Chandea, Year of Severus, 15, I.R., the 48th day of Fall, Arenfall
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It was a different kind of morning today. The sun peeked from the gray canvas of the eastern sky with dark clouds swelling on the horizon. There were no birds singing their beautiful hymns to greet the people of the camp to start their day.
There was no fog that covered around the camp and the trees never danced to the flows of the wind. The stillness of the morning made the silver-head Commander uneasy. It felt like the world was speaking to them. It felt like an omen.
"It's too quiet." Commander Crovar commented. "I hate this fucken silence!"
Lord Prestonheim nodded and sighed, "May the gods look upon us with mercy and protect us—"
Commander Crovar scoffed and interrupted him, "Gods? Pfft…I never thought of you to be THAT religious."
"I am when it is needed, Syleon." He answered.
