...the survivors of the slaughter who reached us spoke in hollow tones of nightmares given form tearing entire formations of our infantry to shreds in seconds. Of fanged lupine monstrosities ripping men from their saddles and slicing through plate like paper, reducing our vanguard's cavalry to so much offal and carrion in the blink of an eye. In two engagements the Order's forces were utterly crushed, with only a handful of warriors surviving to stagger back to the main encampment to tell their tale.
The Order's march north had taken us beyond the bounds of the old Kingdom and into the swamp-infested badlands separating us from the Traverse, the icy expanse we hoped to cross in our quest to find a new home. Ermanaric's vanguard was butchered almost to a man by a foe we had not expected to find blocking our path on our march north. That the swamps were now infested by the horrors of the old Dark, the nameless undead and fouler things following in their wake, meant that we were honour bound to cleanse the swamps before pressing forward on our journey. The survival of remnants of the old Dark and its unliving terrors was unconscionable to us. The oaths we swear upon ascension to the Order dictate that those reanimated by the dream of unlife cannot be permitted to exist.
The survivors of the slaughter in the Eastern Marsh were ushered before the Grand Master within moments of their arrival, and upon being informed of the disaster, Alaric himself ordered a punitive expedition to set out ahead of the main column. I was to lead the mission: to seek out the source of the undead in the swamplands and eradicate it utterly.
- from the journal of Ludovic Tyr, knight-captain of the Black Order
