As the evening wears on, the party consumes one of the cows. No one sleeps, except maybe a drover or two. In the early hours approaching the witching hour, the forest comes alive with noise after being unnaturally quiet all evening. The party is caught unaware as arrows tear into camp from the perimeter, guards begin dropping like flies.
A spindly elf blasts the rear echelon with a deadly barrage as another blasts a bolt of lightning through the ranks. As the guards (and fodder) slowly die off, the party holds tight inside the ring of wagons and defends themselves as the elf vanguard closes in.
Fighting seemingly impossible odds, the party is mostly still standing, holding the line, but barely.
Stay tuned to see the fate as the battle continues into the night.
The adventures of the party as recorded by the Chronicler
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