The smell of blood and salt sifted through the humid night air. Men in heavy, metal armor shuffled through the thickly wooded pathway, branches and thorns slapping at them and clattering against their garments. The air was sticky and humid and full of pests.

The path through the charted territory was faintly traceable through the beaten down path, but it was clear that no one had travelled it recently. Overbrush and branches were had begun to consume the walkway. The sounds of coughing and spitting became contagious as men failed to avoid the inhalation of bugs that swarmed the air.

Every couple hundred yards or so another dead body would lay to the side of the path, beaten and bloody. The bodies continued to appear more regularly the farther along the path they went. One man smiled smugly and nudged the shoulder of the man ahead of him, “we’re getting closer, eh?” The reply he anticipated didn’t come and left him smilingly foolishly, long enough for him to feel like an idiot.

The head of the group was a burly man and top heavy. His upper body spread so wide his squire had wondered silently to himself what would happen if he exhaled. His armor would probably burst off his chest. His locks of brown, shoulder-length hair were visible from flowing out under his full helmet helm that covered his block of a head. His eyes were a rich brown that were complemented by a well-maintained beard. Bags hung under his eyes from consecutive days without rest. Lines and wrinkles lined his face that gave off a look of experience, but his eyes kept him young.

The squire was made to appear like a stick in contrast to his superior. He had felt hard done by when ordered to accompany his master on such a treacherous mission, but he knew if he had complained that his master would have him castrated in no time. He was more comfortable staying towards the back of the pack and accompanying the healer who shared an interest in avoiding blood and combat unless necessary. However, today he bore the crest of a people who must have some affiliation with hyenas. There was a hyena baring its teeth in the top right corner of his armor, which sat upon a thin layer of chain mail and a tunic which were far too large on him. He had been given the armor of some fallen warrior they had slain some days back, much to his dismay of having the clothes of some rotting and decaying dead man on his back.

The squire boy had tried to shy his way to the back of the line by disguising his slowed trot with a few laughs, but he had only been prodded onwards by the Scar. His ugly slashed face and rotting teeth were enough for him to take back in his seat and find his spot next to his master again, who gave no notice to his brief meandering.

The two servants-at-arms appeared the master’s side, cutting off the squire’s stride and in the process a tree branch was hurled back and slapped him in the face. The branch left a bloody scratch across his cheek. He tried to listen to their whispers, but they weren’t audible. The master put up a hand and instantly the whole infantry stopped. The clanging of metal armor slowly faded to an end. The servants-at-arms turned to face the group, but the squire couldn’t look. He knew better than to make eye contact with one of those creature things. The servants-at-arms made a clicking noise with their mouths, and swords were unsheathed from scabbards. Two horns spurted through the two holes on either side of their shoulder blades, and their servant-at-arms streak of red and gold gleamed against the bright of the silvery shiny scrap of metal that was used for a handheld weapon. Two hundred men stared ahead of them with their longsword held out before them.

The squire made eye contact with the master and quickly diverted his eyes, but he could not avoid it, “Terran, my squire, blow the horn.” Terran the squire gave a quick “yes, my lord,” and he began to let out slow blasts of the horn that radiated through the sticky, dense jungle brush. They wanted to be known. This was not an ambush. Merely it was a revealing of their intentions upon whatever population that lay on the other side of the dense bushes that stood nine feet high in way of their approach. The servants-at-arms both shuffled their massive hind legs, standing just a foot or two below the top of the overgrown hedges. They took to hacking down the bushes in desperate desire to see what was laying beyond. The master stood close by, anxiety and excitement in his eyes as he just could not wait to catch a glimpse of what lied beyond. He had heard stories but none of which had ever been confirmed and no one had the audacity nor the courage to find out on this side of the divided hemisphere.

A bearded man stepped forward from one of the front lines that had squeezed up to flank the King as best they could in the narrow pathway, “my lord, it’s ready.” The King matted his scraggly beard with the palm of his hand and nodded his head. Ten men shuffled to the front at a fast pace with a long blade that was headed straight for the hedges.

The long blade attached to a wooden pole the width of five feet slammed through the thick. The process was repeated about ten times to get through the overly dense thicket of hedges. The gap they had waited for opened.

The King was the first to step through, the squire Terran was more than happy to fulfill his role as the King’s sideman and stepped in beside him. His jaw dropped open in bewilderment. The King dropped to his knees in despair.

The skies were a stormy gray, no end of the clouds for hundreds and hundreds of miles. Endless plains of fields full of thick dead grasses swayed in the faintest of breezes underneath the clouds. The King was on his knees. Men were shoving to get through the carved opening from the congested and humid jungle.

Men slowly took turns faltering to their knees, helmets in hand. The two servants-at-arms let out slow groans as their burly bodies slammed the ground in frustration. There was nothing for miles and miles ahead except dead grasses and stormy skies.