General Valthorn soared through the skies, his keen eyes fixed on the orcish Horde marching below. From this vantage point, he could see that their path would take them well away from Wolf's Run. The perplexing behavior of the Horde nagged at him; they seemed focused on something, but what could it be?
With fortifications underway back home, Valthorn decided he could afford to shadow the Horde a bit longer. Their direction remained unchanging—a straight line pointing to some indeterminate goal. The general accelerated his flight, outpacing the Horde to see if he could spot anything in their path that might explain their objective.
After another hour aloft, he discovered a burgeoning village beside a winding river, standing as if in the bullseye of the Horde's projected route. Circling high above, he weighed the situation. Was this village the Horde's ultimate destination, or simply an unfortunate obstacle in their way? The residents' species remained unknown; they were too small to identify from his current altitude.
As he descended for a closer look, a sense of urgency overwhelmed him. He felt an inexplicable yet undeniable importance emanating from the village. Whoever or whatever was there needed to be warned—and possibly evacuated.
Triggering one of his specialized military skills for long-range communication, Valthorn dispatched a detailed message to his second-in-command. He would land on the outskirts of the village, in a spot visible to its inhabitants, and attempt diplomatic contact.
His wings angled for descent, Valthorn prepared to land, harboring a blend of caution and hope. Would these villagers heed his warning? And more importantly, would they consider seeking refuge in Wolf's Run? Only time—and the success of his diplomatic mission—would tell.
When he descended to a lower altitude, Valthorn recognized the distinct features of the Alfar—the elves. This was unexpected; while Beastkin like himself had the opportunity to migrate when new worlds were integrated into the System, he had never heard of elves making such a move. Elves were known for their deep attachment to their ancestral homes and were generally reluctant to abandon them.
Landing gracefully on a small knoll near the village outskirts, Valthorn waited patiently. He had seen several elves spot him and dash toward a central building—most likely to consult their leadership. He assumed they would send someone out to meet him.
He didn't have to wait long. A small delegation emerged, consisting of five elves. They were ethereal figures—slender and tall, with pale skin that seemed to glow subtly in the afternoon light. Their eyes were a vivid range of colors, from deep forest greens to captivating violets, framed by long, flowing hair that varied from platinum to raven black. They wore light armor, adorned with intricate designs that evoked the natural world—leaves, vines, and elemental symbols.
As they approached, Valthorn felt the source of the mysterious sense of importance he had sensed earlier emanating from this group. One of these five elves carried an air of significance, although he couldn't discern who it was.
Rising to his feet as they drew near, Valthorn bobbed his head respectfully. "Greetings," he began, "I apologize for the intrusion, but I come bearing news of critical importance."
"I am Eliondor, leader of this village," the elf declared, his voice imbued with a lyrical accent that seemed to echo the beauty of nature itself. "Accompanying me are my advisors: Liria, Talorin, Elowen, and Virendil. Your warning is troubling but most welcome, General Valthorn. What you describe confirms our darkest fears."
Eliondor's face contorted in a mixture of grief and resolve as he continued. "The Warchief you speak of, Grazerick, has been a thorn in our side for too long. He laid waste to our former home and has been relentless in his pursuit. We had hoped that, by accepting The System's offer to begin anew on this world, we might escape his malevolent grasp. It appears we were mistaken."
Eliondor paused, clearly wrestling with an internal struggle, then looked up with a sense of urgency. "We are newcomers to this land, unfamiliar with its topography and alliances. We possess neither allies to call upon nor fortified shelters to take refuge in. And given your count of their numbers, a confrontation would be disastrous for us. How soon do you believe they will arrive?"
"From my observations, they should reach you within a day, maybe less," General Valthorn estimated, his feathers bristling at the gravity of the situation.
The elves exchanged worried glances, the weight of the number—800 Orcs—hanging heavy in the air like an unspoken curse.
"Then we have little time," Eliondor said solemnly, looking from one advisor to the next. "We must make a decision, and soon. General Valthorn, your warning has given us a slight but crucial edge; for that, you have our deepest gratitude. Now, we must deliberate on our next move."
"Is there any way we could be of assistance? Perhaps you could join us at Wolf's Run?" Valthorn offered, his tone laced with genuine concern.
