A blog dedicated to fictional short stories and role-playing across a spectrum of video-games and fantasy worlds.

Saturday, May 12, 2012

A histily written journal entry

*The ink of the page is smeared and the handwriting messy as if the writer had been in a great hurry.*

I have little time...they are coming. We can't hold the gates much longer, and I fear a breakthrough into the rear of our lines any time now. I've done what I can to slow their advance, but it's not enough...it's never enough. I can hear them now. I can hear their barbaric warcries in the distance as they prepare for another assault.

I thought we'd push them further back with the reinforcements Kyliska led here, but it seems to have barely slowed down their advance. There are so many wounded and dead, I can't even count them. Fires burn along the edges of the walls below me, and this tower will soon catch as well. It is not safe here. I can't run though. I have to help them hold out. Even if I wanted to flee, the smoke here is making it difficult to breath, let alone see, and I've a gash on my head that keeps filling my vision with blood. The wound is minor compared to those I've seen though.

I dread to think what has become of my sister. Has she fallen? Did she manage to break free from this disaster? I'm not sure if I'll even be able to link up with our forces that did manage to escape being encircled. Time will tell. It will take all of my wit.

I can write no more. They are advancing. I can hear the horns now. I have no one and nothing to pray too except the Light. I can only beg it to preserve us.

*This tattered page was found outside of the wreckage of a fallen tower near Frostwolf Village. The remainder of the journal and the Magistrix that wrote it were nowhere to be found. Many of the Horde who had been entrapped fought free and it can be presumed since Biara's body wasn't discovered that she must have been amongst them. She has not contacted anyone since the battle this evening.*

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