Horns blared out across the wide-open plains as one after the other, the army's musicians sounded off to signal for the army to move forward. As the bright, early morning sun slowly rose over the horizon, Dasher looked back at his forces with unadulterated pride. His men were well-disciplined and marched in unison as they assembled into the predetermined formations.
The warband's centerline was a ragtag mess of goblins who were armed with an assortment of weapons. Swords, knives, clubs, axes, and everything in between were all that these gang pressed soldiers had when their tribes had been absorbed into Dasher's superior warband. Those who lacked the discipline and steeled nerves of an unrelenting fighter were gang pressed into the columns of goblins that ached for battle and craved to spill the blood of the enemy that dared to stand in their way. The goblin warlord and his advisors had seen this tactic put to good use on multiple occasions, with the rare deserter being chased down and either killed or captured for future punishment.
Behind this ragtag group of misfits stood ranks upon ranks of archers and an allotment of reserves. Those who were decent in wielding a bow were put to use in diminishing the ranks of the newly established tribes' enemies while at a safe distance. To ensure that the archers were secure enough to shoot at the opposing army without worry stood the army's reserves. These were the goblins that were considered too weak, ill, or otherwise ill-suited for the deadly realities of battle. If they were needed elsewhere, then they would march out in droves to drown the enemy in a mass of flesh and sinew.
Within the army's flanks stood the ranks of warriors who were armed with spears. These warriors served as a deterrent for any cavalry charges that dared to rush headlong into any perceived gaps within friendly lines. These warriors were a much-needed necessity for the upcoming battle as Dasher was intimately aware of the Bonechewer tribe's abundance of battle-ready wargs.
Whenever the tyrannical Thok'rul desired more sacrifices that his tribe couldn't afford to give, teams of riders were sent out to hunt down small bands of defenseless travelers, or in the rare occasion to sack the settlements of far weaker tribes, and bring back the unfortunate souls who were unlucky enough to not have died during the attacks. It was rare for the captives to survive and live within the tribe's ranks as their numbers quickly dwindled into nothing throughout the course of a long and horrific month.
A cold and deathly chill ran down Dasher's spine as the goblin thought of his former master's cannibalistic desires and the cruelty to those with whom he had ill will towards. Though he feared the fate that stood before him should his men fail and break upon his former people's battle lines, the warlord had serious doubts as to whether or not his old master would even remember as to who he was or what he had done.
Dasher was unaware as to whether or not the corpulent orc suffered from a lack of memory, as the goblin was but one of many faceless grunts that kept the wheels turning within the dreary day to day lifestyle of the Bonechewer tribe. Throughout his whole life, the goblin had never been privy to the musings of the plump warlord. Dasher's only form of communication with his former leader was through those rare few individuals who were among the obese monstrosity's most trusted lieutenants.
The goblin's musings about Thok' rul the Starving were interrupted by a series of quick, musical bleats of a nearby horn. Curious as to what the reasoning was, the warlord turned towards the source of the sound and gazed upon a handful of distant warg mounted riders as they strode towards the marching army.
Dasher was quick to realize that the approaching figures were not of his own, but those of the cannibalistic tribe.
"One-Eye!" Dasher yelled out in a harsh voice as he looked back towards his one eyed advisor. The scarred veteran of the tribe's many battles rode up to his commander upon his brown and black dotted warg. One-Eye offered a quiet salute as he waited patiently for his master to continue. "Have the musicians signal to Gol’ruk that his men are to ride out and intercept the approaching enemy. I don't doubt that Thok' rul is close by, watching how we react to this first move of his. So make sure that they keep their guard up for any tricks that might come from his addled brain."
One-Eye nodded his head and fell back towards the nearby musicians who had marched on in relative silence, blasting out the occasional musical note or two. Within a matter of seconds, a series of bleats rang throughout the army. The message was repeated throughout the army's ranks until a different call was made to signify that Gol’ruk had heard the order and was on the move.
