by Smitty
Zygiell’d lowered his hands and Korban rose as the tree, suddenly drained of vitality, toppled away. The others would enjoy a traditional recovery. “Osiris burns brightly in the night, affording me an unusual power. The first good sign in recent memory.”
“The land is destroyed. Father had no hope other than buying time and dead orc horde. The last report said that the locusts East of the Grey Mountains complained of being outnumbered by orcs. We have until Spring,” mused Korban.
“In the library there is a tome. Dravonid–”
“That madman?”
“Build a redoubt in the Greys to stop them.”