Some were heroes. Lured by the promise of gold and glory, they fought to purge the land of evil.
Some were brigands. They preyed on the estate not for what it offered, but because the previous lord had invited them in. Until now there had been none to oppose them, but that was over. The mercenaries spilt the outlaws' blood on the cursed ground.
Some were victims of the fungus. Damned to have their bodies contorted by the growth, to wander and spread the spores. They were far past curing, but the heroes put an end to whatever sensation they still suffered. Their bodies returned to the soil, to nourish yet more terrible things.
Some were more beast than man. The swinefolk too were butchered, their bodies left in the twisting tunnels, where their brethren doubtlessly feasted upon them.
Some were servants of old and bloody gods. Drawn to the estate by portents and nightmares, they sought to forestall the rise of a new and bloodier one. But their sacrifices were in vain.
Did it matter whose life was snuffed out? Hero, villain, victim… All of humanity came from the heart. All were one flesh, and all blood fed it.