Version 2.0
Brandon reached the banks of the river that marked the boundary between their lands and those of the Slate King. They approached the only low point in the river for miles where the water, though swift, reached only up to the high thighs and had solid ground. The scouts had already waded through the day before and reported no enemies nearby.
The land surrounding the river was a mix of open fields and low hills. Sunbathing the scene in warm light, casting a golden glow over the rippling water. On the opposite bank, the continuation of the plains awaited.
As Brandon splashed into the river, the sound of the river's flow intermingled with the rhythmic march of their footsteps. By the footprints left behind, then they are a couple of weeks behind the Locke King. On the other side, the soldiers shook off the river's embrace and continued their march.
As they ventured deeper into the Slate King's domain, signs of the conflict became increasingly apparent. Distorted villages dotted the landscape, bearing the scars of raids—burned structures, ravaged fields, and a few littered remains of bodies, torn cloths, and traces of Ghouls. Whilst more tracks showed people ushered away from the village.
They continued marching on for days before they found the outline of the Locke King's camp on the horizon. Opposite him, the Slate King's forces were also camped out seeming coming back from that day's battle. As Brandon arrived, he dispatched a raven to Edwyn.
Edwyn did not wait long to update Brandon on the situation. A prolonged stalemate with provisions dwindling and the Locke King tightening his grip. The ruthless burning of their lands and the herding of their people had taken its toll, and the Slate King faced a looming threat of defeat.
As Theon read the message out Brandon looked upon the battlefield. Directly in front of him, the Locke King's army had strategically set up camp atop a commanding hill. To the left of Brandon, the river meandered away, gracefully bending northward. Its waters flowed steadily, carving a path through the terrain. On this side of the river to the further north, the land rose into the prominent Shepherds Hills, a series of large, rolling formations that housed the Slate King. He had his central stronghold, Blackpool, in these hills. Perched atop the highest hill, Blackpool castle stood as the capital of the Slate King's land, its silhouette etched against the sky.
On the southern side of the Locke King's position, the terrain transitioned into open plains with occasional low hills. Far in the distance of the east, the sprawling expanse of Hornwood Forest painted a vivid contrast against the normal meadows.
Nestled amidst the expanse, Brandon's camp bore the mark of House Stark. Approximately 2,000 men strong, tents were neatly arranged in a neat formation, with clear paths with rows of tents. After a long march, the soldiers set up tents before resting for the day. The Stark banner, a grey dire wolf on a field of white, fluttered proudly in the wind. Brandon's tent, distinguished by its size and a banner that mirrored the house sigil, stood at the heart of the encampment surrounded by his household guards. Though tired the men still set up camp and took the piss out of one another with jokes and banter.
The Slate King's forces numbering around 1,500, were camped both in and around the castle for it could not hold everyone. The first layer of tents where organised whilst adorned with the emblem of pale grey with a double tressure white, the second layer was less so organised. Soldiers, clad in practical leather armour, moved quickly as though they repaired equipment and ate their dinner.
Atop the dominating hill, the Locke King's camp boasted approximately 3,000 men. Tents were arranged strategically behind a layer of dug trenches. Banners displaying the Locke sigil, a golden key on a field of green, rippled in the wind. Soldiers, clad in a mix of bronze armour and leathers, engaged in various activities, from sharpening weapons to repairing armour before eating. The Locke King's tent, distinguished by ornate decorations and larger size, stood at the pinnacle, overseeing the entire encampment.
As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting elongated shadows across the battlefield, the three camps went quiet as they slept the night away.
/
The first tendrils of dawn stretched across the horizon, casting a golden hue upon the battlefield. With the awakening sun came the stirring of armies, each camp springing to life with purpose. The air buzzed with anticipation as the last preparations were made.
In the Stark camp, soldiers emerged from their tents excited for their first time on an open battlefield. The aroma of breakfast wafted through the air as men gathered to break their fast. Weapons were checked and armour secured, the clinking of bronze and leather echoing in the morning calm. Under Brandon's command, the army prepared for the day's confrontation, the dire wolf banners unfurling in the morning breeze.
Slate King's forces mirrored the Stark camp's efficiency. Men ate hearty meals, their faces marked with a mixture of determination and weariness. In the shadow of Blackpool Castle, the army assembled, weapons glinting in the early light. The gray-and-white banners of House Slate rippled overhead.
High up on the hill, the Locke King's camp was already alive with activity. Soldiers clad in green, and gold prepared for the day, their movements reflecting a calculated confidence. The Locke Key banners billowed proudly as the army readied itself for the dual challenge ahead.
All the camps were prepaid whilst the Locke King stayed atop his hill looking down upon his two opposing Kings.
"My King," Theon said as he stood beside Bradnon looking over the planes leading to the Locke Kings hill. "The men are ready. We move on your order."
"Let's move," Brandon says donning his bronze helmet. "My first step to uniting the north." He says to himself quietly.