4 days, 3 hours, 39 minutes, 9 seconds
The timer kept ticking, and Horn was frustrated. Just as soon as he solved the Essence issue, he ran into the ground with resources. He had already four teams in the dungeon, delving twice a day, each bringing around six thousand Essence a run, which in turn allowed him to summon additional dwarfs. It all started smoothly, but then after creating the third team, they ran into the first issue. There weren’t enough arms and armor to equip the party. Then there was too little food, then craftsmen ran out of raw materials, and they didn’t have tools, and then, the next issue and the next issue.
Throwing Essence at the shop was somewhat a solution, but it was shortsighted. He needed men- dwarfpower to conquer the goblin village and to get ahead in the game. The resources were available plenty in the valley with goblins, which brought him back to the issue of not having enough forces to deal with them, and it was driving him crazy.
He was sitting in the uncomfortable chair in his hut and trying to find a solution. He was almost convinced just to risk it and attack goblins with his current strength. But there was this voice in his head, telling him that a failure would mean losing the race. He’d best become a minor power in the game, and that would just not do. He was waiting for the return of the scouts, two pathfinders – a dwarven equivalent of elven rangers. They worked best underground, but Goran assured him that the goblins wouldn’t know they were watched.
Horn was brooding, and his mood felt even lower when he heard a voice saying, “Pumpkin, you there?”
Ingrid was playing his nerves, and she just kept coming with new requests. He had to admit that most of them made sense, but why couldn’t anyone just come bringing good news. Sighing, he prepared for the new pep talk.
“There you are! So I’ve been talking with Sigrid, she wanted me to pass that she wants to talk with you. Also, when are you going to make good on your promise?”
“Wonde – Wait, what promise?” Horn asked, confused,
“Oh sweety, I always forget you aren’t the quickest. Focus, I hear that’s good practice. I’ll give you a hint. We were there with Goran and Sigrid.” Ingrid said, barely holding a laugh,
“What are you talk – Oh, “Horn recalled the meeting he had before the first dungeon dive. He promised her more warboars. “Amazing, another damn request, everyone wanted something, and no one chipped any solution to his prob… “
“Pumpkin, I believe you overdid it. A dwarf shouldn’t have such bulging eyes. Nor shouldn’t be that color!”
“Oh, shut it! Get Goran and blacksmith!”
Horn quickly checked the soul well. His brain was already working overtime. That might just work! He started calculating four more runs, maybe eight. Half a day of training, hopefully. Smith should finish crafting them till then, probably a few hundred points thrown into resources, perhaps another smith or two. Yes, it might just work out.
Goran and Ingrid returned a few minutes later, dragging a cursing dwarf with them. They saw Horn scribbling something with fury, muttering to himself, “… location, location, location…”, “… flanking, no trees! Yes!”
“Chieftain?” Goran asked,
“Pumpkin, should I call for an adept?” Ingrid added after a few seconds of awkward silence.
“No,” Horn replied, “You’re here, good. We have a lot to plan.”
----------------------------------------
3 days, 2 hours, 4 minutes, 22 seconds
Horn was standing on a block of wood. In front of him, his whole clan assembled. The last day was a flurry of activity. But, he finally thought he was ready. Fifty-eight dwarves gathered in five groups, holding whatever weapons were available. They were a far cry from a mighty dwarven clan, they looked like a group of refugees after a long escape, but for Horn, they were glorious.
He looked at them thoughtfully. These NPCs seemed more real to him than his fans, even than most of his friends. They toiled without many grumbles, living for these past few days almost like rats. And yet, each day, they rose and seemed even more real. For the past few days, he found himself engaging in idle conversations with them, and he enjoyed most of them. He probably talked more with his clan than with his family in the past month.
At first, they were reluctant to discuss anything with him. Either they didn’t remember, had that mist-like stupor in their eyes, or just didn’t like him. But then, they started talking, each story was different, but all were the same. A world destined to die, a mad rush to portals created by gods to save them. Wars and skirmishes were fought just for a chance to get to safety, brother against brother, blood against blood. These were tough people. Living through it was hell. Anyone else he knew would be traumatized for life, but they just kept fighting.
He felt a connection to them, of all things. Did he felt a connection to characters in a game? Horn wasn’t sure if that was just the masterpiece of programmers, or was he losing his mind? But each day, he thought less and less about the real world. This game, this world started to feel natural to him.
A grunt from Goran broke him out of his thoughts. He saw faces looking at him, and he knew it would be a defining moment, maybe not world ending, but defining how he would progress. He recalled his prepared speech and, taking a deep breath, began.
