The forest lay in ruin, a scarred and ravaged expanse of splittered trees and churned earth.
The air was heavy with the acidic tang of smoke and the coppery stench of blood, hanging like a noxious cloud over the battleground.
The silence was oppressive, punctuated only by the occasional groan of shifting wood or the distant rumble of collasping debris.
Scattered across the clearing were the twisted, unmoving forms of Winged Trolls, their bodies rent and torn by the ferocity of the battle.
The ground was slick with their ichor, the earth drinking deep of the dark, viscous fluid.
In the center of the carnage, a lone Winged Troll knelt, its massive wings splayed out behind it, trembling with exhaustion.
It's chest heaved, each ragged breath a testament to the brutal punishment it had taken.
Deep guts spilled from a glaring wound in its side, and one of its eyes was a ruin, a pulpy, mangled mess.
