Documenting a battle is a difficult thing. Reports always conflict, and memories are never quite as accurate as one would wish. In the account which follows here, I have endeavored to create a fluid description of the battle, editing out anything which would only add to the natural confusion of such a document. I have included several personal reflections here, including those of Lords of Krynn, such as Lord Rachus, and even some accounts of the invasion force (which I stumbled upon while researching the demise of Lord Mess).
There were several key factors which contributed to the successful defense of Skara Brae. Among them were the rangers' organization of the townsfolk, Lord Mess' daring initiatives, reinforcements from Lord British, and the cooperation of so many diverse groups. Each of these elements can be inferred from the account here, though not all of them had primary sources for me to draw upon (such as the elves mentioned in passing by Lord Connor).
Again, my thanks go out to Lady Kianne, who shepherded the documents as best she could. If not for her forward thinking, this battle would have been just another footnote in the annals of the Lords of Krynn.
This is the final chapter in the epic battle of Skara Brae.
Until we meet again, at the Inn of the Last Home.
-- Cleric Theobald
Keeper of the White Stoll, Holy Order of Stars
Guild Scribe, Lords of Krynn
***
Mess staggered forward and fell forwards through the gate into Skara Brae, and straight into the arms of a ranger lass. "Nor," Mess whispered.
"Mess," she replied, then laid him softly on the ground to rest. She looked up at Connor and the other rangers assembled at the Skara bank.
"Connor, what is going on?" Wrigley asked.
"Aye Connor we've been getting bad vibes from the forest of late. What's afoot?" asked Rachus.
"We stand ready to assist, Connor," spoke one of the Knights of Solamnia gathered to listen. The rangers and knights gave ear to the Lord of the Green as he hastily clarifies what has transpired prior to the fortuitous ranger reunion.
As Connor verbalizes the horrible vision, Rachus begins to experience a feeling like his chest is empty. It feels as if only his pounding heart sits in the chest cavity, barely able to beat as he quickly realizes what this all means. Not that he fully grasps what all these events mean, far from it, but knowing what hazard it implies for Skara and the rangers in just a few short hours. As he glances to the north of the bank, yearning for the comfort of the small forest there, Rachus contemplates back, remembering the past few months.
He's spent most hours lately in dungeons killing all sorts of evil creatures, not understanding fully what drove him. Not thirst for blood, this is his not nature, not fame or fortune though he managed to amass plenty of both. He was driven to kill more and more dangerous and darker beasts as he was able to dispose of them. It's all clear now; I was being prepared for this great battle, he thought. All those balrons, drakes and dragons were nothing compared to what lies ahead. May I serve well.
Nothing that happened previously matters now. The air in Skara reeks of evil; something is near. His gleaming eyes focus again on Connor and the rangers, this shall be the greatest trial the Wildrunners will face in a long time. May Paladine bless us and Melikki guide our path. The enemy awaits, the only comfort are the friends on his flanks. He glances at Mess and AD-J, wondering where some of his other good friends are. He stares uneasily at Azutah for a second, knowing from previous encounters with her type what exactly she was, and wondering what her role in all this is. I wonder if our hearts will stand the rage of such evil as Krekk. There is much to plan and little time to do it.
Mess awoke again and looked around. "How did I come to be in Sca--oh, I remember." Mess got to his feet and dusted himself off, he felt like a fool laying on the ground at the bank. Mess looked around at the rangers slowly assembling and he spun names off in his head. Rachus, Nor, Wrigley, Stacey, AD-J, Kianne, Altus, Magnui, Jade, Markalen, Balinor, Connor, to name a few, plus the knights including Tal, and the lady with pointy teeth Azutah. He looked down at the black panther and a pang hit his heart as he remembered his horse, Redemption. I hope he is off eating grass someplace, he thought to himself. Mess locked eyes with Connor and muttered a phrase. Connor, not quite hearing, asked what he said. "Take out the general and the army will fall," Mess replied. "Well, it wouldn't work with any normal army but orcs are too stupid to lead by themselves, and if Krekk falls I am sure they will fall apart into typical chaotic orcish fighting."
Azutah tucked the maps from Clair away in her pack, doubting Connor or any of his friends would need them. They all seemed to know what they were doing. And somehow they seemed to keep multiplying. By nature Azutah was independent and felt a little more than uneasy around large groups. After all, she had good reason. The more people, the better the chance that one of them's a slayer. Yet none of them went beyond a suspicious glance. She supposed it was because Connor told them not to. She wondered what would've happened had she met this bunch without the reassurance of Connor telling them all she was okay. She shuddered at the thought. Sure, she was strong. But she couldn't possibly defend herself from a group of people this large. She walks on and Shalita at her feet seems to catch her jitteryness. He paces, growling uncomfortably at the humans' slow pace. Well, slow to him. He looked at Azutah mournfully, pleading her to talk to him. But she refused. She was already known as the black sheep. She would not have "the insane lady" piled on top of that title.
Wrigley thought to himself, Mess is surely a mess. Man, he can take a thumping and still walk. If I can snatch an orc scout, maybe Lord Connor and Mess can use the info I get. Connor may not approve the methods. Mess would keep it between us on how he got it. Long as it's gotten quickly and quietly. Quietly, he slipped out of sight, briefly catching Nor's eye as he did so. Damn, he thought, that woman is too crafty. Most paid little attention to Wrigs, or so he thought, but the ladies always kept an eye on him. Twas his beard, rationalized Wrigley, women love a man with a beard! Wrigley looked about the island, then looked across to the mainland and spotted a perfect spot for any lookout. If he were assigned lookout, that's where he'd be. He incanted a teleportation spell and landed safely across to the mainland...and waited. When there was a scout to grab, and when Wrigley decided on a course of action, good or bad, it would be seen through. It wasn't a great plan, but it was a plan none the less, and the info could prove very valuable. If not, either way, there would be one less orc to deal with later. Win-win situation as far as Wrigs figured.
While the rangers and knights continued to discuss strategy, Mess quietly excused himself to carry out some preparations. He retrieved some items from his bank box, then went out to the shoreline and dove in. Several moments later, Mess's head broke the surface of the water. He took a deep breath, then sighed in relief. He looked to the shoreline where a few rangers stood discussing preparations. Connor approached them and had a few words then they all dashed off on another task set for them. Connor looked out at Mess in the water gave a quick nod then walked back into town. Strange. No one has even asked me what I am doing out swimming around, he thought to himself. Perhaps I was too quiet when I excused myself, he laughed to himself.
