I write to you in this stormy night because of grim event that happened today. I came onto the battlefield too late to save Ildocian army from certain death. Forgive me on my terrible writing, because I do write from the carriage. My departure from the battlefield holds no other meaning, except to warn you that Godless men have fallen. I have no reasons to stay down there, because there is not one Ildocian that draws breath. Snows have already covered their bodies, and Marauders have looted everything that could be lifted. Zarian army celebrates tonight among torches and tents, and tomorrow, the red banners will continue their march towards the black walls of our beloved city. They have cut many heads of Kotadar sons and decorated their spears with it. They place them along the road like poor slaves, while they throw their bodies on piles to burn. This morning I saw two swords stuck into the icy ground with Ildocian skull in helm placed over them. I have come across a few wounded soldiers in camp that talked me through the battle. Fearfully they plead and begged me to run as far as I could, because Zaria is on the move. I have left them to wait for painful death and continued to follow the bloody trails in the snow. Cries came from a far between the trees, while Zarian drums called for charge. They have left us none of horse-lion to rescue our wounded and transfer the dead. The Devil has waked in them and gave them no sleep until the last… (section needed)… They steeped in blood and illusion that they became unstoppable. Massagers were intercepted by fiery arrows, and reinforcement never came.
A force came down upon us and spilled venomous fear over hart, from the wrath of Zaria, while sky turned black, out of rabid siege contraption fire. Golden banner with green outline in hands of a warlord, which name sounds not familiar, took light hard-shelled camels charge down hill into our flank and broke our army in half. Heavy infantry dripped from the forest side into our left flank, while from the top of the hill, archers rained poisonous arrows towards our charge. They strapped their horse-lions beast in broad shields and steel wire that cut through the Ildocian flesh. They came cutting limbs with sabers to those wounded that laid on the ground, and greeted those that felled back with webs and took them as slaves for gold mines and galleys. Bloodthirsty hunting horned-dog beasts were released in the wood to feast upon drifted deserters while they followed their advance with hasty horse-lions. Our valuable swords are melted into horseshoes they nailed to their horses so they can lose them in disgusting alleys, and from shields they made fences so that camels may scratch on them. In our silver decorated helms, they drop feces and then give them to slaves to eat. Winter doesn’t frighten them nor slowing them in advance, as they made a pact with Gods to defeat us. They stomped the battlefield and accede on our soil so ardently and defiant, like spiting to our face and… (section needed)…, …(section needed)…
Fear drives me to warn you about angry mob of butchers that presses towards our fields, washed with life. They march and sing along the road while war drums eco in the mountain peaks. They will not stop until a red banner doesn’t flutters around the top of your tower, and until our women and daughters end up in adipose boot merchants harems. They will treat our children worse that their horned-dogs and old folks will be tortured for entertainment… (section needed)… They come in vast numbers, and behind them, a great cloud of dust rises, even in this snow. Our villages are set a flame with broken military flags rammed in manure. They even kill fly’s in blood for coming from Ildocian lands, and cattle’s been whipped out with legs tied up, not giving them last freedom as they die. Everything that walks, fly and swim in Ildok is been awaited with a dagger, saber and spear. Only desolation and smoke stacks are left behind them, there, where houses of your loyal subje… (section needed)… dark smokes from the east… (section needed)… searching quarters in mountain caves… (section needed)… Baleful night has fallen tonight and has let me escape falcon-tures that seek sinewy meat and boiling soldier’s blood. They have scouts at every meaningful road and elite guard lurks in every bush.
I beg of you Milord, at these late hours to pray to Kotadar and fortify the city. Prepare men for the force that runs at us and house the beggars. Open your door to poor and open your treasury to merchants, because a long winter under siege awaits us. To every vassal, give a sword in hand to defend the city, and to every woman give a knife to cut hers throat should she save herself from ill destiny of living inside cheap brothel. Children, you send in other cities, forests and mountains, because they will be safer in jaws of the beasts that the hands of Zaria. Save, what can be saved, Zaria is coming.
Your faithful servant, Lancer of First Order
Of Honoree Royal Ildocian Guard
Ser Potos nok Dus
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