"For our lord!" "Louder!"
"For our vengeance!" "Louder!"
"Death to the West!" "Louder"
Over and over it went as tight knit ranks of Easterlings were marching from the general direction out of the river Carnen. Further east is .. or was a realm where Elves grew great vines and were fabled wines were prepared. Now probably overrun and undone.
Now, Dale was to be the next target without a doubt. Women would be carried off, children would be turned into sport and men would be killed to the last. It always was the way with the vicious slaves who carried the banner of the Eye.
"Listen to them..", Whunjo grumbled, "They speak as if we are at fault for their every mishap. Before long they will blame us for the rainy weather, the rust on their armor and the pebble they bumped their toe against while trying to wash their stinking feet. Hrm-hrm.."
Snickers came up from the nervous crowd behind him. About fifty hardened fighting men from Honeyspot and an additional seventy from the so-called shadow walkers that lived in the dark of Mirkwood. A pitiful number against the thousands below, regardless of skill and motivation.
One of the biggest men stood up from the shadow walkers, like his men he was practically naked yet painted from top to bottom with charcoal and mud until all that was visible in this weather were his eyes and his white teeth, "We are ready brodir, but I wish you would have me go with you. Brondaz can lead and.." Uhruz was clearly worried, not for his own life so much as for his sibling, "They are many, fadir will be angry when you.." It had always been their way that Uhruz would charge with his brother right behind him a living shield while his back was watched. Whunjo turned slowly towards him and placed a hand on the man's powerful shoulder, "Not today, but soon. Be at ease, so long as all of us commit fully we will live.", conviction replaced with determination. Uhruz looked as if he was about to object, but slowly went back in position. Whunjo looked up to the darkening sky, it was not unheard of that the Sun was blocked whenever Orcs marched. However these were no Orcs and though dark it was, this was a natural phenomenon. Easterlings could do all the star gazing they wanted, the whims of the Western lands would always go against them unless some lowly characters would aid them. Today it looked like this either wasn't the case or they foolishly dismissed the portents.
The soil was being trampled by heavy boots. They marched as if they were a long snake and between the Woodmen and their enemies was the river itself. Full of themselves, figuring that this time around they were going to finish what their ancestors failed to do. That is to tame Wilderland and its locals.
But as for now they had to wait. Whunjo remembered seeing king Brand of the Bardings. A brave man by the looks of it along with all of his advisors and lords. Varying chieftains of the tribes in the north had come. Some to swear allegiance and thus assure protecting from the Bardings. Others, such as Whunjo refused this sort of union for varying reasons, yet still were willing to lend a hand in the coming fight. For to let this horde succeed would spell doom for many with almost no chance to escape.
The day passed and what was a drizzle at first now gradually become a steady rain and then eventually a torrent. Whunjo had foreseen leather skins upon which leaves were glued with pine sap as to mimic the looks of a forest floor, in this manner they were covered and concealed. It was long and patient work to sit there near immoveable, men adjusted their breathing once it got cold enough to see your own breathe. In comparison with the Easterlings below they reminded a little bit of a dragon as plumes of air went up from their bronze visors. Greedy, out for destruction and utterly unreasonable.
A mist was starting to settle and still the line of ancestral enemies of the West were marching, still shouting the same few lines. Then a man stepped out of bushes from behind Whunjo, he was looking around in confusion, "Here..", Whunjo whispered as he realized the man simply couldn't detect them even as he stood on top of one of his warriors and must've been half suspecting they had fled the field. The man sighed with relief, "News my lord." Whunjo looked at him expectantly, "Be brief."
The messenger was armed with a bow, his rich dress that of a man from Lake-Town. His chin shaven clean and his expression fearful, a man who walked the wilds as an occasional practice rather than as a way of life, "Some of the chieftains cannot be found. You must look to your right flank my lord." Whunjo nodded, "They ran?" The messenger didn't speak to it, but he did nod with a hint of concern on his face, "The king's men have made it across the river. The plan remains largely unchanged. If the call comes before your right is manned again you must still charge. All success depends on it. We're already noticing signs of them slowing down. Remember that you predominantly must ensure their war machines are destroyed somehow. That will be all for now my lord." Whunjo smiled, "We brought axes. Now go and fight well, tell the next lord he owes me ten sheep." The messenger didn't seem sure to laugh or take it serious. He simply nodded and made his way further through the line where the other northmen were concealed. His men snickered a little meanwhile, Whunjo had known who he was formed up with and how it would play out. That is where those who organized this massive battle had been mistaken when they considered ignoring Whunjo's warnings and being reprimanded by being placed next to the men he called out.
