[WP] If your grave doesn't say "Rest in Peace", you are automatically drafted into the skeleton army.
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Scribe network report: Eighth year of Her Highness, Princess Aurum
Recorded by Lesser Scribe, R. Galley of the Southern Division.
Attached to the 12th enlisted battalion of the Holy Wall.
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22nd Rotation
As always along the Holy wall of faith, the stone is aglow with the white magics of devotion, yet the Blackened Spire still looms in the far off distance. There have been no signs of the returning army, despite word that the battle is won.
I pray for our brethren to safely return from beyond the dark lands of the West.
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27th Rotation:
Another day has passed, and another watch beneath the torches-light has since begun. By my last report, the Armies were due to return today.
Yet, we stand here awaiting nothing but silence.
Even in the shadows of night, I can define that horrible pitch of shadow looming over the plains of sand and barren stone. Though my faith is strong, I pass along the doubt of reason to those that might read my records in this ledger: Perhaps something is amiss.
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33rd Rotation:
A lone pack of Orcs approached the walls, barely fifteen in number. Filled with arrows from our archers, they failed to even reach the gates. A single scouting party was sent to inspect the corpses, and their description of the bodies was as follows:
> "They seemed gaunt. Even filled with shafts of wood as they were, several were on the brink of starvation, and carrying wounds from previous battle."
So it is I end this rotation's report in good faith. Perhaps there has simply been a problem with the Enscription magics of the Holy Army yet on its way. Starving and wounded Orcs could mean a recent victory. Perhaps one final battle has held the long-awaited return from the Great Crusade.
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55th Rotation:
There is nothing to report. On this day, and even night, not but a single vulture has crested along the skyline of the Southern Battlements.
Spoken words of hushed tones among those around me wonder if this is a sign.
I pray to the Light in hopes that it is not.
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102nd Rotation:
The season of chill has passed us at last. Still we see no sign of the returning army. Even as the High Bishops order none to speak of it, I must report that they are likely lost.
Though the battle may have been reported won, perhaps there was one remaining art of trickery beside that horrid shape on the horizon. The Blackened Spire still watches us, as much as we watch it.
To report of local proximity: Goblins within the wall have been more active as of late. Squadrons of Holy Knights from the local town have been sent to investigate, though their numbers are barely two dozen. Compared to the hundred men that they once claimed, I worry for their safety.
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136th Rotation:
A Lone Ghoul was spotted today. Barely more than tendons on bleached bone, it stumbled towards the wall with half-hazed footing along the ancient highway which leads to our gate.
Our Scout division handled it without incident, though their are questions to its origins. Surely the Undead Hordes of the Dark Lord have not been seen in truth for Centuries now. Beyond the rare outbreak in the rural townships and provinces, to see that of the undead is a rare thing indeed. Below is the scout divisions report on this subject.
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> "A single Ghoul, skin worn away beneath the elements. Ralath dispatched the creature with a single stroke of his longsword; as such the only damage inflicted was to the nape of its neck. Alas, we are unable to identify any particular feature past the lingering necklace of its previous life: What symbol hangs there is difficult to discern as it is dulled with rust, but it seems possible it may have once been a symbol of the holy church."
I will end my entry with such a statement, and the mention that ill-content has grown since this discovery.
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139th Rotation:
The Walltop has nothing to report.
In local affairs inland of our protection, the Holy Knight Squadrons have suffered a death. One of their Paladins was lost to the crude poison of a Goblin's spear during their raid of the forests beside town. The number of slain Goblins defy logic: One hundred and sixty Goblins were killed, and it is guessed that several dozen more fled.
To think so many servants of the Dark Lord still lurk within the safety of these Holy walls, it is truly unsettling.
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140th Rotation:
Dozens of ghouls have arrived since the morning. A number thick enough to summon the ever-impatient cavalry division to sort them out.
