Here are 3 examples of different writing styles for a fictional mission based on the first mission of Myth 3. I don't even really think this specific mission should be in myth 3, but here are different writing styles. One from a heron guard right in the action, one told in the present as a story from the past, and one from a warrior... Which one do you think suits myth 3 the most...
Heron's Perspective, patrolling the North East, Journal
May 13th, 1426 A.E., The NorthEast Territories.
Finally we have almost reached our destination. Three weeks ago the Emperor sent a small portion of the Heron Guard to the North East Territories just within Gower. We have learned that there are rumors of villages that have bearly survived the onslaught of the Myrkridian devils. We have been marching for days on end and even we, the Empire's finest begin to tire, however our commander insists we march today as well if we are to arrive before every village in Gower is wiped of the map.
Even I begin to question the Emperor's judgement in spreading the Heron Guard so thin. What was once the finest fighting force in the Empire has been reduced to nearly a third of it's original size, and even our unit is peppered with common grunts from the main forces.
In a few hours will be approaching the village of Hulgsrad, I only hope that the village is still there. I grow weary of picking through villages of nothing but corpses. Our mission will be a failure if we are unable to save any of the northmen.
Heron's Perspective, past.
I remember we had marched for three weeks, day after day. The Emperor had spread the Heron Guards thin, and it seemed like he thought five Heron and some simple guardsmen would cause a miracle. He had us up in the north country of Gower, gathering refugees from the various villages and clans and shepherding them back to Muirthemne.
At the time I wouldn't have cared that this mission was one that would change the entire outcome of the war. However this was the day that I was to save the great Connacht. He isn't the hero you imagine. When I met him and his kinsmen he was cold dirty and shivering, the majority of his village burned and his clan killed or eaten alive by the Myrkridia, however he was alive, and through the mud and blood and sweat on his face I could see the beast within even then. I remember it well.
It was only a few hours more that I was able to see that beast in person, possed by the hatred that Connacht burned towards the Myrkridia, to this day it still scares me.
Warriors Perspective
May 13th, Gower
We've been marching for eighteen hours a day for three weeks now. Our legs burn and we question the sanity of leaving the walls of Muirthemne so far behind, out here in the wild northlands where the man eating Myrkridia are rampant across the land. Even our leaders the tireless Heron Guard begin to faulter, the men can see the lines of pain etched into their faces.
We're meant to find and gather refugees from the various clans of Gower and bring them back to the relative saftey of Muirthemne. We haven't found anything but the remains of half eaten corpses so far, their skulls piled high. I can see that our commanders are beginning to lose hope in this mission being any kind of success. The men are beginning to grumble behind the backs of the Heron about just up and leaving back towards the walls in the night, though nothing has come of it so far.
I must leave soon, our scouts have spotted smoke on the horizon just over the next hill. I only hope they are the cooking fires of the Northmen instead of the charnel flames of the Myrkridia.
