Just moving this up to the front page.

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Title is subject to change.



Didn't sleep, couldn't shut down long enough to be mindfucked into my own subconscious Heaven, got bored, and felt like detailing the nature of a random event in Parasympathy where a group of angel hunters are tasked with rooting out a particularly troublesome infestation of "Heaven's rejected."

Written from the 1st-person perspective of a particularly high ranking individual, the event conveyed in retrospect.



Enjoy!

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We were in fact surrounded. Had a poet belonged to our troupe, the fool would have gone blind with inspiration. The infestation entailed far more than what any of us were told, hence why I had turned a deaf ear to our reconnaissance. I didn't know if whether it was that they had done an exceptional job, or if what we heard was nothing but threads of madness imposed upon their trains. Those people weren't prepared in the least. But then, since the end was so then perhaps the blame rested with us? I may have lived to tell of this dark venture, but deep down I regret ever having put my faith into those brave souls...

Yet another damning revelation, and how often has this been prevalent? Maybe the wroths have stolen my sanity as well, selectively plucking from me my dearest memories. I've as much scruff as before we attempted that suicide run, so there is still that, ha ha. At the very least I have retained a record of this event - too much, I say, to expect from a newling jackel. Those lads didn't seem to have their heads about them before our unit had even come together. Typical, of young, hot blood seeking fame and glory. Lose your ability to follow the simplest of orders given you, and you're about as useful as a curseborn halfling. Bloody rookies...

Enough that the signs of sentient life became increasingly scarce the deeper we had gone. Daemon fodder? Common. But the den simply reeked of Heaven. Mindless droves wholly taken, given to forbidden practices. The sight of them alone turned my stomach in - even better a time to have been accompanied by a poet! These...clutches of weak-willed abominations, clinging to their own as we passed. If ANYTHING my boys could have made short work of them. But they found themselves far too enamored to have been of any use. Beligerent scoundrels. We were come to CLEANSE, not to rove for naught but the wanting of loins!!! Why do I put my faith in humans again? Perish the thought...

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There's loads of underlying references and subtle undertones in this. Finishing it will be fun to do!