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. These lords were both big and bulky and wore platemail and a cape of rabbit-fur. 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. “Repeat the scout's reports Hodling so that our friend Thoronir may also prepare.” Hodling's gaze revealed that he did not want to do that at all. He had already opened his mouth to protest. “Do not make me remind you that he really is on our side.” spoke the Prince in a soft voice. Even so, you could see the fear in Hodling's eyes. He bowed hastily and then turned to Thoronir. While he was speaking he wiped the sweat of his face with his sleeve. “That old Darnir reports that their main army is coming...” he gulped. “Fifteenthousand swords so certain of their victory that they simply ignored our scouts.” Harend looked at Thoronir angrily. “If your friends had not betrayed us then-” he began but was promptly silenced by Raddin's chilly gaze. Harend also read the other reports. The snow prince seemed to have only twelvehundred men left to fight. The others were to badly hurt or dead. There were no deserters in Raddin's army. “So...” spoke prince Raddin without hesitation. “They leave us little choice. We will fight here tomorrow and die honorably.” I knew it would come to this, thought Thoronir. Raddin was already rolling up the map when Thoronir laid his hand on his shoulder. The next moment he was knocked down by Hodling's mailed fist. The next thing he knew he was laying in the corner while both Hodling and Harend stood over him with grim looks on their faces. “Enough!” roared Raddin with a chasm-deep voice. He turned to the attackers “My lords it is clear to me now that you are both incapable of handling these kind of matters.” “But, my lord the traitor tried to-” Harend defended himself. “I will not let myself be called a traitor.” Interrupted Thoronir. “My prince, you must allow me to challenge him.” Thoronir got up staggering and wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve. Harend smiled and flexed his muscles. “Let the traitor fight, my lord. Even though such a death would still be far to honorable for him.” “Enough.” said the prince softly almost a whisper. But there was something with his voice, something that made no-one dare to speak. “I have few enough good men as it is without my generals killing eachother. I command the 'Northern' lords to inspect the encampment."
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