The Wars in the north continues to plague the countryside of the kingdom. The King, VarrickII, outraged by the continuous boldness of the mountain clans on his people seeks to make another attempt to drive out the ever pressing mountain savages invading his kingdom. Thus, he had summoned LordWelorTomard, liegeofVwattan. The fiery lord arrived at the Vor'rossi capital of Botletor at the head of an army 10,000 strong, the entirety of the might of the Vwattanlands, west of Vor'ros. The army stands west of the city as lord welor takes council from his king. The city is a grand display of population, boasting over ten million souls in residence. It's high walls stretches out from north to south until it's curve, it boasts six impenetrable gates; made of LyrrunSteel. Banners baring the royal crest of house Evarlar (A golden griffin with it's wings spread out high upon a red field) lays on it's high walls. To the east of the city, a sprawling high hill called; TheMonarch'srise. It looms highly over the city and above it; theroyalpalace, a great massive structure that stretches the whole hill, it's walls similar to the ones around the city, at it's summit is theroyalkeep. A high castle built of pitch black stone, it boasts another high and thick wall with a heavily fortified gatehouses and guard towers, it's roofs are made of tile, slate and thatch in someplaces, with multiple chimneys across it for heating and ventilation. Within, the royal keep boasts; a great hall, Private Chambers, Reception Rooms, Kitchens and service areas, Chapels and oratories.
Lord Welor rides up the monarch's rise, seven of his trusted bannermen flank him. They arrive at the Royal keep and is escorted to the council hall by knights of the Crown's guard order (An elite order of veteran knights hand picked by Evarlar kings, they number at 50 and are charged to defend the king and the royal family at all Costs, at which they swear vows to never marry, father children, own lands or be able to inherit anything of this world. They live for only their king and for honour). The council chamber is a miniature room of no great size but large enough to contain the king's council; Vor'rossi great lords.
Welor enters and bows before them
"Your grace, my lords"
"My lord of Tomard, I thank you for coming, with your whole power no less" King Varrick speaks, his voice soft but dominant.
"I live to serve, your grace. I've come with some 10,000 men with Provisions and medicine for the refugees of the Poin, my son marches for the city with another host of 5,000 from his keep of Barhaven, he'll be here within a day or two sire"
"Goodman" the king says "My lords with this strength, lord Xox and I have formulated a plan to attack the mountainfolk and drive them from the Poin. Or at least take back half of their occupied territories. Using the fane rivers, my lord Belrun would lead a fleet of two hundred ships and some 4,000 men, landing in the Reyl Bay. There his 4,000 men would march to the fane roads and form a blockade while the rest of our forces push them from the south. Using this pincer attack we would smash the greater part of their army and cripple them. And simultaneously securing the DennymarBridge, there by ensuring a direct line of aid from the empire, if my son's mission proves successful. What say you all?"
"A flawless plan indeed, your grace" says lord Daniel of house Vyrok. The man's face is gaunt and weathered, his grey hair thinning slightly, framing a visage that exudes a sense of age and experience. His nose is pinched, giving him a slightly ascetic look, while his narrow, dark eyes seem to bore into those he meets, as if sizing them up or searching for hidden truths.
"Yes, I concur, your grace" lord Erys says, another of the king's councilman.
The other lords of the council nuds in agreement.
Within a week the Vor'rossi merged army of the great noble houses of; Tomard, Vyrok, Quomon, Xox, Unzen, Belrun and Sorrik had assembled and mobilised, marching east by south-east for the Poin. They numbered over 70,000 strong, the King himself amongst them.
Mid-day, on the 11th day since the Vor'rossi army began it's march, a tide of shining steel, dazzles as they move. The forces are comprised of 14,000 mounted knights, free riders, Calvary men, 2500 archers and crossbowmen, and 7,000 mage soldiers, 30,000 infantry men armed with spears, shields, swords and axes, 10,000 men from the royal army and another 8,000 feudal levies from the petty northern lords on the kingdom's outskirts.
In the rear of this sea of an army rolls Ballistas, catapults, Mana Canons, battering rams and on…
The King's chosen commander; Lord Manfred Xox, leads the royal forces at the vanguard.
In full plate armour Lord Xox is a man of merciless fury. His face is a ruggedly elegant map of experience, with deep-set blue eyes that hold a warm, liquid tone and seem to convey a sense of intensity and depth. His black hair, flecked with threads of silver, frames his face, adding a distinguished air to his strong features. Fine lines etch his forehead and around his eyes, telling the story of a life lived with purpose and passion. His expression is a complex blend of determination and warmth. He's a man who has faced his share of challenges but still retains a sense of kindness and compassion. The years had not dulled his prowess in battle, armed with the ancestral blade of House Xox; Darkrust, a beautiful blade with steel like beaten copper it's hilt studded with carvings of runes. He rides on a black warhorse so muscled you'd think it a bull of some kind.
"We'll make camp here!" He shouts.
The order is repeated across the moving force as horns blow, until the army comes to an abrupt halt.
Hours later a sea of tents streak across the wide clear landscape of bagan, near Reyl. The camp is spread as far as the eyes can see. The camp is a buzz with noise and chatter as men high and lowborn alike spirits away to have their pleasures of whores and camp followers.