Into the Darkness

[Rosaline Astoria]

Thick smoke blackened the sky; the acrid smell of burnt flesh permeating the hot winds that swept the valley, or rather what remained of it. The battle had been swift, hovels destroyed, the fields burnt to ash, the forlorn victim of a battle between two countries it had never even heard of. The groans of few fought against the silence, not many had survived, the initial charge having wiped out the village without a care for her inhabitants. Villages could be rebuilt, molded to fit the new empire, what care did the army of Kalderian have for these people. The true target of the Kalderian’s did not arrive soon enough to stop the massacre, forced to accept its enemy’s choice of battleground. Their cavalry swept the Kalderian’s back, but the damage had been done, the battle lasted most of the day, and despite heavy Kalderian pike lines, the force had been pushed into retreat through the Black Pines. Now the village lay dead, only the faintest of laughter reaching her ears from the victorious army set upon her eastern hillside.

They waited, still as stone, long past the burn of cramp muscles, fear keeping them from action, the worry that the slightest sound would alert these foreigners. As night settled deep and the movement of soldiers picking through the debris had ceased she would look for escape, as a rabbit tip-toeing past a sleeping bear. Rosaline grew up with many brothers, brothers who taught her how to hunt and trap; it was these memories that kept her fear at bay and though her hands shook, she remained in control. Soot and blood plastered her hair to her neck and shoulders, her dress, if one could call it that anymore, weighed heavy with grim. Her eyes and throat burned from the smoke and heat that assaulted her in the small hole that she had been hiding. As she climbed her way out, pushing the heavy debris that had once been her home she found little respite, the smell of death still heavy, and though the wind brought some relief, it was a hot wind from the smoldering fields. Darkness was her only friend, as her eyes swept the destruction, her father had been murdered early in the day; he had rushed out to give them time, to save his children. He saved her, but her brothers were foolish, the memory was so vivid, they had pushed her in the root cellar, but had ignored their father’s request that they stay with her. Perhaps, they had good intentions, to try and save their father, but there were so many of them, she had never seen so many people, so many weapons. ..

Rosaline shook her head, biting back her tears; she had to find a way out. Her gaze looked to the campfires, they were a good distance off and she had heard no movement for hours, perhaps the army had ceased looking for survivors. She did not know if they were friend or foe, long after the sound of battle had died she had heard them come, heard a few of her people scream, likely dragged from their hiding spots. What was done with them, she did not know. None of her village had been beyond the white river to the east and the Schengen Mountains hugged her village from the outside world. The Black Pines at their base almost encircled her village, leaving one entrance from the east. She vaguely remembered her father telling them to hide, “Make for the White River, cross it and find a town named Bristol”. There he said we could report what happened. Report to who? Braden had known, stupid boy, why didn’t he listen to father, he was the eldest; he was supposed to take care of them.

She realized she had been looking at her hands for some time, her nails biting into the palms with frustration. Crouched low over the shambles of her home would do nothing, she forced herself forward, picking over the debris slowly, trying to remain quiet while looking for her bow, or perhaps one of their hunting knives, something to protect herself with. Her dress kept snagging on the splintered timber, she ripped the hem so it would come to her knees now instead of properly to her ankles. She found it much easier to move, resuming her search; she doubted she would be lucky enough to find one of her little brother’s pants.

It felt like hours had passed in her search, but perhaps it was her nerves, wary about being captured. She tucked the knife she had found into her dress belt, her bow and quiver slung over her shoulders, she had only found a few arrows; she hoped she would not need them. She stood in the center of her village; she recognized nothing. Her eyes scanned the hills to the east; she had to cross the army lines to reach White River. Rather than stumbling through their camp like an ignorant child she moved south through her village, her leg stinging with each movement, but managing to be relatively quiet. She had no time to do more than tie a piece of her dress over the wound, she would have to address it later, but she did not think it serious. She would skirt the south eastern side of the village and try to sneak through the lower hills, at least there the black pines thinned, providing some cover, though not much due to the fires. It was a gamble though, she did not know how far the army camp stretched, and the low hills were not visible from the village, a risk, but her best option.

 

[Virgil Algheri]

Damned cavalry! thought Virgil while he attempted to dress the wounds sustained in the recent battle. He began to recount the fight in Morning Dove; review the men under his command that had been lost. As a Lieutenant in a company of mercenaries, under hire by the Kalderians, Virgil understood that losing men was part of the job. However, that knowledge did not bring him any closer to the peace that he found himself longing for these past few months.

