'I will lead only those willing to join me, and will not engage until our hope of victory is greatest. 'But we give Evenmoor a chance of surviving the attack', said Ibell. 'Into the center of the argoth, my lord?' Miesar said. With her death, the swarm's unity will be broken.' Then, when the queen is within reach, we strike hard and fast. With such a small band they won't anticipate our attack. We conceal our fiercest fighters within Evenmoor and lay an ambush. 'A desperate plan', Jarvan replied, 'but it is all we have. Jarvan stared at the ebony and ivory until they merged in his mind's eye.

They will be overrun in a matter of hours.' 'That's a death sentence for these people. 'Leave Evenmoor to the argoth?' asked Ibell. Return on the morrow with forces strong enough to cut through the horde and slay the queen.' 'I'm afraid you won't like this, my lord, but we could retreat. 'Any charge would need to fight through hundreds of argoth to get near her', said Jarvan, gesturing to the red stone.

The queen was marked by a smaller figurine of red jasper, right in the heart of the ebony mass. Ten ebony cones representing the argoth stood at the outer edges of Evenmoor, overshadowing the single Demacian cone. 'We have an hour, maybe two if we're lucky, until the argoth overwhelm Evenmoor.' This swarm was bigger than any Jarvan had seen before. The argoth were not enormous creatures fighting one alone would be easy enough, but in large numbers, they were subject to the dominating will of a queen, able to move and fight as one vicious unit. But an ominous gray shape swelled on the horizon as the horde thundered in the distance. He might have enjoyed the view - morning light made the verdant landscape sparkle with dew, and the village of Evenmoor looked peaceful from a distance. Jarvan strode to the edge of their tent, parting the fabric and gazing out across the valley. If we cannot divide them, they will slaughter us long before we reach their queen.' 'They rely on overwhelming numbers to defeat direct attacks. 'The argoth are fiercest in swarms', said General Miesar as he paced the length of the tent. 'If we lead our knights south now, we can attack the argoth head-on before they reach Evenmoor', said General Ibell, a stout woman with commanding eyes. Just a simple rounded shape, neutral and plain, with no resemblance to the hundred Demacian soldiers it represented. Jarvan wondered at the simplicity of the white piece. General Miesar slid an ivory cone across the map. The approaching swarm is a death sentence for a small village - unless Jarvan carries out his own.

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