Arrows and darts whistle their song, seeking flesh to shelter in, giving pain and death in return. We venture deeper into this forest of malignant apparitions and dangerous temptations.
My forces work hard, hoping this ends soon. The nocturnal creatures force them out whenever the mercenary troops enter. They come out claiming giant wolves, deadly spiders—some swear they have been attacked by organized goblins... We all know these creatures are dangerous when one comes unarmed. But the veterans brought armor from the great wars. None of these should suffer a scratch from the rusty knives or sticks these little ones use. I suspect lies about this.
The battle has lasted five days. What should have been a simple attack to take trophies in the name of justice has become a quagmire of blood and bodies. They take their fallen, so we cannot examine exactly what they are. As for ours, this cursed forest roots them just a few hours after death. This letter is to request reinforcements from all commands belonging to the Wolf Clan guild. The elves are killing us on both fronts.
This information will be coded, but it is true. The first day, they sent us to set the mushroom forest on fire. The trunks are very moist, so we could not light flames from afar with flaming arrows. Some of ours are mages—not very high level, but in raids, we did not need more. They launched fireballs, lightning, and finally insults. But the wood—if you can call those mushroom trunks flames—did not ignite at all. So they sent us to cut those trunks. The axes did not find much resistance. In less than five minutes, I had already cut halfway through the trunk. That was when an arrow came from nowhere and lodged directly in my shoulder. I had not even let out a cry of pain and surprise when a second arrow left my other arm useless... I was the one who came out best. A wolf came out and tore out another of our men's throats. A spear ended a third's life. I was already running and did not see how the rest died. By the time I reached cover, only I remained.
They healed my wounds. At night, they made a final attempt. This time, elves came with their scrolls—ten of our mages. They are not level four in magic, but I have seen them annihilate entire troops of enemies. They know magic does not work inside here, so they dedicated themselves to giving us shields, increasing our weapons' power, and even leaving healing spells prepared for everyone. We seemed invincible.
As soon as we entered about twenty meters, the torchlight lost intensity. The whole place breathed contained threat, like the growl of a beast you have approached too closely. Suddenly, chaos. Shadows that seemed like nothing more took the forms of beings with shining eyes, bows drawn. We were not impressed—the mages and the elves launched attacks wherever they saw. Yet something unpleasant awaited us. Several carried shields, breastplates, and helmets of a gray material I mistook for bronze. When the enchantments hit them, I knew it was... bark from the cursed mushrooms. At the moment of impact, the magic—as destructive as it looked—vanished. Then they answered with their arrows.
Though their aim was true, we discovered some weaknesses I will tell you about. All from a fortuitous event: an arrow shot more out of desperation than anything else landed on one of their heads. I can assure you the bark let it through, and that thing attacking us died like our men. So we tried to retreat. Some animals attacked us during the withdrawal—say what you will, but killing one of them while losing six soldiers, two mages, and all the damn Blood Elves (whom I stopped seeing as soon as the combat began)... does not sound like a good raid.
When I could, I looted as many provisions as my travel pack could hold and the horse of one of the pompous leaders. Since I could not use the traveled roads for fear of Bloody Coin mercenaries seeing me and, according to their customs, 'eliminating the weak,' I detoured a few kilometers along the forest's edge. An hour east, I found a small tavern. Here I sat to write the report.
More than a tavern, it is a brothel. There are a couple of women and men who constantly proposition. It is a pity I have no money because they are damn fine. Desperately, I offered them the food I carried, but they said it was not necessary. I think those Blood Elves paid them—I no longer feel so bad if they do this to comfort us. I chose the barmaid—a fiery woman with large breasts who smiles at me with an amused, almost mischievous grin. As soon as I leave here tomorrow, I will take the note. Everyone must come. These women are for every taste.
Farewell from a fortunate man.
The note was read. Some passages were altered to eliminate the armor's weaknesses. The Dark Elves were informed of the absence of elves in that incursion. They must be trying to enter the keep. Unfortunately, without competent smiths, it would take some time before they could offer protection beyond magic. Finally, the note was delivered to the lady of the succubi. With a smile, she handed it sealed. The charm applied to the bastard—and to the rest of the men and women who deserted, ending up in one of the brothels Lilith had established—would last long enough for them to speak wonders of the place, to bring deserters. In the end, they needed to escape the horrors of the war against the Dark Elves, and we lacked food.