Frothan basks in the moonlight. It strenghtens him, fills him with power as he gazes down at the city of Nonalli. Fires flicker within its walls, its occupants terrified of the night. Outside the walls there is only darkness, but it writhes with unnatural life. The Army of the Dead has surged across the Thelgrim peninsula in an unholy flood, destroying everything in its path.

Many of its fallen enemies have risen again to its ranks; the horde is larger than when it first arrived on shore. Now Frothan and his troops lay siege to the once-great city of Nonalli. It is only a matter of time before Nonalli's walls collapse. Frothan can afford to be patient. Undead have plenty fo time.