Elven arrows have reaped a ripe harvest of Goblins, but the spiteful creatures have no regard for their own fallen. For now, they fear their own leaders more than the sting of Elven steel.
Stubbornly determined, the Rangers keep up their relentless assault, equally indifferent to their losses. For warriors like Dwynwen, bending her bow once again to pluck another Goblin from its perch, the terror of death is as nothing compared to the consequences for her people, should they fail to uphold their covenant with the forest.
Her shaft flies true, burying itself in the neck of an armoured Goblin Captain. As shrieking Goblins fall like leaves from their rickety towers, their leaders rage at their followers to come forwards, to stop skulking and hiding and re-fill the ranks.
The Wood Elves see none of this: Only that the Goblin arrows continue to spit out at them unabated, inaccurate but in volume enough to compensate for their lacklustre marksmanship. To Eiddwen, screaming her punctured agony as a barbed arrow penetrates her belly and tears through her guts, it matters little that the missile was not aimed at her.
PicardJean-Luc
2025-06-02 21:31:02 +0000 UTCTerran
2025-03-18 14:44:48 +0000 UTC