“HEEEEElllp meeee!”
Another dwarf disappeared over the fort of wagons. This werehare hadn’t even bothered to knock its captive unconscious. Instead, using the sheer raw power of its kicks and punches, the dward had been cast into the ground, hard, roughened up with severe nosebleed, and then, through overpowering strength, simply been picked up under an arm, and ran off with. Within mere seconds, the werebeast had shook its pursuers off, and jumped out of sight.
Evenin had watched it all. The panick of the soldiers, merchants, and merchant assistants. Their collective inability to effectively respond to this ominous kin who saw no need for weapons, because speed and strength was their weapons, and the armor that dwarves wore, it simply became convenient tools for the efficient knocking out of the latter, or the dodging of their every movements, as bulk of chest armor and shields slowed down reaction times. All in all, this enemy was the ultimate counter.
Nobody had good news about the dwarven cavalry either. For sure, they were alive, occassionally one heard their galloping hoves outside, but if the cavalry was achieving anything at all, the results sure wasn’t showing. Dread was the mood. Dread, anxiety, and the fear of staying even a single meter away from any other dwarves. Everyone was now trying to stick together. That was Infantry Corporal Steelstasch’s only sure response to this. If everyone stuck close together, the werehares couldn’t abduct them one by one, like had already happened 13 times and with nothing more retaliatory to show for than the smallest of glance cuts to one of the abductors’ shoulders. A single drop of blood, for up to 13 lives. What a trade-off, Evenin reflected from upon her bear.
“The werehares are retreating!” Some dwarf had said it, but everyone had heard it. All eyes without exception were now looking up towards the tops of the various wagons around them. And indeed, of the 8 werehares that’d been spying down on them from above, all were now crawling backwards and disappearing in downward climbing. Each and every one leaving the octagon.
“What could it mean?” one dwarf spoke, echoing the thought on everyone’s mind.
“It means” Infantry Corporal Steelstasch strode into the center of the octagon, “that the enemy is changing tactics.”
“To what?” yelled another.
“Obviously we’ll just have to wait and see.” Steelstach retorted. “But everyone who can, please now move your eyes to the outside, and tell us what is happening out there.”
For a few seconds, many dwarves peaked through the cracks between the wagons, or the empty space under them.
“GOBLINS!”
“Bows? Crossbows? Javelins?” asked the corporal.
“No!” shouted the same dwarf back. “They’re massing! Dozens, hundreds of them!”
“Hundreds?” Steelstasch let out, then steeled himself. “Hundreds doesn’t matter. If they want to run against our shields let them try. They won’t succeed while our fortifications hold.”
“It’s not just goblins...” it was Private Gemcut speaking. “There is something else, among them. People, humans. In black cloaks, but... no armor. And unarmed?”
“Unarmed humans?” Steelstasch raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Why would humans be here...” he asked himself that, more than the crowds of dwarves listening. “Describe them for me? Black cloakes, okay – but what else?”
“Well, they got black hoods. And, really white skin. Like, really freakishly white. And I think that’s black hair?”
“White skin...” Steelstasch pondered for a second. “VAMPIRES!” His eyes suddenly bulged large. “But it’s daylight? How can they fight in the day? Their hoods won’t protect them!”
And just as the dwarf said that, something happened in the sky. Or rather, happened to the sky. In the distance, the sun, still hours from setting, faded away into a dark blood-red cloud, and the world around them came under a great shadow. Nothing cast the shadow, but the sky itself turned from a bright blue, to a dark shade of blue. Clouds formed by creeping into being from everywhere and nowhere. And behind those, stars faded into existence like the early arrival of an army of tiny candlelights. Meanwhile, the moon cast aside whatever had hidden it, because in revealing itself it acted like it’d always been there, hovering over the land like the giant it was. All in all, it wasn’t a full night – it was bright night – lit up by the red cloud of the former sun, and the moon, and the stars. But it was night, nonetheless. An artificial, magical night, but unmistakably night.
Over from the other side of the wall of wagons, they all heard the roars, the war cries, the shouts of spirited goblins and other creatures; a great enthusiasm of a people who believed their own victory imminent.
“What kind of an army is this, that can summon the night at a moment’s notice?” Who said it few knew, yet nobody cared who’d said it, for it was a damn good question. Thinking of it, a chill went down the backs of more than a few dwarves. And this new worry of theirs was apparent on their faces. In this hour of terror, not even the largest beards could hide the dread.
