Yesterday, my cursed computer broke down. I took it apart and spent the whole night working on it, only to find out the switch had come loose! So I barely wrote a thing all night. This is the last chapter I had saved up (teary-eyed)—
"Sir Turalyon, I need to see Marshal Lothar!"
Outside the city hall, Garithos came running up the street, panting as he grabbed the Paladin who had just gently closed the door behind him.
"Captain Garithos," Turalyon said softly, raising a finger to his lips. "The marshal spent all night running through tactical scenarios and only just went to bed. Unless it's an exceptionally urgent military matter, I'd rather you didn't disturb his rest."
"It concerns the Orcs who landed in the Hillsbrad Foothills. A messenger from the garrison near Durnholde has brought us what they discovered."
"What exactly happened?"
The Orcs' movements had clearly caught the Paladin's interest. Turalyon, who served at Lothar's side, knew that this unit had concealed nearly every trace of its passage. It was like a dagger hidden in the shadows, ready to slash a bloody wound across the Alliance's back without warning. Even the man he respected most, Sir Lothar, had been worrying about these Orcs for days.
"Prince Alvin encountered a messenger seeking help outside the city. We've taken him to the medical camp. Judging by his uniform and the information he gave us, he must belong to the garrison near Durnholde."
The young man caught his breath, then rattled off Alvin's theory. "The prince thinks this small band of Orcs may push into the Hinterlands and stir up the Trolls scattered throughout the forest. They could threaten the Wildhammer Dwarves at Aerie Peak, or perhaps launch a surprise attack on the Alliance's rear in Darrowmere Forest or raid