<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic"><span style="text-decoration: underline"><span style="font-weight: bold">Part I: The March Begins</span></span></span><br/><br/><br/>Arms crossed under his think cloak with one leg resting on the other, a light drizzle started to fall from the sky and began to wash away the dirt and grime down the sides of Thuran's tan face as he waited for the rest of the surviving soldiers to arrive.  The rain that fell in between the sides of his cape often found a home  under the straps of leather covering her arms and legs, making Thuran increasing upset and moody.  His eyes beamed jealousy as he looked towards the abandoned village sitting in the distance, and the dry and warm buildings that sat within. He saw no signs of life from the village, no people had been seen walking the roads while clothes hung on lines outside in the rain. It had been a rough week for the Lithleethian, starting with the massacre at the Fields of Amarillis.  <br/><br/>The sell-sword remembers clearly where he was when everything went to hell.  He stood in the middle of the giant army fighting alongside his employer, the young general Cavat of the Firen people.  He was hired as a bodyguard for the General, and thanks to some issues with the Glamhoth general, found his skills tested early when a horde of cultist managed to break through the Lavas lines and into the midst of Cavats army. While the fighting was intense, it paled in comparison for what came next.  Skies filled with flame and ash filled the air around him.  Each night he is tormented by the images of dragon fire and monstrous beasts straight from hell emerging from the mountain.  His mind still see's the faces of those crushed by the falling stones, those dragged away by the shadows and even the lucky ones burned to ash in an instant.  The days that followed did not spare him any nightmares either.  With the frantic running, and the constant threat of a shambler army creeping up on him kept him alert, and without much rest.  <br/><br/>Though a few days after the battle he ran into a few surviving soldiers, then into a surviving and mostly intact army from the city of Lavas five hundred strong.  They were late to the battle and were spared the initial attack, according to the general at least.  Various survivors had fallen in with the army as they made their way back to their city.  It was here that Thuran found himself thrust into the role of a scout, something most unknown to him.  He was an assassin yes, and possibly the most athletic member of the group, but he worked with the shadows to find a target not against them in locating a threat.  He had mentioned this many times to the general over the past few days to no success, even when he pointed out that there was an elf who was an experienced scout.  Thuran figured this was due to his western heritage over anything else.  The Lavas general was right to be wary of the Lithleeth man, their reputation proceeded them even in these dark days.  <br/><br/>His thoughts were dragged away by the sounds of the approaching allied soldiers, their footsteps splashing through the wet road as they neared his position.  “Again, here we go.” He said as his body turned to face the approaching unit, and waved his hand to signal the general.<br/><br/>Glancing across the approaching soldiers, the westerner quickly noticed the tall heavyset man whom was in charge.   He was a Lavas general named Dorius, a well regarded man by his fellow Lavas, and a well hated man by anyone else.  The man towered over his bodyguards as if he was a Glamhoth berserk standing in the middle of a group of goblins.  On his face, each tracing line and obsolescent tissues were proof of the long life that he has endured thus far.  His once strong, and muscular frame, had began to grow frail as each step brought about a slight limp and a face full of pain.  The general face quickly turned to match Thurans, and a frown quickly developed.<br/><br/>“Why have you stopped scouting, desert rat?”  Dorius shouted out as his pace quickened and his limp grew more obvious.<br/><br/>“Empty village ahead, sir.”  Thuran responded with his tell-tale Liltleeth accent.  “Could be trap.”  <br/><br/>“Why have you not scouted it out then?  If there is a threat ahead it is your job as my scout to find them, boy.”  Dorius responded, talking down to the Lithleethian in the process.<br/><br/>“Because if it is trap, then I do not want to spring it alone.”  Thuran responded as his hand motioned for the general to come have a look at the village.<br/><br/>After a short pause, the General turned around and shouted for all the soldiers in the group to stop.  He motioned for his bodyguards to follow, and he began to trudge his way through the muddy path towards Thuran.  “Tell me, what is it that you see that makes you think this village is a trap?”<br/><br/>“It's not what I see, but what is missing.”  Thuran said as he pointed out across the village.  “No villagers, clothes still on the lines in the rain.”  Thuran said as he turned towards the general.  “If the enemy has caught up with us again, then this is where I think they would come from.  We are far from the battlefield now, and this village is remote.  I think the news of what happened might not have arrived yet.”  <br/><br/>“You make little sense.  We sent out runners a few days ago down this same path.  They would have told them of what happened on their way to the capital cities.”  The General replied as he turned towards one of his bodyguards.  “Grab the Elven Nobel, the Siren bitch, and the Mûl mongrels and every other expendable soldier and bring them up here.  We shall humor the dog and let him play in the village for us.”  The general finished as he tossed Turan a look of disgust.<br/><br/>“None of your soldiers will come?”  Thuran asked as he raised his right eyebrow, questioning the decision.<br/><br/>“Like I said, expendable soldiers only.”  He responded as he turned around and began to walk back towards his soldiers.  “Set up a perimeter.  We hold for twenty minutes.”  He walked into the middle of the soldiers, barking orders as he went, before he went out of sight for Thuran.<br/><br/>On cue, Thuran disregarded the commander and his eyes were drawn back to the village.  The village itself was rather large, shaped like a giant oval with a small creek separating the buildings inside the village from the forest, with a small stone bridge as the only way across.   On either side though, farming fields, horse stables and small markets crowded the edges of the village.  At the end, one large house stood out from the rest.  He assumed it was the village elders house, as it was in remarkably good shape compared to the surrounded buildings.<br/><br/>His eyes were drawn away once more by the sounds of footsteps coming from behind.  His eyes quickly darted back and took in the sight of twenty odd soldiers, of various races and backgrounds with the remarkable exclusion of a single Lavas soul.  A small smirk formed across his face as he admired the fact, before he turned around once more and took off in a slow walk towards the village.<br/><br/>“Let's see if anyone is home, no?”  He asked to the soldiers behind him.  "<span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">Let's make this our final march.</span></span>"  He said as happiness fell from his face and the burden of commanding resumed.</div>