Inor's three hundred followers stood on the open field, their ranks silent. The sunlight glinted off the steel of their spears and the polished links of chainmail worn by half of them. While at least one hundred and fifty wore chainmail, their torsos protected, while the others were clad in more humble garments of leather or padded cloth. Each man bore a spear, and nearly half of them also gripped sturdy wooden shields, their rounded faces dull but serviceable.
It was a good day for such a meeting; the sky stretched clear and blue above them, a light breeze rustling through the grass and carrying the faint scent of earth. Yet for all the beauty of the day, tension gripped the field.
