The village was a big word, for what he saw. A ramshackle palisade in the middle of the forest, with gaps wide enough to pass through them, surrounded a few dozen dirt hovels and tents made out of poorly prepared skin and sticks. In the middle of the place stood a single stone building, or rather a large tower. Four stories high, made out of some kind of white stone, it shone, reflecting the sunlight. Bright red roof tiles added a cherry vibe, only reinforced by colorful windows. It looked completely out of place.

The village reeked from a distance. The smell of goblin, which in itself resembled something dead for a long, long time, was mixed with the odor of feces, blood, and refuse, but most importantly, a smell of fear.

A dozen or so greenskins escaped their ambush and had to bring the news to the village. However, it was completely quiet and not a living soul in sight.

Horn was riding Snouty, with Ingrid and Goran at his sides. Behind them, another six riders and twenty dwarves on foot were waiting for commands. The remainder was left behind at the battlefield to take care of the wounded and sort it out.

“Ambush?” Horn asked into the air,

“It looks like one,” Goran agreed, “but there can’t be many of them left.”

“As we just showed them, numbers don’t count in an ambush. I want this finished clean.” Horn objected.

His head still hurt a bit. He was back at three-fourth health and full mana. His troops weren’t much better. Some quite a bit worse. They could rest, but it'd give the damn goblins time to either prepare better or scatter, and hunting them down, one by one, wasn’t something he had in mind. Turing at Ingrid, he said,

“Take the rest of the riders and circle the village. I want none escaping.”

She nodded and waved her squad, trotting away.

Turning back to Goran, he asked, “What’s that structure in the middle?”

“I’ve seen such once, a human wizard had such tower, but what it's doing out here? I have no idea, Chieftain.” The dwarf replied.

“Wizard? Let’s hope not.” Horn sighed. He really hoped there weren’t any surprises inside. Then turning to his troops, he commanded, “We’ll be going in through the main entrance. Then fan out and search every hovel. Groups of four - sergeants take the lead on that. The rest will remain in the middle to act as a reaction force. Any resistance you meet, you call for backup. We’re all leaving here alive!”

A chorus of approval answered as his warriors hefted their weapons. They quickly proceeded. The gate was closed but not locked. Strong arms promptly opened it, Horn and Goran trotted inside on their boars, with his warriors fanning out. For several long minutes, he expected shouts and screams to start, ready to burst into action, but nothing happened. The silence was interrupted only by squads reporting empty sections. A few more minutes passed when the sweep came out clean. No goblins were found. The only building left was the white tower.

Just as he was about to call for Goran, a horn echoed through the forest. A heartbeat later, it sounded again, then a third time. It was a call from Ingrid, one he had set up earlier. A single sound meant enemy spotted, two engaged, and three - sent immediate help. “Goran, with me, rest follow up as soon as you can!”

With a kick on Snouty sides, he launched into galop. They sped through bushes, Horn making everything in his power to keep seated. Snouty herself was running like possessed like she felt that something was very wrong.

Then between branches, he finally saw it. A small semi-circle of his warriors with their backs against a large boulder surrounded a small horde of goblins. He saw Ingrid in the middle of the small circle, down on the ground, which was worrying. Snouty, however, didn’t hesitate for a second. She charged straight through goblin ranks, her mass throwing them to sides like bowling pins. However, their entrance didn’t go unnoticed, as dozens of greenskins refocused on them. Horn shouted, “Radiant blast!” buying them a few seconds while hacking left and right.

Then as quickly as they entered, they were through the horde. The small circle of his fighters and their boars looked pitiful. Everyone was sporting wounds, a few already lying on the ground, dead or dying. In the middle, Ingrid was kneeling next to the heavily wounded Thumper. The boar’s leg was clearly broken, a piece of bone sticking out. A large gash on his side spurted blood. Ingrid tried to apply pressure on the wound, but it was at least a foot long. Without stopping, Horn kneeled at boar’s side and cast, Cure wounds. The animal whined painfully as some of the gashes began closing. It wasn’t enough to bring him back on his feet but was enough to stabilize.

Not stopping, he kept spamming healing on everyone around as soon it was off cooldown. He heard a crash, and another figure burst through the encirclement. Goran didn’t fail to impress. He looked worse for the wear but was still in one piece. No sooner, he dropped to the ground; he roared, “Hold the line!” Horn felt his strength returning. With wonder in his eyes, he noticed all his resources regenerating slightly. He threw himself back into a healing spree. At the same time, the bolstered defenses held around. A minute or two later, the situation stabilized. The goblins lost a bit of their ferocity, still pushing but not sure about their victory anymore.

Horn was almost sure they’d hold until the rest of the clan would arrive, but then he appeared. Goblins parted like a red sea at one side, but a choir of cheers from defenders was quickly interrupted as around thirty yards away, a group of four fighters appeared. They were goblins clad in pieces of metal armor, with quality weapons at hand. They made a defensive circle around another goblin. He looked ancient, his skin sickly yellow, with stains of black spreading over it. He was dressed in well-made furs, and everything just yelled – shaman. Indeed, he didn’t disappoint as a bolt of black energy flew from him, hitting one of the defenders. The struck dwarf caught himself at a chest and dropped to his knees, coughing blood.

