Let me know if you think I should write longer parts but update less frequently or not.
Prologue: Blood and Snow
While the cold wind played with his cape, Thoronir looked down at the battlefield. The warrior had a great view from atop the hill. He could clearly see the dead being dragged away and the snow slowly regaining its white color. In silence, he ignored the cold sneaking through the holes in his cape. The war had made his once handsome face weathered and harsh. His long gray hair looked weak and dull while a full beard decorated his chin. He closed his eyes and kneeled down while stabbing his sword deep down in the snow. A single tear slid down his cheek and got stuck in his beard. It is over, we have lost. Tomorrow I too will die. In silence he commemorated the fallen. “My lord, the prince demands your immediate presence.” It was Tymvir's voice, the captain of his guard that abruptly broke the silence. One of the only men that still remains, thought Thoronir. He nodded and got up slowly, readly to follow Tymvir. “The prince has ordered you and the other vassals to come to his tent to discuss the plan of attack.” Tymvir went on. So it begins again. “Is he still intending to fight this lost war until the end?” snapped Thoronir louder than intended. He rigidly wandered to the tent. His captain was unimpressed.”With your permission, my lord but we could gain much glory with an attack.” He hesitated for a moment. “Just you should be angry after-.” “Enough!” Thoronir's facial features hardened and his sword hung loose in its sheath. “I am sorry my lord, I spoke to freely.” Tymvir apoligized himself and waited outside the tent. It was richly decorated and by far the largest in the camp. The tent was light-blue with gold-colored accents and on top of it stood the flag of the snow prince. The banner showed an icy hand grasping an extinguishing flame. Thoronir let out one last sigh and stepped in. The inside was soberly furnitured with only a bed, a chest and a with some modest carvings decorated table. A few oil-lamps covered the inside in an eerie blue light. Thoronir saw that the other lords had already gathered around the table on which a large map laid. Only two other lords were left and both of them were true men of the north. Or so they call themselves, he thought out of spite. They did not trust Thoronir. That was not fair, he could not help it that all the other lords from the Empirical North had betrayed the prince. He could feel their judging stares, lord Harend Damer and lord Hodling Malger where not known to be forgiving. Between the two lords there walked a tall figure restlessy around. It was Raddin, The Prince of Snow. His arms were on his back as he stood in a naturally superior posture. The prince wore bright-blue plate armor that seemed to be made out of ice. With that pale skin he looks like an ice statue. This illusion was strenghtened even more by the blueish light and Raddin's bright-blue eyes. These eyes observed Thoronir's every movement. Then after what seemed like hours, he finally raised his voice.
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