A whirling cloud of orange sand had swept up during the battle and obscured the butchery. The sandstorm brought winds and dust that squinted the eyes, hid enemies, and colored friend and foe with orange powder.

Silhouettes danced in the haze, stabbing and slashing at each other. Bodies lay with orange sand sticking to crimson wounds on the desert floor and were slowly buried. Muffled clashes of steel and screaming men were in every direction.

Payne struck at one of the Beastmen, identifying his animal helm even in the fog of dirt. His double bladed sword, one side razor sharp and the other side serrated, cleaved and sawed through the Beastman’s middle. As Payne wrenched his blood drenched blade free, it became coated in orange sand.

In just a couple of ragged heartbeats, the storm ended. Payne was surrounded by dead comrades and scant few Beastmen. Directly in front of him stood their leader.

He held a two bladed axe, wore a bear’s head for a helmet, carried a bundle of skulls, and stood ten feet tall.