from the Journals of Morningstar 776 Series C, Warforged Wizard
by Richard Smyth
CHAPTER NINE
Date: 24 Zarantyr 997YK
I see the jagged skyline of Metrol from afar and steer to the north in order to avoid the horrors that await within and around the city limits. Somewhere near the Dead-Grey Mist, which also became visible from a good distance away, two elemental-powered landcarts approached from the north, manned by warforged refugees. When they saw me, they began to approach. I didn't move. They didn't speak. There was no need for speech. After they stopped, I simply climbed onto the cart, and we traveled deep into the wasteland of Cyre's former (or the former Cyre's) capital.
This is how I came to be among the followers of the Lord of Blades.
I was taken to a large government building in the city center, a vast ruin of concrete and steel. We went into the basement and then, through a secret door, into a kind of catacombs that led to various underground bomb shelters. Some mid-level officer interviewed me, and, after hearing my story and determining my potential for loyalty and commitment, I was assigned to a regiment and sent forth to join them. We traveled again on an elemental-powered landcart through the city, heading south, along the border of Lake Cyre.
As we left the city limits, I heard the haunting wails and howls of the ghostbeasts that gathered around the cart as we sped past--hairless humanoids with translucent skin that glowed with a pale inner light: more lost souls of the Mournland, a tribe I now seem to have joined myself.