You make it back to town. The guardsman in the gatehouse opens up the gate as soon as he sees your party approaching. Feelings of regret resonate even within him. The stablemaster was a good man, respected by all of the guardsmen, which makes his loss all that more tragic. You make your way to the captain’s quarters and report your findings, omitting the last part about the enemy camp. He then dismisses you.
The following day, another search party is sent after the stablemaster. They come back empty-handed again. Eventually, a week passes, and still nothing.
The captain then decides to hold a funeral for your fallen comrade. As you’re standing there at the funeral, you begin to think. If I told them what I knew, nobody would believe me. Even if I did, they’d just persecute me. Gods curse this predicament!
In the following months, you continued with your service, scouting out the mountain, picking off the rebels’ foragers and other stragglers. Eventually, the rebels are so desperate for resources that they succumb to common banditry. They resort to robbing passing travelers just to gather the scraps required to survive. This eventually spurs the Mogul into action, sending columns of his Division soldiers to burn them out of the jungle, and just like that, the rebellion is over.
You end your service in a few more months. Nothing distinguishes you, so you get nothing to your name — save the amount you were promised when you signed up.
With that little amount in tow, you finally set out for home. Adventuring isn’t all it’s made up to be, after all.