The rich forward camp was like a beautiful prison. They were its prized exhibits, still covered in dried blood.
After the chaotic rush of arrivals, a tense agreement had been made between the king's man, the general, and the sage. No single power would get an advantage. The six heroes would stay in the neutral crimson tent. Treated as honored guests until the faction leaders could arrive to make their offers.
So they waited.
They were given fine silk cushions to sit on. Their tattered, gore-stained armor looked stark and ugly against all the luxury around them. Servants with calm, well-trained faces brought platters of strange juicy fruits. The fruits exploded with delicious unfamiliar flavors in their mouths. Tastes they'd never experienced before. They also brought goblets of deep purple wine so smooth it barely felt like drinking at all. It went down like silk.
