For nesten ett år siden lagde jeg en karakter jeg kalte Crowfoot. Hun er en udød sverdsvingender som kjemper for menneskene og deres allierte. Ikke så lenge etter at hun hadde kommet seg gjennom de første spillsekvensene, mistet jeg interessen for henne. Men det var først da jeg satt på en buss for tog i går kveld at jeg virkelig forsto bakgrunnshistorien hennes. Tanken var å dele noe av den med deg.
The Mad Mother (Siden selve spillet foregår på engelsk har jeg valgt å ikke oversette teksten.)
"I stad before the High King, sword in hand. Blood drips slowly on the floor. He's telling me what he want's me to do. I kneel down before him, eager to obey. My King. Your will is my guide. My light. My sole purpuse."
The Mad Mother, she was called. The High King had named her so himself. A fitting name after what you did, he said. No other names held any meaning to her. Not any more. She was his now. And she wanted it to stay that way.
The Mad Mother removed the blade from the dying man. There was no use trying to interregate him any futher. She had heard what she needed to know.
The screams from the enemy held little distraction to her as she rode past the horde of ghouls, wraiths and fiends. Her side was winning. The High King expected nothing less of the total annihilation to those who opposed him.
- You are late, the field commander snapped at her.
The Mad Mother did not anser, but simply handed him the documents she had recoverd. The field commander spat.
- Get back out there! I don't want to see your slimy in my sight again. Now, move!
She left without saluting. The Mad Mother had other more pressing tasks at hand. She was already late.
- Hold the doors! Keep them outside!
- Oh, gods, they are going to make us fight for them after they kill us!
The voice rang with fear. They were trapped, and the enemy knew it. The priestess had no illusions. She and every one of the wounded would die. Hacked to pieces, torn and eaten, if not worse. Then it suddently was all very clear. The priestess felt it. The answer was quite simple, really. In a shift motion she had dropped the candles. Everyone was still focusing at the door. The fire startet un-noticed.
- The un-dead shall not have neither our bodies or souls! Let the fire of the Light clense and purge!
- Stop her!
- She's mad!
The doors smashed open. The un-dead had broken through.