Ten-thousands. Twenty. Thirty. The army of the Demon King swelled at the entrance to the Valley of Baruk like a flood.
"I had not thought there were so many goblins in all the world," muttered one of Stanick's aides. "These are wholly unlike the chaff cast at us in idle, effectless petulance. See how polished are their black breastplates and greaves! Their feet are leather-shod and hobnailed, their shields iron-bound! Iron-clad too are their pauldrons and leather caps! And there! No paltry goblin bows, those, but tall as a man, made, no doubt, to effect slaughter upon the defenders of the Wall! This,
then, is the murderous hand of the Enemy, revealed to us at last!"
Eighty-thousands. Ninety. One-hundred thousands. There seemed no end to the bounds of ruinous obsession that filled the Valley mouth in precise, deadly, ordered formations.
"At least there is no shortage of work for us," Stanick grated with uncharacteristic sarcastic humour.
The defenders watched as a line of black serpentine horns at the forefront were lifted upright and placed against goblin lips. Behind these were rows of goblins bearing war drums, and they began pounding out a beat of doom to a hellish, uncanny braying that sounded as though they heralded the coming of the Demon King Himself!
At once, the columns lurched into motion and began filing into the Valley of Baruk: gnomes, goblins, trolls, and other more sinister creatures, many of which the defenders had never seen or heard of, save in scarce-believed, nightmarish rumour. On and on and on they marched, until finally there came a stream of carts and wagons carrying supplies and parts of instruments of siege.