Boom
The resounding sound echoed across the battlefield as the glass bottles erupted at the feet of the panicked goblins, shattering their formation. Chaos erupted among them, disrupted by the unexpected detonations. The battlemages, positioned for defense at the frontline, held back in this initial onslaught, preserving their strength for the subsequent waves. Instead, the second line of defense mages took charge, ready to confront the Goblins that were rushing towards the gate.
Behind the Goblins' first wave, the Goblin Shamans prepared to unleash their own attack. However, the abrupt disruption shattered their rhythm and focus, rendering their offense ineffective. The defenders seized this opportune moment to strike.
Amidst the chaos, two battlemage archers stationed behind readied their cloth-laden arrows. The cloth was drenched in oil and ignited, setting the arrows ablaze. With careful aim, they released their fiery projectiles, each arrow finding its mark among the already panicked goblins. The fiery impacts created a grim chorus of cries and screeches, mingling with the burning scent that filled the air.
Aargh!
Shriekkkkk!!!
A high-pitched cry pierced the surroundings as the defenders capitalized on the opportunity. Expertly conjured spells were unleashed, with fireballs and other elemental incantations bursting forth with precision. The magical projectiles surged through the ranks of the already panicked goblins, each spell hitting its mark with deadly accuracy. Due to their natural primal instinct to attack instead of take defense, even though other Goblins started falling to the ground, others continued their assault moving forward after the initial panic.
The air crackled with energy as spells hit their marks. Goblins writhed, their bodies convulsing from the magic's grip. Cries of pain echoed among the invaders. Amid the chaos, Aldric's voice stood out, guiding the villagers. They launched a united attack and fallen Goblins covered the ground.
---✧---✧---
Positioned behind the mages, Ethan held the glass bottles filled with fermented pulp, their contents capable of generating mini pressurized bombs. Pride shone in his eyes as he observed the initial success of his planned attack. The goblins were thrown into a state of panic, and the mages were preparing to launch spells at the already disoriented invaders. Amidst the unfolding action, Ethan's attention was drawn to the archers, who were readying their weapons. His gaze sharpened as he watched an archer withdraw an arrow and set it ablaze.
The fiery arrow was released from the bow, soaring through the air with a trail of flames. It found its mark and struck the goblin squarely. The creature let out a piercing screech before succumbing to its wounds. At that moment, Ethan's own eyes reflected a haunting familiarity. Memories of a past life and its final moments flooded his senses. His chest tightened with panic as the recollections enveloped him. He gasped for breath, his body reacting as if reliving the trauma that had befallen him before.
The past and present converged, intertwining with the scene before him. The memory of a bullet piercing his chest at the hands of the FBI resurfaced, mingling with the impact of the arrow hitting the goblin. Though the arrow wasn't directed at him, the echoes of his past fears reverberated in the present. He found himself overcome by a surge of fear and vulnerability, his body trembling as he struggled to reconcile the two starkly different moments in time.
Seeing her child lying on the ground, overcome by panic amidst the ongoing assault, Elara abandoned her position and swiftly made her way toward Ethan. She enveloped him in a tight embrace, her face etched with deep concern. Isabella, who had been standing nearby, also moved to Ethan's side, her worry mirroring Elara's. While the others remained focused on their critical task, they understood the urgency of this situation and couldn't afford any distractions.
Her eyes filled with concern. "What happened?" she inquired, her voice laden with worry. Isabella reached out and took Ethan's hand, offering a comforting gesture as she handed him water to drink.
With sweat forming across his brow and his breaths coming in ragged gasps, Ethan huffed, attempting to regain his composure. He didn't want to burden his loved ones with undue worry during this precarious moment. He steadied his voice determined to convey strength, even as his inner fears threatened to overwhelm him. He spoke, his voice trembling with fear as he struggled to regain his sense of control. The battle raged around them, and Ethan was determined to overcome his momentary setback and stand strong amidst the chaos.
"I'm alright, Mom," Ethan reassured, his words coming out slowly as he accepted the water. He gulped it down, then splashed some on his face--providing soothing touch against his heated skin.
"Mom, you can leave now." His words held a trace of urgency, his face mirroring the concern of the present moment. He grasped the gravity of the fact that even the absence of a single mage could tip the balance unfavorably, and so he gently pressed his mother to depart. Watching her retreat to her designated spot, Ethan pushed himself off the ground, his movements deliberate as he sought to regain his composure. Even as his mother's physical presence withdrew, her apprehension seemed to linger, an intangible reminder of the stakes at hand.
---✧---✧---
Having managed to quell his inner turmoil, Ethan regained his footing. His gaze locked onto the unfolding scene before him. The goblins, having weathered the initial shock of the miniaturized pressure bomb, were now regrouping, their movements gradually turning purposeful. A tense stillness hung in the air as they advanced towards the battlemages, and their determination was unswayed by the chaos.
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At the rear of the Goblin formation, the Goblin Shamans commenced their incantations. The words they uttered carried an eerie cadence, sending shivers down the spines of those who heard them. Each shaman wielded the power of a specific element—fire, water, lightning, and earth—channeling their respective energies for impending attacks.
Across the divide, the human mages retaliated with a steady barrage of spells, their incantations punctuating the air like the beat of a war drum. Battlemages stood poised and vigilant, their strength reserved for more formidable foes—Orcs that may soon join the fray—rather than expending it on the small fries.
In the midst of all the confusion and commotion, Goblins fell like leaves in a storm, and their lives were extinguished amidst the battle's fury. Amid the fray, the Orc King stood out, a titanic figure untouched by trepidation. Other Orcs stood in watchful sentry, leaving the bulk of the skirmish to their smaller counterparts.
