A Muddy Skirmish

"His schemes were deep, our supplies in danger."

"Our lives he reaps, that unknown stranger."

"The water he fouls so Aurellion may soar."

"We suffer now, amid this war."

Diary of an orcish survivor of the Battle of Brunag.

…..

"Fuck there back!"

Wurgoth exclaimed, the familiar red wave churning up the ground as they charged towards the orcish lines blowing up a cloud of dust behind them as they went and fired a cloud of arrows towards them, which embedded themselves into the orcish shield wall spears held tightly in their sweaty green palms. The pikemen who were exposed in the first battle were put towards the back of the orcish lines, safe from the arrow fire that had felled so many of them before.

Some of the arrows found their mark killing a few hundred of the orcish archers, while some men in the orcish shield fell to the ground. The rounded shields of the orcs left gaps in the lower leg leading to some having their lower calf impaled with arrows and screaming out in pain.

Another volley was fired from the red armoured Chavarian's just before they entered short bow range and dealt another few hundred casualties. The shield wall tightened as archers hid behind their shielded compatriots, but those shot in the leg were further shot dead, their fellow soldiers unable to help them due to the risk of being attacked by the devastatingly accurate Chavarian horse archers.

However, unlike in the last battle, where Wurgoth was gnashing his teeth so much that he ended up in a fit of anger. Instead, an evil grin spread across his green face as his eyes shined with a vicious light full of excitement and resentment, dreaming of avenging his humiliating defeat in the last skirmish.

Waiting until the Chavarian horse archers were just out of the range of his orcish short bows and began to slow down so they could turn back and retreat slowly. Wurgoth raised his hand high as 5000 of his orcs drew the Plurian army's crossbows and let loose a cloud of bolts.

"Give those little buggers hell!"

Wurgoth shouted as his men fired, the flames of revenge burning through his eyes.

Unlike the shields which protect the orcs, the horse archers from Chavaria were not wielding shields, only protected by their red-tinted lamellar armour, which proved of little worth as crossbow bolts punched through the armour leading to nearly 700 riders falling off their mounts, bodies filled with steel-tipped bolts as their wild riderless mounts began running out in all directions.

While other soldiers were dismounted, crossbow bolts protruding from the head of their horses or filling one of its sides led to the horse falling and making its riders easy targets for future bolts to claim their lives.

"How do you like that, you horsey-loving bastards!"

Wurgoth said to himself, feeling strangely liberated at the dead men in front of him as, after the last battle like Lucius, he also felt sick, not used to the horrors of war, the pleads of mercy, and the grunts of death as the last bit of life drains from a man and like all the other combat players and soldiers in the real world he must be tempered in the flames of war and hardened to its atrocities.

After firing another cloud of bolts, nowhere near as effective as before, the experienced cavalry from Chavaria scattered after the first volley as they pulled back, leading to the damage that the clouds of bolts could do to weaken significantly as hitting the scattered Chavarian horse archers was a significant challenge.

Unfortunately, the orcish crossbows had to expose themselves slightly to the Chavarian horse archers whenever they shot. The elite horse archers used this tiny opening to fire at them, hitting them in their neck, armpit, and other places where the crude armour was weak and in some cases, the steel-tipped arrows punched through the armour in its entirety. Due to this, whenever they shot, they were dealt just under 500 casualties by the Chavarian horse archers while they aimed and fired at the horse archers, though, due to the longer reloading speed of the crossbow by the time they were ready to fire once more, the horse archers were out of range.

The shockingly accurate horse archers, who numbered just shy of 8,000 after the crossbow bolts were finished, dealt massive damage to the orcs proving their reputation for being some of the best in the world.

Leon fired his runed bow, the blue field which prevented the runes from glowing fiercely active again as his masterful archery led to every shot finding the neck of an orcish archer as he dodged and weaved his mount skilfully to avoid the incoming crossbow bolts. His sharp eyes never being wrong of their trajectory as they skimmed past him, leaving him unharmed.

After leading his cavalry out of the hail of crossbow bolts, he began to move around the army's long battle lines heading around the lines and sounding a refined horn which led to heavily armoured knights joining the horse archers as they made their way round to the rear line of the Otrua-Plurian allied army.

The orcish army jeered at them as they fled and began their manoeuvres to the side and towards the back of their army. In their exhilaration at their revenge and of seeing the dead Chavarian cavalry, they did not notice the nefarious intentions of the Chavarian force, their vision clouded by their rampaging emotions.

Seeing the manoeuvre, Bardornus let out a large sigh as it only took him a few seconds for his experience and deep insight to figure out the true intentions of the Chavarian army.

"Aiming for our supply line, eh."

He said to himself as he turned to Alden and gave his orders.

"Alden! Gather up the cavalry! We're going to protect our supply lines from the enemy and send a message to that temperamental orc that the assistance of his wolf riders would be most appreciated.

Bardornus said to his subordinate as a horn sounded throughout the plains. With a wave of his hand, the entire Plurian cavalry thundered towards the supply carts of the allied army near the back of their formations.

The Chavarian and Plurian cavalry raced each other to the back of the army, where the supply wagons were situated, each pushing their horses at a nice easy pace to ensure that they didn't tire out too much, both kingdoms known for their deadly skilled cavalry. From a distance, it looked like two large dust clouds were racing each other as the churned ground protested and shook at the large number of animals that each side pressed towards the extensive line of carts that were slowly making their way towards the battlefield. A 30-minute ride from the main army to help keep them away from any skirmishes that may happen between the 2 conflicting forces.

