Slightly Less Hopeless

With little fanfare, the mercenary band arrived outside the gates of Chamsport, greeted only by the sounds of the hungry dead just inside the gates. Perhaps 50 strong, they were no siege force, but they seemed not to be in the least deterred by this. Almost casually, they began setting up camp, less than a hundred feet from the main gates, and within the hour, the sounds of revelling came from the series of fires and tents that made up their new territory. As the sun set, and the moon began to rise, however, activity in the camp began to slow, and the band gathered around the bonfire that seemed to spring up near the center of the camp, where one stood apart from the group atop a hastily erected platform, in view of all.
A lean and muscular man of middling height, with long and wiry salt and pepper hair pulled into a knot at the back of his head, clealy in the later stages of middle age, surveyed the assembled band, the ambient light making apparent the long scar that ran from the top of one cheekbone, down to the side of one lip, continuing through the lower lip into his beard. He allowed the faintest smile to show the gleaming of his teeth as he addressed them,
"Band of the Moon's Rage," he began in earnest, doing his best impression of a priest about to begin a sermon, "some of you are new here, so a briefing is in order. So, tonight, we're gonna party. We're gonna party real hard. We're gonna party so hard that tomorrow we're all waking up with hangovers. Then tomorrow, we're going to put cotton by our back teeth, so we have somethign to bite down on while our heads ring. Then, and only then, are we going to break down the gate there, and kill oursleves some zombies!" At this, there rose a howl from the band, which died as quickly as it started when their leader raised a hand.
"You all know who your squad leaders are, and they have the specifics. Make sure your gear fits tight, and that the pointy ends are sharp. We'll be drilling a half hour before breaching time. For tonight, though, drink your fill and manage what laughs you can. As always, tomorrow is never guaranteed."
A moment of solemn silence followed, as the group's heads lowered for a moment, then, almost in unison, they laughjed together, and dispersed back toward their own tents and fires, and the activity came back to life once more.