So again it has come to pass. We spilt the precious blood of our kin. Two guards lie dead and silent on the floor of the tent. Several others fix their empty and yet accusing gazes up to the dawning sky and beyond the boundaries of the world. As many others before them, they stood in our path – and we dispatched them. A dull echo of remorse resonates faintly somewhere deep within my soul at the realization of how easy it was. For me, anyway.
There used to be times, when shedding our kin's blood would be an alien concept to us, something beyond our imagination. But those times seem so distant now... We used to be so innocent, centuries ago. I