3767
Documentation of Ascended Skirmishes with the Undead
Brokencrowe
Waves of fire covered the sand as the Undead fortress came into view. Ascended clashed valiantly with the Undead forces. Lightning rained down from the heavens above; the sky void of storm clouds. The skirmish ended as the light drained from the sky and sun fell beneath the horizon. The Ascended pulled back to a hill overlooking the fortress. They were slightly shocked by the increasing strength of their Undead adversaries. Uncertain of what to do next they spoke to the amassing group, their expressions grim. A sudden sense of sorrow swept across the crowd; eyes were downcast, and weary. The battle had been taxing for all, but the skirmish had been worthwhile. It gave the Ascended valuable information: a good gauge of strength of the Undead. Moments later, as everyone was packing up and getting ready to leave this field of death, stray lightning bolts blasted the sand all around their feet. Causing waves of fire to once more spread across the land; ash fell like snow. The corpses were all consumed by fire. Undead, Ascended, Orc, Human, Elf, Dwarf, alike, the fires weren't biased. "The Prophet! The Prophet is here!" One of the onlookers shouted, and pointed to the top of the fortress, as the lightning faded. The sun rose above the field, as the sweltering flames dimmed to embers. Atop the fortress with a golden staff held high above his head, a masked man could be seen standing, gazing out across the battlefield. The healers were all busy tending to the wounded, and an eerie silence filled the air. As the last flames died down, the Ascended healer stood up, and brushed off her robes. "They've grown stronger," she remarked, her face almost expressionless. -Joma, 19th the second Seed, 1320. .