Before dawn, the army began to assemble. As the sky barely started to brighten, every soldier at Streamwatch Outpost was already up, methodically preparing for battle. The camp cooks and soldiers were busy cooking food, and with the battle looming, today's meals were particularly hearty. Even the most ordinary serf soldiers were treated to over a hundred grams of carefully cooked animal organs and bread with more salt and butter than usual.
The Dwarves were also eating and drinking heartily, but unlike their usual boisterous selves, today they ate in silence.
Even Belegar, the true King of Eight Peaks, was unusually quiet. He sat in a corner, patiently waiting for dawn to break.
The sky over Eight Peaks was filled with howling cold winds. Though there was no snow today, bright sunlight replaced it. The peaks were bathed in the first light of dawn. The Dwarves breathed in the cold air deeply, and some of the older long-bearded veterans even scooped up a handful of soil, stuffing it inside their armor.
The north wind howled, carts clattered, and horses whinnied in the distance.
Ryan, King of Bretonnia, Duke of Mousilon, and chosen champion of the Lady of the Lake, stood silently on a high point in the outpost. He wore his finely crafted Grey Knight power armor, the Goddess of Vengeance strapped to his back, and Thor's Hammer in his hand. His gaze was fixed on the distant peaks.
"Life lasts fifty years, fleeting like a dream compared to the immortals," Ryan mused. "When I think of my journey from Nord nearly twenty years ago, it feels like a dream." Staring at the barely visible Titan's Gate, Ryan closed his eyes, feeling the cold wind brush against his face. Time had flown by, and the days of the young hammer knight who set out from Nord, and his duel with the Chaos Champion outside Middenheim, felt like they were only yesterday.
The plain before the Titan's Gate was covered in snow, and a thin layer of ice had formed over the river. As Ryan looked out, the scene felt empty, filled only with the sounds of soldiers eating and packing their gear. A strange mix of fear and solemnity hung over the expedition army. After a year of campaigning and dozens of battles, another great confrontation was now upon them.
The army that had once numbered more than forty thousand now had only a little over twenty thousand, even after several reinforcements.
Standing silently behind Ryan were a dozen Grail Knights, led by Calard, standing in neat rows. Their robes were mostly tattered, and their cloaks were worn, but they all waited silently for Ryan's orders.
The cold wind blew through their worn clothes and cloaks. Ryan turned to say something, but his eyes caught sight of something striking—a solitary red plum blossom, blooming stubbornly amidst the ruins of the outpost's crumbling walls.
"My brothers, you have followed me on this journey," Ryan said softly, stroking the resilient flower. "Have you ever felt lost? Ever wavered or hesitated?"
In the distance, the Dark Elf Olica had donned a black and red cloak over her leather boots and outfit, while Veronica, dressed in fiery red leather, was busy adjusting the magic equipment with her apprentices.
"We have never hesitated, never faltered, never wavered, my King," Calard stepped forward solemnly, his face full of belief and fervor, shining brightly with conviction. "Where your sword points, our lances follow. Your will is our will, your glory our glory. We are honored to fight by your side."
"Give the order, my King!" the Grail Knights' voices rang out, firm and unyielding. There was no greater honor than fighting evil under the watchful eye of the Lady and alongside their great King.
"Yes, we cannot hesitate. Hesitation leads to defeat."
Ryan smiled and nodded. "Here we stand, alone, with just over twenty thousand soldiers. The enemy could outnumber us five, ten, or even twenty to one."
"They say that if we lose our chivalric spirit, if we lose the glory of our ancestors, we will suffer greatly." Ryan walked through the ruins of the outpost, his knights following him. "But we are not truly alone."
Ahead of them, the Dwarven and Elven armies, along with a detachment of holy warriors and monks led by Alfred, were ready: "For we stand united, with comrades who share our beliefs and will fight alongside us."
"Now, Eight Peaks stands before us," Ryan said, looking toward the rising sun over the mountains. His face grew resolute. "All troops, hear my command!"
Dwarves, humans, and Elves gathered together, the army standing tall and filled with battle spirit.
"Move out!"
