Chapter 4: Camp Among the Forgotten

The Corrompido army settled into a makeshift encampment along a mountainside, their tents scattering amongst the gravestones of an old graveyard. Luz dismounted near a cluster of officers’ tents, his shadow-dark horse whickering softly as it was led away by a Corrompido soldier. He moved with practiced ease despite the exhaustion evident in the slight drag of his boots across the cold soil. Luz looked up at the massive, jagged mountain rising sharply into a cloudy night sky. Its upper slopes were dusted with snow, catching faint moonlight. The mountain was surrounded by a dense forest of tall, thin conifer trees, their silhouettes fading into layers of mist that drift through the valley. The sky was overcast, with heavy clouds diffusing the light.

The small encampment of black tents was arranged loosely in a circle. Warm lanterns hung at the entrances of several tents, creating small pools of amber glow that contrasted with the cold surroundings. Several other tents were still being set up further back. In the centre of the camp there burned a bright campfire, its flames flickering upward in shades of gold and orange. The firelight casts moving shadows across the ground and the Corrompido moving around the fire. A few Corrompido sat and crouched around the fire. Weathered gravestones of various shapes– some partially sunken, others tilted and some upright– dotted the ground. Many were worn and cracked, their inscriptions no longer readable. To the right stood stone mausoleums, aged and slightly crumbling and the stone surfaces were textured with age, moss and shadow.

As Luz moved through the encampment, Salvaxe materialized at his side instantly, ever-present like a bad omen. “Commander,” he began, his black eyes scanning the surround landscape with predatory interest. “This terrain offers excellent defensive positions should any enemy patrol attempt pursuit. Our scouts report no immediate threat.” Luz’s crimson eyes swept over the area. “Adequate positioning,” he stated, his voice carrying its usual military precision despite the underlying fatigue. “Order double sentries on the western approach. That valley looks too inviting for a surprise attack.” Salvaxe nodded eagerly. “At once, commander. You caution serves us well.” He paused, glancing pointedly toward the edge of the camp where some lower rank Corrompido were beginning to set up their tents.

“Some of these lesser creatures lack proper respect for sacred ground. Shall I remind them of appropriate decorum?” Before Luz could respond, several higher-ranked Corrompido officers approached with reports on supplies and patrol rotations. The Corrompido officers bowed low, their armoured forms clanking as they presented scrolls detailing supply inventories and patrol assignments. Luz listened with one ear whiles his crimson gaze drifted toward the edge of the camp where low rank Corrompido were indeed treating the gravesite with casual disregard. “See to it that none of these imbecilic disturb those markers further,” he ordered Salvaxe without looking at him. His tone was sharp, carrying the weight of command that brooked no argument.

“Their disrespect reflects poorly on this unit’s discipline.” Salvaxe’s smile widened slightly at the reprimand issued to his fellow Corrompido. “As you command, Commander. perhaps a demonstration of proper respect is in order?” he gestured meaningfully toward a group of younger Corrompido laughing loudly near a particularly ornate mausoleum. Luz ignored the offer of violent, turning back to the waiting officers. The Corrompido officers finished their description of supply inventories and patrol assignments. With a curt nod dismissing them, Luz turned and strode purposefully toward his command tent. The fabric structure stood slightly apart from the main encampment, larger and darker than the others, marked by crimson sigils that pulsed faintly in the torchlight.

Inside, the tent provided a small sanctuary from the cacophony of Corrompido camp life. A folding map table held charts of local terrain and potential human resistance points. Luz shrugged off his heavy black cloak. Alone at last, the carefully constructed façade began to crack. His crimson eyes scanned the tent’s interior with tired familiarity.  The white ribbon hidden beneath his gauntlet suddenly seemed heavier than ever. Luz placed his sword on the table, before his gloved fingers worked with practiced efficiency at the buckles securing his gauntlets. Each click echoed too loudly in the quiet tent as he removed first the left glove, then then right.

The black metal fell with a soft thud onto the map table, revealing a right hand marred by black veins that crawled up his wrists like ink stains spreading on parchment. On the same hand, wrapped around his forearm beneath layers of armour padding, was the faded white ribbon. Its simple cotton threads had survived six years of hellish battles and becoming a Corrompido, a tiny beacon of a life he had sworn to protect. His thumb brushed against the fabric through the thin inner lining of his armour. The touch sent an unexpected jolt through him– a memory of summer sun warming stone walls and laughter echoing through village streets. his crimson eyes softened momentarily before hardening again as if correcting an error. “Foolish sentimentality,” he muttered to himself.

Suddenly he heard a shuffle noise and when he turned, he saw the bottom of his tent being lifted and someone crawling in. He grabbed his long sword out of instinct and pointed it toward the intruder. The black broad blade was worn and scratched, with subtle grooves running down its length. The metal has a dull, cold sheen, catching faint highlights from nearby candlelight.  The edges appeared slightly chipped and the hilt was intricately designed with a dark, almost sinister aesthetic. The gross guard curved outward into a claw-like extension and at the centre there is a sculpted, skull motif. The grip is wrapped and textured for a firm hold, while the pommel at the top appeared ornate and heavy.

Luz’s crimson eyes narrowed instantly, ready to strike down whoever dared breached his private sanctum, but then he realised it was Amelia. She was wearing different clothes, a grey button-up shirt with a soft, slightly worn texture, with the sleeved rolled up, and worn brown trousers. Time seemed to freeze as her familiar features registered in his mind– red hair catching the dim light, green eyes that held no fear despite facing a legendary monster armed with steel. The sword hesitated mid-arc, its point lowering slightly as shock rippled through him. “What in the bloody hell are you doing here?” his voice emerged rougher than intended, betraying both anger and something deeper he couldn’t quite name. his grip tightened on the hilt until his knuckles turned white against the black veins crawling up his fingers.