[DonCorazon]

At the first gleam of sunlight, the small Utgardian army saw the horrible legion across the valley while the steady pounding of war drums shook the damp earth. Over 500 strong, the Ermorian ranks were filled with disciplined legionnaires outfitted in gleaming silver armor, the purple flags with grinning skull-emblazoned standards flapping in the chill morning wind. Barack, supreme warlord of the Utgardian horde, felt his heart skip as he peered closer at the shadowy ranks. Skeletal knights clad in rotting armor with wicked scythes and notched swords were positioned on the flanks. And in the Ermorian rearguard, an entire cadre of necromantic sorcerers chanting their fell craft. When the battle let loose the Ermorian mages channelled their power and let loose an endless sequence of spells designed to ensnare the Utgardian woodsmen in the lure of Ermor’s false god. But in the darkest hour of doubt, the independent spirit and berserk battlelust of the horde could not be overcome and Utgard saw Ermor for what it was, the rotting pile of books of another dying civilization. [img]/threads/images/Graemlins/icon19.gif[/img]