The sound of horns echoed through the outpost as the army began to march out. Ryan left only 1,500 men behind to guard the outpost's supplies and positions. The remaining 22,000 soldiers marched toward the Titan's Gate.
In the distance, the gates of the Titan's Gate slowly opened. An endless green tide poured out like a flood, greenskins pushing and shoving each other, roaring and brandishing their weapons. Even though several of their regiments had been decimated in the battle at Valaya's Gate, the greenskins inside Eight Peaks still numbered in the tens of thousands, enough to cover the entire field of vision, enough to inspire fear.
Many of the peasant soldiers breathed heavily, their weapons trembling in their hands.
Ryan knew these battle-hardened men weren't lacking in courage, but their tense faces revealed their nervousness. The spearheads and blades of their halberds gleamed in the morning light, and behind Ryan, the knights were already in formation, ready for the King's command.
Since the outpost was east of the Titan's Gate, Ryan positioned his army to the north, with the knights on the right wing for an eventual flanking maneuver. Belegar led the Dwarven army in the center. The King of Eight Peaks and his Dwarves remained stoic and silent.
On the left, Alaloth led the Wood Elves, with the Eternal Guards and spear-bearing Woodland Sentinels at the front. The Elven hero rode a massive stag in the middle of the formation, positioning his army toward the south, where a frozen stream separated them from the outpost and the main camp.
"Soldiers! My warriors! My Dwarven brothers! My Elven friends!" Ryan rode his untamed griffon, Imprys, along the front lines, his presence commanding everyone's attention. "Before you stands a race and civilization that has endured the flames of war! Not just the endless hordes of greenskin scum, but also the Skaven, lurking beneath Eight Peaks!"
"The Dwarves, a great and noble race, as strong as the mountains, as passionate as the forge fires! They once ruled the mountains, basking in glory!"
"But in the face of disaster and treachery, they lost their homeland and spiraled into decline."
Many Dwarves lowered their heads, recalling the lost glory and honor of their ancestors, their tears falling in silence.
"Oaths, the bonds that tie the Dwarves together, once brought them unparalleled glory. But oaths have also been a heavy burden. Keeping those promises should have united them, but instead, it has become a weight they carry."
"To reclaim Eight Peaks, Belegar and his people have spilled blood for thousands of years."
"But some may ask, why don't the Dwarves know when to stop? Why can't they give up? Why, after so much bloodshed, are they still willing to spill more to wash away their hatred? Why do they continue this seemingly impossible quest to retake Eight Peaks after thousands of years of pain and sorrow?" Ryan's voice boomed, his psychic energy vibrating through the earth. "Tell me, why?!"
The army stood in solemn silence, heads raised, waiting for his answer.
"Because that is what it means to be a Dwarf," Ryan said passionately. "For King Belegar and every Dwarf of the Angrond Clan, whether the task is easy or impossible, every Dwarf will unflinchingly strive to fulfill their oath and cleanse their hatred. Make no mistake, their oaths and everything their ancestors fought for are righteous."
Tears filled the eyes of many Dwarves.
"Today, we stand once more before Eight Peaks. We must cast aside our prejudice and arrogance. We will end the history of greenskin and Skaven rule over Eight Peaks, here and now!" Ryan raised his warhammer high: "For we fight for the same goal, the same belief!"
"The future may be dark and full of despair, but I firmly believe that whether human, elf, or dwarf, our history, our civilization, will not bow to darkness, will not be ended by evil! Trust in this expedition, united in purpose! Trust in Belegar and his people to restore the glory of the Silver Abyss Queen and rebuild their great and shining civilization!"
"This battle will be immortalized! Even a hundred years, a thousand years, or ten thousand years from now, people will remember our story, sing our songs! The Golden Age will return, and whether human, Dwarf, or Elf, we will find our glory. Let us fight in trust and unity!" Ryan roared. "Let us be remembered forever!"
"For the Lady! For Bretonnia!"
"For Belegar! For Eight Peaks!"
"For Kurnous! For Athel Loren!"
The expedition army erupted in thunderous cheers in response to the King's speech, but Skarsnik and his greenskin horde were already approaching. The drums of war and guttural roars
echoed from afar, growing louder with each beat. Soon, another roar responded as the greenskins' war cries and the clanging of axes and swords on shields filled the air.
