To hell with Krorid. I've already given it my life. I'll keep my hair.
The thought makes you laugh. Laugh at the pettiness.
At The War.
Laugh in the face of the void, the face of death and madness.
Next
It seemed only fitting that you be the one to take the first step into hell.
Your foot sinks slightly into the muddy ground. In your left hand, you hold a torch to push back the darkness of such a wretched forest.
You take a deep breath. Even with only one foot in the jungle, the air is heavier here. You remember that on some particularly boiling summer days, the air itself was like water, choking the lungs and slowing the limbs.
You briefed your men on these conditions before crossing the makeshift bridges, but you doubt they understand how hideous this place can get.
Ideally, you'd only take a small vanguard with you. But with Rade breathing down your necks, you must seek the shelter of Krorid. Any men left behind would be smashed between the jungle wall and the rebel army.
You shake these thoughts away. The doubts, the painful memories. None of it matters now.
Here I am.
You pass your torch up to Elya and mount Aurora.
I'm back.
Next