Wednesday, March 9
From the Journal of Skye MacLeod of The UnRuled (TUR Village)
The moon had already risen by the time I retired my smithin’ tools for the day. I noticed that the wind had picked up and wondered if we were in for a spell of rain. Perhaps the evening mist would hinder the evil forces that have been plaguing the villages and hamlets of the Yew Wilderness of late - at least for the night. Having heard no call for alarm from our allies in Cove and Dragon’s Bay, I climbed the stairs of the North Sentry, leaving some of TUR’s finest warriors safeguarding the Village. I looked forward to simply sinking into a pool of warm water and soaking away the bitter struggle of the last few weeks - if only for a brief moment. And that’s when the blustery, damp night changed completely.
The clang of the front tower doors was accompanied by a menacing growl, unlike any I am used to hearing in this place. My heart must have skipped a beat, as a cold wave of dread reverberated throughout my body like the vibration of a plucked harp. "Outy," I called more from my heart than my lips, seeking to draw his attention from contemplating the stars from the rooftop to the ominous visitor in the foyer below. I stumbled down the stairs, Outy rushing behind me, to find a hound from hell under attack by our boys.
"You would do well to hear me out," he snarled with a jeer. I was so shocked to hear his taunt in a language I could understand that I encouraged the group to let him speak. "I bring a warning from my Lord," he breathed with his fiery stench. "TUR Village is on holy ground, and if you value your lives, you will leave this place."
Outy of the TURs stepped forward to face him squarely: "What Lord do you speak of that would seek to threaten our home and this village? For we shall defend it and rejoice in his death."
Laughter, if you can call that menacing snarl such, pealed forth from the hellhound as he mocked us: "You cannot kill one who is already dead."
With that he let lose a stone harpy and dire wolves, followed by hellhounds in numbers I could not count. The air was filled with birdies sent to alert troops and allies far and yon. As I wielded my sword, I was grateful to see the pale outline of moongates appearing over the grass that sweeps between the two towers. Old friends and new ones stepped forth bravely to confront this fresh and despicable evil.
Wave after wave of the beasts crept forth from the southern side of the Village that borders the Crypts. I urged our newest recruit to go inside the North Sentry and gather her wits - only to realize that the fortress in which I had felt so safe for so long was vulnerable. My heart sunk to see a dozen hellhounds rise from the depths of the earth simply appearing as a carpet of red madness, their teeth bared in evil glee, inside the North Sentry.
Many souls died and were resurrected before the assault was ended. As folks were gathering their belongings, Sir Elnor of Yew and I - being somewhat blessed with the uncivilized second sight - heard in the cobwebs of the lower left corner of our brains the following warnings: "This is not over yet. The orcs will come tomorrow." Sir Elnor countered with: "Die, you evil beast. We will not give up TUR." And the hellhound breathed his final words before the eerie calm descended upon TUR Village: "Yes you will. With the last of my energy, I say ... Muwhahahah … TUR shall fall. My Master shall crush ye if the orcs do not."
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