Far across the shifting expanse of the dungeonland, where the terrain was dry and cracked and the mana saturation too thick for casual breathers, Chief Varros and his troops from the Black Vale Territory marched in a tide of fury.
Their black and red banners fluttered behind them, soaked in the blood of recent conquests.
The iron plates of their armor shimmered beneath a cursed sun that hovered low over the jagged horizon, their boots crunching down the brittle bones of long-forgotten beast corpses that littered the cursed valley floor.
Varros, towering and musclebound with jagged tattoos burned across his chest and face, walked with the swagger of a man who had never once tasted defeat.
In his right hand, he dragged a serrated war-axe that still dripped with the greenish-black fluids of the squid-headed monstrosities they had just wiped out.
Behind him, the soldiers laughed.