Mess fumbled a backpack onto his back then began his swim back in. As he swam and delighted in the nice cool blue water then grimaced as he thought of the color it would become. Mess got to shore and walked out of the water and loped into a run toward the ferry. It only took a few minutes to reach it but when he did he was dry and hot again and was glad to leap off the jetty but not before dropping one backpack and picking up another he had left there previously. He came to the surface with a smile and swam to the ferry roped in the center of the channel where he stopped and removed his pack. On the ropes he wound a coil of wire with barbs in the precise fashion he had been directed by a tinker he knew and if all went as previously tested the invaders were in for a shock. He then swam back and made a few modifications to the ferry itself then climbed back up and out of the water. Nearly done, he sighed, then picked up the pack and loped off towards the western side of the island. It had been over an hour since the rangers had arrived.
He stopped and looked up at the work the carpenters from Builder's Delight had done and smiled in satisfaction. On the top of all the buildings on the west of Skara was constructed wooden platforms and channels that angled down on the sides to the ground and stopped at chalk lines on the ground. These chalk lines were where the ground began sloping towards the shore. Mess climbed up one side of a building and opened the backpack. At the very top of the wooden constructions was a small platform with a small box and within the box he placed a location rune and a scroll. He then climbed down and did the same thing on The Shattered Skull, the Rangers Guild and Beasts Of Burden. A few rangers looked on but no one said or asked a thing of him, they all trusted and knew he knew what he was doing.
With that all done he smiled to himself and walked back to the bank and approached a banker. "Hail sir, can you open my bank box?" he asked with a smile. Poor soul, he thought to himself, this banker knew Skara was in peril but he stayed on to help in any way he could. Mess patted him on the shoulder as he brought his box out and laid it on the table then walked off as another ranger walked in with a similar request. Mess opened the box and stared inside, and went over a mental inventory then nodded in satisfaction. He stripped off his clothes and donned a thin shirt and britches then carefully took out of the box a mail tunic. He slipped it over his head and it hung loose as if it was a size too large then it vibrated and shrunk to his exact size. Mess smiled and reached inside once more and withdrew a set of leg and arm mail, they were also too large initially but shrunk to fit. He took out a set of worn but sturdy gloves and a dull copper ring. He placed them both on and flexed his muscles; he felt stronger. Two more things came out: a silver necklace and a set of worn green boots. Both went on and at last he smiled. "Banker," he called, as he slipped two pouches on his side then took his sword from the box, unsheathed it and held it up. It radiated a light and hummed quietly. The banker eyed the sword then asked if he could be of assistance. Mess motioned to the box and it was taken away and locked up.
Mess walked to the door and stopped. He opened a pouch and drew a long black cord out then resealed it. The cord unfolded and he tied it from shoulder to waist. He smiled as he thought, "Officers must be formally dressed at all events," but I'll be buggered if I'm wearin the kilt. Mess walked out into the warm air of Skara Brae and didn't seem to notice the mayhem as scores of people ran around setting up defenses and preparing themselves for what will be the worst battle they had ever seen. He sighed and took one step when a ranger came running into the outskirts shouting at the top of his lungs.
"THE FORCE HAS ARRIVED AND IS MOVING IN! PREPARE FOR BATTLE!" No one screamed but all hell broke loose as people ran left, right, and center. The few rangers that he seen calmly walked up to the bank and armed themselves as he had done, then walked off again to man their positions.
Mess began walking off towards the northwest where one of the first assaults would start when three mages from the shop Mage's Menagerie ran up and bumped into him. "Milord," one began, then the other two took over the talking and talking so fast it was all Mess could do to keep up with them. He made sense of a few words then told them firmly to calm down and talk one at a time. The most senior of the lot spoke up and lifted a parcel into his hands. "Sir we will not let you down, we will do as we promised even if it means we get washed away with the tide sure to follow."
"Good to hear, lads," Mess said.
The mage continued, "We have taken the liberty of enchanting a longbow for you and as a little surprise we have enchanted the arrows in this quarrel." They all smiled, very proud of themselves.
Mess accepted the gift then told them to man their posts and started off to his post slinging the bow and the quarrel over his shoulder. Mess stopped at the tree line and looked northward. He glanced westward and realized they would only have a few hours of sunlight left. He shrugged to himself, he could fight blindfolded if need be. But could the commoners do so well in the dark? He heard footsteps behind him but didn't turn around, he knew it would be one if not more of the rangers sent by Connor to hold off this landing, maybe it was even Connor himself, Melikki knows we could do with his bow at this vantage point. The sword at his side let out a sharp song and Mess snapped his eyes back northward. A water elemental came roaring from the distance and behind it was a barge full of orcs. Mess sighed and strung the bow then lifted it high with an arrow in place.
"And so it begins," he said aloud.
Connor raced forward, his thoughts interrupted by the calls of the scouts. "Army Approaching!!!!!" Mess dashed off and Connor quickly dispatched some rangers to his aid, including AD-J, Leldorin, Athena II (who had finally caught up), Magnui and Altus. "Jade, take a second group and make sure the moongate is held; we cannot allow the evil to spread from here. Nor, Markalen and Wrigley will accompany ye. Fight well. Rachus and Nikai, you act as skirmishers I want as much confusion as possible at the back of the army. The elves are about, and Nikai you know better how your people fight. Ki and Talmorrr, we three along with Clair and Azutah are going right up the middle and I plan to find this army's leader and fully impose some Ranger justice.
With that the rangers all moved off to their assigned tasks and Connor drew not one blade but two, both glowing with stored energy. The Lord of the Green wore his finest chain and he was prepared. They were all ready.
Talmorrr, atop his dragon, softly sighed. He wondered how many would die this day. He had debated whether he should stay out of view until the last moment. But he had never hidden and he wouldn't now. He could see the orc horde as its advance force came into view. He chuckled as he heard their consternation at seeing a dragon and rider. They were furiously yelling and arguing among themselves. Obviously this orc horde leader had told them their victory would be easy. He raised his sword and his dragon roared their defiance. No, this orc horde's job would be damn tough.
Azutah grasps her sword and follows Connor and the others. She reaches into her pouch and pulls out a dusty looking silver ring. She places it on her finger and grumbles, Never thought I'd be using this again, but you can tell she's happy to help. Armor forms on her wrists and shins and a breastplate appears specially fitted for her. Yet strangely she wears no helmet. Her black hair tumbles down her back and she grumbles and pins it up. The sword which she holds is magnificent, carved with intricate words and symbols; a blue stone, shining defiantly, placed in its hilt. Shalita, recognizing his mistress' battle gear roars as loudly as possible, baring his fangs and glancing around menacingly. Azutah leans over and smiles at her companion. "You take care of yourself out there." Shalita purred in agreement and Azutah stands back up and readies herself for the worst. Though most wore grim expressions her red lips curled into a smile showing her fangs. She glanced about and wondered if she would indeed need Blackfire. She hoped the war wouldn't get that bad.
