Iron Blooded

The camp came alive with the shouts of armored men and officers.

Gills took charge, gathering the Auxiliary soldiers into a hasty formation. Gear was checked, weapons were drawn, and faces were grim.

After precious minutes were lost helping a level 6 lace his Jupon, we began marching for the Eastern gate.

My new sword was strapped to my waist, and I had been given a wooden shield that looked like it was made out of planks nailed haphazardly together. Still, I was glad to have something.

Gills called a halt as we reached the edge of the palisade.

A man mounted in polished plate was shouting orders to a group of spearmen nearby. At our approach, he turned, and beneath his upraised visor, his sneer was evident.

“Where is your Captain,” he barked, eyes sweeping over us with barely concealed disdain.

Gills didn’t miss a beat.

“He is indisposed, Ser Herold. The 3rd stands ready. What would you have of us?”

“Stay out of the way and let the real soldiers do the work." he snarled. "We have no need of Farmers here. This is a bloody war for Throne's sake.”

Chuckles rang out from some of the spearmen.

Gills started to protest but Ser Harold turned away, firelight glinting off of his armor. He snapped down his visor and called for his regiment to move out.

The soldiers swarmed around us, either outright ignoring us, or shooting us dirty looks as they passed. One spat on the ground between my boots.

“Fucking peasants,” he growled, jostling my shoulder. I stepped forward but a hand on my shoulder stopped me.

“It’s not worth it lad,” said Gills from beside me. “They out-level us, and their equipment is top tier. That’s what it means to be in service to a Noble House.”

“We’d stand a chance if we had to opportunity for better loot,” said Kato from behind us. His arms were folded across his chest, his gauntlets tapping an angry rhythm on his shoulder.

“But they always get first pick of the enemies.”

In the end, we were ordered to man the Southern wall, where exactly none of the action was happening.

I stood on a raised platform behind the palisade and tried to see through the darkness towards the clash outside the Eastern gate.

The glow of the torchlight cast long shadows across the ground.

I could see the spearmen milling about as they faced off against some unseen enemy. Every once in a while, a ball of elemental magic would surge overhead, cast no doubt by one of the Armies Magus.

The light illuminated a teaming horde of Goblins writhing like an angry ant pile. Their skin was a pale sickly grey and they wore dark iron armor shaped with rivets and spikes. It was the way they crawled across the ground on all fours that made me shiver. Unnatural, like snarling beastial spiders.

Among them rode the Warg riders. Mounted on wolves the size of small horses, with long glistening fangs.

The two sides went at it each other. Blood sprayed, both red and black. I saw a Warg clamp its jaws unto a man's leg and pull him from the saddle into the darkness. It took dozens of arrows to bring one down, and when it finally fell, the rider was crushed beneath its bulk.

A flare of lightning cracked the sky and for a moment I could see a Magus standing with his hand upraised towards the heavens. White robes whipped around him and the air grew charged.

Then a bolt of pure energy crashed into the Goblin Horde, knocking the first two ranks flying into those behind them.

Ser Harold was shouting something, a look of triumph on his face as lifted his visor to wipe his face of black blood. He raised his sword in the air, and several ranks of Horsemen gathered behind him.

“He means to charge,” said Kato, gesturing with his naked sword. I frowned.

“Is that wise?”

Kato shrugged, draping an arm around one of the palisade logs.

“The enemy is almost routed. It was a smaller scale attack and Goblins break and run relatively quickly once they're overwhelmed.”

I continued to frown as I observed. I had never seen a coordinated battle like this, but something about this situation just wasn’t sitting right with me. The fight was over in the span of twenty minutes. The Goblins were retreating, squealing, and bounding over one another to get away. It all seemed too… easy.

That was when the ground began to shake. It was small at first, barely noticeable. A tremble that could have been mistaken for the rumble of hooves as Ser Harold charged down the remaining Goblins with his mounted men.

But then I felt it deep in my chest. I glanced at the ground and saw a pebble skip along the dirt. Another boom echoed.

Gill froze, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open and he stared past me towards the battle. At the same time, a distant Magic bolt illuminated the area again and what I saw chilled me.

Beyond the hills the distant tree line was visible. And rising above that canopy was the silhouette of something enormous.

“What the hell is that?” I breathed in horror.

“God King help us,” said Gill. “It’s a fucking Rock Troll. And it’s wearing armor.”

To the Corporal's credit he took only a moment to gather himself. Then he was shouting orders to the line. The men of the 3rd Auxiliary snapped to.

