The peaceful trader watched the flickering lights of New Yruma from atop the snowy peaks of Tismirr. A light snow was falling as the winds began to pick up and swirl around him. He saw the lives of men being extinguished with each fleeting fire. More took their place, and more would suffer the same fate. A hooded figure emerged from the shadows "The ravens...the Frisian saints...they have rallied their banners and mean to march on Sargoth. God has blessed us all this night." He looked upon his most trusted disciples face. He seemed more sprightly in spirits than ever. "Tell me, Saint Negga, thou hath seen what war has done in your pilgrimage to Occitan lands. If that same war falls across these lands, is it truly blessing or curse?" His face fell solemn and now he too set his gaze towards Yruma in silence.
"I Do not say such words to ye to see spirits fall my son. Do not hate thine enemy, love them and bless those that curse you. A man's judgement is not even sapling to the divine orchard of God's judgement. And may the just one day walk it, inhabit it, and find nourishment from it."
"Amen" the saint whispered.
"Go to your brothers, break bread and see thine bellies filled with wine. At first light we march once more, and may the Father's judgment flow through our hands and into our swords."