Smashin' Some Goblins [Take One]

The Legate, Leon, rode his mine pony gallantly, followed in quick succession by a team of staff members and surrounded by a guard of tough, helmeted riders. Across the plains, he gazed, his helmet by his side. Goblins--the smell was unmistakable.

It wasn't pungent or awful, per se. Distinctive, rather. A wild odour, one of some malice. Carried on the winds, it could only mean that the Tribes had assembled a vast army, perhaps their entire force. Behind Leon, of course, were five thousand Dwarven men--a thousand from each settlement, all trained Legionaries and ready for battle.

The landscape ahead consisted of a vast green field, with the occasional tor and rocky outcropping breaking the monotony. Like always, it threatened rain on the horizon--oddly, also the horizon the Goblins would arrive from. The terrain the Legion stood on provided no real tactical benefit to either side, but a hill ahead provided greater visibility and a defencive benefit. The elimination of this army was a prerequisite to the planned destruction of the Tribes, after all.

They marched forward at a quickened pace, aiming to reach the hill.

Chieftain Grozru looked at the Goblins before him, it had taken some time but he had gathered a large force to him. He had lost count in the twenties but he had been assured that there was around six thousand total, now all he had to do was defeat the Legions that were in his way and the Dwarven riches would be his. Below him his Clausric Crow screeched and dived after a Wren that was sitting on a nearby tree, he pulled it out of it's dive and angled to fly in the direction the army was moving in. As they moved forward a scout flew up to him and handed him a note as they passed. After reading the note he shouted out orders in Orcish which were carried out immediately, they had Dwarves to slay.

***

The front line of pikers spread out and assembled with the other lines close behind, the drums were rolled out and prepared for battle. The only two trolls shuffled towards the front line as a steady beat broke out form the drums. The loud echoing noise brought all the goblins to attention as they waited for the Dwarves, soon battle would be upon them.

From the top of the hill, Leon surveyed the enemy. They appeared larger in numbers by a fair margin--a few units at least--and held no sort of real formation aside from a long line. They did appear to have concentrated their Trolls at the center, which was predictable. Goblins were always the same.

Naturally, the only attack at these ranges was magic. His mages, however, were only Dwarves, and so their power was saved for closer combat. What did concern the Legate, however, was the crows the enemy general and scouts rode upon. A surprise attack by those beasts would be an awful fate for anyone, and so he instructed his Marksdwarves to ready their arbalests. If any strayed too close, the sergeant was under orders to volley the poor things out of the sky.

For now, he instructed his Hastati--spearmen--to form up around the army's center. The flanks were taken by the altogether more theatrical Redshields, the bread and butter of any Commonwealth army. The flanks hosted cavalry, and behind the lines were Marksdwarves, awaiting their call to fire. The very center of the army, behind the wall of pikes and shields, consisted of Leon, his immediate guard, and space cleared out for mages, who prepared themselves for the coming ordeal. The standards were held high, and in preparation of the battle, the Legion began to chant.

The drummers sped up their beat and the pikers began to bang their spears against their shields and call out war cries, the rest of the Goblin horde followed them. Then it all stopped just as suddenly as it began, Grozru stared across the field at his enemies and then he put his head back and let out a shout that could be heard for miles, the Goblins below required no more encouragement and they all broke into a charge. The pikers spears went down and shields went up while the archers notched arrows to their bows as they ran towards the hill, the heavier swordsmen once again clanged their weapons and shields together in hopes to frighten the Dwarves and the Shamans brought up the rear shouting out to their comrades. It had begun, the Goblins had made the first move in this battle.

"Arbalests!" a sergeant shouted. "Open fire!"

The units heeded the call, and so in short order dozens upon dozens of steel bolts flew through the air in a ballistic trajectory, finding their way to the Goblin charge ahead. A falling forest of knifepoints came down upon the enemy, and more volleys were only on their way.

The mages, knowing without speaking, worked their magic. Fireballs--explosive in nature--were conjured from nowhere and thrown in an arc at the approaching Goblins, aiming to disrupt formations and massacre the armies before they could even reach Commonwealth spearpoint or maul range.

Ten of the Enigmatus, however, did not work on this. Instead, they cast a beam of light--a powerful, focused sword or magical energy--directly at the Trolls, using a tor at the top of the hill as a vantage point to work this magic. The Trolls had been named earlier as an entity that had to go down, and quickly--for even one of them to reach the Commonwealth's lines would be a disaster.

The Hastati, recognizing that the lines would soon close, packed tightly into a phalanx formation. A wall of deadly points on the end of eleven-foot pikes emerged, as one hundred twenty eight men per unit formed into a perfect square focused on any threat from before them. There was virtually no chance of breaching this wall with a direct attack, even with Goblin pikemen available; the pikes were too long, the discipline too great.

On either side of the center, the first three lines of First Cohort troops ducked down to allow their comrades in the rear a chance to perform one last attack to soften the enemy before the melee came. The first line cast a simple spell--the First Cohort consisting of minor magi--similar to that of the Enigmatus against the Trolls, but of a much smaller and weaker variety. To kill a Goblin in one shot with such an implement was hardly out of the question, but even if the attack only resulted in a wound, it would weaken the trooper and his efforts in the coming melee.

