Lorelia's incantation was a whisper, so faint it was practically imperceptible.
As the Grand Warden of the Stoneheart Horde, she viewed Blackstone City as her true home. How could she possibly turn a blind eye to the apocalyptic war raging on her doorstep?
Thus, with the enemy's Archlords successfully tied down, she began to weave her dreamscape.
It was a vision of a sky raining ethereal quicksand and drifting willow catkins. The moment the phantom sand and drifting fluff settled upon the teeming insectoids, the beasts instinctively closed their eyes, basking in a lethargic euphoria before collapsing into a deep, unbreakable slumber.
Far below, across the bloody expanse of the city walls, a bizarre phenomenon unfolded.
The bloodline warriors manning the ramparts watched in stunned silence as wave after wave of the relentless swarm simply collapsed where they stood. They piled up at the base of the walls, completely hypnotized and dead to the world.
