Within the parliament of the lavish Elven city a human commander grits her teeth in disgust. 18 months of fighting the black tide, watching her comrades fall, cutting down children and the elderly that had fallen to the corruption, and for what? Slammed doors and a spit on the face from these so called “higher races”.
The commander nearly shatter her communication crystal in her hate filled grip as she spoke: “All units, [Code: Black] negotiation has fallen. Grab every civilian and resources you can and abandon post. I repeat, [Code: Black].” -- Anon Guest
The curse was spreading, and those on high refused to acknowledge it existed. Commander Emilka Dawnshild had been called away from protecting the people to report to the isolated highborn Elves in their damned sacred council. She hadn't bothered to bathe, nor cleanse the battle grime off herself or her armour. She was tired and she smelled bad, and all she wanted to do was sleep, but what she needed to do was get back to saving the civilians.
The council, glittering with gold, gems, and shining with silk and satin, sneered at her as a paige offered a bowl to wash her hands in. She pointedly drank it in one go.
"You may report," sneered the Highest King of Kings.
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