Vladimir Grigory Mikhailov
		My name is Vladimir Grigory Mikhailov. When I was a boy I called Erengrad my home. The beautiful port town was rampant with exotic sights and smells from across the oceans. My childhood was simple; I would assist my father Nicholas during the day with his work while my mother Marta and my two younger siblings Dimitri and Natasha, who were 3 and 4 years younger then me respectively, would take care of things at home. My father was a blacksmith by trade but had earned all that he had through a harsh life of adventuring. Countless were the stories that he would tell me of his encounters with the vile creatures of this world, from unholy, rotting undead to the wretched servants of chaos. His stories always filled me with pride that my father had helped to make the world everyone lives in a better place. I hoped that one day I could venture out and make him proud of me for doing my part, so that perhaps one day, my family would live in a better place. It was only too soon that I realized that the better place was not to be found easily. One day, when I was 13, mother and father decided that we should all go visit Uncle Grigory in Kislev. We decided to head out just before winter with a large merchant caravan that was transporting rare good from Araby to the Lord of Kislev. The wagons seemed to stretch from as far as I could see in both directions and the personal guards and hired mercenaries buzzed about them like a swarm of flies. The size of the caravan would prove a detriment since that was what made us such an easy target to the chaos force we ran into. On the darkest day of the journey, about halfway between Erengrad and Kislev, the army descended upon us while we were breaking camp. Screams could be heard from all around as men, women and children were being butchered by creatures so foul that they defy human imagination. My father told us to remain within the cart with our mother and that everything would be alright. As the battle wore on for another fifteen minutes I became restless and grew determined to aid my father in defending the caravan. Busy with Dimitri and Natasha my mother could not stop me from grabbing one of my father’s extra swords and heading out into the fray. Outside it was complete chaos. There were evil figures everywhere butchering and devouring fallen caravan guards and mercenaries. There was no hope for us to survive. Looking towards the rear I noticed that some of the women and children were being shackled or loaded into large, black carts that had strange symbols carved about them. Scanning the battlefield I found my father. From his stories I could see that he was locked in battle with several beastmen and a very large chaos knight. Sword in hand, I quickly picked my way through the melee in order to assist my father. My arrival in the fight went unnoticed until the sword I was wielding skewered one of the beastmen, dropping the fell creature to the ground which ultimately wrenched the weapon from my hands. Turning to see me standing there, my father quickly moved to intercept the filthy weapons of the beasts as they came to attack me. Unfortunately, this put my father’s back toward the chaos knight. As I stared up at my father, who was saving my life, I watched in horror as the black blade of the knight pierced through my father’s chest and covered me in his blood. The unholy energy of the blade seemed to drain his very essence. Then all the world was darkness. I awoke screaming to a searing pain in my chest. The smell of burnt flesh infected my nostrils when I came to realize that it was my own skin burning. I, along with the rest of my family, had been taken captive by the chaos force and I was being branded with some strange chaotic symbol just over my heart. Gritting my teeth through the pain, I was able to see through tear soaked eyes that all of my clothing had been removed with the exception of my tattered breeches. When I finally regained most of my senses I was kicked a few times and ordered, along with the remaining captured slaves, to strip all of the material possessions from the fallen soldiers. I initially fought back and was severely beaten for my defiance. After I finally complied I noticed my father lying in the field. I went over to his body and removed a small necklace that held a ring he wore that was a gift from my mother on their wedding day. I quickly tied it to the inside of my pants and continued about my bloody work. When all of the bodies were bare they then had us gather them up as well. While doing this we could see demons of different shapes and sizes eating some of the corpses. We were forced to pick up pieces of bodies, bodies where the insides had fallen out and those of children. After the army was pleased that we had gathered everything, we were all lined up. It was fortunate for me and the rest of my family that we were not next to one another for the apparent leader of the army, the knight that slew my father, walked down the line killing every fifth person. We were then given orders to follow behind as the army made its way back north with their plunder. Time wore on. There were so many of us and they used us for whatever pleasures suited their vile needs. My mother and sister were raped and beaten on a regular basis while some of the knights made sport of walking through our ranks and randomly killing anyone they pleased. After several months my mother came sobbing to us. I could see in her eyes that she could not go on. I begged and pleaded with her to remain with us but that night she ended her suffering by taking her own life.
			Vladimir's Travel Journals		Page 2
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