The results were successful, returning with gore splattered upon once perfectly gleaming armor, but no serious injuries. The Scout division followed suit, as always. Their report is summarized as the following:
> "Fifteen of the beheaded corpses have possessed portions of our standard armor. Several are in form and condition that their skin and flesh still hang to bone, some complete with tattoo of Holy Order and Rank. As of this day, we can speak with confidence that they are former soldiers of the lost Army."
It has been confirmed.
Along the walltop, morale is low. Even as the Church bells of the local towns sing quiet and holy songs into the evening, I feel as though we have a cloud of sorrow hanging over this structure of stone.
...
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142nd Rotation:
There are more Ghouls. The Cavalry suffered injuries on their sweeps, and our Archers have been forced to draw compensation for their failed efforts.
Count at sundown was over one hundred.
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143rd Rotation:
More Ghouls have come in the night. The Walls hold them without effort, and our archers deal with them as they arrive, but we have requested from the Boyer and Fletcher Guild of the closest city. By my own ink, I have signed far more funds than am justified.
Each Ghoul takes several shafts, and not all can be recovered in suitable condition. Our Scouts find the prospect of retrieval uncertain should the swarms not cease in their frequency.
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144th Rotation:
Still More ghouls. Unable to open the gates. We have requested Casters from the Local Holy Knights. All registered Mages have been offered coin and bounty. Access to the battlements, and ten copper for each Ghoul slain.
Response has been slow so far. It seems even among Adventuring and Mercenary types, there are few left who were not drafted by the prior Crusade.
The numbers at the Holy wall have grown further, and I predict they will not cease for some time.
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145th Rotation:
There are thousands. We've long since begun conserving our arrows, focusing only on the Ghouls which reach the gates themselves. The pile of corpses has begun to build, so much so that Dwarven Fire-water has been taken from the Garrison's cellar.
Much as the men complained, it was dropped and lit aflame by one of the few competent Mages who responded to our call. The scent of burning flesh is sickening, but we hold.
Formal Requests for inland troops have been issued as of this notice.
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146th Rotation:
Their numbers only grow. Word has come down from both the North and south of the battlements that this is not the only gate which suffers such abuse.
The wall holds, but the unease is growing.
Reinforcements once again requested.
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147th Rotation:
There are thousands. Both men, and Orcs. All manner of corpses groan and shout below my gaze. It might take all of the forest put into timber, before we have a suitable number of arrows to cope with so many.
A suggestion to open and close the gates has been considered, so that we might flow in a tide and cut them down in portions- but the fear of being overrun has reached palpable levels.
For now we cast what magics are available, and await assistance.
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148th Rotation:
The High Bishops have offered us nothing but prayers. Still no bodies have come along the walls, not even the Holy Knights of the province. It seems there are not enough men, not enough trained soldiers left among the populace.
If not for this ever-holy wall of faith and stone, I fear the terrible results.
We hold.
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149th Rotation:
It is an ocean of corpses.
We hold, we fight, even I have used what little faith magics I possess to cut down but a single Ghoul each day. To destroy a small few the undead is all I can provide beyond the ink on this ledger.
The men are tired. I am tired. As I write this, my body aches from the loss of essence and mana. Sleep does not recover so much as half of what it once did.
We hold.
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150th Rotation:
We hold.
As it is late in the evening, one of our scouts upon the mounted looking glass of the gate's tower has spotted something to the west. A large body, was the description provided.
Nothing more is known, for the sun has sent. Our torches light reveal shapes below that are better not seen.
Pressed as we are, the wall still holds.
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151st Rotation:
The gate has been breached.
That distant shape has arrived with the morning, and nothing in our power- not even this Holy wall of stone and magic could stop it. From behind an oaken door of the wall's tower, I send this report with the sure knowledge this is my final piece to the service of our land:
The Crusade was not won- but lost! We have failed, and our own flesh has been twisted against us. Woe to the men who died without tombs and earth. Woe to the soldiers sent to fall upon that horrid and blackened soil beneath the watching Spire. The Armies we sent to bring us victory have been damned. Even the great and wise beast which spurred us on.
Make peace with the gods of light, you who might gaze upon my words.
The Undead Dragon approaches.