The midday sun bathed the coastal plains of Howth, Ireland, in a warm embrace. On one side stood the formidable assembly of Templars, Holy Knights, and mages, banners fluttering in the gentle breeze. Across from them, the protecting soldiers of Howth formed a determined line. Every single one of them was etched with steadfast resolve.
The horses had stopped. Territory advantage was of course tilted to the soldiers of Howth. There was one way to get to Howth as it was surrounded by water, thus leaving it with one side to defend.
The armour of the Holy Dynasty was a classical example of fantasy. White tabards underneath golden cuirass' with the Maltese arrowhead; eight points, each created by the V-shaped indentations at the ends of the four arms of the cross. No helmets, golden gauntlets and greaves, and capes that amped them with speed. To avoid injury of their horses, the Holy Knights were the ones to leave their mounts and begin the assault.
