The ogres had attacked the Defender outpost in terrifying numbers. Waves of them, assisted by their magi pressed forward against the barricades. A dozen adventurers led by Thorin Goldenaxe stood side by side with the city’s Defenders to repel them. From atop the hill, the ballista that Lieutenant Grimm had requested tore into the advancing waves.
The battle was chaotic and vicious, but in the end, corpses of ogres lay piled upon one another. The bedraggled and bloodied defenders had held. It had been a great battle, perhaps worthy of song or at least, numerous rounds of ale and story.
At the site of the battle, a small stone was left. Like the others, it bore the symbol of the Uthgardt Tribe of the Great Worm. Rika had said a prayer as she held it, thanking Uthgar and the Dwarven gods for their strength and victory over both her tribe’s and the dwarves hated enemies. With reverence, she put it on the ground marking the site of the battle.