“They’re casting aside their hoods” Gemcut reported in a shout from a crack between 2 wagons. “And there is one among them. He’s handsome. Like, reeeally, deeply handsome. I think he’s someone special.”
“A vampire lord...” Steelstasch mumbled in a voice barely audible to the dwarven crowds, whose ears now had the attention of a continuing and intensifying roar of optimistic goblin cheers and warcries.
“They’re forming up!” Gemcut reported. “They’re making a line! I think we’re about to be attacked!”
Steelstache grimaced with confusion. “How are they planning to get past our wall? They can’t be so stupid as to try and squeeze through it? Or climb over it?” Dumbfounded for a second, Steelstasche shook his head. “THEIR FUNERAL!” He shouted. “READY EVERYONE! GET YOUR SHIELDS UP AND BE READY TO CUT THE GOBLINS DOWN, and the vampires.”
The sound of dozens of handaxes being unsheated followed, while shields were being picked up and readied. Many had been leaning on their bulky blockers until now, while others had left them against the wagon sides to rest their arms from the heavy weight, but that was no more. Now the dwarves stood as prepared as ever to fight.
“THEY’RE CHARGING US!”
Steelstache grit his teeth. Behind him, Snowman growled menacingly with Evenin on top, and turned to face the direction where the wave of green and white folk was expected.
“The vampire and the werehares are leading the charge!” Gemcut notified.
“IF YOU HAVE A SILVER DAGGER, NOW IS THE TIME TO DRAW IT!” Steelstasche bellowed the words out for everyone, although he knew only a handful of his soldiers would likely have such a thing. He himself sheathed his handaxe, and drew a steel and silver mixed dagger from his leg. Being a veteran soldier, he probably had the levels to get at least one good stab into a cornered monster like them. Still, the thought of fighting a vampire even made him nervous, as he had actually fought one before, long ago, at the beginnings of this very war.
“RAAAWR!” sounded the other side of the octagon, and Steelstasche could hear the dozens of bare feet and boots getting close, some of them even visible from under the cloth-roofed wagon he’d chosen to face.
But, as those same feet and boots began to halt in front of said wagon, the most surprising thing happened. The wagon, it started to move. To be precise, it was starting to move up on the one side, tipping the whole thing towards the crowd of waiting dwarves. As the first dwarves began to try and back away, understanding that this was a dangerous thing to be happening, the dwarves clashed into the other dwarves behind them.
“No!” Steelstasche spoke under his stasche. He understood very well what was happening. His soldiers at the front were unwittingly trapped by the ones behind. But as he got ready to bellow out the order for the ones in the back to step away, the tipping wagon was jerked upwards with a sudden extra forceful push from the other side, and the whole thing tipped over, down and onto the horrified dwarves. “No!” was all the Infantry Corporal let out instead. Several of his men and women were caught in the crashing wagon and he saw all them forced into the ground, as each one was burried under a weight to heavy to stop individually. Luckily, as the tipped wagon settled against the bodies of the dwarves, most of them fortunately had their arms, heads and torsos sticking out, while many legs and feet were trapped.
As their dwarven comrades rushed to drop their axes and shields and to pull the unfortunate victims out, a new terrifying sound abruptly came into existence. It was the sound of metal against wood. The sounds of splinting; of chopping. The werehares came into view, now armed with great axes and maces. At the tipped wagon’s 2 long ends, they appeared as their arms cut their way forward in a furry of blows. But the cutting motions were not the most terrifying thing upon going from first just hearing these creatures, to now quickly seeing them, because somehow, those magnificent muscles of theirs had managed to become even greater this time. From the size of brawny tall humans, these hare-like werefolk had grown at least a head taller, and much more than that in the sheer visible mass of their bulged arms. Their axes, great in size even by dwarven standards, weren’t just cutting either, but outright smashed the wagon’s ends to pieces with the simplest effort, clearing the way for their own comrades.
The first unlucky dwarf to try and impede the raging werehare chopping on the left, got kicked back so powerfully she flew over a meter through the air and into another dwarf, whereupon they both fell towards the ground, one on top of the other, both momentarily incapacitated. The one who’d been kicked, in particular, heaving for air as her lungs had apparently taken a severe blow.
