The wind howled across the plains as morning broke. The small human town of Aelbury, nestled at the edge of the human territory which were considered to be safe, woke to a sky of ash and dread.
A thousand orcs had gathered before the gates.
Their leader, Ukar, stood tall amidst them, his battle-axe resting on his shoulder, the iron of his armor clanking with every breath he took. Around him, war drums pounded like a heartbeat gone mad.
Behind the walls, Captain Harren gripped his longsword tighter.
"Archers on the ramparts! Hold until the first volley!"
The town had no great walls, only stout wooden barricades and a reinforced gate. Barely two hundred guards stood ready — farmboys with spears, blacksmiths with rusted swords. But none turned away. Men, women, even elders stood ready. This was their home.
And they had nowhere to run because they knew that the moment they tried to escape from the back, the orcs would rush in and kill them.
