Act III /The Final Assault
The night was thick with tension. Every man in Emberhold knew what was coming. The Baron had suffered too many losses, too many humiliations. This time, there would be no tactical feints, no gradual encroachment.
At dawn, he would throw everything at them.
Alexander stood on the inner wall, staring out at the distant glow of torches lining the Baron's camp. Even at this distance, he could hear the sounds of men sharpening weapons, the clanking of armor, the steady murmur of an army preparing for war.
Elias joined him, his blade already resting against his shoulder. "They're done playing around."
"I know," Alexander said, his voice steady.
Tyrell approached next, rubbing his chin. "Any final words of wisdom before hell breaks loose?"
Alexander let out a slow breath. "We hold."
A grim chuckle escaped Tyrell. "Simple enough."
But nothing about the coming fight would be simple.
The Dawn of War
The first light of the sun crept over the horizon.
And then the horns blew.
The Baron's entire army surged forward.
A massive tide of bodies—hundreds of trained soldiers—charged toward Emberhold, their shields raised, their war cries splitting the morning air. Siege ladders were carried at a sprint, and a massive battering ram rolled forward, flanked by heavily armored warriors.
Alexander's grip tightened on his spear. "Archers! Loose!"
A volley of arrows darkened the sky, cutting down the first wave of attackers. Some fell, but more pressed forward, trampling over the bodies of their own fallen.
Then the battering ram struck.
A massive crack rang out as wood splintered.
The walls shook.
Gareth and his builders had reinforced them, but no wall could hold forever.
"Hold the gate!" Alexander shouted as the enemy ladders began hooking onto the walls.
The Baron's men began to climb.
Elias, Tyrell, and the others met them at the top, cutting them down before they could reach solid ground.
The fight was brutal. Blood splattered the wooden walls as steel met steel, bodies fell, and screams filled the air.
Then, with a final thunderous impact, the gates exploded inward.
The Baron's forces poured into Emberhold.
The walls had held for as long as they could.
Now, the real battle began.
The Battle for Emberhold
Alexander was in the thick of it, his spear piercing through enemy ranks, his movements efficient and ruthless.
Elias moved like a phantom, blades flashing, cutting down anyone who got too close.
Tyrell fought with brutal strength, his sword cleaving through armor and bone alike.
Marcus, leading a squad of warriors, bellowed commands, rallying Emberhold's defenders around the inner barricades they had prepared.
For every step the Baron's soldiers took forward, Emberhold's warriors pushed back twice as hard.
But the Baron had sent his elite guard into the fray.
And they were tearing through Emberhold's lines.
Alexander caught sight of Darius, the Baron's second-in-command, carving a path toward the heart of the settlement.
"We need to stop him!" Alexander called to Elias and Tyrell.
But before they could move, another explosion rocked the battlefield.
Flaming arrows.
The Baron's men had set fire to the eastern side of the settlement.
Smoke began to rise, and for the first time, panic rippled through Emberhold's ranks.
Turning the Tide
Alexander refused to let fear take hold.
He grabbed a fallen soldier's shield, raised it high, and shouted over the chaos:
"Emberhold does not fall!"
His voice cut through the noise, and in that moment, the defenders rallied.
Marcus and his men pushed forward, driving the Baron's forces back toward the gates.
Gareth and the builders contained the fire, keeping it from spreading further.
Then, Elias and Tyrell reached Darius.
The second-in-command turned, his blade dripping with blood, and sneered. "You're persistent, I'll give you that."
Alexander didn't hesitate. He charged.
Spears clashed against swords as the two forces collided in the heart of Emberhold.
This was it.
The moment that would decide everything.
Emberhold's survival.
Or its destruction.