Before the eyes of the helplessly onlooking dwarves, this first wagon’s endings ceased to exist altogether in just a few dozen seconds. In its place, what became of it was little but the splintered and smashed remains of a wooden construction, with the rubble left behind hurriedly cleared away by a stream of fast-working unarmed goblins.
Now that the first wagon had 2 openings, a left clearcut path and as well as one to the right, Steelstasche could see through the openings into the outside. And what he saw there, were 2 werehares and 3 vampires move over to the next adjacent wagon. While behind those, crowds upon crowds of standing, waiting and cheering goblins were revealed.
“They’re bringing down the fort...” Steelstasche was at a loss for further words, as he gaped at what was happening.
On the next wagon the werehares and vampires surprised everyone again as they now, instead of tipping the wagon against the dwarves, began to lift the wagon and drag it away, with the octagon-facing wheels scraping the dirt ground beneath them.
“GRAB THAT WAGON!” Steelstasche shouted in order. “PULL IT BACK!” Several dwarves were quick enough to react. Dropping their shields and handaxes, they ran to the wagon on their side, and began grabbing it and pulling it towards them, initating a pulling contest with monstrously strong werehares and vampires on the one side, and 8 dwarven privates on the other, with the privates leveraging the friction of the scraping heavy wheels to their advantage.
At first this counter-measure seemed to be working, as the wagon, which’d been pulled away just 10 or 15 centimeters, ground to a halt. But then came a growely voice. “Haaa ha, they think they can hold us back? Let’s show them what they’re up against!” And the wagon moved, 8 dwarves in tow. 8 more dwarves dropped and sheathed their gear and ran over, pulling either at the wagon whereever they could find grip, or pulling at their friends holding the wagon. “Huh? Did this thing become even heavier? WHAT A CHALLENGE!” The wagon ground to a halt once more, but only for a few seconds. Then a “huueeegh!” noise from the other side, along with a snarling “wraaaeeeh!” set the wagon in motion again, and not even 4 more dwarves coming to pull could keep the wagon in place.
“ABANDON THE WAGON!” Steelstasche ordered. “GET YOUR GEAR INSTEAD, AND PREPARE FOR ONSLAUGHT!” That’d been a losing effort, and the infantry corporal had recognized it. Putting 20 dwarves to delaying a losing game while they all went unarmed was foolish. They couldn’t stop the octagon from disassembly, they could only prepare for holding whatever remained of it, that was the hard truth of it.
Now that they were unhindered, the werehares and vampires decided not to relocate the whole wagon anymore, but adapted and rather focused on lifting one end of it and rotating the whole thing with the other end as the anchor, until there was a wide gap into the octagon. A gap that was lined up with line upon line of bulky shields, carried by dwarves with handaxes.
Against these dwarves, though, 10 werehares stood, 2 of them monstrous in both size and muscle, while the others were merely big and terrifying for the overpowering strength their kin had shown during the series of dwarf abductions. Beside the werehares were not 3, but 5 vampires altogether, and behind those, a hundred goblins at the least, with what looked to be more vampires and more werehares in their mix.
“GET READY TO BE BEAT THE VILLAINS DOWN!” The Infantry Corporal shouted for the sake of everyone’s shaking hearts. “THIS IS OUR VICTORY, AND WE WILL PROVE IT TO THEM! WITH AXES, WITH SHIELDS, WITH UNBEATABLE DWARVEN STEEL!”
In the midst of the assembled vampires, one of the handsomest beings Evenin had ever seen, smiled at them. Besides a white deadish face, which could’ve been disturbing in any other setting but here really wasn’t, this man wore a dashing set of red leather armor, in places revealing a white shirt underneath, whose neck and hands were laced with the most wonderful patterns. His lips were red too, with his fangs showing, and those eyes of his, “such amazing hypnotizing yellow”. Not even noticing she’d mumbled it until she heard the end of her own sentence, Evenin caught herself by surprise. Damn, what charisma does this vampire have to affect even me? Half-long raven-black hair fell down on either side of the vampire’s face, and overall, he gave off this mix of simultaneous cuteness, like as if he was utterly harmless to the core, while also exuding that unbearable handsomeness, making one think, or wish, or at least wanting to imagine, that this man right here, was the most dependable and strong individual alive. The only one worthy of true desire.
