Raghor Bloodbrand had heard the screams of dying demons before, war was the melody of his existence but never like this.
One moment he stood near the heart of the encampment, listening to reports from two of his Dreadlords about positioning and scouting. The next, the sky split with a screams of elemental violence. The very ground beneath them cracked, hissed, and groaned as jagged spikes of molted earth erupted through flesh and steel alike. Tents started to burn, bursting into flame as lightning struck their iron bound poles. The stench of seared flesh filled the air like a choking fog.