At the age of 22, Virgil Algheri was considered the youngest Lieutenant in the province of Va’ardenfell. To call Virgil a leader would be a bit of an exaggeration. Virgil merely possessed the mind of a tactician and the mastery of the sword. Hardly a battle hardened veteran by any means, he still had seen, and taken part in, a fair amount of fighting. When he enlisted with the Sons of Aurek at the young age of 16, he had no intention of making it into the upper echelon of leadership. But, as the Sons accepted contract after contract, many men had died during their service. Before Virgil knew what was going on, he found himself promoted to sergeant, and shortly thereafter to Lieutenant. Roughly two hours ago, Virgil was promoted to Captain of the Sons, on account of the former Captain being run down by the cavalry charge.

As Virgil finished packing and dressing a decently sized laceration on his forearm, he looked up to see a scraggly young man approach.

“Lieu- Uhm, I mean Captain. Sir. The General Arterion of the Kalderians needs an accountability report. Would you like me to get the men into formation?”

Virgil stood up and glanced upwards into the sky, admiring the dark beauty of the Black Pines. After what seemed like an eternity, which in reality was only a few seconds, Virgil returned the gaze of the Sergeant. “Yes Junk, get the men into formation. I’ll be there to take accountability in a few moments.”

Junk offered a quick salute and jogged off shouting the command for the Sons to form up. Virgil packed up his medical supplies, tightened his sword belt around his waist, donned his pack and began the somber walk to his Company’s formation. This was a moment he was not looking forward to. As he approached the front of the formation, he examined the tired, weary and dirty men that were now under his direct command. They reeked of sweat, the coppery smell of blood and the rotting aroma of death.

“Standardbearer, post!” Yelled Virgil. A behemoth of a man, carrying the Company’s Standard jogged to the front of the formation, adjacent to the Captain. “Sergeants, take accountability of your squads. Loremaster, link up with the Sergeants to confirm the number of wounded and dead. Report to me when you have the final tally.”

With the precision and gracefulness of the inner workings of a clock, the Company sprang to life and began to carry out Virgil’s orders. A few moments had passed and the Loremaster gathered up all the reports from the Sergeants. Virgil motioned for the Loremaster to follow him to the rear of formation, and then turned to his Standardbearer.

“Fehs. It’s good to see you alive, brother. When we got separated, I feared the worst.” Virgil grasped the giant man’s shoulder.

“Cap’, have no fear. Fear is what destroys a man. As long as you are alive, I must stay alive to protect you, as the Company Charter states. Until your death, I will always have a duty to perform.” And with that, Fehs turned his stone-faced gaze back towards the Company.

The Captain marched with purpose and formality to the rear of the formation and took the scraps of paper from the Loremaster. He perused them and his face turned ashen. So many lost. Virgil pocketed the reports and began making his way to the Kalderian encampment.

“Loremaster Tiger and Standardbearer Fehs, come with me.” Virgil ordered.

Upon the arrival to the small Kalderian encampment, the three were greeted by the Captain of the Kalderian Elites. “State your business, boy.”

Fehs moved to draw his sword, seeing what he considered an insult to his Captain, but was stopped by Virgil’s hand on his forearm and a barely noticeable disapproving shake of his head. Fehs removed his hand from the hilt of his longsword and took a menacing pose.

“You speak to the Captain Virgil Algheri, of the Sons of Aurek. You will show him the proper respect Ser Elite.” Fehs stated with fury taught within his throat.

The Captain of the Kalderian Elites relaxed a bit, nodded and moved aside, ashamed of what he had said. “The General is awaiting your report, Captain. He’s right inside that tent.”

The three moved towards the aforementioned tent and Virgil told Fehs and Tiger to stay outside. He moved the tent flap aside and entered a dark, musty tent, lit only by one lamp. And a dim one at that. He could barely make out where the darkness ended and the General began.

“Yes? Who are you?” Asked Arterion with impatience as he studied a map laid out on a large wooden table. “Ah, you must be from the Sons. Aren’t you a Lieutenant?”

Virgil lowered his head slightly. “Until this morning, General. Mocker was felled by the enemy cavalry. I’m the new Captain.”

Arterion looked up from his map and offered his condolences. Virgil placed the reports onto the table for Arterion to look through. The General picked them up, sat down in a nearby chair and offered Virgil a seat as well.

“One-hundred and forty three lost?” asked Arterion in sheer amazement. Virgil couldn’t discern whether the amazement was because it was so many dead or so few dead.

