There was no silence when the two forces saw each other for the first time. The sun had passed its zenith, somewhere between 14:00 and 15:00 o’clock. The Beastmen’s hooves and incessant braying could be heard long before the first of them crossed into the wasteland between the Erik’s hillfort and the forest’s edge.

But when they finally emerged and saw the mighty fortification before them, the braying stopped instantly.

Seeing their enemies struck dumb, the Marauders instead started loudly cheering, jeering and taunting.

“Hah! Look at the goat-men! Thinking they’re all that!”

“Yeah! But as soon as they see our warm welcome, they’re about to turn tale!”

“Bring it on you filthy, unfavoured mongrels! The Blood God requires his due!”

The high tension and expectations caused them to shout all manner of profanities, more to unwind some of their pre-battle stress even Norscans felt than to actually taunt the enemy.

It was even questionable if many of the Beastmen even understood them in the first place, but they at least understood they were being challenged. Not willing to let the Marauders have their fun, the Warherd responded with a cacophony of braying and screaming of their own as they hyped themselves up for their first charge.

The shouting match continued for a quarter of an hour before one outstanding individual Beastman clad in red, thick metal plate raised its axe high, screamed loud enough to outdo be heard by the Ungors in front of him and signalled the charge by swinging his weapon down.

The tide of Ungors swiftly approached the fortress like a wave of dark fur and shining steel. The wasteland was at least 200 meters broad but the Beastmen made short work of that distance.

Their advance was relentless and would be terrifying to the hearts of lesser men, but Erik’s warriors were prepared and ready.

The Captains along the wall steadied their men, reminding them not to start throwing their limited javelins before the optimal moment.

Their bloodlust fully exposed as blood curdling growls echoed through the air, the Ungors came ever closer and closer until they hit the first traps.

“Raaaaah!! … Gruohoooogh!!”

*Thud, thud, thud – slish! Squelch!

“Gruo… hnng! Hm hm, ruh, hing hing…”

The front most runners went down like hitting an invisible wall, the shallow spiked pit-traps doing their work.

The Ungors charged with all their might in their eagerness to attack and when they hooves kicked through the deceptive layer of brush and snow they impaled those hooves on the sharpened stakes underneath.

Not only did the sharp pain rouse them from their bloodlust, the shallow pits also made them lose their footing, some even outright snapping and breaking their legs, and all of them were trampled underhoof by their still charging allies.

Still, the charge did not halt one bit as they hit the second and third belts of traps. They simply thundered past their fallen and wounded regardless of losses.

‘Let’s hope they will lose morale when the blood truly starts misting in the air, otherwise we’re dealing with a very dangerous, relentless enemy…’ – Erik observed the Ungors’ callousness calmly.

When the true clash began and swords clashed on shields and flesh, Erik foresaw one of two things happening: The Ungors would either retreat after losing enough allies or the scent of blood could potentially inflame them further, making them unamenable to reason to the point where they would continue flinging themselves at Erik’s Marauders until their dying breath.

This wasn’t empty hypothesis either, since Wulfrik confirmed them with his earlier experiences fighting the Ungor-wave.

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Finally the Ungors reached the first moat, the one Erik had stressed was vitally important for their first true counter attack.

The effective range of their average javelin-throwers, so the distance at which they could throw the spears with enough force to kill or maim a target, was exactly where the new moat was dug.

It was a clear, unmissable target for even the dullest of men who might otherwise hesitate on choosing a target.

When the first Ungors jumped over it with their goat legs, the Captains finally gave the order’

“Let them have it men! Throw! Fire!”

And a dark, shadow wave flew out from the camp’s ramparts before mowing down countless defenceless Ungors.

The Ungors truly were the lowest of the low among the Beastmen. Most were bare-chested even in the cold Norscan winter and wielded crude, rusted weapons or even plain wooden sticks as makeshift clubs. A rare few carried flimsy shields, but not enough to make a difference.

The javelins reaped them like a scythe through the ripe wheat fields of the southern Empire.

If 1500 Ungors led the charge, at least 200 already fell through traps or the first wave of javelins. And not a single Marauder had even been close to getting harmed.

But this was soon to change as the Ungors were now rapidly crossing the land between the two moats.

Readying their long spears, the Marauders on the walls prepared to receive their first customers. It was very likely for the athletic goat-men to jump through the stakes pointed outwards from the camp and onto the walls, but the spears would thin them out.

The first Ungor to boost himself up from the stakes got immediately skewered and flung back out by one of the Captains, setting a good example for his men.

Erik didn’t stand at the walls but atop the gatehouse connected to both sides of wall. From there he oversaw the overall development and could send out parts of his own unit to reinforce where necessary.

Noticing a banner carrying Gor amidst the Ungor herd, Erik took out one of his own javelins and with one fluid movement nailed the Gor straight through the chest, toppling the banner.

“Good shot!” – Wulfrik sincerely complimented Erik’s display of skill.

“Let’s just hope they retreat before making it over the wall in any meaningful numbers. Or that they push forward so hard they become unable to jump onto the walls.”

Their strategy was to sparingly use their javelins only on prime targets like Bestigors or Minotaurs and on the waves of Gors and Ungors whenever they crossed the second moat, be it attack or retreat.

That way they hoped to make as many of them stumble over each other as possible, potentially doubling the Beastmen’s casualties from a single wave of javelins.

Too bad it was too chaotic and the Ungor wave to broad to really see any effects. Only when the field in front of the walls was cleared of enemies would the scale of the carnage become obvious.

“How long did you say the siege lasted for you guys again?” – Erik asked for probably the 20th time.

“They attacked three times on the first day and then once every day after before making a final push to breakthrough after 6 days.”

“At least one more wave then, but I suppose they’ll have noticed the danger of our javelins by now. If I were their commander, I would not let my army be decimated piece by piece with futile attacks. I would try to push through immediately with the second wave instead of risking the attrition caused by repeated charges and javelin-showers.”

By now there was a small trickle of Ungors making it all the way on top of the walls, dodging their allies pressuring them onto the stakes and evading the swift striking long spears from the defenders.

Even so, the axe-wielding and shielded Marauders were eagerly waiting for them and struck them down in hard, single blows.

Finally, after maybe ten minutes of the one-sided slaughter, a horn sounded from the Beastmen Warherd to signal the retreat.

Dourly, the Ungors turned tail and ran back to their lines within the forest. But once more a large number of them fell from previously un-triggered traps and a second wave of javelins hit them in the back when they crossed the second moat again.

When the final results of this reckless attack were plain to see in the bright afternoon sun, Erik was very pleased with the result.

Hundreds of Beastmen lay dead or dying on the frozen ground, staining the thin layer of snow a deep crimson red interspersed with patches of dark earth kicked up by the Ungors’ hooves as well as excrement Ungors splattered around in their death-throws.

The traps had done their work and the two javelin showers had been devastating, but now the dead Ungors clearly marked the dangerous areas. Still, those same bodies now provided an extra hindrance to any follow-up attacks.

And as the Ungors made it to their own battle-lines, Erik’s Marauders loudly cheered and proclaimed their first victory.