Horn didn’t wait but launched into a healing spell, but another bolt flew past his shoulder as he finished. He heard a yelp from behind as it hit someone. Raising his eyes, he saw the shaman already casting another spell.

“Goran! We have to take them out!” Horn shouted. The goblins surrounding the group seemed to only wait for anyone foolish to run towards their shaman, ready to pounce on them. He looked for options. His mind was racing. He checked his mana, sitting at a quarter. It had to be enough.

He began casting while running towards Snouty, Goran seemed confused for a second, but realization sparkled in his eye. He leaped on his mount. Horn finished launching a Flame strike, throwing his hand at the Shaman. A column of fire shot out of it. He kicked his boar into galop while already casting Radiant blast. The blast of light blinded the goblins, and they burst through the horde. The flame strike was just dissipating. A roaring inferno took its toll. One of the fighters surrounding the shaman was badly burned but still alive. It looked like he threw himself in the way of the strike.

As they rode, Horn just shouted, “Shaman is mine.”

Goran just grunted and pushed his mount a few steps ahead. The goblins prepared to take charge, their weapons at a ready, but they didn’t stand a chance. Goran’s mount slammed into them with speed, half a ton at thirty miles an hour. The goblins flew to the sides. Horn was just a second behind. The shaman was wide open. He raised his axe, and Snouty jumped. However, the goblin just stood there, a wicked smile on his lips. A dome of the same black energy flickered to life as Horn’s mount crashed. It flared and cracked but held. However, the impact threw them away. Snouty crashing head first, got the worst of it, she whined with pain and collapsed, but Horn wasn’t much better. He felt something crack as he landed, and his arm flared with pain. Gritting his teeth, he dropped the axe and took his last potion out. A sour taste followed by a wave of relief spread through his body. Raising, he saw Goran locked in a struggle with the shaman. The warrior stood a few feet from him, and a continuous beam of black miasma hit his shield. The metal was rusting, flakes already of metal already dropping around.

Horn didn’t hesitate. He grabbed his axe, and charged. A roar of anger erupted somewhere from the other side of the clearing, and a smile crept on his lips as he recognized the call. “Lightforge!”

The sound covered his approach. He swung with all his might. The blade descended, biting into the goblin’s shoulder. With a hiss of pain and anger, the spell was interrupted. Goran didn’t waste a second, and his axe dug into the shaman’s chest. The goblin collapsed to his knees as Horn yanked his blade out. “Checkmate,” he muttered as his axe swung, beheading the goblin.

---

The fight ended a few moments later. Horn’s reinforcement made quick work of the remaining goblins. Surprisingly this time, they didn’t run. After the death of the shaman, they were enraged and just threw themselves at the dwarfs. It was a bloody few minutes. As soon as the last goblin fell to the ground, Horn heard a chime,

Quest updated: First steps II

You have conquered the tribe war challenge! Reward: Tutorial level cap increased to 7. One siege machine blueprint for redeeming in Soul well.

Current completion status: 2/5

It was over. Horn’s shoulders fell. The emotions were draining. He looked at the battlefield and saw even more of his clanmates dead. He won, but at what price? Shaking his head, he approached, still kneeling Ingrid.

“How’s he doing?” He asked,

“He’ll heal, thank you, pumpkin,” Ingrid replied, wiping tears.

“Good,” Horn replied, heading towards the closest wounded and healing him. Each movement caused a flare of pain from his arm, but he didn’t care. The pain was good, and it cooled his head.

---

Three hours, that’s how long the clean-up took. The clan was gathered once again, this time in front of the funeral pyre. Twenty-six dwarves laid their lives in the valley, Handy the first dwarf Horn summoned, was among them there, so was his quartermaster, two out of three smiths, several fighters and other crafters, an adept and both of his pathfinders. Almost half a clan. The mood was somber, and the victory felt bitter-sweet.

Without a word, Horn took a torch and lit the fire. The dwarves looked at the flames in silence, then Ingrid took a step, turned towards the gathered, and started singing, her voice clear and strong spread through the clearing.

Born in the darkness,

Raised in the light,

Made to be hardest,

Made to be might,

One by one, more voices joined the song.

Braved deadly dangers,

Never gave up,

Defended clan’s chambers,

After the victory, drunk up

 

Found my destiny,

Found my call,

I laid my life readily,

I kept my head tall,

Now you mourn,

But raise your horn,

I’ve done what I have sworn,

The clan has won,

The song wasn’t the best he heard, but it just fit. Runners were sent to the Soul well to bring food and drink. Horn went with them, going all in the shop. Barrels of ale, fresh bread, and vegetables, several roasts. Tonight was the time of mourning and rest.

