The Horrors of the North

14th Olarune 998 YK: Horrors from the North

Eight years. It seems a century ago...
 
Despite how many years had gone by since my very first taste of war, I had seen relatively little in the way of fully drawn battle lines. Cyre had been fighting defensively for so long; it felt like we had been beating back wave after wave of invaders for most of my life. All in all that wasn’t far off the mark. We hadn’t had a full blown offensive since before the Western Devastation. We were losing.
 
In the winter of 990 YK, my 18th name-day fast approaching, we had been transferred to Fort Bright to fill a gap. Many Border Sentinels loathed to be given the northern postings and we were no different. Karrnath was a bitter enemy. Their use of their dead brought a chill to most Cyran’s spines. If there was ever a nation that had lost their way in the chaos of war, in the necessity of survival it was them.
 
We feared the undead of Karrnath far more than we feared any warforged army. They were not much different from warforged: tireless, uncaring, relentless… but they bled, they moaned and cried as they fought. Their faces were locked into the expressions they had when they took their final breath, and they stank. There is always the smell of death on the battlefield, but when the undead arrive… words can’t describe.
 
Tensions always ran high in the north. Patience was frayed, and people were on edge. It wasn’t just the prospect of fighting the undead, but the increased duties we all had to keep up with the tighter security we were expected to uphold. That meant patrols were undertaken by the majority of the unit, if not all.
 

A Chilling Patrol

We had gone out on one such patrol; everyone was there. Adardy, Dylis, Lili, Llion, Madlen, Owain, and myself. Karrnathi incursions had a tendency of occurring at night; hoping their tireless undead would be able to slip through and cause disarray when they eventually arrived at a populated center I supposed, and so we began the patrol just as the sun was going down.
 
It was a cold evening; the sun had scarcely melted away the frost from the previous night. The terrain was relatively rough around Scion’s Sound on the north eastern side, so our route took us on a long winding path to several lookout points that overlooked the waters below.
 
At each lookout we would spend an hour or so keeping watch before moving on. We were freezing by the time we had reached the second to last lookout. Our supplies had been running low in recent years and we hadn’t been provided any winter clothing. I fortunately had a thick gambeson layered with leathers over the top and a thick wool cloak that helped to keep the cold away for a short while.
 
It was my turn to take my rest while others kept lookouts. I sat there awash in the light of the moons, slowly drifting off. Before sleep could take me however, we heard a familiar bird call - it was Adardy sounding out that they had spotted something. The others were already rushing to grab their gear and head over. Groaning, I followed suit.
 
Off in the distance, crossing Scion’s Sound was a small rowboat travelling at some speed. We couldn’t make out how many were aboard it at the time but there were a few at least. Dylis contemplated for a short while, watching where it was going. Eventually the decision was made and we made our way down quietly to find a vantage point of it coming ashore.
 
As we did so, it began to gently snow. I couldn’t help but take in the cool air - there was always something about snow and rain that calmed my nerves. We came to a small hedgerow just above a clearing on the river bank that gave us a good view and waited.
 
The rowboat was still headed in our direction, it seemed to have quickened its pace and it didn’t take long for us to understand why. The water around the boat began to splash; darkened shapes of what appeared to be arms were grasping out of the water, attempting to drag the souls on board into the icy depths of the river.
 
All of us started mentally preparing ourselves for a fight against the undead. Scatterings of prayers were muttered, obscure rituals were performed. As for myself I simply cleaned the head of my halberd and tightened the magenta cloth I had tied around my bracers. They were a momento Ariana had given me before I left.
 
Eventually the boat made it to shore. Disembarking we saw maybe five figures. Unsure of their allegiances as of yet, Dylis decided to watch some more. We watched as a small horde of undead made their way out of the waters behind them. The ensuing fight seemed a tough one, but the strangers appeared to have the situation handled.
 
The situation quickly turned however, when we spotted another group exiting the waters just up shore and began making their way to surround the already outnumbered strangers. Muttering something about the enemies of Karrnath being temporary friends of Cyre, Dylis gave the order to engage the second group of undead to prevent their approach.
 
We moved in quickly, and as quietly as we could hoping to avoid attracting their attention till the last moment. Seizing the initiative, I charged in and attempted to take out one of the undead as early as possible. My halberd came down into its shoulder, knocking it to its knees as my comrades engaged the others. I was emboldened by my strike, and turned to go to the aid of Llion who was having some trouble with a particularly bloated undead.
 
As I made my move however, the undead stirred once more. It was getting back up! Any momentum I had, had been lost. The fight went from bad to worse in a matter of seconds as I watched several of the Stalkers around me take near fatal blows. The undead I thought I had taken out began wrestling me for control of my halberd which was partly still wedged within its shoulder.
 
With every moment that passed I felt the intensity of the battle grow, I let go of my halberd and attempted to draw my longsword. Panic washed over me as I felt resistance from my scabbard. With the cold damp of the winter air, it had begun to rust in the scabbard causing it to jam as I tried to draw it.
 
