A/R:

women ruiz: We'll definitely have more perspectives of the spectators of the happenings in Bretonnia in the next few chapters. You can bet that those in the Empire and abroad will be taking note of the utter chaos and madness that has gripped the land. Also it's not so much that the Lady is weakened that she can't sense this change in one of her damsels, it's that Be'lakor's magic specializes especially well in subterfuge and trickery. His magic works especially well in hiding things that he doesn't want to be seen until it's too late. He's had to do this so that he can escape the eye of his former chaos Gods and other Gods that would want him destroyed.

Malgarth: I would be tempted to do that, but I feel like I'd first need to get a better microphone and a better computer the setup I currently have wouldn't be conducive to making good voice content for now. I appreciate the suggestion, though.

Dadg12346: I appreciate the compliment. Alvin is definitely one of the worst.

Aymen El Kadouri: Yeah, Alvin is a devious shit, and sadly the Lady is none the wiser given both her focus right now and how secretive Be'lakor's magic can be. And yes, I do believe you're right about the Leitdorf story. Thanks for reminding me about that!

Haldir639: Sorry about the space issues. Thanks for letting me know about them. For some reason the website ruined the format I had going and even happened again when I uploaded a new chapter for Eight Peaks Royale. Might have to take extra care to correct the tissue again if it persists in future chapters. Fanfic sight can be a bit wonky like that I've noticed.

Destroyer78901: Since you and the others agree with that assessment, I will continue as I have. Thanks for the feedback!

Zerkil: Alvin isn't just coping and seething. You can add plotting onto that as well, which won't end well for anyone. Oh and trust me. That successor bit flew over Lyle's head. But, Nalga definitely knew what she was doing when she asked that question. And yes, screw the elves. Some of them anyways.

Rangda: Ninette has actually been a recurring character in Louen's army. She's like his resident Damsel in this fic. Last chapter was actually one of the chapters where she's had an expanded role.

RandomSovietFarmer: No kidding. One of the saving graces for Lyle has been that Bretonnia's dealing with multiple threats at once. If he didn't have other factions giving Louen hell, he wouldn't be seeing nearly as much success as he is now.

Lyle had underestimated just how much not only the wood elves would hamper their march to Parravon but also how much they could work to aggravate him to unforeseen levels.

It had been small things here and there. A stray arrow that would kneecap one of their zombies, and forcing them to either waste time healing it or to scrap it's body to supplement other zombies. Normally such actions would have called for retaliation, but the problem was that it had happened so quickly and suddenly that nobody had been able to discern from where the attack had come from, or even sometimes when it had happened exactly.

Then, the arrows started going after different targets. Live targets, to be exact. They were specifically going after necromancers, after half a dozen had been killed outright on the third day, forcing the march to not only go slower but also for the Barrow Legion to change tactics to protect the remaining necromancers. After all, if too many of them fell, then coordinating and controlling their undead host would be that much more challenging, especially once they pressed into battle.

At this point, necromancers were now forced to stay huddled in between the tall forms of mounted black knights or Graveguards, or in some cases, huddled up in carriages with hopes that the wood would be able to withstand elven arrows which were sometimes flung their way. Getting frustrated at the constant potshots that they were receiving, Lyle tried setting up an attack force comprised of black knights to strike out at their attackers whenever they had deigned to show themselves. Yet even when they had seen the heavily camouflaged forms of the wood elves that launched arrows at them in force, they always melted back into the forest from where they came, frustrating any attempt to charge at them with their cavalry. And Lyle wasn't quite dumb enough to send valuable undead knights into the forest to get caught in a possible ambush.

But, he was damn sure close to doing so out of sheer frustration and spite, deciding to have his army keep a wide birth with any forest nearby, even if it cost them precious time. It was preferable to losing any more necromancers or any more men.

But that did little to cool Lyle's darkening mood as he sat huddled inside one of their carriages with Schmitz and Fredericka. "Back home, we Americans had a saying about the trees speaking Vietnamese after we made that stupid invasion of the country of Vietnam. When ya start becoming the but of the joke, the novelty wears real damn thin."

"Forgive me, master Lyle, but there's little we can do." Fredericka counseled as she sat next to him. "When fighting the Asrai, they're hardly going to be conducting conventional warfare, and this is but a small example of this. Truthfully, it would be even worse in some cases, but I believe were fortunate that the majority of their forces are sieging down the castle of the Duke were looking to save."

"That hardly means that we must do nothing but show cowardice." Schmitz grumbled, leaning forward to Lyle as he sat across from him, sharing in the Lichemaster's frustration at their circumstances. "We always have the balefire option, Master Lyle. Though it would be a bit more premature than we'd like, that doesn't mean that we can't use it to flush those damned knife-ears out."

