Snippet #1483932

East of where the Wolfpack dwells, located within a small clearing of the great forest, there dwelled an encampment. It was a small joint with men coming to and fro carrying this or working on that. Voices that gently called out to each other issuing communication to keep the workforce solid. Resembling more a colony of ants then that of a human camp site. Everyone was bustling and staying busy, there was no weak link in their structure. Each mood was light and the shrill sound of careless whistling was easy to find on the lips of the labor. Hands were eager to the task. Jaunts and walks were straight-backed and strong.
Centered within the crowds was a solitary figure being prompted by another. Chandos was a balding man with a stern voice. Wearing an eye firm as a rock and just as grey, for the other was hidden beneath the leather of a patch. A scar running along the right side of his face filled in the details. There was no questioning what happened to the veteran soldier of Newhaven. Yet his experience belied his understanding of ranking as he chastised the black behemoth that rested before his feet.

“If I can call a plan out upon its stupidity, this is the one! We have barely over two score of men working on a shoddy base. They’re going to find us Sir Grim, and when that happens what will we possibly use to fend off the wolves?”

The figure he bellowed toward would have been a man if not mistaken for a large lump of obsidian. Sprawled on the grass, his gauntleted hands beneath his helmed head, was the legendary Blade of the Black Knights. He was called War by his men, a little joke that he never cared for, but it kept them pleased. To the more formal acquaintances he was Grim Pondus. Often hailed the most ferocious of his group not to mention the biggest. An intimidating figure to gaze upon no doubt and there he was this evening laying in the grass. Drawing deep wells of breath to keep the sweating at bay beneath the pounds of metallic plating that he adorned. Idly bickering with his most trusted gopher and first lieutenant Chandos.

“Well, I’ve given it much thought Chandos. We shall use feces first… and failing that there’s always sharp sticks and harsh words. Surely no finer weapons made on this earth. Unless of course we roll the sticks about in the privy first.”

The elderly man was less then enthusiastic. Crossing his arms with disapproval he continued his spat. Driving harder with his words and harsher with his voice. Games were far from fun with death on the line, and he understood the Wolves to be very dangerous playmates.

“ I’m not going to tell the men to roll sticks in dung because you refuse to oversee our operations past pitching the tents and cooking dinner. There’s lives at stake Sir Grim, and I can’t comfort the men with the assurance that their leader will be fortifying the outhouses!”

A lofty sigh breached the dark helm. “Then I’ll give it to you straight old friend,” he started. “We’re not here as an invasion force. Our job is to simply make sure their camp doesn’t up and decide to move without our knowledge. We also serve as a fronting point should her lady manage to convince the higher-ups on an attack. The Wolves will find us, make no doubt about that. Perhaps they’ll attack who knows. I’m doing my job, but you on the other hand…”

“I’m not doing anything involving waste for your enjoyment.” He hissed the words with a bit of venom. Having suffered through certain situations in the past. Being made an example of kept Chanos in line, but he hated every minute of it.

“Not at all, I need you to eradicate any Newhaven sigils that may be marking up the place. If we’re fortunate they will be confused and thus leave us alone. Either way it is not a good idea to solicit that their bitter enemies are sleeping on their doorstep.”

The exchange concluded with the lieutenant rushing off to his duties, and his superior lounging idly by. Though none would have guessed it, Grim was sinking into his thoughts. Processing many alternatives and possibilities that could arise during this mission. Always conscious of the one specific order that had fallen onto him. “Stay alive,” She had ordered, and he meant to keep it. There was also a matter of the other Black Knights. Jack and Setareh, neither had been by to talk in some time. He hoped they were both doing well.