Chapter 19
by 
Yelawolf
Does your plan works?
Yes
You nod in agreement with Zevlor, the gravity of the situation sinking in. Your party begins to fan out, preparing for the deceptive attack. As the horn echoes through the night, you can't help but feel a twinge of guilt. Minthara's troops emerge from the shadows, their eyes gleaming with malice as they spot the unsuspecting members of the Grove.
Zevlor's people, however, are not as unprepared as they seem. At your signal, they spring into action, a well-rehearsed dance of steel and magic. The battle is fierce and unforgiving, the forest floor stained with the blood of both friend and foe. You fight alongside them, driven by the hope of a better future and the need to survive the night.
The drow warriors are formidable, their discipline unyielding as they cut through the foliage and into the heart of the Grove. Yet, Zevlor's druids wield the very essence of the forest itself, summoning roots to trip and entangle, casting spells to dazzle and disorient. The tieflings fight with a fiery passion, their very breath igniting the air with every strike.
You find yourself in the midst of the chaos, your blade singing a deadly melody as you face off against Minthara. She wears a mask of anger and betrayal, her eyes burning into yours. "You dare to defy me?" she snarls, her whip cracking through the air like a living serpent.
You dodge the whip's vicious lash and parry her next attack with a swift stroke. "I dare," you reply, your voice firm despite the tremor in your hand. The weight of your decision bears down upon you, but there is no room for doubt now. The fate of the Grove hangs in the balance.
The clash of steel and the cries of battle fill the night air, punctuated by the thunderous roars of the awakened forest. The ancient trees seem to lean in, their branches whispering of ancient alliances and the price of power. Minthara's troops are caught off guard, their superior numbers slowly diminished by the ferocity of the Grove's defense.
Your sword hilt manage to caught Minthara head by the side, knocking her out. With their leader under control, the orcs and goblins under her command falter, and their morale starts to waver. Zevlor's forces press the advantage.
The night is won by the Grove, but the victory is bittersweet. The once tranquil sanctuary is now marred with the scent of battle, the lifeblood of the fallen seeping into the soil beneath the ancient trees. You stand over Minthara's **** form, your sword in your grip. The decision to betray her weighs heavy on your conscience, but the knowledge that you've saved countless innocents is the only balm for the guilt.