Dusk fell like a wet blanket, strangling out any residual light from the hot day. The forest seemed to exhale as sticky moisture condensed on every available surface. Throughout the darkness, small pinpricks of sound pulsed as insects began their choruses.
Somewhere in the middle of this forest, a large war encampment was suffering the heavy air with dutiful ignorance, despite its hot grasp squeezing the breath out of the soldiers stationed there. Torches provided the necessary illumination as soldiers mingled together, their raucous laughter easily detectable from quite a distance away. Not that it really mattered, for their enemy cared little where the encampment was placed, only for the exact amount of those stationed within. Despite the seemingly relaxed atmosphere, a quiet watchfulness permeated the camp, as armed sentries patrolled the perimeter and swords remained in easy reach should the need arise. One sentry, a young recruit by the name of Giles, leaned his wooden spear against a nearby tree.
“Cursed heat,” he grumbled to himself, adjusting the cumbersome and not the least bit comfortable plate armor that he wore. His clothes soaked in sweat, it hardly seemed possible that more sweat could leak out of his body, but it still dripped out of his hair like a miniature cloudburst. Giles quickly pulled a hand out of its gauntlet, to quickly squeeze the sweat out his hair.
“I wouldn’t recommend that, recruit,” a terse female voice pierced the gloom. Giles looked up in alarm, dropping his gauntlet and knocking his spear onto the ground in an attempt to grab it. General McElroy, the contingent leader, laughed harshly. Giles stopped trying to gather his equipment and quickly saluted.
“My apologies, General. What can I for do y--I mean, do for you?”
He nervously tried to keep himself together, despite being under pressure. General Amanda “Amazon” McElroy, despite being quite old, was built like a snake with a thin form that belied her strength, and was well-known for her legendary skill with the spear. She also did not respond well to those who didn’t work their hardest on the battlefield, or on sentry duty.
“At ease, recruit.” She looked him up and down, taking particular care to examine his face.
“How old are you?” Giles did his best to stand tall.
“Nineteen, General,” he said, sweat dripping into his eyes from his hair. She examined him carefully. Giles tried not to let his discomfort show.
“Liar!” her voice boomed, “How old are you really?” Giles was unable to speak for a few seconds, as he was so used to lying about his age that he had convinced himself of its truth.
“Sixteen, General!” he said humbly.
“How we let such young people join the militia, I’ll never know.”
General McElroy stared out into the darkness filling the trees. Giles leaned down and retrieved his gauntlet from the dirt, and slipped it back on his hand, and retrieved his spear. The General continued to stare out into the trees at the dark beyond the light. Giles, cowed by her insight, simply stood there uneasily.
“Do you know who or what our enemy is?” she turned to him. Giles paused a second before answering.
“Our enemies are the unclean, those who wish harm upon us, the untrue, those who would lead us to believe lies, and the intruders, the ones who force the doors of our faith,” Giles recited the first part of the warrior’s code. General McElroy shook her head.
“While heroic-sounding, it’s really very vague. Do you know what exactly you will be fighting?” she asked.
“…Not…exactly...” he responded, ashamed of his lack of knowledge. The General gave him a pitying look.
“It’s not a sight meant for the young,” she sounded sad. Giles realized what she was saying.
“I am not too young! I am not scared!” Realizing his mistake, Giles quickly shut his mouth and waited for her admonishment.
“Monstrosities, the stuff of nightmares, I have had little undisturbed sleep since I first met them twenty-five years ago. My dreams are always filled with their cries and their grotesque shapes shambling through them,” she shivered. Giles suddenly began to appreciate what he had done when he lied about his age to get into the militia. Shaking his head, he looked out into the darkness, where unknown horrors would be hiding. Amanda walked over to stand next to him.
“What keep are you from?” she asked him.
“Achtaven,” he replied, thinking about his family safely in bed at that hour, while he was out in the middle of a nightmare-infested forest with only a sharp, wooden spear to protect him.
“It’s a good place, alright. Family?” she quested further.
“Mother and two sisters, my father died in the war with the keep of Enesbor. My mother wanted me to stay at home, but I left to seek revenge. Instead of going to the front, I ended up here, with the militia.” Giles leaned against a tree trunk, running his fingers along the solid wood in his spear, his mind awash with homesickness. He looked up at the General, and was surprised to see a tear in her eye.
“My family died in a raid. All of them; my husband, my parents, my siblings, and even,” she paused, “my son.” She recovered quickly, her moment of vulnerability gone.
“My apologies, I shouldn’t go back over past events in such a way.” She turned as a robed man walked up, his boots crunching on the moss.
“The Mage detects a large number of hostile life forms approaching our encampment," the man reported.
“Ready the camp, we need to be ready for their attack!”
She sprinted into the camp with the man, leaving Giles to figure out what he was supposed to be doing. A horn sounded, and everyone in the camp snapped to attention, getting their equipment ready and checking the defenses. Giles cautiously stole back into the relative safety of the firelight, checking his armor and spear.
