Steelstache stumbled and fell to a knee, but to the credit of his name, did not lose his weapons. Rather, pausing to grit his teeth for a second, the veteran warrior leapt right up, screamed a red-faced “AAAAAARH!”, and charged head-on at the vampire, who for the first time in this battle grimaced, a mild annoyance appearing on his handsome, his lips and cheeks twisted in displeasure.
“You’ve faced my kin before, haven’t you dwarf?” As Steelstasch closed in, the cloaked, red armored vampire smooth-stepped right out of the way; a dodge of the dwarf’s barbaric furry so elegant in its footwork as to amount to a moment of dance. At least that was what any passive onlookers would’ve experienced it as. To Steelstasche though, his own moment of confused air-slashing just made him angrier, as he turned around to glare. Internally, this injustice in failing to hurt perceived evil only made him more spiteful, more determined to slay. Not waiting to ponder his mistake, the dwarf leapt into a sprint towards the vampire who’d only moved about 2 metres. Surprisingly, the vampire did not see it necessary to flee the raging warrior. Mr. True Desire had this utter calm expression of superiority on his face. Again, he side-stepped the dwarf without issue, the new slashing motion only managing to cut the air. However, the dwarf saw the dodge coming, and if this master vampire was quick on his feet, so too could Steelstasche be quick with reactions. As a veteran warrior, reaction-time is the number 1 skill for surving to an old age. And so, as the silver-coated blade struck nothing, it was simultaneously withdrawn again and turned into another cutting motion at the vampire’s new location. But the vampire noticed this next motion also, and side-stepped once again. However, like a game of intelligence at work, the noticing vampire was both noticed and predicted by the corporal, who followed up with yet another 3rd swing of his dagger. When this too was dodged though, both the vampire and the dwarf drew each other into this continuous sequence of alternating motions. Of of the vampire twisting and turning and side-stepping, and the dwarf cutting and stabbing and cutting again. Soon, the 2 had entered a discordant dance of sorts, where the will of the persistent warrior’s rage, battled the smooth withholden attitude of the undead in his prime. It was the dead seriousness of a veteran dwarf, matched against the modesty and playfulness of a master vampire.
“DIE!” Steelstasche yelled, after the first tired breath escaped his mouth, and he for the first time paused to briefly rest his tiring right arm. At this point around the vampire, some 20 dwarves had started to arrive, and were also actively trying to surround that undying man of darkness.
Glancing over at the dwarf’s heavy breathing, the vampire replied with but a singular word: “No.” The reply was calm, clear, succint. Like an overwhelmingly powerful individual, taking pity on the futility of the weak. But it might’ve all been for show, for a breathing dwarf was not a defeated dwarf, and if the vampire hadn’t fled, neither had it dared to actually commit to an attack against its opponent – yet.
FWOOOH! the swift motion of the vampire’s arm created a wind flapping sound from his shirt, as his fingers sliced open the throat of a dwarf soldier who’d stepped just a little too close. Stumbling backwards, the victim of the attack took several seconds to realize his beard was being soaked by the running blood of his own neck.
“AAAAARH!” Steelstasche screamed, and again charged at the vampire. Dwarf and vampire danced once more, however this time, their dance was not alone. Angry dwarven comrades joined the battle, but the vampire slashed their exposed hands, arms, and faces, tripped over their feet, and in 1 instance grabbed a dwarf’s outstretched arm only to apply a massive blow to it from behind, breaking the bone in an instant and then kicking the crying man into the forward advancing corporal.
Finally, having maneuvered out of the attempted encirclement, the vampire turned around to face all the dwarves chasing him. Reaching out with an arm towards them, he opened his hands to a flat opposed surface, gesture to stop. “Drop... your... weapons.” Again, everyone but Steelstasche and a couple of other higher level dwarves fell to the magic. Yet the corporal was not completely unaffected, as his own vergent new charge was cancelled with the flow of magic shattering against his cliff of a willpower. He quickly brought himself back together though. Although it took a moment, as his own feelings and his own thoughts forcibly resurfaced to block out the mental suggestion. In that momentary pause of the battle the vampire spoke again, and what he said then, unsettled each and every one not caught in the mass hypnosis. “Kill these nuisances.” The chilling part wasn’t the words, but who they were addressed to. For the red armored being hadn’t looked at them, not at the dwarves, but rather behind them. Steelstasche turned to look himself, and it was then that he realized the octagon had more than just experienced a broken flanken. Goblins, as well as a few werehares and vampires, filled at least half the octagon, a constant but slow flood of them pressing themselves inside to fill the remainder of the fort, and to turn the battle to a crushing tipping point. In short, their fortifications had been fully penetrated. Some of the goblins were those big champions currently swinging their heavy weapons down upon dwarves who struggled against the mighty blows with their shields raised. Each one of these dwarves caught in a near hopeless perpetually defensive formation. Elsewhere, smaller goblins were duelling 2 on 1 against dwarves, armored soldier dwarves and unarmored but armed civilians alike. A large group of them in particular though, maybe 30 or more, stood just behind Infantry Corporal Steelstasche’s group, seemingly waiting for this exact order. As the vampire’s order came, these goblins started to approach the 21 mostly hypnotized and unarmed dwarves, who now experienced a complete turn of tables, as the goblins half-surrounded them with the powerful vampire blocking the opposing side.
“SOOOLDIERS! PICK UP YOUR DARN WEAPONS!” Hearing the command and seeing a few of the dwarves react, the goblins picked up speed and charged at the vulnerable dwarves. But Steelstasche ran in front and quickly slew the most eager goblins, and smashing a werehare with his shield into the ground. Seeing thisdeadly dwarf at the front made several of the assembled goblins cease their sprint and hesitate. And hesitance was all Steelstasche needed, just long enough for a few more of the dwarves to come to their senses, and to start forming a defensive line. Meanwhile, the goblin-led charge slowed down entirely, down to a creeping, careful approach. With a last few kicks of their fellow comrades to get them out of their stupor, this was enough that the dwarves all managed to collect their weapons again before a butchering of dwarves would’ve unfolded. Breathing with adrenaline, Steelstasche took the moment of the 2 large groups confronting each other to deliver a final order. “Engage the goblins soldiers. I will handle the vampire lord – by myself.” He turned, and parted through the line to face the original enemy.