Fredericka glared at her older counterpart. "As you said Schmitz. It would be premature."

"But, worthwhile all the same. It's preferable to letting these damned knife ears, use us for target practice and-

"-And the Duke's mother would be most wroth if we burned down a quarter of the forests to the duchy of parravon which they use-

"-She should be grateful that we're even bothering to adhere to her request! We'd be doing them a favor of saving this damned dukedom of any further hit and run attempts by these accursed Asrai!"

Normally Lyle wouldn't give a suggestion like that from Schmitz the time of day. The problem was that after four days of this nonsense, it just seemed Lyle was ready to be over and done with this whole thing. They still had under a week left to go at this rate to even reach Paravon, and he wasn't sure if he could stomach this for another day bare minimum. It was a small wonder what the cowboys in vietnam endured for YEARS just to come away with nothing but PTSD. Granted Lyle didn't quite have PTSD and wasn't ready to go postal or anything, but he was getting there. Especially because the stakes were just so damned high.

"We don't gotta use all the balefire." Lyle said suddenly. "Just a little bit. Ya know. To smoke these bastards out a little bit, at least for when we find out from where they are."

Schmitz seemed to smile, appreciating one of the rare times Lyle was agreeing with him, while Fredericka's lips thinned. "Master Lyle. I understand your frustrated, but the damage that it could cause. This balefire is unlike most flames that you've ever seen or experienced-

"-Well in my opinion that's all the more reason to use it. After all if even you're hesitant to use then I can already have dreams of how much damage it'll cause to th-

"AMBUSH! AMBUSH!"

The three necromancers immediately grabbed their stalves, already twitchy and nervous from the numerous surprise arrows that had been sent their way. Yet this felt different. Especially given how there was a sudden burst of activity and noise that was erupting from the army that was bursting into motion. The three necromancers moved to exit the carriage only to flinch back when a hail of arrows got stuck into the wood, piercing the wood and barely keeping Lyle, Fredericka and Schmitz from getting turned into pin-cushions.

Moments like that made the earth-native feel his balls get caught in his throat, especially since it looked like one of those arrows could have domed his skull, given the angle from which it came through.

Not wanting to tempt fate again and test the strength of this carriage wood, Lyle went out the opposite way, immediately keeping his head on his swivel and checking the skies to find any arrows. When he found none, he saw his army shifting to and fro, trying to prepare itself to face what seemed to be a long line of small but pissed-off-looking conglomeration of branches that were charging right at them, opposite from the direction from where the arrows were coming from. Having not seen these creatures before but noticing their forms, the Lichemaster could only assume that these were the 'Dryads' that he'd been told about. Forest spirits inhabit the bodies of trees, plants, shrubbery, and just about anything else with a vengeance to rend their anger upon anything they deem a threat to themselves or their forests.

Honestly, what scared Lyle more than anything besides how they looked like they would fit in an eco-terrorist horror movie was how fast they were coming right at his disorganized lines, as well as the fact that it looked as though some of them had entire skeletons tangled up in the back of their branches.

"Nuh-uh. Nope!" Lyle shouted, summoning a large group of zombies to try and slow the creatures, at least at his section of the army line. Problem was that their army was stretched quite a bit, and he definitely didn't have the mind cap to summon a line of zombies across that line on his own. Thankfully, other necromancers started getting the same idea he had and summoning more zombies along the frontline to supplement the disorganized front that they were still trying to organize. The problem was that many other undead were going in the opposite direction to confront the arrow-firing elves on the other side, meaning they were fighting a battle on two fronts and at one of the more inopportune moments.

It was only because the undead army had been conditioned into being paranoid at this point that they had any semblance of having a chance at getting ready.

It was a good thing, too, because even though it seemed as though the zombie frontline had been summoned from the ground up, they were quickly getting turned into meaty shreds as the dryads rushed into them, sharp bark claws ripping and tearing into the hastily made frontline with horrific efficiency. Lyle clenched his teeth as Schmitz and Fredericka joined him, making sure to cast the Invocation of Nehek to try and heal the zombie frontline as much as they could, with many trying to replicate their actions. It was a trying thing given how fast the zombies were getting dismembered and made worse by how many, including Nick and those close to him, had to hug or even crouch next to carriages, wagons, or other more heavily armored undead to try and avoid the sporadic arrows that were still being sent their way.

Just as Lyle was about ready to call for the more heavily armored skeletons and grave guard to head to the front lines to take on these dryads, the moment he blinked, they were already retreating, heading back over the crested hill from wence they came. Peaking over past the carriage he had hidden behind, it seemed that the elves had gone the same way, melting back in the forests, coincidentally around the same time his musketeers had decided to start firing back into said forests.

