A First Narrative

I, Rethgarn, Warmaster of the Vigil Forces in the 54th Pact Battalion have suffered heavy losses entrenched in this position. With the help of wandering mist warriors, we have tenaciously held this quarry against every counter-attack and midnight insurgence They could throw at us. By my eye we're dug in, although we can never be too sure here in the Mists. I'm not naive enough to forget: anything that can go wrong, will.

According to Whispers’ intel, the lodestones in the quarry will be vital to siphoning arcane energies for our warships flying so far from here. My comrade's sacrifices this past fortnight will not have been in vain. I will not let them.

It’s been a long road. From the Iron Legion to being a cub in the Vigil, and now fodder for the Mist War, I have done few things I regret: but those few things that I do haunt me unceasingly. We Charr are trained to embrace the gruesomeness of combat, but it’s far more difficult when these acts of violence are committed against my own cubs; my own, that I have trained. I’ve raised whelps into warriors! Yet all that dedication is rendered... Heh. Rendered. Like Dolyak, back home, where we had time to prepare our food. Made - yes, made useless with the passing of my fellow warriors.

Sometimes, I feel responsible. Maybe I didn’t teach them enough to stay alive. It’s only a thought, but it eats at my bones. There's little pride in us when the meat and sinew we've expertly honed lies drawn in two.

We're far from the Legions. It all often feels meaningless.

Warmaster Rethgarn

The 54th was able to find this among the rest of the Warmaster's papers. I've heard from the recovery teams that those Others seem to burn personal effects just as rarely as we do. (That is, only in times of dire utility, I assure you.) Quite to the contrary, only the most deranged of raiders would find themselves willing or even able to breach... sentience. In that kind of way, at least.

I take it back. Most of us are deranged raiders.