Crouching low on the rooftop, I stared down into the lazy atmosphere that surrounded this first smaller camp, the three barrels that were perforated on the upper rim emitting a warm glow around the street, keeping the area illuminated and comfortable during this cool, breezy night in Nogart.
Palisades of splintered wood and small walls of rubble had been erected around the area to block out that wind, creating a complicated corridor that maintained the heat of those barrels and allowed the Cultists to have a comfortable place to rest.
Numbering just under a dozen, these Cultists were spending their time chatting and waiting for a few large chunks of meat to cook over those barrels, spreading the delicious scent of slightly charred meat across the corridor while they sat around and counted out the wealth they had accrued.