Runners were sent to fetch large wooden crates, within which grappling hooks and ropes were stored. Gills disappeared into his tent and emerged moments later holding a long and wicked-looking spear.

Glowing Runes were carved along its handle, and I could see it was tipped with bronze. Monster-killing metal. He gave it a few quick thrusts and grinned viscously.

“Just a little something I picked up last campaign,” he said. “It was a drop from a Sand Drake. I think I might be the only one in the company to own a Legendary item.”

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"And he'll tell you the story any chance that he gets."

He and Draxus took charge of the archers. Men without bows or shields were given grappling hooks.

Gills led the rest of us footsoldiers. A haggard line of some two dozen men bristling with spears and swords.

The guy next to me, a middle-aged man with a scar under his eye nodded at me grimly. He was level 18.

We began our rapid march for the East Gate and I gripped the hilt of my sword so hard my knuckles turned white.

I could hear the sound of men shouting, screams and splintering bones.

“First time?” asked the level 18 soldier, head cocked to one side. I nodded.

“Any advice?" It came out more clipped than I intended, but hell if I wasn't scared.

The soldier grinned, a metal tooth gleaming in the torchlight.

“Stay with the others. When the Goblins come, hold the line. You break formation, you die. We were facing the Troll.. well then it's the opposite."

As we approached the call was sent up, and those manning the front pulled the heavy palisade gates aside. Heart cantering like a horse in my chest, I stepped into my first battle.

It was dark. Mounted torches had been speared into the ground to provide a halo of light, but many had been knocked down or broken in the melee.

There were bodies… dozens of them. Broken, twisted, and smashed. Somewhere up ahead we could hear a battle horn as Ser Herold and what was left of his broken regiment attempted to survive the onslaught of the Goblin Horde and their Troll.

“We have to bring the bastard down,” said Gills. “If we leave it any longer we’ll all be crushed, torn apart, or scattered as easy pickings for Goblin archers.”

He turned.

“We’ll split into two, work as a team to ground the bastard. I need archers to take the ridge line. Footmen, When it falls go for the eyes, neck, and the back of its knees. That is where it’s most vulnerable. Understood?”

The men shouted their agreement. The archers and those with grappling hooks faded into the darkness to the left. It was then that we began our assault. My first encounter with Goblins was fast and terrifying.

One moment we were advancing with little resistance.

The next, they were swarming us.

Gills maintained his orders, calling to us to close rank. I was jostled by those around me, as I was unused to fighting in a group.

“Shield up lad,” muttered the man from next to me.

I raised my shield and moments later I felt the sharp thunk as black barbed arrows embedded themselves in the wood.

Then came the Goblins. They were quicker than I expected, crawling across the ground at a loping run. They were covered in a carapace of dark armor, rusted blades clutched in their gnarled hands. The average Goblin stood about 4 feet tall, but despite their size, they were incredibly strong.

One lunged for me, yellow teeth bared and I caught its swinging blow on my shield. The impact jolted my arm all the way up to the elbow.

I brought up my sword and stabbed through the gap in the shields, spearing it in the eye. The Goblin shrieked and fell, only to be replaced moments later with another.

I managed to get my sword clear of the men around me and stab the next at a downward angle. The blade sank straight into its neck with a sickening crunch. Black blood oozed from the wound as the creature jerked backward. It was promptly run over by its fellows.

One Goblin grabbed a hold of my shield and tried to drag it down while another jabbed a rusted spear at me. I tried to twist away but I was held in place by the press of men around me.

Hot pain lanced up my arm as the spear slashed at my shoulder. I managed to knock it away with the flat of my sword and delivered a chop to the Goblin’s arm that sprayed me in black Icor.

“Hold the line!” Roared Gills from somewhere to my left. We dug in our heels as the Goblins continued their assault. boots slipped in the bloodied earth. I was panting, snarling, trying to keep my footing and avoid going down.

The man to my right screamed as a black arrow caught him in the chest. He tumbled down into the dirt one hand reached towards me in terror. I could see the fear in his eyes but there was nothing I could do.

Boots trampled over him, whether ours or the Goblins it was impossible to tell. I slashed a goblin in the mouth in a spray of yellow teeth and icor. Sweat slicked my face and neck... or was that blood?

Out of the darkness, a Warg and rider leapt forward towards the line. Up close the sheer size of the thing was nothing short of terrifying. It snarled, splintering shields in its jaws and knocking down men as it swiped with its massive paws.