“You finally recognized my lordship?” The vampire raised an eyebrow, as if Steelstasche had been some kind of fool all this time.
“Obviously you’re a lord. No ordinary vampire possess such agility.” With an aggressive bite of his own teeth, Steelstasche took another series of steps to stand fully alone against this being of the night, with all his own warriors’ backs several steps behind him, their eyes and feet aimed in the opposite direction, facing goblins with their own brewings of dwarven anger. “But tell me, blood-sucker, I’m not so familiar as to identify each of you by person. So which one of these 3 treasonous vampire lords of Olam, are you?”
“Treasonous? I’ve never betrayed anyone.” The red armored being shook his head, still quite calm. “You cannot betray those you’ve never held allegiance to, dwarf. Also, my name is Lord Smooch.” He bowed slightly, his politeness as sincere as could be expected of an enemy. “Since you’ve survived so far, I might courtesy you equally and ask you your name.”
“Steelstasche. Infantry Corporal. Although a murderer like you doesn’t truly deserve to know it.”
Again, Lord Smooch raised an eyebrow. “You are soldiers in occupied lands. You can’t be murdered – only defeated, only driven out. Ermos’ Finest Adventurers has turned my castle into their base of operations in Olam. You cry over dead dwarves, yet your allies steals the homes of me and my people? And the one you escort, is the most responsible of all in this.”
“ENOUGH!” Stealstasche barked, and then once more, filled with anger, defiance, vengeance, all of it, the leader of all the dwarves present, screamed. “AAAARGH!” He charged at Lord Smooch.
Meanwhile over at the middle of the octagon, at what was rapidly developing to become the center of the battlefield, Evenin of Redratall sat anxiously on Snowman, the bear’s white and black snout having become soaked in red blood. Around the great bear lay 4 fallen goblins, as well as 1 of the furry and crazy-eyed werehares. After utterly demolishing these opponents, and flinging several others meters away with torn off pieces of flesh and hard landings, the duo of dwarf woman and bear had recently been left alone there at the center of the octagon. Occassionally, a scared or wounded dwarf would run up to duo with goblins chasing them at their heels. However, when the enemy followed the dwarves to the growling red-sprayed face of Snowman, the same goblins seemed to always lose the momentum of their feet, and divert themselves to new targets. The deterrent presence of Snowman developed into something a safe space for many of the dwarves as the battle progressed, with many running to them for a short moment of protection, except for the most wounded of the dwarves, who sometimes collapsed there altogether, caught in some slow recovery, or even a very slow dying. Of course there was something shameful over it all – they were there to protect her after all, but Evenin forgave them all implicity. She knew the strength of Snowman after years of having him by her side, and she embraced her role as the protector of her weakened friends, a protecting island at midst of this unfolding sea of bloodshed.
A dwarf with a heavily bleeding left side of the head stumbled over to Evenin’s safe zone. He was holding himself where his left ear should’ve been with a shieldless left arm. He had apparently been able to hold onto his handaxe though, for his weapon of attack was firmly in his right. As he arrived at Snowman, the dwarf nearly collapsed forward. However, his axe-holding hand landed on the bear’s furry butt, and as such he leaned the rest of himself against the soft safe creature. Unfortunately for Evenin and the bear though, the axe blade’s blood and dirt became smeared against the fur. Also, the dwarf was sweaty, panting, shuddering, and spitting blood. His own eyes didn’t meet hers as Evenin looked down at him, but rather stared into the ground, waves of shudderings rippling throughout his body. To the envoy, the dwarf didn’t appear directly frightened, not even as his body shook, instead the man growled out his pain, and the shuddering was clearly some kind of uncontrollable physical reaction from the physical trauma. Poor man, she thought, and mourned the lack of any healing potions to give him. Emphatizing over this pained man however, her own ears notified her that something was going on in the crowds about them – in the spread out crowds of goblins to be precise.
“For sausage!” The shout was distant and faint, yet obviously came from near the octagon, or even from inside it. As Evenin came to attention at the sound, it repeated itself, but this time louder, and closer. “FOR SAUSAGE!” cried an unknown goblin, and suddenly a wave of other goblins cried out with the first. “FOR SAUSAGE-FOR SAUSAGE-FOR SAUSAGE!” She looked about herself, struck by the enthusiasm of her enemy.
Below her the dwarf with the head-trauma spit out a bit of blood, before daring to bend up a little, and glance around. Then another cry rang out. A cry of a different, yet similar sentence. “FOR PIIIE!” Soon this was followed by another “FOR PIIIE!” And suddenly nearly all of the remaining goblins cried out, like the rapidly spreading epicenter of a soundwave. “FOOOR PIIIIE! FOR PIE! PIE-PIE-PIE! FOOOOOR PIIIIIE!””
The dwarf missing a left ear, raised his head up most of the way, but tilted just little to side, with right ear up. He looked around himself, casting eyes to the many different cheering goblins of the battlefield, his face a mix between pain and confusion. “Did they just shout ‘For Pie!’?”
“Yes. Yes they did” Evenin confirmed, and nodded.
The soldier glanced up at her. “When did goblins become so enthusiastic about math?”
Evenin met his glance with a raised eyebrow. “I think they’re referring rather to the doughy kind.”
The dwarf gaped up at her. “Huh, the doughy kind? Why?”
He took a little step closer to where Evenin sat, he aimed in to listen with his functioning ear. A sign she interpreted as a desire for elaboration. “It’s the way of the Tumis. Their culture fetishize food, and create factions or kitchens as they call it, over favourite dishes. Each faction is lead by a goblin who is both mage and chef. Since they’ve chanted 2 dishes, this means there are at least 2 factions – 2 chefs of war present among us.”
