Outsider
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"... the entry into the War of the Three Pretenders by the Dwarven Warhost of Karak Kookew would have massive ramifications for the course of the conflict, changing the tide of the war considerably. The might of the Dwarven hold however was slow to establish itself outside of their traditional strongholds. The terrain in the Wests of the March were treacherous, the roads plagued by many irregular forces; bandits taking advantage of the chaos of war, bands of disgruntled mercenaries and deserters eking out a living by raiding supply caravans and travellers, and more sinister forces; cultists of maelvolent gods and elven insurgents. Of particular menace to the dwarven attempts to establish themselves on the surface of the March were the restless dead, which had been driven to greater activity, perhaps due to the designs of parties unknown, or the carnage of the war around them. Regardless, these forces would have to be removed, or at least contained to allow the few viable roads from the Western reaches of the March to be used. Small units of dwarves were split off from their columns and sent with orders to disperse these hostile elements. One particular account survives to this day, transcribed in a diary of a dwarf warrior who was assigned to investigate and destroy an undead presence that had been attacking caravans from the Hold to the town of Orfmoylund..."
"The War of the Three Pretenders: Conflict in the March" Gregor von Haltzinger, Altdorf University Press, IC 2522.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8hTgvNsqb9Y
"Königstag 12th, Pflugzeit, West of Orfmoylund.
News had arrived last night that another caravan had been hit by the damn undead. We quietly grumbled to ourselves as we saw the survivors roll into the camp that something dark must be happening in those woods. The few bloodied, frightened dwarves who had escaped the undead told of a sudden rush of skeletal foes from the forest that lies on one side of the West Road. This seems strange to many of us; the undead around here had always been present. The longbeards had always told tales of the ancient burrows and the old human armies resting underneath roused to war by ambitious men and elves, too weak to strike on their own but eager to make the fallen their slaves. Some of these tales ended with some old king, with nary a scrap of flesh on his bones left turning on his erstwhile master and leading his army back to the peace of the grave.
This is something more, however; no huge horde of undead has been spotted, but the country between this shoddy town and the Hold is studded with barrows, burial sites and other sources for some eager necromancer. Talking to some of the locals in the town, they said the dead have never been this lively for years. The rumour going around is that one of the two Human princes against which we are arrayed has conspired with some dark forces to wake the dead, harassing our lines to slow our entry into the war proper. I can’t help but wonder if it’s not the war itself, the slaughter ongoing stirring the dead to join the fray themselves.
The Captains’ took the news of another caravan hit poorly. They have been preparing our column to march on from Orfmoylund once a depot had been established here; these attacks have delayed that by a good week or so already. They disappeared into their quarters in the high district of the town and emerged a good few hours later. We were told to marshal ready for war in the square. Parts of the company were told to stand forward; and I was among the number chosen. We have been sent back down the road we fought along to root out the source of the undead and stop them from rising.
I cannot say I feel comfortable with doing so; our band is small, few more than 20, and we may catch hell if we run into something nastier than us. A few weeks ago, I would have scoffed at such a concept. Now, I am not so certain. So, as the rest of the company warms itself in their beds in town, we sleep under the stars once more.
We reached the spot where the caravan was hit not so long ago today and set up our camp. We march into the woods tomorrow; local legend says there is a barrow of some size built on top of an old king’s tomb, his warrior household buried alongside him. The captains’ believe this is the source of the restless corpses. To this end, we have been given charges to blow the entry to the barrow, entombing the undead within the earth once more. A temporary fix, but the best we have.
I cannot say I will sleep well tonight. Our sentinels report that they have seen shadows moving in the woods. Do the dead observe us as they sleep? My beard will not turn white from the thought, but I will not rest easy either."
"The War of the Three Pretenders: Conflict in the March" Gregor von Haltzinger, Altdorf University Press, IC 2522.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8hTgvNsqb9Y
"Königstag 12th, Pflugzeit, West of Orfmoylund.
News had arrived last night that another caravan had been hit by the damn undead. We quietly grumbled to ourselves as we saw the survivors roll into the camp that something dark must be happening in those woods. The few bloodied, frightened dwarves who had escaped the undead told of a sudden rush of skeletal foes from the forest that lies on one side of the West Road. This seems strange to many of us; the undead around here had always been present. The longbeards had always told tales of the ancient burrows and the old human armies resting underneath roused to war by ambitious men and elves, too weak to strike on their own but eager to make the fallen their slaves. Some of these tales ended with some old king, with nary a scrap of flesh on his bones left turning on his erstwhile master and leading his army back to the peace of the grave.
This is something more, however; no huge horde of undead has been spotted, but the country between this shoddy town and the Hold is studded with barrows, burial sites and other sources for some eager necromancer. Talking to some of the locals in the town, they said the dead have never been this lively for years. The rumour going around is that one of the two Human princes against which we are arrayed has conspired with some dark forces to wake the dead, harassing our lines to slow our entry into the war proper. I can’t help but wonder if it’s not the war itself, the slaughter ongoing stirring the dead to join the fray themselves.
The Captains’ took the news of another caravan hit poorly. They have been preparing our column to march on from Orfmoylund once a depot had been established here; these attacks have delayed that by a good week or so already. They disappeared into their quarters in the high district of the town and emerged a good few hours later. We were told to marshal ready for war in the square. Parts of the company were told to stand forward; and I was among the number chosen. We have been sent back down the road we fought along to root out the source of the undead and stop them from rising.
I cannot say I feel comfortable with doing so; our band is small, few more than 20, and we may catch hell if we run into something nastier than us. A few weeks ago, I would have scoffed at such a concept. Now, I am not so certain. So, as the rest of the company warms itself in their beds in town, we sleep under the stars once more.
We reached the spot where the caravan was hit not so long ago today and set up our camp. We march into the woods tomorrow; local legend says there is a barrow of some size built on top of an old king’s tomb, his warrior household buried alongside him. The captains’ believe this is the source of the restless corpses. To this end, we have been given charges to blow the entry to the barrow, entombing the undead within the earth once more. A temporary fix, but the best we have.
I cannot say I will sleep well tonight. Our sentinels report that they have seen shadows moving in the woods. Do the dead observe us as they sleep? My beard will not turn white from the thought, but I will not rest easy either."