Yet more time passed and the rain at this point became a curtain that occasionally closed and opened up again with each breeze. In the far distance there was a rumble of thunder. The Easterlings were marching at an ever more painful pace now, they were tiring, losing boots in the muck, men were slipping on the slick muddy field that their comrades had made for them at the front. It was looking good, this was going to be the largest battle Whunjo had ever partaken in. Over his lifetime he had seen his share of battles and his same old tactics would do their work, except perhaps that he was going to see some new methods on the field. All things considered he suspected everything to go well if they would fight furiously enough and that was always in ample supply with Uhruz around.
Then he heard a series of cries, but the agreed upon signal wasn't heard. The endless chanting of eastern hatred had finally ceased at least and now the shouting clearly seemed to be the cries of evil men dying in a realm they had no right to enter. From his uphill position Whunjo had a decent view, but from the haphazard maneuvers or commands that were undoubtedly taking place it was going to be difficult whether he should commit with his men. For all he knew now he was going to run into a hail of arrows rained down by his own kinsmen if he went, then his eyes widened as he saw a line of men carrying heavy crescent shields march towards him. That was it, no choice left.
Whunjo jumped up, "Battle line my brethren! Uhruz keeps yours in reserve" With grumbles of surprise the first fifty all clad in heavy mail came out of hiding. Armed with round shields that had straps for three javelins each and broad bladed swords or gleaming axes at hand. Whunjo had never cared much for using shields, in his one hand was his trusty knife and in the other a simple club shaped with a triangular head that went down to the haft. The Easterlings barked with surprise and the northmen hurled a volley of javelins without the need for a command, a few Easterlings fell as they lifted their shields too low. Perforated by two or three hafts sticking out of their shoulders, chest and a few fell with their shins impaled. Then Whunjo shouted, "No more! Sword and axe work now!" The element of surprise was a little bit lost, but not completely and what was meant to be a direct and wild charge carrying the day would appear to become an action of standing one's ground in a brutal back and forth. Whunjo rushed behind the line to keep an eye on things, "Three ranks brethren!!", he needed to push and shove a few of them as the battle frenzy came upon them. Some bucked and tried to elbow him back, but he managed to get them in a line of fifteen each and twenty in the back. So far it was going well, the Easterlings had lost a lot of energy in their dash uphill and a long day's marching. Anyone sensible would've turned and ran, but not these ones. And in that moment Whunjo learned the effects of fanaticism. Who knows what lies they had been told their entire lives now only to end dead before the boots of those they had wrongfully come to slaughter. He spat at one of them straight in the eyes from across a gap in his line, the lapse costing the invader as a heavy axe landed on his helmet, denting it three times in the time it takes a man to sneeze until blood flowed out of the visor and this one was no more either. Whunjo made it to the end and his brow lowered, more armored men in ragged bands were coming uphill. It wouldn't matter, they had plenty of numbers and breaching their armor was too costly in energy. They may hold for half a day perhaps a bit longer at this rate, but not forever.
Whunjo looked down and saw heavy carts being pushed by dozens of men and pulled by beasts of burden that were all up to their necks in mud. Would he send his men down into the mess or did he hold until relieve came or death? A wave of fear passed through him, never before did he have such doubts and his decision could cost all of them their lives. If these machines were destroyed they kept their honor upon retreat, if he did so beforehand shame would be his forever. And then he hesitated no longer, "Uhruz, drive them into the river! Be loud and drive death into their horde!"