A hit and run in every sense of the word. They arrived to raise hell and fled while the going was good, no doubt inflicting more casualties as they always did.

Biting his lip in frustration, Lyle straight-up punched the carriage, ignoring the pain that was now embedded in his knuckles. "Freddy! Get a roll call going and see how many we lost in that shitshow! Now!"

Knowing better than to argue his point, Fredericka shakily nodded, still warily checking the sky and the trees to see if there were any more arrows that would be headed their way as she started to head to do as she was bid.

While she did that, Lyle headed back into the carriage, not feeling too comfortable with standing outside in case any elves decided to stay behind and take potshots without being seen. Many other necromancers were doing the same, not feeling confident or brave enough to try their chances from the safety of their cover, knowing one misstep could meet their end.

When he and Schmitz were back inside their carriage, Lyle warily eyed the arrows still embedded into the wall of it. "So about that, Balefire…"

Schmitz patted down his cloak, making sure there weren't any arrows caught in them. When he found none, he much more reservedly coughed into his fist before leaning forward on his knees. "Actually, Master Lyle, after this brief…skirmish, I think that we might be better off holding onto the balefire until we get into bat-

"Are you shitting me?" Lyle interrupted, his eyebrows rising to new heights. "You were just on the bandwagon of lighting them sons o' bitches sky high, and now you wanna pull back? After the crap that just happened!?"

"Believe me, master Lyle. I understand. Truly, I do. But, I fear that we would be playing into their hands. We cannot allow ourselves to play into their knife-eared hands." Leaning forward, his voice dropped to a whisper. "Think about it, master Lyle. If we use the balefire now, they'll see it coming and report it to the forces that are still sieging the castle we must relieve. Or even worse, they'll launch another attack like we just suffered to destroy the supply we have or, even worse, detonate it to damage us further. Our hopes of using it against them going up literally in smoke."

Lyle wanted to refute that idea, but the fact that they had suffered an ambush so quickly, which ended just as fast, made him reconsider his options. His mind already washed in fury was now focused on the facts that the normally hawkish Schmitz was telling him.

Schmitz could probably see the hesitation and frustration on his face and his voice dropped even lower within the carriage. "Master, Spoletta…I'll have you know that if you're patient enough…that paitence may pay off."

"The irony of you of all people telling me that-

"Just listen, damn you! I must admit. I was wary of the gunpowder that you'd been using, thinking of it as a branch away from the normal ways we dhar practitioners utilize it. I spat on how you were uprooting tradition…yet." He looked away for a moment as if it galled him to even admit this. "When I saw that damnable tobias starting to delve deeper into the functions of gunpowder, I knew right then and there that I had to do my own research lest I allow him to…misuse that harmless looking black powder as some form of lighter so that he can continue to read his books in the dark…which is why I decided to do some light experimentation to see how the mixture would work with the balefire that you requested more of. In an uncontrolled environment the results can be…disastrous…if properly harnessed and mixed with the right solutions and elements however…"

Before, Schmitz had the Lichemaster's curiosity. Now he had his attention. "Don't keep me in suspense."

"At first you requested we launch the balefire from the catapults. I however believe that we can fire it from those canons that you seem fond of and brought with us, using the Crypt Horrors."

Lyle's eyes shot up. "For real? I…wait, but Tobias told me that it would blow up in the canon if we tried that."

"Tobias can only see what he allows himself to see." The necromancer scoffed. "I however, saw a solution to the problem that can make our coming conflict with the elves more…manageable."

"So then it's truly affecting that poorly?" Tobias sighed, shaking his head as he cleaned his glasses, due to a splatter of blood that had been blotched upon them. "I can hardly fault our Lichemaster given how personal this has become for him, but still…"

"I fear he'll lash out recklessly if this keeps up. Schmitz has been egging him on-

Tobias laughed cruelly. "Of course he is. It's one of the few talents he has."

"And at this rate, Master Lyle might be tempted to listen. I'd love nothing more than to see the knife ears turned to cinder as well, but if we act impulsively…"

"Then the game will be given up before it begins."

Fredericka nodded, tugging on the coat collar of the uniform she and the other necromancers wore, still not feeling entirely comfortable in them. She had to admit she was getting more used to their feel, but it still felt out of place, even now, considering their nature. "Their frustration is understandable, however. If something isn't done with these damnable ambushes, we could be forced into a crawl where it will be too late before we reach Parravon."

"And if that happens, then this whole venture may be wasted. A tragedy." Tobias admitted.

"Agreed. If the wood elves manage to take the castle and turn this relief into a siege-

"Oh, they would hardly bother with that." Tobias countered, shaking his head. "Much of my previous text and the experience that I've had with the children of Athel Loren, has often supported that they'll tear down the castle walls themselves using the nature that they have at their beck and call. It would eliminate the advantage that they would have for a defense, but it would take away a strategic defensive location that we could use against them."