“Yar General. One-hundred and forty three killed. Fourteen wounded. Total number of able-bodied soldiers under my command is thirty-seven.”

Arterion tossed the papers onto the table in disgust. “That’s hardly an army anymore…”

“Virgil, General. Virgil Algheri.”

Arterion continued. “Captain Algheri. I will speak with the treasurer and make sure you receive your due payment.”

“All due respects General, but the contract is not yet completed.” It sounded more like a question than a statement.

“With thirty-seven men? It won’t be completed, Captain. But your service is appreciated. You’ll receive your payment within the hour. The Sons of Aurek are hereby released from service to The Empire. You are once again sellswords. Dismissed, Captain Algheri.”

Upset by this change in plans, Virgil stormed out of the tent and practically ran back to the Sons’ encampment, followed by Fehs and Tiger. The Sons were still standing in formation, all thirty-seven of them, with great discipline. Tiger fell in with the rest of the men, while Fehs and Virgil returned to the front of the formation.

“Gentlemen, our contract has just been terminated. We will be paid for our service, although it will not be the full amount. When you’re dismissed, take a piss because we leave in an hour.” Virgil turned towards Fehs, “Go see the Kalderian treasurer and get our money. Then distribute it amongst the men, to include my share.”

As Virgil dismissed his men, he watched them go about their business hastily. There were bleak roads ahead and he was in unfriendly territory. Mercenaries were not looked kindly upon in this province. This is going to be difficult.

 

[Daze]

Xesyl had picked the spot for his campfire with care, having drifted far from the main road the night before. The sword master sat there in silence in the early afternoon, his thoughts clouded and troublesome. One would naturally feel frightened when treading in unknown lands, such places renegades and skilled fighters made a living by waylaying the traveling merchants, yet Xesyl felt little discomfort as he would continue down foreign paths.

A black leather jerkin hugged his upper torso. The shoulders were edged with chain mail, and his leather leggings with high riding boots were adorned with mail too. All of it was richly made, and would be obvious to any looter around. His once long raven black hair had been cut, the sides shaven and the top formed into a crest.

The sounds of horses were heard, interrupting his thoughts, and he quickly turned on his heel to wait for whoever was coming. A small cavalry emerged into the clearing within moments. All of the riding men were heavily armored, carrying both lance and short sword. At their sides were large rounded shields. The crests upon them were unfamiliar to Xesyl.

“Welcome to my fire, sirs,” he said calmly.

An awkward silence fell.

“I had just finished preparing a meal. You are most welcome to try it.”

The man he presumed to be the captain rode forward several more paces and lifted one of his hands from his side into the air. He was broad shouldered and sat upon his heavy chestnut gelding. Turning his head, he looked back to rest of his men.

“There’s no need for all of you to stay. Carry out the remaining tasks. The one here shall be concluded soon enough,” he told them.

It wasn’t long before the columns behind the man began to turn their horses and depart for the main road. Two would stay behind, coming up along the sides of their leader.

“May the gods be with you,” one of them said.


Xesyl ignored the words, knowing he would now need to think quickly. He walked back to the fire where he began to prepare the broth. The smell of it lingered in the air, a temptation that would be hard for any to resist. He peered down into the broth. He stirred it slowly, and then took a sip. The taste was bland, and he had no spices to ad. Stirring it once more, he allowed a smile to flash across his once stoic feature and looked back to his guests.

“I suppose it is ready.”

The riders edged their horses forward and dismounted. They joined him at the fire. Xesyl noticed something different about two of them. They weren’t armed with a sword, but instead only long knives which hung from their belts. Their captain drew him blade, his smile underneath his heavy armored helm clear as day.

Xesyl’s hand lifted, letting the digits curl around the ivory hilt of his longsword. He focused to remain calm, breathing in slowly, and anticipating an attack.

“My advice to you, and your followers here, would be to remount and leave now. There is no mission to be concluded here.” His hand tightened around the hilt.

Xesyl’s thoughts were broken as he came to recognize another smell, one all too familiar, and stronger than the soup he had prepared. It was the smell of death. The smell would now be accompanied with the sounds of the dying in the distance.

“Your arrogance will be the end of you. There are three of us, all skilled with the blade. And you threaten us? Have you lost your mind?”

The former champion of Dara simply smiled, his jade green orbs gazing forward to the leader. The last thing the man would see was Xesyl’s steel blade flashing before him, striking him in the throat. Blood sprayed from his severed jugular and he dropped to his knees. Taking several steps back, he lifted his blade in a defensive position. Without any hesitation the two remaining soldiers ran in. Xesyl leapt to meet them, their blades shimmering as they clashed together in a series of thrusts and blocks.

