This war we have with the horde seems to continue endlessly as the buzzards watch with rapacious intent from their perches. I am certain they care not whether the flesh is olive, the corpse wears the blue and gold of the alliance or wears the visage of undeath. Flesh is flesh and all the same to them. I dream some nights that I am smothered in the earth and helpless as the fields of Hillsbrad burn and the cries of the suffering all blend into one horrific plea...from mouths speaking different tongues yet unified in their fear and sorrow. There is something coming...something far worse than the petty squabbles of nobles or the conflict with the Horde.
I went to the elven village last night, not that there was anything left of it save for bits of charred bones, burst timbers from a grainery, a fragment of a cradleboard, or burnt fabric. There was nothing left for buzzards or coyotes to scavenge, only ash. I saw no weapons remaining only a scythe for collecting herbs and a fishing hook or two. There is no glory in this and no one can convince me otherwise. There is no honor is slaughtering those weaker than yourself, no glory and it makes you less of a man and not more of one. I have to force the rage back inside of me like cloth stuffed into a bottle. It feels like I will empty the contents of my stomach.
I spent my evening listening to arguments that victory in war is worth any cost....nothing else matters. If women and children are gutted like game and it is the price required to advance the cost of victory than so be it. I cannot abide this deed even in one of our own commited it. I had hoped that in time the one I think is marked by this killing would rise to their better self and now I fear that is no longer possible. I have only fragments of evidence but I will not give up until I find who did this. In my mind nothing else matters.
