The Starving Army

In the desolate fields beyond the mountain city, a macabre tableau unfolds—the Starving Army, an abomination birthed from the very bowels of darkness, stands as a silent testament to the land's descent into the abyss. The stillness of the air belies the unspeakable horrors that lie beneath the surface, as the howling winds, like the false breaths of a malevolent specter, echo through the eerie landscape.
Approaching the edge of the accursed fields, intrepid souls are met not with the rustling of leaves or the gentle whispers of the wind, but with the haunting moans of the undead—a cacophony of suffering that resonates with a chilling harmony. The very ground seems to pulsate with an otherworldly rhythm, as the Starving Army, a congregation of thousands bound by the dark will of the Bane Lords, awaits the dormant call to unleash its sinister purpose.
Amidst the ghastly congregation, the corpses sway in a macabre dance of decay, their bodies gently rocking with the cadence of unseen malevolence. Each undead form, a grotesque puppet of the abyss, exudes an aura of foreboding dread, as if the very fabric of reality recoils in horror at their unnatural existence. The valley, once a place of life and vibrant energy, now emanates a pungent stench—a fetid miasma that clings to the air, choking the life out of the surrounding landscape.
Time, an intangible specter in the presence of the Starving Army, ceases to flow in the conventional sense. The boundaries between night and day blur into an eternal twilight, casting a perpetual shadow over the forsaken fields. The undead horde, seemingly frozen in an unholy tableau, becomes a nightmarish tapestry of decay and despair—a haunting reminder of the Bane Lords' dark dominion.
Yet, the true horror lies not in the sight of the undead, nor in the stillness of their motionless forms, but in the insidious decay that creeps across the landscape. The corpses, trapped in an unending cycle of decomposition, gradually succumb to the inexorable forces of rot and decay. Each passing moment heralds the final dissolution of the once-living, as the very essence of life is drained from their wretched husks, leaving behind a putrid residue that stains the earth.
The Starving Army, a dread-inducing manifestation of the Bane Lords' malevolence and power, remains shrouded in an impenetrable darkness that defies mortal comprehension. It is a specter of doom, an omen of desolation that looms over the mountain city like a harbinger of the apocalypse. As the living approach the accursed fields, they are enveloped in an oppressive aura of despair, as if the very fabric of reality recoils at the touch of the undead abomination—an abhorrent force that silently hungers for the inevitable moment when the Bane Lords shall unleash its unholy wrath upon the world.

Type

Infantry