Ah, the Boneblack Brigade... let me tell you about them, lad. You will see no monuments to their victories, no statues, no carved stones. It is known that after the battle they gather the fallen - one pyre for the foe, another for their brothers, yet others for their heroes and commanders, if such lay defeated. Ashes rise to the sky together, spirits free of mortal shell and mortal spite, to find rest and peace in the shadow of their gods, whomever those might be. All that stands behind in our world is blackened bones. It is said each true soldier of the brigade carries on their person an ash-dark chip to remind them of battles fought and comrades that fell so others may stand tall in victory and the cause of their brothers and sisters furthered. To remind them one day it will come to them to go up in the embrace of flames, defending this bond. It is also said, lad, that should you see black pillars of smoke mar the horizon, know that the Boneblack Brigade has fought and won - a sight to fortify the heart of allies and warn enemies that fire will yet lick at their lifeless bodies. Until all that is left is bone, black.
A cauldron of busy activity sprawls before you, over at the base of a grey, mossy outcropping of rock at the opposite end of the clearing. Trees scream with the rhythmic bite of axes and the skeleton of a palisade has made itself recognizable, looking like a chicken-coop fence for all the towering Norn bodies that walk around. Over to the east, a small group of humans and sylvari, spears and bows in hand and armor substituted for light tunics, enter the woods in search of game. A mangy grey-wolf pet bolts out of the camp to catch with the rest, a boot between its teeth. A scrawny but tall, blonde-haired lad gives chase, shouting curses and hobbling with one bare foot. Smoke rises from several places, idyllic but for an explosion, whose echo dies down to give way to an argument to the music of high pitched asura voices and the angry yelps and growls of charr. You step out from under the deep shadow of the Redwoods and start your way in direction of the camp. A polite clearing of a throat behind you announces a presence, a mocking voice to follow "I suspect you are not mounting an assault on The Boneblack Brigade, are you now, little one? I will hazard you are looking to join your fortune to ours." You nod, your back stiff, taking care to keep your hand away from your scabbard. A hearty laugh carried by loud steps you failed to hear before makes its way towards you. "Well then, just in time, just in time! My armor needs a polish..."
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