Mr. True Desire took 3 small steps forward. Smiling, and with such a mesmerizing smile, he looked at the lines of assembled dwarves, and spoke but 4 words. “Loves.” Oh, what a sweet voice! Evenin internally melted, as the vampire referenced everyone before him, though each heart felt it like an individual, personal message. “Drop your gear.”
Without as much as a word of protest, over half the dwarves lined up, and all of the ones in first row, dropped their shields, handaxes, and daggers.
Mr. True Desire, or whatever was his real name, turned his back on his entranced audience and stepped next to one of the monstrously huge werehares, whereupon he turned to the werebeast, looking up. “It is done, Knitter. You can break them now.” Never before, Evenin thought, had such a cruel sentence been spoken in such a dreamy voice, and most of the dwarves didn’t even comprehend a bit of what’d been said before Knitter, the werehare, displayed his front teeth in a most gruesome smile, and then, to almost everyone’s surprise: charged.
“PICK UP YOUR WEAPONS YOU BLOODY FOOLS!” Infantry Corporal Steelstasche had not gone unaffected by the hypnotic performance, but it’d taken him less than 2 seconds to snap out of it, and now he was simultaneously trying desperately to salvage the situation, while internally brimming with the fury of someone who’d been tricked. His last vampire nearly 90 years ago had never been so convincing, this one must’ve been many levels above what he’d faced before. But he’d survived once, when he was much lower level. And now that he was much higher level, he would survive a much higher level’d opponent as well.
The commanding voice snapped most of the dwarves out of their bewitchment, but scrambling to pick up their own gear didn’t help everyone as several of them were simply too slow to react, and the monstrous werehares, as well as the other werehares, and the 4 other vampires, charged into the front line with a smashing and overwhelming strength. The brutal assault sent a wave of shock through the spines of more than a few present dwarves, and in every heart present, a deep traumatizing insecurity planted itself.
“CUT THAT MONSTER DOWN!” The Infantry Corporal shouted at the top of his lungs. “SLAY THE WEREBEAST!”
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And axes swung, and daggers lunged, but the might of the monster werehares was truly overpowering, to say the very least. For they flung dwarves around with the strength and speed of their arms, and kicked so hard they instantly broke their victims bodies, sending those behind into the ground as well as said bodies smashed into them.
In less than a minute, the dwarves had been pushed nearly 2 metres back. Several lay dead, and the frontline had widened significantly. The smashing and thrashing of the werebeasts, all 10 of them, was utterly effective. And beside them, the vampires, none as handsome nor endearing as Mr. True Desire, still managed to entrance individual dwarves into lowering their weapons and dropping their shields, before throwing themselves at the dwarves’ throats, ripping up huge bloodstreams, and colouring their own faces with the spewing forth of red.
Of all these vampires though, 1 did was not like the rest. It instead went for showing the dwarves that vampires weren’t just good for their charms. From its belt, it had pulled forth a rapier, and was currently cutting and stabbing into every single exposed surface it could find among the dwarves’ thick and generous armor. Thrusting, side-stepping, retreating, and thrusting anew, the sword-flinging motions of this undead man were too fast for the metal-suited kin to keep up with. In one instance, a white-bearded dwarf tried heroically to counter-attack him – the vampire – and for a second said dwarf achieved making the undead take a single step back. But then, as the dwarf continued its swinging, the incoming axeblade was deflected in such an effortless, graceful flick of the rapier, that the spectators were stunned for half a second. Yet the stun quickly turned into a terror-inspiring awe, as the vampire closed the distance in the same motion and there, reaching out with its hands, slashed the soldier’s lower neck open – showing that it too was not dependent on its rapier, but merely use it as an extending tool.
The injured dwarf dropped his handaxe to grab at his own wounds, and the vampire resumed its momentum with a flurry of blows that in 4 shield-blocked strikes had the 5th pierce the same dwarf’s shoulder. “AAAAAAAH!” came the pained screamed, however, the voice that produced this scream was neither uncontrollable nor born of despair. No, the sound that came out was a deep one, a defiant one, an angry one. An angry scream of pain, that did not care that his own beard had just gone a white to a crimson, soiled by the vaning of his life, nor did it much care about the fact that his other arm could barely hold onto the heavy shield as blood spurted from his neck. This dwarf was defiant to stand his ground, defiant to defend on even as it had lost.
