Thalion stood upon the walls of Ismirala castle, looking westward. A day ago a contingent of 700 strong had left the castle under the command of Captain Rostam, who had earned fame in both the Acre and MB campaigns. His men trusted him now, and expected victory, though Thalion's face was troubled. This was no battle weary kingdom, nor a realm that had been nearly whipped out by the great AFK-plague that swept through Calradia. Bryggan had battle hardened men too, and battle was looming on the horizon like a dark and terrible storm-cloud. Already carrion birds had begun to gather over the two armies, knowing that that wherever men gathered with bright weapons and colorful heraldry, carnage soon followed, a feast for death's pets. Yet, Thalion held out hope. For he had faith in his men and their battle captains. Bryggan's kingdom was held together now through threat's and coercion, which is a poor foundation for a kingdom if is intended to last.
Still, Thalion's shoulders slumped as he made his way off the walls and out of the falling snow into the castle keep. His burden was heavy, for he had played a part in Bryggan's grab for power. In those days, things had seemed simpler. Bryggan had been honorable, even likable. Now, it seemed that the desire for lands and power had warped that sense of justice that once held sway, an so peace in the north seemed as far off as summer's sun.
Campaigning in winter was dangerous. Already, Thalion had received messages that his armies returning from the south had taken horrific casualties from plague. One army, which had stopped briefly at a village had contracted the some blight that the villagers had been suffering from. In the poor camping conditions forced on the army due to the winter conditions, the sickness spread quickly, and within a few days most the army lay strike and dying. Those who managed to survive had fled into the wild crying that chadz had smote them down for their sins.
Still, enough men had heard the summons and returned north to make a formidable defense against this newly-risen King and the armories of Ismirala castle were filled with weapons and armor. The road into the Ward of Mithrim would be paved with the blood of Bryggan's soldiers, that Thalion would make sure of the very least. Still, must it really end this way?
His mind still heavy in contemplation as he entered his private chambers he did not notice the dark cloaked figure in the corner. Nor did he notice the silent footsteps of soft leather soles on stone as he went back to examine the map and troop orders spread out on the great oaken table. Not until it was too late, and the flicker of a candle flame relieved sudden movement behind him, did Thalion realize that he was not alone.
