As Thorian stood atop the towering western gate, his eyes swept across the vast expanse of his assembled army with a mixture of pride and anticipation. Before him stood a formidable force—a legion composed of monsters, kobolds, goblins, and orcs, organized into disciplined units. Even the humblest goblin, armed with innate abilities and honed skills, held the potential to wreak havoc upon the fragile human settlements. Meanwhile, his mightiest warriors possessed enough strength to single-handedly ravage entire cities.

Flanked by his two trusted generals, Forlune and Zogarth, Thorian surveyed the scene. Forlune, a wild spark igniting his countenance, exuded impatience, eagerly anticipating the imminent challenge. In stark contrast, Zogarth bore a solemn expression, lost in strategic contemplation, seeking the most efficient approach for the impending operation.

"Time for action," Thorian declared, pivoting on his heel before gracefully descending from the elevated perch. "Let us advance."

At his command, the western gates creaked open, and an unrelenting torrent of monstrous creatures surged forth with a primal ferocity. Each step they took underscored their swiftness and raw power. Beneath the shroud of night, they advanced with purpose.

Since the onset of the apocalypse, the forest had known no respite. Its once serene ambiance was now an orchestra of terror—the agonized cries of creatures mauled by savage beasts, the clash of monstrous titans, and the desperate screams of those unfortunate enough to seek refuge within its confines—all of these sounds reverberated incessantly. Yet, this particular night carried a different cadence.

"The left flank is secured, my lord," Zogarth leaped to Thorian's side, delivering his report.

"And the right is likewise under control," Forlune announced with a chuckle as he joined them. "These creatures pose no significant challenge."

"You'll find your desired challenge soon enough," Thorian responded, a faint smile gracing his lips.

As he turned towards their destination, Thorian glimpsed Locksley's walls rising amidst the trees. Mere days ago, they had stood formidable, impregnable. Now, they lay in ruin—torn, scorched, and desecrated—mere remnants of their once-grand stature.

"Tonight, we reaffirm our dominance," Thorian proclaimed. "This is merely the initial stride toward our boundless conquest!"

At Thorian's words, Forlune erupted into laughter, casting a wild gaze over their assembled forces. "Did you hear our lord? Tonight, we shall carve our names into the annals of glory!"

"For glory!" echoed the rallying cry from the troops.

The forest, shrouded in an eerie silence, was suddenly awash with the cacophony of monstrous roars and resounding battle cries. Each reverberation fueled Thorian with an unyielding determination, stoking the fires of his unwavering resolve.

Ah, this is what I enjoy. Leading my men from the frontline, sharing in the glory - that is my purpose.

As Thorian's faint smile contorted into a predatory grin, the march toward Locksley seemed to transpire in a blur. As they approached the gate, indistinct figures loomed through the veil of night.

"Halt!" Thorian's command brought the monstrous army to an abrupt standstill. He turned to his right, beckoning Forlune. "Fetch Alacritas."

"At once, my lord," the moon kobold acknowledged, bowing lightly before venturing back into the ranks. Moments later, a silver-furred kobold, Alacritas, emerged beside Forlune. Though sharing a resemblance in fur, Alacritas possessed a lean and lethal build, fitting for an assassin of his caliber.

"Alacritas, I task you and your team with scouting the unknown force," Thorian directed, nodding towards the shadowy figures by Locksley's entrance. "Bring me their count and assess their armament. I need to know their strength and intentions."

"Yes, my lord," the silver assassin affirmed. "I shall not disappoint you."

"Excellent," Thorian patted Alacritas's shoulder. "Off you go."

In a blur, the assassin vanished from sight. Within moments, Thorian observed Alacritas and his team darting towards the obscure figures, their movement imperceptible to all but the most keen-eyed observers amidst the night's shroud.

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"Let us wait," Thorian ordered as he reclined against a nearby tree.

Baffled, Forlune approached him. "I don't understand. We have a formidable army. Why not engage them in battle?"

"We lack intelligence on their numbers or purpose," Thorian replied, one eye open. "I won't risk our forces against an unknown adversary while the guardians remain to contend with."

Forlune, still grappling with his dissatisfaction but unable to counter Thorian's rationale, silently retraced his steps. Addressing the assembled army, he relayed Thorian's instructions. "Our lord has spoken. We'll make camp here. Keep noise to a minimum and rest."

