From that very instant the town sprang into action. The order was given by Burnside for those around the table to gather the townsfolk outside of the hall by sunset, and with said order given, the men and women shot up from their seats without question and dashed out from the main chamber, rushing off to spread the good news. Left with just the magistrate and his clerk, Codin wasted no time in getting down to business, and ordered maps, parchment, quill and ink to be brought at once. With no delay these articles were found and brought forward, and after the table had been cleared and the paper and pen laid down the motley crew and the leading townsmen got straight to work. Poring over maps of Hillsbrad, Lordaeron and the Eastern Kingdoms, Codin put forward their stratagem.
"So," Announced the warrior, his game-face well and truly on. "Our plan shall be a simple one."
"Yes?" Said Burnside, gesturing for Mr Whitesteed to take notes on a pad of parchment.
"It involves two main factors: The folks of this here town, and whoever else we can scrape together to help. This stand'll be defensive, for we've got the advantage of a town that can be fortified and the numbers are assumedly on our side." Codin explained.
"How large is your population?" Inquired Hwinion, thumbing his sharp chin.
"A hundred and eighty one, I believe." Replied the magistrate, off the top of his head.
"And how many of those can handle a weapon?" Pressed the elf. Burnside raised an eyebrow in concern.
"Gentleman, I did tell you that we aren't soldiers--"
"That you did, Mr Burnside, but this whole plan hinges on your folks being willing to be trained to be soldiers." Interjected Codin. "Is that clear?" The man nodded, accepting the situation.
"I'd reckon about a hundred or so would be able to hold a weapon, given that they're up to it, of course..." Enough for a company, that, thought Codin. He nodded firmly.
"That's good. Now, how many craftsmen and labourers does your township hold."
"Most of that hundred mentioned fill that criteria."
"Good. They'll help in fortifying the town when they aren't training."
"We can organise them into a schedule. Half train whilst half build." Suggested Fizzbiscuit.
"Aye, that's good, that!" Agreed the mountaineer.
"Are you getting all of this down, Horace?" Inquired Burnside.
"I'm going as fast as I can, sir." Assured the clerk, his frail hands putting ink to parchment in a blur of quill-strokes.
"And how long do we have 'til we can expect our next visit?" Asked Codin.
"Well," Thought the magistrate. "It's two weeks until the next harvest, so maybe more, maybe less." Codin nodded.
"Could be worse." He looked to his companions. "Could indeed be worse."
"A fortnight isn't a long time to train an army, Mr Brackbyrne." 
"No, but it'll have to do. How many men are left garrisoning Southshore?"
"No fewer than thirty or so men."
The four looked to each other with concern.
"I imagine they won't be able to spare very many of their boys, then." Suggested Fizzbiscuit.
"Yes, most likely." Agreed the elf, looking to Codin, who was still poring over the papers.
"That'll be fine. We'll have to take any help we can get." He stated, studying the town on the local map. "Mr Burnside, will you later oblige me a tour of the town, so I can get a better look at how we might be able to fortify the place?"
"Of course. It would be my pleasure!" Smiled the balding man, seemingly somewhat satisfied with this plan. His people, it seemed, were now in with a fighting chance.
"What about our friends over at Tarren Mill." Questioned Hwinion. "The old Stoneravens worked with the Horde on occasions, so the new Ravens might have ties with the local greenskins?" The brows of both the clerk and magistrate furrowed at the mention of their less-than-beloved neighbours.
"Not to our knowledge. Intelligence reports that there's a new leader in town, over at the Mill, since that old banshee Melisara is currently off in the Undercity, or wherever they like to go. That new chap is an orc, we believe, and word is that he's none to keen on the current truce. But if what you say is true, then it's entirely possible the two groups have had contact with each other."
"I see." Nodded Codin. "If that is the case, how are your relations with the Wildhammer Dwarves of Aerie peak?"
"Well..." Pondered Burnside. "We've traded some grain with them in the past, and we've nothing to hold against each other."
"Perfect." Codin then turned to Belmin. "How do you feel about taking a trip up to the Hinterlands for us, Belmin?"
"Who, me?"
"Aye, you."
"Whey, what ever for, laddie?" Inquired the dwarf.
"You heard the man. The Horde might be getting pally with the Stoneravens, so we're going to need some more hands on side, it seems." Explained the warrior, jabbing at the map.
"Well, fer one," Flustered the dwarf, shaking his head. "The Wildhammer Clan isnae even a part of the Alliance anymore, and High Thane Falstad would never simply just--"
"Belmin." Interrupted Fizzbiscuit.
"-- give his aid to anyone who asked fer--"
"Belmin!"
"What?!" Replied the mountaineer, eyes now on the gnome.
"Can you get them to help us or not?" Asked the mage, slowly and deliberately. Belmin exhaled heavily, calming himself down as he forced aside his own grievances and stroked his beard in thought. After a long wait, he gave his eventual reply.
"Aye, I don't see why not..."
"Brilliant!" Cheered Codin, clapping the Mountaineer on the shoulder. Burnside grinned happily. Hwinion smirked. Fizzbiscuit giggled. Whitesteed jotted with his quill. Belmin sighed, his mind stretching to all the more walking and hiking and trudging and strolling he and his beer-belly would have to endure. The warrior then turned to the gnome, who was perched upon the table and laughing wickedly at his dwarven companion.
"Speaking of allies, Fizzbiscuit..."
