>>4350

A battalion of heavily armed knights stand on a hill just before dawn...

Meanwhile hundreds of tuft eared tribesmen lay in a central tent after a night of celebration; a local hero has come home with tales far and wide...

The battalion commander walks the line, speaking of honor and tradition, of savages and saints, of justice and rewards, of spoils and slaves...

Just as the sun crests the horizon, the troops descend, the fur tufted peoples are caught off guard but fight valiantly a stalemate is soon evident, they fight hard and fast but the numbers aren't in their favor...

Amid the burning yurts and flattened tents and almost none of either side survive. The cold winter morning brings only death to this once prosperous tribe...

A lone cleric walks among the dead, suffering horrible anxiety and pain... the scene shifts and it's you, seeing through clouded eyes, stepping in blood red puddles, searching desperately for survivors...

......

Silent as the grave a small space devoid of all but barest necessities is hit by a unseen force, a rupture in the side makes deorbiting pointless, no it must descend or risk evaporating or killing it's only occupant. On the way down in controlled descent its struck again, this time a force of a fleshier kind, a brilliant emerald dragon rams the craft and it falls uncontrollably to the surface...