A well-coordinated ambush… right?

The twang of my bowstring as my arrow is hurled towards my target sounds through the otherwise silent forest. Perhaps a half a second of silence, then the rest of my party follows suit, firing each of their attacks at the pack of previously unaware goblins. The twang of a much larger bow and the whoosh of several spells cause the pack of goblins to wheel around and face us. By then, it’s far too late for them… is what I’d like to say.

Unfortunately, we were far from what I’d call a trained military ****. All of us had a few vague ideas regarding tactics, and how a successful ambush should go, but unfortunately, they didn’t really translate all that well. What I had been expecting, and no doubt what the rest of the party had been expecting as well, was for us to coordinate our attacks, leaving 5 of the 6 goblins wounded, or if we got lucky, dead.

Each of us had visualized the plan in our heads. It was a good plan, sure to help us end this fight before it even really began. However, the thing with coordination, especially in a group, is you actually have to coordinate with your group if you want to properly coordinate. It sounds dumb, redundant even, but a quick conversation back at camp, some basic pre-planned tactics, and we would have achieved our goal of weakening most of the enemy, instead of what actually happened.

Goblin one, the one which had stopped to sniff the air, hissed in pain as my arrow buried itself in its gut. Goblin two watched, completely unmolested by attacks, sporting an expression of what was probably alarm. It was kinda hard to tell, what with them all being ugly as sin, and their default expressions set to ‘endless hunger’. Gobin three, however? Goblin three had a really bad day. The scrawny little bugger was fine one moment, then was propelled backwards at speed, having taken three spells to the chest, and an arrow to the head. Both groups watched as the goblin soared through the air for what seemed like an age, but was probably only a couple of seconds, before landing in a tangled heap, completely unmoving.

I recover from the shock first and drew in a large breath as I prepare to shout orders. The time for stealth had passed. Now, we needed to take down these buggers as quickly as possible. “EM, USE YOU FLASH BOLT, EVERYONE ELSE, COVER YOUR EYES!” I took my own advice, still wincing at the stab of sudden brightness through closed eyelids as Emily’s spell landed. Our opponents suffered much worse, however, if the sounds of distressed hissing were anything to go by.

Opening my eyes again, I draw another arrow from my quiver, all the while shouting, “ASH AND MUM, APPLY YOUR BUFFS. LISA AND EM, FOCUS FIRE ON MY TARGET. WE’LL DROP ONE GOB, MOVE ON TO THE NEXT IN LINE.” I fire a second shot at the goblin I’d already injured, and, too dazzled to see the attack coming, the goblin took the arrow in the shoulder. It wasn’t a fatal shot, but the following firebolt and arrow were.

By the time number one’s body hit the ground, the group of goblins' eyesight had mostly recovered. Hissing at us eerily, the goblins drew their weapons, then charged as one. At least, that's what it felt like in the moment. Being charged by these truly monstrous creatures, their weapons raised, baying for our blood, and desiring nothing more than to rend our flesh, it was easy to lose sight of the big picture.

I reach back for another with my right arm, desiring nothing more than to get one last shot off before these creatures reached us, only to grunt in discomfort as I feel something impact the underside of my forearm. The strength of the hit feels like a hammer blow, only one also accompanied by a painfully uncomfortable pinching sensation.

I grit my teeth, but power through the pain. At least that’s the plan. Only, when I tilt my wrist back to grab my next arrow, screaming lines of fire travel up and down my forearm. My gaze is drawn away from the charging goblins, an instinctual reaction to find the source of my injury, and for a moment, all I can do is I stare numbly at the wicked-looking crossbow bolt buried in my forearm.

“ARCHER!”

The sudden shout is enough to break my revery. Naturally, that’s when the pain registers. Gritting my teeth, I store my bow, now useless without the use of my right arm, and retrieve my spear, cursing to myself as I try to bring the long weapon to bear with my offhand. I watch as Lisa and Em drop one of the charging goblins, the pitiful creature going up in a conflagration of flame as one of Em’s spells sets it alight, before switching targets to the goblin in the back, who was hastily re-cocking its crossbow.

By this point, the two goblins still charging are practically on top of us. Ash and Mum stand side by side, weapons at the ready, prepared to hold our side of the stream. With a gargled yell, the first goblin reaches the stream, wades into the knee-high water, and swings its rusty hatchet down in an overhead chop. I hear the thunk of metal impacting wood as Mum deftly blocks the strike on her shield, then an alarmed yelp from the goblin as it’s showered in sparks as Mum’s aura activates.

The second goblin splashes into the stream, not that far behind the first. The creature's eyes are warily locked onto Ash, her longsword offering considerably more reach that its corroded shortsword. The second goblin suddenly lunges towards Ash, who swipes at the creature the moment it’s in range. The stab, however, is a feint. Ash’s slash whiffs, her sword harmlessly cutting nothing but air despite her increased speed. The goblin then lunges towards Mum, driving its sword into her thigh, just above the knee. The creature grins savagely, twisting the blade in the wound, causing the leg to buckle and driving Mum to one knee.

