The Orc Horde had been patient, advancing at a measured pace, but they had finally reached the gates of Wolf's Run. They arrived just in time to see the massive wooden gates swing closed with a resounding thud, secured by iron bars. The walls that greeted them were imposing, standing at a formidable 15 feet, and constructed with a sturdiness that spoke of careful craftsmanship and robust materials. Lacking siege weapons, the orcs realized they would need to fashion some ladders for scaling the barriers.
Inside the walls, the residents of Wolf's Run were dry and well-fed, thanks to careful preparation. While no one relished the impending battle, there was a palpable resolve in the air. These people were ready to defend their home, even if it meant bloodying a few orcish noses in the process.
General Valthorn stood atop the ramparts, his eyes scanning the horizon as dawn broke, casting long shadows over the advancing horde. This would be the most grueling fight of his career. He had faced similar hordes in his years of service, but always with a considerably larger force at his command. Now, with limited resources and manpower, every decision he made would weigh heavily on the outcome of this battle. It was a test of his strategic acumen, but more than that, it was a test of the resilience and courage of the people of Wolf's Run. And they were ready.
General Valthorn gracefully descended from the ramparts, landing near the makeshift war room where the council had convened. The council table was an eclectic mix, representing various facets of Wolf's Run's defense. Seated were the beastkin elders, Bruce and Amelia, as well as Eliondor, Liria, Talorin, Elowen, and Virendil. Observing from a second row of seats, Ed, Rose, Alice, and Victoria listened intently. Bruce and Amelia were particularly engaged, as their relatively limited experience meant that they were still in the steep curve of learning.
As Valthorn approached, Elder Talgrin, a seasoned veteran and long-time friend, broke the silence. "General Valthorn, what's the situation? Do you think you can single-handedly take on the horde?" A light-hearted chuckle accompanied his words, underscoring the camaraderie that years of friendship and numerous battles had fostered between them.
"I wish it were so, my old friend. But we're both getting a bit long in the tooth for such heroics," Valthorn responded, surveying the council table. "The Orcs have arrived and seem to be digging in. Given our recent fortifications, they'll need ladders to breach our walls. Orcs aren't known for their magical prowess, save for some rudimentary witch doctor abilities, and they're practically devoid of archers. That leaves them with brute force and the likelihood of attempting to batter down a door."
Bruce leaned forward, curiosity piquing his interest. "How likely is that scenario? I know you've mentioned their strength, but what should we specifically prepare for?"
"Prepare for the inevitable," Valthorn asserted. "They'll likely fell a sizable tree and employ it as a makeshift battering ram, carried by around ten Orcs. I've already ordered our troops to brace the doors, which should buy us some time. However, we'll need our Elven archers to focus their fire on those carrying the ram, slowing down or stopping their advance."
"What are our actual chances of stopping them?" Amelia interjected, her voice tinged with urgency.
"Lady Amelia, I don't mean to paint a grim picture. Our odds are favorable," General Valthorn assured her, his voice infused with as much conviction as he could muster. "We have robust defenses, a versatile fighting force skilled in both magic and melee, and Elven archers whose accuracy is unparalleled. Losses are inevitable, yes, but I wholeheartedly believe we will weather this storm."
Continuing, Valthorn outlined the enemy's likely strategy: "Orcs shun diplomatic parleys and formal introductions; they see them as signs of weakness. Expect them to spend the next few hours crafting ladders. Afterward, they'll probably make their initial attempt to scale our walls at multiple points, resorting to sheer brute force. Failing that, they'll likely concentrate all their might on a single door. Their tactics may be crude, but they're doggedly persistent. Thankfully, they can't call upon reinforcements, or we'd be facing an entirely different scenario."
Elder Talgrin nodded, finally speaking up, "Let's return to the walls to monitor their movements. If General Valthorn's assessment holds—and I have no doubt that it will—we should expect the first wave before lunch."
As they dispersed to their respective posts, most of the beastkin elders remained in the pavilion, ready to address any last-minute concerns, since they wouldn't actually be on the walls themselves.