The explosion could only be one thing. A fireball, and the screams within Skara's Town Hall all but confirmed it. Had Jade not sent Wrigley to Sundrie Supplies for more oil, the explosion would have never been heard. Wrigley deftly nocked an arrow, kicked the door of the Hall open, and was looking eye to eye with the foulest orc he had ever seen--or smelled! The only edge Wrigley had was an orc who was more startled than he. Instinctively, the arrow was loosed and the magical bow, Talon's Rend, transformed into a bright silver broadsword. The arrow ripped through the chest of the orc and sunk into the body of a second immediately behind him.
Looking over their falling bodies, Wrigley could see the unmistakable glow of a magical gate open at the center of the Town Hall. By the gods! The bastards have gated right into the Elders of Skara Brae! Panic and fear was on every human face Wrigley spied. Hatred and a bit of shock was on a few of the orcs. The gate was glowing brightly, and as a spear thunked into the door frame next to Wrigley's head, he rolled into the room and vanished behind a table. Sticking the sword into the hardwood floor, he heard a second gate opening and quickly began the casting of a spell. Simple yet effective, a wall of stone appeared before the new gate. No more coming through, at least for now, Wrigley ducked back behind the table, flipping it over, and making a rickety wall. Only three more orcs remained, at least one of them a mage. A scream wailed above the chaos within the Hall. A woman's cry of agony. Wrigley rolled to his right and came up on one knee, a dagger at his fingertips. An orc had a woman, by her hair, suspended above the floor with one hand and an axe in the other, ready to strike. The dagger flew through the air with barely a whisper of noise, and sunk into the ribs of the creature. Not a killing shot, but it mattered not, as the creature fell to the ground and began foaming at the mouth and spasming as it lost control of it's bowels. The woman fell to the floor and scrambled for cover. Wrigley dove back behind the table, but not before a searing bolt of lightening struck him in mid flight. The pain was excruciating and the smell of his own burnt flesh nearly caused him to vomit. Grasping Talon, he popped the seal from a potion of healing and began gulping.
Time was against him, as he heard footsteps approaching. Then, a shadow passed over him--from the doorway! In stepped Jade. The power of the magical energy contained in the bolt was truly impressive, and when "Cor Por" was uttered and that energy was released three times in quick succession, Wrigley knew no good could come of it for the orcs. "Wrigley, where's that damn oil?" demanded Jade, with a smile on her lips. "If yer through playing with these foul creatures, we've work to do."
Mess dived to the side and rolled, coming up behind a tree as a fireball exploded where he had been standing firing off the arrows. So far they had decimated the orcs with a good forty struck down on the approaching rafts but soon they would all land and orcs would overrun them all. Mess leaned around the tree and fired off three shots, all striking the mage in the chest, it fell back and splashed into the water. With it gone, Mess stepped back out and continued firing at the others on the raft. It was only then that he noticed the quiver that the mages had given him was still full of arrows. Mess smirked and kept firing. More orcs fell and the rangers even managed to fell a water elemental, leaving the orcs sitting ducks, but more came and eventually managed to unload. Chaos broke loose as two parties of orcs ran in to remove the bowmen from their perfect and devastating vantage point. Mess dropped his bow and quiver and shouted, "Cover me!" then leaped out, drawing his sword...
...Light flashed and as the sword was drawn, the world slowed. He advanced on them before they even cleared the beach, and his sword flashed out as the orcs slowly raised their axes. Arrows lazily zoomed past him to strike orcs and he easily dodged and struck more blows. Two orcs took his sword in the face as he danced between them and before they even fell to the ground he had another impaled up to he hilt and kicked it off. Mess spun around to face an orcish lord and as it swung its axe up to strike him it fell forward with four arrows in its back. He leapt over the body and engaged an ogre that had just lumbered off a raft. The great creature swung its club in an arc meaning to catch his advance, but he was much too fast and dove inside the ogre's effective reach and drove his sword straight up into its groin. He leaped backward, somersaulting as the ogre tumbled forward...
...The world sped up again and he looked around, the orcs' landing parties were all dead and the water elementals were racing off back through the water. The sword sung in joy at the demise of so many evil creatures and he slowly turned to walk back to the trees to take up his position. As he got back he said to the rangers, "Round one," and smiled, picking up his bow and quiver. He turned back to the water and readied his bow as five more elementals came over the horizon. Light flashed in the distance and fireballs came streaking over the water. "Take Cover!" Mess yelled.
***
The mainland Ranger Guild burned as the orcs and fire elementals marched off to sack another building they could find. So little resistance we faced here, thought an orcish lord. Little did he realize he was walking the edge of a very large pit with very large, sharp spikes. He looked to his right and smiled as he saw a small chest half buried under some hay. He looked around too see if any of the others had seen it but they had and all at once being greedy little creatures they leaped forward to grab it. With only one step forward, the whole squad of orcs crashed through the fake ground and fell, impaling themselves on the stakes.
An ogre lord walked to the edge of the pit and laughed at the orcs' stupidity. He leaned over the pit and picked up the chest and spat on the orcs dying down below. He stood up and studied the chest then ripped the lid off, thinking he was going to get some lovely gold. An explosion ripped off his left arm and burned his face and chest and he screamed in fury, then fell forward and tumbled into the pit and impaled himself.
Three more squads of orcs, ettins and ogres continued on looking for buildings to sack. Many more traps remained hidden. Down the beach moved a large force meaning to take and hold the jetty. Behind them trailed scores of fire elementals. On the west side of Skara Brae, out at sea, five lots of two squads positioned themselves to strike inwards and take the western half. On the roof of the building waited mages for those very orcs with instructions from Mess. Six squads of orcs and mages rapidly approached the moongate via water elemental express. Ten squads of a combination of orcs, mages and ogres landed in unison at the southeastern jetty and launched their attack, trying to take the jetty itself.
Chaos reigned and at his command post Krekk looked into a crystal ball and hopped around with glee. The images shifted and all battles currently taking place came into view one at a time. He watched as the stupid orcs and an ogre lord died to ranger traps. He watched as the parties landed at the jetty. He watched the mages sitting on the roof of a building and laughed at their cowardice. Then the image shifted to a ranger on a beach moving with blinding speed, dodging arrows which were taking out more orcs than he had foreseen. The ranger eventually stopped and Krekk caught his Breath. "How could it be?" he murmered to himself. "I killed him!" he roared. Krekk studied the scene then saw what the ranger was holding and the song from it pierced his skull and caused him pain. "The sword!" he roared, "He has the sword!" Krekk went from a sickly shade of black to a slightly paler gray. His eyes burned a molten red. Then he called in his generals to issue new orders.