As Dasher watched several dozen of his riders move to intercept the approaching enemy, the warlord raised his arm and pumped a closed fist into the air. The tribe's leader had signaled for a halt, and the musicians obliged their leader's orders without question. Music filled the air to signal for the marching army to stand where they were.
"Grosh," Dasher called out as he looked behind his left shoulder to the advisor in question. Grosh, who always remained close at hand, perked up at the mention of his name, and slammed a closed fist against his chest. "Have our forces get into position. If Thok' rul has his wargs out in force, then that means the rest of his tribe isn't that far behind."
"At once, Warlord." Grosh said as he turned his mount and rode off to see to his leader's command put into action.
As Grosh's voice could be heard hollering for the army's ranks to get into position, Dasher turned to look back at Gol’ruk and the dozens of wargs under the pack leaders' direct command. The goblin let out a neutral grunt as he watched half a dozen of his own riders swarm around a fallen orc and tear the unfortunate rider into pieces. Elsewhere, the riders and their mounts dodged and weaved out of the violent swings of their adversaries before moving in to attempt a counter strike of their own. Some were successful in killing their opponent while others were less fortunate and pulled away before their enemy could attempt a secondary counter-attack. There were a rare few who weren't as lucky and managed to be killed, maimed, or brutalized in one manner or another before their mount shared a similar fate.
Dasher tried to catch a sight of Gol’ruk but found it to be a fruitless endeavor within the distant chaos. The warlord wasn't too worried about one of his lieutenants being killed in battle, as they tended to survive even the most grievous of injuries.
An example of such tenacity came in the form of One-Eye, who rode towards the host's leader in a hurried rush. The heavily scarred officer had remained his most capable lieutenant despite the fact that the wretched goblin had managed to lose one of his eyes along with several of his fingers.
Dasher wouldn't be all that surprised if he would one day see the surprisingly cheerful officer with a missing arm or leg after a lengthy battle. One-Eye had always managed to come back from the worst somehow, and for that, the warlord was more than willing to trust his army with the battle-hardened officer.
"Warlord," One-Eye greeted his master with a hasty salute before continuing to speak. "Our picket riders have returned to report about another wave of enemy wargs heading our way. They claim that the enemy has several dozen riders barreling down upon our left flank."
Dasher could only let out a tired sigh as he spoke to his trusted officer. "Reinforcements for the battle already at hand?" The warlord asked as he gestured towards the running battle between the countless wargs and their riders.
As the two of them spoke, Dasher watched as half a dozen goblins and orcs fell off of their mounts and plummeted to their deaths. Throughout the chaotic scene, the goblin managed to spot a few brave souls who had been forced off of their mounts and continued the fight on foot. The warlord had serious doubts as to their survival, but that never stopped him from quietly praising those he had recognized to some degree.
"No, I'm afraid it's the opposite, actually." One-Eye spoke up as he shook his head. The one eyed goblin pointed towards a small, nearby mound that remained unoccupied. "The scouts are claiming that the enemy is coming from that hill's direction and will be upon us in a matter of minutes."
Dasher wasn't all too pleased to hear the news of enemy reinforcements, but he understood that it something to be expected so early in the battle. While he was positive that his lines would hold against the onslaught of an enemy cavalry charge, the warlord didn't wish for his troops to be harried by an uncontested opponent. He needed his men in the best condition they could be before Thok' rul's forces met with his own.
The goblin quietly weighed his options as he brought a hand to his chin. Gol’ruk wasn't the only packmaster that he could rely on, but he was undoubtedly the most capable of those under his command. There were two others that immediately came to the warlord's mind. One was Mug, who was a somewhat recent addition to his ranks and had a tendency to rush headlong into battle, but the pack leader was more than capable of holding out against other mounted foes. His leadership was another matter entirely.
The second packmaster was Krump. This second pack leader was another recent addition to his ranks and was from the rival tribe of his counterpart, but that had never stopped the two from working in unison on the occasions where it was necessary. Krump was the complete opposite of his fellow compatriot and was an excellent leader even in the most chaotic of brawls, but was also a near useless coward when it came to being confronted by a more aggressive adversary.
