Tuesday April 18, Seven Gates
Balor has come to the west.
But that is plain enough. It has already been thirty-seven years since the sack of Muirthemne – the fall of the east. Why we even dared to hope that he would not come west is now quite beyond my ken. The natural target to turn to next would obviously be the west. That he would come, we should have seen.
And come he has.
We have, through some miracle, held him at seven gates for the three years past with the aid of the Forest Giants. The Forest Giants…
But now the Forest Giants are gone.
Spring came early this year – the fourth year – my fourth year. It seems like it’s been so much longer since I was enlisted to defend the west. The fourth year; it seems hopeless.
The spring floods were especially violent this year – likely a result of the exceptionally heavy snows. They drowned a few of our camps, killing many, and disheartening the rest.
It isn’t the first time we’ve lost men to the floods – the first spring, we lost nearly a third of our forces somewhat undersized forces. But always before, the Forest Giants have proved our salvation.
And now, the Forest Giants will not come.
We have been engaged with Balor now for some three weeks. Scores have died, and each day, you can smell the reek of burning flesh. But we must burn the dead - lest our fallen comrades rise again against us.
Our commanders try to encourage us – to strengthen our resolve. But how can they? We are by now but a piddling force, pitted against thousands – tens of thousands. And we have heard the reports of the scouts with our own ears – the Forest Giants are nowhere to be found.
It is uncertain whether Balor chanced a winter campaign to attempt to ambush them, or whether they have become sickened, or even bored of the fighting. Who can say with them? They are a strange people, sure enough.
But a strong one. Always before, they have helped turn the tide.
But now, they can, or will not save us.
I fear the worst. We all do. We know that the future of the West – of the world - lies upon our shoulders. But we are not enough. The cause is lost.
I had watch duty earlier tonight, and, my squad having been posted near the enemy front, I happened to see the leader of the Fallen Lords with my own eyes. He looked human enough, but there was something about Balor’s appearance that sent a shiver down my spine. At the time, he seemed to be amassing his reserves. Even a fool could tell he meant to do something with them.
It is almost dawn, and men are preparing to meet Balor’s army yet again.
The sun is rising. May Wyrd provide that we see it rise again.
