The air around Pyrohaven was filled with the clashing of swords and the roars of combat. Amidst this chaotic battleground, Ophelia perched on a raised rock, her legs swinging playfully as she watched the war unfold. A smile played on her lips, one that held a touch of madness, reflecting the joy she found in the chaos below.
Beside her, Vargus, the formidable black werewolf zombie, leaned in to update her. His face was serious, a stark contrast to Ophelia's amusement. "Master," he began, his voice heavy with concern, "our forces are being pushed back."
Her smile faltered slightly, her eyebrows arching in curiosity. "Oh? And what's causing our lovely army to lose ground?" she asked, her tone light but intrigued.
Vargus's expression tightened as he reported, "Our numbers, they're too small against their defense. And the ascendants... they've started using all sorts of abilities."