Dasher would need one of them to ride out and handle the approaching reinforcement while the other remained behind to protect the army's flanks from any tricks up the Bonechewer's sleeve. "One-Eye," The warlord called out to his one eyed lieutenant as his mind continued to wrack itself over who should stay and who should go. "Mug or Krump. Who would you pick?"
One-Eye advisor crossed his arms as he began to think over the various pros and cons of the named pack leaders. The officer wasn't one to intermingle with the tribe's more dedicated warg riders, so it was tough for the one-eyed lieutenant to give a more concrete answer. "Tough to say," The goblin said as he turned to face his master. "It's probably for the best that you send out someone who's a little more cautious than Mug, but you also want someone who isn't too scared to get into the thick of it."
Dasher grunted at the officer's musings as the one eyed goblin continued to list off a variety of things that made both of the warlord's initial choices to be flimsy with regards to their capabilities. "One-Eye," The warlord interrupted his advisor as the one-eyed goblin continued to list a multitude of reasons as to who should and shouldn't go. Upon hearing his master's voice for a second time, One-Eye quieted down and allowed his commander to speak uninterrupted. "I'm going on ahead to meet with the enemy, make sure that whoever you pick to follow me is the right choice. Afterward, I want you to take command and move the army forward. I doubt that I'll be very far behind once the battle begins in earnest."
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Before One-Eye could say another word, the tribe’s strange master kicked at the side of his snow-white mount and clicked his tongue. With a sudden and vicious growl, Gore bounded forward towards the distant enemy.
One-Eye let out a blood-curdling laugh as he watched his increasingly distant warlord disappear from his hazy vision.
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Gore let out a ferocious howl as the snow-white warg barreled towards the oncoming enemy. The creature's master, not wanting to be bested by his mounts eagerness to see battle, let loose his own cry as he knocked a crudely made arrow and let loose just as the vicious creature took a great leap forward, launching the both of them into the air.
Dasher grunted in shock as his companion landed harshly onto the ground, something that the unprepared goblin had yet to brace himself for.
The warlord shook his head to clear away the bright stars that danced within his vision and caught the sight of his previously launched missile bury itself deep within its intended targets bulging neck. The orc slumped forward and fell to the ground ceremoniously. Its ragged corpse was soon trampled beneath the oncoming riders of the Bonechewer tribe. The unfortunate rider's companions seemed to be unphased by the first death of their closely-knit pack, though a few rose from their saddles and raised their weapons into the air as they hollered out a wordless cry.
With no time to spare over who to target next, Dasher quickly fired off a hail of arrows towards the rapidly approaching horde of enemies. One of the missiles found its mark and struck the chest of a goblin with a mangled arm. The miserable creature's life was quickly extinguished as the unfortunate rider fell back and toppled to the ground in an exaggerated manner. The rest of the warlords hastily fired shots were no good as they bounced off harmlessly of those they struck or missed their targets entirely.
With only a few feet between the two forces, both sides let loose a harrowing roar and drew their intended weapons for the oncoming onslaught. Dasher ducked beneath the mighty swing of the closest orc and continued to charge deeper into the mass of flesh and fur. With a fierce cry, the warlord swung his sword and sliced open the belly of a bone-thin orc that had been foolish enough to overextend its reach and leave itself open to attack. Blood splattered across the warlord's arm as the blade cleaved through the goblins victim, and Dasher's unfortunate victim let loose a shriek of pain. The warlord then turned his faithful mount towards another opponent who jabbed at the goblin with a jagged spear.
Infuriated at the attempt on his master's life, Gore snarled at the crudely made weapon and reached out with his long, snow-white neck. With one fell swoop, the massive warg ripped the weapon from its wielders grip and pulled the surprised orc off of its brown-furred mount. A loud crack soon followed as the rider's neck twisted itself into an unnatural angle. The orc's corpse crumpled into a mangled ball of flesh and bounced once into the air before being swatted away by the warg of another rider.
