The lord of Arduronaven , Vroghios, stood atop the battered stone walls of his city , his gaze fixed on the Yarzat encampment sprawling across the southern fields. His weathered face was set in a grim expression as he took in the enemy camp below, clusters of white tents and wooden fortifications spread like a rash over the countryside, resembling a small fortification of his own,with ditches around the permiter and wooden-built wall protecting those insides, and worse yet, there were four more of that.
It was afternoon, and the relentless bombardment that had pounded his walls each morning and evening had finally ceased just a few hours before. The eerie silence that followed weighed heavily, a calm that seemed to press upon the defenders as much as the day's pounding had.
Dust and rubble still clung to the crevices of the stonework where the stones had struck, leaving the walls scarred but standing.