From the sides, a nearby dwarf woman charged in with her shield and dagger to save her comrade, and the vampire stroke once against her blocking shield, before stabbing her unprotected eye in the 2nd. A severe difference in levels had made her no match at all. The rapier-wielding vampire, turning back to the injured dwarf, thrust forward again, letting the injured dwarf block his strikes twice, before finding another unprotected eye in the heroic white-bearded dwarf. And thus this brief hero fell, for no amount of defiance could overcome a stab so deep it penetrated the very brain.
“FEAR ME, KIN OF THE MOUNTAINS!” The vampire’s challenged his audience with a perverse bloodthirsty edge to his shout. “FEAR ME, AND DIE NEXT!”
But then, as this terror-inspiring speech had finished, something came from above. As the vampire stood there, menacing, triumphant at the dead and dying dwarves around him, a small dwarven shape fell towards him, a glinting silvery dagger stretched out in both hands. The vampire, fast as he was, did not immediately notice Gemcut, who had climbed upon the nearby wagon, and sprinted over into a jump and a plunge towards him, this creature of the night. As the new figure came into view in the vampire’s side-vision though, the undead man tried immediately to back away. However, he managed but a single step before Gemcut’s blade slashed through his attire, ripping open a set of leather armor, and releasing a stream of blood sparkling under the effects of silver. For silver ignited and boiled the blood of vampires, and so here, before every nearby dwarf’s eyes, this vampire was burnt open along his very vertical mid.
Gemcut did not land gracefully, but hard on their feet, stumbling forwards into the vampire, and knocking the latter back into the ground, with Gemcut prone at his legs. “YAAAH!” screamed the night-creature, as the enby pushed themselves up with effort. The scream of their ally briefly attracted many of the eyes of werehares and vampires present, but one of them in particular ceased its engagement with the line of dwarves elsewhere, and faced towards the rising enby. Rather lucky for Gemcut, 3 other dwarven soldiers saw the danger that this werehare posed, and rushed over with their shields. As suuch, when the werehare took its first 2 steps forward to strike in retaliation at the vulnerable dwarf who’d just hurt its ally, it found the path blocked by 3 bulky pieces of hard metal. With a dagger and 2 handaxes also, ready to cut at it.
“Yes!” breathed Steelstasche at the back of it all, a moment of smiling triumphantness overcoming his normally disciplined facial expression. “1 VAMPIRE DOWN!” he shouted. “3 MORE TO GO! NOW WE KNOW THEIR TRICKS, SOLDIERS! NOW WE WON’T BE FOOLED AGAIN! HOLD THE LINE! SLAY THEM IN THEIR USELESS ADVANCE!”
As one dwarf was flung over the first lines of dwarves, and into the lines at the back, a growled response came from one of the monstrous werehares. “IT’S NOT USELESS!” The same werehare proceeded to kick another dwarf’s shield, breaking the face of another dwarf in another bloody mess. “I’LL PROVE IT TO YOU, PUNY DWARF!” The werehare turned back to face the small green army assembled at its rear. “PREPARE TO CHARGE WHEN I SAY SO!” Long ears flung around as it snapped back to the lines of dwarven defenders, and it itself charged forward, grabbing the first dwarf in sight and knocking it senseless by banging its shield against its own helmet. Taking the shield from the heavily concussed dwarf, it proceeded to use the shield like a weapon in itself, holding it by the sides at one end, and swinging it and banging it against the dwarves in front of it. Heavy as the shield was, the enormous strength of the werehare turned the shield’s momentum into a crushing motion. Every dwarven head that got hit by it, was whacked instantly bloody in the crashing collision, and every dwarf that tried to protect their heads against this shield with their own shields, were instead faced with a massive werehare foot kicking the top of their shields into their faces. It seemed then, that a dwarf carrying a shield could choose either not to protect themselves, and thus be bludgeoned into the ground by the werehare’s stolen shield, or choose another option, to raise their shields in protection, only for something similarly bloody to occur to them via their own shields. In either case, here and at this moment, every shield had gone from a protective measure to an immediate hazard in the hands of a dwarven soldier.