With no intention of being surrounded by the enemy, Dasher tugged at Gore's neck to draw the creature away from the brawl that would have erupted from the two wargs colliding with one another. Gore, in his bestial rage, was hesitant to obey his master, but with a few more insistent tugs on the creature's neck, the beast's excitement gave way to obedience, and the beast soon bounded out of the chaotic melee in giant precise leaps.
It only took the snow-white beast a handful of precise leaps before the two were completely clear of the tightly packed mass of flesh, and Dasher could only gasp for breath as he looked back at his pursuing enemies as they swung their weapons in the air and shouted towards their cowardly enemy. On instinct, the warlord steeled his mind for what was to come and turned his mount back towards his foes.
"Warboss!" Shouted the shrill, yet familiar voice of Krump.
Dasher peeled out of his approach and turned to look back at the surprisingly loud voice of the friendly pack leader. "About time you and your lot showed up," The warlord stated as a handful of allied riders rushed past their supreme leader. "I was beginning to think that I would be having all of the fun today."
Krump smiled as he drew closer to his battle weary superior. The two clasped hands and patted the other on the back as the pack leader next spoke. "Well, I can't let you have all of the fun now, can I?" Krump joked as he nodded towards those who had rushed ahead of the two leaders. "One-Eye wants you to know that the battle has begun in full and that the right flank is mopping up the rest of the enemy's advanced units. Once that's done he'll pull our boys back and give them a rest before that old boss of yours decides to send out more of his wargs."
Curious as to how he could have missed the initial chaos that came in the early moments of a battle, Dasher turned to the distant, hazy horizon and watched as blobs of flesh, bone, and metal clashed together in a violent orgy of death. With it being such an early stage of the conflict, both sides were at a standstill as they flung themselves against the other in hopes that their adversary would be the first to falter.
"Quite the brawl, ain't it?" Krump said with a grin before letting out a light, sinister chuckle. "My money's on ole One-Eye coming back with an even nastier scar, this time around."
Dasher said nothing at the mention of his most trusted advisor's strange survival habit, the heavily scarred and battle-hardened goblin was always one of the rare few to live out the day and return with a wound that would have spelled doom to a less hearty individual. The warlord had always wondered how One-Eye managed to come back time and time again, but he had always found the topic to be an inappropriate subject to speak openly about. Not because Dasher thought that it would have been rude to do so, but because the warlord feared that it would have jinxed his battered lieutenant and the next wound would be the one to finish him off.
"Krump," The warlord turned to the pack leader and nodded towards the running battle between the various wargs and their riders. "Think you can handle it from here?"
A more serious expression washed over the otherwise playful pack leader as the goblin turned to look back at the hectic battle before them. Krump clicked his tongue as he watched those under his direct command struggle to come out on top. The pack leader hesitated to speak as his right eye twitched violently.
"Krump," Dasher said with a serious voice as he brought a hand down to the neck of his mount. The warlord patted the creature to calm the beast as a low rumble escaped from the depths of its throat, Gore was ready to get back into the fight, and it wanted to make it's master aware of its desire to taste blood. "Krump, are you there?"
"Yeah, I'm here." Krump sighed as he spoke, the words dripped down from his tongue as the hesitant pack leader chose his next words carefully. "And don't worry about what's in front of us. It may look bad right now, but I can turn this around."
Krump turned towards his master and watched as the goblin warlord nodded his head with a serious expression on his face. "That's good," Dasher began to pull away from the pack leader as he continued to speak. "Once you're done here, I want you to pull back and regroup. Harass as much of the enemy you can, and be sure to whittle down their numbers before they can reach you. It's looking like we're in it for the long haul today."
The pack leader nodded his head while he drew his weapon, a long spear that had been stitched together from a various amount of similar weapons that had met their untimely fate while in the heat of battle. A fate that many would soon come face to face with before the day was over. "What about you?" Krump asked of his commander while he spun the weapon in the air before planting it deeply into the ground. "Going for the snakes proverbial head again?"
A plaque riddle grin formed over the warlord's face as his beady eyes turned their attention to the enemy's rear lines. Dasher knew that if his army were to gain any momentum before the tide had turned against its favor, then the warlord would need to do something about the archers that were currently raining hell upon his lines.
