The thunderous roar of goblins crashing against the large wooden gates echoed through the city, an elvish horn signaled the beginning of another attack on Penca New.

The goblins at the rear surged forward mindlessly, trampling their comrades in the middle. The city's large wooden gates groaned as if in fury.

"I guess the gods do answer prayers," Bastian remarked, unleashing a torrent of arrows upon the horde.

"The gates won't hold much longer, Commander!" Bastian shouted from the tower that loomed over the gates. Elves perched atop the city walls loosed arrows into the goblin masses. There was no need for precision; any arrow fired into the swarm was bound to find a mark.

Bastian fired two, sometimes three arrows at once. He nocked and released each arrow with such fluidity. The goblins' assault was unyielding.

"The gates will either shatter or the horde will start spilling over the top into the city, Commander!" Bastian shouted, accelerating the pace at which he notched his arrows and loosed them.

"Hold the line, my young elves! These creatures are accustomed to defeat. Let's remind them why!" Commander Jordan bellowed.

"These little fiends are surprisingly strong for their size!" Sam exclaimed. "Do you see any green ones?"

"No, all red. I'm beginning to doubt my professor," Lupus shouted back.

"That's precisely why you should believe him. 'They turn only red in the presence of elves... Look around, you big oaf. We're surrounded by elves."

"You make a fair point."

The creaking intensified, crescendoing until a loud POP! The gates burst open, hurling splinters of wood in all directions.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it!" cried an elf guard, succumbing to panic.

Goblins surged into the city, hurling insults at the elves. Some managed to trudge forward through the elvish defense. They set fire to anything flammable and attacked any living being they encountered. Goats lay bleeding on the ground, dogs were cast into flames, and cabins were ignited with elvish families trapped inside.

A goblin seized an elvish boy by his tunic.

"Release me, you red brute!" the elfling yelled.

"You're staying right here," replied the goblin, looking up at the child. Even elvish children towered over goblins by at least two feet.

Three other goblins clutched the boy, yanking his arms in different directions.

The elf cried out in agony, "Help me! My arms! They're going to snap!" The elf's father dashed from behind a cabin, striking one goblin with his elbow and kicking another. He pulled the boy aside and urged him.

"Run! Make for the citadel!"

The boy paused briefly before sprinting northward, up the steep stone steps that stretched for leagues towards the citadel.

Five goblins encircled the elvish man, brandishing their shields and swords as high as they could wield them, pacing menacingly. They exchanged looks of satisfaction. One goblin dropped its weapon and pointed at the elf, taunting, "One of you and five of us. Let's show this tree lover what we do to his kind."

The elf turned to sprint towards the citadel, seeking the safety of the grand fortress. A goblin leaped onto his back, biting into his shoulder. The elf winced but remained silent. The other four goblins seized his arms, pulling with all their might. The elf struggled against them, but the collective strength of the goblins overwhelmed him. Resigned, he lowered his head, not knowing how long it would be before his arms were torn from his body.

The father raised his head briefly, gazing towards the citadel, praying his son had reached safety.

"Turn him around," commanded a goblin. With the elf stretched to his limits, they rotated him to face an approaching goblin, abnormally large for its kind, standing at least four feet tall with thick arms and legs like tree trunks.

"Meet... The Ox," whispered a goblin, snickering into the ear of the captive father.

The Ox advanced a few paces before accelerating and charging at the elf. Lowering its shoulder, the Ox struck the elf in the chest, tearing him from the grasp of the goblins. The Ox then fell to the ground, clutching what was left of the elf. Rising triumphantly, the Ox stood tall. Meanwhile, the goblins, now holding severed limbs, hurried to the elf's remains and started to thrash the body with its own arms, cackling wildly, "Stop hitting yourself, stop hitting yourself, HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Bastian had been perched atop the gate for what felt like hours, his muscles aching with fatigue as he tirelessly fended off wave after wave of goblin attackers. His bowstring sang with deadly accuracy, each arrow finding its mark with lethal precision as goblins fell to the ground below, their twisted bodies forming a grim tableau of battle.

