keeping them from breaking their legs from a mistimed step as he took over.

He may even be able to fake someone having a split personality, if he refined this enough. As it was, though, he just got to work sending them to the Sandman. It felt no different than running through a house full of candles snuffing them out one by one.