Uhruz came up from the soil with a loud growl that reminded more of a beast than a man and with him all the others joined. Armed with heavy clubs, long axes, spears and some with small dextrous shields meant to let blows glance off rather than block! The ragged Easterlings still coming up the hill by their one's and two's to join their comrades were smashed down in a torrent of men that could barely be perceived with the eye. Uhruz' clove the arm off one of them and didn't bother to stop, knowing that those behind him would finish that one off. With wide yet precise arcs wrists were chopped, hamstrings sliced and with the butt of his haft visors were crumpled along with the faces behind them. He had learned much in the ways of battle and the art of battle was one he had mastered with glee. Yet behind it all it was the fear that these vast numbers meant he could be bypassed and those behind him taken down to a man! He knew he had energy in his limbs now, but was that going to last? No, he could not doubt himself. They had committed and now it was die or do. So he became a whirlwind that promised doom to those who opposed him with his men following behind trying to keep up.
As Whunjo saw them all rushing down an swift opening was created and he made position on the left of his backline. He called out to the twenty or so men, "Follow me kinsmen! Hrn-hrm.. today we send a message to the East and the Necromancer! Mundburg itself shall write of our deeds this day! Follow me!", he spun on his feet away from the fight and his fighting men followed behind him with the nimbleness of a young snake. The curl of his formation followed the shadow-walkers and then he turned back right getting behind the Easterlings. A lean halberd struck for him from above, it took him the effort of both his club and long knife. "Die strawhead!", came from behind the deathmask this one wore. They stood locked there for a few heartbeats until one of Whunjo's men chucked a javelin into the Easterlings belly, immediately this evildoer curled up on his knees with an anguished howl. Whunjo felt the instant relief as the pressure vanished and he kicked the halberd blindly into the enemy line ahead of him never knowing or truly caring if it did any good. "Keep moving!", he shouted and ran past his assailant hearing a satisfying 'clunk' as his club met the kneeling on's helmet. Then he found himself in a dream scenario, none of the others had noticed him and with wild abandon him and his men rolled up the enemy by stabbing into backs, hacking up necks or shoulders and within the time it might've taken a man to relieve himself at the side of the road now a pile of invaders lay on the soil. Gurgling up blood and twitching as the life fled their bodies. He overlooked his crew and he realized that some of his men had fallen, but less than he expected, "We are not done yet fighting men!" Some were gasping and a few in their typical manner grinned angrily as they thumped themselves to forget the pain of their freshly received injuries. Whunjo gave them a moment to breathe as he beckoned the back line now to be the front one. The wounded or dead were dragged back and barely perceived figures came out of the woods behind them to take care. Women for most part.
Whunjo surveyed the battlefield once again. He used his ears more than anything and he could hear familiar voices cry out and now horns were blasted. The woodmen were coming out in droves now so much was clear, but still the agreed upon signal of the Barding archery remained unheard. "Betrayal?", he wondered. Nothing his keen ears could perceive in this ruckus. His attention slid back to situation at the bottom of the hill. No more Easterlings were coming up and a rising intensity was evident in the fight of more voices now roaring aloud the northern army gathered was fully committed now on this side of the river. Once more Wunjo thought about retreating. His men had blooded their weapons and slain some too, honor was satisfied, but victory could depend on it yet. He grumbled wordlessly and pointed with his blade eastwards. "That way fighting men! There lies the glory of battle! That way is where our kinsmen are ensuring the safety of our women and we are damned men if we turn tail now!" Some seemed hesitant, but all of them would join him. He shouted out an archaic word and the men reformed albeit with some difficulty and once more three lines of heavy mailed men were ready to fit into this puzzle of life or death.
