The horns of the Great Wall thundered across Veyra as Queen Seralyth rode through the gates with Sir Taron and the Dawnforge Order at her back. Golden banners rippled against the harsh wind, their edges snapping like fire. The queen's armour gleamed beneath the overcast sky, the Necklace of Dawn glowing faintly at her throat.

They climbed the battlements, and from the heights Seralyth and Taron looked out across the Wastelands. What awaited them was no raiding party. It was an army.

The plains boiled with movement, tribesmen wielding crude spears and blades, orcs roaring in their war-bands, ogres and trolls hammering their clubs against the ground. The dead marched with the living, an endless tide of skeletons driven by the will of pale necromancers shuffling in the rear lines. Above, wyverns wheeled and snapped at one another, their screeches carrying like thunder.

At the army's forefront stood their commander, a hulking troll matriarch whose presence dominated the battlefield. Bragga, the Corpsemother, a feared member of the Black Court of Draven.

Her bulk was monstrous, her swamp-green skin carved with scars and crude ritual markings. Tusks jutted from her jaw like broken blades, and strings of bones and rotted hides hung from her body as trophies of slaughter. In her hand she carried a massive club hewn from a tree trunk, studded with shards of iron and bone. Her eyes burned with necrotic green fire, a sign of her unholy bond with the necromancers at her back.

When she bellowed her command, the earth itself trembled.

Taron's grip tightened on the stone battlements. "By Falrion... that's no warband. That's a horde."

Seralyth's eyes narrowed, her voice calm but fierce. "Then we hold the wall. Here, at the Dawnlands' edge, we stand or we fall."

Upon the wall, and in the shadow beneath it, the defenders of Veyra gathered. By the Great Gate, waiting for it to rise, stood the Dawnforge Order, warriors who had trained their entire lives for this very moment. Humans, elves, and dwarves, male and female alike, arrayed in full armour chased with gold, their shields and blades gleaming in the dim light.

Beside them stood the ironhorns, colossal elk draped in heavy plate, their antlers crowned in steel, stamping the ground in restless fury. Overhead circled the griffins, their wings cutting through the clouds, some perched proudly atop the battlements, talons scraping stone as they shrieked for blood.

It was a sight of unity and defiance, the greatest of Veyra's strength gathered to hold the line.

Sir Taron's voice carried across the ranks, calm yet unyielding. "Stand firm, brothers and sisters! Today the dark comes for the Dawnlands and today we remind it why light endures!"

The warriors roared as one, shields hammered against steel, the thunder of their defiance echoing back at Bragga's horde.

Seralyth's gaze lingered on the endless horde boiling across the Wastelands, her hand tightening against the stone of the battlements. She leaned toward Taron, her voice low but edged with steel.

"Why now, Taron? Draven usually gnaws at itself. The Black Domain festers in its own blood. The Great Wall has seen raiders, yes - gnashing packs, desperate tribes. But never this. Never a host. And never under the banner of the Black Court."

Taron with his helm tucked beneath one arm as his eyes fixed on the troll matriarch in the distance. "It is bold, my queen... too bold. Perhaps Bragga means to prove herself. Or perhaps Draven no longer contents itself with rot."

Seralyth's lips pressed into a thin line, her voice carrying the weight of her suspicion. "Whatever the reason, it is more than mere hunger that drives them. This reeks of design."

Her gaze flicked to the necromancers clustered in the rear of the horde, their skeletal legions swaying like stalks in the wind.

The horde roared and stamped, yet their commander strode forward alone. Bragga, the Corpsemother, left her ranks behind, each thunderous step sinking into the earth as though the land itself strained beneath her weight. Her iron-studded club rested on her shoulder, her tusks gleaming wet in the grey light.

Upon the wall, Seralyth straightened. Tradition demanded it. For an army of this size, the rite of battle began not with blood, but with words. Both generals were to meet between their forces, a chance for surrender, however hollow.

She turned from the battlements, her armour already gleaming with the light of the Necklace of Dawn. Her warhorse, clad in full plate chased with gold, stamped impatiently as she mounted.

The Great Gate groaned open, just wide enough to let her through. The grinding of stone and iron echoed like a drumbeat as the queen of Veyra rode forth, the Dawnforge watching in silence from the wall above.

Across the field, Bragga waited, towering and still, her burning eyes locked on the lone rider.

The distance closed with each hoofbeat, until only a stretch of barren earth lay between light and shadow.