The werehare banged and kicked dwarves left and right in such a fury and immense show of the strength and speed there was soon a wedge forming at the very center of the line. Meanwhile, behind these champions of the enemy, Evenin The Envoy, and Infantry Corporal Steelstasche, both saw a range of goblins step forward to the front. Each goblin bore oversized pieces of metal and leather, from a steel helmet to steel breastplates, and something of an oversized sword carried horizontally with both hands, as if it ws too heavy to properly wield. It was indeed an odd sight, as the goblins formed something of a line of their own. They were 4 men and 3 women it seemed, every one of them beautiful, and young but definitely adults, and they were fitter, stronger-looking than most goblins Evenin had ever seen. Their faces though, each of them had this stoic expression, as if neither enthusiastic about their role, nor the least bothered by it. An unarmed 8th goblin was walking towards them from the side carrying a basket. On his chest, Evenin from her higher position on Snowman, and with her keen eyesight, could see the markings of a great sausage, covering him from one side of the torso to the other, and tattooed as if dripping with something. It was faint, really faint, but she was sure she could also tell it was glowing. Definitely magical, she thought, is this a Tumi goblin Promise, then? When the suspected Promise got to the first goblin of the 7, and reached into the basket to fetch out a strange greenish-looking sausage, handing it to the goblin warrior, she did not understand what was going on at all at first, but as the goblin chewed and chewed, and then swallowed, and suddenly started to grow, then apparently, Corporal Steelstasche beside her recognized exactly what was happening.
“BY THE GODS! That must be The Promise of Sausage! And THAT is POWER FOOD!” Steelstache near twirled around on his position to look about in the octagon, eyes searching for something. “You! And you! And all 3 of you! Aim your crossbows at the goblin with the basket! Kill him before the enemy grows any stronger! AT ALL COSTS, DO NOT let him feed them sausages!” The dwarves in question rushed to find new good vantage points for firing their weapons. Turning back to look at the strained front line, the commanding corporal commented in a voice quiet enough for only Evenin and a few nearby to hear. “It all makes so much sense now, those big werehares aren’t normal. They have mostly likely been eating those sausages. Power food turns a regular soldier to a minor champion, and a minor champion to a great champion, and the effects lasts long enough for a whole battle to finish. We must limit their access to sausages, each sausage might as well double the effective levels in terms of strength, agility, and constitution. But power food is supposed to be really difficult to make though, and to the Tumis this is a treasured boost, so how many sausages have they dared to deploy here?”
By the time the first crossbow bolt fired at The Promise of Sausage, the latter was handing out the sausage for the 7th and final goblin of this line of armored goblins. And it was become clear now why their armor had been so oversized. The goblins, Evenin thought, oh my, they came well prepared. What terrifying resourcefulness. And as that thought ended, so did the flight of the bolt speeding for Promise Sausage, as the goblin man turned around just in time to see the little steel-tipped piece of wood coming for his neck. With incredible speed and precision of his own, the war chef grabbed the bolt in mid air, stopping it a mere centimeter from his skin. Looking down at it with dismay, the Promise threw the thing away, and grabbed into his basket, holding up 3 sausages. He shouted something at the gathered hoard of goblins and werehares. They all cheered back at him, and started jumping up and down displaying wild enthusiasm. Next then, and to every dwarf’s surprise, the war chef threw the power sausages into the crowd. To some it may had looked to be something of an indescriminate throw, that’s what it looked like to Evenin at least, while Steelstasche didn’t really see much at all of the details of what was happening so far away. But to others that would’ve seen that far, they may’ve noticed that the war chef had thrown the sausages towards those couple of goblins as well as a werehare who’d been among the ones to jump the highest, for these were the ones who also snatched the food from the air with their mere mouths, proving in the act their own incredible agility – an agility that was just about to become radically buffed.
Behind the frontlines, a few dwarves there gaped with their mouths open at the growing and bulging werehares and at Promise Sausage, who was now shouting to the crowds again. In return, the war chef was receiving another cheers of enthusiasm from the goblins, with the werehares producing the most horrifying squeaking sounds as if trying to howl but forgetting that they weren’t werewolves but in fact werehares. The vampires appeared to speak with approval as well and raised their fists, though overall their enthusiasm was much restrained. And then with crowd cheering, once again, the war chef threw sausage after sausage into the crowd. This time not stopping with 3, but continuing towards 4, no 6, no 10, no 11 sausages, before seemingly running out.
