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The teams sent into the forest returned to town a few hours later
victorious. The majority of the manotaurs were trapped in their
caves, most of the gnomes in their colonies, others left hiding in
their homes, the lake and forest themselves and anything too fast or
too dangerous to trap denied the town by spells like the one trapping
the town in its valley, and creatures could be barely made out
flitting or skulking along the edges of the circle, testing its
strength but too fast or strong to catch.
Too strong to catch, but not strong enough to break into the town,
and they sullenly watched from a distance as the teams left to the
accompaniment of wailing of fear and anger and loss rising over the
valley.
Those that weren’t left in the woods were dragged back, spellbound
and wrapped well in rope and chain, caged in the enchanted cages
they’d hauled into town with them. Anything and everything they could
catch and bind, it didn’t matter what, so long as it was magical, was
trapped. Gnome, manotaur, dryad and more, they struggled and cursed
but couldn’t break free of cage or chain, dragged into town or out of
their homes and left guarded in the town square.
If they needed blood to bring Alcor the Dreambender to them and trap
him inside their circle, then the creatures could finally be useful.
And their lives would be useful during the Cleansing, to boost what
magic the Alliance had at their disposal. It didn’t matter how many
died, so long as it was successful.
Really, they should be grateful. For once in their miserable lives,
they’d be doing something worthwhile.
The Scouring Chapter 3
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