Laplace Village.
The walls of the elven village had become a single, unbroken line of desperate motion.
Every warrior the village could field was up there — pressed shoulder to shoulder along the ramparts, weapons swinging, magic flaring, voices cutting through the chaos in short, clipped commands that barely carried over the roar of the tide below. The goblins came in waves that showed no signs of thinning, crashing against the base of the walls like a sea that had forgotten how to ebb. No matter how many fell, more surged forward to fill the gaps, drawn onward by some frenzied, directionless hunger.
