Arpious of the Planes

Chapter 641  Troll Outskirts (Final)

The moss-covered boulder beneath the elder seemed to absorb the weight of the moment, becoming a symbolic stage from which the fate of the troll village would be declared. The elder's presence radiated a quiet strength, and with each proclamation, he fortified the trolls' resolve. The village, bound by the elder's leadership, stood as a bastion against the looming darkness, ready to face the impending threat with unyielding unity.

The village shaman, a figure adorned in mystical garb woven from enchanted feathers and adorned with bones that told tales of mythical beasts, stepped forward. On one hand, the shaman held a staff, its apex crowned with the skull of a creature long extinct but revered in the lore of the enchanted forest. The shaman's presence radiated an aura of spiritual authority as the trolls gathered around, their eyes fixed on the conduit between the earthly realm and the ethereal spirits.

With a voice that seemed to echo with the whispers of the ancient trees, the shaman began to speak in the arcane tongue of the forest—a language as old as the roots that entwined the village. The spoken words were not just a communication but a communion, a channeling of the mystical forces that permeated the enchanted woodland. The shaman's incantations resonated with the very essence of the forest, seeking the blessings of the spirits that dwelled within its shadows.

As the shaman invoked the spirits, the enchanted feathers adorning their garb stirred, dancing in an ethereal breeze that seemed to emerge from the heart of the ancient woods. The bones on their attire clinked softly, attuning themselves to the mystical energies summoned by the shaman's words. The staff, crowned with the skull of a mythical beast, glowed with an otherworldly radiance, signifying the spirits' acknowledgment and approval of the troll village's plea for aid.

The trolls, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and reverence, observed the shaman's ritual. The enchanted feathers, now shimmering with an iridescence, not of this world, became symbols of the spirits' presence among them. The bones on the shaman's garb rattled in a rhythmic cadence, echoing the heartbeat of the enchanted forest itself. Through this mystical communion, the shaman sought to intertwine the fates of the trolls with the very spirits that guarded their mystical homeland.

In the heart of the enchanted forest, where ancient trees stood tall and whispers of magic danced through the air, a witch scout darted through the shadows with urgent haste. Clad in dark, mystical attire that seemed to blend seamlessly with the forest's depths, the scout moved like a phantom, navigating the dense foliage with agile grace. The scout's eyes, sharp and alert, mirrored the intensity of their mission.

Behind them, a few enraged trolls thundered through the underbrush, their massive forms crashing through the vegetation in pursuit. The ground trembled beneath the trolls' weight as they closed in on the elusive scout, driven by a determination to prevent any information from reaching the witch city.

The forest echoed with the rhythmic thuds of pursuit as the witch scout skillfully weaved between trees, their knowledge of the terrain proving invaluable. The chase was a relentless dance between the scout's agility and the trolls' brute strength. Shadows clung to the scout's form, concealing them from the trolls' view momentarily, only for them to emerge like a fleeting phantom a short distance ahead.

As the scout approached the outskirts of the enchanted forest, the distant silhouette of the witch city's tall spires came into view. The towering walls of the city, a formidable barrier against intruders, signaled safety and sanctuary. With the trolls gaining ground, the scout summoned a burst of supernatural speed, sprinting towards the city with desperate determination.

As the witch scout reached the city gates, the towering walls seemed to welcome them into the safety of the witch city. The guards on the walls, vigilant and armed with magical weaponry, spotted the impending threat. In a seamless display of coordination, the guards unleashed a barrage of defensive spells and projectiles to intercept the pursuing trolls.

Magical barriers shimmered into existence, forming an invisible shield that repelled the trolls' advance. Arcane bolts and ethereal arrows streaked through the air, finding their mark with uncanny accuracy. The trolls, now outnumbered and outmatched, roared in frustration as their pursuit was thwarted by the formidable defenses of the witch city.

