Elron awoke to the sounds of alarms and yelling. Still, despite the commotion and literal wake up call, the morning brought him a rare sense of peace.

He layed there for a moment, contemplating his status. His new class as a Hexblade had given him access to a set of curses—three in total. Each one was powerful, but limited to single targets. The Curse of Agony caused slow, lingering pain. The Curse of Vulnerability weakened the target's constitution, making them more susceptible to damage. The Curse of Slowness hindered the target’s dexterity, slowing them down considerably. While useful in small skirmishes, he feared they would be nearly useless in the large-scale battles that loomed ahead.

“Get up, ya big oaf! We’ve got to move!” a gruff voice called from the tent flap. It was a dwarf, peering into Elron’s small, cramped space.

Elron slowly rose from his stomach, but the dwarf was already losing patience. “Hurry up, you lazy elf!” the dwarf barked, hurling a tin pitcher of water at him.

The pitcher clanged against the back of Elron’s head, soaking him. He growled, glaring at the retreating dwarf, who had already moved on to harass the next tent.

“If I don’t get to kill something soon, I’m going to lose it,” Elron muttered to himself, wiping his face.

With a long exhale, he pulled himself together, donning his armor piece by piece before stepping out into the muddy camp.

The officers were busy organizing the troops into a new formation—lining them up in rows instead of columns. Elron’s lack of training was painfully obvious. He bumped into fellow elves, earning sharp rebukes and stern orders about where to stand and how to move.

After some trial and error, he managed to get into position without drawing further ire. To his surprise, a familiar figure was standing next to him.

“How’s the marching treating you, my lord?” whispered Maris.

“It makes me anxious…” Elron admitted, his eyes scanning the weary faces around them. “Are they trying to march us to exhaustion?”

Maris followed his gaze. The faces of their fellow soldiers were drawn and tired, many with deep bags under their eyes. The thirty-mile treks through the forest were taking their toll, especially on the elves who had never seen battle. Quiet whispers circulated each night, stories of beastmen who feasted on their enemies alive adding to the growing tension.

“Attention!” barked an officer atop an elk.

The line straightened up, and an elf dressed in noble blues rode into view.

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Elron’s entire demeanor changed, his body going rigid. Maris noticed immediately. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.

“That’s my brother,” Elron murmured, a note of bitterness in his voice.

“I am Prince Adan, first of his name and heir to the throne,” the elf on the elk announced with authority.

“I hate him,” Elron growled through gritted teeth.

“Calm yourself, my lord,” Maris cautioned.

Adan continued, oblivious to the quiet mutterings in the ranks. “We’ve marched long and hard, but after today, we rest. Tomorrow, our army of twelve thousand strong will enter the beast nation...”

“There’s no way I’m taking orders from him,” Elron muttered darkly.

Adan’s voice rose. “We will show them what happens when you sack and pillage our villages!”

The soldiers briefly came to life, banging their weapons against their shields and armor, but the officers quickly signaled for them to quiet down. Orders were issued, and before long, they were back on the march.

“That was incredibly lame,” Elron grumbled, falling into step with the others.

Later that evening, the army made camp. As the soldiers prepared to rest, a group of four gathered around a fire, the flames crackling and popping in the quiet of the night.

Elron’s eyes fixated on the swirling flames. “Anyone have anything exciting to say?” he asked, breaking the silence.

Kael leaned back against a log, shaking his head. “Nope. Fairly uneventful.”

Slyra, who was poking at the fire with a stick, glanced over her shoulder. “There’s a horde not far from here.”

Maris shot her a concerned look. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”

Slyra shrugged. “I just got back from reporting it. They would’ve told you in the morning anyway.”

Elron’s lips curled into a faint smile. “How many?”

“Rough estimate? Six thousand,” Slyra replied nonchalantly.

“We’ll smash through them,” Elron declared.

Kael glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “Careful now. I’ve read that the Bovaryn are pretty tough.”

“What are they?” Maris asked, intrigued.

“They’re bipedal cow people,” Slyra explained. “Unruly, from what I saw.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Kael added. “Their history is full of rebellion and conflict, especially after centuries of human enslavement.”

Elron frowned, staring into the fire. “With so much in common, it’s a shame we have to fight them.”

“Oi! You lot, hit the sack! We attack at dawn!” a dwarf called out, marching past their fire.

Elron’s eyes narrowed as he watched the dwarf go. “Does anyone else really dislike their commanding officer?”

“Yeah,” Slyra muttered, a cold edge to her voice. “I might kill mine.”

Kael sat up, alarmed. “That’s a bit much, even for you.”

Maris chimed in, her voice calm. “Please, this is a big change for all of us. We’ve been used to doing whatever we please. Now, we follow orders. Of course we won’t like it.”

Elron sighed, resting his chin on his hand. “There’s truth in that. I suppose we’ll have to fall in line for now.”

Even Maris seemed unsettled by the reality. They were just cogs in a massive killing machine—an army that didn’t care about them or anything outside of their sole mission. With a long day tomorrow, the group headed to bed.