Dense fog blanketed the wintery plateau with flecks of snow following suit, with the mountains of Zemlyia beholding themselves, dominating the northern frontier as the red coats marched on the narrow passes of the treacherous mountain range. There was angst within the brigade, dread and weariness of the previous skirmishes had their toll on the forced march, picking them off like grapes off of the vine as the warm bodies dropped on the cold pass, only to be thrown off the ledge as the whispers of the dead's fallen bodies tumbled down the rocky terrain . There was no time to bury the dead, the road was too narrow, to find a proper burial ground on the commencing of spring was out of the question.
But more questions seemed to have troubled the Lieutenant colonel, leading at the front of the column, followed by his own detail of Grenadier Guards and a mage, him being on the back of a mule covered by a grey, thick, woolen coat. Where was this enemy force…? It was clear that within a day they would have cleared this part of the frontier, advancing in front of the second Brigade and third rifles corps who were on an offensive in the Stena to take arguably the most strategic and the highest point that would send shockwaves throughout the Kingdom of Zemlyia. Taking this was a mandatory mandate rather than a mission objective.
But for the glories of taking that mountain was not gifted for this General, which he didn't mind. His objective was to secure a foothold more inland… If he were able to escape this frosty hellscape.
Scouts reported of an abandoned temple that hosted a Zemlyian mage regiment, the thought of being squished by renegade boulders or flechette by hundreds of pebbles was a genuine worry for the troops morale. The General was rather relieved that they had not encountered any mages yet… had they been relocated to defend Mount Stena…? Especially at this critical juncture…? With these thought provoking impasses, time carried on its usual route. The Guards accompanying the General noticed their commander's dispassionate face.
"Hey Gen' " A voice called out, a rather burly and muscular fellow with his bearskin hat spoke out, the Ignian lion snugly resting on its black fur. He had a rather bushy white beard and grey matted hair that would show itself on the incline of the hat. He was an Old Guard, more importantly being the Commander of the guard.
"Yes, Genwelth." The General replied still in his trance but grounded enough to take notice. With silence at the head consuming them once more as a biting, nagging breeze started to pick up, with the Guardsman coming closer to the General as he beckoned for his ear. The General complied.
"You see the Mage..?" Genwelth said gruffly; with the General's maroon eyes dilating towards the Grenadier, filled with annoyance.
"I'm telling you he's been acting strange… Even though he's sick, Viktor's been refusing to see the surgeon! His constant stomach cramps, his coughs and his hot temperament, it's as if he's on a period!"
The General sharply replied; "Genwelth… I understand the concern but now is not the time, he's been performing his duties quite thoroughly and I see no cause for concern. Remember, the mages are God blessed." From which, the commander grunted in disapproval.
The General's eyes took a gander at the Mage, who led at the front with a grimoire, reciting incantations that were all too familiar amongst clergy. It was best not to interfere unless the whole trip ought to be cursed.
A few hours had passed, with the suffocating fog and the inconsistent snow flake subsiding substantially. A persistent wind still pestered them, reminding them of being not welcomed to this foreign land. Valley vultures, thick feathered birds perched on a nearby cliff face, watching silently as the column trudged along… The General yawned, with a warm sensation trickling down his chest, the smell of fresh coffee excited him, reminding him of a summer villa... A passionate warmth, a child cradled carefully, an exchange of kisses and the embrace of summer…
The General instinctively pulled out a handkerchief, wiping his abdomen as a continuous warmth ebbed out his chest. Strange. As glanced downwards all he could feel was a sharp coldness with the taste of dirt as his insides bled dry. Death had already consumed him.