In order to fight on our terms away from civilians and their homes, Velador and Lord Navedoth decided on to march the armies northwest towards a tract of land called Farswept Hills. The hills offered a perfect line of sight and a forward position for deploying scouts to track enemy troop movements.
We camped by a hilltop lake with a stream that led towards a massive lowland lake where the Crasmor Kingdom had ransacked surrounding villages. No further incidents were reported so Velador and I settled down for the evening. Inside our oversized tent, complete with a bed, a table, an armor rack and a mirror, Velador sharpened his sword one last time.
I walked over to him as he straddled a bench and sat behind him. I looked to my left and screamed because I saw something that could only be described as a ghost.
“What was that?” He said, holding his sword alert.