The Setting of Sirith

More demonspawn trickled down from Castellea in the coming days. Ezran had still heard no rumor, received no message, on what had befallen the human kingdom. He only turned to protecting his own people, but the sheer number of the hogher monsters were beginning to overwhelm.

Day dawned on the wartorn plain, and the trails of smoke were as ragged as the old akor’mar felt. His scouts had warned of a larger gathering of hoghers approaching, and his men had been working all night, going from farm to farm and rousing the families to leave. Other were out laying traps.

And Ezran himself was surveying the old dried up ford they hoped to funnel the demonspawn toward. Behind him was the valley with the Glooming Tower. The valley would be packed with refugees by now. There were still some tricks up in that old tower, but Ezran hoped he wouldn’t have to use them. The plan was to hold them off here. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if he couldn’t.

“This is Sirith’s doing,” said Fordrellon at his shoulder.

“As you’ve told me, several times.” He struggled to not get cross with the paladin. Fordrellon had relayed to him tracking Sirith back to the ruins of his old fortress. The halfblood ‘mar had been digging something out of the foundation there, but he had fled again, disappearing into a cloud of darkness he had conjured up, before Fordrellon could confront him.

“You should have killed him when you had the chance,” Fordrellon went on.

“Maybe,” Ezran conceded. He pushed past the paladin, trotting up a rise where the honorguard and his rinaan were waiting. The day was getting brighter, but there was a spot on the horizon that wouldn’t lighten no matter how far up the sun came.

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