Years had passed since Vethril was freed from slavery, and subsequently found himself back in Yaralon. In spite of his misgivings about leaving that old life and its habits behind, the dreary march of time and demands of life dictate that he feed himself. That meant work. And work was ever plentiful in Yaralon. Contracts had been pouring out of the Parchment Burho, and just now thousands of general contracts were going out to anyone who'd wish to make a name for themselves in a real war, one that was hotly anticipated.
The City-State of Nashaki had wealth, power and prestige. The Empire was without a worthy enemy to fight, and wanted to expand its borders while lining their pockets and earning their glories for the morale of the populace. It was a simple calculation by the Runners, made in the heart of the Parchment Burho when they sensed war on the wind. But it was speculated that they knew what the Empire would do before even Raskalarn did.
Excuses on behalf of mortal welfare rendered, and the Empire marched to war in the Hotlands. Like any despot, Raskalarn ran a tight ship internally and was as adept at information warfare and scrubbing of History within her borders as any Webspinner agent. Nevermind atrocities committed centuries before. Few who really gave a damn would live to remember them.
Yaralon was no friend to the Imperial designs of Raskalarn, but relished the thought of challenge. The call to war that promised to bathe their warriors in glory was anticipated, and they offered their services to Nashaki just as the Empire attacked. When first the initial troops of mercenaries arrived at the Oases of Nashaki, they were accused of having suspicious amounts of intelligence on the Empire's intentions. At that point the war had yet to break out in earnest thought there was rumor and rhetoric to accompany it. They weren't aware of the war before the mercenaries that came pouring into Nashaki. Further, they suspected complicity, some of the Councilors of the Towers. However, when rumors of the counteroffensive against the Imperials in the Northern Hotlands trickled in, reports of mercenary bands who put their exploratory forces to retreat, the Nashaki merchants changed their tune.
They began welcoming the mercenaries into Yaralon, and so bolstered their own army, which while flush with experience in fighting skirmishes in the desert against Hotland tribes, was far too small for the challenge that awaited them.
Vethril was among them, having gathered a set of sell-swords under his own command before setting out to perform small raids on scouting parties of the Empire. He'd received a contract, one of the many general contracts that had been issued by the Parchment Burho's runners, to disrupt supply lines, disrut the Empire at all turns, and overall report on their strengths, their weaknesses, and their preparation for fighting in the desert.
So he crept over the last ridge of sand dunes, followed by a dozen or so other warriors, all lightly armed and armored like Vethril himself. They didn't weight themselves down with too much iron armor. But in Vethril's hand was the Sharp Spear, and in the other strapped a couching shield. He'd not used a shield often, but supposed later was as good a time to learn than ever.
He spied the camp below, they seemed very regimented and articulated in their movements, like a colony of ants. He pulled his hood over his head, and waved for someone with better eyes than him, to count the men down in the ravine below.
