In His Ruins
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In a natural limestone bowl sheltered from the worst of the wind, the council's hired mercenary camp buzzed with cold, calculating efficiency.
Roughly twenty mercenaries—hardened veterans of the southern border wars, clad in mismatched tactical gear and heavy leather dusters—sat around a series of low-burning campfires. They weren't high council enforcers bound by protocol or uniform; they were apex predators-for-hire, answerable only to whoever paid the highest bounty in silver and gold.