The meal was quiet. Stories were shared about the fallen. They knew them only a few days but fighting together bonded people in a way no one could understand. Horn learned that lesson on the battlefield while standing over a fallen comrade. It wasn’t just a bunch of pixels and lines of code. It was a true feeling of protecting someone alive. He was surprised, feeling that way, the lesson was harsh, but he learned it quickly. He bought one additional item. A large leather-bound book. As the clan calmed, he stood up, saying,

“Lightforge! The victory today was paid in blood. This isn’t the first we lost, nor will it be the last, but hear that! We will survive. We will thrive! For us, for those who come after us, and most importantly, for all of those that laid their lives. Their sacrifice won’t be forgotten, won’t be in vain. Today we begin writing the book of heroes. Today we add twenty-seven names to its pages. Let me add the first one, Skuti – a brave warrior, master thrower, died in the dungeon while defending his brothers.” Horn wrote the sentence into the book before passing the quill to Goran.

The old captain took it and said, “Reinn, a brave warrior, always complained about his shoes not fitting, died on the battlefield of goblin’s valley saving his kin.”

And so it went, one by one, every name was recorded, every sentence added, and the clan recovered. Horn took a sideline, looking through notifications that kept appearing. Starting from one just after the first battle,

You won a battle against the Broken claw goblin clan! Crushing victory. Rewards: +25 morale (will decrease weekly by a point till 0), +10 loyalty (will decrease weekly by a point till 0)

Your clan morale changed: Unhappy (-15) -> Happy (+10). Productivity increased -15% -> +15%; crime possibility decreased; your citizens are more likely to work harder for the clan.

Your clan loyalty changed; Average (0) -> Loyal (+10) – productivity increased 0%->+5%; desertion chance decreased 1%->0%, your warriors will not flee the field unless morale reaches Shattered status.

Then it updated after the second battle,

You won a battle against the Broken claw goblin clan! Pyrrhic victory. Rewards: morale no change, +5 loyalty (will decrease weekly by a point until 0)

In the recent conflict, your clan lost 44% of its members. You were the attacker. Devastating losses affected the clan’s morale and loyalty. The overall victory softens the blow. Morale -50 (will improve weekly by a point until 0), loyalty -30 (will improve weekly by a point until 0).

Your clan morale changed: Happy (+10) -> Devastated (-40). Productivity decreased +15%->-30%; crime possibility greatly increased, your citizens are more likely to ignore your commands.

Your clan morale changed: Loyal (+10) -> Unloyal (-20). Productivity decreased 5%->-5%; desertion chance increased 0%->5%, your warriors will flee if the battle morale drops below Worried.

After the song, funeral, and the book, there was yet another change.

You created a new clan ritual: The book of Heroes. The loss of life in battles penalty will be greatly decreased if you continue to respect the ritual. Reward: +20 Morale, +20 loyalty.

The ceremonies remembering the fallen helped to diminish the pain of your people. Morale adjustment +20 Morale, +10 loyalty.

Your clan morale changed: Devastated(-40) -> Average (0). Productivity neutral, crime possibility neutral, your citizens will follow you unless it directly endangers them.

Your clan loyalty changed: Unloyal (-20) -> Average (0). Productivity neutral, desertion chance 1%, your warriors will fight until the battle morale drops to Shattered.

The stream of notifications gave Horn a pause. This was a new mechanic, keeping your people happy, the basic descriptions gave him some idea about how it worked, but he decided to dive into that one deeper later. For now, he avoided a catastrophe, not even being conscious about it. He didn’t act to get some bonus out of that, and it just felt right to do.

The wake continued, but he needed a break from the emotions. Again he was surprised how much this game affected him. Anger, frustrations, sadness, happiness, just amazing. It felt so real. Sighing, he came to the loot area. There everything gathered from goblins, and their own fallen was gathered, laying in a few piles. Sorted only by type. He walked towards the stack taken from elite warriors and the shaman. The gnarly staff, few good quality blades, pieces of metal armor, several rings, and a few scrolls. It felt a bit underwhelming. He picked up a shaman’s fur armor or rather a coat, covered in black blood and reeking. It was made out of white fur, of an animal he had never seen. The Lore skill gave him a short description.

White fur coat – Scarce – Well made – min. 10 mind. 8 endurance – 6 armor – protects the wearer from cold weather, grants water magic resistance of 10%, increases maximum mana by 10 points, increases Mind by 2.

It would need a lot of cleaning and maybe cutting off bits and pieces to make it more a cloak than a coat, but Horn was surprised with the number of bonuses. Resistance, extra mana, attribute, and armor on top. Wondering, he took a closer look at it and noticed something strange. The inside was covered in small scratches like someone used a fingernail or a small knife to write something. Maybe not words, but something. He moved closer to a nearby torch, following the lines with his finger. A pictogram of few huts, then a large tree or rather three trees that were interwoven with each other. A chest, and shovel, next to an elliptical-shaped rock in between the two previous ones.

“You’ve got to be shitting me, a map?” Horn muttered,

Walking back, he called Goran, asking if the scouts ever mentioned such rock or a bunch of trees growing as one. He said he heard something like that, making Horn laugh. “Tomorrow, we’re going treasure hunting, but today let's celebrate.”