The fourth rank fired and ducked; then the fifth, sixth, seventh and so on, save the three at the beginning, had fired the same spell in a thundering volley at the approaching soldiers. It would take them a few moments to recover, but in the meanwhile, the first three ranks rose, readied their shields and mauls, and prepared to crack skulls. Their comrades behind would be recovered before the goblins closed, in either case. Their magicless brothers on the flanks of the army skipped the formalities and drew their mauls immediately, as everyone hardened into a shield wall.

As the armies closed, the cavalry--exclusively made up of heavily armoured Mine units--watched from the sidelines. On the far periphery of the formation, they lowered their lances and prepared to charge the instant the lines closed.

Leon smiled. Today was a damned good one.

The Goblins ignored their fallen comrades and kept charging, though once they saw what lay ahead they began to slow down and most tried not to be the first ones in. Soon the two forces clashed, the Goblins thee themselves against the Dwarven shield wall hoping to break through it but they could not. Then the Shamans broke out their spells and powerful blasts of dark magic flew into the Dwarven lines, the sight of the spells encouraged the Goblins and they attacked with more force. Then Grozru signaled to the archers to fire, they nodded and fired one volley and then grabbed special arrows with fungi on them, these arrows had been seen once before and their affect were devastating. When they hit a solid object they exploded into a cloud of poison that once inhaled would cause one to start feeling pain in the knees and head, the only reason why the Goblins used this was because they themselves were mostly immune to it's affects. Upon seeing these arrows fly the Goblins once again grew brave and attacked with more vigor. Grozru sat upon his crow and smiled to himself as he watched the devastation caused by the arrows.

The Dwarves had seen the arrows before, and accordingly, held their breath momentarily to allow the spores to dissipate. The Enigmatus responded by conjuring a gust of wind, which would in one fell swoop remove the fungal spores from the Commonwealth lines and disrupt the trajectory of fired arrows.

The archers had to go. The Decurions called the charge, and so a mob of Mine Cavalry swept around the sides of the Goblin horde to cut down as many of the fungi-throwers as they could. The charge was slow for cavalry but utterly implacable, especially when facing such poor hand to hand fighters as archers.

The Enigmatus did battle with the Shamans as well, casting elemental magics such as fireballs and charged bolts into the crowd around the Shamans in general. As there were far more Enigmatus than Shamans, subtlety was secondary.

In the lines themselves, the Legionaries held like riot police, calmly repulsing the cruder fighting style of the Goblins. The magic did, however, take out large groups of Legionaries at a time; several got up to fight again, but several were replaced by willing recruits from the rear as they were dragged away for treatment.

The archers began to break formation and scatter as the cavalry attacked, they had not counted on this and were taken by surprise when it happened. The commanders tried to reform but chaos broke out within the Goblin ranks, the pikers and swordsmen battled furiously against the Dwarven forces and the archers ran in every direction trying to escape the Dwarven Cavalry. Grozru watched with anger as his mighty force began to crumble and break, he flew over to his scouts who had been watching the fight from above.

''Ragh! You two maggots! With me, we're going for their mages!'' he ordered

''Of course Warlord!'' they responded

In unison the riders gave their mounts a piece of Dwarf flesh and then said ''Get 'em!''

The large birds dove with speed not found in many other creatures, with magical barriers to protect them from arrows the three winged predators attacked the Enigmatus with no mercy. Talons and beaks were everywhere as they lashed out against their foes and then one of them lifted it's head to the sky and let out a shriek that carried for miles around. The Goblins looked up into the sky with fear as the sound of wings beating filled the air, a large number of Clausric Crows was flying strait towards the battle. It took Grozru a moment to realize what had just happened but as soon as he saw the mounts of then scouts pulling their riders off with their razors sharp beaks he leaped from his bird onto the ground, they had gone savage and called the murder to battle.

A typical Commonwealth legion was equipped with fifty Enigmatus; half of them, in this moment of need, banded together in their contingency plan against aerial attack, even as the Marksdwarves below fired endless volleys in the path of the incoming murder.

There was a flash, and a sudden sensation of heat as the air above the Enigmatus began to heat up. Suddenly, the sky became distorted as the heat increased to incredible levels, the mages each exerting themselves to the comfortable limits of their power. As the temperature rose, a great updraft lifted the Crows away from the Legion. Its temperature would be enough to sear bare flesh, to burst feather into flame. To bring roasted remnants to Earth.

Before them, the Cavalry continued their mop-up operations as the Legions advanced through the broken ranks of the Goblins.

Grozru pulled a small glowing stone from his satchel and pressed his thumb into the center and then with a loud noise and a cloud of smoke he was gone, the teleportation stone had done it's work. The Goblins looked on as he did this and then realized that all hope was lost without their commander and then turned and fled in fear, most knew that escape was impossible if the Dwarves gave chase but still they ran for the mountains they called home. The battle was over and all that remained was for the Dwarves to mop up what was left.