The Western duchy has the shore closest to Hargroth and is the seat of the battlefront and the town of Barstow
Merrin just sat there with his feet kicked up on the rail, hat pulled over his face not making any noise. “You think they are really going to make a move? I mean look at them out there” Davis called down from atop the lookout on the roof. “There has to be hundreds of them, and they all are just sitting around….shambling I guess.” Merrin just continued in silence. It wasn’t that odd to Davis, most people on the front weren’t much for talking, especially not the ones that were here to pay off a debt. Merrin was one of those, Davis had overheard him speaking with some of the others that were here by way of servitude, sounded like he beat up a town guard member in a tavern brawl that ended pretty bad. A whole lot of them all chose service on the front instead of death. Must of figured they were good at fighting Davis thought to himself. “They got some kind of Zombie leading em! You really oughta get a look at this one! No jaw! How the heck does it give orders?!?” Davis on the other hand was here by choice. Born into war, his family refused to move off the front. On his tenth birthday he enlisted, he bought a jacket that was cut appropriately for his tail, a sword and shield, a handful of battle scrolls, and a hat. He was quickly recognized as an excellent scout, able to pick out enemy numbers with ease, so they taught him how to use a bow, and stuck him up high. “Looks like they are on the move buddy! Looks like we are gonna get ourselves a fight!!!!!” Merrin just continued in silence. Davis’s tail began wagging uncontrollably. There was nothing he loved more than the rush of battle. All of his senses perked up just a little. He could feel the moisture on his nose, and the blood rush through his body. His ears were ringing, but he heard someone else trying to get his attention. “Davis! Get down from there, we have been compromised!” Trent called out from another rooftop.
Davis looked back at Trent, “What are you talking about, Merrin can you believe this guy? Scared of a Zombie!” Davis turned back knocked an arrow and let it fly to gauge his range, firing about 20 yards short of what he could actually hit. “No Davis, we’re screwed! Half of our guards are dead, like dead dead. Adam is dead, Jacob is dead, Merrin is sitting below you dead right now! Whatever was in that fog last night got them all man! We have to run now!” Trent was frantic, he had lost one too many friends to this war, and had never seen anything like this. It was a given that if someone was committed to servitude in the war, it was generally because their spirit was weak, but this was just bad luck having so many permanently die the night right before a fight. “Nah, I’m good.” Davis knocked and loosed another arrow, this one found it’s home in one of the horde of skeletons shambling it’s way at the encampment, instantly returning the being to dust. “What good is running anyways? There are undead everywhere, at some point we have to make a stand. Run if you want, but I’m killing that Zombie.” Davis loosed another arrow, another hit, this time taking away the magical protection covering the Zombie leading the troops. “Your spirit strong?” Trent picked up and readied his bow “Strong enough!” Davis said without looking back, continuing to fire his quivers into the enemy. “Let’s do what we came here to do then.” Trent joined Davis, though from a different blind, both archers raining arrows upon their enemies until they could fight no more.