Far from the warmth of Cassius's camp, deep in the shadows of the dense forest, there was another fire crackling faintly.
Its dull glow barely lit the faces of the men gathered around it, faces scarred and twisted, with sharp, hungry eyes and crooked grins that seemed to hold no shred of kindness.
Their armor was mismatched, their clothes tattered and stained, and the jagged weapons strapped to their sides only added to their air of danger.
These were not travelers or hunters. These were horrible people, bandits who reeked of malice.
Their leader stood apart from them, higher than the rest, balancing himself atop a moss-covered boulder. The flickering torchlight cast long, sharp shadows across his gaunt face, accentuating the evil in his smirk as he peered through a crude brass spyglass.
Through the glass, he spied Cassius's camp in the distance, a neat setup with tents glowing warmly from within.
