Those Left Behind (event)
Character: Duke Matthaios of Kozvce
I was but a boy when I was dragged from my village in Spabaonmae to join the doomed 'veterans' of State Legio XLVII 'Destinal' in their march to secure and loot the former Katraddian capital of Chigrazny. I was but fifteen summers when my face was splashed with the Pure blood of the boy Legon Vadmyrx in our first ambush by barbarian Virrekki tribes, and but a week later I stood knee-deep in the corpses of a hundred other Malcoisiac boys in their hand-me-down armor at the hands of bandit legionnaires who saw fit to rob us of our supplies. I remember the biting hunger, the dwindling of our men as we fought to push against the tide of refugees and barbarians. The moment when - not even halfway to our destination - it was decided that we could not continue forward with but a tenth of our forces and we'd begin the bloody trek back... now with the Fog at our backs.
It was then I met the men of Exodian, the last remnants of the legions that I had heard tales of as a boy. Legions who did not murder their brethren, but sought to save them.
It has now been eight years since I joined Exodian as a senior and lowborn legionnaire. Slowly I have watched the lands we swore to protect fall before the tide, I have watched my oldest companions be dragged off into the Fog by its chanting denizens. From secluded towers I have seen the cities of ancient Kartharadd bustling with life from within the Fog's embrace. I have seen a great metal man who screamed as he turned to flesh and aged to dust. A baby claimed born from a tree, raised as a legionnaire, a child of the Fog. I have seen a thousand tragedies and a thousand wonders, and I can only wonder if all of these things I have witnessed will soon be lost...
We are trapped in the Fog. Our scattered forts and holdfasts meant to protect and direct fleeing refugees have one-by-one been cut off. I command the last forces of an entire Governorate, legionnaires who have become more experienced with this Fog than any alive. We have found the secret paths and learnt to walk the whispering line between death and life in the Foglands, but every month ragged survivors come through the Fogways and tell me of yet another fortress consumed by the mist or its denizens. Others simply vanish, their messages cease, yet another band of friends and soldiers lost without goodbye.
It is time to leave. We must chart course out of the Fog, we must find a way to bring the last refugees trapped with us out, and we may need- we must do battle with any who stand in our way.
Whether through Fogeater or man, I will find a way.