Let me set the scene for you. Two scouts, ravenously hungry, sore from hours of blocking, swinging, and scrambling, sit by a campfire. No words pass between the two. The only indication an outsider could use to surmise their relationship is the passing of a wooden cup of water every now and again. They are staring into the waning flames when a sound echoes in the distance. Horns. The savage horde of mongrels they beat back just hours ago is somehow on the move again, but how? It couldn't be...unless their worst fear is being confirmed. The mood darkens as the two realize their fight is unwinnable, that there is no victory when one is faced when an unending tide of bloodthirsty, half-crazed warriors.