Seventh Company of the Vesten Brigade
Brugge Crossing Point, Yaruga River

“I want this equipment on the other side of the Yaruga, YESTERDAY!” Brenn stood upright and eyed the two soldiers coldly as they fumbled over the wooden crate, their inherent fear showing only in the way they glanced at Brenn. “Besides, the faster we get there, the more loot you all will have to plunder.” The soldiers grinned widely as their Captain spoke those words, for what reason would men have to wage war if it were not for the spoils held within. 

Brenn had decided, perhaps a fortnight ago, that the best way to motivate his troops into battle would be to “keep their eyes on the prize”, and it was in this way that he so easily manipulated these men, young and old, into believing in the Empire’s cause. Sure, some men under his command were nationalistic and would do anything in the name of the Emperor, but for most of them, military life was just the best option available. 

Turning away from the two stockpilers, Brenn moved off through the camp, dense and bustling, constantly inching North. He chuckled to himself quietly as he saw a few guards pushing around a dwarven prisoner, “Come here you grumpy little gimp” Brenn continued his walk, his smile disappearing, as if it had never existed. The ends of his bearskin cloak fluttered neatly as he moved nearer the river’s southern shores, now alive as men hastened to load materials into boats, as to keep them out of the river’s icy waters. 

He looked across the Yaruga and felt a very odd and unique sensation. Brenn was excited, for he had never truly led men into a “proper battle” as his commanders called it, and he looked forward to proving himself by slaying some of the Northern Kingdoms’ “sorry-excuses-for-knights”, but he also felt a little homesick, so far from his wife and children. The personal reflection only lasted a moment before he called for his sergeant-at-arms, “Bana! MAP!” Almost instantaneously an older fellow (perhaps 60) scrambled over (as fast as his aging body would let him) and produced a map. Brenn mulled over the map, eyeing every detail of the the Yaruga’s crossing points. 

Brenn pointed to the map “Bana, what town is this?” he spoke sternly and his eyes looked intently upon the sergeant.

Bana squinted at the map, “Well, sir, thats Dillingen, Temerian city sir. Small, but it does boast a fortress, however meek, still a fortress.” Bana spoke quick and his eyes looked up into his head, as if he scanned some internal checklist. 

“Hmmm, how many men do I have under my command?” Brenn’s gaze was now focused intently on the northern side of the river. He had taken note of the pontoon boats be laden with materials. 

“Uhh” Bana counted in his head, “I think, uh, sixty-eight.”

“You THINK Bana?” Brenn spoke with a twinge of frustration in his voice. Though, of course he did know that this was infact the correct number, for what Captain would he be if he did not know how many men he commanded? He just liked to test the poor old man. 

“No, uh ye… We… er, You have sixty-eight men under your commander sir.” Bana’s voice croaked in fear as he struggle to get the word’s out of his mouth. 

“Mhm, well a sole company isn’t enough to lay a siege, but I’ll ask the brigade commanders what they think. However, I believe it would be feasible for us to raid the surrounding villages. Got to give the men something to do, eh?” Brenn’s mood had lightened slightly, and some of the coldness had melted away. 

“heh, yes sir.” Bana stood up straight again and felt slightly at ease with his Captain’s change of mood. 

Brenn then turned slowly away, still holding the map. He then moved off again, walking off the sandy shore and again entering the hustle and bustle of the camp. “Get your arses moving boys! We’re to get across this river by midday.” His orders were given without breaking stride. As Brenn neared his own burgundy tent he folded the map and stuffed it away in a satchel at his belt. 

He lifted the lid on a chest and began to grab eagerly at its contents. Setting his cloak aside, Brenn replaced his thin cloth tunic with a tough leather jerkin and slid on the leather straps that would hold his sword and sheath at his side. He did not don his armor however, for he did not want rust such fine craftsmanship. As he found the right loop on his belt, Brenn emerged from his tent. And as he looked out at the living war machine begin its crossing, he felt nothing, nothing but delight.