I was a mild summer’s morning when dawn broke and the earth shattered.
Two hundred centuriae guarded the rock maze of Mareth’s Western Pass. Thirty and three legions of monsters oozed across the surface of the land. The filth from their gang was so immense that clouds grew dark above them, ground water grew fetid below them, and animals and plants alike grew diseased and rotted as they slowly devoured the land.
Like an arrow being released from a pulled bow, so did the legions release from their horde and splash against the defenders of The Pass. Three arrows were released at the wall of steel and stone. Thirty thousand arrows were released into the swarm. The soldiers arms grew tired from the carnage they unleashed. The scum’s ranks could not tire, their forces were dying before they could hardly swing a sword twice.
After sunset, night would not come. Small suns burst across the acres of blood and bones as another arrow was released. Arrows, acid, lightning, and hail volleyed across the field of death. On the horizon, fires erupted inside the belly of the horde followed by ghastly coughing and dropping. There was finally a break from the madness. A moment to collapse from exhaustion and let fatigue drag the brave men into dreams of peace and softness with their loved ones. Relief was jerked from the heroes as an unholy fire exploded across their ranks. The fire took everything from where it burned, even their souls. The pass is lost…