“So you were caught up in that mess too?” The soldier, who had introduced himself as Framt, murmured to Galler as the gnome balanced Ellie on his knee next to the fire. The fire didn't feel warm to either of them, but it was something.

“Aye, lad. After Drassington…, well, Ellie and I had to get away. See some fresh sights, or in my case smell ‘em.” Galler grimly chuckled in response.

It was a quiet night, despite the chaos that had unfolded throughout the day. Perhaps it was the quiet that did it, or that the soldiers were still feeling aftereffects from the battlefield, or maybe it was that in all reality, neither Galler nor Ellie cut all that much of an intimidating figure. Regardless, after the pair had flagged down a yawning sentry and stumbled wearily into the camp to be introduced as a poor refugee and his adopted daughter, they had soon been accepted into one of the loose circles of soldiers sitting around one of the fires.

“I can understand.” Framt nodded sadly. “My brother’s family had lived there for years. As soon as I heard about the carnage I borrowed a horse, legged it to the city. All I could find of his home was half-eaten walls and a few piles of white bones. No house, no people. All gone. Ain’t that right, Turner?”

The elf named Turner, who sat opposite of the fire from Framt, didn't react at all, staring into the fire wordlessly. Ellie wasn't sure if he'd heard at all.

Framt shook his head with a clear look of pity in his eyes. “Don’t mind poor Turner there. Used to be a talkative lout, we practically grew up together. But ever since we brawled with those demon boys to get ‘em out of the way for Lady Elena, he ain’t been the same. It’s the mud, I tell ya’.”

Galler leaned forwards, his eyeless face displaying a kind of polite curiosity, all the better to hide his extreme interest. “Mud messing people up? Sounds like quite a tale.”

“A tale indeed.” Framt frowned, eyes turning back to the embers of the fire as he took a deep drink from his wineskin. “It’s a dark place, I tell ye. Nothing but madness, reminds me too much of what I hear from Drassington. But since you told me yer story, ‘tis only fair.

Galler gestured blindly at Frampt, who then passed the wineskin for Galler to take a few gulps. “Ellie, you best run along now. A tale like this ain’t for kids. Why don’t you see if you can catch a glimpse of those heroes. Don’t be bothering them though!”

Ellie hesitated, and then nodded as she half slid, half kept off Gallery's knee. She could see the subtext under her big brother’s stupid claims that a story would be too scary. Recon, and mischief. Galler had briefed her before they wandered into the camp that she would be able to walk around with less suspicion than he would. As far as mischief went, Ellie really hoped that she could find the heroes, locate their drink, and fill it full of powdered glass.

Faintly, almost completely obscured by the flickering darkness in its unending war with the dancing flames, Ellie’s eyebrows furrowed into a malicious scowl.

She really hoped she could find an unattended drink or bowl.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

As their warm conversation finally began to wrap up, both Jim and Carlos leaned back in their seats around the fire with somewhat lighter hearts. However, that feeling of lightness was soon combined with the sensation of speechlessness, as something neither of them had expected materialized at the edge of their campfire.

A small child. A little girl, to be exact. Grubby, horribly skinny, and wearing some sort of poncho that was so incredibly dirty that any designs or color it may have originally possessed was rendered indecipherable.

The two men looked at each other, rubbed their eyes, looked at the kid, and then looked back at each other with growing confusion, sorrow, and pity in their eyes.

“Jim, what the hell is a kid doing in a warzone?” Carlos frantically whispered to the middle-aged man.

“Darn it man, hell if I know!” Jim whispered back, and then set his face in a non-threatening smile, his hands carefully raised in the air as he addressed the newcomer.

“Hey kiddo, what’cha doing here? Are you okay? Do you need help?”

The kid stared back at him wordlessly, with some sort of beat-up bag in her right hand.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The words that the older man spoke to Ellie went in one ear and out the other. Contrary to his belief, she did not need help. Rather, he and his weird-looking friend would need some. For Ellie’s thoughts were filled with incredible violence, and she only needed to find some way to enact those thoughts without being squished like a bug before she acted. She assumed, of course, that these men were two of the three heroes. Mainly because they looked similar to the people fighting in the sky she had caught brief glimpses of earlier, but also because everyone else in the camp seemed to be super respectful to the people around this particular campfire. However, there was another problem besides the ‘getting squished like a bug one’. She didn’t know where the woman was.

That one, Ellie knew for sure, was a hero. The missing arm, the plate armor, all signs that pointed her out as a fearsome warrior. But what made her most certain of that thought was her memories of Tim mentioning a name. Elena. He hadn’t been speaking to her at the time, instead choosing to talk with Mr. Bert about some strategy or another, but she was able to figure out enough of a description from Tim’s words that Ellie was sure that she could spot this… Elena woman easily enough.

With that in mind, there was no way Ellie could strike yet. So, to better bide her time (even though she hated doing this), Ellie forcibly staved off a frown from stealing across her face and sat down at the fire next to the two annoying guys. They asked her a few questions, but Ellie simply ignored them as she waited for the woman to hopefully get back from… wherever she was.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Jim shrugged his shoulders, turning back to Carlos in defeat. “Guess she doesn’t want to talk.”

“Weird.” Carlos wore a mystified look as he turned back to stare into the fire. “Suppose when Bill gets back, maybe he can figure something out. He should know about anyone new in camp.”

At that moment, Jim cocked his head in thought. “Speaking of, where even is the man? How long does it even take to check with the sentries? He said he’d be right back.”

Carlos straightened up. “An emergency perhaps?”

Jim shook his head. “I don’t know. I would like to think that if there really was an emergency, we would notice and the camp would be filled with people running around.”

“Fair point.” Carlos replied with a quick nod. “Still, it’s been one weird thing after another. Hows about we give him ten more minutes, and then we go looking?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

On the other side of the small camp, an orc straightened his armor, sweeping a hand through his short hair as he made sure that his appearance was presentable. Clearing his throat, he sat up, rolling his shoulders as he warmed up his muscles.

“Well, that makes ten minutes, friends. It’s always important to take a ten-minute break when your body begins to feel the touch of exhaustion. That makes it easier to work for longer periods of time.” The orc said politely to the people sprawled around the campfire.

There was no response. However, the orc took this rudeness in stride, and he simply nodded along to his own words as he hoisted the closest person, a rather short man, over his shoulder. Seconds later, another large, well-groomed arm scooped a second unresponsive half-elf over the other shoulder.

The orc made an about-face, his back turned to the campfire as he hummed a simple ditty to himself.

There was not a single living soul nearby to politely tell the orc that the man who was slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, was bleeding quite horrendously on the orc’s shirt from his crumpled jaw. The man, of course, was either much too polite to complain, or maybe did not even notice it.

In the man’s defense, though, it is rather difficult to tell anyone something, polite or rudely, when you have a broken jaw, your tongue has been removed, and you’re half-delirious from the pain brought about by having your arm and leg bones casually pulverized into a thousand shards so you can’t run.

The change in view from being carried was interesting though. What lovely mud.