The trolls are hectic within the palisades that surround the city walls. Four giant trolls stand out while the remaining contingents are made up of common trolls of various sizes and colors.
There are barbarian trolls standing over two meters tall (7’), wielding war axes and clubs. There are a few armored trolls carrying longswords and shields. And there are also small trolls wielding shortswords and bows and wearing leather armor and hoods. They form the first line of defense for the city before the walls. Their main objective is to be cannon fodder, wearing down our army before we even reach the gates of Stroi.
On top of the walls and in the watchtowers, the trows are leading the defense against the siege.
Kheldash once taught me that a siege is not a battle of armies, but of resources. The attacker needs to strangle the besieged city before their own resources run out. And the defending city needs to hold out until the besieging army becomes worn down enough to withdraw or suffer a counterattack.
And this is what the Trow Lords of Stroi have been trying to do. Spend as few resources as possible while we exhaust ourselves.
Every time we manage to get rid of all the extremely resilient cannon fodder they place in our path and reach the city walls, our already weary army is bombarded by trow artillery and then pushed back by a new wave of defending trolls.
The only way to turn the tide of this war is to swiftly eliminate the first line of defense and apply all our strength against the walls.
And this is where the alchemists come in.
In a normal situation, my breath would be enough to counter the troll regeneration. However, with Stroi's troops warded against fire damage, there's not much I can do beyond engaging in melee and attempting to force an opening.
So our only alternative would be to inflict the other type of damage that affects troll regenerative abilities: corrosive damage.
The Trow Lords of Stroi most likely expect us to attempt this strategy. However, acid spells are much less common and less potent than fire spells and there is a row of mages ready to counter most of these spells. They, in their trow arrogance, believe that we won't be able to cause significant damage using acid.
In addition to their long lifespan, the trows have inherited the arrogance from the high elves. It's no wonder a good portion of them consider themselves elvenkind rather than goblinoids. Good for us, as they underestimate goblinoid ingenuity. Even before the war began, the gremlin and hobgoblin workshops of Gorkaki and Ialdai have been working at full tilt, producing alchemical preparations of acids. Bombs of corrosive gases, barrels of tart liquids, and all sorts of erosive agents.
We are about to bring to the world of Erdonya the terror that only chemical weapons can provide.
§ § § § § §
The two armies face each other on another routine day of battle. On our side, goblinoids, kobolds, and other beastfolk. On the other side, the troll cannon fodder.
But this time, we didn't advance.
The trows on top of the walls seem to be wary. They know that we're planning something. Not all of them are arrogant fools. Especially those deployed to the front line.
When tension reached its peak, a bearman commander of my army's battalion shouts something. Then, a hobgoblin captain relays the bear colonel's orders to his troop. The same is done by the minotaur, kobold, and orc captains.
My army begins to move slowly. Our catapults start moving as well, just behind us. We've never been able to use them effectively against the walls of Stroi because we've never been able to hold our ground long enough.
But this time, the targets of the catapults aren't the city walls.
Our army stops when we reach range. The ammunition to be hurled by the catapults is much lighter than a giant stone made to knock down city walls. This allows them to be launched from a much greater distance.
The trolls welcome us with a barrage of arrows, causing some losses.
The first catapult launches its projectile. A ceramic urn the size of a gas canister filled with an extremely volatile liquid. The projectile deviates slightly from its trajectory due to the liquid inside, but it hits the target. Then the other catapults rain down these chemical weapons on the troll army.
Soon after, cries of pain and despair. A cloud of pale green and eerie yellow gases covers the battlefield on the troll side. They scream and run, breaking their formation set by the Trow Lords. Their skin burns, not from fire, but from the acidic gases and liquids. Their eyes water while their nostrils sting. The unluckiest ones have been hit directly and their armor and skin begin to be dissolved by the corrosive mix.
The trows on the walls begin casting healing spells and acid wards, but it's not enough. Our army advances swiftly against the disorganized and wounded trolls. Unlike them, we have taken countermeasures against the corrosive gases.
My drake shape advances relentlessly and takes down one giant troll after another. We gain ground much more quickly this time. With no more giant trolls, I head towards the city gates and start hammering at them. I shift into a shape that's less agile but even stronger, resembling a heavily armored dinosaur. I charge at the gates and slam into them with a headbutt. I hear cracks coming from the fire-resistant wood. With a second strike, the gates of Stroi fall before my feet. Or rather, paws.
I revert to my original form and take flight over the walls. I'm targeted by trow archers and mages, but this time they have to contend with our archers and mages as well. With cover from my long-range units, I begin to eliminate the enemies on the walls. I spot a new detachment of trolls being hurriedly prepared. The spellcasters start performing rituals, probably for fire and now acid protections. I quickly fly towards them and engulf them in flames. An entire platoon turned to ashes by my crimson fire.
And I do it again when I spot another platoon. Now, the once resilient trolls are dying like roaches in a fire.
On my path of destruction, I feel my shoulder being pierced. An ice projectile the size of a spear has struck me. I look around to find the shooter, and I see a trow caster atop the walls, preparing to shoot again.
A new ice lance materializes in his hand and is hurled at me, but this time I evade it as I fly towards the walls. The trow falls to the ground as I land next to him. Slowly, I transform into my elven shape. My shoulder remains wounded and bleeding. That spell was strong as hell.
I walk towards the trow, who instinctively tries to move away even while lying down, but he doesn't turn his back to me.
I crouch beside him.
"Nice shot you took." I say, pointing to the hole in my shoulder. "That hurt quite a bit. If I were raging, I would have ripped your head off with my teeth."
The trow remains silent, not understanding my sudden chit-chat. But he's intelligent enough not to try anything funny.
"Do you want to survive this battle?" I ask with a smile on my face.
The trow simply nods. He has skin much more purple than Lady Ferin's, short gray hair, and yellow eyes. In a way, cute.
"Bow to me now, and you will survive." I say.
The trow looks around to assess the situation. The battle at the gates is already lost for them. My numerous goblins and kobolds are starting to enter the city. On the walls, my army's elite troops are finishing off the trow mages and archers. And this one must be out of energy. That spell he hit me with caused a considerable amount of damage. He must be exhausted now.
"Do you really intend to spare me?" The trow finally breaks the silence. His yellow eyes give me an inquisitive look.
"If your fate were to die by my hands, you would already be dead. But a friend of mine always says, 'Why kill them when we can make them serve?' Now tell me, do you intend to serve me, trow?"
After a few seconds of hesitation, the spellcaster kneels, bowing at my feet.
"Very well." I say as I turn to a bugbear soldier. "This one surrendered. Take him away safely. Only kill him if he does something foolish. If not, hand him over to Kheldash. She will know what to do."
The bugbear ties the caster’s hands, throws him over his shoulders, and starts carrying him out of the battlefield. An orc and a hobgoblin clear the path for them to pass.
I transform once again into my wyvern shape and take flight over the city. Below, my army of goblins and kobolds advances, this time led by Lady Ferin herself.
Our destination: the Black Timberhold. The castle where the Trow Lords of Stroi are hiding.
But before we could reach our ultimate prize, I hear a whisper in my ear. An omen in the form of a poem and a sign of the tribulations that will befall me in the future.
From your path, costly shall be the toll.
Paid by the blood of the kobold, by the blood of the troll.
And by that price, bloodstained shall be your life scroll.
But beware, little wyrm, of what you must do now.
For cunning they are. For cunning is the blood of the trow.