Ed, Alice, Rose, and Victoria made their way to the Southern Gate, which faced the enemy most directly. They'd been assigned to defend this section as a cohesive unit, allowing more seasoned troops to cover other vulnerable areas. Despite their best efforts, relaxation eluded them in the tension-filled hours leading up to the anticipated assault. The weight of impending danger hung in the air, making it difficult to put aside thoughts of potential loss.
Seizing the opportunity, Rose produced a mirror and offered to scry on Sinclair. "Anyone interested in seeing what Sinclair's up to?" she inquired. The group's spirits lifted noticeably.
"You never told us you could do that!" Victoria exclaimed, her voice tinged with surprise and a bit of indignation.
"I know, I know. The last time I checked, he was in the thick of a battle and things weren't looking good. I didn't want to alarm anyone. Let's see how he's faring now," Rose explained.
Positioning her mirror for communal viewing, she invoked the scrying spell. A moment later, Sinclair's image materialized, flanked by two animals. Although familiar, they looked extraordinarily different.
"What in the world? Who are those creatures? They look like Chewy and Leia, but incredibly different," Ed observed, his eyes widening in disbelief.
"Is it possible to hear what he's saying?" Victoria inquired. "He's talking to someone."
"Let me see." Focusing intently on the spell, Rose amplified the mana output until faint voices from the other side became audible.
Sinclair was in the middle of a conversation. "...Yes, I must return home now. The issue in the mine has been addressed. You had a nest of Myrkr there. I eliminated as many of the nests as I could find, but I recommend sending reinforcements to conduct a thorough sweep in case I missed anything."
"I can't thank you enough," responded a woman visible in the mirror's view. "As promised, aid has been sent to your people. They should have already arrived and begun setting up. I have some additional items for you, but you can go through them later." She handed Sinclair a bag, which he promptly stored in his magical storage device.
"There's one more thing," Sinclair said, signaling for Mage Turgrin to join him. Turgrin had been casually lounging nearby. "I'd like to extend an offer of employment to Mage Turgrin. He's been invaluable in teaching me skills I didn't know I needed, and I'd like to bring him back to Wolf's Run as a staff mage."
Eagerly, everyone watched as Sinclair interacted with those around him, comforted by the sight but intrigued by the developments.
The woman, now identified as Lord Garret, turned to Turgrin, astonishment coloring her features. "Turgrin, is this something you'd like to do?"
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Seeming almost disconnected from the moment, Turgrin replied in his characteristic, absent-minded tone, "Yes, Lord Garret. I wish to accompany Wolf Lord Hagerson back to his city for a time."
"Very well, gather your belongings and make haste. He'll be departing shortly," Lord Garret instructed.
As Turgrin shuffled away to retrieve his belongings from his lab, Lord Garret returned her attention to Sinclair. "I'm amazed you managed to coax him out of his lab for this visit. I nearly have to threaten him with bodily harm to fulfill his routine duties. It's not that he's negligent; he's just so intellectually engrossed that he's often in a realm entirely his own."
Chuckling, Sinclair winked at her. "I must be quite fortunate, then," he said, a playful reference to his own impressive statistics.
Eyeing Sinclair as though he were a curious puzzle, Lord Garret shook her head once more. "You're going to be the cause of my gray hairs. I'll arrange for a squad to escort you home. Don't be a stranger; you're always welcome here."
"You should come visit us sometime. I think you'd enjoy it," Sinclair suggested, already beginning to move away from their meeting spot.
As he turned his back, he couldn't see—but his friends observing through the scrying could—Lord Garret staring after him, a thoughtful glint in her eyes. It was as if she were genuinely weighing the merits of his offer.
The scrying connection abruptly ended, leaving everyone in contemplative silence for a moment.
"Well, he's certainly been up to a lot," Ed finally remarked, carefully avoiding eye contact with Rose.
Victoria jumped in, aiming to steer the conversation away from potentially awkward territory. "He seemed utterly focused on getting home. Must be something—or someone—really important he needs to get back to."
Alice playfully elbowed Rose in the ribs. "See? Told you to quit being so coy and silent."
Flushed with embarrassment, Rose quickly stowed her mirror in her storage. "I could really use an Orc attack to break this tension right about now," she muttered.
The others exchanged glances, silently relieved not to be the target of Rose's frustration. Though generally sweet-natured, Rose was known to have a temper that could flare up on occasion.
