A Soldier

You were a soldier once. The litany of scars on your naked body tells of battles past. Of battles won and battles lost. Of battles survived. You were a quick study in the art of killing and your talents saw you rise quickly through the ranks of His Imperial Majesty's Third Fusiliers [+ Cold Iron].

At the Sodden Hill, you were a Sergeant already. You commanded a baker’s dozen of crack-shots, and after the Foe’s first charge you were the ranking officer left on that damp and accursed blotch of land. The wounds have healed into gruesome scars, but the memories remain.

What happened on the rain-soaked hill when Feyish teeth and knives cast the Imperial armies from their lands? What ended your time with HIM’s glorious army? What sent you far from civilisation and barrack alike? What called you to travel the Sea of Mists?