/Strom southwest gate/
"Fall back! Fall back!" screamed lieutenant Matthew. The blow of the horn of retreat pulled the remaining Stromgarde men back into gate.
On top of the walls, a lone horseman commands the outer defenders. His name was lord Garithos, son of the deceased commander Garithos. He leads the whole southwest defense and the 4th cavalry division. With the last of the men inside the gate, all what was left where the dead and the approaching undead. "Men, we fight!" The orders were explicitly followed; each archer whether man or elfdrew their long yew bows and aimed straight at the enemy.
"Steady…Steady…" he waited till they drew closer. "Fire!" A shower of arrows descended not on the undead but on the ground. "Good job men!" The flames soon spread engulfing the undead into a vast inferno. "Thank you Dwarves," he muttered to himself.
The undead were slowed but not beaten by this sudden trap, the next wave followed, this time by siege weapons. "Infantry defend the gate!" The gate opened allowing the men to pass, "Archers! Fire at will!" The sky was littered with arrows as each man fired as fast and as well as they possibly could. The response of the undead was quick and demoralizing, their siege weapons firing parts that resembled...humans...what was left of them.
As the undead drew closer, each mangazed uponthevery face ofdeath. The enemy army looked all too frightening. Skeletons marched tirelessly with each of their bones jiggling with the slightest movement, big black spiders with many eyes and behind them were big burly looking things; each looking like it was a pack of corpses sewed together. Gargoyles flew through out the air looking to kill. In total, their number must be in the thousands.
Garithos talked to one of the men. "Call for reinforcements! Send for the cavalry!" The nervous man rushing, running towards the keep. Hurry up! Garithos told his dwarven motar teams to fire on the ground before the undead, the teams obeying without question. Bombs rocking the ground soon created a gap make trench-like ground further slowing the incoming army. Some even fell; their bones breaking into thousands of pieces. Nevertheless, many still climbed through it. Nearly a third of their army must have fallen by now. The many infantry set up at the gate ready with their pikes open.
The undead reached the gate, trying to break through the defensive line, failing as many impaled themselves on their pikes. Each man using both his pike and short sword as weapons, switching when need be. Many asoldier were saved by this constant switching,never letting theirwretched claws drawcloser than needed.Minutespassed butthe battle still raged onwith no side taking a break, each defensive line switching leaving the frontline men fresh. "A few more hours..."
Knowing the battle will take care of itself, lord Garithos descended to the medical postto inspectthe wounded. A pungent stench covered the air. The shrill screams of the wounded men haunting the man's steps. Many lost their limbs or were poisoned at the hands of the undead. He was lead into the priest's main office and approached the head priest. He said frankly "How many casualties?" The man's face was not that of a happy man's but one of sadness. "Five-hundred seventeen dead, one-hundred thirty-five critical and eight-hundred injured. Not counting the dead left in the battlefield." So many good men lost.
Without another word, he left the medical post. Let us all hope it is worth it. He felta feeling nooneshould ever feel, thewrongly feltguilt that he was the cost of all these. He remembered his father as he walked, the proud man who foughtand died for his country.He returned to the fray, the battle still ongoing. The brave defenders of Strom holding against an army of undead really showed that the humans were all on their own. The heat of battle intensifying as each second draw on. The screams of fallen mean urging the others to fight on. He remembered the priest's face, the sadness of his face. He knew that many more will be lost…