“FOR PIIIIEEEE!” the cry came again, however, this time it wasn’t the cry of everyone, but the cry of a few especially enthusiastic goblins. As Evenin looked around to find them, she spotted them all near the breached open gap into the octagon, where that one wagon of theirs recently had stood, before being lifted off to the side. Here there were dwarves still struggling to slow down the flow of enemies into the fort, although most of them had given up on actually stopping the overpowering the werehares and vampires. Rather, most had resorted to occupying the overpowered foes in effective defensive tactics, as this was the best they could do now, while they and practically everyone was waiting for some saving moment of grace. However, just beyond the struggling dwarves and the werehares hammering at them, Evenin noticed who exactly had been making these loud latest cries of “FOR PIIIEEEE!” For there just outside the fort, stood some dozen goblins waving in their hands something that looked like long pieces of bread. “Baguettes?” Evenin frowned in confusion at the sight. Then she noticed how every piece, almost uniformely, had dark greenish endings. At a distance it was rather difficult to discern the details, yet to Evenin, it sort-of looked like the baguettes had mold at their ends. Wait! Why would they all wave moldy baguettes at us? Before Evenin could answer her own question, 14 goblins in total all lowered their moldy baguettes, each now pointing their long breads – mold-first – at the frontline defenders.
“What?” the envoy frowned at the scene. She understood this had to mean something, but what bizarre thing could it mean? Then another goblin stepped into view before Evenin could fully process it all, and the dwarf focused her eyes to analyze the new person. A standout firey orange half-long hair initially caught the dwarf’s eyes, while 2 major naked tits quickly resolved for gender. However, as Evenin continued analyzing, she noticed a much bigger reason for her to stare. Below the goblin woman’s chest was the big drawing of something with a circular outline, but tipped to an angle like a 3-dimensional shape, with squiggly lines rising from said shape over and across the goblins big tits. In quick logic, Evenin realized it was a pie – a tattoo of a PIE.
The envoy studied the situation. The goblin woman in question nodded to her baguette wielding friends, and she stepped forward a bit, shouting something over to the frontline. Some of the werehares and vampires there turned their heads. The goblin woman continued shouting more words, and several of them stepped aside, giving the moldy baguette goblins clear sight towards the lines of resisting dwarves.
“Ilgmun Bluu!” It was far away, and interrupted by the sounds of the fighting and suffering around her, yet Evenin heard the distinct pronounciations well as it came out in a choir.
The moldy endings glowed yellow for only a second, then a volley of yellow-greenish projectiles of near-liquid gas shot towards the dwarves. The dwarves of course responded by raising to block with their shields – all the dwarves, that is, except 1, who received a kick to her shield from a werehare just before and was subsequently caught off balance and stumbling, in the middle of the volley’s area of landing. A yellow-greenish projectile struck her right in the face, where it immediately turned to smoke of the same color, and she, already stumbling backwards, fell hard on her butt. 2 other dwarves rushed in to shield her. Luckily, this was before any more werehares or goblins could exploit her moment of vulnerability. But as the seconds passed, as the dwarf found herself back on her feet again, and as Evenin watched her, the question on everyone’s minds became this: what happened to you? What did, or what will, the magic spell DO?
For a long moment, Evenin stared in order to be illuminated on that exact question. Intermittently, she would glance around herself, trying not to be caught in some sneak attack. Fortunately Snowman could keep watch for attacks against her. However, leaving a bear to think tactics all alone wasn’t a terribly good idea. So while she continued staring, she also cast glances to her surroundings. Finally, after several dozen seconds, Evenin realized that the dwarf had been standing in what looked like a really awkward position for a while now, and with another really awkward expression plastered on her face. The woman was in fact shaking? It’s difficult to tell but it looks like she’s shaking. Oh poor you, what did the pie goblins do to you? But it wasn’t just shaking, it was this total standstill pose and weird expression combined, it all looked sort-of familiar. Eventually Evenin realized what she was looking at. She was looking at someone who was experiencing something inside their body. This was the look of someone with deeply awkward internal sensations.
PFFFUUURPHT! And the face of the woman just turned weirder, as her butt let out that most natural, yet circumstantially awkward, of sounds. Now Evenin finally, and fully realized, what was happening. The woman was standing in that weird pose because she was in fact trying to hold it together – she was clenching her butt cheeks. But it was futile though, for another PFFFUUURPHT! occured and although Evenin could not see it for herself, she saw the disgusted looks of the dwarves around the woman, all of whom jerked back with great frowns on their faces, each one looking over at the woman’s butt like as if it had just spoken to them. PFFFUUUURPHT! That one though, it hadn’t come from the unlucky dwarf woman. This time, Evenin suddenly realized there were 2 more dwarves standing there on the frontline, both in that same butt-clenching pose, both trying desperately to hold it together. Alas for 1 of them, the continued holding-it-all-in simply wasn’t to be. For this dwarf had been spotted. A werehare saw the shaking awkward standing dwarf man, and the mighty enemy came in for the kill. Thus the man, whose full black beard reached all the way down to his belly button, had to choose between on the one hand, letting go of his butt cheeks, or on the other, letting go of his life. For a scarce second the man appeared to be internally debating that exact issue, however in the end, life had to prevail. In the knick of time, the soldier let go of his pose and stepped to the side deflecting the werehare’s frontal attack with his shield. A huge PFFFFUUUURRRRRRRRPHT! rang out across the frontline after that. So ruthless was the release that even from her own, quite far away position, Evenin could see the brown goo running down that unfortunate dwarf’s legs.
“DIARREAH BOLT!” It was Steelstasche shouting. The envoy cast her eyes to the side to see him standing there, with 2 other dwarves behind him duelling the master vampire as the Infantry Corporal had apparently taken a moment to become commander again. “DIARREAH BOLT! WATCH OUT FOR THE GOBLIN BREAD, THEY’RE MAGIC WANDS! DON’T GET HIT BY DIARREAH BOLTS!” The corporal took a moment to catch his breath, and his face looked properly exhausted. Taking a major inhale though, he made the most of his lungs, and shouted again. “SOLDIERS! For the life of you, dodge that magic! IF you ARE HIT, you WILL spend the next half hour dying more from the bottom of your underwear, than any goblin sword or arrow!”
Steelstasche continued shouting such warnings for few more rounds like that, with many breaths taken between. He was like a town crier there he stood, with the octagon of wagons as his town. After the 5th series of shouts though, with his message having been relayed to about every dwarf in the octagon whose ears were still functioning, the corporal appeared to be finally content, and he turned around to join back in with his soldiers, in what went from a 2-on-1 duel, to a 3-on-1, against Lord Smooch.