"It makes me wonder why these damned elves have gone this far to begin with. Ever since my time with Kemmler, I've only heard and seen the Duchy of Parravon, at worst, having minor skirmishes or grievances due to Wild Hunts due to the closeness of their lands. To go this far-

"Gather up everyone, Gatheeeer up!" Lyle's voice broke through not just the ranks of the necromancers like Fredericka and Tobias, who stood ramrod at Lyle's, along with the other uniform-wearing soldiers who had been on edge ever since the latest ambush. Sure enough, Fredericka and Tobias saw Lyle striding up past them and toward the living soldiers, calling out toward them with a big smile on his face as if he hadn't been foaming at that mouth moments ago. Another example of how his passion could flip on a dime, much to Fredericka's exhaustion, as he walked up and down the ranks of the living, and both necromancers nearly jumped when they saw the shadow of none other than Krell stalking after Lyle, showing just how deceptively quiet and quick the hulking undead champion could be when it came to stalking after his charge.

As Lyle got everyone's attention, he continued to speak loudly, making sure to hug the back of a carriage to ensure he didn't get any more surprises. "Awright, everyone, listen up! We're switching gears!"

"Damn it all!" Fredericka cursed. Schmitz had gotten to him, there was no doubt about it. The fact that Lyle would be so easily swayed with a few words from Schmitz. If he actually followed through with burning down the fore-

"-ake shields and Spears. Shields and spears gonna be the name of the game going forward if we wanna deal with these hippy terrorists." Lyle said, jerking his head for some undead under his control to start unloading a nearby supply wagon. Sure enough, inside were plenty of spears and shields, but mostly for any other undead they could raise along the way to Paravon. "Listen here! Any raw recruits that just earned your rifles, for now, you're gonna have to switch things up! Half of you are gonna be using shields while the other half of you use spears."

Some minor grumbling broke out among these new recruits from Parravon, clutching their rifles protectively. They did not want to give up something that they felt they had worked hard to achieve. Lyle could sense the complaints coming, so he beat them to the punch as quickly as he could.

"Now, now, now, I know what you're all gonna start thinking: I ain't demoting you or even gonna take away your uniforms. Far as I'm concerned, you're all still musketeers, and unless you all do something egregious, you're all still musketeers. This is only temporary."

"B-but why we gotta give up da muskets, Lord Lyle?" One of the peasants whined, his eyes flickering around as if he were worried that one of the undead would snatch it from them. "We ain't doin' nothing wrong, are we? We did our best during the ambu-

"Nah, nah, you're lookin' at this all wrong! You're not giving up your guns at all! You can keep em' if ya want we just gotta adjust, is all!" Lyle then peaks over past the wagon and makes sure to check the forest behind him. "Those bastards! The hippy elves aren't gonna make you're training relevant. You guys can line up your guns and try to blow holes in em', but by the time they fire them' arrows and leave, you barely have the chance to get one shot off! It's not your fault, it's just the fact that the people we're fighting aren't Bretonnian knights. They don't fight like Bretonnian knights who are just gonna charge at us with knights or your fellow peasants, Am I right?"

Once the words began to sink in, many of the musketeers, whether veterans or newcomers, started nodding along, actually starting to grasp Lyle's words. Fredericka looked to Tobias, wondering where Lyle was going with this.

He continued nonetheless. "So that's why we're given' these hippies a different look. We've been running a few plays at em' and they keep stuffing us every time we come out the gate." Lyle began using a football analogy while gesticulating with his hands. "So now we need switch up the tactics a bit if we wanna go forward into the endzone. With the Endzone being castle Paravon. So half of the raw recruits, you're main job is solely gonna be using shields. Using shields and ONLY shields to block n' catch those arrows that'll be coming your way. The recruits with the spears, your job is prick the bastard tree monsters that try and get cute. If they get close to your fellow musketeers, you're the first line o' defense! We'll obviously have undead to back you up, but if they can't get there in time, you gotta be there first."

They army had halted for an hour which thankfully went on without any further attacks by the wood elves. All of the time they were halted for was dominated by Lyle going over the new role of the raw recruit musketeers. They weren't overly excited about this, loving the idea of firing their muskets, but ultimately accepting the role, not willing to push their complaints further with their Lord especially since none could find fault in his logic.

It was quite jarring for Fredericka to see, especially when Wendel was helping these peasants get used the new shield and spear roles that Lyle had fitted out for them, assisting them exponentially. Was that it? Was this the extent of Lyle and Schmitz's conversation? A simple change in tactics.

She and Tobias ultimately let their concerns fade away in the void, all too eager for the army to continue marching on so that they could get out of the open where more ambushes could be made. If Lyle was as calm as could apparently be, perhaps she was concerned about nothing. Something that she would continue to believe once the army had started marching on again.

