The ground shook with a tremendously violent tremor as, what had just moments ago been a kaleidoscopic dome of brilliant light, suddenly shattered in a shower of shards of something not quite tangible.
The brilliant rain of particles rushed down in sheets like a fresh spring downpour, descending swiftly before washing over them in light wisps of light and color. The party watched in equal parts amazement and horror until, just as swiftly as it had begun, the lights dimmed and the colors faded away. What was left behind was the same city they had looked upon only moments before, but something had changed.
Where once there was a singular luster about the place, the scene suddenly seemed much more drab and monotone. As if all the color that had been present in the walls streets and buildings, had suddenly been washed away with the monumental downpour.
It was then that they realized the pinkish haze that had once obscured the edge of the bay out beyond the harbor had dissipated and in its place was a most disheartening sight.
Black sails as far as the eye could see and a million black ores all being plunged into the water in unison. Every ship in the dreadful armada kept time with the others and filled each of them with a profound and persisting dread.
There is no way they could have known for certain, as the events were wholly a surprise, but they all know instinctually who it was that had come. It was surely the Prince of Frost himself heading that vast and terrible force and it would only be a matter of minutes before the great city they had come to know so well would fall under attack.
Horns sounded, mail armor clattered and the assembled guard of the lord protectors camp rallied around the center tent all falling in line in perfect discipline to await the orders of their general.
They stood there patiently, their suits of fine elven armor still glistening in the now dull morning light, as Felix stood at the head of the assembly where he had been when it all started moments ago. The weary commander stared long and hard at the approaching force arrayed against them, and after a minute, perhaps more, he turned and spoke.
"I am no great leader, no unifying symbol for elf and man." He paused for a long moment, taken in the clear discomfort his words were stoking in the assembly before him. "I am but a humble servant of our great city, and though my personage is nothing to rally behind, I have done you all one great service... I have prepared you."
"For months we have looked ever to the East in anticipation of this day. I have prepared you, and many others who will soon join together with us in this, our greatest test. I have prepared you, in body and spirit through these long years of training at this finest establishment for the arts martial. What's more, I have employed the aid of great and powerful warriors to march alongside us," and he looked to the party with a grim determination as he said this. "I have prepared YOU, to do what I alone cannot, to face this threat with a singularity of purpose, so that you all may hold the line and protect all that we hold dear."
"Come now my splendid warriors, do not simply follow me, move forward as my equals, as we go to war!"
What came next was altogether unexpected for the normally implacable and stoic silver guard. The masses gathered before Felix Lorain, their lord protector and beloved leader, and let out a resounding cry of approval. Each stepped forward without a moment's hesitation, for it was clear to them all that they marched as one.
The army made good time as they marched through the cobbled streets of the lower ring. The townsfolk had heard the ruckus from the East but none seemed to believe they were in danger yet. They still clung to the hope that this most heavily defended of cities could not possibly be conquered by any force no matter how terrible. That is why they were both relieved and terrified at the site of Felix's army and the danger it implied, for it had surely become an army most frightening and spectacular. The force rumbled on as it linked up with other contingents of the city watch that had been positioned at various points along their path, part of a wider strategy for strategic depth that Feliex himself had devised. The thinking in the weeks prior was that they would be encountering a dispersed threat at the scale of city blocks in the form of subterfuge and sabotage rather than an outright invasion, but it mattered not, for most of these postings were on the way to the dock districts. This was thanks to the foresight that it was this section of the city that was most likely to be targeted one way or the other.
The great army swept up its divisions in multitudes as it made its way steadily towards the docks, all the while increasing in confidence and sending those around scrambling to get out of its way. At the crossroads of the middle district, the aptly named section of the city equidistant from the lord protector's citadel and the lower quays, the force was broken into several different contingents. Some diverted North to rally the garrison of the upper ring, while some remained at the crossroads to fortify the large expanse of pavement that ran North to South across their path. A third force continued forward with Felix at its head, for despite his previous proclamations, he was still quite clearly the first among equals.
The party of adventurers split off to the North with the other contingent thinking that this route would get them closest to those they knew in the lower ring, and perhaps also stir up the same kind of fervor that Felix had with the silver guard in the other garrisons of the city.
They needn't have worried though, for as they arrived in the markets of the upper ring a great force was already mustering in the square. And like the lower ring's contingent, this one too was helmed by a great figure, though one entirely different in demeanor than Felix. Claudius Elravine motioned vigorously to numerous apparent sub-commanders all around him in a section of the square set aside for the leadership of the force.
