The third morning arrived without fanfare.
They were already behind schedule, but that meant nothing. The march must go on.
By noon, the encampment finally came into view.
Rows upon rows of banners flapped in the wind, marking each division's section of the sprawling camp.
From a distance, the place looked like a field of color, with red, blue, and white banners rippling above countless tents and wagons.
Smoke rose from cookfires, and the air was thick with the sound of hammers, shouting, and the rhythmic tramp of boots.
The army of Vasaria had gathered. Or at least, the portion that had been sent to help.
As the column of adventurers approached, the flow of people grew denser. Soldiers and adventurers moved in all directions, some hauling crates, others sharpening weapons or checking their equipment.
The noise was overwhelming. There was the crack of whips as carts rolled by, the clank of armor, and even the constant bark of orders shouted over the din.
