A green mist covers the hill, you forget who you are, and why you are there.
I tell you you are a lost Mage and your children are crying for you, and
point you in the direction of your city. You stumble off and it becomes
The dragon riders tactically retreated to safer lines.
We ask for the help of dwarves, elves, urgals, humans, and wild dragons. They come while none of your scanners detect anything. This is because your technology can't detect magic.
At night when your man are sleeping we silently kill everyone cloaked by powerful spells.
Donald Trump? Really? I work for myself with allies as a warrior and I am the Swordmaster not a merchant.
The all-out war has spread itself to the hills nearby. Old Owl flees to the Netherlands to flee the onslaught of hill sieges.
So you don't wanna leave me alone on my hill, but my new hill is populated by sprites, goblin, orks and many other creatures of that kind, and they all have already became friends of mine. You didn't ecpect this and you lose the battle.