Reaven had been under martial law the entire day. Early that morning, a runner had spotted a massive host of the enemy marching from the southwest and had reported directly to the lord. Since then, soldiers had been at the ready, archers on the wall and swordsmen at the gates and in the streets. Not an hour ago, an archee had spotted the host on the horizon, and moving quickly. Citizens were told to remain in their houses, and many of the men had taken up arms and formed a small people's militia, as Reaven had always been needing more men in the city guard. Lord Dimaethor had hidden his children in his study, but not without having an argument with his eldest son, Oriske. But of course. Oriske wanted to fight as well, he wanted to be a hero, but Dimaethor had refused him, even though his son was a man grown. Oriske had stormed out of the castle, taking his sword with him and going to join the City Guard. That boy...always so hard headed, Dimaethor thought as he stood in the grand front hall of his castle, his personal guard arranged in strategic positions, every one of them, even him, hidden, so that one wouldn't easily be able to see them. He thought of the rest of his family in his study, his two twin daughters and his youngest, a boy of seven. His wife had died giving birth to him, and Dimaethor had raised him by himself. All of his children but Oriske looked like his wife, who was fair-skinned and dark-haired, while Oriske had taken from his father, and had hair like spun gold. Praying to the gods that Oriske would be alright, he ran a hand through his hair, hearing the sounds of war just outside the grand doors of the castle. ----- The battle wasn't going well for the wraiths. All of the men fighting had their shadows released, but even that could not help against the flow of enemies, which seemed endless. Blood soaked the cobbled streets, and wraiths were falling left and right. Of course, Oriske was in the middle of the fighting, his shadows swirling about him, sharp as knives and cutting anything that touched them. Still, the enthusiasm of the enemy was staggering, and they were reaching closer and closer to the castle with every second. Too many times did Oriske nearly slip on a puddle of blood, which would surely be the end of him, but he always caught himself, adrenaline coursing through him. Now, he had fresh cuts on his arms, and one above his left eye, but it had thankfully stopped bleeding. Seeing a group making for the castle, Oriske made a move to follow, wanting to be the one who saved his family and his city. He hung to the shadows, using his own to help him blend in, so no one would attempt to attack him, wanting to follow the group into the castle.