Sowing Sorrow

The lost - they scream! Night after night they howl for mercy, for release; and are answered by the guttural tongues of daemons vomiting ichor upon their faces. The charnel stench cannot be washed away. I shudder to think of those we've lost, now bound under the ministrations of the daemonic throng. Last night I thought I heard the voice of Gregor rising up above them all. Pleading with us, with me; begging for peace. His torment is upon my head. I was the one who sent out his patrol. He was one of the few remaining scouts, and I sent him out to find our way. I should have known it was an impossible task. Find him, |n. Find him and grant him peace. For all our sakes.

Search the Reaping Fields for the souls being tormented by the servants of the Lord of Murder. Free them from their bondage. Then see if you can learn the whereabouts of the soldier Rudin mentioned.