Dathan Herulus has led his squadron into the Lithian city of Shirak.  They are lost.  In the midst of their efforts to reunite with their battle group, they come across a fountain.

    Our battle, a taxing ritual of entering and investigating every building, flushing out snipers and evading traps, inspired increasing frustration as the enemy continually faded away from conflict. Their amorphous resistance steadily drained ammunition to the extent that I had to reduce the number of muskets returning fire in order to conserve bullets. By noon I’d lost eight men, and the rest of my troops grew increasingly edgy.

    We found trinkets, a few coins and alabaster or jade furniture. We stepped over the bodies of the elderly, small children, and any warrior who dared oppose our entry. We discarded worthless weapons, but stripped the dead of their knives and swords because Lithian metallurgy surpassed our own in quality.

    Roughly three hours into the battle a messenger arrived, cursed profoundly that we we’d been so hard to find, then breathlessly recited an order from my centurion that demanded we push north to a central plaza at all possible speed. He gave no reason, but I figured we were destined for some heavier action in a hurry.

    Curiously, after passing on the orders to my sergeants, I noticed a lift in the men's spirits--enthusiasm seemed to spread with the news that we'd actually be doing something. Finding this plaza, however, proved more complex than simply marching there in a straight line. Deep gloom, the contradictory, deceptive battle sounds and an unfamiliar landscape conspired to confuse everyone, we were soon lost, and I became impatient. I had not come here to fail.

    Sergeant Laredimus, sensing my frustration, quietly suggested that we send a small scouting party ahead to map out the best approach, moving the main group only when we were certain that the chosen path did not backtrack. This sounded like a good idea, so I picked my most reliable men, checked the calibration of their compass, and sent them off.

    Our progress slowed and my patience wore thin. Eventually, we arrived at a crossroads--a kind of clearing where several paths intersected at odd angles. A fountain of jade and obsidian, carved indecently in naked male and female figures playing harps and woodwind instruments, lay at the center of this intersection. My men began to drink and refresh themselves, gawking at and joking about the sculpture while I tried to figure out where to go next. I discreetly discussed the navigational problem with my sergeants, anxious to arrive where ordered, hoping to avoid more embarrassment.

    Without warning, a series of portals flashed open all around us, blinding our eyes in brilliant light. Voices, speaking strange words, seemed to call fire out of thin air and direct it toward our assembled troops, many of whom were completely engulfed in unquenchable flame.

    "Hold your fire!" I screamed, trying to prevent the men from wasting ammunition. I didn't know at the time that the infernal Lithian magic had simply cooked off our powder horns and ignited loaded muskets spontaneously.

    Then, the water in the fountain thickened and seemed to come alive. To my utter astonishment, it divided into multiple streams and gushed forward, each stream seeking a man’s face. Unable to breathe, blinded and defenseless, I faced the unbelievable prospect of drowning with my feet standing on dry ground.

    It coiled around my flailing hands and wrapped around my neck when I turned my back--its force so powerful I could offer no resistance. My body slammed against the unyielding cobblestones. Water clung to my flesh, hammered in my ears, crawled into my mouth and nose, reaching down my throat like a malevolent serpent. I coughed, spat and rolled in agony, resisting death as I fought the urge to inhale. Nothing in my life had ever terrified me like this.

    In an instant, as soon as I believed I would surely die, the water vanished. My heart pounded. I could hold my breath no longer, but when I gasped for air, my lungs functioned perfectly. I rolled onto my back, noting not even a drop of moisture on my skin, my uniform or the surrounding ground. Mysteriously, the fountain lay quiet once more.

Warrior's Soul