Guard duty had been extended past the thirty hour mark. I’ve never been the best sleeper in the garrison but this is ridiculous. How are we supposed to keep up our efforts when we’re verging on deliriousness? It’s bad enough that the raids haven’t stopped in weeks. Rations are holding out but we haven’t much left. Reinforcements were due three days ago and yet nothing has stepped foot in this outpost other than heavy boots and clawed savages. I would spit on the idea that the enemy had breached our outer defenses would it not dirty the small space we have left.
The bodies are the worst part. On the last shift we forced them back when they were crawling over our dead. They were hacking away at our kin’s faces and armour. Scavenging for whatever scraps they could no doubt. One of the little bastards was prancing around pretending to wear the duty sergeant’s face with the beard still attached, pretending to give commands to the other feral beasts. I hacked that one apart first with all my fury. It’s apparent that there is
something about our beards that the enemy covets. So much so, that we’ve decided as a group to deny them of their spoils. Tonight, we will hold a funeral for our faceless dead and in reverence we will burn our own beards away to deny the enemy of their spoils.
If we aren’t getting out of this, then they aren’t going to profit from our hides.
This scorched diary entry was found amongst piles of plate armour at one of the lost outposts surrounding Karak’Thoon. It's writer is unknown.
This article was created for my first World Ember - I hope you enjoy my writings and I'm looking forward to hearing your feedback!
It took me a minute to notice what that art really was. Aaa! Great decision to write this as a diary entry.
Explore Etrea | March of 31 Tales
Haha without context it almost looks non-threatening :p