“Lightforge, listen to me! Today we will face a true test. I know you are tired, the last day went by fast, but we’re the dwar–“Horn paused as he noticed the emotions on the faces of his audience. They were tired, at the brink, and heard it all before – it just wouldn’t work. Instead of his prepared speech, he took another deep breath and said quieter and softer, “I know, just a few days ago, you were escaping a collapsing world. You knew the inevitable. You lost friends and family. You didn’t have time to mourn nor rest. Then I came and threw you at work, and today I - a new chieftain ask you to throw yourself at a new danger. I wish there were a better way, I wish we had more time, but there’s never enough time, isn’t there?”
Horn paused again, seeing faces around him nodding, “There’s never enough time. I’ll be honest with you. We can stop that mad run right now. Stand down, spend these few next days in relative peace. The world won’t end.” More faces began nodding, “However, a new dawn is coming, a new chance. Your gods gave us this place to prepare, then to take back what was taken from you. To prepare for a new age, and I want all of you to be there, to meet it with your heads high, to claim what’s your right! The road will be long and twisted, we’ll face challenges, we’ll lose some of our friends, but I promise you one thing. We will travel together! Together, we’ll create a new world for your children to live in, and the process starts today!”
Thump, thump, thump.
An axe echoed on a shield. Then another one, and another. A thunderous roar erupted from the throats of the gathered. “Lightforge! Lightforge! LIGHTFORGE!”
Horn looked at the chanting dwarves, and for the first time, he saw it. He knew they would make it. Even to his surprise, a notification began blinking.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
Your skill: Leadership reached level 2.
Leadership level 2 – Passive – Presence – Gives the ability to form a party up to your presence score. Increase morale of your units, slightly increase regeneration rates. Increase maximum health by a small degree.
The clan kept shouting, venting their emotions. The pandemonium lasted a few minutes, then Horn raised his arms and waited for silence. “Lightforge! I hear you. Today we’ll claim our first victory. The greenskin village lies behind this portal. You know your orders, report to your commanders and let’s move out!”
----------------------------------------
The grass was green, the air cool, and birds were chirping somewhere in the distance. The valley was idyllic, with relatively dense mixed forest, the temperature just warm enough to be pleasant, and the sun was high in the sky.
Horn was lying in bushes, around half a mile from the goblins’ village. The first part of the plan went smoothly. His pathfinders eliminated greenskins scouts and gatherers while his main forces moved up. He had chosen a long narrow clearing for the second stage of his plan. Most of his troops were hidden in an ambush around it while a small group was about to draw out goblins.
Around him, his group was composed of three haulers with hand weapons, two ranged warriors, and Vir. They waited for their part of the trap to spring. In front of them, a group led by Goran stood proud in the far end of a clearing. Twelve dwarves, most with shields, created a line.
A few moments later, ruckus started in the distance, shouts, some clanking, and a few figures appeared at the clearing’s other end, running for their lives. A few steps behind them, a wave of goblins appeared. Horn had some time to observe the little buggers. At three feet height, they didn’t look so imposing from a distance. However, the closer they came, the fiercer they seemed. Bald round heads, with two pointy ears, big eyes entirely covered by black pupils, and the teeth, jagged and sharp, their frames were thin but seemed quite fit, they had surprisingly long arms, reaching up to their knees, and ended with short claws or huge jagged fingernails.
But most horrifying was their number. The first estimate of village size was one to two hundred, but he already knew they were way off. At least two-fifty chased his bait group. The good news was that they were more rugged than his own crew. They had a mix of everything in their hands, from a very few well-made weapons, through rusted and dented ones, ending with sticks and bones.
The dice were rolled. Now all that was left was to see the outcome. The bait group closed the distance fast while Goran’s line braced, ready to receive the charge.
A dozen dwarfs against two hundred didn’t seem like great odds, and the goblins knew it. They almost salivated with the urge to kill and eat the stinky beard meat bags. They charged, a hundred yards turned into eighty. The dwarves had to sense their demise as the line wavered. A single gap appeared as one of the dwarves dropped his shield and ran into the woods, then another. Forty yards, the goblins began howling, the blood rage overtaking them completely. In front of them, half of the stinkies already fled. No one noticed that the gaps appearing in the dwarven ranks were even. Every second dwarf disappeared. With thirty yards left, a horn sounded from the forest and the bushed behind dwarves began to shake.
With twenty yards remaining, the trap sprung. The first lines of goblin fell into a few feet deep pit lined with sharped sticks, a few dying but most just bruised and disoriented, but that was enough to break the momentum of the horde. At the same time, from the forest behind the dwarven line, beasts erupted from the bushes. A dozen giant boars, each with a rider on top of it, led by a strange dwarf with a pitchfork shouting, “Get them, boys! Thumper needs some goblin meat!”