"I don't care if the local militia doesn't have time to be adequately armored, there is no time for such concerns in our current predicament!" Felix berated several of his underlings as the group approached, a clear unease and foreboding present across the hastily prepared command post.
"Thank the Gods!" Claudius remarked at the sight of the approaching troupe, "At least we'll have some capable fighters among us."
They exchanged pleasantries briefly before Felix explained their predicament. The upper ring had been far less vigilant in its preparation than the lower ring had, and they were paying for it now in organization and morale.
It wasn't long before Claudius had them all running about handling odd tasks of one kind or another as the large and unwieldy force slowly began to mobilize and head toward the rapidly developing battlefield beyond the upper gates.
Eventually, the group settled into stride alongside Claudius as the column of soldiers began to take shape around them. The would-be general, in stark contrast to the humble Felix, road atop a glorious white stead trimmed with gold and adorned with the finest armor money could buy. They couldn't deny however that he looked the part, but knew too that glory was as much a motivator for this vain man as civic duty was, if not more so.
Still, the unruly crowd around them needed someone to follow, and Claudius at least cut an impressive figure. Even so, they couldn't help but notice that he held his position in the middle of his ranks rather than at its head, as Felix had done. This impressive figure was, apparently, far less willing to risk his own life for the cause.
The second great force reached the outer gates and then the redlight district shortly after. At this point, the party broke away to ensure that those they had come to know in the district were evacuating in due order. They were surprised to find all of these people together in one place as they walked into the Leering Pony just off the main boulevard.
The roads to the upper ring were the only viable means of escape for the desperate masses, and while the guards at the gates initially resisted the onslaught of people, they soon relented and turned their efforts to control the exodus as much as possible.
It took some convincing before Korrhuc finally relented, but with some help from Yeshana and Ula they were able to convince the sultry bartender to abandon the Pony. The three set off for the upper ring and Baravan Manor at the request of the party, and the others turned their attention back to the matters at hand.
Just as the evacuation was shifting into high gear, the situation was deteriorating in the harbor. What had initially been a promising opening engagement, with the Summer fleet turning the tide in the opening salvoes, quickly turned into a general route upon the arrival of one key regiment. The Prince of Frost himself had managed to break through the fleet and make landfall on the docks, and by all accounts, the defensive lines that had formed at the front of the two armies were fast crumbling.
Spurred on by this news and purely running on adrenaline, the party made their way with all haste to the front lines through a sea of retreating citizens and injured soldiers, the same look of panicked desperation on all the faces that passed them by.
What they saw upon their arrival at the dock districts made it clear to them why. On one side of a battered war-torn clearing, there was a sweeping line of would-be-soldiers bearing pikes, lances, and all other manner of other sharp implements, arrayed in front of a well-disciplined, tightly packed, brigade of summer legion archers, apparently one of the few units that had escaped the initial onslaught. Behind them rode the lone figure of one armor-clad high-born noble of the upper ring, Claudius they presumed, and the banner-men of a dozen upper ring houses, their standards waiving stoically in the wind safely out of harm's way.
Opposite them was a sight straight out of the nine hells. A mob of numberless squat hunched figures, some bestial, some goblinoid, others seaming of giant or orc decent, and a handful of the prince’s own snow elf servants scattered among their ranks. All wore the newly minted tabard of the prince, a black circle ringed by a thin gray line, representing the moon goddess that had fallen at the prince’s own hands. All among their ranks seemed pale and kissed by the icy chill of winter, a dead look in their eyes that mirrored the dull grey of the sky that now lingered over the battlefield. Finally, at the head of this wicked army, the figure they had all been dreading.
The prince stood crooked and lean, dressed in the tattered rags of royalty long since worn down by the passage of time, an impossibly long sword of ice or perhaps clear crystal propped at his side. As he stood, he swayed quietly in the wind, like a low-bent willow performing its exaggerated dance under the influence of a stiff winter breeze. The Prince observed the opposition arrayed before him for a brief moment longer, before casually, almost lazily, waving his hand out towards the line, impelling his army to advance.
It started as a slow rumble but grew steadily into a deafening roar as the hoards of the Frozen Legion stampeded toward their waiting victims.
What no one expected, however, was what came next, for just as it seemed that the wavering line of defenders would break in the face of this relentless charge, thin ghostly figures began to drift upwards from the solid ground; not towards the defenders, but towards those attacking.
It was the long-dead spirits of Drow trapped within the city's magical snare after their countless deaths over the many thousands of years of subjugation. True to her word Eilistraee had turned the legions against the invaders in exchange for the party granting the stewardship of their souls to her. The party's trust in the dark maiden was apparently well-placed.