Within moments, the guards had neutralized the threat, ensuring the safety of the witch scout. The massive gates swung closed behind the scout, sealing off the enchanted forest and leaving the trolls outside the protective embrace of the witch city. The scout, though visibly fatigued, stood within the city walls, delivering the crucial information about the approaching troll army to the awaiting authorities.

 The witch scout, her breaths quickened and cloak billowing behind her, navigated through the bustling streets of the witch city. The city's narrow cobblestone pathways were lined with stalls selling magical trinkets and potions, and the air buzzed with the low hum of incantations. The scout's presence, marked by an air of urgency, prompted curious glances from the witches and warlocks going about their daily routines.

Dodging between the vibrant market crowds, the scout swiftly approached the imposing structure that served as the town hall. The towering spires of the town hall reached towards the sky, adorned with mystical symbols that seemed to shimmer with latent magic. The scout ascended the grand staircase that led to the entrance, the heavy wooden doors flanked by enchanted torches casting an ethereal glow.

As the scout entered the town hall, the atmosphere shifted from the lively chaos of the streets to the hushed solemnity of the grand hall. The interior, adorned with tapestries depicting legendary feats of magic, echoed with the occasional murmur of discussions among council members. The scout made her way through the opulent corridors, guided by an innate knowledge of the town hall's layout.

At the heart of the town hall, the throne room awaited. Its entrance guarded by towering sentinels carved from enchanted stone, the room emanated an air of authority and mystique. The doors swung open, revealing a vast chamber where the Witch Queen held court.

Seated on a throne adorned with arcane symbols, the Witch Queen exuded an aura of regality. Her robes, woven from threads of enchanted shadows, billowed with an otherworldly grace. Her eyes, pools of mesmerizing depths, fixed on the approaching scout with a mix of curiosity and expectation.

The scout, now standing before the throne, bowed respectfully. "My Queen," she began, her voice steady despite the urgency that lingered in the air, "the trolls are gathering in the depths of the enchanted forest. Their numbers are greater than we anticipated... It... It is truly a force to be reckoned with."

The Witch Queen, her expression unreadable, absorbed the information with a thoughtful nod. "Your diligence is commendable. We shall prepare our defenses and thwart any attempt to encroach upon our sacred city. Return to your duties; we shall convene the council to strategize." With a flick of her wrist, the Witch Queen signaled the scout's dismissal.

The scout retreated from the throne room, leaving the Witch Queen to contemplate the impending threat. The town hall, once again filled with the muted hum of magical discussions, prepared to face the approaching storm with the might of the witch city behind it.

As the urgent news of the approaching troll army spread through the witch city, the Witch Queen wasted no time in summoning all witches to defend their sacred home. A mystical call, carried on the winds of magic, resonated through the city, reaching every corner and alley. Witches, warlocks, and magical beings alike felt the ethereal beckoning, stirring them to action.

Responding to the call, about 98% of the city's witches converged on the central square, their diverse magical abilities ready to be united in a formidable defense. The city, usually a haven of enchantment and whimsy, transformed into a fortress as the witches prepared to repel the impending threat.

The enchanted wall, a majestic ring that encircled the witch city, responded to the urgency of the impending threat with a luminescent glow. Witches, their forms silhouetted against the shimmering barrier, worked in unison to weave protective spells directly into the fabric of the wall. Threads of magic, ethereal and potent, intertwined with the very essence of the enchanted structure.

As the witches wrought their spells, the once-static surface of the wall came alive with intricate glyphs and sigils. Each symbol pulsed with a unique magical resonance, a language of defense etched into the stone. These mystical runes were not merely decorative; they had transformed into formidable wards, each designed to repel specific types of attacks that the trolls might unleash.

Some glyphs hummed with the power to deflect physical assaults, creating an invisible shield that would shatter any weapon aimed at the city. Others glowed with the energy to dissipate mystical projectiles, rendering spells cast by the trolls impotent against the fortified barrier. Each sigil was a testament to the witches' understanding of their adversaries and their meticulous preparation for the impending siege.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om