Age of Conan: Hyborian Adventures Peek #7
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My 50 Black Dragon soldiers were ambushed on no fewer than six occasions as we journeyed north, each time suffering losses that - while minor - soon took their toll. We were but 50 men, Sire. Even the Black Dragon elite are no match for the hordes of Pictish savages and the armies of brigands marching across this poisoned land. All a man's skill with a blade and formation fighting avail him nothing if he faces three foes for each one he kills.
At the moment of writing, seven of us remain among the living. We are pinned in a cave network not far from the fortress controlled by our forces, but a veritable forest of bloody spears stands between us and salvation. We hear their war drums, Sire. We hear their howls. They will come for us soon.
