Orrusk was stunned, barely able to comprehend what was happening around him as his orcs fell back in an unsanctioned retreat… over half of them having fallen in a trap laid by the measly humans. A hail of fireballs had followed the flame strike that incinerated another two dozen or so of his young tuskers before the gate, continuing to thin their ranks, and the defender’s archers were picking them off as they fled. Once out of range of both the wizards’ and archers’ attacks, the war chieftain took measure of what forces he had left. Of the nearly three hundred that had assaulted the town, not even a hundred remained in fighting form, and the ram was lost… carried inside the gate by the orcs that bore it when they were caught up in the surge. Their harassing probes over the last few months had determined that the gate was the only viable point to attack, the steep hill on the three other side made an assault impossible. “Sound the retreat,” Orrusk growled in abject rage. With his forces decimated, their only method of meaningful assault lost, and at least two skilled wizards to contend with he had no other choice. The human town had proven too costly already… whatever plunder they could gain wasn’t worth loosing any more of his warriors. From their vantage-point on the palisades, Winter Edge’s defenders watched the orcs flee back out of bow and spell range, the inferno had been contained to the killing field and burned out quickly when its fuel was depleted, although the bodies of the orcs still smoldered as hot spots, they where mostly reduced to ash and bones. Then they heard an orc horn sound, and to their delight, what remained of the savage brutes marched back toward the Frost Hills. While Aeron had joined Nykira, Galen, Kara and Igan on the wall, Tarl and Zora organized the defenders behind the gate, preparing in anticipation of another assault. But at the sight of the orcs retreating, those on the wall let out a victorious cry, alerting those below that the enemy was withdrawing. “It looks like we’ll live through the day after all lass,” Tarl grinned as he looked up at the beautiful, near Amazon warrior at his side. In truth, he was a little disappointed there hadn’t been more of a melee. Most of the orcs died in the inferno, or from Galen’s and Kara’s magic. The only real fighting had been a quick skirmish to clear the gate. “We’ll feast well tonight,” Zora smiled back at the dwarf. He has comported himself well during the brief fight, mowing down orcs like a farmer harvesting a field. Then she turned to survey the killing field behind them and smirked wickedly; “Just as long as they don’t serve roasted orc!” In the courtyard before the great hall, behind its bared gates, the townsfolk either too young or too old to participate in the fighting huddled together, quaking in fear. Faeryl and the cleric of Tempus, Pavel, tended to the few defenders struck by orc crossbows or injured in the melee, but the mass casualties they had expected never materialized. Then, when they heard the triumphant cheers ring out they knew the battle had been won, Pavel sneered arrogantly; “You all see… when we obey Tempus’ decrees and face our enemies in battle he rewards us with glorious victory!”