The Fighter

The cart bounces badly as you jostle your way down the road. The men with you look dour and grim knowing that long hard battling awaits you at your journey's end.

Once you're unit held 100 strapping lads who were eager to fight the demons of the dark lands but sadly as time drifted by you've seen that number dwindle down to 23. Soon to be 22 as your captain coughs up another mouthful of blood.

It is sheer luck that you were able to find a cart at all. Without it, how many might have died from the journey?

You look up and see the orange and red of the sky.

"It is almost night," You say, "We should set camp."

"We should run home to our mothers." Comes an un-named voice.

"Do not be saying that in front of our captain," you advise. "I'll take first watch, you men stop the cart and set the camp. We can risk no fire in these lands."