The Skyclaw Brotherhood stood at the edge of their base, perched on rocky outcrops and the sprawling branches of enormous trees.
Their defense batch, a mix of young and seasoned warriors, moved in calculated precision, their hawk-like forms cutting through the air as they dispatched the Raging Pig Orcs with swift, swift lethality.
The sound of talons raking against orcish flesh and the powerful slashes of wind magic filled the air, accompanied by the frenzied grunts of the Pig Orcs as they fell one after another.
The air was thick with tension, the stench of blood and sweat mingling with the acrid smell of burnt feathers from the magic blasts.
The Brotherhood was holding their ground, their confidence fueled by their superior vantage point and aerial prowess.
Yet, despite their apparent dominance, a subtle unease began to creep into the minds of those fighting at the base.