First to arrive at a convoy of moving horse-drawn supply carts were the Chavarians, their speed faster due to being able to get up to full speed faster and having a head start over the Plurian cavalry as the horse archers began to loose arrows into the drivers and guards of the convoy as each was shot with multiple feathered arrows their shafts protruding out of them.

After 4 minutes had passed, an arrow pierced through the neck of one of the red lamellar scale-clad horse archers, who fell with a mouthful of blood off his horse, the blood splattering on the ground.

In the distance, General Bardornus lowered his bow, a small smile on his face as the cavalry of the Plurian army had arrived to help defend the supply carts though already many barrels or water containers were pierced through with arrows creating a fountain of water which was absorbed by the thirsty ground whose crusty light brown surface had turned into a muddy dark brown.

The muddy ground that was now between the two sides led to another skirmish, though unlike the trap that the Chavarians set up, having the wolf riders follow the horse archers over the hill only for them to be hit by royal knights while being shot from all sides by arrows leading to devastating casualties for the orcish wolf riders this one was a skirmish between ranged cavalry.

Bardornus, looking at the black clouded weather as the heavens opened up with rain, an omen for the tragedy of the many lost lives that would be lost in the coming hard battle. This rain, combined with the water that sprinkled like a fountain out of the many water containers, led him to be reluctant to send his cavalry over the muddy ground as that could lead to their deaths from being stuck in the mud and then shot by the deadly Chavarian horse archers.

Even if his lighter cavalry, equipped with shields for defence and lighter armour lowering the weight of the rider and risk of getting stuck in the mud, could get through are no match for the heavily armoured Chavarian royal knights on the other side of the mudded ground and would be cut off from reinforcements while also being shot and surrounded by the Chavarian horse archers.

The reluctance of both sides to cross the muddied ground, exposing themselves to the ranged cavalry of the other side, led to the current stalemate where horse archers strafe from side to side, slowly picking each other off.

Though the Chavarian horse archers, through their weight of numbers, slowly turned the battle in the Chavarian's favour even with the casualties that they had picked up leading the orcs into an ambush and by their failed attack on the orcish army only an hour ago as just over 8000 Chavarian horse archers began their deadly fight against the 5,000 Plurian ones, the skill of each being similar.

After an hour of fighting and both sides taking losses in the thousands arrow filled horses and men littered the ground as Leon gave the order to retreat in a tired non-caring voice, his objective fulfilled though the 34-year-old man was getting weary from the battle even with the temporary 30-minute rest they had to treat and bury the wounded.

His men having to ride for hours while fighting, were equally tired, their effectiveness lowered by their exhaustion leading to Chavarians taking nearly double the casualties from the fresher Plurian horse archers in the last 5 minutes of the battle compared to their enemies.

The dripping and chilled Chavarian horse archers dragged themselves back towards their camp. Even the especially endurant royal knights had their energy ebbed away by the ice-cold rain and shivering-inducing wind.

While watching the Chavarian army retreat, Bardornus sighed as he looked over the battlefield lamenting his bad luck at the rain, which made the ground slick with mud making attacking and retreating with cavalry an issue and a risk that the cautious Bardonus was unwilling to make as he has ¼ of the remaining Plurain knights with him his kingdom being continually weakened by recent wars and in particular in one battle where the kingdom endured a devastating defeat.

Next to him was Wurgoth, a grimace on his face alongside his wolf riders, the fur of the wolves was soaked in the rainwater, as little drops of the water dripped from their protruding tusks onto the ground below.

Containers, once filled with food, were opened to accept the rainwater as men emptied a few of them by eating the contents so as not to waste the precious supplies enjoying an early dinner. Men also opened their leather waterskins to take in the fresh rainwater, which was a slight reprieve from their dangerous situation.

"Make sure to collect as much water as you can! We can't fall for the spider's shameless schemes."

Bardornus called out loudly to his men as they rushed to gather as much water as possible.

'Not sure if I should be happy about this rain or sad as looking at the actions of the Chavarian army, I think all nearby water sources will be fouled soon.'

Bardornus thought before his stupor was interrupted as a deep orcish voice entered his ears.

"Are you sure we should not have tried to attack them with our cavalry?"

Wurgoth asked the Plurian general.

"Yes, absolutely sure! They would have retreated firing arrows at us, not to mention they still have their knights with their heavy armour and mailed horses."

"You may never have tried to cross a muddy field to attack your enemy clad in armour and on heavily mailed steeds or seen the tragic slaughter as men are cut down without quarter…."

Bardornus said his eyes were distant once again as he reflected on his military career and onto a specific battle in which most of the Plurian knights were lost by his superior because they charged over muddy ground, got stuck, and were quickly cut down by the lighter Chavarian troops. The memory branded permanently in his mind as he watched comrades, friends and brothers ruthlessly slaughtered with no mercy being given as pleas fell on deaf ears.

"But I have."

Bardornus finished the pouring rain hiding the tear which streaked down his cheek as over and over again he saw a sword cut a man's neck, his eyes widening, a hand clutching his pulsing throat as blood poured out of the man. While his men restrained him, Bardonus shouted only one word towards the man in this memory as hot tears streaked down his face.

'Brother!'