Dawn was barely breaking when the six scouts crossed the entrance of the camp. Their mist amulets, now extinguished, hung inert against their chests, and their cloaks still damp with dew betrayed the long hours spent in observation. They walked at a rapid pace.
Kaiser was waiting for them in front of his tent, Vorek stood to his right, his hand resting casually on the pommel of his sword, while Thalassa occupied the left, her eyes narrowed in the nascent light. Gorath was still busy supervising the final preparations of the ladders and grappling hooks.
"Scouts reporting," said one of the scouts who should surely be the leader.
The chief of the scouts, a demon with a scarred face named Kaelen, stepped forward decisively and immediately crouched to quickly sketch a drawing in the dust still damp from the night. His voice was hoarse, exhausted by the long watch and the constant efforts to maintain the invisibility of the amulets.
