The Kindred fortress is abuzz with activity. Captains shout their orders. Guards form a cordon around the fortress's gate. Archers take their positions. Troops rouse themselves from their cots and quickly don their equipment. Runners lug fresh vats of boiling, bubbling oil up onto the battlements. General Riglak strides through the compound, inspecting the troops' preparations and doing her best to boost their spirits. "We've trained for this, boys," she shouts. "Remember who we are. Remember what we fight for. We are Kindred!" "Kindred!" the orcs around her shout, banging their weapons heartily against their chests. Outside, darkness continues its relentless advance down the valley towards the Keep. The watch-fires vanish one by one. Every now and then a bonfire will flare up momentarily, revealing the dark, twisted figures surrounding it, before choking in the green mist that laps at the figures' feet and plunging the valley further into darkness. The advance of the undead army is, for the most part, eerily silent, punctuated only by the occasional hauntingly solemn howl of a troll, so very alien to the creatures' usual ferocious war cry. Captain Margull climbs onto one of the watch towers overlooking his platoon of archers. He is pleased with what he sees. They stand firm on the battlements, their tools of death in their hands, looking out into the sea of advancing darkness with fierce determination. Only the handful of orcs who were with him in the tunnels under the Necromancer's lair look frightened. But that is good, he thinks. It will make them fight all the harder. "Load and fire for range!" he cries as the bonfire second-closest to the fortress flickers then disappears. Arrows fly out into the night, straight and true in the windless air. Most of them sail over the last remaining bonfire before hitting the ground an impressive 150 metres away. "Right," Margull shouts, ignoring the mournful, echoing roar of a troll somewhere in the valley, "Concentrate your fire on the trolls. They'll head for the gate. If you can't get an arrow in their face, don't bother - go for one of the others instead. If you can't find a killing shot, save your ammo for when you can." The final bonfire starts to flicker. "Good luck, boys," Margull says. He nocks an arrow and raises his bow. "Fire at will." The final bonfire dies. The undead come into view. Thousands of them. Credits: Orc and clothing textures by Ghostofmacbeth Stars made using Universe Image Creator Various props from Free Section Posed in Poser 6 Rendered in Carrara 5