"You know how it goes," Dasher said as he turned back to look at the curious pack leader for one last time. "I flail and stumble about the battlefield, making myself look as every bit of the leader everyone says I am, and that eventually leads me to my counterpart."
Dasher motioned towards the distinct shape of Thok'rul the Starving, the very reason that they had come here in the first place. The aforementioned orc sat proudly upon the mountain-sized hog that served as his steed while the obese, cannibalistic warlord directed the flow of battle with the slow and precise movements of his hands and arms.
"Best of luck to you then," The pack leader reached for his embedded weapon and gave it a light tug before nodding his head in acknowledgment at his commander's intended target.
With that, the two waved each other off and separated to bring in the next stage of the battle.
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As blood splattered across the bridge of Gore's grime-covered snout, a terrible, pain-filled howl reached out and pierced the sky above as the warg's unfortunate victim tried in vain to batter at the snow-white beasts lower jaw. The blood-stained beast let out a vicious growl as its front left paw pushed down upon the diminutive goblin's chest as its terrified victim continued to batter at the warg's lower jaw with closed fists. Gore ignored the goblin's weak attempts to free itself from the torturous fate that awaited those who fell on the battlefield and looked deep into the horrified goblin's eyes as it wrapped its blood slickened teeth around its neck. In one swift motion, the beast twisted its head and snapped the neck of the creature beneath its mighty form.
Bone and sinew snapped apart as the blood-stained warg ripped the goblin's head from its shoulders and tossed the decapitated head to the side. As the head bounced away into oblivion, Gore returned its attention towards the brutalized corpse of its latest victim and sunk its jaws deep into the still fresh carcass.
Dasher clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth as the events unfolded before him. The warlord's cruel mount had finished off countless others in a similar method ever since the duo had managed to flank Thok'rul's rear lines. The pair had managed to route one of the handfuls of bow-wielding regiments of the Bonechewer tribe and sent over a dozen of the enemy tribes fighters to their doom. Throughout this ordeal, the two had been unhampered in their attempts to strike at the rotund orc's army, and it had begun to unnerve the warlord with how easy it had been to scatter the enemy before him.
Curious as to how this could have happened, Dasher strained his neck to take in the chaos of the battle around him.
Within the two armies center lines stood a mass of bodies that clashed together in the shower of blood and gore that was often associated with the battlefield. The two sides were deadlocked in a stalemate as their battle crazed forces struck down their adversaries in droves, forcing the corpses of the fallen to be crushed beneath the boots of those they had once fought alongside a moment before.
The flanks were at a standstill in a similar method to the center lines. Reserves were called up to strengthen areas of the battlefield that the commanders saw as a flaw to their army's success while also ensuring that they left behind just enough men to strike at any perceived gaps within the opposing lines.
Dasher allowed a disgruntled groan to escape the depths of his throat as he took in the sights of the battle before him. With neither side having a clear advantage over the other, the two would continue to grind one another down until there was no choice but for one of them to break and flee the field of battle. The victor would only be able to claim victory thanks to the skills of its forces and the sheer weight of bodies it had thrown into the meat grinder. The warlord would not be all that surprised if victory came for the one willing to drown the other in bodies, which was something that the warg mounted goblin wished to avoid at all costs.
If he wished to accomplish that and win the day with as few casualties as possible, then he needed to find the master of the Bonechewer tribe and defeat the obese orc in combat.
The issue of searching out the paunchy warlord had quickly come to an end as Dasher had quickly managed to find the corpulent orc sitting upon the oversized hog that served as his mount, far away from the turmoil of the battle. Dasher let out a pleased snort of air as a grin rose over his face; this was the sort of behavior that the goblin had grown accustomed to seeing for his former master.
What was different, however, were the heavily armed and black iron-clad orcs that towards the warg mounted warlord in practiced unison.
'Well now,' The goblin thought to himself as he caught the attention of Gore, who had continued to tear open the corpse of its latest victim. 'Those are new.'
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