Within a matter of seconds both men were dead upon the ground- one cut from shoulder to belly, and another with both arms departed from his body. The champion showed no signs of being weary. He moved quickly to clean his blade, using a cloth that had once belonged to the dead before him. The blade was then returned to the single black scabbard.

He knew it wouldn’t be long until they discovered their captain wouldn’t be returning. Gathering the belongings he would not leave behind, he moved to one of the horses to saddle it. He then slid into the saddle smoothly. Xesyl took hold of the reigns, screaming out loudly in ancient tongue, freeing the other two beasts.

There was only one option that made sense to him now, he would keep moving forward. This would mean drawing closer to whatever was being attacked. There seemed to be no logic in going backwards now.

 

[Rosaline Astoria]

Moving to the forest edge seemed to take hours in Rosaline’s mind. Her form vanished into the tree line with ease, her heart calming from panic of being so exposed in the smoldering village. Once finding herself in cover she crouched down to see to her injury, pushing her tattered skirts up and unwinding the make-shift bandage slowly. The thin fabric clung to her skin like paste over the shallow gash on the side of her left thigh. She carefully inspected the wound, her fingers probing, flinching with each touch. Dark, thick blood spilled onto the tips of her fingers as she grasped the ragged piece of wood embedded into her thigh. She did not think the splinter to be too deep. Clenching her jaw she made a swift jerk, pulling the shard of wood out, fresh warm blood spilling after and down her leg. She stifled a cry and hoped if anyone heard they would think it an animal in the woods. Her newly bloodied hands fumbled with a longer piece of her skirt, ripping a new piece free. She wrapped the wound quickly, tying the fabric tight on the inside of her thigh, the blood quickly staining the rough wool, but slowing due to the pressure. Thankfully it was not deep and the flow slowed under the cloth.

She pushed off the tree, testing her weight for a moment before moving forward. Her eyes still burned and her throat was dry, but she would survive. She moved slowly, trying her best not to hit fallen branches, though it was unavoidable with the destruction from the armies. She only hoped she would make no more noise than an animal. She passed deeper, the tall black pines like silent sentries watching her in the night. She did not know how much longer until dawn, and the she knew it was deep into the night, but the moon and stars remained blanketed in smoke, what little she could see through the dark pines. As she pushed south she could hear the voices of men, voices she did not know, foreign to her senses. At least it seemed they spoke her tongue. Her gaze moved east as her body paused in a thicket for cover. The hills were still far to her east; that was where she saw the campfires in the horizon. She would be afforded no coverage there, but here in her forest she could sneak closer, maybe find out more about this force and what happened. She did not know which army lay in the woods and which camped on the hills. The battle was too confusing, she only remembered the single banner, deep red with a black raven, Kalderian, the word was strange on her tongue, but she was sure that was what she heard.

She decided, her movements were slow, half crawling her way closer to the scattered camp in the forest. The men did not seem concerned with the east, instead they moved like beetles, scurrying as though the sun had come up, moving from tent to tent. She pushed her way into a thick bramble of thorns and underbrush, cringing as a branch caught her leg, but pushing on. The earth felt cold against her stomach, occasionally having to shift to make room for her bow. She was careful not to move the bush too much, drawing one dagger to lay against her forearm, just in case. Her green eyes squinted, as though it would help her see better, but she quickly shook her head, forcing her eyes open, she needed her eyes wide to let what little light in that she could. Her vision came slowly, she could make out the figures, hear their words, but she could not tell their faces from here. Perhaps for the best, she dared not get too close.

“Gentlemen, our contract has just been terminated. We will be paid for our service, although it will not be the full amount. When you’re dismissed, take a piss because we leave in an hour.” The figure turned towards another man, “Go see the Kalderian treasurer and get our money. Then distribute it amongst the men, to include my share.”

Paid for service, a strange concept indeed Rosaline thought to herself. She knew the ones who retreated this way lost…but were they the murderers, the men who slaughtered her people? She could not, try as hard as she might, find the same banner. She doubted they would continue west, no one climbed the mountain; sure they hunted in the lower peaks, but to cross that endless waste of rock…

She backed out the bush as slowly as she could, but still not slow enough for her liking. She knew it moved, too much for a small animal. She let a curse from her lips, though it was quiet as she sat back on her heels. She was far back from the camp, perhaps too far for them to have seen. She continued backing up in a low crouch, moving slowly, testing each step before applying weight so as not to break a branch. Her muscles burned as she pressed against one of the many pines, slowly standing, hoping her clothes so soiled would blend into the bark, she wished she had taken the time to put on her leathers, rather than stuffing them into the small pack on her back. She reminded herself, she could dress once across the White River, free of these men. An hour. No doubt they had horses, perhaps even her horses, the town had few of them, two her own, and all were missing, either killed, stolen or run off she supposed.