Uhruz hacked and hacked again while puking hot globs of saliva and other translucent matter over himself from effort. His eyes stood wide and where the Easterlings at first were keen to meet him any now barely dared to lift their cruel serrated blades against him. He bled from nicks and cuts across his hands and forearms, but so far beyond that he was too fast and simply too strong. In the time it would take a man to wipe his nose another four of these murderous invaders lost their lives, a deep gash of ruin in one man's chest, an upward chop that split another's face in half, then a kick that broke a knee with a hideous crack and a swipe taking out that one by shearing the top off his skull while disemboweling the other sverting next to him. His fighters reaped a great tally of their own, even when felled some would desperately try to drag at least one more enemy with them. It demoralized the tired Easterlings whom were told that the West was easy pickings which was confirmed at first, but no further now. Uhruz could see Brondaz, his second in leadership wield his spear with great might and precision. None died, but they gave up the fight nonetheless, clutching bleeding armpits or throwing off helmets with agony on their tongues when they tried to stem the blood flow from ruined eye sockets and impaled limbs that became useless. Brondaz had a magical gift wherein he saw the "trees within people", by all means he could have been an excellent surgeon. Yet he always claimed that his blood wasn't cooled enough for him and that first the West must be freed or old age must force him to stand down. Then there was the young warrior Wulfaz, he had grown in recent years and while his full manhood had not yet come upon him it was his lust for battle that saw him thrive when swords sang and the gift of Men was only one misstep away. Even now he used his youthful flexibility and vigor for swinging leg kicks that may not always land, but certainly made up for it with unrelenting enthusiasm. He could see the youth was fighting with a slice across his back seemingly immune to the pain. His antics giving his brothers time to strike home. His sister had asked Uhruz to look out for him and it was such thoughts that made the man push ever deeper to an entirely new level of nausea. Black spots appeared before his eyes and his emptied stomach could not push out anything else. His lungs felt like they were on fire and his every muscle was crying out for more air.. then he could think of naught anymore. An impressive fifty or so lay dead before him. A legendary number by all accounts for one man, but now his body for all its might was spent and it looked as if his heart was about to jump from his chest. With a clumsy step forward he closed in on another two invaders, both fell on their knees and begged in an odd speech. Uhruz lunged and missed, both of them flinched and turned around to run pushing aside their own comrades. Still Uhruz began to falter and with that it was only a matter of time ere death would claim him. He could already hear the trumpets of Bema's huntsmen coming to retrieve his spirit.
Whunjo sent his men forward to reinforce the shadow walkers whilst further ahead other northern tribesmen were caught up in a massive melee where hundreds faced hundreds more. It seemed whatever the planned agreements were had all but fallen apart. Still he knew his people and therefore that such battle chaos is where he could thrive. Servants of the Eye preferred control and oversight, something that the Men and weather of Wilderland was preventing them. With another call to his men he repeated the same maneuver a second time with the shadow walkers holding the line. Again in moments the last of the Easterlings lay dead or were fleeing. He looked at the shadow walkers and one of them spoke, it was Wulfaz, "Did you see that!", he was laughing, "We spilled their blood all over the wilds to drink in! We avenged many today!" What the young man wasn't seeing in his euphoria was that many of the greatest fighters in his corner of Mirkwood had not survived the encounter. They had been fighting three to one and won, but such odds clearly came with great costs. Whunjo approached the youth and embraced him, "Wulfaz, where is my brodr?" Wulfaz looked just as confused that the big man hadn't shown up yet he was inseparable from Whunjo at the worst of times. Then both their eyes froze on the pile of the dead where upon Uhruz lay groaning in pain. Brondaz stopped either of them before they could move and his blue eyes almost hurled darts at their leader, "He has fallen like any others as is the way in war. You must look to the living.", it wasn't a polite suggestion. Whunjo's had always known he'd outlive his sibling and first heir of Honespot, but that didn't make it any easier once that time would come. And now it seemed it would. Whunjo looked back at Brondaz, almost angry, "Hrm-hrm, you take the leadership over the shadow-walkers. The plan has changed, but the machines of the East must be destroyed still. Not in the river before hacked up and useless. I will.." "You will lead yours as you have so far.. Wulfaz stay with Uhruz and keep him alive if you can. Speak to him, yank his beard, do what you think you can." Wulfaz looked at Whunjo again and the man nodded, "Your leader gave you direction Wulfaz, listen."
"What next then?", Brondaz asked. Whunjo wiped the rain from his forehead for what little it did and answered, "We do not fight one on one anymore. We see kinsmen fight, we help them. Anything on a cart we find will be turned to firewood. Give your men time to breathe and follow mine until you see opportunities. Any opened flank must mean swift death upon the foe."
