It all happened just after sundown. Light on the horizon disappeared, but another appeared from the north, in the pass next to the Dark Hill. It was clear right away that we have overstayed our welcome in this place. The Fellowship wants us gone. At first we couldn't see, but soon it became clear this is a large war party. Six catapults, several groups of war chariots and elephant riders. The city is well defended, we thought. We have walls, and the forest we planted has sprouted quite large already, which would slow the enemies' advance and allow us to defend harder. But it proved futile. Rocks thrown by catapults of the vile Aragonese caused the walls to slowly crumble. We've sent out our best warriors in a counter-attack and managed to destroy two of them and damage the others, alas our men were all slaughtered moments after. Such is the ferocity of the enemy.
After they breached the main gates, it was clear all hope is lost. Screams echo through the night. Buildings go up in flames. Utter chaos sweeps the land. We've sent messages through The Discordeon to our leaders, but all we can hope for is prayers in our last moments. There's no help to reach here in time. The flame of life flickers and slowly fades out, blown away by the wind of the Aragonese. The lucky ones have spears driven through their hearts and die quickly. May The Light guide them. The less lucky ones are rounded up to be toyed with by the enemy. May they remember The Light, for their next moments will be the darkest. The brave ones run directly against the enemy to guarantee themselves a quick death. The Light smiles upon you. At the end of this city is a house. I've lived here my whole life, but now I shall go to The Light as well. A knife through the ribcage guarantees a swift death. May The Light guide my hand.