Surprising everyone, the raiders produce one.

Just when they seem to have been routed, the Deanian commander cries out yet again. Several of his men, dispersed within the chaotic melee, reach into their furs, pulling out glass flasks and hurling them to the ground.

A fiery shockwave goes through the battleground, knocking most of the warriors off their feet. The flames twist and contort in the most unnatural of ways. By the time they've all coalesced into a single form, it's obvious to all some dark magic is at work.

The fire takes form, transfiguring into a great serpent, twenty paces tall, twenty paces wide. This fire-snake begins slithering in a great orbit of the battlefield, incinerating a few men unlucky enough to be in its path, and it moves fairly quickly.

“Looks like a Spelljar.” Seki theorises. “Magic cast into a vessel, to be released upon it's destruction. No doubt a present from King Einar!”

For the most part, the monstrous apparition the Deanians have summoned ignores the fighting. It is content to circle the fighters, waiting for just the right moment, then slithering swiftly into the gate.

You gasp as the serpent drives into the fortified gate with all it's might, feel the impact reverberate through the entire battlement as it explodes, forcing the gate open.

About half the Deanian **** peel off from the battle, taking advantage of the disorientation of the coalition fighters to **** their way inside.

Seki doesn't hesitate to draw her scimitar.

“Stay back, your majesty.” she says in a determined tone. You have to admit, the older woman looks damn fetching, her brown eyes steeled, her exotic blade gripped tightly. “I'll kill any that come close!”

The Deanians, however, seem to have other things on their mind. They ignore the town completely, surging up the hill.

“To the castle!” their leader cries out. “The Beathans will be holding the Jarl there!”

You watch on as, before the fearless band of raiders can even attempt an **** on the castle, a throng of Beathan warriors issue forth from it, Donald in their midst, one hand gripping a waraxe, the other around the scruff of young Siggi's neck.

“Take it you're lookin' for this one.” the Beathan says bluntly. Kara is by his side, bearing a loaded crossbow. You feel a sudden pang of concern for your wife, a feeling you're rather unaccustomed to.

“Unhand the Jarl, and I'll give you a quick ****, o king.” the Deanian in charge of the raid offers. He's a man with a lengthy black beard, and many golden trinkets, most likely scavenged from vanquished foes, adorning his person.

“That's no' gonnae happen.” Kara answers for him. “Throw down your swords. The wee prick's not worth dyin' for.”

“King Einar sent us to recover his friend, there is no greater glory than to die in service of the Serpent King!”

“An' die you shall. Say you manage tae overpower us, free your Jarl. There are armies numbering ten, twenty times your host just outside. You won't make it a league. Yield now.” Donald says forcefully.

Even from your far vantage point, you can see the exchange is fated to end in bloodshed. As the Deanians surge forwards, Donald hurls Siggi backwards, letting go of the teenager before joining the fray alongside his men.

Kara looses her crossbow into the advancing horde, before dropping it and drawing her axe, springing forward with a mighty scream.

“G-go to them!” you practically beg Seki, a panicked feeling coursing through your veins.