Morning Dabble BeforeCampaign

BEFORE
The noise of a horn drives him away from his sleep, bringing him back to the tent he called his quarters. The day has begun, and it is time to get ready before today’s rollcall. A recent addition to his daily routine ever since some elder had mentioned it in front of Tharian, he has gotten to dislike this addition. As Ludwig sits up, he can feel the dull sting that the wooden sword left on his unprotected side during a practice duel with him. His brother. A way to show off his strength to those who he deems have not yet seen that they must get stronger for his cause. That this is the only way to survive.
 
His bedroll is neatened on top of his bed and his belongings are grabbed from his chest. Leg coverings and a cloak are worn as he makes his way to a secluded trough where he can wash up. A simple and handmade soap is used, crafted from herbs found during his ranger expedition and wood ash with fat from the beasts they hunted in the grove for food. The cold rag brings renewal.
 
The light of the red sun starts to sting his eye as he prolongs his washing. It follows him as he throws on his remaining clothing and bites his neck like a tight leash. In his tent he retrieves his dagger and bow. The hunger in his stomach swells uncomfortably, leading him to his childhood home. The sun was tangled In Ludwig’s hair as he stood in the doorway and found his mother at the table, ready to depart to the fields.
Even under the expression of love her face contorts into something else. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the daily meet?” As Ludwig opens his mouth to speak, his mother turns and makes a gesture. “Go, before your father sees again.” Disappointment seeps through her concern.
 
Shame carries his feet back to the last row only moments before it disperses again. Cold eyes meet him from a distance but do nothing more to acknowledge him. Like a stray animal he follows the group, gets a bowl of gruel and sits. His home is morphing, and he cannot stop it.