The ring of metal on metal, and some other, much sharper sound began to ring out around the battlefield as the two forces collided. The cut of the Drow’s ghostly weapons sounded like the grating of fingernails across the strings of a fiendish lute, with notes ringing out in random discordance as they engaged the monstrous hoard. The militia that made up the front lines of Claudius’s army and the elven archers at the rear took heart in the discordant notes and joined in what would be one of the most glorious and outlandish displays of combined arms ever witnessed.
The struggle went on for some time, and when the dust finally settled, the lines of the defenders reformed every bit as strong as they were before, with hosts of new ghosts filtering in to take the place of those who had been destroyed in the initial clash.
The Frozen Legion’s lines, battered and bruised, retreated backward only halting when the gaze of their leader stopped them in their tracks. The Prince appeared to sigh, his expression souring for a moment before swinging his great broadsword around in front of him, in line with the enemy.
He then proceeded to advance with the same detached indifference he had exhibited up until that point, slowly crossing the field, and in the process making a noise somehow even more discordant than that of the ghost army as he dropped his sword to his side letting it drag across the cobblestones. His soldiers parted as he approached their lines and reluctantly fell into step behind him as he steadily made his way toward the city’s defenders.
The elves crouched low, bracing behind their slender shields, apparently having some idea of what was to come, and they advised the ranks in front of them to do the same. As the prince approached the ghostly outer line he suddenly and brutally swung his arm around and cleaved through an entire section of the phantom ranks with a single swing, extending a line of frost out in the direction of the strike. The magical attack wreaked havoc through the thin sliver it tore into the rear lines, but the angle was sharp enough to avoid widespread damage to the crouched and unified front.
As if on cue, the entire elven line sprang up from behind their shields and let fly their arrows as one colossal mass of feathered shafts, all aimed at a singular target. Bright sparks of magical light flew from all around the prince as the arrows struck, most of them bouncing harmlessly off his magical shield, but a few managing to get through, perps magically imbued themselves.
The prince staggered backward, a mere dozen of the hundreds of arrows having apparently gotten through, but that was enough to set him back for a moment at least. Then there was a moment of silence before another brutal spike of icy wind ripped through the lines, and the exchange went on, an entire army trading blows with a single figure, a god among men it seemed, but it would not last.
Over time the forces of the city would tire from the engagement, their ghostly host all but eradicated, and their remaining line in tatters. The Prince prepared for one last effort that would surely have broken them, but then, as if in answer to their plight, a light appeared in the northern sky.
First a dim speck far off on the horizon, then a bright blaze that illuminated the darkened sky. It was a star, or something like one, and it appeared to be moving with supernatural speed, brightening to a near-blinding light before it passed over the city bathing all bellow it in dazzling starlight.
No one was watching the prince then, but he stared on, just as everyone else did, though more enraptured than any. It was clear to him what was happening, and who it was that had made an appearance in the conflict's waning hours. He watched eagerly, breathlessly, as the star passed over their heads and then continued onward to the Southwestern horizon opposite from where it had appeared before fading into the distance.
The change was almost immediate, the hearts and bodies of all those facing the prince bolstered and reinvigorated for the fight, but the prince was not watching them at all, his eyes instead were fixed on that faraway horizon where the star had disappeared. Then, abruptly, with as much urgency as any of them had seen up to that point, the Prince flew from the scene, hastily striding backward behind his lines and making for the docks.
The breakdown in leadership was immediate, and fatal for the momentum of the invading force. The battle slowly settled into a siege with the forces of the city slowly retreating backward and holding firm at the second defensive wall that marked the upper ring.
The invading army, by contrast, broke into a frenzy of pillaging and looting, apparently satisfied with the gains they had made and seeing no need to continue the fight without their ruthless leader prodding them forward.
None knew how long this status quo could hold, however, for the armies of the Prince, while scattered and disorganized, were still vast in number, and the Western portion of the city was still vulnerable to attack. Its only defense being a thin line of reservists in the city's Middle District, offering the meagerest of barriers to the Western portions of the lower ring.
Will the prince return after he has seen to this unexpected new development, or will he leave his remaining army to rot in pursuit of some other, perhaps more pressing goal? One thing is certain, the city will never be the same, and chief among their losses was the fall of the summer fleet, the last naval force that stood any chance of ensuring the safety of the city from forces outside its borders. A new paradigm was playing out on this stage of actors, one that had only barely been set back into balance by the surprise arrival of one unexpected player.