The fighting continued for many long minutes, carnage unfolding everywhere. Dwarves died. Goblins died. Werehares died. Even another vampire died, Gemcut The Vampire-Slayer managing a stab at one unlucky vampire woman’s throat. However, overall the tide of the battle was turning against the dwarves. From 3, there suddenly rose to be over a dozen dwarves walking around with their butts leaking and blasting shit. The first dwarf to have been struck had already had to retreat back to Evenin, where the woman lay on the ground at Snowman’s paws, a constant weird expression on her face, and with her body curled up like a baby. A great fatigue showed through an erratic breathing. Evenin tried not to look at her. It was terrible, but also it was completely unnecessary to watch her of all people, and totally disgusting.
Around Evenin though, with the minutes passing, she started to notice a gradual surrounding of her position. Not so close of a surrounding as to catch goblins within the deadly reaches of Snowman’s bite. But close and complete enough that it was unmistakable. Then something of a breaking point occured. In rapid succession, a werehare banged a soldier’s head bloody and unconconscious, a vampire man bit another soldier’s neck open before throwing his victim to the side, 3 goblins managed to stab a soldier helpless and dying, and a powered up goblin champion cut the right hand off a 4th soldier, leaving the latter to bleed out in pain on the ground. And thus, suddenly, there was this completely uncontested gap towards Evenin, a gap directly connected to a steady slow flow of enemies entering the fort.
“We ATTACK her!” The vampire, his mouth running with the blood after his kill, pointed his hand at the envoy with wide, hungry eyes.
“Too strong” spoke the werehare. “Leave her for Lord Smooch your master, as planned. Or to the Promises, they’ll know how to deal with her.”
“If we attack her” one of the unbuffed goblins spoke, “every dwarf in here would rush to defend her.”
“Yes” replied the blood-eater among them. Clothed in a black leather armor with a white shirt, and a hooded cape, rather reminiscent of his lord though a tad less handsome, the vampire turned to his comrades. “Precisely, if we attack her, and if she struggled, every dwarf in viscinity would come to rescue. It would be a major distraction. We might even collapse their overall defence. And if we succeeded in taking her out, the battle for morale would most surely be won.” He looked to each one of their eyes, the intensity of his stare forcing each one to look at him, and so be affected by his passively working hypnotic gaze. “Who wants victory? Who joins me?”
The werehare squeaked a sound loud and terrorizing. Nobody knew what that meant, but the vampire interpreted it as the affirmitive yet unconvential warcry of an intelligent werekin.
The goblin champion simply made a “hmm” noise for a couple of seconds, then he looked over at Evenin, who’d been following their discussion. Her face had been fearful, waiting, but now that the goblin champion stared at her, she forced herself to look at him with disdain; with a facade of bravery. Snowman, noticing the intense atmosphere, turned around to face the 6 new enemies. His bloodied face was much more of a concern for dungeon lords forces. Yet the goblin champion in his heavy armor, and with his greatsword in hand, only looked back at the bloody snout with brewing aggression. “I’m with you. Several of our friends have died at that bear’s hands. If I can hurt it; if I can slay it, then I’ll spare my other comrades the suffering, and death, of confronting it themselves.” He raised his blade and pointed it towards the bear’s face a handful metres away. “I challenge you bear, to survive this blade. For it’s coming for you.”
The vampire looked over at the 3 unpowered goblins. They looked between them. They were anxious, but as they glanced at the bear, and discussed with each other, their faces turned gradually from hesitance into determination. “We will support you” one of them finally said. And then the same goblin turned around and shouted at some of the goblins entering the fort to come join them. While they waited for those shouted for to arrive, another werehare came up next to the one currently there, presumably having been summoned by the terrifying squeak.
All in all, 8 goblin regulars, 2 werehares, 1 goblin champion, and 1 vampire stood against Evenin and Snowman. 3 wounded dwarves, including the dwarf who’d lost his ear, moved to stand next to the bear facing the 12 enemies. However, these dwarves were only capable of standing and lifting their handaxes, it didn’t mean they were fit for fighting. Besides the near-deaf one who’d lost significant amounts of blood and was shivering with pain, there was a dwarf with a bleeding stab wound to the side, and a dwarf with an arrow sticking out of her leg. All in all, only the last soldier had any shield at all, and every single one of them was in pain and suffering the debilitating effects of bloodloss.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“Oh no you won’t!” Rushing in to join the line-up of dwarves next to Snowman came Private Understone, and next to her 2 dwarven male soldiers. “Harm her and you’ll lose your head, dungeon lord scum!”
“Is that so, miss dwarf?” The vampire straightened his back and took on a polite tone. “Rish.” The goblin champion turned his head to face the vampire. “Please occupy the 2 men there, while I entertain this lady soldier? The rest of you: if you can avoid the bear for now, that would be swell. Let’s focus on clearing away the dwarves first, then we can all outmaneuver the bear after.”
“We’ll go and keep this area clear of other dwarves” one of the 2 werehares said, and the furry ones ran to intercept another couple of dwarves who’d clearly come to assist, but where stopped before they could get any close.
Rish The Goblin Champion turned to the 2 unwounded dwarven men, and started moving sideways to flank them. “You come with me, dwarves, or I’ll come for you.” Klink klink klink, Rish’s heavy armor produced metallic walking sounds as he approached, his greatsword pointed straight at them with a single outstretched hand. When the dwarves passively refused to step aside for a 2-on-1 duel, Rish’s face grew angry, and the goblin man put both hands on his sword’s hilt, before stepping up to the dwarf whose sides were bleeding. “I suppose since your healthy friends are such cowards, I’ll have to kill you to get their attention.” He lifted his mighty blade and swung it downwards in a powerful arc. When the arrow-pierced dwarf next stepped in to block, the force of the blade sent the latter stumbling backwards and yelping with the pain of putting weight on an arrow-protruding leg. The goblin quickly brought the greatsword around though, and went in for another big swing. When the large blade again landed, it struck another shield. The first of the 2 newly arrived dwarf men had stepped in, and the goblin smiled faintly, before stepping away, taking one hand off the hilt and using it to wave the other person over. Begrudgingly, the dwarf followed to an adjacent open area where they could hold their duel.
