Has it been days? Weeks? Months?

That first night, when the cliff opened, the Commander could barely believe his
own eyes. The solid rock shimmered, and a broad wound three times as tall as a
man just ... opened ... in the cliff. And they came. They found a way.

The initial clash was ferocious. Claws and fangs met sword and shield. Acidic
clouds burst forth from the creatures, but the men's armor protected them. The
monsters had been repelled, forced back into the cliff at daybreak.

The Commander looks around himself as the sun lowers in the west. Far to the
north, the maw-like crevice now pours an inexhaustable supply of the creatures.
His command tent is but a memory - what a luxury that had been! Now he wakes in
the mud with the other soldiers. Daylight offers respite, and their only chance
to sleep before darkness brings forth the nightmare once more.

Yesterday's report had been grim. Three holdouts remain, but all are separated
from each other. The eastern trenchline - the fourth holdout - has fallen, and
the High Inquisitor was slain. Ironically, dwarven sappers used the trenches to
burrow under the prisoner tents in the chaos. Those wretched Darkfriends must
have led the witch and her guardian to safety while his men protected Thera
against this onslaught of evil!

With that thought, rage overtakes the feeling of hopelessness. The setting sun
announces the beginning of another night of misery. The Commander draws his
sword.