Even as I watched I saw its jaws clamp around the leg of a soldier and begin to drag him slowly backward. Gills let out a roar and stepped forward. His spear glinted in the moonlight as it flew through the air. It impaled the Warg in the chest. The beast fell forward and several soldiers leaped on the rider, bringing it down and stabbing it through with spears.

After what felt like hours but might have been minutes, the Goblin swarm began retreating. My chest was heaving with breath. I could see my vitality meter was mostly still in the green. I had gained experience and I had lived. That at least, was something.

“No time to rest boys!” roared Gills. He had recovered his spear and now pointed it towards the Troll.

“Forward.”

With a grumble, we lurched forward into a jog. Our boots slipped in on the bloody earth as we crested the hill. Another flash of lightning, this one much more frantic, lit the sky.

Before us was a scene of absolute chaos. Bodies and horses lay broken on the field like scattered chess pieces.

What remained of Ser Herold'sforces were gathered together in a grisly last stand against the armored Troll. It was huge, nearly Twenty feet tall, and with a club the size of a wagon. It bellowed a roar as arrows plinked harmlessly off its armored head.

I looked around for the Magus and saw to my horror that he was dead. A body in white robes lay twisted about fifteen yards away. Its neck was bent at an odd angle and it was missing an arm.

We were on our own, and we were without magic.

The Troll's eyes burned a deep bloody crimson. The arrows, which were coming from the ridge hill to the far left, seemed like mostly a nuisance to it.

The Troll batted away the shafts, flailing wildly with its club. Men were knocked into the air like ragdolls. The sounds of their armored bodies hitting the ground were wet and visceral.

Someone threw a spear and it sunk into the calf of the creature. The Troll whirled.

On a command, Rope arrows and grapples flew out of the darkness. Some bounced harmlessly off of its armor, but a few stuck fast. The men were ordered to pull.

The Troll roared as it staggered and lashed out with its free hand. A knight was snatched into the air and crushed between its fingers like jelly. His horse crumpled on the ground and did not rise again.

“The legs!” shouted Gills. “Go for its legs, they are unprotected. Bring it down!”

It was madness and yet I knew it was necessary. If the Troll made its way around our small force and into the camp, the civilians and injured soldiers would be torn to bloody shreds.

Gritting my teeth I rushed forward with the line. The Troll was slow to react but when It saw us coming with shields raised it bared it's massive fangs.

I saw the club coming moments before it hit. I staggered to the side but an unlucky Axillary soldier was caught in the press and crushed to a crimson pulp. Another had his legs shattered and he was screaming.

My HUD flashed a warning as I neared the troll's gnarled trunk-sized legs. It was level 30 and what’s more, it was angry.

I jabbed my iron sword into the thick hide, but it seemed almost ineffectual. A mouse harrying a lion with a toothpick. More grapples were thrown and some managed to tangle around its left leg.

The Troll stumbled and fell to one knee. The impact made the ground shake. It was then that I saw my opening. There wasn't time to think.

Rushing forward, I dove beneath the club as it came crashing down. I lept unto the downed leg of the beast and as it tried to rise I very nearly fell. I had to snatch unto the broken speer shaft that had been embedded in its leg and hoist myself upwards.

My shield was in the way, so I threw it into empty air.

The Troll smelled of metal and sewage. It took me precious moments to steady myself but when I did I found determination blazing through my veins. Gripping my sword in both hands I plunged it down and into the soft pale flesh at the back of the Trolls knee.

The blade bit through to the hilt. Hot stinking icor oozed from the wound and over my hands. It stung but I refused to let go. With a snarl, I twisted the blade.

“You fucking bastard!” I screamed, Icor spraying my face as I yanked the hilt of the blade out, and plunged it in again.

The Troll shrieked in pain and twisted. Suddenly I had lost my grip on my sword. I was tumbling through empty air. Then my back hit the ground with enough force to knock the wind from me.

My vitality meter flashed from green to orange. I gazed up into the sky beyond the treeline, seeing stars. Then they were blotted out as an enormous arm came into view.

I scrambled on my hands and knees through the dirt as the Troll collapsed around me. Knights and footsoldiers rushed in to finish it off with stabs to the eyes and neck.

I managed to get free of the Melee and leaned with my back against a tree, chest heaving. Another shadow blocked the stars. I raised an arm to defend myself but it was only Gills.

He stood with his spear held loosely in his hand. In the moonlight, he looked like a mad man splattered in black blood and grinning ear to ear.

“Will bloody Trollslayer,” he said. “I do believe that kill belongs to you.”

I grunted as my vision grayed around the edges. The last thing I saw was the notification on my HUD notifying me that I had reached level 12. I smiled.

Then I blacked out.