The City of Towers

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There was a moment when they might have won the battle. The Cyran troops were seasoned veterans, though they had little choice in the matter. In these troubled times a man became a soldier the moment he was old enough to wield a scythe or a flail. The troop had been taken by surprise, but within moments of the initial assault the Cyrans had formed ranks and were holding their own.

A roll of thunder heralded the arrival of the stormship, then terror dropped from the night sky. Painted black, the sleek longboat herself was almost invisible from the ground, but the lightning flashing around the ring of elemental air holding the ship aloft flickered off the bottoms of the clouds, painting the battlefield in bright light and black shadows. Within moments a wave of arrows rained down upon the Cyran army.

Fiery explosions rocked the battlefield. Hundreds died, and the tide of battle altered.

Daine swore as he strode into the ruined camp, cursing Flame and Sovereign alike. Behind him, the warforged Pierce surveyed the carnage, two arrows held to his massive longbow. Jode examined the bodies of the fallen, but the halfling’s healing touch could not raise the dead.

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