The weather beaten trail wound ahead into the dust racked

climes of the baren land which dominates large portions of the

Norgolian empire. Age worn hoof prints smothered by the sifting

sands of time shone dully against the dust splattered crust of

earth. The tireless sun cast its parching rays of incandescense

from overhead, half way through its daily revolution. Small

rodents scampered about, occupying themselves in the daily

accomplishments of their dismal lives. Dust sprayed over three

heaving mounts in blinding clouds, while they bore the burdonsome

cargoes of their struggling overseers.

“Prepare to embrace your creators in the stygian haunts of

hell, barbarian”, gasped the first soldier.

“Only after you have kissed the fleeting stead of death,

wretch!” returned Grignr.