RuneScape:Wiki Post/Fan fiction/Utter Annihilation

Utter Annihilation
by Asparagoose

At dawn the ridge came into sight. Men in iron armour, wrought with white markings and symbols, marched forward steadily. In their hands they held spears, maces, axes and shields, and helms sat upon their heads. Each of them had faces of stone, steely gazes, fixated on the hills ahead of them. Stubble was beginning to show on their gruff faces. None of them had seen sleep or rest in almost a day, and it had been even longer since they had last had a chance to wash themselves or take off their armour. The General had insisted they avoided Ardougne, muttering something about a mage called Lucien and how he did not want to meet him, and the entire army had to march round the city, bypassing the chance to buy sustenance or to see their families. Instead, a long and arduous march over the mountain ranges to the west of Ardougne ensued. They had lost Ragar and Tenarn men to the perilous mountain paths, where the two men plummeted to the jagged, tooth-like rocks below them.

When at last they reached the ridge, they found a small encampment of men there already, each wearing the same armour and the same hardened faces. As they arrived, two captains from the camp walked briskly to the head of the force, where a man stood in full armour, a dull, dark sword held in his hand and a full-helm covering his head.

"General," one of the captains said quietly. "You’re late."

"Pray forgiveness, captain," the General replied, in croaky tones and the sounds of grinding teeth. "My men insist on mourning their dead. It's very unproductive." he paused, and looked from one side of the valley below them to the other.

That way lay a vast scrub-land, a deep-sided valley where the River Dougne flowed through the centre, over which was built three or four bridges. Across the river there were deep trenches cut into the earth, and spears driven into the ground. In the distance, just far enough away for a normal soldier to miss, stood battalions of small, green-clad men wielding bows of yew and maple, oak and willow. But he saw them, for he was not a normal man. Reaching up with a gloved hand, he removed his full-helm and cast it aside.

"Gnomes," he spat, disgusted. His men craned their necks around to get a glimpse of his face. A grin was set into it, unable to be changed, and thick brow ridges, deep temples and sockets where eyes would usually be. Deep in them glinted faint red orbs, flashing in the misty half-light of that morning. Khazard.

"So what's the situation here, commander?" he asked, his jaw moving in stiff and strange motions as he spoke.

"They have us outnumbered 3-to-1, even with your reinforcements, sir. However, our forces possess weapons and training that those pitiful midgets could not possibly comprehend. Until now it has been a bloody stalemate, but with your troops, we can push them back and annihilate that filthy race."

"Just what I wanted to hear," Khazard said, and if his face was not stuck in a malevolent smile before, it certainly was now.

"Well then!" he cried, lifting his iron sword high above his head. "Let us waste no more time with this idle banter!" The soldiers behind him and on either side of him stepped forward eagerly, their maces and spears poised.

"Forward!" Khazard screamed, and the men cheered, charging down the hillside and into the valley, towards the river and the enemy positions.

On the other side of the water stood groups of worried gnomes, holding a bow in one hand, and a quiver filled as full as Bolren could spare upon their backs. Some wore helmets and chest-pieces, wrought of steel, but most just wore their hoods of green and brown, standing there, watching the tide of the Khazard army moving swiftly towards them. Some shivered with fear.

A gnome in red armour and a light bow of magic wood spoke up. "Steel yourselves, gnomes. This is where all your skills come into use. There is the enemy, the vicious spawn of Khazard. He seeks to destroy us, to decimate our villages, to kill our families. You cannot let this happen, gnomes! In the name of Guthix, we will fight valiantly. Even if we cannot drive back this terrible war, we can at least give our friends and families a little more time to escape or to think of something... something to get us out of this mess. Get ready!" he cried, and each and every gnome there raised his bow and loaded an arrow.

"Aim!" and with that, each of them raised the bows high and pulled the strings back as far as they could.

"Fire!"

Thousands of deadly arrows shot from the gnomic bows into the sky, casting thousands of tiny shadows on the desolate, muddy ground. Many found their marks, and hundreds of the new Khazard troops fell back, stumbling and rolling, falling and lying still, dead, with arrows protruding from their necks and chests. The gnome commander, Montai, screamed more orders, and soon another volley was released, and yet more Khazards fell to their sharp tips. By this point, the Khazard forces had reached the bridges, and now the gnomes there were firing at close range, trying desperately to even the odds before the enemy cut them down. Soon, the small, weak bodied gnomes on the front lines fell beneath the mighty maces and axes of the humans, and others ran back to the trenches where their comrades stood and crouched, firing round after round from their bows, but it was no use. There was no end to the immeasurable tide of Khazard.

Back on the ridge, Khazard himself stood, exhaling deeply as he saw the gnomes fall, almost laughing as his armoured soldiers skewered the small men on the ends of their spears.

"Glorious, glorious!" he cried, clapping his iron-clad hands together.

"What now, General?" the commanders asked him.

"Now? We wait, captain. We wait for these little men to fall, and then we can work on burning that village... that abomination... to the ground," Khazard answered.

"And until then?"

Khazard paused for a moment, before smiling wider as he decided. "Why don’t we go take in a show?"