Camp NaNoWriMo update
Keeping up with the nano schedule so far, currently at 6511 words on day four. I've added at word count widget to my user info page as the official nano ones only seem to work for the main November nano, so aren't keeping track.
The 57th Jondheim light infantry marched to the beat of a solitary drum, their grey and red uniforms faded after long months in the hot Sithian sun. The heat shimmered off the dusty white limestone outcrops that stood on either side of the narrow mountain track, while the sun shone down relentlessly from the cloudless late summer sky.
Behind the column followed the cargo convoy that they were escorting back to the border garrison fort at Timballie. The large, cumbersome wagons lurched slowly on the uneven, friable surface as, with axles grinding, they climbed higher up the mountainous road.
Stood on one of the taller outcrops, checking the road ahead, Lieutenant Jago Sarpedon, took a moment to look back at the painfully slow progress of his men as they toiled on towards the Arram pass and the road down to Timballie in the foothills.
Sweat ran down his face to soak into the already wet collar of his heavy, dust covered uniform jacket. Sighing, he dragged his fingers through his thick sandy coloured hair causing it to stick out wildly. He'd be damn glad when they finally reached the fort.
Hopefully he'd get a few weeks of barrack life and the opportunity to frequent the tavern and bordellos with it's willing lads and lasses, that had sprung up there in the months following the arrival of the 57th at Timballie.
The 57th Jondheim light infantry marched to the beat of a solitary drum, their grey and red uniforms faded after long months in the hot Sithian sun. The heat shimmered off the dusty white limestone outcrops that stood on either side of the narrow mountain track, while the sun shone down relentlessly from the cloudless late summer sky.
Behind the column followed the cargo convoy that they were escorting back to the border garrison fort at Timballie. The large, cumbersome wagons lurched slowly on the uneven, friable surface as, with axles grinding, they climbed higher up the mountainous road.
Stood on one of the taller outcrops, checking the road ahead, Lieutenant Jago Sarpedon, took a moment to look back at the painfully slow progress of his men as they toiled on towards the Arram pass and the road down to Timballie in the foothills.
Sweat ran down his face to soak into the already wet collar of his heavy, dust covered uniform jacket. Sighing, he dragged his fingers through his thick sandy coloured hair causing it to stick out wildly. He'd be damn glad when they finally reached the fort.
Hopefully he'd get a few weeks of barrack life and the opportunity to frequent the tavern and bordellos with it's willing lads and lasses, that had sprung up there in the months following the arrival of the 57th at Timballie.