Blood and Iron
As they rise from the sea, we already know we will be counting hundreds of dead people and this, if we are actually lucky.
We call them Marmoorians, but their true name is misery, sickness, despair and hatred. We have always fought them, since the dawn of times, but they seem to be eternal, forbidding and methodical.
They come with the undertow, hidden in the tides, heading up the coastline, and wave after wave, they smash against our walls, our soliders, our lives. We kill dozens of them, hundreds, thousands but the truth is, it serves no purpose as they keep coming back, always, again and again.
We hate the forsaken seafolk, we hate their stench as it rots on our shores, we hate all of them when one of our own is taken away, under the sea, to die in some god forsaken place.
This is our home, a few stripes of arable land and that is all we have. Come and get us assholes, we're waiting for you!