Now the battle to take Skara has a new twist as twenty air elementals fly over the water to reinforce the taking of the moongate and twenty air elementals course over the water to take a ranger with a sword--a sword that Krekk knows and remembers all too well.
Standing on a protruding rock that reached over the raging seas, Sargasian watched the chaos unfolding before him as orcs were being horded into boats, huge water elementals waiting to tow them to the island. Now dressed in crimson armor, he rejoiced in the devastation he could sense as the island's defenders engaged the orcish hordes on the beachhead over the sea, sand turning red with blood. It did not matter whose blood was spilt to him, any death was a cause for rejoicing. The mainland buildings lay ransacked and burning behind him, there had been little resistance as the army had been far too large and overcame the meager defenses easily. He looked into the blue sky that was quickly turning black with the fires of war and smiled.
An orcish lord approached and bowed before him. Surprisingly, Krekk had given him a squadron of orcs to command, but only with the orders of, "Do what you will with them, just cause chaos amongst the defenders." This made him laugh and he considered killing them instantly, but then he thought to himself maybe he could have a bit of fun first. "Get up, dog!" he snarled at the orc. "Bring me one of the prisoners, we have a ceremony to perform before I even think of fighting." The orc ran back to the squadron and growled Sargasian's order to them and they quickly left in the direction of the prisoner pen. Sargasian smiled. Today would be a good day.
Sargasian was unperturbed when the orc reported that the prisoner pens the squad had come across were empty. Let the daemon worry over such details, he was only concerned with the haggard looking man they had staked to the rocky outcropping that protruded over the ocean. He shooed the orcs away as he preformed his dark rites on the prisoner, skinning him alive and ending his life my cutting his throat then washing his face with the blood and incanting an unearthly spell. Since he had absorbed the last of his bloodline, he no longer needed to grant sacrifices to his wicked deity as his power was now complete. A beam of dull red light shot forth from the corpse staked out on the makeshift altar, and streamed into the smoke blackened sky. Wisps of black cloud gathered quickly, thickening producing a gigantic dark thunderous mass. Sargasian pointed to the island of Skara Brae and as if on command the cloud moved with unearthly speed and rested directly over the isle. Thunderstrikes shook the air as heavy dark rain began to fall on the island, the defenders and the orcish army both looked on in astonishment, visibility was almost impossible now. Sargasian smiled wickedly; it was time to talk to the daemon.
***
Connor drove forward, diving and weaving in between orcs. The ranger was confronted with an ettin, a huge two headed beast. Connor dove forward and spun twin blades, singing a song of death as the ettin collapsed in a heap, his tendons cut cleanly in half. The ranger lord was on the move again toward a group of small children who were being menaced by the orcs. An orcish lord snarled towards a scared little girl who screamed. The orc lord never had a chance; Connor's swords ended his life along with the few others that followed him. "Get those children to safety!" snarled the ranger lord, and he spun again, back into the fray.
Tirlon watched the beach. The rafts had been launched. The first of them had reached the beach, the others were being propelled by the elementals. He smiled. The rafts are exposed. Time to strike. The winds rise. The water churns and is choppy. The orcs are confused. Many fall into the water. The rafts propel backward. Elementals attempt to hold them back. The pressure is too great. Something has to give. Many rafts splinter. Orcs die. The winds calm. He surveys the water. Many rafts are split and sundered. Orcs on the beach stare stupidly at this. Fireballs fly from his hands. More orcs die.
Shalita roars as an orc swipes at his tail attempting to pick the panther up by it, chanting, "Kitty, kitty, kitty!" Azutah frowns and lops the foolish orc's arm off. Connor shouts orders, words without meaning to her. Until he says something about children. Her eyes widen and she immediately perks up, spotting the little ones. She strides over to them, a tender expression on her otherwise grim face. She motions for the children, frowning menacingly at any orc who dared stand in her way. Her sword came in hand on many occasions, but that was very much to be expected. She sees a silver outline in the shadows and goes near it, the children following. She calls out nervously, "Clair? Ummm, can you hide these kids till it's safe?"
The felinoid Clair removes her invisibility shield and smiles her answer, gathering the children up to her and finally closing the invisible cloak once again. Every so often an orc would fall by some mysterious force, sometimes the glint of a chatchka made of an unusual substance (for weapons, that is) would fly out and strikes an ogre and be retrieved by someone or something that couldn't be seen. Azutah smiles to herself, then as she was preoccupied by making sure the children were safe an orc grasps her from behind, with an evil laugh. She growls and struggles to free herself, and despite her strength, she couldn't get free. She bares her teeth angrily and her stomach churns at what she's going to do as her vampiric fangs sink into his green flesh. She groans and the orc yelps and jumps back ten feet and she leans over and pukes. The smell was horrid and the blood tasted no better. She spits, trying to get the taste out of her mouth, then draws her sword and continues the onslaught.
In between the moongate and the position held by Mess and the other rangers, ten squads of orcs land and strike inwards toward the Skara bank. Ettins, ogres and an ogre lord trudge through, tearing down trees to find a suitable club. On the southern edges of the island where the jetty holding the Skara ferry rides the waves, fifty odd orcs cheer in success as they overcome the forces holding it. At the shop Superior Ships a girl screams for the guards and some of Lord British's city guards teleport to her location at the sound of her call. Four of the powerful guards begin slicing at orcs, but they may be overpowered by the fifty orcs and five mages laying siege upon them. All along the western shore squads of orcs land and begin pouring inwards to take the island.
Behind a tree line, Mess and his companions continue the barrage and now they all use the never ending quiver of arrows supplied by the mages. Orcs pile the shore and their bodies start to make a barricade to hide behind. The rangers all get ready to drop the bows and engage hand to hand. Mess, all too eager to cleave heads, drops his bow and runs in to engage. Once again for the ranger, aided by his magical sword Bane, the world slows and he moves like lightning.
On the mainland jetty the defenders suffer a horrible defeat as sixty soldiers die. The jetty is taken and the invaders rejoice by dancing in the blood of the slain. Poison and blood elementals take up their position to defend the mainland jetty at all costs.
