The once-bustling streets of Stagpeak lay in ruins. The orcs' siege had turned the inner city into a wasteland, every corner filled with the rubble of fallen homes and the ashes of shattered lives. Fires smoldered as the invaders carved a path of relentless destruction. At the heart of this chaos, orcs marched with grim purpose, carrying their
shaman like a twisted standard of their conquest. The shaman's staff pulsed with a menacing red glow, casting an eerie light on his grotesque face as he whispered spells to amplify his warriors' frenzy.
Back at the breached city gates, Ignatz, the general of the orcs, stood tall, his muscular frame dwarfing even the larger orcs around him. His armor was made from the hides of fallen beasts, and his gaze was fixed on the carnage with satisfaction. A figure cloaked in shadow stood beside him, a dark silhouette whose presence seemed to shroud Ignatz
in malice. The shadowed figure spoke in a low, raspy voice. "Patience, General. Your time to fight will come."
Ignatz growled in frustration, his fingers twitching as he gripped the hilt of his weapon. "This city is weak; there
is no worthy foe here. Let us finish this quickly and take what we came for."
"Soon, Ignatz," replied the shadow, a sinister smirk crossing its hidden face. "Victory is inevitable."
Meanwhile, on the far side of Stagpeak, knights and the city lord shepherded frightened townsfolk through narrow alleyways and crumbling passageways, guiding them toward a possible escape. But when they reached the rear walls, their hope faltered. Stretched along the castle walls and blocking their path, a line of orcs was advancing, closing off any chance of escape. Realizing there was no way out, the villagers began to collapse in despair, their
eyes empty with the weight of their doomed fate.
Maya moved among them, her voice soft yet steady, urging them to stay strong. She wrapped her arms around frightened
children, whispered reassurances to trembling elders, and met the frightened gazes of the townsfolk with unwavering
resolve. Though fear twisted in her heart, she cast her eyes skyward, hoping, praying, that someone—anyone—would come
to their aid.
Within the city's heart, the orcs continued their brutal advance, searching for any remaining humans. They seized those they found, dragging them through the streets before the shaman. "Enough," the shaman barked, his voice filled with disdain. "We need them alive for the sacrifices. No more lives are to be taken." His tone was cold, his commands absolute. The prisoners were roughly herded into cages, their terrified eyes peering out between the iron bars.
Suddenly, a cry pierced the air. One of the orcs had spotted a woman clutching a child, desperately attempting to flee. It was Maya. An orc lunged forward, grabbing her roughly. She struggled, tears streaking her face as she clung to the child. She whispered words of comfort to the child, her voice steady even as despair clutched at her heart.
But at that moment, the sky above Stagpeak seemed to darken, and an object hurtled downwards, crashing into the ground with a thunderous impact. As the dust settled, a figure rose from the debris, unscathed and resolute. Maya's breath caught as she recognized the man standing before her, his silhouette strong and unyielding. It was Rowan. Yet, he looked different—changed. His presence radiated a newfound strength, a power that silenced the chaotic noise around him.
"Who's this insect?" sneered an orc as it lumbered toward Rowan, confident and smug. "I'll crush you!" With a dismissive
swing of his crude axe, the orc charged, but Rowan didn't flinch. Instead, he raised his sword, its blade weathered from days of intense training. In one swift motion, he slashed through the air, and the orc's head fell, its body crumbling to the ground. Rowan felt a strange sensation as he stared down at the fallen orc, a faint, flickering energy that
seemed to seep from the creature's body.
But he had no time to linger. More orcs were rushing toward him, their war cries reverberating through the air. Rowan
met their charge, his blade flashing in fluid arcs as he cut through the advancing horde. Each swing of his sword grew stronger, his movements more confident. He could scarcely believe his own power. He had trained tirelessly, yet this strength was beyond what he thought possible. Still, a voice within reminded him: this was only the beginning. True strength was still far ahead.
The shaman orc, watching from a distance, roared in fury. Raising his staff, he chanted an incantation, his voice thick with hatred. The staff's red glow intensified, and a storm of fireballs erupted from its tip, hurtling toward Rowan. Rowan dodged, his movements swift and precise, but the shaman's assault was relentless. Fireballs crashed into the city's buildings, each explosion reducing more of Stagpeak to ruins.
Amidst the chaos, Rowan continued his dance of survival, dodging and countering with a skill that awed even his enemies.
But the shaman grew impatient, his frustration mounting as his spells failed to land. With each missed strike, more orcs fell in the shaman's reckless attack, bodies piling up as Rowan wove between the blasts.
Far across the battlefield, the villagers huddled in fear, having witnessed the sheer destruction wrought by the shaman's magic. The smoke and flames revealed their hiding place, leaving them exposed and vulnerable. And then, Rowan saw it. The shaman, in a twisted smirk, raised his staff and aimed it directly at the villagers. Rowan's heart
pounded as he realized the horror that was about to unfold.
He sprinted forward, pushing himself to his limits. But as the shaman unleashed the fireball, Rowan knew he was too late. Time seemed to slow as he leaped forward, his body positioned between the villagers and the deadly spell. The fireball collided with him, engulfing him in a blinding blaze.
When the flames cleared, the villagers gasped. Rowan stood before them, his clothes charred, smoke wafting from his
figure. But his skin was unscathed. Not a single burn marred his flesh. He stood tall, his gaze unwavering as he locked eyes with the shaman. The once-confident creature recoiled, a flicker of fear flashing in its eyes.
The shaman, incensed, roared in frustration, summoning every ounce of dark energy he could muster. "Kill him!" he ordered, and the remaining orcs charged at Rowan, forming a circle around him, their eyes filled with bloodlust. But Rowan didn't back down. A surge of power, deep and primal, erupted from him. A gust of wind radiated outward, powerful enough to shake the buildings and send a wave of orc bodies flying across the city.
At the gate, Ignatz straightened, his attention drawn to the source of the commotion. Even from a distance, he could see the devastation Rowan had wrought. The shaman, visibly shaken, clutched his staff, his eyes darting between Rowan and the destroyed orc warriors.
Desperate, the shaman took out a dark, pulsating crystal from his staff and gripped it tightly, chanting words of a powerful fire spell. The crystal burned his hand as he held it, but the pain only fueled his rage. With a guttural cry, he released the spell, a blazing torrent aimed directly at Rowan.
"Just die already!" the shaman screamed, his voice cracking with desperation.
But as the firestorm surged toward him, Rowan raised his hand, and the flames dissipated as if they had struck an invisible wall. The shaman stared in disbelief, his jaw slack as he watched his strongest spell vanish into nothingness. Rowan's gaze remained fixed, his eyes steady and filled with a calm intensity that sent a shiver down the shaman's spine.
Maya, who had been watching from a distance, felt a mix of awe and disbelief. This was Rowan—the same man who had arrived in the village not long ago, quiet and unassuming. And yet here he stood, a warrior who had defied an entire orc army, his presence a beacon of hope amidst the devastation.
The shaman, now trembling, barked orders at the remaining orcs to attack, but none dared to step forward. They could see it in Rowan's eyes—a determination, a strength that no magic could subdue. The shaman's face twisted in terror as he realized that his conquest of Stagpeak had met an immovable wall.
For the first time, the orc forces felt fear, and in Rowan's presence, the tide of battle had begun to turn.