Time almost seemed to slow as I took in the scene around me. Several of the undead had been slain by my fellow Stalkers, but too many had taken hits themselves. The bodies of my comrades: Llion, Owain, and Madlen lay motionless on the floor. Adardy weakly hobbled toward Lili as the large undead Llion had been fighting loomed over her. Dylis was slowly retreating from a couple of undead, clutching their side with one hand and fending their pursuers off with a sword in the other.
 
The strangers had begun their own retreat, undead dispatched. They disappeared into the brush. My puppeteered opponent drew closer to me, lashing out with its arms to pummel me. Its first strike took me clean across my face with surprising force, knocking me backward. My vision went dark for a moment; the moons above faded in and out of self duplicates. The undead raised its arms to begin its final assault, but I managed to finally free my sword and weakly stab at it; the force of it falling onto my sword was enough to kill it.
 
The relief of my victory was short lived. The mechanical cries of Adardy as they were taken down by the bloated undead rang out; it began making its way toward me. The sickly pangs of panic threatened to overtake me. I stumbled about, struggling to regain my footing and retrieve my halberd. Just as I was able to wrestle it free from the bone of the undead, the bloated undead made its attack.
 
I closed my eyes to see nothing; no solution came to me. I was to die there on that frostbitten river bank.
 
A tingle, almost an itch, began on the back of my neck that turned into a worrying warmth. That warmth traveled to cover my entire body, as I felt a slight force on my stomach accompanied with a gentle and short humming noise.
 
Opening my eyes, I saw a faint shimmering layer of energy across my body. The undead had fallen over with the force of its attack. Taking hold of my halberd I brought it down upon its head ending its second life. The danger was not yet over. Dylis had managed to take care of one of his pursuers, but another remained.
 
With all the strength I had left, I charged toward the undead and smoothly intercepted an attack meant for Dylis; it bounced off the shimmering energy giving Dylis the opportunity they needed to finally finish it off.
 
That was the last time I ever neglected to care for my weapons.
 

The Aftermath

We lost over half the Stalkers that night. Llion, Owain, and Madlen had all succumbed to their wounds and died that very night. As for the others well, they survived… but not wholly. Lili had taken a serious blow to the head, she was discharged from service and sent home to recover though I'm not sure she ever did. Adardy had broken a leg but they still helped me to carry the other two back to Fort Bright - they always were the best of us. After that though they were shipped off for repairs. I didn’t hear from them again.
 
Dylis fell in and out of consciousness as we made our way back to the fort. In their moments of lucidness they managed to whisper a warning to me. I didn’t understand at the time but... I am grateful for it now. Once at Fort Bright the Purple Stalkers were disbanded, with too many losses. We would be replaced with an all warforged unit. Dylis and I were sent home to Maplevale where Dylis was able to recover fairly quickly. They were eventually transferred to an infantry unity in the north but not before the new year.
 
I was home long enough to celebrate my birthday with my mother, Dylis, and Ariana. A few months later just before the new year, I married Ariana. It was a short lived but sorely needed respite from war. I needed some joy in my life after all the loss… to replace the horrors of my nightmares with sweet and comforting dreams.
 
It changed little, but it did change.
 

Fortune from Disaster

In the new year, maybe a week after our wedding I received a letter ordering me to the capital, Metrol. I had been to the capital only once before, and it had been brief. It was where I had met Ariana; the Stalkers had been part of her escort to the border on a diplomatic mission into Breland. We traveled down together, it was some of the best weeks of my life. I very nearly forgot the troubles of war.
 
Reality hit hard once we reached Metrol. We were to split for some time once again, we both had jobs to get done. I had made my way to the local garrison to report for whatever reason they had summoned. After a few days they told me to report to my new commander, a certain Gesricar. They gave me directions, and I followed them only to find myself stood outside The Yoke.
 
I had heard the stories of course. The Champions of the Bell - Heroes of Cyre who went on daring raids. I thought there must be some kind of mistake, they had given me the wrong directions, or worse I was to be made into some sort of lackey.
 
I went inside where I met with Gesricar. A moment of anger grew in my stomach, quickly replaced with excitement and pride as he retailed the story of that night on the northern border. The strangers we had seen were the Champions of the Bell; they had recovered intelligence that had proven another champion of the people, Shaldra Antarielle, to be a traitor. Gesricar said the Purple Stalkers sacrifices had made it possible for the Bells to deliver this evidence.
 
From that moment fourth I was a Champion of the Bell. I had never really understood why we were fighting. The missions I undertook with the Bells provided me with a clarity for the first time in my life. Our people had suffered generations of wars, famines, and loss. They needed a reprieve, but our nation, our Queen was set upon by greed and destruction of others.
 
We were losing, and I would do what was necessary to end the bloodshed; to protect the innocence of an innocent nation. At least that’s what I told myself. I have come to realise that people will do in war time, what they would never dream of in peace. People are warped by war. I was no different.
 
The Bells are gone and I hold onto their secrets. I alone carry the burdens of the things we did. I still receive praise for my role as a Bell; a little bit of me dies inside each time I do... even so, I am proud to have served Cyre and her people. They all deserved better.