Connor recognized the magic at work as the rain fell and the lighting skewed through the air. The jettey was lost, this much he could feel through the eyes of the birds and the animals that encrouched through the land. Connor snarled in defiance and the ranger knew it was now time for the second and more desperate plan he had envisioned but dreaded to use. The ranger began a dance, an old dance perhaps even older then time itself. He lost himself in the rhythm of the feeling for a few moments. Those facing him felt the power of the elven war song as the strange man with two swords begin to swerve and move with blinding and inhuman speed his swords cut half their number in a few short breaths. An air elemental sprinted forth to do battle only to be dissipated by the ranger lord's swords almost as quickly as it moved towards the rangers. Time after time the ranger slashed and moved side to side, weaving and ducking, slashing and killing. His green cloak was now covered with blood of fallen orcs and ettins and many times the flare of an elemental dying flashed thru the sky. Then the bloods came forward and a few rangers fell back, their armor rended beyond repair. Connor drove forward towards them and for a second he made a large difference and there were again flares of dying elementals. But he could not protect everyone in his party. "Azutah!!! Can ye do anything about those bloods? Kianne!!! The rain, if ye please!!! Come on, lads and lasses, for the RANGERS and FOR KRYNN!!! WE STAND HERE!!!" Connor's sword sang anew and he again pushed forward! "FIND ME AN ORC LORD!!!"
Talmorrr heard Connor yell, "Can ye do anything about those bloods?" He knew it was directed at Azutah, but he didn't know where she was. He yelled back, "I'm on it, Connor! CLEAR ME A PATH TO THOSE ELEMENTALS!" he yelled and his dragon responded with a roar. Flames belched out and several orcs screamed as their flesh burned and melted. Two unfortunate ogres bellowed as burning orcs madly ran into them. The dragon leaped forward and clawed at the burning orcs; the orcs not burning froze as dragonfear took hold of them. The way was clear and Talmorrr saw his chance. Springing forward his sword was a blur as he cut into the elementals. Five times his golden blade swung and five times blood elementals screamed as they dissipated. The shock wore off the nearby orcs and they yelled in rage at the knight. To Tal they seemed to be in slow motion as his blade sliced through their armor and flesh. Any orc daring to attack joined the growing heap around Talmorrr.
Kianne heard Connor's shout although she was unable to see him through the deluge. She was armed with her magical silver bow, that weapon which looked to be made of the strongest metal and yet bent with ease like the greenest of saplings. But hitting anything in this downpour was just about impossible. Heeding the lord of the rangers' call, she strapped her bow across her back where she carried it when it was not in use, its silver length crossing her chest and its grip nestled between her breasts. "Stop the rain?" she repeated good-naturedly despite the danger. She brushed back a lock of drenched hair. "I've never messed with the weather before, but I suppose I can give it a shot." Her words were only teasing, however, as she knew full well that the rain was not natural, and its spell could be countered. The elementalist closed her eyes and crossed her hands in front of her, fingers splayed wide. The Law of Opposites ran through her mind as she concentrated. Harness the force, release it, counter the magic, drive away the rain. A counter. That was the answer. Swirls of magical energy took form and surrounded her with a tornado of sparkling wind. It cut straight through the black rain cloud cloaking the island, dispelling it with an angry hiss. Suddenly the pour of rain ceased and visibility returned, and the first thing anyone noticed was the expanding vortex that was already dissipating, flowing outward, forcing the black cloud away in an enlarging circle, scattering and destroying it.
When the spell was complete, Ki lowered her hands and pulled her bow free. Great. Now she could see the hordes of orcs, elementals, and other monsters filling the area. She almost preferred blissful ignorance. Elementals? With a grim smile Ki started forward. She'd found her target.
There was a pain in Azutah's stomach that wouldn't lessen. The orcish blood made her very very sick, even though she had only gotten a drop or two in her mouth. She hears Connors call, but by the time she gets there, the bloods are taken care of. She pouts and looks down at her panther, his once glossy fur crusted with dried blood. "Darn, looks like we missed all the fun," she sighs and shrugs, slicing a path through the crowd of orcs who considered her an inexperienced warrior and an easy target. She proved to them easily that she wasn't. Though most couldn't get it through their thick heads--most of the orcs couldn't understand the difference between a house cat and their dangerous cousin the panther, and kept trying to torture Shalita for fun. But the panther was no stranger to battle either, and never really needed Azutah's help.
Ogres where an entirely different matter though. Shalita tried his best to out maneuver the large sluggish creatures, and most often he did; and Azutah found them a bit harder to kill than orcs as well, mainly because of her lack of height, standing at five foot, ten inches--an average height for women (ok, maybe a little above average), but a bit short compared to a male's average height here. So she, too, tried to outwit them rather than slaughter them like she did the orcs. "Maybe I should have taken lessons from that wood nymph," she grumbles, remembering how easily the nymph had out maneuvered her, as though letting her take swipes at her when it was obvious the little nymph could've easily defeated her. But she hadn't thought logically then, figuring she'd beaten the little nuisance, so what was the point. She wished she had learned the nymph's quick maneuvers and unexpected slashes, but it was too late now and she was stuck slaughtering orcs and keeping her mouth shut the entire time for fear of a solitary drop of the nasty creatures' blood to make it into her mouth. The stench was overwhelming.
She wondered where the invisible Clair had gone. She had thought it rather cowardly to hide behind an invisibility shield, but it worked. She saw Kianne and the others battling elementals and wondered if she should help, but elementals where her weak point, and she'd probably be more in the way. She sighs, wondering whether to call upon Blackfire. She would be very useful with the ogres, but she shakes the thought away. Too much thinking might get her in trouble.
The mages on the roof wait until the very last moment, waiting for the commoners moving to defend to get into place. They all act as one and weave magic on top of the roofs, the incantations ring through the evening air, "Vas Rel Por!"
On top of the buildings the portals opened and the mages dived over the side into carts full of hay to break their fall. The orcs rushing the buildings below looked up as they opened then turned to run as tons of water poured outward in an unrelenting torrent. It rushed down the roofs and slammed into the orcs below and took them off their feet, sending them down the slope back toward the beach. Every single orc was downed by the torrent as it pummeled them with thousands of tons of force. Suddenly the magical gates snapped shut and the water stopped and the awaiting commoners raised a cheer and ran in to attack. Pitchforks axes rusty swords and spears were their weapons, but they deftly ran into the hundred or so half drowned orcs laying around moaning and groaning and killed them. When done, they raised a cheer. The three mages climbed out of the hay filled wagons and approached each other, looking over the scene.
"Well," one muttered.
"Well indeed," another said.
The oldest of the three turned to face them, "I just want to know one thing: how did Lord Mess manage to mark the runes at the bottom of the sea?" They all raised their eyebrows.
The empty ferry launched with ogres propelling it across the channel. It passed the halfway mark, and as it did passed over a barbed razor wire wrapped around the massive hemp rope. As the ferry passed over it, the wire sliced in just about a quarter of the way through. The ferry landed on the other mainland side and began loading up orcs and such. The fire elementals all lined up on the jetty awaiting their turn.
