The sun beat down upon the Burning Sands, a vast expanse of scorching grains of sand that stretched as far as the eye could see. The wind, a constant companion in this unforgiving land, whispered tales of ancient battles and forgotten heroic tales of the past, its voice a haunting melody that echoed through the canyons of sand. But today, the wind carried a different song, a requiem of despair that filled the air with a palpable sense of dread.
The Ereian army, once a confident force that came to deal with the orcs, now huddled in defeat, their ranks thinned by the carnage of the first battle. The orcish horde, a savage tide of flesh and iron, had crashed upon their defenses, leaving a trail of shattered armor, broken spears, and the haunting silence of fallen comrades. The once-mighty Ereian soldiers, their faces etched with the scars of battle and the fear of defeat, struggled to hold onto their fading hope.
