Until the first volley, the Goblins stared stupidly on, as though uncomprehending. It wasn’t until the arrows began to bite, falling thick amongst their ranks, that utter panic set in. Rather than organize sorties to attempt to break free from their Elven attackers, they instead remained where they were, milling about in a panicked frenzy, trying to use each other as shields from the hail of missiles. Many ran madly about, frothing at the mouth in incoherent terror. Some cursed the Elven soldiers, railing at them to stop, unable to believe that anyone could do something so unspeakably cruel and heartless.
As the Elves spent the last of their arrows, they dropped out of the line of archers, one by one, went to their waiting mounts, and returned on horse bearing lances. By this time, the remaining Goblins knew that they were done, that they would receive no mercy. Some fought. But many, if not most, lay down their weapons, if they hadn’t done so already, and waited, some praying to their subterranean deities, others standing motionless, heads bowed. At first, many Elf soldiers held back, unwilling to slay people who wouldn’t defend themselves. But curt orders, then threats, caused them to set aside their reservations, and they reluctantly proceeded to finish the job.