Mess dodged left and right between two ogre clubs which smashed down. Mess rolled left and slammed his sword upwards through the groin and into its lower body then pulled it out as it died, and then he launched himself into a blinding attack on the other ogre. The ogre raised its club to fend of some of the blows, but by the time it had raised the club an inch, the deadly sword, Bane, had cleaved the ogre's arm off then slammed home into its heart. Mess looked around, taking a deep breath. His arms were covered in blood and he nearly gagged on the smell of death. An orc dived at him with its axe raised for a strike at his head, and he dodged to the side, impaling it without the smallest bit of effort. All of a sudden the rain stopped and Mess cursed at the loss of cover. He could fight in blinding conditions, but the orcs were next to useless in the rain.
To his right a raft unloaded and orcs came rushing down the beach at him and he readied himself. He threw down his sword and incanted, and a wall of power leaped up in front of the oncoming horde. All the orcs ran straight into it and and held fast, paralyzed. Mess dived forward and grabbed his sword as he rolled and came up in front of the field. His sword struck home time and time again, and soon the ten orcs were dead and still held in the field. Out at sea, the water elemental rushed off to pick up reinforcements. A ranger near him smirked as Mess muttered, "Blow this," and in a flash of light disappeared.
On the outskirts of mainland Skara Brae, a patrol of orcs and a poison elemental doing a scouting sweep encounter unplanned force and are vanquished. Hundreds of horse hooves pound the ground heading toward Skara Brae.
***
Sargasian turned in utter amazement. Instead of thinking of what trouble he could give Krekk, he was dumbstruck at the site of his beautiful cloud dissipating into nothing. He stood looking at the island quietly for some time before an orc ventured to speak.
"What now? Rain gone. We stand here and watch battle, or we go kill?"
Sargasian spun quickly and ran down the rocky outcrop nimbly and grabbed the orc around the throat, lifting it off its feet. "WHAT NOW? NOW YOU DIE!" Sargasian growled as the orc's neck snapped with a loud crack. The other orcs stepped back; Sargasian's crimson armour seemed to be glowing like molten lava. He turned without another word, ran back to the top of rocks, and dived into the ocean.
"Maybe he need cooling off?" One of the orcs remarked nervously. The rest of the squadron began laughing their guttural orcish response. Meanwhile at the bottom of the sea, Sargasian strode purposely towards the isle as though he walked dry ground, a wicked plan formulating in his mind.
***
Connor felt it coming again... The Lord of the Green's scimitar glowed with wanting. Connor knew what was next. "Talmorrr!" Swiftly, Connor made motions for his companions to join him to fight closer together and to get ready. Something was coming from the water and the steam it gave off made Connor sure that it was hot. Very hot. "Kianne, do something about this fog!"
A twang announced the singing of a bow, and a thock declared its target. Abruptly, Kianne was standing at Connor's side, bow in hand, gazing out across the water toward the rising steam--at the same time keeping her body angled to fight off attackers from land. "Sorry, forgot my fan," she commented wryly in a slightly breathless voice. Then she pointed toward the water with her free hand. "Look!" As her finger extended out over the water, the mist parted as a soft breeze carried by. The place where the steam rose was quite visible now in its approach.
Talmorrr heard Connor's cry. With a blur he twisted around the orcs surrounding him. Their heads separated from their bodies. Soon he was standing next to Connor. Connor merely nodded at the beach. The evil was overwhelming. Talmorrr blinked as he took it all in. Then he concentrated. There was more, much more, about this dark creature than he had first thought. "Geargan" he muttered.
Connor turned his head in surprise. "What?"
Talmorrr pointed to the figure emerging. "I sense the essence of Geargan. A lingering presence. And not just Geargan but many souls."
Connor watched and waited. "Tal, Ki, trust me this is gonna be rough but here is what I need. Tal, when I say now I want ye to try to turn the undead. Ki, you see those barrels over in the middle of the beach--the ones with the red stripes? Take these, they are pitch arrows. Light them and send them flying into the barrels that are surrounded by the undead only. Do not shoot near rangers. Tose barrels are quite volatile when exposed to fire. Where are Azutah and Clair?
The Lord of the Green turned round looking for them, his body tense. Thousands of years of combat had conditioned his body, but even now he was feeling the first pangs of tiring. No matter. He would go on. He had to find the leader of this horde, the one that Talmorrr had felt, who now housed one of his rangers deep within. There was a chance so slim that Connor could draw off Geargan's essence and then perhaps a cleric... Perhaps.
Talmorrr nodded to Connor. He fingered his holy symbol. The undead here would be sent back to their final resting place. He calmed his mind and waited for Connor's command.
***
Sargasian halted his march under the sea, knelt down, and burrowed his hands into the sea bed. Deep red veins exploded through the sand and sped towards the water's edge before burrowing deep into the ground again. A small tremor shook the beach as a red mist rose up through the sand, enveloping the corpses who lay hacked and bloodied, strewn across the beach. Dead orcs and humans alike arose once more, shambling back into pitiful half life and started to advance up the beach. Sargasian turned and started back to the mainland, a broad grin across his face. Thank you for the information Geargan, I quite enjoyed that, he thought to himself. The sea muffled any audible laughter.
Sargasian emerged on the mainland from the water as more orcs were being loaded into ferries. His squadron ran to greet him, meeting him with salutes. "Nice swim?" one orc ventured. Sargasian laughed and pushed his way through the group and made his way to Krekk's position. Might as well tell him about the rangers now. He smiled as he imagined Krekk's fury as he told him about information he had access to for quite some time.
Krekk looked up as Sargasian walked inside his tent, drawing all the light into his being. Krekk frowned as he now couldn't see anything and shifted his eyes through the spectrum till he found a suitable level of sight. "Why aren't you out casting your devilish spells on the moongate as I ordered?" he inquired, with rage billowing up inside him as it did every time this fiend walked into his presence.
Suddenly Krekk spun a full circle and concentrated. "Did you wield that magic just now?" Krekk asked in hushed tones and peered at the tent walls. "No, not you Sargasian; I feel it now, a magic I've been yearning for but also been dreading for many ages." Krekk shut his mouth as Sargasian raised his eyebrows, and he realized he had said too much. "Guards!" he called, and two orcs ran into the tent. "There is an intruder in the camp; bring him to me!" he ordered. Krekk continued staring at the tent wall then shifted his eyes through spectrums until he could see through it. Shapes of orcs ran around searching the area. Krekk spoke up, "What now, Sargasian, let me guess. You've come to tell me you accidentally wiped out my entire army and now we must go and recruit sheep." Krekk chuckled, thinking it was a funny joke. Sargasian wasn't laughing. Then he looked at Sargasian with eyes like molten steel. "Tell me you haven't destroyed my army!" he Growled.