As minutes passed, the monstrous horde found concealment among the foliage, obediently obscured by the forest's cover. Meanwhile, Thorian, reclining against his tree, discerned faint movements in the air.

"They're back," he grunted, rising to his feet. Three figures swiftly materialized before him—the assassin team.

"My lord, I return with the report," Alacritas approached Thorian and knelt on one knee. "Their numbers total around 150, mostly foot soldiers armed with basic swords or spears. Approximately forty of them are heavily armored horsemen. They wield lances as their primary weapon, with short swords as their secondary armament."

"Excellent work, Alacritas," Thorian praised, affectionately petting the silver assassin's head. He cast a smile toward the rest of the team. "All of you performed admirably. Rest now."

With a nod of acknowledgment, the assassin team vanished in a blink. In their wake, Forlune emerged.

"So, we're moving to defeat them now, aren't we, my lord?" Forlune inquired, expecting a certain response.

Chuckling softly at the anticipated assumption, Thorian turned to meet Forlune's gaze. "No, I intend to speak with them."

Forlune's features contorted in bewilderment and surprise, grappling to comprehend Thorian's unexpected decision. "What? Why, my lord? I fail to understand. Their force is feeble—so much so that I alone could vanquish them all. Why engage in conversation?"

"I empathize with your sentiment, Forlune," Thorian sighed, shifting his focus to the human army ahead. "But in due time, you'll come to realize the gods hold humans dear. They are their favored toy."

Forlune's mouth hung open momentarily. "I-I don't comprehend, my lord. What do you mean?"

A fleeting expression of frustration crossed Thorian's face before he turned away, releasing an exasperated sigh. "Let's approach it this way: I'll converse with them. If they maintain civility, we reciprocate. Our primary objective wasn't them anyway; it was the guardians. If they refrain from obstructing our path, there's no need for bloodshed."

With a reluctant nod, Forlune excused himself, returning to the rest of the army. Simultaneously, the sound of Zogarth's approaching footsteps reached Thorian's ears.

"Are you in disagreement with my approach as well?" Thorian pivoted with a wearied expression.

"No, my lord. I would never question your commands," Zogarth assured, shaking his head. "I was merely intrigued by your statement regarding humans as the gods' favored toys."

"Ah, that," Thorian turned towards the human army, a soft chuckle escaping him. "As Forlune suggested, we possess the ability to easily overpower this army, to even lay waste to this city, should we choose."

Thorian then regarded Zogarth, his expression serious. "However, some among them would survive and flee. And those, my friend, are the most terrifying. Through some divine intervention, they would unearth unimaginable power. Eventually, they'd return with a vengeful darkness capable of destroying us and themselves in the process."

Taking a moment, Thorian chuckled softly. "That's why I referred to them as the gods' favorite toy."

How could I not understand? For I am too but one of their toys.

After a moment of silence, Zogarth broke it. "I comprehend your perspective, my lord."

"Do you now?" Thorian raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, I do, my lord," Zogarth affirmed. "I've heard such tales numerous times. The elders used to recount them."

Thorian chuckled softly. "Your elder is indeed wise."

Turning his gaze back to the human army, his expression turned grave. "I'll speak with them alone. You and Forlune stay close behind me, and the army should remain farther away. Not too near, not too distant—we aim to assert our presence without sparking conflict."

"With unwavering devotion, my lord. Your command is my obligation," Zogarth responded fervently.

Thorian waited until his forces took their positions, then confidently strode forward. His steps exuded assurance, a belief that everything would unfold precisely as he envisioned. As he neared the human army, their myriad expressions became discernible: fear, bewilderment, astonishment, and dread intertwined in the faces before him.

As Thorian surveyed the assembled ranks, his search for William Ravenwood, his lifelong friend and the lord of Locksley, proved futile. Only William's son, Tristan, and a cluster of other nobles were visible amidst the troops.

Halting at a distance that stirred the knights to tighten their grip on their lances, Thorian turned to face the entire human army. The palpable tension hung heavy in the air, stifling any hint of conversation. Taking a deep breath, Thorian prepared to speak.

"Where is your king?!" His commanding voice pierced the stillness, resonating sharply among the ranks. Slowly, realization dawned, jaws dropping in collective astonishment.

Observing their bewildered expressions, Thorian repeated with fervor, "I ask again, where is your king?!"