Knife-in-the-Butt had not disembarked. He stood at the bow of the Storm, moored in the dock's deepwater section, looking down over the smoke-shrouded port.
There was a town behind the port. From his vantage point, Knife-in-the-Butt estimated that the elven-style town was fairly small, with a population of around ten or twenty thousand.
"Tsk, what a shame."
Knife-in-the-Butt spoke.
They had taken the port, but it seemed they would not have time to take the town behind it.
First, they were running short on time. Knife-in-the-Butt did not know when enemy reinforcements would arrive, but it was already afternoon. The sun hung low, looking as though it would soon sink beyond the horizon.
They had enough time to capture and plunder the port before dark, but not enough to take the port town behind it.
A night battle?
Forget it. When they had seized the docks, Knife-in-the-Butt had seen how those elves and half-elves fought. Without the Storm's fire support, the players would not have taken the docks anytime soon.
It had been this difficult in good daylight. At night, veteran players might be able to hold their own against an elf one-on-one, but the new players would have no chance.
The players' casualties could not be ignored either. Although morale remained high, as supreme commander, Knife-in-the-Butt knew very well that they had lost a quarter of their numbers.
Both the Storm's artillery battle and the subsequent landing at the docks had caused casualties.
Deaths and injuries were a minor issue; the players did not care. But Knife-in-the-Butt had noticed that the remaining player characters were running low on stamina. After fighting for so long, many players also needed to log off to handle things in real life.
Second, the Storm was not in great shape. Elven magic had damaged