Meanwhile, the Promise danced out of the way of bolts coming after him, or sometimes picked them out from the air as before. Impervious, he seemed to mock the attacks aimed at him with insults only heard by the closest dwarves on the frontline, who had bigger things to think about than an insult-spouting goblin. The stray bolts passing by the war chef’s dodging form, meanwhile, were blocked by goblins with shields in the hoard. With the exception at one point, when one bolt managed to land at the shoulder of an ordinary unarmored goblin soldier. However seeing this injurity, the Promise grabbed for his basket again, throwing out a red sausage this time. It was promptly caught by the grimacing and hurting goblin, who started chewing it immediately. And like magic, or rather with the exact effect of a strange and mystical magic, this sausage managed to squeeze the bolt out of the arm, and close the wound. The goblins around, watching the miracle of food magic occur, cheered triple at what they were seeing. The few dwarves who had the opportunity to watch the affair from afar though, were stunned to see the healing powers of the war chef’s red sausage, at the very least Evenin recognized the potency of such a magic item, which was comparable to some of the highest grade healing potions she knew of. When the wound had properly closed, the subsequent noisy actions by the goblins didn’t require a genius to interpret, for they were obviously mocking the ineffectiveness of the dwarves’ projectiles.
“NOW!” shouted one of the monstrous werehares. And suddenly every goblin, werehare, and vampire remembered what this same werehare had just recently told them. A deep wedge had been carved into the dwarven frontline, and so battered and broken were the dwarves that remained, that a full breakthrough of the lines was imminent, even as a number of dwarves ran in to reinforce.
A warcry so loud and so terrifying – especially that raging squeaky voice of the werehares – rang out towards the battlefield, and the hoard of goblins, werehares, and vampires, with the 7 armored goblin champions at the front, charged towards the dwarven frontline.
“HOLD THE LINE! DO NOT WAIVER, NOT FOR A SECOND!” shouted Steelstasche with strong commanding firmness. “THERE IS NOWHERE TO RUN, YOU EITHER STAND AND PROTECT YOUR FELLOW DWARVES, OR YOU DIE IN SHAME – SHOW THE ENEMY DWARVEN STEEL! SHOW THE ENEMY DWARVEN RESOLVE! SHOW THEM AN UNBREAKABLE WALL OF SHIELDS!”
For a moment, the dwarven lines, bolstered by Steelstasche’s words, managed to defy all expectations and push back at the enemy. The commanding werehare experienced a silver dagger slash to its left shoulder, and a handaxe plunged into its right hindleg. Unlike the vampire, a werebeast’s blood didn’t boil or flare up at silver, but reacted catalytically to produce a toxic substance that slowly poisoned the werebeast’s body while delivering increasing levels of pain. This particular werehare’s wound were not big enough to be deadly on its own though. However, the rapid metabolism of the monster’s body worked against it to speed up the spread of what little toxicity had been inflicted, setting this werehare on a path of rapidly descending strength, dexterity, and constitution from then on. Although the effects would not be visible for a while at least, that much Steelstasche knew even as he shouted a “YES!” and fist-bumped the air, seeing his soldiers strike successfully at the beast.
Overall the dwarves consolidated rapidly, and managed to recapture from between half a meter to a meter across the whole line even before the first armored goblin, with its monstrously boosted stats, dove headon into the line of dwarves with its sword. For certain, the first seconds of the wave of enemies clashing against the dwarven shields was ineffective in breaking this renewed dwarven resolve to stand their ground. As the first 3 minutes passed though, the dwarves lost about half a meter of ground again, but as reinforcements arrived and the wounded were extricated safely to a corner of the octagon where healing potions brought soldiers back to combat-readiness, this rush of the greenfolk, with their werehare and vampire allies, was ultimately stopped for the time being. At least when it came to any advancements.
However, as dwarven self-esteem returned, and the first goblins causalties began to form at the front, raising the morale of the battered and tired dwarves, the worst of nightmares would come to pass.