Eliondor considered the proposition, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and caution. "Your offer is generous, and one we shall seriously contemplate. Time is of the essence, and soon we must choose our path—whether to fight, flee, or forge new alliances."
"Whatever you decide," Valthorn added, "know that you're not alone. We stand ready to aid you in any way we can."
Eliondor nodded, his face reflecting a glimmer of renewed hope. "Your words bring some comfort, General Valthorn. We will confer amongst ourselves and make a swift decision."
Valthorn landed on a nearby elevated perch, his keen eyes watching as the elves convened in hushed deliberation. The weight of his wings seemed to echo the heaviness of the moment. For what felt like an eternity, he waited, his thoughts drifting between contingency plans and tactical scenarios, all the while wrestling with the uncertainty that loomed ahead.
Finally, Eliondor and his advisors broke their conference and approached, their faces etched with a resolution born from necessity rather than choice.
"General Valthorn, we've considered our options and have decided to take you up on your generous offer," Eliondor announced. "It seems that uniting with the defenders of Wolf's Run offers the best chance for our survival and, perhaps, a way to begin tipping the scales against this common threat."
Valthorn's feathers fluffed up involuntarily, a physical manifestation of the relief that washed over him. "You honor us with your trust, Eliondor. We'll do everything within our power to ensure the safety of your people."
"Very well," Eliondor nodded, "then time remains our most pressing adversary. We'll begin preparations to evacuate immediately. How best can we coordinate our efforts?"
"I'll fly back to Wolf's Run and arrange for some guides and scouts to meet you en route," Valthorn said, mentally outlining the logistical demands the decision entailed. "We'll also prepare our defenses for an increased population and, of course, the impending Horde."
"Agreed. We shall break camp as swiftly as possible and make our way to your settlement," said Eliondor. "Your kindness may very well be the salvation of my people, General Valthorn."
"I merely offer you the same compassion you've shown by trusting us," Valthorn responded, his gaze meeting Eliondor's. "In these troubled times, it's unity that will serve as our strongest shield."
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"Then let us be united, and may our shields withstand whatever the fates throw our way," Eliondor declared, his words filled with a gravity that left no room for doubt.
Valthorn nodded in agreement, his talons pushing off the ground as his wings unfurled. With a powerful downstroke, he took to the sky, each beat of his wings echoing the urgency of the task ahead. As he soared through the heavens, Valthorn couldn't help but feel a mixture of hope and trepidation, a duality that seemed all too fitting given the challenges that lay ahead.
Valthorn had provided the elves with directions leading them towards the southern tip of the Spider Forest, instructing them to then head east. He planned to have scouts meet them well before they reached Wolf's Run and had already sent a message outlining his intentions. Determined to ensure their safe passage, he took to the sky to scout the route ahead.
Gliding above the forest, his keen eyes strained to penetrate the dense canopy below, alert for any signs of danger. Although he didn't spot any unusual movements or flashes of light—only the normal activities of small forest animals—he remained cautious. The elves had to reach Wolf's Run swiftly and without incident.
As he veered away, he glanced back and noted with approval that the elves were already in motion. Supplies were bundled on the ground, and horses were being loaded with all manner of portable items.
Clearly, these were a people accustomed to living on the run. Their ability to mobilize at a moment's notice was a skill Valthorn himself knew all too well. This rapid readiness, he thought, would be an asset in the uncertain days that lay ahead.
Valthorn appreciated the efficiency and readiness of the elves. It was clear they had honed their skills through unfortunate necessity, being prepared to evacuate at a moment's notice. Such qualities would serve them well in their journey to Wolf's Run, and potentially in the defense of the city itself.
The spider forest below him was as unsettling as ever, the dense canopy making it difficult to see anything below. As much as he wished to scout further, his priority was to ensure a clear path for the elves. Thankfully, there were no signs of larger threats—no roving bands of orcs, and no monstrous creatures lurking. Only the normal wildlife, which, while not entirely safe, was considerably less dangerous than an organized war party.
Completing his aerial reconnaissance, Valthorn banked sharply to the northeast, angling towards Wolf's Run. As he approached the familiar walls of the city, he found himself mentally running through the tasks ahead. They would need to prepare for the arrival of the elves—additional housing, food, and, of course, integrating them into the city's defenses. But most of all, they had to be ready for the approaching orcish horde.
