LaCroix, Captain to the Legionnaires of the Fallen, the final remnants of a once prosperous society. After the collapse of their once beloved realm. LaCroix took up the sword with the last able band of warriors against those who betrayed and destroyed their society in the pursuit of glory and freedom. Scarred from previous conflicts he carries a reminder, spreading ashes from dead brethren burned as a way to carry them into battle with him. With hope, the dead will witness the demise of this disease, though death is still to great a kindness for them all

 

he spends his nights alone steeped in conflict, both with himself and with those who betrayed their kingdom. Consumed with the death of Dorian, his reckless, harsh nature takes him down a cruel path, seeing only absolution through destruction, no matter the sacrifice to save his dying kingdom, and its people. For it was Dorian who brought their kingdom to ruin and betrayed all those who took him in.

Arms were drawn as the very storm of vengeance gathered with an unrelenting might in the souls of those who survived. Mankind was indeed cast astray into the tempest of battle as this, what would be sorrowfully known as “The Great Divide” had begun. Burning with souls of white-hot fire, a legion of men charged outward,

 

few in number but undying in resolve to take back what was lost to them and to reclaim the days and nights once more. But there was no victory, no glory for either side, just the prevailing dead growing with each encounter. Each side fierce in conviction, refusing to retreat, equal in prowess on the battlefield which left none to tell the tale as all succumb to their mortal wounds.

His second in command, Tristian who recently suffered his own great loss along with Solomon the composed yet intensely focused and Lucien, wild wielder of blades are all but the last breath against the cold darkness. Though loyal to their death, they collectively notice the blackness growing in LaCroix’s eyes and beseech him to not fall to it like so much around them, had fallen to despair.

LaCroix traversed the filth prevailed streets of his once beautiful home, a kingdom rotting from inside. Fearful of the peril that lies in the dark, of what lie beyond the walls, none dare to leave sanctuary . Bells told the numbered dead with an almost ceaseless toll. Resources grew scarce, the dead rose in number with nowhere left to bury, sties were piled with lifeless bodies, and pestilence bred with a voracious appetite, fouling the very air with the vile stench of decomposing meat.

 

Facing death outside the walls as well as within, LeCroix gathered the very few left that possessed strength of resolve and a final attempt for salvation, ventured out. 
 

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