"Move it ya gits! Oi said move it! If Oi see any of ya even fink' about runnin' off like da cowards ya are, you're goin' in me pot!"

What should have shaken someone in their boots seemed to only invigorate the goblin masses that were filled with nothing short of anxiousness, treachery, fear and suspicion now only jubilated them to heights that they had missed before. For even though they were being threatened with nothing short of cannibalism and death, and not in that order, the fact that it was none other than Grom the Paunch making those threats filled them with a new energy.

The goblins got into their battlelines, cheering and jeering at the incoming enemy dark elves as well as each other to amp themselves up. Goblins hopped up and down while others bit their shields and smacked their weapons into said shields. The pent up anxiety and fear they had over losing their boss bleeding and morphing in a Waagh frenzy that was begging to be unleashed, proving to be quite potent given that there would be no retreating from this battle, not when their foe clearly had more speed and mobility than them.

Yet Grom didn't mind that. He didn't mind it one solitary bit. In his mind if he was defeated here then he might as well gut himself with his own Ax and save anyone else the trouble. He'd had enough of the constant misfortune that had been thrown his way and after done getting bed-ridden for Mork knows how long he was more than happy to let the knife-ears across him and tribe know about it.

He knew he wasn't at a hundred percent. Especially since his damsel-filled belly kept rumbling every now and then that made him feel funny, which was capped off with him feeling her squirm around a bit every now and then. But, none of that nonsense mattered. Even at fifty percent he would cut through these pale-skinned knife ears like a hot knife through butter, the mere thought of such making his stomach growl for a completely different reason.

As he glared ahead he could already see the Druchii settling up battlelines, no doubt fully confident that the goblin tribe they were looking for was beyond the trees they were lining up in front. The reports about captured wolf riders had to be true at this point, and with how Grom had heard how efficient the druchii were at pulling answers from anyone they wanted, this whole affair was just inevitable.

Fine with him. "Awright, listen e're ya gits! I've been sittin' on me arse for weeks now n' I'm not in da mood for any back talk, wingin' or Krumpin' unless it's da dark knife ear's dat are gettin' Krumped! Ya got dat!?"

"Aye, Boss!" the goblins shouted out in near unison.

"KRUMP DAT! OI DIDN'T YEAR YA GITS!"

"AYE BOSS!"

"Dat's more loike it! Loike all o' you, I'm in a bad mood right now with a barely filled gut ta boot! All Oi got ta' show for what's in me is some annoyin' damsel dat won't stop squirmin' in me gut, even now!" Grom shouts, pointedly smacking his gut to both emphasize his issue and to get Yasmine to stop. To his frustration, it only urges to trash around even more, eliciting an irate grumble as his green gut twitched and spazzed around. "But, ya know me, boyz! I've always had good fun Krumpin' some knife ears, and Oi'm interested in findin' out how da dark elves from da east taste once we toss em' into da pot! Aren't all o' you!?"

The goblins cheered any fears about the tribe breaking apart, melting away within their minds, with no one better than Zulz emphasizing this as he held onto the tribal flag of the tribe attached to Grom's chariot with a big grin on his face. All of the fears of taking up the mantle of leadership were gone as he resumed his role as the tribe mascot with gusto and pride. "For da mighty Paunch! For da Waaagh!"

Another cheer broke out, managing to break out past the treeline, reaching the ears of the dark elves that crept closer. The dreadspears and bleaksword infantry were momentarily given pause by how loud that Greenskin cheer was, even with them having been among some of the nastiest and grimmest soldiers in the Old and New World. Behind them, dark darkshards with shields braced their crossbows upon the shields they carried with them, showing no fear. On their flanks were dark riders and even cold one knights, with the snarling and primal beasts that the dark elves rode licking their teeth for greenskin flesh to feast on. Leading them was a female dread lord with a crossbow and sword who looked as though this whole engagement was beneath her, wondering why she was sent to deal with these backward savage greenskin when brettish humans had proved a more pliable form of labor.

That being said, she wasn't about to question the sorceress, especially since she had seen firsthand what had happened to those who did, and so she urged her forces to inch closer to the greenskin within the trees, hoping to get this over with.

Seeing that the dark elves weren't satisfied to just sit, Grom licked his chops and raised Elf-Biter up in the air, gripping his chariot tightly. "E're we go boyz! Our suppa' is headin' right towards us! Wetha' it's de're knife ears, legs, or bodies, don't let anythin' go ta' waste! For da Waaagh!"

"FOR DA WAAAAGH!" His goblins shouted back.

"For da Lad-Gak! Erm-Oi mean…Krump it' just charge da git's n' kill em'!"

