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Player's Guide Places People History Beliefs


The Last War
As I gaze out over the open plains that will soon run red with the blood of men and orcs, I wonder at how quickly things seem to have spiraled out of control. It seems like only yesterday that I left for Tel-Tenauril to seek out Threnody, and now I'm once again in Sellador, Veridian back by my side, awaiting the start of yet another battle.
My human body was restored to me just last month by an elven wizard I happened to save from some angry bug-bears. It feels good to be human again, but odd at the same time. It does seem fitting though, that on the eve of what could be humanities destruction, I stand here, a member of the race I was born in to.
Gailen gave me another unit. A mercenary unit... again. He doesn't think the regular army would follow the orders of a rough and tumble merc from the Free Nations. Well... they probobly wouldn't, so I guess I can't blame him. At least the men in my unit are all experienced fighters; I've seen a fair few boys that haven't even seen fourteen summers running about here with swords in their hands.
The men are scared. We're all scared. For good reason too; we're out numbered ten to one, even with the dwarven help Roven and the others managed to secure. This will be one holy hell of a fight, and if we're going to go down, we'll make sure the orcs remember it.
The order to muster just came down from the top. Aldric must have seen it too. The dust cloud on the horizen has been growing denser for the past half hour. As I turn to order my men into position, I pull my cloak tighter around my shoulders. It's too cold for this time of year.
And I think I just felt a rain drop.

From the journal of Sir Aeric Of Dhoesone

Contributor: Jacob McDonald