Hunting By Torchlight

Today I arrived in the capitol to begin assignment.  I have taken up a day time occupation as a laborer at a local lumber mill.  Rewarding work made for hearty men, truly. However, my true obligation is constant.  Already, I have seen several demons and their summoners, walking about in broad daylight. Necromancers, warlocks, death knights, and afflicted Gilneans roam among honest folk as if they own the streets.  I see now why I was directed to this den of villainy and corruption.  What can one when expect when their King himself is an afflicted monster?  This curse has become not only accepted, but lauded.  Treated as a gift instead of the truth that it harbors.  Far too many of my brethren fell to this evil, and not even a decade later, their sacrifices are forgotten.  I have even heard former Gilneans say that those who fought against that tide of bestial aggression acted too recklessly, going so far as to even say that my brethren killed theirs.  The world has become farce: a parody of itself.  It matters not.  Their support has expanded almost as exponentially as their dark blessing, if one can even call it that. Yet, what should one expect of a disease?  For it to die out, leaving innocent people to live their lives?  Nay, that is not the way of the world. Only iron will has steadied my hand from splitting the rotting skulls of those lichborn demons, the fel summoners, and those abominations who speak their unholy words to raise those laid to rest.  I want nothing more than to take a good hack as though I were felling a dark, dead among the pines.  This will be an exercise in fortitude, to be certain.  I close this with the oath I made so many years ago: one that I find myself repeating in moments of uncertainty and times of trouble.

As I enter the Order, I vow: - To serve as the eye in the night, unblinking, - To serve as the shield of the meek, unfaltering, - To serve as the sword in the dark, unyielding. My quest is unending and my will unwavering.