The day's marching is long, the rain has become a constant companion now and the mood of the army is grim. Rain runs off waxed cloaks and wagon canvas in rivulets, and the ground is churned to mud beneath your boots. Keeping watch under such conditions is difficult, but you need little visibility to sense the next horror you must face. As you trudge through the rain the ground begins to quake.

One of the soldiers behind you shouts and points at what looks like a river of mud heading in your direction. Another Wyrm, this time bigger… much bigger.

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