The boars crashed into the goblins, trampling and goring dozens, while their riders slashed, pierced, and smashed any greenskin in their reach. The confused horde began to fight back as more bearded warriors joined the fray. Groups rose to their feet from both sides of the clearing, throwing javelins, shooting crossbows, even throwing rocks, as they charged with murder in their eyes. The previously fleeing group also turned back and picked up their equipment before smashing into the monster crowd.
The greenskins weren’t passive. They vented their anger and fear on attackers, a bloody melee begun, but the shock of realization that the easy meal turned into an ambush broke them. They never were brave creatures, and they only fought from ambush or with overwhelming numbers. Neither of these factors present took its toll. Groups began to try to break away from encirclement, throwing themselves at dwarves. But only a few succeeded.
----------------------------------------
“Get some!” Horn shouted, drunk with the battle, his axe digging in the goblin’s neck. All around him, greenskins were dying by dozens. With a quick look, he saw one of his clanmates in trouble. Two goblins were hanging from his arms, while the third kept stabbing him with a rusty knife. “Radiance blast,” a light erupted from Horn as he closed the distance, slashing at the green head.
The dwarf slumped to the ground, barely holding to his life. A quick Cure wound stabilized him while Horn took position over the fallen comrade and kept the greenskins at bay. He slashed and bashed, cursed and shouted, but he held his ground. The goblins began avoiding him, which created a small circle of peace in the chaotic battle. Horn healed his comrade once more and saw the dwarf standing up and grabbing the knife that was stabbing him just a moment ago. With a grim nod, the warrior threw himself towards the closest goblin, and Horn was just behind him with a hungry smile.
--
Goran was in the thick of it, with four shield bearers and single adept. They dove deep into the horde, trying to keep the attention of as many as possible. They were quickly surrounded, but he drilled this into his men. They stood in a circle, shields high. They were stabbing at an opening in the green wall. “Hold steady!” the captain shouted over the sounds of battle. The vile taste of goblin blood in his mouth enraged him. It was just like the old days, holding against the endless tide, but this time – he’d win. He’d sacrifice himself just to see his clan prosper. There won’t be a repeat of his shame.
The dwarf on his right suddenly gurgled as one goblin found an opening and stabbed a sword straight at the defender’s neck. The greenskin squeaked with joy, only to met Goran’s axe a second later.
“Hold the line!” Goran activated his ability. The effect was instantaneous. The mortally wounded dwarf rose to his feet, ignoring pain and loss of blood. All his men stood straighter and closed their ranks - an isle of order in the midst of chaos. The adept took this time to heal the wounded before stabbing with a spear over Goran’s shoulder, impaling another enemy.
It was a good day. Goran smiled under his helmet.
----------------------------------------
“Snouty! Leave it. We’re not playing yet!” Ingrid shouted at her second boar, which was poking a still alive goblin with her tusks. Snouty lost her raider somewhere in the battle and began acting out. That boar would be a death of her “again,” she thought with a sad smile. Snouty was an utterly free spirit with sadistic tendencies, but she loved her like a child and would forgive her anything.
After the first charge, the group broke out of the battle. They quickly regrouped and went around for another pass. Two of the newly summoned warbeasts didn’t make it, which infuriated Ingrid. She wanted to blame her new childlike chieftain, but deep down, she knew it wasn’t his fault. Despite an evident lack of experience, he was a good kid, maybe a bit slow, but a good one. People and boars died when fighting, so instead, she vented her frustration at goblins. Charge after charge, her riders took out bits of the horde, with each turn in a bit more orderly matter. Her pitchfork, a family heirloom, was glistening with black blood, something it didn’t taste for a long time. And she just kept going.
Her mana was out, her stamina bottoming. Still, every time she could, she used another round of Bolstering presence, her ability to raise might and the size of animals around her temporarily. It was a far cry from her abilities a long time ago, but every bit helped.
----------------------------------------
It took almost an hour, but the field was cleared. The air lost its cool, thick with the smell of blood and death. The grass was covered in black viscera, and the sky began darkening. The idyllic landscape was no more.
Around the field, dwarves were busy. Some gathered wounded and dead, and others looked for any useful equipment scattered around. Horn was leading the triage section, where a dozen wounded were slowly recovering, and he and all remaining adepts were trying to save them. He just finished casting the last Cure wounds, again bottoming his mana pool when Goran approached.
“Final tally, fourteen dead. Five warriors, one sergeant, an adept, a smith, and six workers.” Goran said, bowing his head slightly.
Horn grabbed his burning temples, massaging, rapidly draining all his mana, created an annoying headache, then sighing, he replied, “Too many, it was too costly.”
“With all due respect, I disagree, chief. It was an overwhelming victory. Five to one odds, and we crushed them.” Goran said a sense of respect painted in his eyes.
“No, my friend, it was a botched job, but we’ve got to finish this, or it all will be for nothing. Gather the fighters. We’re ending it now.” Horn said, looking in the direction of the village.