The dense forest near Torshavn felt different than usual.
Black pines towered high, their lush branches interlocking to veil the darkening sky. A thin mist crept between the wooden trunks, creating shifting shadows. The cold air was biting, though not as severe as in Iron Hearth. Here, the chill was still manageable with a thick jacket and a well-tended campfire.
Fifty men had gathered amidst the trees.
Their weaponry was diverse—swords at their hips, bows strapped to their backs, axes in hand, and small daggers tucked into their boots. Some carried rolled tents and sleeping bags fastened to their rucksacks. Judging by their appearance and gear, they looked like seasoned adventurers from a guild—a large party on a major expedition.
A campfire crackled in the center of the camp. It was kept small, just enough to provide warmth without drawing attention from afar. The smoke was thin, nearly invisible against the fog and darkness.
