Sarda, Year of Severus, 15, I.R., the 39th day of Fall, Arenfall
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The camp has been busier lately. The nonstop clanging of iron from the blacksmith's and dwarf's tent could be heard all throughout the gloomy hours of Obscuros. In the day, the knights were constantly training, slashing, evading and studying tactics. Their Commander had called for them to arms. He asked only for the bravest and skillful men to join him in the expedition and these knights are trying to prove that indeed they are.
From the distance, Adaloun along with the beastman observed them as they skinned their freshly caught game earlier that morning. He looked at them with somber and dread. He knew that most of them would die there. Probably, they'd run away from the fear those unknown creatures might instill on them. Anyone would run away from that; he did, but he was just lucky to be alive.