Landing gracefully within the city's limits, Valthorn sought out his second-in-command to begin implementing the preparations. Even as they laid plans and sent runners to inform various parts of the settlement, Valthorn couldn't help but feel that time was their most precious and dwindling resource. As efficient as the elves had been in breaking camp, travel on foot and horseback would be slow, especially through unfamiliar terrain.
"Let's make sure our guides and scouts meet them well ahead of schedule," Valthorn instructed. "I want continuous reports on their progress, and we need to be prepared to mobilize a relief force if they encounter any trouble."
"Understood, General," his second nodded, scribbling down notes and orders to be disseminated.
"As for the rest of us, it's time to bolster our defenses and prepare for war," Valthorn added, his eyes sweeping over the fortified walls and towers of Wolf's Run. "We must be ready for what's coming, and we must be united. Our survival depends on it."
For hours, the atmosphere was a frenzy of activity. People bustled from task to task, catching quick breaks when they could, and endlessly reorganizing storage areas. Collective funds had been pooled to secure two additional barracks and a stockpile of ammunition for arrows and arbalests. With those acquisitions, their coffers were nearly emptied.
Amidst the chaos, Rose found a brief moment to herself. Slipping away to a secluded room where she had previously discovered a mirror, she felt a pang of worry for Sinclair. Laying the mirror flat, she activated the scrying spell, focusing intently on his image.
Gradually, a distant scene coalesced in the glass. Sinclair was in combat, fighting in what appeared to be an underground rampway. Flickering fires revealed his battered state; he was bleeding from several wounds. His faithful companions, Chewy and Leia, were darting around, harrying the monstrous adversaries he was battling.
Rose's throat tightened as she realized she was powerless to assist him. Sending a silent prayer to whoever might be listening, she begged for his safety and quick return. She couldn't bear to watch him suffer any longer, so she severed the magical connection. With a quick swipe, she cleared the tears brimming in her eyes, tucked away the mirror, and returned to the central staging area.
The room buzzed with activity, functioning as the operational nerve center of the impending conflict. Elders, along with Bruce and Amelia, occupied the space, aided by runners who shuttled information and instructions to various work groups.
An hour earlier, news had arrived that the forward scouting team was close to making contact with the elven delegation. No sign of Orcs had been reported, which was the only sliver of comfort amid the tension.
General Valthorn entered and caught Rose's eye. "Rose, would you please join me? I have a favor to ask. Can you use your scrying skill to keep tabs on a few key elements? We need updates on the Elves, their village, and the Orcs."
Rose felt a pang of guilt for not having thought of this sooner. "Of course, I should've thought of that myself," she responded, quickly taking a seat. She pulled out the same mirror she'd just used, her thoughts heavy with concern for Sinclair. She hesitated, contemplating whether to share her vision of Sinclair's peril with his parents but ultimately decided against it, fearing it would sap morale at a critical time.
Unfamiliar with the subjects she needed to observe, Rose initially zoomed out her focus over Wolf's Run. Valthorn, peering over her shoulder, guided her. "Follow those trees until you reach the river, then head south. Look for a single rock jutting above the tree line. Once you find it, change course to southwest for quite a distance. That's where I last saw the Orcs."
Taking his cue, Rose maneuvered her scrying lens across the landscape, scanning for the telltale signs of a horde's passage. Within minutes, she found evidence of their destructive march. Twenty minutes more of focused searching brought the Orc horde into view. They moved like a relentless comet, their presence gouging the earth as they passed, leaving utter devastation in their wake.
"Orcs have little regard for the natural world," Valthorn muttered. "Now, continue straight along that path until you reach a bend in the river. The village should be visible from there."
Pushing past the image of the Orc horde, Rose resumed her search and located the village approximately 40 minutes ahead of the Orcs, given their current pace. As she zoomed in for a closer look, she noted, "The village appears empty. Many traces of their passage have been erased, although not entirely. It might suffice to slow down the Orcs while they work out their next move."
Relief washed over Valthorn's face. "That's welcome news. Our scouts have just made contact with the elves. They're helping the young ones onto centaurs and other suitable beast-kin for a faster return."
Eager to complete their reconnaissance, Valthorn instructed, "Let's head northwest and fan out. We're now searching for the elves. I estimate they should be about ten miles north before they start veering east to circumvent the Orcs."