The battle between the center octagon of Evenin and Infantry Corporal Steelstasche’s soldiers, was happening against the goblins situated at right side of the road. Keeping this mighty force at bay was a stressing and straining matter, which’d drawn many eyes away from the rest of the octagon, with many dwarves leaving their previous positions to come and help. Now however, 8 werehares climbed atop the wagons pointing in the direction of the left side of the road, and they all went completely unnoticed in doing so, until a single dwarf screamed in surprised fright sending heads turning in rapid succession. Only then did the dwarves of the middle octagonal fort notice, that in fact were being attacked from behind. The 8 werehares were the exact same ones that’d been abducting dwarves before, and this did not go unnoticed by any of those who now had the chance to get a good look at them. As much of the octagon had up until this point become increasingly sparsely covered with dwarves, these 8 who had previously so expertly captured dwarves, now had akin to a completely free reign to grab new victims – and the first that they went for, were the 9 total dwarves present with crossbows. In a rush they jumped down, sped quickly forward, amd knocked into the ground over a dozen dwarves as they ran for their targets. Reaching the crossbow-wielding dwarves they found their easiest prey yet, too, as they easily beat up each and every one of them and picked them up as they fell, faces bloodied. And yes, each of the 9, for the bulkiest of these werehares took the liberty to knock 2 crossbowyers unconscious, before picking up one under each arm, and running off with both.
“Nooo...” Infantry Corporal Steelstasche let out in a quiet voice, unable to help himself, as the shock over this new and catastrophic turn of events became too great to initially process. Losing every single one of their crossbowyers could hardly have been more devastating in his mind, for this meant they had absolutely nothing to strike the enemy with at range. Of course, they could throw their handaxes at the enemy, but that would also mean disarming themselves, and little was riskier than to hope to land a critical enough blow with a thrown weapon, and to also think one could at the same time afford to stay unarmed until a new weapon could be acquired. Stunned for a handful of seconds, the Infantry Corporal realized that he had to act on this development, and to act fast, before the abduction crew returned. “EVERYONE NOT AT THE FRONTLINE, HUDDLE TOGETHER IN DEFENSIVE FORMATIONS! DO NOT STAY MORE THAN 1 METER AWAY FROM ANY OTHER DWARF, AND KEEP WITHIN GROUPS OF AT LEAST 20 DWARVES! YES – 20! ANYTHING LESS AND YOU’LL BE BEATEN AND GRABBED FOR SURE!”
The dwarves, soldiers, merchants and merchant assistants alike, rushed to form the suggested groups. The Infantry Corporal waved over a few dwarves to his own side, and him and Evenin formed a large tight group of their own. But this was not the only development to occur within this time.
“INFANTRY CORPORAL!” Evenin shouted at Steelstasche, and she pointed to the right-most little open space that’d been created when the 2 werehares had first chopped and smashed together the sides of the tipped over wagon. This space was disconnected from the ongoing battle, but a few dwarves had been stationed there to guard it. However, as the man with the steel-moustache looked over at the few stationed dwarves, he quickly realized they had all dropped their shields and axes, and that the powerful vampire from before, that Mr. True Desire – although Steelstasche didn’t think of him as such – that vampire was standing there in their midst, blood-covered and with 3 dwarves at his feet. The others, meanwhile, had just escaped their trance and were each scrambling to pick up their gear as the Corporal lay his eyes upon this horrific scene of his utterly broken flank. Eyes bulging at the event, the veteran soldier inside Steelstasche didn’t think, neither did he wait to consider the scene with any degree of rational or calculating thought. Instead; instead of waiting to delegate out some order to reinforce, yes instead of that, something else entirely happened to Steelstache deep, deep within. Something primal, or instinctive perhaps, a rare moment of impulsivity. Because over the course of the next 2 seconds, the man with the steel moustasche broke out in a cry of utter fury. Swiftly picking up his shield and with the silver dagger in hand, he charged towards this powerful being of the night. At first, his cry was one of pure screaming anger, then next, perhaps remembering himself, the dwarf corporal shouted an order. “SLAY THE VAMPIRE! SLAY HIM, SLAAAY HIIIM!” Then another warcry followed, a loud deeper angrier scream, and the greybearded elderly warrior rapidly closed in on this mighty white creature, who had just slain his comrades.
However, Mr. True Desire did not waiver at the foot soldier charging at him. Neither was he much bothered by the crowd of dwarves who hurried to follow suit. He did not smile, nor did he grimace, nor did he show any emotion whatsoever. The powerful vampire simply lifted a finger at the charging dwarf, and spoke 3 simple words, a brief elegant pause between each. “Drop... your... weapons.”