“Aaarh!” the other healthy man produced in annoyance, jogging over to join the duel with a sour face of being forced into it.
The vampire watched the duel commence, then turned his eyes and smiled over at Private Understone. He made a single step forward. “What a lovely evening, isn’t it?”
Private Understone narrowed her eyes. “No?”
The vampire man raised his eyebrows, as if confused. “You sure? Why don’t you look up at the sky then, at The Vibrant Moon.” His own eyes and face went upwards, and he took in the apparently pleasant view of the great celestial object. “Up there, somewhere, they have their palaces of white, clear marble. Naghmat, God of Werekin, and Trivili, Goddess of Bloodkin, of vampires. Is not the magic of this moonlight, like the most beautiful sight? Does not the shine of the gods make you feel powerful, and so good all over? So magnificent.” The white man took his eyes off the moon, and noticed the dwarf only staring at him, and glowering, not having as much as glanced in the same direction. He smiled at that, at her determination. “You’re missing out.” He returned her glowering with his own a faint smile, and the hypnotic gaze of his own eyes. Gradually, over the course of several seconds, the woman’s frown lessened, until it vanished altogether. Her fervor and apparent determination to hate him all gone. Finally her eyes turned upwards while her face remained fixed. Soon her head followed too, and she fully gazed up, up towards The Vibrant Moon, and she gasped at it, and lowered her axe.
“Private Understone?” Evenin tried to speak to the soldier, but the woman had become mute, distant, unresponsive.
The vampire took another step towards the mesmerized dwarf. “Come over here, lady of the stonekin, and join me. Let us view this radiant, magical sight – together.”
“UNDERSTONE!” As the other woman began sauntering over, Evenin yelled for her. Still she only continued staring up towards the sky, eyes mesmerized, mouth awing, feet sauntering. “Get her!” Evenin pointed to the wounded dwarves, and the side-bleeding dwarf began moving with a wounded gait. “GET HER!” Evenin pointed directly at the ear-missing dwarf, and then pointed at the mesmerized Understone. The dwarf understood and began walking over too, shambling a little at the vertigo of his own damaged ear-canal. However, as soon as the first dwarf caught the arm of Understone and began pulling for her to get back, the latter resisted her comrade.
“Get off me!” Looking back at side-bleeding dwarf, Understone pushed her shield into the dwarf’s face and then, with her axe-holding hand, shoved the same dwarf into the other following. Both rescue-sent dwarves stumbled backwards, confused. Their confusion was soon replaced by dread though, as this was the time when the 8 regular goblins decided that their opportunity had come, and like a shock squad, they ran at the 2 with all their weapons. Seeing this all unfold, the 3rd and last dwarf to defend Evenin felt utterly compelled to limp forward and over to defend her comrades, each one looking ready to be slaughtered.
“Come, let’s watch together” the vampire spoke with a soothing tone, and words so beautiful. “Let not the others bother us.” And Private Understone walked up and into the embrace of his left arm, and as promised of him, they both looked up, together.
With life-and-death fighting happenings all around them, both the dwarf and the vampire stood together and enjoyed that magical view of The Vibrant Moon, each taking pleasure in that divine white light shining down upon them. Finally, after nearly half a minute, the man pulled Understone in closer, forming a fuller embrace. That was when she felt it: her heart suddenly beating a little faster, and her own cheeks flushing red a little. For a moment, she felt like they were the only 2 people in the whole world, and all she could think about was him, about that dreamy gentleman, in whose arms her head was now resting, looking up at that magnificent, beautiful moon. All those other sounds around them, they mattered naught, it was all them, only them, they were the only ones there. She felt his hands on her cheeks, and then one hand sliding down to her chin, lifting her up to meet his eyes. Those deep, beautiful, enchanting eyes. She grew warmer, she could feel her own breath. He looked down at her, smiling. He leaned in, and he kissed her. It was long, it was passionate, their mouths exchanging tongues, a dance in wetness. And then, as he eventually let go of her mouth, she deeply wished he hadn’t, in fact she raised herself to stand on her tip toes, wanting to be in contact with his lips for as long as possible as his face dared to retreat from her. When they finally were departed, he smiled at her some more, and oh, what a beautiful, handsome smile that was. A wonderful smile, a dreamy smile, a smile she craved to see.
IUnderstone could only focus that smile of his, focus on those lips she was already missing; already longing to reconnect with. Then his face came closer once more, and she thought she might have that same experience again. However, his face moved to the side this time, and going for her neck. That sensation of his lips contacting with her neck though, it was no less of a powerful moment. His lips spread out across her skin, and dug into her flesh, and she felt this light playful biting, and noticed herself moaning. It was so wonderful, so nice, such a magical moment. She wanted more, and he gave her more – he bit harder. “MMM... more, moRE, MORE-heh!” Finally, he bit past her skin, and she felt her neck open, she felt her blood run. Somehow though, she liked this. Somehow, she wanted this. Somehow, it made her glad that he got to taste her, that he wanted to taste her, that he wanted her, her body, her blood. “Ah” she let out quietly, and smiled, “this is so nice. So, so nice...” She felt lightheaded, and it was a little painful, his sharp teeth. Yet, this pleasure. Oh the pleasure of it all.
“GUTA!” She thought she heard somebody shout something.
“GUTA! PRIVATE GUTA UNDERSTONE!” She heard it again. It was a man’s voice, a familiar voice. And wasn’t that her name? Wasn’t she called Guta, as her first name? Yes. But why this voice now, while she was having such a pleasurable time?
“GUUUTAAAA!” The voice was so close. Her eyes opened up a little, and she turned her head just a little to see a dwarf man, a fully-armored and armed soldier, fighting a goblin with a greatsword, and next to him, another similarly dressed dwarf, also fighting the goblin. The first dwarf was shouting at her, in-between dodges, shield blocks, and his own weapon swinging for a cut. “GUUUTAAA! GET AWAY FROM HIM!”
“Huh?” What an odd request.
“Guta! RESIST HIM! He's seducing you! The VAMPIRE is seducing you!"
“But he’s so handsome” her voice was dreamy. “Of course he is seducing me, how could he not?”
“GUTA! HE'S EATING YOU! HE'S SUCKING YOUR BLOOD!"
Guta frowned at the words. “And what is so bad about that? What if I WANT to be eaten, uh?”