The first goblin shaman raised gnarled hands, invoking the earth's power. The ground quivered, an ominous tremor rippling outward. Though not catastrophic, the tremors disrupted the warriors' footing, causing them to stagger.
Ba Ba BaBaBa Ba Ba
The Orc King's expression morphed into a savage grin, his thunderous laughter mingling with the earth's resonance.
As the earth-based assault waned, another goblin shaman stepped forth, conjuring an imperfect but intricate web of fire—a net of flames. It surged towards the frontline warriors, yet Aldric leaped into action. With a graceful arc of his sword, he cleaved through the fiery lattice, sparks scattering like dying embers.
But no sooner had the flames been dispelled than a water mage intervened. A cascade of liquid erupted, drenching the warriors and saturating the battleground. The terrain, now slick and unforgiving, set the stage for the next strike. A lighting mage seized the opportunity, hurling an electrified bolt that found its mark amidst the soaked warriors, hissing and snapping with crackling energy.
Crackle! Crackle!
Aarggghhh!
The air echoed with agonized cries as the lightning's charge surged through the battlemages. The electrifying shock conducted through the water jolted them, leaving their muscles twitching involuntarily. Trapped between the frontline and the barricade, the warriors had little choice but to endure the electrical onslaught. Though the lightning spell itself was of modest potency, its interaction with the damp battlefield wrought brief yet palpable torment upon those it touched, sapping their strength.
Having executed their incantations, the Goblin Shamans retreated to the sheltering ranks of the orcs. As the shamans fell back, the orcs assumed their roles, poised to seize the momentum.
Ke ke Ke Ke!
The goblins' laughter, a noise of shrill delight, pierced through the surrounding tumult. Echoing shrieks added to the auditory frenzy. The shaman mages, their mana reservoirs limited and bolstered by mana stones fused to their staffs, cast their spells. These arcane displays, however, came at a cost, draining their energy reserves to the brink. The spells, each a culmination of their power, could be employed only once or twice before their strength waned, rendering them vulnerable like spent sparks in the dark.
Safeguarding these crucial spellcasters were the orcs, who formed a protective bulwark against any approaching threats.
As the shamans retreated to the rear, the Orcs swiftly assumed the forefront. Their imposing forms took center stage, a stark contrast to the meager goblin numbers that could be tallied on a single hand. Each behemoth Orc embodied the strength of several ordinary warriors, their rugged hides offering robust protection against incoming attacks. Now six of these formidable orcs surged forward, charging at the already wounded human warriors.
Despite their advantageous numerical situation—14 warriors versus 6 orcs—the odds were still less than favorable. However, with Aldric, an adept-level Mage, among their ranks, a glimmer of hope remained, contingent upon their strategic execution.
The ground quivered in response to the impending threat as the Orcs' heavy footfalls created an intensifying thump that resonated through the battlefield. Their massive frames muscles rippling beneath taut skin, wielded massive Kanabos with an air of unshakable confidence. The orcs pressed forward, unwavering in their determination. They had anticipated the first wave of confusion caused by the sudden assault, yet they remained undeterred. The initial attempt by the humans to disorient the goblins was effective, but it was clear that the orcs were not so easily swayed.
Closing in on the battleground, the orcs prepared to unleash their devastating assault upon the front line of battlemages. Yet this time a different strategy was employed. At Ethan's urging, the fire mages held their ground in the secondary line of defense, each clutching a glass bottle filled with the prepared solution. With a swift motion, the bottles were hurled toward the advancing orcs, exploding upon impact and coating their sturdy hides with the deceptive concoction.
The Orcs, well-acquainted with the humans' tactics by this point, regarded the spectacle with disdainful amusement. To them, it was a mere diversion, an effort to disturb their focus with noise. Such a trivial display was met with smirks of disregard as they chose to ignore it. However, the simplicity of the distraction concealed a hidden trap. The liquid, while initially dismissed, clung to their forms, seeping into the fibers of their skin.
Fireball
As the contents of the bottles saturated the orcish skin, the fire mages seized the perfect moment to unleash their assault. Concentrating their magic on the dampened areas, the mages initiated their fiery onslaught. Upon the initial contact of flames with the dampened skin, a spark erupted into a fierce blaze that hungrily consumed the moisture-laden surface.
Aarggghhh! Aarggghhh!
Aarggghhh!
Agonized cries and anguished screams pierced the air as the fire devoured the flesh, the scorching heat searing the orcs' nerve endings. The battlefield resonated with their torment as the flames raged, casting ominous shadows upon the twisted forms of the once-mighty Orcs.
Bare-skinned and vulnerable, the fire's relentless advance over the orc bodies was swift and unrelenting. The flames lapped hungrily at their exposed flesh, devouring the dry skin and igniting a tempest of agony. The acrid scent of burning flesh mingled with the battlefield's tension, and the crackling of the flames added a clashing undertone to the chaos.
"Everyone attack", Aldric shouted, seizing the opportunity.
Thud!
Thud!
Amidst this turmoil, the warriors seized their chance. Overcoming the shock of the lightning attack, they surged forward, weapons held with grim determination. The metallic ring of swords meeting tough orc hide joined the chorus of battle, punctuating the air with a rhythmic thud as each blow found its mark. The battle-hardened fighters worked in unison, their coordinated strikes cutting down the orcs one by one. The thudding rhythm grew louder and more frenzied, a symphony of death playing out as the once-confident orcs fell, their cries silenced in the face of overwhelming force.