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"They come through the trees and carry with them the smell of death. Loose bones rattle as they walk, clanging against shields and greaves that are hanging on by rotting straps. There is no pressing need for silence or subtlety in how they move. They are made to be heard. They are made to be seen. They come in a swarm and they do not stop. They do not tire, and they never falter. Compelled by dark, old magic as ancient as the earth they tread, they drive a spike of fear through the hearts of those they approach–striking many dead before the first cut is even made. "