“What!?”
“This just feels sooo goood, aaaaah” Private Guta Understone felt herself moan out loud on the battlefield, for everyone around to hear, and she knew at the same time that she didn’t care. She wanted to moan, she wanted more, more pleasure, more being in this man’s arms and just experiencing this slow vanishing of her consciousness into nothingness.
“I-I-IN THE MIDDLE OF A LIFE-AND-DEATH BATTLE!? Have you lost every bit of sanity!? GUTA, RESIST HIM!”
“Nooo...” the words coming out of her mouth were faint. A protest that was no protest at all, only the affirmation of her total surrender. Her surrender to having her neck eaten by the world’s handsomest man; to this most wonderful prince of blood. To that noblest of beings, who’d chosen her, and only her, for consumption.
“GET OFF GUTA YOU BLOOD-SUCKING FIEND! You won’t have my friend!” Guta suddenly felt the simultanous detaching from her of teeth, lips, hands, and everything. That nice feeling, suddenly it had all left her, all departed her. He, that dreamy gentleman, had left their embrace. She collapsed, weak, an instant sorrow spilling over her. The greatest love she had ever had, he had left her. Where was he? Oh there he was, being chased by a man with an axe. She really hoped her lover would be back soon, that he wasn’t forgetting his woman – that he wasn’t forgetting them. Maybe she was being jealous, but she didn’t want her lover playing with others. She was all the toy he needed, and all the meals he ever wanted. She still had blood left to give, she wasn’t all used up yet. Oh, couldn’t she please be allowed to feel his teeth in her neck again. Please?
Evenin watched the vampire run away from the mad dwarf, and she watched Private Understone sit on the ground, looking sad and lost, slowly bleeding out from her neck.
“Aeeeh!” her head snapped at the sound over to the dwarf duelling with the goblin champion. The dwarf was the one who’d made the shrill yelp of a sound, and as she took in the picture, what her eyes saw was a dwarf bleeding profusely, with only half an arm, and no axe. The dwarf stared at his missing limb in utter, terrorized shock. Rish the goblin kicked the shield of the stunned dwarf and the latter fell to the ground, eyes bulged, still looking at his own dismemberment.
The champion looked over at her now, and then down at Snowman, raising his greatsword to point at the bear. “Time for us soon, great bear.”
Evenin’s head snapped over again to another event. This time to experience the dying moment of that ear-missing dwarf, as the front of his neck got a shortsword piercing into and then through it. Shortly thereafter, as the same shortsword was dislodged, and the goblins surrounded the remaining 2 dwarves in a circle of 8. The next press of attacks near instantly felled the dwarf with a bleeding side, who had no protections and no mobility to keep up with 4 goblins in semi-synchronous stabbing motions. Then it was the shield-wielding dwarf. Also having reduced mobility from the arrow in her leg, she desperately tried to point her shield in every single direction, ignoring the pain of her leg. But as 2 goblins attacked her shield head-on, there was no chance for her to also block the stabs directed to her back, and so she fell too. And just like that, they were all down on the ground, dying from critically mortal wounds.
The vampire fled into the reaches of the goblin champion, and the 8 goblins came over to help. In no time at all, the remaining healthy dwarven soldier, panting from his chase, found himself surrounded by 10 enemies.
“RAAAWR!” Snowman charged into the encirclement, ripping up the torso of one of the goblins with his teeth, and sending 2 other goblins falling to the sides with powerful, skin-ripping paw strikes.
“Soldier!” Evenin commanded. “Protect Snowman from sneak-attacks. He’ll do the main fighting from here on.”
The thanks on the face of the soldier was total for that split second it took him to process the order and then run over to Snowman’s rear, his shield up and his axe ready, a new vigor surging into his muscles. It was now a bear and a single dwarven soldier, against 9 enemies – 7 regular goblins, 1 goblin champion, and 1 vampire.
“By the gods! What a shit show this has become!” The voice shouted from far away, but, unmistably, even faint, Evenin recognized it. That was the voice of Cavalry Sergeant Castiron. As her ears picked up the voice, her curiosity overcame her, and she glanced up and over for a brief second. In the intensity of the waiting combat even that little time was precious spending, but she had to know – she had to know if hope had arrived.
Over at the other side of the fort, at the rear of the hoard of goblins trying to squeeze themselves in through the vanishing frontline of the dwarves, dwarven riders on rams could be seen. A few seconds later, in-between which she rapidly looked from goblin to goblin and to vampire, trying to gauge their next move and seeing none, Evenin dared to make a second briefest of glances, and what she caught there would both fill her with joy, and with worry. Only somewhere around 2 dozen ram cavalry, and likely less than that, could be seen from her position on the back of Snowman. That was fewer, much fewer in fact, than originally. But they were here nonetheless. And the Castiron was already rapidly developing the habit of galloping past the goblin flanks, and chopping the goblin forces from the sides, with the powerful killing blows of greataxes; his and the other cavalryists’ alike.
In their tight groupings trying to get into the fort, the goblins had become something of an easy target by now. Gone was the spread out goblins who dodged and ran around the rams. This, in a new contrast, was a cluster ready for slaughter.
The goblin champion lunged with his greatsword, and Snowman backed off a step, swiping at the weapon and striking the blade with hammering strength. Rish was caught utterly by surprise as his weapon fell hard towards the ground. He stumbled forward in his attempted plunge and pierced the soil instead. Seeing the great white one’s face coming for his throat next, the champion dropped his soil-stabbing weapon and rapidly backed away to the point of fleeing. But Snowman stopped, and instead went for the regular goblin to the left, in-so-doing shattering the encirclement also, as the smaller goblin, wearing nothing but a leather vest for armor and a shortsword for weapon, decided that trying to stand his ground at that moment was suicide, and fled too. Neither of the goblins went very far, though still far enough that Snowman simply lumbered out of the encirclement, roaring at the remaining forces, neither of which immediately sprang forth to make another daringly close surround of his shape.