***
Twenty water elementals raced over the water. Behind them were dragged two hundred and seventy orcs, thirty orc mages, sixteen ogres and two ogre lords. All about to descend on Skara in different locations. The rafts separated and moved off to different shores to reinforce the forces already there.
The Skara ferry began its return trip, carrying many an orc. As it passed its halfway point, barbed razor wire sliced through the ropes, now halfway through. The fire elementals still waited on the mainland side to be loaded. On the shores of the island, the dead rose in the undead form of zombies and moaned, walking toward the defenders. They numbered in the hundreds.
The last drop of water fell on his forehead; the terrible rain ceased its fall. The dreary, gray and gloomy day faded to a magnificent fiery sunset of bright reds and golds. Strange clouds formed, scattered over the sky. The sun began to set, huge on the horizon. Rachus worried, enraged for the great loss of life, his back complained bitterly about the horrible pain inflicted by the blows of battle as he stares, tired, at the ogre lord now lying a few feet behind him. He heard a whimper near him, turned his head. He looked past the ranger and saw the undead coming from the sea.
"We'll need reinforcement if we are to conquer these foes. Soon." He helped his ranger brother behind a structure, to safety; he was so weak he could barely hold himself upright. A shadow fell over them; a club swing almost struck and knocked the weapon from his hand. Both fell to the ground. Injured and dazed, Rachus tried to gather enough strength. He scrambled to his feet, his gaze fixed on his adversary. The creature swore savagely, and charged without hesitation. Rachus caught hold of his sword's hilt and with his last strength managed a swing, hurling the creature backward, slamming him against the structure. It fell to the ground with Rachus' blade embedded deep in its chest. He looked up, all seemed but a blur. "What is happening?" he murmered.
"Perhaps I can fix that," someone spoke behind him. Rachus turned and caught sight of another Wildrunner, and he was comforted.
The devastation was awesome. Everywhere the Britains looked, there was death and destruction from the war in Skara Brae. In the distance was the sound of fighting on a scale not seen since the days of the Followers of Armageddon. Surrounding them was the horror of its aftermath.
Theobald, envigorated after helping to destroy the orc patrol, watched the tall knight atop his warhorse survey the damage with consternation, but he noticed the Solamnic warrior was not in despair. The knight turned and asked the boy what he could see. Theobald looked around (wishing he had not sold his farm horse already) and thought hard before giving his answer. Arriving as they had by teleportal outside the edges of the city, the Britains had been given a unique perspective on the course of the battle. Not only could they see the obvious damage from large weapons such as ballistas and battle wagons, but also the type of damage that comes from powerful magic. Countless arrows and broken hand-held weapons were strewn across the grass and the streets. Bodies lay in horrific poses; faces frozen in their death masks.
"I see far more orc bodies than human, and I see that a large force of orcs followed the same path that we now walk toward the waterfront and the island-center of the city. This means we are cut off from the Skarans. The channel and the orcish army lies between us and them. We will be cut to ribbons with no support."
"Almost right, my boy," replied the knight. "You are correct that there are more orcish dead than human. That means the Skaran inhabitants are fighting well and must have some good support already. You are also correct that an orcish army lies between us and the Skarans. But what you don't yet understand is this: we are reinforcements, not defenders. Imagine a map of this city: a large island surrounded by smaller islands and the large coastal area across the channel. The defenders set up their perimeter and dig in, destroying as many causeways, bridges, and vessels as they can before the orcs arrive. The city is mostly on the largest island, so they also abandon the smaller islands in order to gain a larger centralized defense force. The orcs move in against the perimeter and overrun it, since it was only designed to give the main island force more time to prepare. Then the orcs push forward to the main island, either with boats or temporary bridges or with magic. They are then stuck in place until the end of the battle. There is nowhere else for them to go. They fight to the death -- either ours or theirs -- but they cannot realistically move their army from its current position. We have just become the pincer movement which will attack the orcs from behind. As if the leader of the humans had a reserve of fresh troops to send around the back and envelop the orcs in a trap."
Theobald was impressed with this knight. He made a mental note to have a long conversation with him about the Knights of Solamnia and their adventures here since they'd left Krynn. "But how will we cross the channel to attack the orcs? We have no boats, and our mages are probably exhausted from maintaining the portal for so long for so many people and animals."
The knight replied like a patient instructor, "We do not need to cross the channel. We only need to devastate the portion of the army that remains on this side of it. From the looks of it out here, the Skarans appear to be more than capable of handling the orcs that cross to the island."
After a few more minutes, the reinforcements came to the crest of the final hill that had hidden them from the waterfront. Before them lay a massive orcish force still preparing to board vessels to cross the channel. Across the channel, magic and fire lit the sky. Smiling knowingly at Theobald, the knight turned to his lieutenants and confirmed his previous orders for the attack. They galloped into their positions. In unison, across the crest of the hill, nearly a thousand Britains let up a thunderous cry of "FOR LORD BRITISH AND SKARA BRAE!!!" and began pouring down the decline toward the waterfront, screaming their battle cry all the way. There was no turning back; this engagement would break the back of the invasion force.
***
Orc lord Grugg'o watched as his squadron was getting cut to pieces by the Royal Guards and decided to make a break back to the ferries. He ran back through his squadron who seemed to think that Grugg'o had the right idea and did the same. Arrows flew through the air, cutting down the last of the stragglers as the orcs disappeared into a wooded area that led to one of the beaches. Grugg'o urged them on, knowing that the ferries where not far ahead. He also knew the guards would not give up the chase, and this spurred him on even more. When they reached the beachhead they stopped dead in their tracks
Figures where shambling around the beach, hunched over and moaning, slashing wildly with their weapons. Some had no weapons at all but still made the action of wielding one. Grugg'o could see that they were orcs as well as humans. One ferry was left with an elemental ready to pull out. Grugg'o was uncertain what to do and the others looked at him questioningly. What to do? he thought. Should they charge through the undead or wait for the guards to kill them? He received his answer when the undead noticed the orcs and started to advance towards them.
"Charge!" Grugg'o screamed, and the orcs ran full tilt into the masses of the undead. Metal clashed and soon the orcs' superior mobility was telling as limbs were slashed off--but still the undead advanced. His squad was going to be overwhelmed by sheer numbers soon if they did not break through.
Then the Royal Guard broke through the forest and charged the rear of the orcs, the humans not noticing the undead for what they were. Grugg'o's squadron was getting massacred now; they were the meat in a very unsavory sandwich. Then Grugg'o had a plan. He fell flat on his face and pretended to be dead. Soon his squad was wiped out and the guards where left to battle the undead. After realizing what was going on, the commander of the guards ordered a temporary advance in the opposite direction. There were no mages in his squad and they would be needed for this battle.