What would she even do once she reached Bristol, no family, no coin, and she looked like something birthed from the swamp. She could feel her chest pounding as she waited, waited to see if they had seen the bush move, thump, thump, thump... So loud it almost drowned out the distant headache in her mind. She took slow deep breaths, calming herself, she had kept a far pace, these woods were dense; they would think it just an animal.

She craned her neck, looking around the tree to the east, a long walk, no supplies, no coin, but, yes that man mentioned coin, surely they would not miss a few. She could wait for them to trek out of the camp, trail them till they made for rest and sneak in. She had crept up on rabbits her whole life, surely a few men weary from battle would be no harder. If they had horses she could perhaps take one of those as well. She knew how to ride, and she would need to place distance between them. There was much she did not know about, but she could certainly make a living, maybe another town needed a new hunter, or an animal trainer. It was a bleak thought, the future, but first she had to survive the night.

Her heart pounding but her mind set and slinked down the tree, making herself as small target, hidden in the thin foliage at the base, there she would wait, sweat streaking her soot covered face. Though she wished for nothing more than a dip in the river, she was thankful for the grim, it helped hide her all the better.

~~~​

As Xesyl moved west through the hills towards Morning Dove, his nostrils would be assaulted with the thick smell of burning flesh, the smoke still thick in the air, blotting out the sky. As he would crest the last hill his eyes would see nothing but devastation. What was a village lay in ruins, bodies spilled in the fields of, judging by the smell in the air, wheat and tobacco. At first glance one would recognize the shattered pikes, lances, and pieces of armor from a battle, but on closer inspection he would notice simple farm tools, peasants with no armor ripped and torn asunder. Women, whose dresses were torn, fear in their glazed eyes, their chests still with death. The rapes were obvious by the lay of cloth, though sometimes it appeared as just carnage. Limbs missing, or sometimes just the opposite, a hand with no body to match littered the grounds. Whatever battle that took place here held no compassion for the innocents that once filled those fields with laughter.

A sizable encampment lay spread out across the northeastern hills that Xesyl had skirted around on the southern entrance to the valley. White River lay to his back, while tall ominous pines bore to his front. They shot out of the ground to dizzying heights, or perhaps it was due to their barren trunks that exploded in large boughs of needles at the very tops, some having to be more than 40 feet tall. Mist and smoke swept the wreckage of the town, a few forlorn buildings still in flame, the hot orange flames licking the air, consuming the wood with a devils appetite. If he stilled and focused between those few buildings that refused to be put out, he would see a long figure moving with speed. It was not the frantic movement of a peasant, but timed movements, the fluidity of hunter stalking its prey, or perhaps it was the prey, not wishing to be seen.

The figure was dark against the flame and smoke, male or female unknown, but if he continued to watch its movements he would see the limp in its step. Perhaps the figure thought itself graceful, silent, but as it neared the southern tip of the village that kissed the dark line of pines, it looked like a boar crashing into the brush. Any trained soldier could take in the fields and see the victorious army on high and the cuts and pushing of a retreat into those very woods at the west. Though it could not be known if the lone figure belonged to the army, it was certainly doubtful, perhaps a survivor of the village? Either way, its path led surely to death if its movements into the forest were any indication of its continued stealth under its pines.

 

[Virgil Algheri]

Once the men were packed and ready to move, Virgil gave the command and the Sons of Aurek began the long and slow march towards Bristol, in search of better prospects. Leading the formation, Virgil, Standardbearer Fehs and Loremaster Tiger engaged in conversation concerning the future of the Company.
1
Fehs, distraught on the inside turned towards Virgil. “ ‘Twould be nice if we had some horse, ‘Cap.”

“Aye, that it would brother. That it would.” Virgil replied with a slight chuckle. “It’s going to be a long march without horses. However, I believe the men will make it.”

“I know they will, Captain. They have a prime leader with which to look up to.” Tiger joined in.

“Is that so? Then, please Tiger, explain to me what makes me a fine leader of men.”

