The Lord Marshal was in a meeting when he heard the whistles and alarms go off. He didn't need a report to tell him what was going on, he already knew it was an attack. 

He flashed a fierce look at one of his guards. "Gather all the men you can, we're going to the docks"

He had no intel, no shred of information on what was going on. "Why hasn't anyone reported from the docks yet?" His only thought, his fear rather, was that there was no one else alive down there.

They rushed through the town side, one solid formation of about 30 men, including the Lord Marshall himself,  prepared in his finest armor. When they finally got there, it wasn't what he feared, but it was close enough. The streets soaked red, embers flying every where, people screaming, and bodies, oh the countless bodies that laid in the wake of destruction. 

He noticed the civilian group, then noticed his captain. "Secure the town!" he shouted to his guards before running to the captain's side.

[i]When will this end?  When will we find peace?[/i] Attaining that which they all longed for, that is what kept him alive all these years in the front lines. And that is what drove him as he sliced the flaming skeletons to bits.