Thankfully, nobody seemed to notice the slip-up, and even those who did have been worked up in so much of a frenzy that none of them cared to focus on it. En masse, thousands of Goblins surged forward, whether it was rank and file goblins, skulkerz, or night goblins, it didn't matter. All were hurtling headlong at the dark elf expeditionary force that was parking itself right outside the forest.

For the dark elves, the unnerving feeling that they felt at the shouting and screaming from earlier was only magnified when they saw just how many goblins were coming out of the trees. It was certainly more than they had realized. Truthfully Grom was down to just three thousand fighting goblins from the many more thousands he had before, but he wasn't about to let that stop him. And the three thousand he had now outnumbered the two-thousand dark elf force that was in front of them, even if said dark elves were better armed and equipped for the occasion.

That didn't stop the dreadlord, Syrne Grimsurge, barking orders to her troops. "Infantry brace for combat! Darkshards, fire at will!" Dreadspears and Bleakswords did indeed brace themselves as well as they could. The darkshards would have to wait a few more moments, for even though their crossbows boasted an incredible rate of fire, their range was the sacrifice to make that happen, meaning they would only have so long to fire before their frontline was met by the goblins'. But that was just fine for them. After all, once the frontlines were met, they could shoot rapidly over the heads of their allies and into the dense and rabid forces of the goblins before them.

And so the goblins rushed forward, their ravenous fervor thrusting them forth into the thicket of spears and swords that were drawn toward their direction, yet doing little to dissuade them from rushing toward their quarry. Not with their Boss back on his chariot, looking mean and green again. Not with him bellowing orders, threats, boasts, and battle-cries right behind them.

Finally, when the goblins did step into the range of the crossbows, the darkshards did what they did best and let loose volley after volley of barbed-tipped bolts, specifically made to not only be highly difficult to pull out but excruciatingly painful for anyone. It was something that the first front row of goblins learned through excruciating detail as they were pierced and pelted with these bolts, leaving many goblins wishing that they had been killed quickly if their screams were anything to go by.

It was music to the drucchi's ears. But the melody could only do so much for you if you were being assailed by so many of these Greenskins at once. Ultimately, the dark elf frontline still had numerous goblins to contend with which was emphasized quite well once the goblins finally met the dreadspears and bleak swords. Barbed bolts be damned, the goblins were going to wreak some havoc whether the druchii liked it or not.

The dark elf lines shuddered across their more thin lines, but they did not bend. Not when they had superior training, armor and height. Yet that couldn't hide a small yet noticeable bend within the center of the line. It did not bend at first, but as more and more goblins started piling in, pushing and shoving to get their own chance at glory and bloodshed, the weight of their stunted green bodies were taking its toll on the less numerous dark elf infantry.

Syrne could only curse her misfortune for not getting a larger force. If she knew that there were this many goblins instead of the few the near one thousand that they initially thought. Giving a sharp nod to the head of her cavalry. If she didn't start doing some hammer and anvil charges in rapid fashion, she didn't like the center's chances, especially since it was greatly compounded by just how many goblins were conglomerating around it. The darkshards were trying and they were reaping in casualties, but if something didn't change soon, they were going to have draw their blades and plug up the inevitable holes themselves. Something she was sure they wouldn't be overly keen to do.

Thankfully the cavalry on both sides didn't waste any time, surging forward. The dark riders and cold one knights thrummed forward on either flanks, the knights in particular showing a great deal of savagery as their cold-blooded steeds snarkled and roared. Their taloned feet stomping onto the ground with their heads low wanting nothing more than to feast on goblin flesh.

Yet they did not move forward unopposed with wolf riders coming from the trees. The riders could have laughed at such a sorry form of opposition, believing that this was a desperate delaying attempt to try and buy the goblin infantry some time. And to to their defense it was a fair assessment. After all, if they DID buy enough time, the goblins could very well break through the center which was looking more and more precarious by second.

Yet the moment the dark elf cavalry surged forward and looked to crash forward against the much lighter and sparsely equipped wolf riders, the wolf riders suddenly peeled backward revealing large groups of night elf fanatics, swinging massive balls and chains right at the cavalry. The dark riders and cold one knights realizing their mistake on either flank tried desperately to stop themselves from running into the suicidal goblins who were laughing and cackling. Yet stopping a cavalry charge, especially due to how savage the primal beasts were for the cold one knights would be the equivalent of stopping a hurtling tide.

What followed was utter carnage. Whirling steel balls smashed into the legs of the cold-blooded steeds, bodies were ravaged, jagged teeth of the beasts went flying, blood splattered on the grassy ground and the horses weren't any better. In fact given that these dark steeds were physically weaker they were much worse off, with hooves and legs getting snapped in ways they were never meant to. Any riders on either of these animals were fortunate enough to be killed instantly from the falls of their beasts. The others who survived lived long enough to see what happened next.

