Snippet #2332518

It was a chill morning up in the foothills north of the capital. Enough to turn the breath into a fine mist and cause the men on watch to rub their hands together an breathe into them. The frosts had yet to fall on Magna, which was a relief for most involved, particularly the residents of the small camp, sat up against a hillside amid thick tree cover. The heavy rainfall in Autumn and Spring was miserable enough when one was living in a tent, but when the snow and frost came it became a whole different, and astonishingly unpleasant ideal. Indeed camp life was rife with its own difficulties, but most who dwelt in that place found it to be a far better alternative than what would await them in civilization.

It was visible from the hilltop on a clear day, as it was that morning, the capital city and the royal palace, sat in a wide valley of urban sprawl and farmland. The castle itself was placed upon a small hill, causing it it rise above the houses of the city, the pale stones and carved masonry still stark in the sunlight. It was still an impressive piece of architecture, but cracks had begun to show. The east tower had begun to crumble, the roof starting to lean rather alarmingly. No longer in use, and with appearances no longer being a concern, some auxilliary buildings had begun to fall. If one had access to a spyglass from the hill too one might see the figures on the ramparts and realize that despite the armour and the royal crests on their tabards, there was something...off about them. The shuffling, listless manner in which they walked, the fact that they never seemed to retire or change shifts...and occasionally one might see as one turned, the glean of white, exposed cranium in the morning sun.

Down in the camp, things were in a rather pleasant mood however. Spirits were still high from their recent considerable victory in recovering the heir to the throne of Magna. It was something which many had thought to be impossible, or indeed so completely, suicidally dangerous that it was not worth undertaking, and yet they'd somehow succeeded. Any such achievement was enough to raise morale.

Alongside that, they'd also managed to acquire some fresh supplies, making for the first truly fulfilling breakfast the men had eaten in some time. One herbalist had treated the fire that burned in the centre of camp in order to ensure it did not give off a smoke trail, and a large cast iron pan was huge over it, on which eggs and chunks of meat were being cooked.

There were a few farmers that did support the cause, and occasionally they would gift the members with food. Eggs, flour and milk were rare commodities, and for the most part they made do with game and wild plants. As a result, the food was attracting a lot of attention, enough to drag out those who were usually rather too attached to their bed rolls.