As the sun approached its zenith, casting short shadows over the landscape, an unmistakable tension enveloped the fortified city of Wolf's Run. Its formidable stone walls, rising to a height of fifteen feet, were bristling with the tips of arrows and spears. Archers, mages, and warriors from various races stood side by side, their collective gaze trained on the treeline that concealed their impending foes. General Valthorn, battle-hardened and grizzled, surveyed the scene from his vantage point atop the ramparts. His eyes were like those of a hawk, missing nothing as they scanned the edge of the forest beyond.
The defending force was a diverse assembly. Elves with arrows nocked stood next to beastkin wielding traditional weapons of their tribes. Humans, both mages and swordsmen, filled the ranks. Then there were Ed, Alice, Rose, and Victoria, a tight-knit unit who had claimed the Southern Gate as their station. Each was marked by a blend of grim determination and haunting dread, knowing full well that the day could end in mourning.
Across the field, obscured by the forest's shadow, the Orc Horde rumbled with activity. A monstrous gathering of brawn and ferocity, they wore mismatched armors scavenged from previous conquests. Faces scarred and twisted into permanent snarls, they gripped their crude but deadly weapons with anticipation. While they may have lacked the finesse of the elves' archery or the arcane mastery that the human mages held, they made up for it in raw, unadulterated power.
Finally, as the clock inched toward noon and the sun blazed down on them, the first sign of movement was observed among the trees. Long, makeshift ladders were laid carefully on the ground by the Orcs, who gathered around them in clusters. Shouts and growls filled the air as they organized themselves. In a singular, coordinated motion, the Orcs lifted the ladders and began their advance across the field toward Wolf's Run, their feet pounding the earth in a rhythmic cadence of impending doom.
At that moment, a horn blasted from within the city walls, its sound a clarion call that echoed through the hearts and souls of all within Wolf's Run. It was an ancient sound, signaling the advance of an enemy, and it summoned the courage that each defender would need in the trying hours to come. The haunting note of the horn seemed to linger, suspended in the warm noon air, a prelude to the cacophony of battle that was now inevitable.
As the Orc horde picked up speed, their thunderous footfalls reverberated through the earth like the drums of war. Faces contorted in a mixture of rage and excitement, they brandished their weapons high above their heads, roaring as they charged. Their eyes were set solely on the walls of Wolf's Run, unaware of the hidden dangers that lay before them on the ground they traversed.
Suddenly, the front ranks faltered. Over a dozen Orcs plunged into concealed pitfalls, their triumphant cries transforming into howls of pain and surprise as they impaled themselves on hidden stakes at the bottom of the traps. Others were caught in concealed snares, pulled off their feet and left dangling helplessly in mid-air. Realizing the peril, the rest of the advancing army slowed their charge, adopting a zigzag pattern to navigate the treacherous field.
It was the moment the defenders had been waiting for. "Loose!" cried General Valthorn, and in an instant, the air was filled with a deadly hail of arrows. Elves on the ramparts, possessing uncanny accuracy, picked off targets with lethal precision. They aimed for gaps in armor, eye slits in helmets, and other vulnerable points, making each shot count.
Orcs stumbled and fell, their bodies becoming pin cushions for the storm of arrows descending upon them. Yet, remarkably, some persevered. In a grotesque display of resilience, several Orcs continued their advance even with multiple arrows protruding from their flesh, their eyes burning with a savage determination that bordered on madness.
The defenders stood their ground, gripping their weapons a little tighter as they prepared for the next phase of battle. The air was thick with the acrid smell of blood and sweat, the tension almost palpable. And yet, the horn's haunting note still seemed to hang in the air, as if suspended in time, a grim reminder of the deadly struggle that was only just beginning.
The clash of this intense battle unfurled over agonizing minutes that seemed to stretch on forever. The defenders atop the walls continuously notched and loosed arrows, their eyes narrowing as they picked their targets from the approaching horde.
Some Orcs had adapted their tactics. Carrying large, crudely fashioned shields, they advanced in a phalanx-like formation, their shields raised to ward off the rain of arrows. These shield-bearing Orcs offered some measure of protection to those behind them, creating a bulwark that allowed a small contingent to draw nearer to the wall.
