A Blackstone patrol recovered these few pages during their reconnaisance through the woods surrounding Blackstone the other day. Apparently they belonged to a Death Knight who was present at the battle for the ziggurat. Seeing that it contained details of the battle that has changed so many lives, the lieutenant of the guard saw fit to post it, and it was then copied into the library.
...Aaaah, the satisfaction of unrelenting carnage and the chaos of battle. Long years have my brethren and I spent in the cold, unwanted regions of the earth waiting for an opportunity to strike forth and bring ruin upon these blissful mortals. Gone are the weaknesses that once stayed my sword arm. No longer am I troubled by the confines of a beating heart or kept alive by a few drops of blood rushing warmth throughout my body. Now I feel only a cold emptiness where once I had a soul. I traded all for the power that now courses through my veins. In the end, it is the only thing that matters. My existence is bent towards one fell purpose; to bring destruction upon the living and transform their peaceful world into the burning wreckage that reflects my own black heart. The only poetry that soothes me are the sounds of ghouls crunching through elven bones, the only music that reaches my ears are the awful screams of humans as their torched cottages collapse inward upon them and slowly scorches them alive.
And so, the triumph of our master on Hollow's eve was an ecstasy that even I, in my darkest haunts could never have conceived of. Our scouts reported that other hosts of undead had preceded us to the ziggurat and were there dispatched by the stoic defense of Blackstone's mortals. Our master received this news and began to elaborate a strategy to overcome these adventurers but our council of war was interrupted by an attack of a rival party of undead. We rushed out and battled these lesser challengers and soon delivered them back to their eternal rest. As we marched, updated reports from our concealed troops slowly formed a clear image of the disposition of the enemy forces. Apparently the zombie master had ground his forces into the dust in a futile effort to force his way through the gates. The vampires had tried subterfuge but were discovered before they could gain entry. And Lord Malek Bane had been repelled by powerful elemental forces that appeared at the side of the defenders just in time. Even the dryders made a futile attempt to breach the gates, their dark blood still stained the road when we arrived. As these reports came in, the smile on my master's face grew wider until it matched the crescent moon which hung like a scythe overhead; for he had minions that could destroy the mortals' shield wall and send them spilling backward into the courtyard surrounding the ziggurat. There, they would split apart into small groups and be easy prey for our bloodthirsty hordes.
As we approached, the stars stared down like a silent celestial audience and I observed one fiery silver streak fall down from the sky, as if the heavens were moved to tears over we lost souls and our foul intent. When the scent of the humans reached us, the banshees let loose with their deathly screams, and thereby heralded our approach. Their notes of misery were a comfort to we damned.
At last the humans came into sight and we faced them, our searing eyes meeting their steadfast line, and with a resounding cry, battle was joined. Here it was, that our master's designs began to bear fruit. The banshees' wail lowered warrior after warrior into death's embrace and their line buckled and fell back before our wrath. Following them came our liches, creating ragged gaps in the adventurer's ranks. And then we death knights crashed against their wavering line and we were all swept into a storm that raged throughout the courtyard. The mortals, even reeling from the night's trials rallied and one moment they would have us backed against the wall, another surge and they would grudgingly give up a yard, until the ground was littered with the fallen and slick with mortal blood. But our bansheees were a bastion that they were loathe to approach and slowly, inesxorably we pushed them away from the ziggurat. I fought a cagey barbarian and a panda scavenger whose sword bit deep. Behind them, deviling my efforts was a pale creature with an elegant top hat, and an excitable youth who nearly transfixed me with his silver javelin. Later, I saw this same gallant hero cut down as he put himself between my master and his prize. I also observed a brazen female with dual swords, and a fanatical elf that they called Seronia, desperately fighting to preserve their line.
His plan nearing completion, my master strode unopposed through the gate. In his approach to the ziggurat only four heroes saw his goal and sought to reverse fate. Four alone stood against crushing odds and nobly were slain beneath the shadow of the ziggurat on that prophetic eve. It takes a desperate and lonely sort of courage to challenge fate when there is no hope of victory, but to fight on with the sure knowledge of defeat. And yet they stayed, with no hope in their hearts and even among their enemies, their deaths will be remembered. For as dead as I may be, the vestments of honor are my solitary companions in the dark and stave off the emptiness which haunts me. Were it not for my reverence for honor the last tendrils of my conscious mind would evaporate and I would become akin to the mindless undead, without purpose or direction. Those four I would welcome as brothers were they to yearn for greater power and seek it in the afterlife.
After their fall, my master trod over their bodies and stepped into the ziggurat. Immediately, we entered to join him. Dark, ancient power lanced out from the depths of this haunt and filled us with unheard of destructive energy. Emerging, reborn with infinite channels of hate, we saw the remaining defenders rapidly filing out of the courtyard in a general retreat. Again I witnessed acts of valor performed when grim despair threatened to claim them all. To buy the healers and wounded time to withdraw, a rogue pealed off from the rest and distracted us, until his ruse succeeding, he melted into the trees. On the road, their retreat stumbled once more and the survivors were in peril of not only defeat but annihilation. This time a tall elf stepped forward, with gleaming mail, and red eyes that glowered from his shield. He was joined by another, and together they faced the growing legion of undead so their friends could flee. This elf and his companion formed an impenetrable weave of swordplay that kept us at bay. Seeing that the window of escape was closing, his friend fell back down the road and just as the elf turned to do the same a lich arrived and his doom drew nigh. For even rare courage such as his could not withstand a lich's malevolence and he soon fell and was brought back up to swell our host.
The town was ours and we strode unopposed across the tavern grounds and through the scattered cottages, meeting only one cabin with adventurers sheltered behind a ward. We posted our fresh levies to guard against their escape, and with our master's purpose fulfilled, we vanished into the night.
All hail the ascension of our master, Mclarius, and may all mortalkind quake in terror at a glimpse of his dread visage!
Valerius
Death Knight