The battle for the central fort continued for the next minutes with grinding bloodshed from both sides. Castiron cut down the outside forces so efficiently that the advance of the goblins, vampires, and werehares into the fort slowed down to a crawl, and the goblins on the outside formed up to a defensive line to properly protect their rear. The war chefs of the Tumis also appeared. Promise Sausage and Promise Pie stepped up with new, odd weapons in hand. The first revealed a string of linked sausages for a weapon, a sausage-whip, while the latter firey orange-haired woman brought forth a duel set of elongated moldy stale bread. Conveniently, these long pieces of bread were thinner at the one edge, thus giving hilts to 2 clearly poisonous clubs. Clubs which the goblin chef used to awe-striking effect as she spotted an incoming ram-mounted dwarf galloping towards her position. Letting the dwarf think his greataxe was going to land, she surprised the man at the last moment by jumping over his large blade and slamming both baguette-shapes into his body. The impact of the stale bread clubs sent the latter falling backwards, off and into the ground, where he was quickly swarmed by raging, vengeful goblin regulars. Not to be outdone by the stunt, Promise Sausage wrapped his sausage-whip around the arms of another dwarf trying to gallop past and make an axe strike. Yanking at the limb, the Promise forced the dwarf woman off her ram and into the ground, where she too was quickly swarmed and stabbed to death.
From the frontlines a couple of buffed werehares joined the ruckus at the back, and their speed, strength, and agility quickly became a headache for the otherwise powerful cavalry. What had a started for them like a slaughterfest, quickly became just as much defence, and soon all these factors conspired to bring the number of riders down to a mere dozen. Of course, Castiron was not idle in all this, but showed his own leadership by managing to slice the head off one of the buffed werehares, before greaviously wounding the arm of the other, sending it squeaking painfully back into the crowd of goblins.
Inside the fort, blood was everywhere. Snowman had killed or severely wounded all the goblin regulars, including 3 more who’d come to join the fight while it had all happened. The werehares had returned though, and it was now 1 vampire, 1 goblin champion, and 2 werehares, against 1 great white bear with only minor injuries, and 1 dwarf soldier who’d only managed to stay alive by being repeatedly saved by said bear, as well as by being extremely attentive not to fall prey to the utter speed and strength of the werehares, who tried to abduct him away from the scene on more than one occasion, but luckily failed each time with a last-minute hack of an axe, shield bash, or bear paw.
“HAH!” came the loud triumphant voice of Infantry Corporal Steelstasche, whose long-lasting duel with Lord Smooch, had moved like a slow storm throughout the fort all this time. The storm had cut down several goblins, as well as a few dwarves by the vampire’s doing, as the veteran soldier sought to slay the vampire and any other enemy coming between them. The vampire meanwhile was trying actively to stay alive, and in his dance-like dodges sought to dominate the indomitable, but failing. “You BLEED! How does it feel to be mortal, master vampire?” With his silver-coated dagger, Steelstache had managed to slice a thin wound across the vampire’s upper chest, and the dwarf was relishing in the minor success.
The vampire produced some room between them as the silver-striken wound flared up for a few seconds. He grimaced unhappily, clearly in pain, as he looked down at his chest. “It stings, but that’s it. You feel awfully confident for making me sting, Infantry Corporal.”
“Yet I could go on and on” Steelstache smiled, “and you’ve yet to make me sting. I think I know who’s winning this duel.”
Lord Smooch gave the corporal a sour expression, then produced something of a smile as another soldier came to join Steelstasche. The vampire looked at the newcomer, and then right in the newcomer’s eyes. “What a wonderful thing that you could join us, my friend, my lover.”
The newcomer, a lightly bearded young man by the looks of it, raised his eyebrows and leaned over to speak to Steelestasche. “Is that guy all right in his head?”
“Resist him private, he might be trying to mess with your mind.” He gave the private a serious set of eyes.
“Mess with my friend, how could I ever? We are bonded for life, 2 souls woven together. 2 lovers who could not be parted by anything, nor anyone.” Then the vampire leaned over and blew a kiss. From the lips and hands of his hands, a pink butterfly of light came into being, its wings spreading out instantly, as it flew over and subsequently threw itself at the newcomer’s forehead. The dwarf tried to step back and dodge it, but the spell homed in on him, and as it struck, a moment of confusion occured, before his whole body slumped, and the younger dwarf looked over at Lord Smooch, a smiling, dreamy expression on his face.
“Love” the newcomer raised his handaxe to his chest and beat the flat side of his weapon against it. A tear soon falling down his cheek. “Love, how I have longed to see you.”
“And how I have longed for you” replied the master seducer.
“ENOUGH!” Infantry Corporal Steelstasche yelled. He turned and shook his comrade. “SNAP OUT OF IT!” He went as far as to briefly sheath his dagger and slap the face of the other. “He is messing with your MIND, you must resist the effects! Use your willpower! OVERCOME his magic!”
“There is no magic” spoke the master vampire, soothingly, before glancing over at Steelstasche. “There is only love, the only magic to require no mana, only one’s heart.” His eyes turned back to look into the younger one’s. “I have your heart, don’t I?”
“Yes” smiled a red-cheeked dwarf back.
“This man wants to kill me” Lord Smooch put up a sad, almost crying face, eyes momentarily glancing at Steelstasche, before returning to his supposed romance. “Will you help me, will you help your love?”
This time the other dwarf didn’t respond. Instead, he turned to his corporal; to Steelstasche, utter and total rage on his face.
Outside the fort of wagons, the battle of attrition had seen Cavalry Sergeant Castiron become the last, the very last, of his cavalry. All the other ram riders were either dead, or lay bleeding on the ground. He however, had not given up. The sausage-whip he had cut apart in mid air with his axeblade, while Promise Pie had been rammed unconscious by his ram in a failed attempt to slam him out of his saddle. He was not beaten.
But strong as Castiron was, he did not have infinite stamina, nor did his ram. And the amount of enemies were simply too many. Yes, he and his soldiers had managed to halve the number of goblins available for the assault on the wagon fort, even momentarily stopped the flow into the fort as the goblins tried to secure their rear, but he was literally running out of anything to fight with. He was drained, exhausted, vulnerable, and alone. His remaining dwarven allies were inside the fort, and the 2 other forts were dealing with assaults of their own. Smaller assaults, for sure, nothing as devastating as this, but still assaults. There were no reinforcements to be had. Nowhere to retreat to. It was to fight, or surrender, and if they’d surrender, they’d become slaves, and the envoy, Evenin of Redratall, she’d be lost to the enemy. Perhaps they’d kill her. So there was no real alternative then, none but to fight, and likely to die a death. A death glorious, but bloody, painful, and alone.