Grogg'o watched as the guards disappeared back into the forest while the undead followed them in. Soon the beach was empty except for Grugg'o and a few hundred dead orcs, and one water elemental waiting to pull a ferry back to the island. Grugg'o smiled as he hopped into the ferry as the elemental started to pull it off the beach. For once the superior orc intellect had won the day. "Grugg'o go holiday," he sighed, content in his intelligence.
Hey. What happen to ropes? Why this heading for island? This not going out to sea? "Hey! Tillerman!" he shouted. "Me not want go into more battle! Not forward one more!"
"Aye aye, sir," the tillerman responded uselessly, moving forward one more boat length toward the orc lord's demise.
***
Sargasian looked at Krekk and smiled. The look on the daemon's face was worth his weight in gold. Krekk has finally realized that I'm not really part of this army, he thought to himself. "No, Krekk, your army is still intact, but I doubt it will stay that way for long. I have cast a spell that will give you some time, but it will only last 'til the morrow's dawn."
Krekk looked stunned. "What are you babbling about?" he thundered.
"I have not told you the purpose of why I came here, and there is no time to go in depth, so I will make it easy for you and be blunt. Whoever the intruder in the camp is, I know with certainty it is a ranger." Sargasian's smiled widened as the daemon looked bemused.
"There is no time for your games now. Tell me how you know this." Krekk was getting increasingly agitated.
"I came here to find an ancestor of mine which I did do. Apparently he had some very powerful allies. These allies are aiding the very town you wish to destroy. The forces you are sending to the isle are nothing more than fodder for these people. They are even strong enough to counter some of my magic, they are definitely strong enough to deal with these potato heads you have gathered. I even feel the intruder; he was closely alligned with my bloodling. I could deal with him, but he is YOUR problem. It appears you have a few decisions to make daemon; have I been blunt enough with you or do you require it in written form?" Sargasian could see the rage building in Krekk. "Don't let that bulbous vein that is growing in size burst, Krekk, it could result in a nasty headache!" Sargasian had to duck as Krekk's rage bellowed forth in the shape of energy bolts. He could feel the ranger coming closer; it was about to get quite interesting.
Krekk looked back to the tent wall and saw through it. The ranger was close, and closing on the tent. Any minute he would be at the tent itself. "Sargasian, this ranger is mine!" Krekk ordered, stamping his foot on the ground. "You stand back and watch how it is done!" Sargasian smiled and Krekk got angry, shooting straight up into the air on his wings.
Krekk neared the island and flew over rangers and orcs battling. Down on the ground they pointed and wielded magic at him, but he sped over too fast. He felt it getting closer and he closed in. At the other side of the island he slowed and looked around. Then his mouth dropped open as a voice cut the air. Krekk looked down to hear the challenge being called to him, and smiled in delight as he saw the ranger standing, arms folded, looking up at him. He beat his wings and lifted even higher into the air and issued a battle cry. The ground shook with the fury of his voice, and he snapped his wings and propelled himself down to the waiting ranger. He soared through the air, ever gaining speed, and bared his taloned hands forward to strike out against foe.
Fellow rangers saw Mess standing with his arms folded as he spied Krekk dropping out of the sky like a wingless dragon. "Krekk!" he screamed, "It's time this ended!" The two disappeared into heated combat. Several minutes later, a portal opened and shut with an explosion that leveled the surrounding buildings. Fire leaped up and Skara began to burn. Chaos broke loose as the driving force behind the invasion left and the orcs broke ranks and began their typical chaotic fighting style.
***
Skara Brae burned.
The Knights of Solamnia and the lieutenants of Lord British's Royal Guard surveyed the center island-city's structural damage from the vantage point of a tall warehouse on the waterfront across the channel from the island. They spoke in hushed whispers and gestures from the shadows of the roof, their forms barely visible as dark outlines against the darkening sky.
Down in the streets below, the weary Britains rested and tended their wounded after their hard-won victory over the large orcish and undead force they had trapped on this side of the channel. Theobald and others with the knowledge of healing worked hard to keep death at bay for those who had survived the battle. Hundreds of dead orcs and other creatures (some dead for the second time) were being burned in piles on the waterfront, both to serve as a warning to the orcs across the channel on the island, and to keep them from rotting and spreading disease.
Out on the island, the main orcish army had resorted to looting and chaotic violence. Theobald's new friend, the tall Solamnic Knight, had told him that someone must have decapitated the invasion force by killing its leader, since it was obvious the orcs were now in disarray. The war was all but over, now. "Orcs need a strong leader," the Knight had told the boy, "because they can not organize themselves into an effective fighting force without one."
That leader must have been quite impressive, Theobald thought, to have organized such a massive army and to have coordinated such a well-planned offensive. Theobald wondered what could have driven the orcs to do this terrible deed.
The dead Britains were being taken to a field near the waterfront, where they would become the heart of a new martial cemetary. Mourning for them would come later, when the Britains could teleport to their home city and return with the Lord British. He alone could give their fallen comrades a proper funeral to commemorate their selfless sacrifice for their brethren Skarans.
For now, though, the men of Britain rested.
So it was that the invasion of Skara was turned around and the host invading it was turned and vanquished. The leader of the host vanished without trace or deed, and thus the people threw down their arms and rejoiced. Cheers rang out as the peasants, warriors, knights and rangers alike could find no further foe. The commoners danced in the street while fires were doused. Many minutes passed until those that stood were with fields of bodies and ghastly devastation. They then set out to restore their beloved island town to its former glory.
The bodies of the evil creatures were piled up higher than any building standing and the fallen heroes were laid to rest in graves and set afloat on burning rafts out to sea. The pile of evil was set ablaze and the pillar of flame rose up like a beacon of triumph pushing aside any darkness and lifting the hearts of the weary.
Waves lapped to shore from the sea and slowly began the process of rinsing the sand clean.
In the histories it would show as the battle of Skara and to this day, a year passed, there still stands a stone on the outskirts of the city with the letters of LoK inscribed upon it, and underneath that inscription another stating 'Thank You!'.
Not many read beyond those pages in the history books, as they are saddened by the tale that unfolded in them. But the story ends not there; it runs deep into the pages. For on that fateful night as the people of Skara rejoiced, danced and sang, on the mainland in an empty encampment of the vanquished enemy stood Lord Connor and some of his rangers, passing a lifeless but not dead body of a man over to a cruel evil fiend sent to the world by the Dark Queen, Takhisis herself. Though they knew that he would break every vow he spoke, they took a great chance in attempting to save the lives of their mysteriously vanished comrades, Rangers Geargan and Mess.
***
THE BATTLE IS WON, BUT THE WAR OF GOOD AND EVIL...
***