The two generals met in the no-man's-land, the wasteland wind whipping grit between them. Bragga towered above her, shoulders like boulders, tusks glistening with spit. She tilted her head, studying Seralyth with a sneer.

"So, you're the mighty Seralyth," she rumbled, her voice thick with disdain. "Smaller than I thought."

Seralyth's eyes held firm. "And my scouts tell me you are Bragga, Corpsemother of the Black Court. What brings you and your horde to my wall?"

Bragga's laugh came wet and guttural, strings of saliva spraying from her maw. "I was growing restless in Draven. Tired of breaking bones of my own kind. I wanted... fresh faces." She dragged her tongue over her tusk with a grin. "And the flesh of humans is soft."

Seralyth's voice sharpened. "So this is not by the will of Skarthis?"

The troll bellowed another laugh, coughing midway through, a spray of phlegm hitting the dirt. "Skarthis?" she croaked. "The Black Devourer doesn't care what we do, so long as he gets his tribute. Gold, flesh, makes no difference."

Seralyth's gauntlet tightened on her reins. "Then hear me, troll, turn back now. Take your filth from my gates, or I will see you and your army buried beneath it"

Bragga's expression twisted. Her body shook with grotesque laughter, spit and drool stringing from her jaws as she leaned closer, eyes blazing with necrotic fire. "Turn back?" she hissed. "I've come here for blood. I'll smash down your pretty wall, small queen, and drown your Dawnlands in corpses. Your light fades, and I will be the one to snuff it out."

Seralyth sat tall in her saddle, the glow of the Necklace of Dawn casting a faint shimmer across her golden armour. She did not flinch under Bragga's slobbering threat; instead, her voice rang clear across the field.

"Your hunger blinds you, Corpsemother. You think the Dawnlands weak, fading. But you will find no easy prey here. At this wall you will choke on your own blood, and your horde will scatter like ash on the wind. And when your corpse lies rotting beneath my gates, Grimlore will remember the price of crossing Veyra."

Bragga snarled, flecks of spit hissing as they hit the ground. Her knuckles whitened against the haft of her club. For a heartbeat, silence pressed between them, then the troll's laughter shook the earth once more.

"We'll see, little queen. We'll see."

Without another word, the two turned from one another, Bragga stomping back to her army with thunderous steps, Seralyth guiding her steed back through the half-opened Great Gate, her gaze never leaving the horde.

The parley was done. The battle was set.

Bragga stomped back into the ranks of her horde, swinging her club into the air and raising her fist beside it. The army roared in unison, a wall of sound that rattled the stones of the Great Wall itself. Her grin split wide, tusks wet, and she lowered her voice to a growl.

"Now."

Though spoken softly, the necromancers heard. Hooded figures lifted their staffs high, chanting in rasping tones that scraped against the air. The earth shuddered as piles of bones rattled together, rising, twisting, fusing into grotesque shapes. From the heaps emerged bone giants, colossal monstrosities wrought from thousands of skeletons, each half the height of the Great Wall, their sockets glowing with necrotic fire. The horde howled louder with every bone that snapped into place.

Seralyth, halfway back to the gate, pulled her steed to a sudden halt. She turned, her eyes widening at the sight of the rising titans. She spurred her horse forward again.

Sir Taron was waiting, helm under his arm, eyes locked on the giants in the distance. Seralyth's voice cut sharp.

"We cannot let them reach the wall."

Taron gave a single nod, he equipped his helm and then raised his blade high so that it caught the light. His voice bellowed across the Dawnforge ranks.

"Form ranks! Steel to the front!"

Shields locked together, ironhorns stamped furiously, and griffins screeched overhead, wings slicing the sky. The air itself grew taut with expectation, as if the very stones of the wall braced for the coming storm.

The gates of the Great Wall groaned open, their massive stone doors heaving aside until the passage yawned wide. The Dawnforge Order surged into position outside of the wall, banners snapping, armour gleaming, ironhorns pawing the earth. Seralyth and Taron rode at the forefront, their steeds clad in steel and gold.

Then silence. A deathly stillness fell over the battlefield, as if the world itself held its breath.

BOOM.

The ground shook with the first thunderous step of a bone giant.

BOOM.

Another, closer. The sound was deafening, each footfall like a drumbeat of doom.

Seralyth rose in her stirrups, sword in the air, her voice ringing like a clarion across the field.

"Fight for your families, fight for Veyra, fight for me! Charge! Target the giants!"

End of chapter four - part one.