On the cliff, the outline of the Spartan Camp is etched by a circle of lit torches. Sentinels stand expressionless at their posts, ever vigilant.
Some mountain dwellers sit in trees and highlands in the countryside; they are professional javelin throwers and night watchmen on the perimeter. Although they are not pure-blood Spartan citizens, as soldiers, they are still respected.
Within the camp, Spartan soldiers sit by the fires, occasionally letting out a dull laugh. They're either sipping the thin and somewhat pitiful black broth from their kykeon cups, or sharpening their spear blades.
A few others are naked, as their slaves cautiously smear ointment on their muscular but hungry bodies, then use scrapers to rub away the dirt.
