It has taken me a great deal to finally be able to ruminate and record the horrors of Darokin. Which is not to say that as the youth I was I did not take tremendous satisfaction in that day's harvesting.
We moved at slightly more than a canter down towards the rear of the Prince's forces. The wraith wall stretched out ahead of us in almost all directions. It moved silently. Behind it perhaps five or six score of the slowest and most pitiful undead I have ever had the misfortune of laying my eyes upon. Had they souls I believe my mere gaze could have leveled the lot of them.
As is his custom Buliwyf took the initiative and with a great sweep of Ostead leveled a great many of their numbers. My scythe was quick to follow suit. In not even a quarter of an hour we had broken the evil tethers that held those miserable together. What we had not done was determine the best means of penetrating the spectral divide that creeped ahead at an unholy canter.
This problem was solved shortly by the wizard and his hobbled mockery of life. Where before the wizard had to allow his construct to act of its own evil accord, for fear of alerting it to our location, that day on the plains there was no reason to hide. With a curse of the tongue the creature lumbered laboriously through the throngs of undead inside the wall. As the wall continued its foward march the cacaphony of corpses left behind was revealed! Of interest was a feint pulse of life.
The cleric of Nerull was dead by the time I dismounted to examine the body. Around his neck hung a most vile and magicked amulet. According to the wizard it had the power to make the wearer seem to be that most vile of creatures. No sooner had this been revealed than Buliwyf insisted I be the one to wear the wretched thing. I had my reservations but knowing that it was the only course of action I offered my prayers to lord Ainu and allowed Veloria to go back to dust from which I had summoned her.
As if in accordance to my prayers a second amulet was soon availed to us, and with the wizard's own magics, we were able to then pass through that wretched wall.
This wall was different than the one that blanketed Threshold. There the buildings were not threatened by it. Here there was no such thing. With our deadened senses we were able to see through the fog as though it were almost not there. Pelor shined brightly upon us, though we only saw in tones of gray, and I felt as though we were truly blessed by the pantheon of grace and justice.
What we witnessed first inside were some of the more physically adept of the festering forces carrying the raw material that was likely to be used in constructing the seige engines that were to aide in the destruction of Darokin. These we hobbled quickly as the meager monstrosities paid us no mind. We dispatched many of them with ease. Soon it became almost a game as the northman and I exercised our martial practices. This went uninterrupted for some time. It was a flickering of life that alerted me of another of Nerull's worshippers.
I believe the pitiable soul had tried, in his own manner, to rebuke us, but had not counted our the indominitability of our spirit or the swiftness of foot that came with lungs no longer dependent on graces of the wind. As the cloth of Nerull unfurled a scroll of some abberation I quickly taught him the true meaning of slaughter as my sycthe cut deep into his belly. Just as I saw what I believe to be the man's stomach spill out into his robes, held in only by the rope he wore at his waist, Buliwyf drove Ostead deep into the man's chest, no doubt splitting his clavicle, and finishing what I had started. From his shattered remains the wizard retrieved another amulet and we witnessed the horrors the wraith wall unleash upon unprotected flesh. It took only moments for the flesh to decay and rot into nothingness. Not even maggots could feed of what little bits of flesh and bone remained.
I have focused on this one poor cleric of Nerull because he was just the first of several who would fall at our hands that day, all in a much similar manner. Those who did not fall at our blades were done in by the constructs of the wizard, one of which being a leviathan of bone and fangs.
I will end this registry entry on a note I wish had never been sung. I had long suspected my indiginous people, the Peradur, had allied themselves with the Prince. Other than an inclination, perhaps divine, I had no evidence other than word that Veknavarius had enlisted aid from the far reaches of the north east. Damnable as that was the mortal man inside me hoped that in the millenia since my first life things would have changed for the Peradur. How mistaken I was! For as we three made our way to what we percieved to be the center of the wraith wall we were greeted, rebuked, by a man with an uncanny resemblence to myself! From beneath his dark hood I could make out his thin face and black curls. From the arch of his nose I could tell he was of the House Malverus.
With an insufferable rage I let loose a single bolt from the crossbow gifted to me in Isebe by a family with nothing else to tithe. Though I had not seen into the man's eyes, covered as they were by his hood, I knew deep down, though feeling cut off from lord Ainu, that it was this man's time.
And again in the desecrated fog of the wraith wall I felt Ainu answer my prayers for he guided that bolt, of Rhoonian construct, deep into the back of the man's throat. Though Buliwyf quickly followed through with his axe, sundering the man's head, he was already dead. Like the Peradur as a people the man had failed. I will never, and do not care, to know his name. With the last of his magics he had tried to rebuke us, and unlike those miscreants of Nerull, he had almost succeeded.
But he, like the prince and all those who dream of using those who have fallen as a means of power, was doomed to failure. Lord Ainu alone is master of the book of life and death.