Finally, a group of Orcs reached the base of the wall, their faces flushed with exertion and triumph. Wasting no time, they propped up a couple of their long, wooden ladders against the fortifications. The ladders were crafted from thick logs, solid and difficult to dislodge.
The defenders quickly realized that the strength of the Orcs was not to be underestimated. Those who tried to push the ladders away found it to be an immense struggle. Even the most formidable among the defenders, those with unparalleled physical strength, could barely budge the ladders. The Orcs, seemingly fueled by sheer will and a primal need to conquer, had reached their first milestone in this dire assault. They were at the wall, and the struggle was far from over.
The first Orc to peer over the wall was greeted with a powerful kick from Alice, sending it tumbling backward to crash among its comrades below. Energized, Alice shifted her weight onto the balls of her feet, poised for more action.
Undeterred, the Orcs continued their relentless assault. Multiple ladders now leaned against the wall, and the Orcs at the base began to fan out to cover a broader stretch of the fortifications. While it was impossible to ascertain the exact number of fallen enemies, a cursory glance revealed that hundreds still remained, hungry for battle.
High above, archers persisted in loosing arrows upon the invaders. Though their effectiveness waned as more Orcs armed with shields joined the ranks, the defenders remained steadfast. This tense standoff lasted for nearly half an hour until eventually, a couple of Orcs managed to secure a foothold on the wall.
As the Orcs clambered onto the wall, Ed gripped his club tightly and swung it in a sweeping arc, knocking back several Orcs who had just ascended a ladder. Each impact resonated with a heavy thud, the force of the blows reverberating through the Orcs and causing them to lose their balance. Victoria, staying a bit back from the chaos, focused her energy on healing. Her hands glowed with a soft light as she channeled her magic, sealing wounds and restoring stamina to their tiring defenders.
Alice, her muscles tensed for action, unleashed a flurry of kicks and punches, each delivered with pinpoint accuracy and devastating force. Orc after Orc fell from the wall, either incapacitated or hurled back into the throng below. Rose, her eyes glowing a faint blue, raised her arms and uttered an incantation. With a flick of her wrist, a torrent of flames erupted from her hands, consuming one ladder and its unfortunate occupants, while another gesture sent a bolt of lightning crackling through a cluster of Orc shield bearers.
Below, the Orc chieftain roared in frustration, urging his shamans to counter the humans' magic. Dark energies swirled as the shamans chanted, and the atmosphere itself seemed to grow heavier, more oppressive. But before their spell could reach its zenith, a volley of precisely aimed arrows from Elven archers found the shamans, interrupting their dark rites. The surge of magical healing that had been building within the Orc ranks faltered and broke, leaving them more vulnerable than before. With renewed vigor, the defenders capitalized on this momentary lapse, fiercely maintaining their wall against the relentless Orcish onslaught.
Just when it seemed that both sides had settled into a brutal, grinding stalemate, the sun reached its zenith, casting a harsh light over the battlefield. Hours had passed in a blur of steel, magic, and arrows. The exhaustion was evident on both sides, but especially among the defenders. The Orcs, despite their losses, were unyielding, constantly refreshed by spells of regeneration that their shamans managed to complete in lulls of Elven arrow fire. Victoria and other healers worked tirelessly, their reserves of mana dwindling as they patched up wounds and mended broken bones.
But even their most potent spells couldn't hold forever. A deafening crash reverberated through the air, drawing everyone's eyes to the front doors. Cracks were forming, wood splintering, as a tree-turned-battering ram manned by a dozen Orcs smashed against it. Each hit was a hammer blow to the defenders' morale. Victoria looked at her companions, her eyes meeting Ed's, then Alice's and Rose's; they were all battered, sweaty, and running on fumes. No one had to say it: they were at their limit.
Just when despair seemed ready to take hold, a distant but distinct sound floated on the air—howls, a chorus of them, too numerous to count. At first, the defenders thought they were hallucinating, their minds broken by the relentless fighting. But as the howls grew louder, becoming a symphony of lupine cries, everyone knew that something—no, someone—was coming. And for the first time in hours, hope rekindled among the defenders of the wall.