As the Legion of the Dead marched from the Land of Dreams, the Legion of the Damned stood besieged at the mouth of Hell. Their minor encampment was under attack, piscine claws scrabbling and gnawing at the mushroom-stalk barricades. The Deep Ones swarmed about the clearing like flies on a fresh corpse, rope-muscled warriors surging amidst the fresh stumps that squat oracles used as thrones. Oracles were rarely seen outside of the deeps, the closest thing to ‘intelligent’ life that the species seemed to have. They spoke in something resembling language, a echoic bullfrog croaking that they used to drive their entourage on. Some were even refuted to cast spells, but for the most part this seemed to be laymen misinterpreting the fish’s pagan rituals.<br/><br/>Titus’ detachment heard the sounds of battle just as they reached the ‘tree’ line, the carnage of the Deep One offensive laid bare before them. From where they stood, the handful of legionnaires could see that the offensive was reckless, without any regard for tactics or casualties. The Fish simply poured from the bolt holes along the walls, an unending tide of foul seafood. Arrows from legion bows felled them in the hundreds, but for every one that fell a dozen filled the space. Spearmen held the few places where piscine claws had broken through, their armor and weapons stained with ichors and gore.  Dozens of smoldering corpses littered these beachheads, salmon fillets char-broiled by the Legion’s few mages. Absalom could smell them from here, and his hollow stomach rumbled.<br/><br/>“Mother-frakker!” cried one of the boots, drawing his weapon and making a start towards the fray. Caine uttered a wordless shout, grabbing for him, but the soldier was already sprinting towards the nearest Oracle. Aulus nearly dropped Absalom, the broad-shouldered spearman scrabbling for his shield. Absalom’s boney arms nearly choked the man, gripping as tightly as he could to stop from crashing to the spore-covered floor.<br/><br/>“Put me down, put me down! We’re gonna need some spells!” the Skeleton’s metaphysical net was already casting wide, seeking any errant souls that swam before the veil. “Orders, sir!”