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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Rkhet" data-source="post: 2952251" data-attributes="member: 31318">You have been walking in a daze for as long as you remember, and it is the only thing you remember.You are on an battlefield, recently abandoned.  The air is filled with the smell of blood and decay.  Everywhere you look you see bodies, some humanoid, some not, torn and mangled beyond repair.  Huge packs of ravens swarmed over the dead and dying, gorging on eyeballs and entrails and cawing threateningly when you draw near.Five others walk beside you.  Instinctively, you know they are as lost as you.  Yet you cannot resist but to ask:"Who... are we?"Your voice is barely audible, drowned out by the caws of ravens and the low moans of the fallen.  The others make no reply.  Perhaps they are pondering the same.So you walk, lost in your own thoughts.  Sometimes you would unthinkingly step on something still alive, and it would give a weak, pitiful cry, and you would shudder, and be glad you are not one of them.The sun rises and sets seemingly at random, and you lose all sense of time.  Yet your feet carry you untiringly and finally the corpses thin out and you stand at the edge of all this death.Beyond is fertile farmland.  The wheat stalks wave gently in the wind.  It will be a good harvest this year, you think to yourself.You see a middle-aged man in a bloodstained healer's garb, busy at work.  Beside him on makeshift stretchers lie a row of injured.  He is tending to their wounds, and his skills are competent, even masterly, but you can tell that without magic at least half of them will die.The man seems unsurpised to see you all.  He stops momentarily to gesture you to come closer, then resumes his work.</blockquote>

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