Description

[Fukurokujin]

Spreading from soil compacted where the drawbridges from the Watchtower fall, the field of battle seems normal enough for such a thing--barren soil that swirls up in puffs of dust under each footfall stretching away for hundreds of yards until the strange tendrils of Tainted vegetation begin to take hold. Behind them, shifting shapes stalk in the lowering gloom, and farther off, the very lands warp and move, and hanging clouds ripple with lightning in the distance.

A sense of malice directs itself toward the forces arrayed at the Watchtower, and too many feet march upon it, ready to make it fall...