Rumble.
A muffled peal of thunder echoed in the sky, accompanied by bolts of lightning descending from above, catching the Night Watchers rushing to support off guard.
A thunderstorm cloud shrouded the skies over the affluent district.
Lightning streaked through the roiling clouds, striking at a rate of roughly one every six seconds, indiscriminately targeting everything within range, with those able to fly being the first to bear the brunt. The dark clouds hurled over thirty bolts of lightning before finally dissipating.
In the corner of the villa district.
A short dwarf withdrew his Magic Staff, a peculiar piece of thunderstruck wood engraved with runes unique to the natural order. His fingers gripping the staff were slightly singed, seemingly suffering from the lightning's backlash, and he spoke urgently, "The Night Watchers are here!"
"Let's retreat."
"Let the Moth's Offspring handle them."
