Before him stood White Mountain, it's snow covered peak piercing the sky and towering over the lowlands that lay at it's foot; The wind whistling as it brushed it's way past the mountains steep and jagged slopes.
It was a beautiful sight, to be sure, but one that's scenic beauty would soon be destroyed as, within the lowlands, below the mountain lay two armies intent on destroying one another.
Within it all stood a man named Edgar, his blade and armour shining in the beams of light that broke their way through the clouds. Before the war he had been a mere farmer, never intending on harming a soul, yet now he had been displaced from a home and family he had worked so long to build...
But he displayed no anger towards the Empire. It was the Northerners who caused this war and, very soon, they would be punished for their blatant aggression and he would be able to go home to his family once more... Of that, he was certain.
As he thought to himself, of hearth and home, he would here a voice yell out. Despite it being a mere man it overpowered the whistling winds and the rustling of a thousand readied swords.
"Men, prepare yourselves!"
He awaited the next order with baited breath, praying to Asselin that he would not be damned to die on this day... Yet, his wait would soon be interrupted as the sound of a hundred thundering horses charging towards them would soon dominate the skies...