COMPLETE! The Wasteland. A woman screams in the night. Spotlights flash on a pile of dust in the desolate patch of land that lay just beyond the tall crosses that picket the boundary of Encampment R-34. A group of curious students leave their bunkho...
Have fled Turnu Severin. Ottomans attack'd in the night, traveling down the Danube past our camp. The infantry of gypsies was of little use defending our flank. The Turks were firing ceaselessly from trenches. The artillery nearly render'd my ears silent. We could not prevent their crossing of the Danube and only escaped by dispersing from Vlad's forces.
The Black Army and I have since return'd to his trail, which was lately a plentiful country of content'd folk. It will be of use for you to take particular notice of his tactics herein.
They are gone off. We travel from village to village. Gradually, Vlad's inexplicable methods of warfare are unearth'd to have no boundaries in the realm of self-infliction. Finding it to succeed beyond my expectation, I discover'd water wells poisoned, livestock slaughter'd and festering, woodlands charred to smoking fragments, and villages devastated beyond recognition. The countryfolk remaining in his wake were left calculatedly diseased to infect the tired and trailing Ottoman forces with leprosy, the plague, and tuberculosis. The sickness was abysmal, yet sufficient enough to be met with success. Thousands lay in death along the road to Vlad, the Dracula. Your men and I found it desirous to ride around the battlefield to collect our health and our failing wits. My troublesome stomach is forever obliged to abstain from flesh and all strong liquors in the sight of such suicidal ruin.
Writ on the seventh of June, Fourteen Hundred and Sixty-Two
Ezzelin von Klatka
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