SLASH!
RIP!
ROAR!

Flames abound, covering the invasive undead.

STAB!
THUNK!
SHRRK!

You lay impaled on the ground. Painfully writhing against the blade which pins you against the ground.
You writhe free, and jump up, letting out a snort that emits sparks and smoke from your nostrils.

SLASH!
RIP!
ROAR!

SLASH!
RIP!
ROAR!

An unearthly scream, one that not even the most mournful mother could wail, rends the eternal dark that is our skies as another spearman of Cor Kanth succumbs to your might.
You stand there, looking around, enjoying the relative silence...but hearing the faint sounds of the undead which have invaded the Dakhota.
Knowing that more must be done.
Knowing that the work will never be done.

That brings you unbearable sadness.
A tear begins to form as you think about the near impossibility of the task at hand.

Then you hear something.
Something you haven't heard in the Dakhotas in months.

TWEET! TWEET! TWEEEEEETWEETWEETWEET!

A songbird.
A hope.

And that's all you need to know that the task isn't nearly as impossible as you think it is.


Penned by my hand on the 6th of Lupar, in the year 923 AF.