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The Final Days of the Crimson Star Brigade
by Lord Raddox Ku'ldon, 2nd Core commander, 3rd detachment, Wehnimer's Militia

It was cold that day. Of all the things I may have forgotten, or made myself forget, I remember that much. We were marching home from a routine patrol, and had decided to take a slight detour through a little-used field. Perhaps that’s where our mistakes began. To this day, I cannot recall why we decided to take that fated turn. But in hopes of aiding my memory, I shall tell you of that day.

I can remember sounds; Armor clanking, the orders from the commanders; the sounds of thirty men marching in unison, horses neighing. Those noises, so commonplace and ordinary, still strike in my memory as surely as any weapon could. The field in which we turned into stretched out before us like a huge scruffy carpet, barren of all but a few trees, and covered with very little plant life other than sparse grass. Some of the men noticed, as did I, the bits of armor and weaponry scattered throughout the grass. Bizarre as it seemed, we tried to ignore it. We knew somehow this was a place where men had fought, and died; and yet we pressed on, ignoring it.

It had grown dark before we knew it; and with the darkness, they came. The column heard a shriek from the rear, and several men whirled with swords drawn. Standing over the body of our rear guard was a hideous creature reeking of grave-stench. "It" was something referred to as a "tomb wight," hideous undead known and hated for its callousness for the living. It stood there, a twisted mockery of a grin on its face, dressed in tattered armor and holding a rusted two-handed sword now stained with fresh blood. Rage took precedence over fear, and three of our men, myself included, rushed the creature. In short order the thing was returned to the grave. But our victory would be short lived…men had fought, and died; and yet we pressed on, ignoring it.

Soon after the wight had fallen, we began to hear low groans and the sounds of tearing earth and clanking metal, followed by wails and other more unrecognizable sounds. Our men drew their weapons, and stood in an outward circle, looking out into the darkness. Soon fires were lit, and the field was awash with their orange light. Perhaps it would have been better in the dark, for what we saw chilled us more than even the icy breeze could.

Climbing up from the very earth, skeletal figures began to rise. Whisps of mist formed into shadowy people. (I would later learn these are called "Wraiths") And in the back of these rotting ranks stood a cackling, decrepit skeleton dressed in rags of finery and status. Mad gleams of red fire flickered in the dark sockets of its cracked skull. Shock and dismay filled us as one by one an army of undead soldiers rose to meet us, covered in moldy earth and rotting accoutrements of war.

Fear led some of the men to break rank, running shrieking into the hoards. They were cut down like wheat. It seemed that these soldiers, though rotten hulks of their former selves, still held their skill with blades. The handful of those of us left stood together tightly, some praying and shaking with fear, others hardened to resolute anger.

Whispers among our men fortold doom, as did the wild looks of our officers, who’s horses had already began to back-pedal away from the horrors. We knew we had to break their ranks if we were to escape, and we knew that we may not live to see the light of the next day. We were ordered to prepare to charge. Footman readied spears, and those on horseback drew sabers. I, myself, was on foot at the time. I took five men at my side and ordered weapons drawn. "I never got to see my son walk ‘is first steps, to be sure…", whispered one man behind me. I solemnly promised to try and keep my men alive, although I feared the worst. The noise of the area grew in volume as the undead enclave shambled closer, a few mere stretches of grass away. Our first officer, a normally clam man, shrieked with a cracking voice, "Charge! For Elanthia!"

I remember little but flashes after this. The sound of clashing weapons, hideous laughter, shrieking of horses and men. Those that followed me tore a hole in their lines, cutting down the slower undead before they could raise their fetid blades to strike. I remember a man to the right of me being thrown by a blast of lightning, and another to my left screaming as a skeletal Lord ran his lance through him. I remember hearing a piercing scream so loud my ears rang, and realizing it was my own.

The fighting seemed to last for hours, although I’m sure it could’nt have been more than minutes. I remember being surrounded by rotting stench and hearing the sounds of my fellow soldiers less and less. It was then the light came; A bright flash of brilliance that seemed to warm me like the sun. The battlefield was bathed in this light, and the world become pandemonium for a moment. One by one the undead soldiers fell, groaning and sighing, clanking and shattering to the dust from wence they came. Then all was silent, save for crickets and moans of dying men.

I remember falling to the hard earth out of exhaustion, my waraxe still tightly clasped in my bloody gauntlet, my armor and cloak streaked with blood and gore of unknown origin, looking around in wild surprise at the sudden return of darkness, and the absence of the undead. Dark cloaked men suddenly appeared, silently weaving between the fallen ranks of undead and my men alike, muttering and whispering. Fear took hold again, and I passed out.

I awoke in a bright courtyard that smelled of roses. I gazed about groggily to see White-robed priests and priestesses wandering among rows of cots holding some of my men. Their numbers made my heart drop. Only five men, including myself, out of thirty-seven brave souls lay in the cotton beds. I was later told that I was now under the care of the Order of Voln, and the undead that had claimed the lives of my fellows had been "released". To this day I can’t help saying a prayer of thanks for them every time I think of that day. I know little else about that battle other than what I’ve told. That light, that pure light, still fills my heart when I look back apon my lost friends. Tears flow just as easily every time I tell of this day; the day the Crimson Star brigade was no more.

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