But then, with a sickening thud, Bastian's head collided with one of the stone pillars that supported the tower above the gates, sending a shockwave of pain shooting through his skull. Blood trickled down from a gash above his eyebrow, obscuring his vision as he turned to face his assailant.

A goblin stood before him, its crude wooden shield raised in defiance, a short sword gripped tightly in its gnarled hand. Bastian braced himself for the impending attack, his heart pounding in his chest as he prepared to meet the enemy head-on.

As the goblin lunged forward, Bastian moved with lightning speed, swaying to the side to avoid the deadly blade. With a deft motion, he slapped the goblin's arm aside, sending the sword clattering to the ground. In one fluid motion, Bastian drew an arrow from his quiver, his fingers working with practiced precision as he prepared to strike.

The goblin pressed its advantage, launching a series of frenzied attacks in rapid succession. But Bastian was ready, his movements fluid and graceful as he danced around his opponent, dodging each blow with uncanny skill.

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Finally, sensing an opening, the goblin attempted to shield bash Bastian, hoping to catch him off guard. But Bastian was one step ahead, his reflexes honed by years of training. With a swift kick, he sent the goblin tumbling backward, its feet flying over its head in a clumsy arc.

Bastian seized his opportunity, driving his arrow deep into the goblin's eye with ruthless efficiency. With a sickening squelch, the arrow pierced its mark, carrying the creature's eyeball with it as it tore through flesh and bone.

As the goblin slumped to the ground, lifeless and still, Bastian wasted no time. With a graceful leap, he vaulted from the tower, landing in a crouch below as he scanned the horizon for signs of further danger.

His heart sank as he heard the ominous sound of a goblin war horn echoing in the distance. With growing dread, he spotted the source of the noise: another horde of goblins, their numbers seemingly endless as they advanced upon the gates with ruthless determination.

But it was not just goblins that Bastian faced this day. Alongside them marched three massive bears, their fur matted with blood and their eyes gleaming with feral hunger. Several goblins rode atop the bears, wielding crude weapons and shouting battle cries as they charged toward the gates.

Bastian's hands shook as he reached for another arrow, his quiver alarmingly light against such daunting odds. Fear churned in his stomach, yet he knew hesitation was a luxury he couldn't afford. With determined resolve, he readied himself for the onslaught.

"Let's give them hell!" Bastian advanced towards a fallen goblin, bristling with arrows, and swiftly reclaimed them. He wiped the arrows on his clothing, nocked all five simultaneously, and released them towards the advancing goblin horde. Only one goblin fell, the rest of the arrows glancing off their armor. The goblins, faces green and pale, began to scream and scatter.

"What in the world is happening?" Bastian shouted.

"The citadel!" a guard cried out, pointing behind them.

Before Bastian even turned, he felt the approach of the Century Elves. The earth trembled as they rode past on their steeds, slashing through the goblins near the city and loosing arrows at those in the distance, all while mounted. Leading them was Gristle, the most revered warrior in Japrite, his long silver hair flowing to his elbows, clad in the gleaming silver and gold armor of the elite.

"Run them down" Gristle said, signaling his soldiers.

Twelve riders kicked their horses and took off after the retreating goblins. Arrows flew through the air sticking goblins as they cried out in fear. Even the bears turned to run like scared dogs throwing their riders off in an attempt to escape. One of the goblin's feet got caught on the saddle and was being draggged through the field. The other two bears were trying to run away so quickly that they were taking out whatever goblins were in its path. Bastian stood there watching as the century elves did more in mere minutes than the elvish guards had done all summer.

A few moments later the twelve riders who chased returned to Gristle with a report. "How many elves were killed?" Gristle said in a sympathetic tone. "Four sir" another century elf answered stepping down from his horse. "And a human common merchant from Warren, Sir"

"Very well, clean all this up," Gristle commanded as he turned his horse and slowly rode back to the citadel.

