The Regiment

Over the centuries a legend has abounded, of a regiment of lost souls.  They pool their numbers from the battlefield, recruiting those who have already fallen once in conflict. In the time after the blood-hot frenzy, when all there is is the moans of the dying , they will walk among the wounded.

Their numbers are far higher than anyone has ever guessed, and the warriors present here come from all walks of life.

The  Crusader clad proudly in Christian regalia, who was ambushed and cut down by bandits. Mere miles from a battle that would shape the world, he was cruelly denied his glory.  Outnumbered, he had fought valiantly but was blindsided when a mere slip of man's blade found the space between his plate mail.

The Centurion who watched as thousands of Huns exploded out of the nearby tree-line to the fort. He was in charge of small security force left to keep the locals placated, but the numbers now streaming towards him were far higher than anything his men could deal with. His fingers tightened on his gladius as he prepared to take as many of the frenzied with him as possible.

The Samurai, killed whilst guarding his master in the midst of peasant revolt. Due to their hatred for any whom would defend the despot they had subjected him to the shame and horror watching his master die before the same fate was dealt to him.

The LAPD officer, gunned down whilst responding to a gang territorial dispute between two men who were barely old enough to be considered men. An innocent had already been killed, with several more injured. He was shifting in cover when suddenly more of one of the youth's friends had pulled up, and the officer found himself in the open and in the line of fire.

All these people, and many more, were visited by the regiment and in their final moments asked the question.

"Are you done fighting?"

Some, tired with the fighting and conflict, resign themselves to the afterlife happy to have earned a final rest. All the problems that plagued the world that seemed so important when alive are revealed to be an illusion of a far grander stage.

But the are others who look the regiment square in the eye and say

"No, I'm not done"

These stubborn few, representing just about every single group of organized forces from throughout the world will occasionally be seen in the midst of battle itself. They are called upon when one gives themselves over to the conflict, Mind, Body and Soul. When an individual is lost to the blood-lust and the fury, and they fight simply because that is all they know within their world.

At this point, the various members of the regiment will take up arms and join the battle, tethered to the real world by the red mist.Nordic Vikings, Russian Spies, Zulu Warriors all fighting shoulder to shoulder.

None know who it is that commands this diverse group, though some stress the more important question is for what reason such a group is being accumulated.