Chapter 641 Troll Outskirts (Final)

Chapter 641 Troll Outskirts (Final)

The moss-covered boulder beneath the elder seemed to absorb the weight of the moment, becoming a symbolic stage from which the fate of the troll village would be declared. The elder's presence radiated a quiet strength, and with each proclamation, he fortified the trolls' resolve. The village, bound by the elder's leadership, stood as a bastion against the looming darkness, ready to face the impending threat with unyielding unity.

The village shaman, a figure adorned in mystical garb woven from enchanted feathers and adorned with bones that told tales of mythical beasts, stepped forward. On one hand, the shaman held a staff, its apex crowned with the skull of a creature long extinct but revered in the lore of the enchanted forest. The shaman's presence radiated an aura of spiritual authority as the trolls gathered around, their eyes fixed on the conduit between the earthly realm and the ethereal spirits.

With a voice that seemed to echo with the whispers of the ancient trees, the shaman began to speak in the arcane tongue of the forest—a language as old as the roots that entwined the village. The spoken words were not just a communication but a communion, a channeling of the mystical forces that permeated the enchanted woodland. The shaman's incantations resonated with the very essence of the forest, seeking the blessings of the spirits that dwelled within its shadows.

As the shaman invoked the spirits, the enchanted feathers adorning their garb stirred, dancing in an ethereal breeze that seemed to emerge from the heart of the ancient woods. The bones on their attire clinked softly, attuning themselves to the mystical energies summoned by the shaman's words. The staff, crowned with the skull of a mythical beast, glowed with an otherworldly radiance, signifying the spirits' acknowledgment and approval of the troll village's plea for aid.

The trolls, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and reverence, observed the shaman's ritual. The enchanted feathers, now shimmering with an iridescence, not of this world, became symbols of the spirits' presence among them. The bones on the shaman's garb rattled in a rhythmic cadence, echoing the heartbeat of the enchanted forest itself. Through this mystical communion, the shaman sought to intertwine the fates of the trolls with the very spirits that guarded their mystical homeland.

In the heart of the enchanted forest, where ancient trees stood tall and whispers of magic danced through the air, a witch scout darted through the shadows with urgent haste. Clad in dark, mystical attire that seemed to blend seamlessly with the forest's depths, the scout moved like a phantom, navigating the dense foliage with agile grace. The scout's eyes, sharp and alert, mirrored the intensity of their mission.

Behind them, a few enraged trolls thundered through the underbrush, their massive forms crashing through the vegetation in pursuit. The ground trembled beneath the trolls' weight as they closed in on the elusive scout, driven by a determination to prevent any information from reaching the witch city.

Seated on a throne adorned with arcane symbols, the Witch Queen exuded an aura of regality. Her robes, woven from threads of enchanted shadows, billowed with an otherworldly grace. Her eyes, pools of mesmerizing depths, fixed on the approaching scout with a mix of curiosity and expectation.

The scout, now standing before the throne, bowed respectfully. "My Queen," she began, her voice steady despite the urgency that lingered in the air, "the trolls are gathering in the depths of the enchanted forest. Their numbers are greater than we anticipated... It... It is truly a force to be reckoned with."

The Witch Queen, her expression unreadable, absorbed the information with a thoughtful nod. "Your diligence is commendable. We shall prepare our defenses and thwart any attempt to encroach upon our sacred city. Return to your duties; we shall convene the council to strategize." With a flick of her wrist, the Witch Queen signaled the scout's dismissal.

The scout retreated from the throne room, leaving the Witch Queen to contemplate the impending threat. The town hall, once again filled with the muted hum of magical discussions, prepared to face the approaching storm with the might of the witch city behind it.

As the urgent news of the approaching troll army spread through the witch city, the Witch Queen wasted no time in summoning all witches to defend their sacred home. A mystical call, carried on the winds of magic, resonated through the city, reaching every corner and alley. Witches, warlocks, and magical beings alike felt the ethereal beckoning, stirring them to action.

Responding to the call, about 98% of the city's witches converged on the central square, their diverse magical abilities ready to be united in a formidable defense. The city, usually a haven of enchantment and whimsy, transformed into a fortress as the witches prepared to repel the impending threat.

The enchanted wall, a majestic ring that encircled the witch city, responded to the urgency of the impending threat with a luminescent glow. Witches, their forms silhouetted against the shimmering barrier, worked in unison to weave protective spells directly into the fabric of the wall. Threads of magic, ethereal and potent, intertwined with the very essence of the enchanted structure.

As the witches wrought their spells, the once-static surface of the wall came alive with intricate glyphs and sigils. Each symbol pulsed with a unique magical resonance, a language of defense etched into the stone. These mystical runes were not merely decorative; they had transformed into formidable wards, each designed to repel specific types of attacks that the trolls might unleash.

Some glyphs hummed with the power to deflect physical assaults, creating an invisible shield that would shatter any weapon aimed at the city. Others glowed with the energy to dissipate mystical projectiles, rendering spells cast by the trolls impotent against the fortified barrier. Each sigil was a testament to the witches' understanding of their adversaries and their meticulous preparation for the impending siege.