My thoughts ramble in these times and as my fears mount I felt compelled to write lest I never see home again. A fortnight ago we came upon the enemy most suddenly and the company’s spirits were lifted briefly as we scored a glorious victory. But it was strange to see such an incursion this far north. I am ashamed to say that we did not notice nor care of the butchery that was to follow and has haunted our every march.

Our commander has been known to us as a shrewd and cunning man, but also fair and honorable. What madness brought him to the slaughter of brother upon brother, I do not know. I stay my courage even when my comrades stare with cold, cruel suspicion at one another. Horrific rumours spread among them. Several have disappeared. They say that they have gone on some great errand, summoned by our Lord, never to be heard from again. Others say that they are cowards and deserters, for the campaign season has been unduly harsh. Perhaps that is a reason or an excuse. We have now remained amongst these ruined towers for a week and the dread of what is to come clings to us like the filth in which we wallow. It should only be a matter of days now, for what fell purpose drives the enemy also drives us. I regret I will not share their fate for there are whispers I am to go to the tower and see for...

"Narash naan lamosh!"

Bitter snorts tossed wrinkled vellum into the windswept field to mingle with the broken, blood-spattered standards of snake and tree. Thick, putrid fingers wrenched the leather satchel from clammy hands.

"Narash naan lamoshu!!"

The icy grip of a long shadow crept over the pathetic hodgepodge of rusted metal.

"Thrakradatul."

The smoothness of the voice behind the iron visor echoed in a twisted song.

Not a protest issued forth and a flash of steel glinted against the night sky dancing with the steam of black blood splashing over the dewy grass. The satchel now safe.

"Hmph." A smirk on black lips. “Ashyûl snaga mudhngusat.”