"There is not a single hume, and nor warrior that would truly understand the agony that plagues his fellow brethren's heart."
~Tasmiya Shaik
800KM EAST OF EREVOR VILLAGE
DRUIZDAR MOUNTAIN FORESTS
Friday
8:46 a.m
The Sotiris, and Rossi vassals were stationed on a luscious, hill blessed with nature's greenery. They observed the rallying hume men that were camped beside the Pisces River. Iron weapons were stocked in wooden crates, twelve tents sewn from thick cotton canvas of beige hues were strung up, and several spots where a dying flame on a pile of wood emitted thin wisps of smoke.
Ancient oaks stood tall, and mighty to provide a cool shade over the bandit's camp. The aroma of fresh stew boiling within a metal cauldron elevated above a crackling fire invaded the mountainous breeze. Racuous men clashed their enamel mugs filled with strong ale, and roared with laughter at each other's terrible jests.