The wolf riders had turned around yet again, and this time with the wolf riderz made sure to make contact, pouncing on the wounded enemy cavalry whether they were still standing or already fallen, the wolf riders didn't discriminate, their wolf steeds literally smelled the blood in the water and taking vicious bites out of their vulnerable pray now that they had the opportunity to do so.

With chaos being sewn on the flanks and Syrne realizing that the cavalry had been had, she knew she had to personally assert herself into the battle to try and reinstall some discipline with the frontlines. She did just that, roaring behind her half-mask as her blade snuck between her men, piercing into the throats and skulls of any goblin that was close enough to meet her fury.

She cursed her horrid luck for being sent onto this Khaine-damned and internally cursed the sorceress who was determined to see this through. She cursed her fortune, the goblins who put her in this situation, and the fat goblin on his chariot heading right toward he-wait what?

Suddenly, many of the goblins who had been crammed into the center, all began to cackle with sadistic glee as they parted like a green sea with frightening coordination, as if this had all been part of the plan. Granted a handful of goblins still got run over but that didn't seem to do little to ruin the joyous and murderous mood the goblins were in as they cheered Grom the Paunch hurtling forward on his chariot.

"Fire on the goblin! Fire now, darkshards! Fire!" Syrne screamed at her darkshards. To his credit, Grom actually widened his eyes, not quite thinking of this issue, and tried to cover his face, hoping to use his thick hide to stop any possible bolts coming toward him. It only made him wish he'd done something to disrupt those damned crossbows before he set out to thrash these knife ears. Yet as he did, Grom felt a stirring in his gut that nearly made him double over. He was tempted to use the hand he was covering his face with to smack the ever-loving hell out of his gut to get Symmire to settle down, yet he felt his jaw drop when massive roots suddenly exploded out of the earth around the darkshards, eliciting massive screams from the dark elves who thought themselves safe behind their frontlines.

More's the pity for them as they were smacked, ensnared, cracked, and choked by the roots that were whipping and thrashing around from the ground all the while, Grom's belly glowed a bright and lively green. Not paying too much attention to that little fact for now, Grom took advantage of the chaos he had a feeling his gut and, by extension, Simmire was creating and barreled his chariot right through the front line, going through not only his own goblins who couldn't get out of the way in time but also any dark elves that were flattened or smashed about.

Syrne just managed to roll out of the way of the chariot, feeling a brush of air when Grom's ax Elf-Biter swinging in her direction and bisecting one of her darkshards. If that wasn't enough, the dark-elf dreadlord had to keep rolling on the ground to avoid more of the roots that were coming from the ground, convincing many darkshards and even some infantry to drop their weapons to lighten their load and flee as fast as they could.

And truthfully, Syrne couldn't entirely blame them, considering that she was considering following after them. The only reason why she didn't was because she knew what would happen if she came back in failure. A certain sorceress would make her wish the punishment would be death.

Holding her crossbow tightly, she quickly fired a bolt right into Grom's flank. Grom barely gave a slight wince at the bolt as it embedded itself right in his mighty paunch as he made another pass at more of her dark shards. What filled the dread lord with dismay was that when Grom looked to pull out the bolt, it suddenly popped out with little difficulty, despite the bolt being barbed, with the wound closing quickly with a faint hue of green magic.

Before Syrne could question why the Gods had suddenly given her so much misfortune, she turned her head just in time to see the frontline utterly collapse against the weight of the goblins. It had gotten so bad that a nasty skulker had climbed upon his brethren and hopped onto the shoulders of a restrained dread spear to repeatedly stab him in the face with his curved daggers.

Any who tried to make a heroic stand(who were few in numbers) were pulled down and pounced upon by a tide of green with daggers going up and down, followed by blood erupting near-everywhere. The wise Druchii were quick to flee with the dark shards, with some purposely shoving anyone to act as bait to slow down the violent little stunted green skins as much as possible to get as much distance as could be afforded.

Morale had broken down. Order was falling apart, yet even now, Syrne ran toward Grom the Paunch, knowing what failure brought her. Perhaps she could die with some dignity so that her family wouldn't get executed out of principle. If she died in battle, she cou-

Her thoughts were left muddied when she received a vicious backhand for her troubles, Grom swinging his big, meaty hand with uncanny speed that left her sprawling on the ground. For a moment, she was sure she was dead right then and there, and though her vision spun for a moment, she could see elf-biter raised over her head like a guillotine ready to relieve her shoulders of her head.