The gnome's giggling ceased, glancing at the man with uncertainty.
"Yes...?" He ventured.
"You wouldn't happen to still be acquainted with your orcish associates down in Booty Bay, are you?" Inquired Codin. Fizzbiscuit sighed and his head dropped.
"You're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting, are you?" Asked the gnome, tentatively.
"Come on, Fizzbiscuit, those boys would be handy in a fight! And they could help rustle up of few of their pals, too! We need all the allies we can get and you know it." Stated the warrior. The purple-robed mage resigned to his fate. Arguing was useless.
"I suppose I could head down there and try to persuade them to lend a hand..." He murmured. "But only if they aren't colossally drunk at the time! Because not even the High Tinkerer himself can get those fools to budge once they've had a couple of rums down them!"
"Cheers mate." Grinned Codin, also clapping the gnome on the back. It was then that Burnside interjected. 
"Are we sure, though, Gentlemen," He said. "That we'd be able to count on these reinforcements arriving on time? It seems like a big risk to leave us with only two of you here whilst the others are off travelling across the continent." Hwinion nodded solemnly.
"He proposes a fair question." Agreed the elf.
"True." Said Codin. "He does. But it's the only plan that gives us the best chances to stand and fight. A hundred men and women with pikes and bows might hold off a couple of attacks, maybe even send the Ravens packing off home for good, but what we desperately need is experienced fighters, and the Wildhammer Dwarves, the guards at Southsore and Fizzbiscuit's friends down in Stranglethorn can give us what we need." Burnside listened intently to what the warrior had to say, and seeing as these four strangers and their hastily-thrown-together plan was their only hope, he agreed.
"Besides," Comforted Codin, with a smile. "Whilst those two are off on their merry way, me and Hwinion here'll be whipping this town into shape." Burnside returned the smile. It was in these mad bastards which he placed the fate of his town.

For the next few hours, the motley crew and the two townsmen sat around the bevy of maps and papers and proceeded to formulate and refine their strategy, talking over training, weapons, defences and supplies. Matters of logistics and organisation were mulled over carefully, whilst outside, in the fields and orchards, Hillsbrad was alive with excitement. Over the course of the afternoon the townsfolk were roused from their homes and places of business and would soon head to congregate on the main road opposite the town hall. Children laughed and ran and played in the sun. Wives stood and gossiped, nattering about the goings of the day as if nothing was wrong in the world. Fathers, both young and grey, produced ancient weapons from their cellars and attics and posted themselves in the centre of town, awaiting the gathering whilst standing armed with all manner of swords, felling axes, halberds, rifles, blunderbusses and other assorted relics. The sun, after cresting in the sky, began to fall back to the horizon at a steady pace, and soon the vast blue expanse was replaced with hues of auburn and chestnut. It was then that the motley crew emerged from the town hall and stood in a line atop the stone stairs, flanked by Mr Burnside and Mr Whitesteed. At once, two hundred pairs of eyes turned to look at them, and the air was suddenly filled with a chorus of cheers and hurrahs. The four adventurers stood revelling in their praise and glory, until they finally raised their hands to quiet the crowd. At the head of the group they saw Ray and his family, along with Miss Kalaba, Mr Curtis and Old Man Getz, all with colossal grins spread across their earthy faces.
"Th-Thank you." Said Codin, blushing under his beard in gratitude. "You're all very kind." He received a volley of thanks and appreciation in reply.
"So," He began. "We've gathered you folks here today to make our plan known to you all." The crowd fell silent, ears perking up to listen closely. "It is our intentions, after much deliberation, to help you lot stand up to those who want to put you down. So, beginning tomorrow at dawn, everyone in this town shall begin training for war."
An assortment of differing looks were thrown about among the body of townsfolk, looks of concern, or excitement, or confusion, or zeal, or all four stuck together in one odd visage. They stood and listened intently. 
"Myself and Master Hwinion, here, will teach you how to fight using spears and pikes, and we will play off your strengths as a unit in order to be victorious over these cowards who would seek to profit off you!"
His words stirred emotions in the people, bracing their spirits. Codin continued with his address.
"We shall also go to lengths to fortify the town, and as a community of farmers and craftsmen I am sure this is something you shall thrive with. We will make this place a very hard nut to crack, indeed. Those who can shoot a bow will shoot a bow. Those you can hold a spear will hold a spear. Those who will dig trenches will dig trenches. Those who cannot, on the other hand, will still be put to work, making arrows or stockpiling supplies. If we work together, and only if, we should have a chance of holding these buggers off and sending them packing, never to return!"
A further, louder barrage of cheers shot into the dusk. These people now had hope, and it was given to them by these four odd blokes whom had been dropped on their doorstep not a day before. The people of Hillsbrad felt that their luck was finally on the rise. Though, to the lads in question, they were less confident. They knew the odds they were up against, they knew what was to come, and they knew it would not be pleasant. But, as agreed, these people needed their help, and with their new strategy they would do their best to give it to them.
"Tomorrow, we shall begin preparations. Weapons will be collected and plans will be drawn up. So I suggest that you all get a good night's rest." Codin paused. "That will be all. Thank you."

And so, starting at dawn, the people for Hillsbrad would begin preparing for battle and Belmin and Fizzbiscuit would set off on journeys of their own, to get the reinforcements that they so sorely needed. If one thing was in agreement, it was that tomorrow was going to be a very long day.