The sergeant opens his mouth to reply, but is interrupted by a shout of alarm from the guards on the wall. You whirl around, and follow the pointing fingers of several soldiers to the sky above Black Shingle, where three of the slender scouts demons are hovering with their vibrant red and greens wings. Sensing their discovery, the demons start to flap away just as one of the nearby officers yells an order. Two dozen Senrish crossbows are raised, and a moment later the air is filled with bolts. Two of the demons fall, pierced by many shafts, but the other survives unscathed. The soldiers begin to reload, but before they can finish, the scout has vanished over the rooftops of Black Shingle. Organized chaos falls among the army. Any such hopes that the assault would take the fiends by surprise are dashed, and the officers are keen to give them as little time to prepare as possible. A minute later the Black Shingle gates swing open, making way for two squadrons of outriders. Banners fluttering in the wind, polearms held aloft, over six-thousand soldiers follow in serried ranks. Captain Parker and his cadre of officers remains somewhere near the rear, relying on messengers to relay instructions, while the war-golems and dwarven mercenaries serve as the vanguard. Sergeant Ygor beckons you forward, as he and his soldiers take up formation. Alongside them, you march out of Senra and into the war-torn abattoir of Black Shingle. The guards on the wall wave to you, some cheering. Others salute.

For five minutes, you march alongside the army unhindered. A few more scout demons circle overhead, but they are soon brought down or driven away by a volley of bolts. The burnt-out ruins are quiet, the rising sun casting long shadows. The first squadron of outriders returns, slightly fewer than when they departed. The Captain listens to their report impatiently, then dispatches them once more. You pass a handful of dismembered demon corpses, fresh blood still leaking from their wounds. Then, without a word, Ygor breaks off from the group, leading you and your companions down a modest avenue. The buildings here are mostly intact, mostly only sporting shattered windows and minor burns. What few bodies you do see are in an advanced state of decay. Ygor leads the way, sword in hand, accompanied by four of his subordinates his pikes - four more, each carrying a crossbow, take the rear. Face still impassive, the adept, Sycarus, drifts along in between the two groups. Behind you, through the twisting streets, you faintly hear shouts, battlecries, the clash of steel on steel. An unearthly roar.

Suddenly, you clearly hear the repetitive thumping of marching feet on cobblestones, getting steadily closer - by the noise, you would guess the approaching group to number between ten and fifteen people. Ygor holds up a fist, signalling a halt, and mutters an order to form ranks, but seems reluctant to take further action until he knows the identity of the marchers. The noise seems to be emanating from a nearby alley, a muddy alcove barely wide enough to walk three-abreast. The alley is situated between a large, three-storey inn and a half-collapsed house. Across the avenue, two more narrow alleys wind their way into the city's depths. A grate has been ripped out of the street, leaving an open manhole to the storm drains. Several wooden barrels have been stacked outside the inn, which seems to be securely locked, though the same cannot be said for it's cracked windows.