The gentle crackling of firewood in the hearth that radiated warmth slowly lulled the man into sleep, while the gush of wind that occasionally teased him cooled his damp forehead that almost glistened when the moonlight shone upon its surface. Empty bottles of Dwarven ale, cider and pomade wine, rustic beer, mead made of fermented honey, and a varied set of cheap booze from taverns frequented by peasants and commoners alike were strewn about the huge table adjacent to the bed. It was a testament of how for the past few days had the man been heavily reliant upon the use of alcohol in his ineffectual attempts to escape reality. Moments later as he dozed off into a deep slumber, the wish he yearned all his life finally came into being as he dreamt.
Do you think it really is Velmund’s army?