Cyre Red (IC)

[Amnestic]

Reading the intentions of one clad entirely in armour, touched by undeath, isn't exactly easy, but at the very least there's no tension or hesitation in the way he sits, no held arm ready to reach for a blade. The Undead soldiers have obeyed entirely, acting in accordance with the Major's command, and though they shuffle around on shaking bones, their emptied eye socket are for the most part turned away from you, towards the other buildings around, watching for additional hostiles. There's no hard feelings held over the two dead undead on display, but perhaps that's because reanimation will fix them right as (non-magical) rain once more.

You're escorted, lead, or simply accompanied through the size-shifting rain eastwards, and it becomes clear quickly that you're heading closer towards the manned gate you spotted from outside of the city. The streets are for the most part empty, at least until you arrive at the named headquarters, which amounts to a small market square whose threaded roads have been blockaded and are manned by yet more undead soldiers. Without question or concern, they open the path for their commander, and you in turn.

Inside the square is the remnants of a war effort driven into the ground by years of waiting. There are no beds or other luxuries that the living require, just tools and equipment for fighting and spells, piled together beneath tarps to keep them from the worst of the weather. It only does so much.

Alarich leads you past them, and leaves his steed alongside some others - all equally skeletal - at a stable, before leading you inside what was probably once a Magistrate's office. Holes in the ceiling and walls have been patched crudely with salvaged wood and metal. It doesn't keep out the wind, but a chill doesn't matter to a corpse.

An old wooden table dominates the room you're lead to, scattered with some maps - old ones, drawn by professional hands and scribbled over, and newer ones drawn by less abled individuals, that are rougher.

"To understand the flesh-weaver you should be appraised of the situation in the city." He gestures to a map, one of the older ones, of Kalazart. "Currently there are four major factions vying for the city, though we're in a somewhat even stalemate right now." He gestures an armoured hand towards the southeast, where you are. "First, my 201st have been here since the beginning, entering the city in secret shortly before this...Mourning you've spoken of."

"Second are the locals. What I assume were once Cyrans. They've been here as long as we have. Mutated and mad, utterly hostile to everyone. The only time they stop fighting each other is when another non-local shows up. I don't know if they're breeding but no matter how many come our way they don't seem to run out. They're all over the city, so nowhere's safe."

"Third is the flesh-weaver you mentioned - Ecsimizt. They're the smallest force, with a small enclave in the western side of the city based in an old Cathedral. I don't know what they are, exactly. Some sort of aberration from another realm who set up here recently. They started capturing locals and doing who-knows what to them. Since we don't have much in the way of skin, they generally leave us alone, so long as we stay out of each other's way."

"Last is the warforged. They came in from the north and wiped out a chunk of the local population, occupying it with military efficiency. I don't know which country they serve, whether they're leftover Cyrans or another nation, but they're hostile, and attempts to send messengers have been met with silence and another three of mine lost." You note that, from the map scribbles, the warforged appear to control the central bazaar, where the bank of Kundarak - the salvage team's destination - is.

"That about summarises the city as it stands. Now you know that, will you tell me why you're here?"