Being put on the spot made Tiger a little nervous. The Captain was seeking his thoughts on leadership, and what it entailed. Tiger was no leader of men. He was merely the Loremaster, a keep of records, a man of the written word. His view on leadership would not be a very valued opinion, but the Captain asked him a question, and it would be wise of Tiger to answer.

“Look at how fast you rose to a position of leadership, Virgil. Within months of being a sergeant, you were promoted to Lieutenant. That’s the fastest that I’ve ever seen a soldier make it to the rank of officer. You even bypassed the administrative jobs of the First Sergeant of Infantry and Master Sergeant of Supply. We all saw something in you, Captain. Although it’s hard to pinpoint exactly what it is.”

Tiger figured that was a safe answer. As safe as any. Vague; not too descriptive. It’ll hold water, he hoped. He glanced towards the Captain, hopeful for a favorable response.

“I guess I’m just one of those ‘born leaders’ that everyone is talking about, eh?”

At this point, Fehs chimed in. “Born leaders Virgil? Nay. There is no such thing as a born leader. Either you have the mental capacity to lead men into battle with exceptional tactics, or you don’t. It’s that simple. And I, I see the potential in you,” Fehs took a puff from his pipe. “You just need to see it within yourself. Yes, we lost this battle, but the war is not lost. Keep that in mind, my friend.”

It was hard for Virgil to justify losing so many men for a ‘loss.’ But was it truly a loss for the Sons? Aye, that was the question that had haunted Virgil for the past few hours. No, their contract was not completed, but they were relieved of the contract. Therefore a loss, so to speak, was not a viable option.

Virgil turned his head to gaze upon his weary men. As he did so, he noticed a brute of a man begin breaking formation, heading towards the front. This beast was known as Thud. He stood at least two and half heads taller than the average man and was exceptional with a warhammer. All enemies learned to fear this giant. Virgil waited for Thud to stride next to him as the Company continued the march through the woods towards Bristol.

“Company hungry. Thud asks Captain. Food?”

A man of few words, still thought Virgil. “We’ve been on the road only an hour or so, Thud. Must we stop now?”

“Thud hungry. Thud tired. Men hungry. Men tired. We stop now?”

Virgil grimaced at the lack of grammar that this man possessed. “I suppose, Thud,” He addressed Fehs and Tiger, “What say you boys? Stop for food and a few hours rest?”

Fehs and Tiger offered their approval, obviously hungry and tired as well. It was decided then. The Company would stop, rest, eat and then continue their journey to bigger prospects.

The Sons were given the order to stop and set up camp with minimal light and noise discipline. After all, there weren’t too many enemies around. However, just to be cautious, Virgil doubled the guard shifts. Virgil yelled for the First Sergeant of Infantry. There was no reply.

“Virgil, the First Sergeant was killed in battle. Gloriously, might I add. You must appoint another.” Spoke Fehs as he was unpacking his tent aside Virgil.

“Ah. Well brother, do you have any suggestions?”

Fehs pondered for a moment. “Well, not that it’s my call, but I would suggest Thud. I know his grammar and people skills are severely lacking, but he has the capacity to lead men into battle. I think that’s what may balance out his lack of speaking; his tactis.”

Virgil called for Thud to come forward. The giant of the man sprinted to Virgil and stood at attention. “Captain?”

“Thud, you are hereby named First Sergeant of the Infantry division. I’m sorry that we couldn’t go through the formal ceremony, but we simply do not have the time for that.” Virgil paused and then spoke once more. “Go see to your men, get camp set with four men on guard at all times. Once that’s figured out, send the Master Sergeant of Supply to me.”

Thud acknowledged his orders and proceeded to carry them out. As Virgil was unpacking and setting up his tent, another man of average build approached. This man had short, close-cropped black hair and a scraggly beard.

“You sent for me, Virg- I mean, Captain?”

“Junk, relax brother. You’re one of my closest friends. Formalities are not necessary ‘tween you and I, unless the men are within hearing distance.” Virgil unrolled his bedding in his tent, stockpiling the thought that he should get a larger tent in the back of his mind. “What are our supplies looking like?

Junk crossed his arms and leaned on a nearby tree. “Not good Cap’. Not good at all. We have a couple days’ worth of trail rations, but that’s it. We desperately need to find a town with which to supply us with food and beverage. Not to mention, the luxuries so required by men in the field.”

“Then we shall rest here for a couple hours and double time it to Bristol. Tell Supply what the plan is. Get a list made up and when we arrive in Bristol, get to work.” Virgil replied, laying down on his bedroll. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to try to catch some sleep.”