Declaration of losses | Sun's Smile 1658

[Temp 2006]

A parchment is pinned to many of the sign posts of the eastern roads. It reads as follows:

Band of the Respite

The Nest has been burned. The parchments, cast to the wind.

All remaining forces are to ready themselves for re-training.

As we are pressed for time, the clandestine nature of our work is to be retired. Following a rift in the sky and a skirmish with the unknown, the following losses have been suffered:

Raider Unit:
Humphrey of Strom
Heinrich of Strom
Zin'Thuan of Oaken Helm

Sapper Unit:
Frelny of Old Kaedrin
Enarin of Old Kaedrin
Metthias of High Rock
Albred of Hag's Peak

Auxilliary and Occupation:
Dremli Stonetongue
Aldremithin Rockbain
Franz K.
William 'The Butcher'
Blanerin Fron
Alvin of High Rock
Robert Thane
Higgs
Tholumin of Torm
'Shoe'
Bart the 'Half Hander'
Goddard F

Creator take them into his merciful embrace.

Secondary

Return the Berserker. Last seen departing for the field of blades, unarmed and unequipped. It is essential that this is done quickly.
 

[ScreamingDingo 20568]

 

 

“Blood…”

 

The man would stammer as his patrol was torn apart by the inhabitants of the Hamlet, the sky tearing into a miasma of black and red as he would sob to himself. The crimson snow that was sprinkled around him would morph into the gluttonous, congealed pools of blood and flesh. His comrades seemingly sinking into the growing wasteland that forms around him.

 

Streaks of red would litter the darkness above, grey and blue intertwining as tendrils of flesh would ensnare the vision of the sky. He’d continue to sob in terror, his sword felt against his chest as the screams of fear and terror would bellow from all sides of the area. The former snowy habitat morphed into some landscape that appeared to be dumped by the contents of a slaughterhouse. The trees would droop as the carrion would be absent and the man’s armor would be slick in blood and gore.

 

“I don’t want to die…”

 

The thundering hooves would echo all around him, the mismatch of squelching flesh and rivers of blood creating the sickening sound which continues to rain upon him. The tears wouldn’t sob, the convulsions running through his hands as his bowels would empty where he knelt. The waste mixing with the gore that covers the general area, the macabre display as the lumber-mill infront of him would present a slaughter. Men being torn apart by these, strange abominations. Horsemen covered in faces and scars, with contusions and unnatural proportions littering their body. The chains, flaying the men alive in fashion of paper tearing. Blood flying into the air from each strike and the blood curdling screams following each whip. The crunching of skulls, the groaning of fallen men.

 

“I can’t let them take me…”

 

The sobs would continue as the man would grab his own sword, his grip upon the hilt wavering slightly but still able to point the blade toward his throat. He would slowly guide the tip of the blade to the center of the underside of his jaw, trembling. His bowels and bladder would continue to empty as he would watch the horrors ahead of him. The men infront of him slaughtered into ribbons, bloodied, horrific ribbons.

 

A single thrust upward is all it took, the blade burying itself through the skull of the man and impaling into his brain. The quick end, the pain fading away and the horrors escaped. The accursed have broken through, the veil has torn back.

[Joltastik 506]

A tall individual stands over the burning pyre alongside few of his comrades, a single palm holding at his newly disfigured face.

 

"No end to this." He meekly comments.

[ScreamingDingo 20568]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it.