1.4.08 - Convening

You held a ring of broken stone for ten desperate rounds, and the elven dead came up out of the ground to finish the Pact for you.

With the Pact's commanders dead, the elves were split on what came next. Aelion wanted to strike now, while the warcamps were leaderless. Theren wanted something older. Heimdall's Temple still stood, and within it the devout could wake the spirits of the elven dead who had bled into this ground for generations. You backed Theren. The ritual needed time, and time meant holding the temple while the Pact threw everything it had at the casters.

You held. Wave after wave came, rabble first, then veterans, then a local commander, and you kept the casters alive through all ten rounds of it by the narrowest margin. Then the chant peaked, the ground shook, and ghostly hands wreathed in pale green flame clawed up out of the stone. Ancestral elves in ceremonial war-garb, eyes hollow and hungry, drove themselves into the Pact soldiers one by one. The possessed dropped their weapons, dropped to their knees, and fell dead with black ichor pooling beneath them. Not one Pact soldier was left standing. Then the spirits lifted their hollow eyes and unravelled back beyond the veil, and it was quiet.

Remember For Next Time

• The ancestors answered: the ritual at Heimdall's Temple woke the elven dead, who wiped out the Pact across the temple and the districts around it.
• A horror remembered: word of what was done here, the possessed dying with black ichor in their mouths, will spread. This is a power the city will not forget.
• The tide turns: the elves now hold real ground, and the Pact has been bloodied badly.

Where We Are

Standing in Heimdall's Temple among the Pact dead and the fading spirits, the rebellion suddenly winning.