Within a short span, Rose located the elves in a meadow. The adults were placing the few children they had onto the backs of centaurs, and helping the elderly to mount as well. "I only see maybe ten children," Rose observed, puzzled.
Nodding gravely, Valthorn explained, "Elves reproduce slowly due to their long lifespans. The small number of children and even fewer adults suggest that this group once belonged to a much larger elven community."
His words added weight to the urgency of the situation. The elves were not merely running from an enemy; they were fighting to preserve the last vestiges of their civilization.
Hearing about the scarcity of elven children ignited a small but intense fire in Rose's belly. She had always adored children. Though uncertain if she would ever have her own, she reveled in spending time with those of her friends, finding them endlessly fascinating. The thought of these monstrous beings bent on annihilating such innocent lives fortified her resolve. She silently vowed that they would succeed only over her lifeless body.
Before returning to his manifold responsibilities, General Valthorn tasked Rose with keeping a watchful eye on the elves and monitoring their route back to camp. "They should arrive in about three or four hours, right around sundown," he estimated.
The community of Wolf's Run had been industriously preparing for the newcomers' arrival. They empathized deeply with the refugees, understanding all too well the challenges of being displaced, especially with children in tow. Wolf's Run itself was burgeoning, its population swelling as more allies joined their cause.
Bruce and Amelia sat quietly, their eyes avidly observing the whirlwind of activity around them. They were like sponges absorbing water, soaking up every ounce of knowledge they could. However, a lingering concern nagged at them: how would humanity react to the presence of these "strangers" once they returned to Earth? They had been told it would be several more days before that happened. As they pondered these questions, both fervently hoped for Sinclair's safe return.
Nearly four hours had passed when the elven delegation finally made its appearance at the threshold of Wolf's Run. The BeastKin Elders, along with Bruce and Amelia, stood at the ready to receive them. Taking deliberate steps forward, Eliondor emerged as the spokesperson for the group.
"Thank you for welcoming us into your sanctuary. I am Eliondor, the leader of the few remaining survivors you see before you."
Though he used the word 'few,' the crowd that followed him was by no means meager. Approximately eighty souls stood behind him, not counting the children. Nearly all were armed, be it with bows or swords, appearing both fiercely formidable and ethereally beautiful at the same time. Their eyes bore the weight of loss and hardship, but also twinkled with the unspoken promise of newfound alliances and hopeful tomorrows.
Bruce stepped forward, extending his hand. "Welcome to Wolf's Run. General Valthorn informed us of your situation. You are welcome here. Hopefully, we can jointly address the threat at hand."
Eliondor shook Bruce's hand. "Your hospitality is appreciated. Thank you for taking us in on such short notice."
"Not an issue," Bruce replied. "We have two additional barracks that should accommodate everyone. Any horses you brought can be stabled in our barn. After that's settled, let's meet at the Town Hall to discuss next steps."
The elves took about an hour to settle their young and elderly into the barracks. A handful of the elves, bows in hand, volunteered for wall duty, offering their unparalleled night vision as an asset to General Valthorn.
As the elders and Eliondor's group made their way towards the Town Hall, a messenger sprinted up to them, panting and out of breath. "Come quick! The Orcs have reached the village and are changing course," the messenger relayed.
A palpable sense of urgency filled the air as their strides lengthened, everyone eager to learn the details of this new development.
Upon entering the meeting room, they found Rose looking somewhat disheveled, visibly drained from the prolonged use of her scrying spell. Scrying was a mana-intensive activity, and she was taking a moment to regenerate her reserves.
General Valthorn wasted no time. "Rose, what have you seen?"
Rose looked up, her expression sober. "The Orcs followed the trail as we expected until they reached the abandoned village. They swarmed the area, finding it almost empty. That led to a lot of wailing and teeth-gnashing among them. It took some time for them to regain their composure. They've now sent scouts in all directions. It seems they've picked up on the Elves' trail because they're now heading in our direction. Based on their current speed, they'll reach us by morning."
General Valthorn's face remained stony, though the gravity of the situation was clear. "Well, at least now we know when to expect them. I suggest everyone gets some sleep. When the scouts signal that the Orcs are about an hour away, we'll wake everyone up. We'll need all the rest we can get for the battle that awaits us tomorrow."