I find myself somewhere worse than despair. I’ve lost all trace of what I was with what was done to me, as if my dreams have been plucked from my heart. I fight on, and on, in a gray world, hoping that I will catch a glimpse of them, but so far I’ve found nothing.
The ground trembles as an regiment of knights rides forward at the head of an army that marches behind. Thousands of feet trample the ground beneath it, the vibrations in the ground will make sure even the deaf know this army is coming. The thundering sound alone is enough to put fear into even the bravest of souls. Fey creatures and beasts scatter deeper into the forest. The forest roars with the sappers and burn units, forcing it to clear the way from the waystation fort located here.
Up close it's the sound of chainmail and armor clashing together which overpowers all other sounds. The whinnies and grunts of the war animals are all but drowned out completely. The creaking of metal of the ballista and supply carts can be heard only faintly.
The noise is too overwhelming to allow for any conversation to take place, but the soldiers are far too focused on the battle ahead anyway. The entire army is as one. A single collective mind with a single goal ahead of them: Annihilate the enemy and free Eltab per the bargain struck. Desperate men, do desperate things...
The front is lead by eager charge cavalry armed with spears, shields and swords. They're followed by elite footsoldiers armed with long swords and huge shields, who in turn are followed by elite crossbow units with deadly precision.
The ranks are filled with many other regiments, including mercenaries, with various charging units, artillery units, several bomb units and different types of archery units.
A deep, scathing hiss fills the forest:
"If your plan succeeds, Shah of Shahs, and we're all dragged, shrieking, into the abyss, will you be content? Will whatever twisted fire that burns within you be sated? You are not a god, you are not a mastermind, you are just the pawn of a human with an ambition so great it has echoed across this world. Your master will bring death and destruction to us all! Leave this place, cursed creatures! With each passing, you humans defile this sacred place more and more."
A green fog pours from every direction, flooding into the clearing as colossal green scale wings spread out for miles over the emergent canopy of the ancient trees ahead of the army. Everywhere the fog touches, skeletons and zombies claw their way up from the ground - forcing their way out of the ground from previous battles.
You reach the surface and stand facing the army, knowing the ache and despair inflicted upon the Sharawood by all outsiders. An obsessive desire overcomes you: "The Demon Lord must not be freed" is whispered again and again into your mind as if by faint women's whispers. The army ahead of you hurriedly backs away from the poisonous gas hanging heavy in the air around you as a shower of arrows plummets overhead.