She cries out; her face white with pain, but all the same attempts to swing at her unexpected attacker. She has to abort her attack as the goblin with the hatchet takes advantage of her momentary distraction, forcing her back on the defensive. The goblin with the shortsword pulls back its blade, but in its bloodlust, over-commits to its attack. Instead of backing off, it prepares for another strike against the distracted target. It’s a fatal mistake. The arm holding the shortsword splashes into the stream, lopped off at the elbow by Ash’s backswing. The miserable creature has just enough time to lament its poor life choices (probably) before my spear finds its throat.

Considerably less brave now that it’s all on its ****, the goblin with the hatchet springs back from the three of us. This too was a poor decision on the goblins part, because as soon as it leaps clear, the final goblin is instantly struck by an arrow and a firebolt. The heavily wounded goblin staggers backwards, only for it to be finished off by a second round of ranged attacks. Relative silence returns to the forest. The only sounds I can hear the burbling of the stream, the panting breaths of our party, and the steady swearing of some of the wounded, i.e., me.

Stowing my spear, my hands flow through the gestures of Minor Heal. Mum sighs in relief as the torn muscle in her thigh knits itself back together, and the bleeding eventually stops. Then, it's my turn. I look down at the bolt in my arm before sucking air through my teeth and looking away. The worried faces of my family don’t help overly much. ‘Maybe I don’t need to take it out, it’s magic after all.’ I cast Minor Heal again, this time on myself.

I have a moment to hope, before the cold realties of the universe take over. I drop to the ground, screaming in pain as my body attempts to heal around the bolt. My vison practically whites out, and I swear I hear the blaring of a horn for a moment, before the sound is suddenly cut off. Eventually, but not nearly quick enough for my liking, I become aware of my surrounding again. My family stands over me, staring off into the woods and looking incredibly worried.

I open my mouth, meaning to assure everyone that despite appearances, I was mostly fine (literally, my HP was sitting pretty at 153/170). The comment dies in my throat as, from deeper in the forest on the other side of the stream, a horn sounds, only slightly muffled by distance. I prop myself up on my good arm, looking in the general direction of the horn. I’m just in time to see one of the goblins sporting several new spell and arrow wounds. The creature slumps to the floor, a small hunting horn falling from its now limp hand. ‘Well, that’s not fucking good. This is going to fucking suck.’ gritting my teeth, I yank the bolt free in a short, sharp jerk. It hurt. A lot. In the short time it took for me to cast my Minor Heal again, I had probably combined some pretty potent profanity into new forms, never before heard by man nor beast.

I sigh in relief as my spell takes the edge off the pain, casting it again to bring my health up to full. Clambering into my feet, I look in the direction the horn had sounded from, cursing up a whole new storm when I heard the clattering of equipment and yells of more goblins fast approaching. “I’m so sorry! I thought it was dead! It’s all my fault!” I look over to Em, then shake my head in denial of her statement. The poor girl is distraught, clearly worried that her perceived blunder had gotten us in over our heads.

“Not your fault, Em. Combat was hectic, and we had no way of knowing that the goblin was playing dead.” Before I can speak any further, I see the first flash of movement from the other side of the stream. Through the trees, I see the running forms of more goblins, still a ways off, but closing fast. It's tough to get an accurate count at this distance, but at a quick guess I place this group at roughly twice the size of the first.

We can either attempt to run, or we can stand and fight this larger group, using the stream as a natural barrier again. If the speed at which these goblins are moving is any sign, the flowing water and treacherous footing had certainly slowed our opponents down during the first skirmish. I come to a snap decision. “If we had even a little more time to plan, we would have creamed that first group at range. I say we stand and fight, who’s with me?”

The group nods, some slightly more enthusiastic than others, at which point I start speaking rapidly. “Line up against the stream. Left to right, Em, Ash, Mum, me, Lisa. Em and Lisa, back up a couple of paces and sidestep once away from the group. When they come into range, try to stick to targets in the position opposite you. If that’s a no go, fire at the clearest target unless we need to focus fire. Also, Em and Lisa, once we engage, keep an eye out for any enemy ranged. Drop them first whenever possible, especially any mages, if they have any.” I take a breath, then continue. “Ash, how’s your mana?”

“Not great, its bright as shit out so Dark Bolt really chews through my Mana pool.”

“Can you use a bow?”

“Well enough.”

I quickly unequip my shortbow and quiver, handing them over to Ash, who wastes no time equipping the gear. A quick glance at my Mana Bar shows me I’m at 197/280. Enough wiggle room to cast a few attack spells. I make a mental note to keep around 90 points in reserve for healing. I clearly see our new opponents for the first time, no more time remains for planning. Two groups of six, one led by another archer, and the second, by… ‘a fucking shaman.’