Alt Much?

D1 Goal: 1667
Word Count: 724

I only hit 43% of my target. Not a good start but hey – it’s a start.

No WoW tonight – Boo!

EDIT:  Stealing this idea from Rob McClellan.  Put him in your RSS reader.

Dawn stole of over the army encampment, sunlight striking the symmetrical rows of tents. Smoke slowly rose from morning campfires, mingling with the morning mist. The soft sounds of soldiers going about starting their daily chores mixed with soft jingle of horse tack as mounted messengers delivered the daily orders. Small groups of solders huddled here and there, exchanging news from the last shift of watch in hushed tones as if afraid to break the quite peace of night.

A lone figure broke away from the woodline and headed inwards toward the heart of the camp. Clad in the leather and mail armor of all the southern armies, the soldier would have been unremarkable but for a shockingly red and wildly flowing mane. He had been given the nickname ‘Burn’ while a recruit both for his hair and the tempered that matched it’s ferocity. He liked the nickname but hated his temper. Someday he would be it’s master. Someday he would know peace.

In the meantime, he had to get back to his squad. Burn picked his way slowly through the growing chaos of a military camp awakening. His squad was not scheduled to go on patrol today so only had drills and other mundane camp chores to complete before the start of first watch that evening. No one would be in a rush to get started on what amounted to busy work. No, he would take his time getting back and let his comrades sleep in for a little bit longer.

Hitching his quiver higher on his shoulder, the young man wound his way around campfires of the other squads in his company. The smells of the morning breakfast fires were making his stomach grumble and he regretted not taking along the snack Talia had prepared for him. She was a beauty, wee Talia he thought to himself. He had met her soon after being assigned to Wolf Company. Like all elves, she radiated a youthful exuberance that belied her timeless nature.

Burn was startled out of his revery by the soft whinny of a horse approaching from behind him. He turned and saw Jorien Rael, Captain Wayron’s Aide-de-Camp, smiling down at him.

“Good Morn Private Lorefinder, have you seen Corporal Meirien?” The Aide was an affable fellow and held in high regard amongst the company. He was a veteran of many campaigns against the Demimonde and had seen his fair share of pain and death. While a bit of a popinjay, he was quick to laugh and always ready to share a meal and mug of ale while swapping tales around a campfire. He also didn’t take on airs which went a long way with the rank and file.

“I haven’t been back to the squad area since coming off shift,” Burn turned back towards the direction of his squads campsite. “I think the good Corporal should still be in his tent though, I was to wake everyone when I got back from watch. Is there anything going on El-Tee?” Burn used the less formal pronunciation of the Lieutenants rank to show his respect for the man and not just his rank.

“Well, I guess I’d better slow down then. Wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with Meirien. You know how he is about protocol.” Jorien reined his mount in and allowed the Private to get a bit ahead of him.

“Aye Sir, you have my thanks.” Burn quickly saluted and turned back towards where is squad was bivouacked. The squad’s tents sat behind two campfires at the extreme right of the company. The rest of the company’s tents and their corresponding squad fires, lay in straight, precise lines extending to the left with the Captain’s command tent directly across the fires and facing the Company. The company was part of a battalion which in turn was part of a brigade in the ever growing Overlander forces arrayed around Underspur.

The Company standard, a black wolf’s head, upturned and howling, upon a red background, snapped in the gentle morning breeze. Normally Jorien would be scurrying about getting the Captain’s effects in order but since he was obviously on another mission that task had fallen upon another soldier in the company. Burn recognized the silhouette of Granis, a Duergar from his squad. The diminutive warrior looked the perfect picture of folly.