The dawn was a mix of red and orange hues, the sky a silent canvas awash with the ominous colors of impending war. Birds that usually celebrated the arrival of the new day remained ominously silent, their instincts alert to the brewing storm.
Captain Torvald Firebeard, stationed atop the watchtower, saw them first. A massive horde of goblins, armed with imposing siege guns, advanced like a malevolent tide over the land. Their previous attack was but a foretaste of the onslaught that was now imminent.
He blew into the horn, its mournful cry echoing throughout the fort. "To your positions!" he bellowed.
His command galvanized the fort into a whirlwind of activity. Soldiers rushed to fortify the walls, smiths and engineers hastily loaded the newly repaired and modified siege weapons, and enchanters began chanting, invoking the fort’s protective enchantments.
Leandra and Erevan took their position together, readying themselves to unleash their potent spells. Their combined magical prowess would prove crucial in repelling the assault.
The first salvo from the goblin 3-pounders thundered across the battlefield, sending shockwaves reverberating through the fort. However, the walls, strengthened with fresh enchantments, held firm against the onslaught.
Engvyr, Garrok, and Tink had done their work exceptionally well. The few three-pounders they had managed to repair and modify in time retaliated with a furious barrage, causing devastation within the goblin ranks. Witnessing the lethal effectiveness of their efforts, they hurriedly returned to their work, modifying the remaining salvaged 3-pounders and the saka guns.
X---X
From his vantage point atop the fort’s walls, Captain Torvald Firebeard watched as a chilling spectacle unfolded before him. The Kapudan Pasha, an ominous silhouette against the distant horizon, sat atop his mount, calmly pointing and issuing orders.
Suddenly, the Goblin 3-pounders ceased their relentless assault. Instead, a throng of ragged figures was forced forward from the rear of the goblin lines. Torvald's keen dwarven vision discerned the terrified faces of captured slaves - dwarves, humans, and elves - their despair mirrored by the disposable goblins accompanying them. Each of them was burdened with large bundles of dry grass and reeds.
The realization of the goblins' heinous strategy hit Torvald like a punch to the gut. His blood boiled in his veins, his grip on the rampart's edge tightened until his knuckles turned white. The goblins were using the captives to fill the moat, disregarding their lives as mere expendable resources.
An outraged murmur spread among the defenders as the horror of what they were witnessing set in. Guns were lowered, siege weapons fell silent, and even the rhythmic chant of the enchanters faltered. The use of slaves as sacrificial lambs was a deplorable tactic that repulsed every defender on the walls.
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Torvald’s voice echoed like a thunderclap over the stunned silence. "Hold your fire!" he commanded. His orders hung heavy in the air, filled with shared disgust and reluctant obedience.
The goblin’s tactics were cunning and inhumane; forcing slaves and prisoners to fill the moat was but a stroke of malevolence in their twisted strategy. But as the mass of shackled innocents neared the fort, an unforeseen layer of the defense revealed itself, forgotten in the heat of the initial confrontation.
A series of deafening explosions punctuated the tense silence. Plumes of dirt and smoke erupted from the ground, taking with them any unfortunate soul who happened to be on top. Screams of terror rippled through the air as prisoners and goblins alike met a grisly end. The gnome-crafted landmines were claiming their due.
The defenders atop the wall exchanged horrified glances. The intention behind the landmines had been to hinder the goblin forces, but the goblins' ruthless strategy of using slaves and prisoners as cannon fodder had turned the fort's defenses against the innocent.
Goblin commanders, upon realizing the new threat, began pushing more prisoners forward, using them as shields against the hidden threat. Their cruel laughter echoed across the battlefield, mingling with the screams of terror from the poor souls who were forced into the deadly minefield.
As the unfortunate slaves reached the moat, they began to unload their burdens, the dry grass and reeds falling into the depths, slowly but steadily filling it. More terrified prisoners were shoved forward by the goblins, their cruel laughter carrying across the battlefield like a mockery of the sanctity of life.
Torvald watched as the captives worked under the looming threat of goblin weapons, their every move reflecting sheer fear and despair. A bitter taste welled up in his mouth. This wasn't warfare; it was a planned massacre.
Finally, when the moat began to noticeably fill, he gave the order he had prayed he wouldn’t have to. His voice was filled with a cocktail of regret and raw fury. "Fire."
The previously quiet battlefield was shattered by the deafening roar of guns. As the smoke cleared, the sight of the fallen weighed heavily on everyone’s hearts. It was a painful victory, but a necessary one.
Grim determination etched on his face, he turned back to the battlefield. "Ready yourselves," he said, his voice reverberating across the ramparts. "This battle is far from over."
X---X
As the echoes of the last gunshot faded away, the Kapudan Pasha, unperturbed atop his mount, gave another order. The thunderous roars of the goblin three-pounders resumed, their explosive projectiles streaking towards the fort. Simultaneously, a horde of disposable goblins launched themselves forward, screaming incoherent war cries as they rushed the fort.
The defenders responded in kind, letting loose a torrent of gunfire. But despite the punishing rain of projectiles, the horde continued to surge forward, using the grass and reeds in the moat as a makeshift bridge to approach the fort's walls.
"Leandra, Erevan!" Captain Torvald's bellow cut through the tumult. His face was a stern mask of determination as the two enchanters turned to him. With a curt nod, he signaled for them to prepare their magic.
With unwavering focus, Leandra and Erevan began the incantations for their fire spell, drawing from their dwindling supply of reagents. The air around them shimmered with heat as they channeled their magic, their hands weaving intricate patterns in the air.
As they worked, Leandra glanced down at the twin rings she wore. Given to her by Garrok, they were specially crafted to produce a spark when snapped together. With a savage grin and a surge of mana, she brought the rings together, causing a shower of bright sparks to fill the air. The sparks were drawn towards Erevan's spell, amplifying the already forming fire magic.
Then, in a breathtaking display of magical prowess, a great tongue of flame erupted from Erevan's outstretched hand, engulfing the dry grass and reeds in the moat. The goblins, caught in the fiery storm, screamed in terror and pain. The fiery moat turned into a lethal pyre for the goblins who dared cross it, and those who survived turned tail and fled, their previously bold courage evaporating in the face of the devastating firestorm.
With a triumphant roar, the defenders focused their fire on the retreating goblins, their shots and arrows tearing into the enemy's rear ranks. But as the adrenaline began to wane, Leandra, panting and weary, stared at her rings in her hands.
"I better thank Garrok properly for this gift," she mused aloud, the sounds of a hard-won victory echoing in the background.