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The silhouette of a Red Blade Avenger shuffles awkwardly though the dawn mists toward the gates of Sundren. Only when it nears the gates is it noticed that the figure's crimson armor is burned, shattered, and caked in drying blood. Those that rush to aid the wounded man stop short as the truth of his condition becomes evident. Entrails are visible hanging from the thick plates of his armor. One eye stare lifelessly forward. The other, along with half of the man's face has been melted away by some caustic substance.
The animated corpse presses a fine rolled parchment to breast of the nearest commoner before collapsing to the soil as the necromatic energy sustaining him ebbs away.
On the message the following is written in a flowing delicate script.
The animated corpse presses a fine rolled parchment to breast of the nearest commoner before collapsing to the soil as the necromatic energy sustaining him ebbs away.
On the message the following is written in a flowing delicate script.
Men and Ladies of the Sundren Valley,
I make no apologies for the gruesomeness of this message's delivery, and it is my sincerest hope that it will speak to the seriousness of its warnings. For the past months, I have walked the vales and roadways of this valley, shared the warmth of its fires with the brave men and women who seek to further the glory of their own lives, and traded words with those who would call themselves your guides and protectors. From these wanderings I bring you the following observations.
You have all been lied to. You have all been robbed. Since my lord's passing from the Palace of Bones, you have been taught that death is a welcome release. That in it you will find just judgment, and be meted all that you desire in shadowy realms of the hereafter. In short, you have been taught that death is not to be feared.
These are false words of comfort desperately offered by the steward of death's throne so that he might win the hearts and minds of mortal man. The truth of death is that it is a ravenous beast; hot breath upon the heels of all that live. The truth of life is that it is a flickering candle and death the maelstrom waiting to extinguish its light. Only when man realizes the peril, the inescapable finity of his mortality does he truely live. If not for fatality what fear would spurn you to squeeze all that you can from this life?
The old ways are returning, and with them the heralds of Myrkul's word. We do not move for reckless slaughter -- death will come to everyone. There is no need for our hands to hasten it. Our role is to teach this wisdom, to see that it is followed, and to guide those who would learn it. Know however, that any who would bring harm to his prophets will be delivered into his kingdom with expedience. You may trust in these words as surely as you may trust in death itself for we are its servants. Consider this a warning, a message delivered in the hope that no other lives must be needlessly cut short.
Your guide and shephard,
- Feigan Callow of the Host of Myrkul.
I make no apologies for the gruesomeness of this message's delivery, and it is my sincerest hope that it will speak to the seriousness of its warnings. For the past months, I have walked the vales and roadways of this valley, shared the warmth of its fires with the brave men and women who seek to further the glory of their own lives, and traded words with those who would call themselves your guides and protectors. From these wanderings I bring you the following observations.
You have all been lied to. You have all been robbed. Since my lord's passing from the Palace of Bones, you have been taught that death is a welcome release. That in it you will find just judgment, and be meted all that you desire in shadowy realms of the hereafter. In short, you have been taught that death is not to be feared.
These are false words of comfort desperately offered by the steward of death's throne so that he might win the hearts and minds of mortal man. The truth of death is that it is a ravenous beast; hot breath upon the heels of all that live. The truth of life is that it is a flickering candle and death the maelstrom waiting to extinguish its light. Only when man realizes the peril, the inescapable finity of his mortality does he truely live. If not for fatality what fear would spurn you to squeeze all that you can from this life?
The old ways are returning, and with them the heralds of Myrkul's word. We do not move for reckless slaughter -- death will come to everyone. There is no need for our hands to hasten it. Our role is to teach this wisdom, to see that it is followed, and to guide those who would learn it. Know however, that any who would bring harm to his prophets will be delivered into his kingdom with expedience. You may trust in these words as surely as you may trust in death itself for we are its servants. Consider this a warning, a message delivered in the hope that no other lives must be needlessly cut short.
Your guide and shephard,
- Feigan Callow of the Host of Myrkul.