Listen guest from beyond the black screen for a tales of tragedy and woe are to be spoken. For in this forsaken land devoid of hope our first tale begins.
[Imperial province of Aldur]
-Somwhere near the red plains
The sky darkened as the clouds grayed ready to wet the earth below with the rain trapped in them. The wind blew fiercely kicking up dust and small stones at the marching battalion or what was left of it.
This was the most shameful string of defeats he had ever faced thought battalion commander Herschel. It wasn't like he had never lost or faced crushing defeats before, he had even once lost nearly his entire battalion in an ambush during the second continental war. The reason that made it so shameful was the way he was losing and the cost of his loses.
It had begun when King Pridmund the lll the king of Aldur had sent him to the eastern border to bolster its defense. The king even let him take one of the mages from the royal court as a deterrent to those filthy barbarians of the west, and all seemed to be going well.
The left the capital surrounded in cheers and praise and began the week long trek to the red plains. But their trip would soon take a turn for the worst, on their way to the red plains they stopped by the village of Castor. In order to rest and take a bit more supplies with them.
At night all was well and a few of the soldiers enjoyed the company of the female villagers, even Herschel himself enjoyed the village chief's daughter. Nothing out of the ordinary just the same but in the morning his right hand man Breeno told him a dozen of his men had deserted with the female villagers to the north and stole a few supplies and weapons.
This greatly irritated Herschel but he didn't have time to go looking for a bunch of barely trained footmen and malnourished peasants. He had a job to do and he would do it, he could deal with the deserters when he came back from this campaign.
His troops continued marching for a full two days before trouble came knocking. The food supplies they had received from the village of Castor caused mana poisoning to the weaker soldiers and half a dozen succumbed to it. With a dozen more still suffering from it.
This greatly worried him as a sign of ill omen, and as a devout believer of the heavenly three he knew such signs meant ill boding. But there was now way he could turn back now before even reaching his location, he would be seen as a laughing stock and his rank could even be stripped from him because the king wasn't a kind man.
He sent Breeno to do a headcount of what troops they had left and half an hour later he came back holding a parchment still fresh with ink. "Sir we have 412 troops remaining out of 500. We have one mage, 12 knights, 50 Calvarymen, 150 elite infantry and 200 footmen left." Breeno said in his raspy voice
Herschel thought to himself although he had lost 88 soldiers the number of soldiers left was manageable and he could work something out. They continued their march to the red plains losing 4 more men to mana poisoning and arriving in the evening.
They set up camp in a flat area that was easy to defend and had a good view of the surrounding area. The morale of his soldiers had dropped significantly and many whispered that they should have taken a village girl and run off like the first group. Instead they had to march in wild country while burying their brothers who died to bad food.
The night was quiet except for the commander's tent which still had movement late through the night. In the tent Herschel and his remaining officers sat and discussed. They had lost 2 officers to mana poisoning and had no idea when their mission would actually end.
Normally after staying in the area for at least 6 months with nothing major happening. The king would issue an order for a valiant return in which the soldiers could return with honour with out the fear of being labelled as a deserter. But there were times where they had been sent and only returned after two years.
And the last thing Herschel wanted was to be stuck out here in the long term with lacking numbers, and he couldn't ask for reinforcements from the capital without a proper reason. As troops dying from mana poisoning would be seen as his incompetence more than anything.
Deep into the night long after the meeting had concluded a deep roar shook the camp, rattling the tents and instantly waking all those whos slumbered. Those on night watch sounded the alarm alerting the already woken camp.
Herschel still groggy put on his armour, grabbed his long sword from his bedside and exited his tent. Outside it was utter panic broken tents and the stench of blood filled the air. The camp looked as if it had been hit by a natural disaster with soldiers fleeing in every direction.
Herschel looked around and sent one of his personal guards to find out what was going on. It didn't take long to find out what was causing the commotion as a crumpled mass of iron, bone and flesh flew at him at him at high speeds. He swiftly dodged left causing the mass of flesh to hit the ground where he had been standing. As he turned to look at the mass of flesh his stomach turned, although crushed he recognised the body of one of his personal guards.
The mass of flesh wriggled a bit and a small groan escaped from what was left of his lips. He looked from where his guard had been flung from and then he say it. It was tall and gangling, easily thrice Herschel's height, with wiry, muscled limbs and a bulbous stomach. It's head was large and ungainly, with a pointed snout like nose and sharp, unintelligent eyes. It's hide was like a jagged mountain peak a thick grey scale. Large and frayed pointed ears framed its hideous face, and mouth was a wide and filled with jagged shark like teeth. It's long arms ended in club-like hands, with each of its four fingers the size of a maidens torso. It gave a deafening roar before flattening six more men in a single swing of its arm.
"A troll" Herschel muttered, it was a monster that required a battalion, fully prepared and equipped with troll hunting gear, and even then more than 80% of the battalion would die subjugating it.
Yet here it was in the middle of nowhere slaughtering his troops. Herschel regained his grip and shouted "all remaining troops retreat at once".