The next morning Erevan makes sure his five ballista bolts are split up. Two loaded on one ballista, three loaded on the other. It’s the best he can do for now. As the tribes people are waking up they sharpen their spears, prepare weapons, they even lay out some ropes between the sturdier structures to try and trip up the giants.

The hunters guild arrives before the giants do. Erevan runs to the gate as they open with his helmet firmly secured. Jarn, Celise, Kalile, Darton, his boar, and a short cloaked figure are standing outside.

“That’s it? Just the kids team?” Erevan’s shoulders sink. “No elite hunters. Not even Koldottir?”

“Koldottir and Marthal are in the capital, Yokind, taking care of business. These are the only indisposed hunters. We even brought the greenest of the whole lot, Niric.” Jarn explains.

“Hi.” The figure takes their cloak off. Their hands are small and covered in fur. As they reveal their face Erevan notices the rodent like features immediately.

The little twitching nose, the whiskers, the big floppy ears, and the large brown eyes. The figure looks to have black and light gray fur.

“You’re a Ratfolk?” Erevan asks with excitement.

“Yeah. B-b-but normally p-p-people run and scream.” Niric says with a strong stutter.

“Well I love it!” Erevan declares.

“Sorry, I’m still hung up on the fact you called us ‘the kids team’.” Celise crosses her arms.

“Well we are teens. Right?” Erevan shrugs.

The young Burkwood turns and starts walking into the village. The others follow and the gates close behind them.

“We can’t meet them on open ground. Our best bet is to get them in the fort and get them down somehow. I’ll be targeting their knees and ankles with my ballistas wherever possible.” Erevan explains.

“Erevan, we didn’t come here to fight.” Jarn interrupts him.

“What?” Erevan spins around. “Then why did you come at all?”

“We need to evacuate these people. There are children in this camp.” Jarn says through gritted teeth.

“Fine then, speak to Warlord Graw’aud.” Erevan marches towards the dining hall.

He pulls the fur cover entrance aside and lets Jarn through. He nods to the others to wait before he follows.

Inside incense is burning and being waved around by Varin. Vali is holding several bowls filled with dyes. Dhievni is singing a prayer as she paints the face and chest of Warlord Graw’aud. Erevan grabs Jarn’s shoulder, the hunter turns around, Erevan shakes his head and holds a finger up to his lips. Jarn pulls his shoulder free of Erevan and marches towards Graw’aud.

“We need to evacuate your village now.” Jarn informs the Warlord.

“You do not speak to the Warlord directly.” Speaker Dhievni says. “And every last one of the Frostblood Clan is a fighter.”

“The infants and elderly?” Jarn begs.

The Warlord nods to Dhievni.

“You may evacuate those who wish to leave.” The Speaker says to Jarn.

“Thank you.” Jarn withdraws, he pushes past Erevan as he leaves the dining hall.

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“This is the help you brought?” The Speaker asks Erevan.

“I am sorry for his cowardice.” Erevan bows before leaving the dining hall.

Jarn and Kalile are trying to find villagers they can evacuate out of the camp. Celise, Niric, and Darton are there facing Erevan.

“What are we going to do?” Celise asks.

“We need to fight, right?” Darton looks at Erevan.

“Hell yeah we need to fight.” Erevan says. “We need to focus on ranged attacks, kiting them around this enclosed camp, and then maybe we have a chance.”

“If they know something is up, couldn’t they just wait us out?” Celise asks.

“You’re right. Let’s spread the tents out to encompass the main dining hall. When the giant comes to speak with the Warlord we will be in position.” Erevan explains.

The group enlists the help of Ozarrik and Zitirius to start moving the tribe's tents. As they are doing so Erevan stops and puts a hand against the ground. The ground trembles.

“They’re here!” Erevan yells. Orcs scatter and climb into tents.

The Warlord gathers seven of his elite guards to his side. They stand at attention outside the dining hall. Erevan lies down on his stomach barely peeking out of the tent. Ozarrik, Celise, and Darton are with him.

The giant’s footsteps become louder, quake the ground, and become almost unbearable. The monstrous man steps over the camp’s wall and approaches the dining hall. He stops before the Warlord and looks down.

“Do you plan on resisting? Quite the strong stock you’ve selecting and I assume you mean to offer yourself up?” The giant grumbles.

“We come willingly and offer ourselves as tribute to you.” The Warlord calls out.

“Then remove your clothes, they get stuck in my teeth.” The giant chuckles.

The Warlord’s fur robe falls to the snow revealing he is holding his black greatsword. Erevan flicks his finger and a ballista bolt fires out at the giant.

The bolt flies through his ankle severing his achilles tendon. The giant falls to one knee. Warlord Graw’aud leaps up and slashes the black greatsword through his throat. All of the tents are thrown back as a dozen orcs throw spears at the back of the giant. Celise fires a flaming arrow at his back.

The giant pushes against the ground with one hand, as blood pours from his throat. He wildly swings his bone axe at the elite guard. He cleaves through all eight of them. Orc blood flies, severed limbs hit the snow, and seven bodies crash across the ground. Warlord Graw’aud is pushed over six feet from where he was standing. His black greatsword held up like a tower shield. He grits his teeth and almost falls to the ground as the giant retracts the axe.

One of the other giants leaps over the wall and crashes down onto two tents, flattening the orcs that were inside. The other giant picks up and throws a boulder. It crashes through the bonfire in the center of the village sending embers through the air.

“Don’t let up!” Erevan yells.

More spears are chucked at the giant’s leader. A few orcs throw spears at the giant that leapt into the clan. Celise fires another flaming arrow at the giant leader.

“I have to save my dad!” Ozarrik charges across the camp towards the Warlord.

“I’ll cover him!” Darton and his boar run after Ozarrik.

“Shit, get back here!” Erevan shouts.

The young burkwood grits his teeth, flicks his hand, and his second ballasta fires at the giant leader.

The bolt strikes the leader’s inner ear. His hands fly up to his ears and he falls to his side screaming. Warlord Graw’aud jumps up onto the giant and slams his black greatsword through the eye of the giant. Killing it.

Ozarrik stops and stares up at his father with awe, and pride.

Until he isn’t there anymore. A flash of motion flies by. A boulder slams into the Warlord sending his shattered corpse flying across the snow. His black blade flies up into the air and strikes down standing straight up out of the snow.

Sister Rheensuf steps forward, drawing the sword out of the ground.

“Kill them all!” She screams.

Erevan focuses on telekinetically reloading his ballista as the orcs surround the giant who has gotten up off the ground. They stab at him from all sides as he steps around slapping and kicking the tribesmen away. Rheensuf rallies Ozarrik, Darton, and Zitirius to her side. They charge the giant and begin attacking him.

Niric, from among the tribespeople, manages to pull Darton out of the way of the giant’s footsteps. The giant grabs a tent and throws it across the field. Zitirius tackles Ozarrik down, barely saving them both from being smashed by the flying debris.

The other giant, still outside the camp, stops searching for another boulder to throw. Instead he silently slinks away and retreats from the battle.

The second giant backs up to the wall. Bleeding from a thousand cuts and being severely outnumbered he tries to climb over the wall and retreat himself. Erevan flicks a finger and a ballista fires after him. The ballista bolt slams into his wrist as he sets it on the wall. His hand comes out from under him as he tips forward. His head collides with the palisade below and a half dozen spears go straight through his skull.