"The century elves," Sam gawked.

"Oh relax, just because they devote a hundred years to duty doesn't make them any better or their job more important than ours," Bastian snapped.

"Besides, the century elves only care about guarding the High Elves. We protect the people, and the people matter just as much if not more than the high elves Twill."

Twill appeared offended by Bastian's reaction. "What the hell did they ever do to you?" he asked.

"Nothing, I simply attempted to join them. But the council deemed me unworthy," Bastian retorted mockingly.

"That's a damn shame. They missed out on a damn good soldier," Sam replied, walking away.

"Lets' go" Bastian softly commanded. "We have training tomorrow. I imagine we're going to hear it for needing the century elves to interfere."

The next morning the dead goblins had all but disappeared from the courtyard. "Nock your arrows!" ordered the commander. "Aim...Loose"

The courtyard was lined with elvish guards. Their arrows zipped through the air as targets dressed in goblin clothing ten paces in front of them. Most of the arrows landed. Bastian's arrow stuck straight out of a goblins head. Bastian smiled with a balled up fist in the air.

"Yes!" he said quietly to himself. The guards commander walked over toward Bastian's arrow. "Look here young elves. If you want to survive the next attack. I suggest you start shooting more like Bastian. Now I know most of you don't want to be here, but every elf has a duty when they come of age to join the guard for three years. Now, that seems like a small price to pay for the safety of your people wouldn't you agree?"

The elves murmured "Yes commander". "What's the point of target practice, those damn goblins just run at us like... well, goblins! They have no strategy and no brain, most of our arrows would land if we were blindfolded." A tall skinny pale faced elf said snickering holding his bow out mimicking the firing of arrows with his eyes closed. A chubby red-faced elf snickered along with him reaching out to receive a high five from the pale elf. "They're just.. stupid.. goblins."

"I really don't believe I asked your opinion Lupis... and Gerek." The commander snapped looking down the row of elves at the two of them. "If you don't think you need to learn to shoot a target that's fine but you wont enjoy missing your arrows when night stalkers are coming at you. They don't move in CLUMPS and they sure as hell are much faster than goblins."

Lupis looked to Gerek whispering "Night stalkers haven't been sighted in over a century, right?..."

The commander walked towards Bastian and whispered "Try not to show off so much aye? Miss a couple here and there. I already know you can shoot. Remember, not everyone here had years of practice with a bow before joining the guard. Some of these young elves actually had a childhood." The commander gave Bastian a hard pat on the back before heading back to the center of the yard.

"Now look here young elves. I know that all this training may seem tedious, but there is a reason that the best archers in all of Japrite are from right here in Penca. Do you think the commoners are practicing every day with their bows up in Warren?"

"No!" the guard yelled out.

"Now , we have never been at war against the common folk but who's to say that they will never pick a fight with us? They outnumber us at the very least a thousand to one, what will we do then? What about the Karbeast in the frozen desert? Maybe they'll get tired of freezing their furry balls off and come down to pay us a visit. Do you think we'd win that fight?"

The guards stood firm and tall, yet there was no response.

"They could lift us with one hand and split us in two with the other. We can only overcome those odds if we train, if we're smarter, if we train as much as possible because we cannot predict what tomorrow may bring or when we will be truly needed," the commander asserted. "Japrite is a wild beast; she cannot be tamed. Our war with the goblins has raged for over two hundred years..."

"And it seems they're not getting the message!" Lupis interjected. "I hope they're multiplying because we're certainly doing our share of killing!" Gerek added, prompting laughter from the crowd.

"Perhaps the Bargazi folk from our childhood tales, will descend to aid us with the Karbeast." They'll take em out with their huge feet."

The commander smirked. "Aye..." Then turned to his soldiers and raised his hand signaling again.

"Nock your arrows!"

The sound of about forty elvish bows being drawn resonated across the courtyard. "Aim! Loose!" The command was followed by a volley of arrows soaring towards the goblin targets. This time, several more arrows hit their mark.