Along the eastern border of Amalia fires lit the midnight sky in vibrant hues of orange and yellow. Troves of gray tents were cast in bright light and danced with the shadows of thousands of men and women. Earth had been churned to mud underneath unending feet rushing to and fro transforming the camp into a pit. Anyone that intended to be clean and dry in the morning was a fool and in the opinions of the others too sober. Boisterous laughter resonated from the camp reaching the smaller camps adjacent and stirring the men and women there to join in. On the Eve of Castian's Siege every soldier met in one great final celebration about their generals tent. 

"And another thing!" 

"No Fierre that's enough." 

"No, it In't. Listen."

"Fier-"

"He just sits there. Oooh look at me I'm so respectful and proper. Like shit. The man's lost his head more times 'an me, but I'm the drunk bastard."

"You are drunk Fierre."

"That's not the damned point Alven. He's an ass and he knows it!"

Slamming his drink on the thick table Fierre spilled the brew and stumbled. Fuming he puckered his lips and sunk his head between his shoulders. His brown hair fell around his eyes and he wiped it back with a sweaty hand. About him sat four others, almost at least. Alven, a tall man with a strong beard and bear-like arms. Born in the central farmlands Alven was the strongest of the four friends and their unnamed leader. He had a good ahead about him and an amount of decency the other three lacked. Gallus who was drunk as Fierre and sleeping it off had been around the longest and was living what he told were his glory days. Every night the man was drunk and every morning he was the happiest man, arguably because he was still drunk. Elron was probably the drunkest of three musketeers so to speak that accompanied Fierre. Well built he came from the north and was intelligent, but despised most of his leadership. He always stirred the flames, quite literally with Fierre in most cases.

"Just kick his ass Fierre."

"Elron! Don't tell him to pick a fight with the major you idiot!"

"Damnit Alven we're all going to die tomorrow anyway! Castien isn't going to fall just like it never has. Let him have his day."

The two men fell quiet and their eyes returned to the drinks, then to Fierre. Sucking back the last of his drink he left the empty mug on the table and left. His hands curled and opened and he pushed his way through merry soldiers towards the majors tent. Taller than the rest with ornate yellow and blue crests on the outside it stood at the center of the mud pit. A few steps away Fierre was grabbed under both arms and hauled backwards despite his protests.

"Fierre you dumbass, you may as well drink yourself to death if you're going to try and fight the one sober guy out here tonight." 

"He'd run you through mage or not, you know that."

Gritting his teeth Fierre cursed and threw his head back letting cool air rush to his head as his hair swept back. Letting himself be drug to the table Fierre looked to the empty night sky. No wind and no clouds tonight meant the stars would have been brighter than they had in any of the two months they'd been in this cesspool, but the light of the fire was stronger and the night sky was dead instead. 

Two months and four days ago to be exact the Castian's Siege began. Though none of the men dubbed it nobles would in the years to come. Castian's Keep was a fort centuries old. Bordering Amalia and Galt it knew war since the day the first stone was laid. Built with five sides and inner and outer walls the fort was considered by most impenetrable. Though this wasn't true the fact of the matter was that in two months the Amalia army had barely managed to capture a section of the outer wall. The terrain leading to the walls was abhorred by all except the defenders as loose stone and uneven ground made footing deadly in some cases. Many had died before even reaching the gates, crushed under the weight of a marching army. 

Finally though Amalia had breached the outer wall as three siege towers laid claim to their space along the wall and the gates were opened. The worst of the fighting seemed over as the outer wall presented the greatest danger to capture. Inside roads connected key points and eased the movement of forces. In the same day that the wall had been breached the inner gate was contested between both sides alluding to a swift victory to come. However, not all believed this to be true. Fierre was first among them as he knew that no fort would be so dull as to rely only on outer walls. The fact that they hadn't managed to blockade the fort in over two months also worried some of the to-be tacticians but they meant little to a man who would conquer the unconquerable in the morning.

"He's going to kill us all, and you know it."