It was early in the night,

Just ‘fore dusk and past twilight,

Far from the Chappies, unbeknownst to this sight

When the Hammer Tribe wielded their prodigious might.

Through the forests and greenery, they slipped past the trees,

To ambush the armies of their enemy, bring them to their knees.

Catch them by surprise, eliminate them by force,

While Arane observes this hapless collision course.

The Chappie Army was wholly unprepared. After standing at the ready the whole day, the majority were tired of duty and ready to turn in for the night. The sun slipped below the horizon, pushing many to their tents, to light their campfires and torches for use by the night guards. They thought their enemy would strike at night, when most were most vulnerable. They expected at least a little time to prepare.

Then came the fateful cry:

“ATTACK! ATTACK!”

The soldiers were roused from their depleted state, scrambling in a daze to equip their armor and prepare for battle. The Hammers did not need to do any such thing, for they had been ready for a few hours, impatiently bristling with anticipation. Excitement. Thirst for the thrill of battle. Already they were breaking away from the trees in the distance, charging towards the camp. Even without any mounts, left behind trying to traverse the thick undergrowth of the woodlands, they were so fast.

Fitting that a tribal community obsessed with the way of the warrior would have powerful skills, befitting of their nature. Their speed rivalled that of Olympic athletes, and some shrugged off arrows as if they were twigs. Others had supernatural instinct, able to block the oncoming arrows with just a buckler, frustrating the Chappie archers, who responded in kind with skills like [Piercing Shot] and [Curving Arrow].

Many were slain thanks to the dedicated effort of the archers, but many more withstood the rain of arrows and breached the flimsy wooden fence meant to keep out the Hammers. Immediately, they were met by a wall of shields with pikes in between the gaps. Approaching recklessly meant being speared or falling victim to an [Impaling Thrust]. It worked quite days before, when cavalry had tried to poke at the city defenses, but here they began to falter.

The fatigue of sparring, patrolling, scouting, and other rigors of army life left the soldiers tired and weak at the end of the day. Compared to the well-rested Hammers, whose morale soared (despite the death of a few comrades), the Chappies crumbled like a house of cards. The sheer ferocity of the offensive bought the Hammers much-needed momentum, especially when it was realized that they did not bring their whole army. The reason that the scouts had failed to inform the Chappie forces of enemy movements was because a good portion had remained past the forests in their camp, to keep up the illusion that they were still preparing to attack.

The tables began to turn again as the mages interspersed throughout the Chappie army began rapidly buffing nearby allies and obstructing enemy advance. Soon, Hammers wrecking the camp soon found walls of earth corralling certain areas and waves of hastened and strengthened shock troops. The speed and potency of these armored heavy hitters pushed back any swordsmen that previously were able to cut down many of their pike wielding counterparts. Only the burliest warriors with the heaviest warhammers were fit to spearhead the assault, trading blows with the elite of the Chappie Kingdom.

The few soldiers of the Hammer Tribes who knew a bit of magic or bowmanship were unable to eliminate the seasoned Chappie wizards, who began to retaliate with projectiles of fire and ice. Giant warhammers swept aside the rabble conscripts, delayed just long enough for the Chappie response. The situation in the camp quickly descended into a war of attrition, home field on full damage control. As the recently recruited were slain in droves, the veterans and elite troops gathered together to present a strong unified front.

During the course of the battle, a few ended up stepping into large pitfalls cleverly disguised with sticks and dirt, with rudimentary wooden spikes at the bottom. In the chaos that was the skirmish, everyone assumed the other side had set them up, not bothering to check further. Meanwhile, Arane sat in a small tunnel network several meters under camp. Her spiderlings were continually collecting any prey that was dumb enough to fall into her hastily constructed traps, feeding, growing. She herself had already eaten many, quenching her appetite for now. Likely neither side would bother to investigate the pit traps, as they were too few to really make a dent in the war.

The best course of action would be to let the two factions duke it out, and then attack the losing side when they are on the brink of defeat. Pulled off correctly, she would be able to accelerate her growth without alerting anyone to her presence.

The Hammer forces began encircling the beleaguered elites, trying to break their formation. Unfortunately, the support of the Chappies magical division were able to restore the morale and strength of their soldiers. Their strikes were more powerful, their shields evermore steadfast. With the limited number of warriors deployed by the Hammer tribe, they could not break this fiercely dedicated contingent of the enemy army.

It also became incredibly obvious that there was a [Battle Strategist] supporting the elite troop. The remaining conscripts that had not yet been wholly eliminated by over-enthusiastic warhammer wielding warriors were disengaging from combat, pulled towards the center where the elites were making a stand. The Chappies all fought in unnatural sync, intuitively knowing the positions of their comrades and covering each other just a little better; astonishing, considering some of the recently recruited had not served for more than a month.

A swordsman of the Hammer tribes charged into the fray, striking at a heavily armored longsword wielder, only to find herself rebuffed by a gauntlet so hard the unenchanted blade could not do more than dent it. She barely managed to dodge the counterattack: a wide sweep that nearly chopped her head clean off. Avoiding the followup thrust, she backpedaled, glancing around at her vicinity. All around, the same situation: unenchanted swords deflected off of armored juggernauts, buffed by spells and the skills of the [Battle Strategist].

