The Goblin Raider Queen

Hooves crash through the treeline. Steel flashes between trunks as a knot of noble riders bursts into view, slow enough to be seen, fast enough to kill.

Old Snarl snaps the camp into line. Spears rise behind the fresh palisade, and Rozah stands in the open with her axe ready as the loot pile gleams at her back.

The noble riders halt just beyond the stakes. One lifts a gauntleted hand for parley, but their bows stay drawn. They want the stolen treasure, and they want the tribe scared enough to hand it over.

The Patriarch laughs bloodily against the palisade, and the answer to Rozah's raid becomes plain, this is no escape now. It is a siege, and the tribe must hold or lose everything.

Rozah whips her head back and roars so hard the palisade seems to answer. Then she hammers the flat of her axe into the fresh logs, splintering bark and sending a hard crack through the yard.

The riders flinch. Hooves sidestep in the mud, and the drawn bows wobble for the first time as her challenge lands across the gap.

Old Snarl throws both arms wide behind Rozah, baring the whole camp like a nest of knives. The treasure pile glitters beside them, unhidden now, daring any rider to look twice.

The command hangs in the air, but the line of riders does not surge forward. One horse stamps and the front rank tightens instead, measuring the logs, the spears, and Rozah's grin.

Across the yard, a horn sounds from the trees behind the riders. More steel answers in the dark, and the siege widens around the camp.

Rozah explodes out from the palisade, axe high, and the mud itself seems to jump from her boots. Her roar slams into the front rank as she barrels straight at the mounted leader.

The vanguard horse snaps sideways under the charge. Bowstrings twitch, one rider overbalances, and the line breaks just enough for fear to show through the steel.

Old Snarl lunges after her, fierce approval blazing across his face as he points the camp forward. Behind him, goblins surge toward the opening, spears and scrap blades lifted.

His shout lands badly. The riders tighten around him, but the horn calls from the trees answer too close now, and the camp is suddenly looking at enemies in front and more of them behind.

Rozah's cut hand flashes red on the axe haft as she drives through the gap she made, and the nobles yield ground instead of meeting her head-on.

Rozah drives her shoulder into the leader’s horse, and the animal shies hard. The mounted noble yanks for balance as his line opens wider in front of her.

Boots, hooves, and spearshafts churn in the gap. Rozah forces through the press and comes out beside the horse’s head, close enough to grab reins or strike.

Old Snarl’s laugh cuts through the din, raw with approval, as goblins slam into the wavering riders from the camp side.

The noble front gives ground in ugly little steps, not a clean flight, but enough to show fear is winning. The horn in the trees answers again, closer still.

Rozah’s cut hand leaves a bright smear on the horse tack as she reaches the leader’s flank, and the leader’s shield comes up too late.