"Boom! Boom! Boom!" The ground trembled, the ice on the frozen river cracked, and the greenskins kept pouring out from the Titan's Gate. As the vanguard neared the expedition's range, the greenskin army was still pouring through the gate. Under the cloudy blue sky of Eight Peaks, the entire greenskin force emerged, their crazed roars and chaotic war songs shaking the heavens. Initially, the expedition thought Skarsnik might test their firepower, but Ryan quickly realized it was no test at all and immediately ordered the troops to open fire.
"Open fire!"
"Open fire!!!"
The command echoed across the battlefield. Dwarven and human gunners raised their rifles, unleashing smoke-filled volleys, while cannons and Dwarven organ guns fired in unison.
"Ready!" Alaloth, mounted on his stag, raised his spear. "Fire!"
Over a thousand Woodland Sentinels launched their arrows in unison, their movements precise and synchronized, as if performing an art. More than a thousand arrows arced into the sky, raining down on the greenskins. In that brief but thrilling moment, the greenskins lost over a thousand fighters.
Solid shot and exploding shells disrupted the greenskin war songs, but the goblin and orc hordes seemed endless. Soon, the expedition forces realized they didn't need to aim—there were simply too many greenskins to miss.
And atop the Titan's Gate, Skarsnik stood under his Evil Moon banner, his voice shrill as he screeched, "Forward, my army! Slaughter the tin-can shrimps, beardy enemies, and pointy-ears! Kill them all!"
"Prepare!" Not far from Skarsnik, dozens of Goblin Doom Diver Catapults were ready, with scores of goblins strapped into ramshackle flight suits, explosives tied to their chests. "Ready!"
"Fire!" The slingshots launched, sending dozens of goblins flying through the sky, gliding toward the expedition's ranks.
"Yee-yee-yee-yee!"
"Aaaaaaah!"
"Waaagh!"
The expedition army quickly spotted the swarm of flying goblins. Ryan shouted immediately, "Alaloth!"
"Fire!" Alaloth raised his spear again, and behind him, a hundred Wood Elf Waywatchers lifted their greatbows skyward.
"Swish, swish, swish!" Hundreds of arrows, imbued with the magic of forest starlight, shot into the air, homing in on the flying goblins as if guided by invisible eyes. Dozens of goblins fell from the sky, their bombs detonating among the greenskin ranks, incinerating scores of goblins in fiery explosions.
"Yee-yee-yee!" The expedition army roared in victory and excitement.
"What?!" Skarsnik, furious, watched the scene unfold before him. The Warlord of Eight Peaks shrieked in anger. "Fire again! Fire, I said!"
Once more, dozens of bomb-laden goblins soared into the sky. Alaloth raised his spear again. "Fire!"
The Waywatchers loosed another volley, every arrow hitting its mark. Once again, the goblins fell from the sky, their bombs exploding among their own ranks.
"Yee-yee-yee-yee!" This time, even the knights erupted in victory cries.
The cheers lasted only a moment.
The greenskin horde closed in, and the ranged troops fell back behind the pikemen and Dwarven warriors. Dwarven miners and Irondrake warriors jogged forward, hurling grenades and blasting charges into the advancing greenskins, reducing them to shreds of flesh. Then they formed tight formations. "Fight!"
The goblins and orcs crashed into their shields, smashing their heads and stumbling back, dazed. The Dwarven Irondrake leader, Swain of Novigrad, roared, "Forward, sons of Valaya!"
"Ahhhh!" The Dwarves raised their weapons and charged into battle, followed by the humans and elves.
"And so, it begins." The Knight King sat atop his griffon, looking out at the greenskin horde. He tightened his grip on his warhammer. "Knights, for the Old World! For justice and glory!"
"The Lady is always with you."
The great battle had finally begun!
_________________________
[Check out my Patreon for +200 additional chapters in all my fanfics! $5 for all!!]
[w w w . p a t r e o n .com / INNIT]
[+50 PowerStones = +1 Chapter] [+5 Reviews = +1 Chapter]