Yet stayed still before shaking slightly, before Syrne realized it was Grom's arm that was shaking as if straining and flexing against himself. The fat goblin ground his jagged teeth together as if looking at the ax and her. Once a huff of air blew through his jaw, he surprised his mascot, Zulz, as he waddled off the chariot, not at all concerned about being attacked since the dark elf army was currently preoccupied with being set upon and crumbling against his goblin tribe.

"Ehh…Boss?" Zulz asked, hopping off the flag and standing on the edge of the chariot. "Wh-what are ye-

"Quiet, Oi'm finkin'!" The Paunch rumbled as he stomped forward, his eyes glaring at Syrne, who scrambled and grabbed her sword, cursing her misfortune at dropping her crossbow only to realize it wouldn't have done her much. Not against this goblin's apparent healing factor. As she thought on this, Grom stopped a little ways away from, confusing the dark elf as to why he hadn't taken the chance to finish her off.

The answer was confusing even to the goblin boss himself. Grom shook his head and then grabbed it for a moment, his usual beady red eyes flashing green for a moment, along with his stomach, which illuminating like a Christmas light. It glowed so bright that Syrne saw the shadow of none other than Yasmine inside, unnerving the dark elf as she got into a combative stance.

As a steady stream of light-headedness passed through Grom's mind, he suddenly started getting ideas. Well, it's more like ideas that were getting reinforced after already being present. It seemed almost…disgusting to him to just kill this dark elf leader when she had stood her ground and showed such courage to what was obviously a clear-cut loss. It seemed almost…chivalrous, even if Grom felt he didn't know what that word meant. Tasted funny on his tongue and not like his other more tasty concoctions.

"Oi! Wot's your name knife ear?"

"...Syrne Grimsurge, Greenskin. You?"

"Grom Da Paunch ya git!"

"You…" Her eyes widened in realization. "You're the one who ran rampant in Ulthuan. We'd heard tales of your work, but half of us didn't put much stock in a goblin being able to accomplish that to our lesser cousins." More was the pity for her and the rest of this expedition

"Oi knife ear! Oi'm gonna give ya one shot!" He declared, surprising her and even himself as the words left his lips. "One shot to try n' gut me. Ya gut me now n'...O' hold on." Grom then turne back to Zulz. "Oi! Zulz! Ow,' many of da knife ears do we got captured alive?"

"Oh! Eh…I dunno boss, couple o' hundred. Haven't really gotten a count n' some of da gits are putin' up a figh-

"So here's da fing, ya lady knife ear!" Grom bellowed, turning back to Syrne, who was careful not to let down her guard. "Oi'm feelin' generous, so Oi'm gonna give ya a chance. Gut me with one attak o' yers and I'll let you n' whateva' knife ears ya got left go."

"...Just like that?"

"Just like dat!"

"Why?"

"Why? Wot' you mean why?" Grom asked offended, mostly because he didn't really know the answer to that himself. "If ya don't wanna make da deal I can just toss ya into moi pot!"

"-not necessary. I'll assume that if I fail that you'll just kill me regardless?"

"Hah! Not dat eady knife ear." Grom grinned, resting Elf-biter on his hefty shoulder. "If Oi win. Den' you can join da rest of me slaves. Got plenty of pretty elves dat serve me, n' since ya got guts, dey could be betta' used organizin' me shite den' just addin' flava' to me food. Not like ya thin bodies got much of em' anyway-"

Realizing that either choice between death and enslavement was hardly a fate she wanted to tempt, Syrne took the initiative lunging forward with her sword after carefully stepping closer to the fat goblin, as he rambled on. Her blade shined in the afternoon sun as it drew closer to Grom's fat-jowels.

The moment her blade was battered aside, she felt the fight leave her along with the last hopes of her men, the hopelessness of the situation collapsing on her spirit. She could only hope her family and that damned sorceress thought her dead or never heard of her again.

A/N:

Yeah, managed to sneak in a battle for any of you who were dying for some extra action to spice up your day. Not a big one, but it didn't need to be for this skirmish. Unfortunately as we're seeing the elves are doing what they do best and making the Barrow Legion's life as miserable as can be. It will remain to be seen as to whether or not this will continue or not, but we'll get to that point one way or another.

The only news that I have to comment is that I'm kinda bummed out right now cause besides my 49ers sucking right now, my main desktop is starting to show it's age. I honestly should have gotten a new one 2 years ago by now because my motherboard is out of date, but money is always tight when you gotta shell out around 1000 bucks for a new gaming PC, especially these days. And because of that, I haven't really been able to play Total War Warhammer 3 as much as I used to because it's a demanding game system-wise. Thankfully writing stories about Warhammer really helps sate my hunger for the lore and distract me.

Don't really have a whole lot to say this time around besides thanks for the reviews as always and please continue to send me as many to fuel the void that is my heart so that I may sustain my ego evermore for all your reading pleasure.