“Well, let’s move, men. We’ll stop these bastards here and now!” He’ll lead his men closer. “After the initial charge, we’re going after the giant. Now, let’s show these bastards why humans rule the world!”
Dur’dan is patiently waiting for the Greenskins to charge…
“Look, they tremble in the face of the Dwarves!” Dur’dan yells to his men.
he will start chanting something that sounds like “hya” over and over, to rally his warriors.
Minutes seem to stretch into hours as the battle looms before Hob. “It’s always the waiting that kills ya,” he says.
“That or the pointy spears. Or the arrows. Or the wolves. Or the terrible giant. Yup. They can kill ya real good too.”
“You know, now that I think about it, I don’t think there’s a single thing that can’t kill you on the battlefield…” Hob says to an increasingly annoyed troop of men.
After a pause pregnant enough to have a few babies, Hob breaks the silence. “Except maybe the air. That can’t kill you. Although, I’m not sure if that really counts, considering air is kinda everywhere. What do you think John?”
“If you don’t shut up, then I’m gonna kill you!”
“Even your friends can kill you on the battlefield, apparently,” Hob says in a much lower voice.
Khan jogs towards the nearest goblin, easily turning aside its attack and opening its throat with his spear. Another gibbering greenskin, this one limping, barely able to stand, comes at him from behind, but he steps out of reach of its attack before sweeping its legs out from under it and stabbing his weapon through its chest. These miserable creatures, small, weak, injured, fall like grass. Another dives at Karikhan with a club, but with a flash of flapping wings the attack is knocked aside as Auren-hal sweeps by, her cry long and shrill. The giant of a man effortlessly plucks the greenskin from the ground with his spear before tossing the body away with a swipe. The remaining wretches scatter away from the shaman to the north and south. If they aren’t killed in battle the Burning Sea will claim them. A hundred yards to the east the Shelic are mopping up the last chariots and turning to ride towards the goblin horde. Khan’s bird is above the battle again, her shadow flitting across the plain and covering the distance between her master and the battle in an instant.
The greenskin warlord roars to his army and the horde roars back, their collective shout deafening. The boar-riding orc tugs with a massive and powerful arm at the heavy chain at his mount’s neck and the pair are sent surging forward. The band is on their heels, spilling out across the plain like a flood, the giant stomping eastward in their midst, huge club in hand.
The dwarves quicken the slamming of their shields along with Dur’dan in anticipation. The Ironbeard force along with their Hadburg and Yellow Sun allies are tightly packed compared to the great and ever-spreading wave of greenskin monsters that flows toward them. It has a chilling psychological effect on those present, visually amplifying the apparent disparity in numbers between each force.
The horde is not yet in effective arrow or quarrel range but will be in moments.
Kittix is stepping back through the cluster of mercenaries. “Arrow… what’re we doing here Arrow…? This isn’t our fight!” The roar of the approaching horde, the stamping of a thousand boots, it is thunderous.
The longbeards with Dur’dan’s force are calling out the names of their clans, their men calling back to them in unison.
John’s men are holding up the most poorly, all slowly shrinking away from the dwarven line, casting panicked glances to their commander and each other. Tusk, as fearsome as he appears, is not immune.
Dur’dan will stick with his original plan.
“Kitz, I know it’s not our fight. That’s why we’re getting paid. That’s what mercenaries do. Get paid to fight other’s battles for them. We’re also doing this to prove Yellow Suns’ might.’” Arrow says to Kittix trying to calm his companion down.
Kittix sighs, tail coiling with anxiety. He lifts his forearm up to Arrow. “To Tartarus.”
“And back.” Arrow said as he met his companions forearm with his.
The first greenskins approach within range of the westerners’ archers, arriving in a loose horde, all spread out across the scrubland. Dur’dan fires an arrow and his shot is met by the release of ten crossbows, bolts zipping across the field towards the incoming warriors. Here and there an orc or goblin is plucked from its feet and sent tumbling to the ground as his fellows pour over him. The greenskin’s loose formation gives them protection against the light volley and most of the shots miss. The quarrelers reload as one, disciplined and practiced, and another volley is fired, and another.
Arrow is fast on the draw, firing twice as quickly as Dur’dan and sending missiles plunging into the greenskin line. He scores a hit here and there, his accuracy improving as the enemy approaches.
Eventually the greenskin warlord is lost among the sea of attackers, but the party can see the chariot clear as day on the southern end of the enemy army. It carries a passenger that Dur’dan vaguely recalls. It takes him a moment but he places him: It was the goblin that had led the assault at the bridge of Nal Oddosk, still clad in black boiled leather, bloodied burlap wrapped crudely about a wound on his neck.
There remains about forty yards between the westerners and the nearest of the charging horde. The core of the enemy force is made up of orcs with goblins pouring around from the north and south. The giant is among the core of the enemy army, to the slight north, charging headlong a few yards ahead of the orcs towards the dwarven line, the Hadburgs and Yellow Suns directly north of Dur’dan’s force.
Dur’dan and his quarrelers open fire on the giant, their projectiles like a swarm of hornets to the monster. Nearly every shot strikes home and the massive creature stumbles, injured, but still moving forward, thirty tons of momentum driving it at full speed towards the shield wall.
This is it.
Karikhan takes a moment to return to the goblin previously piloting the largest chariot. He retrieves his javelin from the creature’s body, and blood pours from the would of the corpse. Karikhan dips the thumbs of both of his hands into the wound, and smears the blood in two symmetrical lines from the bridge of his nose along the curve of his cheeks.
The savage warrior looks toward his brothers and sisters, riding into battle with the bulk of the goblin force. With his fresh war paint, the giant human is a terrifying image of savagery, who ironically could easily be mistaken for a brutish orc from a distance.
Karikhan starts running toward the main thrust of the battle, easily covering remarkable ground almost effortlessly. Khan might arrive after the melee has already begun, but once he gets there, he intends to personally send dozens of them to Hell. If Khan can spot Jote in the melee, he will fight alongside him.
Hob says what he had planned to say before, and does what he had planned to do, except he might also pee in his pants a little.
Before the horde is so close: “What are you boys? Are you men, or are you cowards? If you are men, quit shivering lie a boy who saw his first spider and stand in line! If you are cowards, I shall not have you in my shield line. Flee if you will, but remember: Deserters are punished, in this life and the next!”
When the horde comes closer, he will raise his shield and order his men to do the same. “Stand close together! Those goblins aren’t so tough.”
Dur’dan will put away his bow and join his men on the front line.
“Boys, its been a pleasure…”
He looks back at them,
“I’ll see ya on the other side.”
And Dur’dan will charge, screaming “IRONBEARD”
John will turn to any of his men who remained. “Gentlemen, the time has come. Prove yourself here, and you’ll be worth a dozen knights and twenty lords in my book!” Then, turning back towards the enemy, he will raise his sword and shout “Let’s show these bastards what it means to be a man!” as he charges after the dwarves.