Attrition began to take hold. More and more Hammer tribesmen found their match in the fierce opposition of veterans enlisted many years ago, honed by skirmish after skirmish. More and more blood spilled. The Hammers flagged, the warhammer wielders desperately trying to hold off the steady advance of these human steamrollers. Now they were on the backfoot, too weak to do any meaningful damage. Was this it? Was it going to be a total rout? Only the worst possibilities surfaced in the minds of the brave warriors, dampening what morale they had left.

And then He finally arrived. The man. The myth. The legend. Hieft, the great Hammer King!

He burst forth from the tree cover, sprinting at incredible speed. Immediately, archers and spare mages who expected his intervention turned their attacks towards him, trying to eliminate him from range. Immediately, his skills began to take effect. Hammer tribesmen found themselves invigorated, filled with a second wind. Their skin grew harder, taking on the properties of leather armor, and their swords sharp enough to cut through metal.

The Chappies had heard much about the famed Hammer King, but did not expect his skills to affect his army so drastically. Clearly he was a much more dangerous foe than they had taken him for. His existence could sway the outcomes of many battles, placing them in a serious position of advantage. The only solution was to eliminate him as soon as possible. Which was easier said than done.

Hieft’s outrageous speed surpassed even the highest estimates given by their scouts, and his flesh served as a better defense than steel. His lightning approach already placed immense pressure upon the battlefield, and with his skill boosts, the Hammer warriors began to beat back the Chappie shock troops. Their agility was a little higher, their strikes just hard enough to cut metal and crush armor.

The true nail in the coffin was when Hieft joined the encirclement to help his people in the fight. The ranged fighters simply could not hold him at bay for long. Soon he was among them, tearing through enemy lines with a massive palladium warhammer, sweeping enemies aside with the assistance of the nanos serving as a powered exoskeleton. With the help of additional skills such as [Overpowering Strike] and [Swift Sweep], the low level soldiers were like dust, and the elite not much better.

Mages fled, casting spells like [Haste] or [Lesser Flight] or [Lesser Teleport] in an attempt to flee the battle. The rangers followed moments after. Without any sort of ranged fire support or magical assistance, the Chappie formation broke, leading to a complete rout. Hieft watched them run towards the horizon, hoping to make it back to Bulwark and its safe city walls. What was left of his preliminary offensive gathered behind him to watch them go. His servant, ever loyal, left the cover of the trees where he had been hiding to join the King.

“Sire, why do you let them run? Surely you could finish off a few more of them and weaken their strength while they are vulnerable.”

Hieft put down his giant warhammer, gesturing for a quick cup of water, which his servant quickly passed to him. He gulped down the whole 16 oz in seconds, and then tossed the empty cup over his shoulder.

“I could, yes. But it would not be honorable. There is no satisfaction in slaughtering the weak. To do so is deplorable. That is why I do not attack children, or the civilians. Everyone deserves to live if they do not attack you, right?”

So the remnants of the Chappie force fled, seeking reinforcement. Arane watched them go with the help of remote vision and her minions. Soon the Hammers would recover and bring the full force of what troops they had mobilized so far towards the city. The spoils of this upcoming followup battle were sure to be very profitable.

Pion was quickly able to reach the village by midnight, as she was not bound by matters of the flesh, such as fatigue and stamina. Upon arrival, she found the villagers to be in the process of packing up. Most of their stuff was already loaded into carts, in a line towards Bulwark.

“Ah, is that the adventurer that helped us with the Giant Worm? We never got to thank you properly for that.”

“I took that quest for the reward issued and not out of any outstanding desire to help others.”

Is what she would have said normally. However, cooperation would be integral to survival in her early stages, so it would be best to placate them just in case.

“I do my best.”

“Unfortunately, we won’t be able to enjoy your help for now. With the war going on it's a matter of time before the Hammers come for our little village out here. It’d be best if we took refuge in the city, with the big walls and the Wizard Tower. It’d be best if you stayed there too: who knows when those crazy warrior bastards will arrive?”

“Do not worry. I will be able to survive.”

“Whatever you say. It doesn’t hurt to ask for help once in a while, you know…”

The villager left to join the caravan, leaving Pion to enter the dungeon by herself. This time she climbed down the wall more carefully, as to not damage the floor or herself. No need to be reckless.

The inside was a hive of activity. A few combat drones patrolled the halls while miner bots proceeded with the expansion of the area. With the new open space, it was much easier to turn the former dungeon into a factory for drones. Nearly a hundred roamed the halls, dismantling traps and boring new holes into the ground in search of resources. Harvester drones supplied materials to fabricator drones who perpetrated the cycle of endless growth.

Soon she would have the capital to begin sending out reconnaissance squads and expansion of her little area into a full blown tycoon. A shame she did not know of the battle that happened today, and the storm that would follow.

So approaches the great Siege of Bulwark, a tale for the history books.