Castiron would go on, go on for as long as possible. He would slay the enemy, he would keep himself alive. Even if it took a full day, he would fight his way to Evenin’s rescue, and extract her out of there. She, most of all, had to survive this. Castiron rode past again, he cut down 2 goblins who tried to jump at him with spears. Fully passing the crowd of goblins, his ram turned around, and he rode in again, and he cut down a goblin who tried to stand right in front him. His ram battered the goblin to ground, and he swung his axe at the downed warrior. He turned and repeated, then turned and repeated, then yet more turned and repeated. He killed 10 goblins this way. No 20. More death, more killing, more swinging his axe, more inspiring terror and despair in the ranks of the goblins, all until WOOOSH-SPLAT!
Cavalry Sergeant Castiron noticed his right eye blacken out. His left eye, meanwhile, noticed the long protruding stick of an arrow sticking out from his face. Well, he’d been hit – but he wasn’t dead. Even as his left eye watered and he felt the closeness of death from his ruined right eye, he knew he could go on. So he cut again, killing another goblin. “WHAAAH!” screamed his ram, and suddenly he noticed his ram had been pierced at neck as well, an arrow protruding like from his eye. He kicked the ram, forcing it to continue on. At the start, this worked, and his ram galloped forward, but soon the ram came to a trott, and no amounts of kicking would make it gallop anymore. Then another arrow struck it, and it started to walk. It was struggling under him. No stamina left, and it was bleeding, and its breathing, it was obviously difficult for it to breath. He swung himself out of the saddle, and saw somewhere in the viscinity of 20 goblins come rushing for him. Well he still had his armor, he still had an eye, and his arms and his weapons were working perfectly, if only a little tired. “AAAAARRRH!” he screamed, and charged back at the goblins. A few of the goblins got scared and stopped, but most of them just screamed back, “AAAAARH!”, and they clashed. He cut left, right, down, up, heart racing to keep up with all of his enemies. If he could move fast enough, their spears wouldn’t find where to stick him, and their shortswords wouldn’t reach him. With his armored fist, he smashed in the face of a goblin who tried to get him from behind. Meanwhile, his axe never stopped swining. 1 goblin down, 2, 3, 4, 5, then an odd feeling in his shoulder. He looked, and a spear had found a weak point, a place to strike at his muscles, a place to make him bleed. He was tired, so tired it took him precious time to step out of the blood-soaking spear-tip.
He realized that part of his body was slowing down, that parts of it wanted to give up, to give in to death, to just make it all end. 6 goblins down, and a broad swing of the axe cut the head clean off a 7th. Then a goblin champion came into view, a greatsword in hand, and when that goblin struck, he knew he had to block. The weight of the enemy’s blade was heavy, its muscles strong, and for another precious second, they both just stood there, blade meeting blade. Castiron felt something pierce his neck. Was he dead yet? He tried to wriggle out of the sword stuck in him, but moving only made it difficult to breath, and he started forcibly coughing large amounts of blood. Suddenly his right leg gave in, and he came down to a knee. The goblin champion raised his greatsword, and through looking up with his single working eye, Cavalry Sergeant Castiron knew, with certainty, what came next. Death, glorious death. A life in service of his people, coming to its very end – its very, final, last brief moment.
Evenin didn’t see it happen, but she’d seen how the cavalry had slowly dwindled into nothing, and now that she no longer saw Castiron, only a cluster of idle goblins surrounding a spot in the distance, she knew it had happened, in her heart.
PFFFT!-BAM!
Evenin saw the red gasous magical lights erupt in violent combustion around her, and the air-vibrating shockwave spewing forth from her, and she saw the glitter of silvery pieces falling from her hair. But more than that, she felt a strange painful feeling in her own body, followed by another similar, but somehow reverse sensation.
“You’re doomed, envoy” a voice spoke next to her ear, and when she turned, there stood the master vampire on top of Snowman’s broad back, a tiny, bloody, large needle in his right hand. Evenin thought for a moment that she recognized the needle, but then she realized something more importantly, that blood of the needle, it must be mine. I must’ve been stabbed. For a second she just sat there, shocked to her core, but then Snowman launched himself upright on 2 paws, shaking off the vampire who landed gracefully on his feet, as the upright bear came around, raging at the smiling face of the world’s handsomest assassin.
“AH!” Evenin heard Steelestache’s voice break out, “AH!”, a voice of despair, a sorrowful shaking voice that was lost for words. “AaaaaaH!” it was the sound of a man breaking, not an angry voice, but a shattered voice. Yet the corporal launched himself at the master vampire from behind, and the 2 resumed their duel. “YOU – WILL – DIE!” was all the veteran was able to speak. The ferocity of the leader’s strikes were increasing, his speed was increasing, his silver-coated dagger more savagely flung around. It didn’t take long before the vampire had not 1, but 2 new open minor wounds, each flaring intensely from their silver-caused reactions.
But savage as his attacks were, the wild attacks left the corporal without situational awareness, and he soon found himself surrounded by other vampires, werehares, and a goblin champion, who decided to intercede and go for him, all jointly. Not noticing it happening, the infantry corporal was centimeters away from dying – when the sky lit up, and a giant swarm of lightning strikes came all over the fort – no, not just the fort, but the entirety of the battlefield.
The blinding lights flashing before Infantry Corporal Steelstasche left him unable to act. Instead he fell down to his knees, weeping as he cursed the flashes and how they blinded him from his revenge. The power of the skies lasted for 10 seconds, then 30 seconds, then a minute, then several. For a long time the flashing, the thundering, the sparks, and the frying of the air, none of it would stop. But then, as suddenly as it had arrived, it ceased. Steelstasche, his face wet with tears, once more dared to open his eyes, to face up, and to see. And what he saw there was her. With a black flaming outline for sure, a faintly translucent body sure, but it was her – the witch of all witches – Irridiklara. And she spoke, not to him, but to the still alive but lightly bleeding woman on her bear. “Evenin, what did they do to you?”
“Achoo!”