The lords of the passes are arming their vassals. You'll find no shelter that way. The conscripts they've taken have never returned. And our hopes fade with each passing day.
Laboring in the liquid light of leviathan. Spectres swarm around the sunken cities of the saurians. Rising from the void through the blackness of eternal night.
So many men have fallen. So many more must die. Cut down like wheat beneath a scythe. And though our limbs may weary. Of ripping, slashing, cleaving blows.