In the sprawling land of Petfyr, nestled far from the iron-clad halls of the king's capital, Lord Gwychards commanded a formidable host. Eight thousand warriors, their armor glistening like shards of ice, and five thousand mounted knights with banners fluttering in the wind, had halted their march to find solace in a verdant meadow.
Within the confines of a stately tent, Gwychards, a figure both respected and feared, convened with his trusted lieutenants, their eyes brimming with the resolve of battle-hardened veterans.
Leaning forward, his voice carrying the weight of authority, Gwychards inquired, "Has that kid sent his word yet?"
Beside him, a bearded veteran, his voice resonating with loyalty, replied, "Aye, my lord. The young lad pledges his arrival, promising to join our ranks in the coming days."
