How solemn the meloncholy that rushes down from the ruined plain as I step from the guNwales of our launch... shattered earth percusses under each footfall as I gather both wit and sidearm for the trek ahead.
I return. Memory of battles bloody, brothers in arms, forth into the fray to a field not of our own choosing; we scuttled all hopes of return from the land's last hope.... yet return we did. At least I alone.
Working my way up the path of splintered mighty oak, blackened pines and scorched shale the going is dark, each breath-draw laced sweetly burning with what has passed. No thing dares grow here, yet in the periphery movement is hidden behind every purchase. Waning light plays tricks it has been waiting to gift to the unfortunate foolish enough to approach the cave. Depth beyond grasp, does the sheer magnitude of the evil therein devour light as well as soul fire?
At the very edge of these shattered hills the lair's mouth gapes, a lone memorial lays disturbed. White molten terror grips the tendons of my neck as the raging scream that vomits forth escapes in silent horror, my knees torn open on the shist as I raise my buring eyes to where heaven rumored.. the lid is broken, the seals rent from their seat, all the rumor and hush of every dark place has come to pass...
The Vest lives?!... hope is gone.
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