TIME August 14th, evening (continuing) LOCATION The ziggurat, under siege
BACKGROUND:
Dimitri’s elves had a defensible position and a warning: the orcs camped at the treeline weren’t done, and they’d be back the moment the sun went down.
WHAT HAPPENED
The wait was worse than the fight, in some ways.
Four boulders gathered at the top of the steps ready for bowling, Krusha healing up as best he could though it was draining his wand fast, and Dimitri passing along the one genuinely useful piece of local wisdom on offer – crushed millipede musk, rubbed on exposed skin, kept the worst of the biting insects off.
Two elven sentries took the roof while the rest waited inside readying their gear, and Krusha, with a spare moment, mended the very door hinge he’d shattered forcing his own way in.
An uncomfortable argument brewed among the elves about whether their own bound comrades – used by the orcs as human shields – counted as acceptable losses.
Dimitri wasn’t willing to hear it discussed as anything else.
As the last beams of sunlight faded, a series of roars and grunts rose from the treeline – the orcs assembling in force.
The first wave came at dusk in three separate groups, forty-eight strong between them, six elven hostages staked out ahead as cover for the front ranks.
Raven bowled a boulder down into the lead rank; Ash dropped three orcs and two of the hostages into a deep, merciful sleep, opening a gap in the charge.
Arrow volleys from the elves on the roof thinned the rest as all three groups converged on the steps. The orc leader – armed with a poisoned bow and his own elven hostage planted as cover – traded repeated shots with Krusha at range, KemerLexi’s radiant light catching him badly enough to draw blood well before either side found a killing shot.
It came down to the last few steps.
Raven held the doorway, cutting down orcs as fast as they reached her and falling back before the crush could overwhelm her.
Krusha got one clean shot from his kemercannon into the orc leader before retreating inside himself.
Ash’s fireball, timed to land as the last volley of elven arrows went out, caught the leader and his human shield together and ended the first wave outright.
A rising chant carryied on the breeze from the elves above as the flames died:
advenae et emundet veneet ad bellum.
The smoke hadn’t cleared before the second wave showed itself – four ranks deep this time, howling from the treeline, with no indication the elves’ chanting overhead was doing much to steady anyone’s nerves.
The elves looked to Dimitri for it instead.
“VWee need more time, ah. VWot can we do?”