Writ 1734, documented at the hand of Lyanna
“Woe to the foe that would meet the combined Nordish-Renatian forces in battle,”
-Balerion Mournstone, 1734.
The glow of the rising sun in the west radiated against the mountain-city of Morsgrad, an orange gradient piercing out against the dark canvass; illuminating the grand city below. It is a peaceful setting, to watch the sun-rise - it is at this point many in the world find tranquility in observing such. Yet, in stark contrast this tranquility did not extend its luxuries out to the men of Morsgrad for their city was bustling with activity: stable-hands feeding their horses, blacksmiths hammering away at the chipped metals and soldiers practising their formations with a strong fervour.
A figure would emerge from the grandiose palace that acted as the mantlepiece for the settlement, his aura commanding nought but authority as the activities taking place dwindled within - for all would pay attention to this figure. All it took was a simple word that carried such meaning and strength behind it.
It was all these war-hardened men needed to hear, for the men of Norland & Renatus had been through countless campaigns and it was not long ago the two fought side by side to face off the Marnan scum when they came marching. An assortment of banners ranging from Red to Purple were hoisted, supplies were packed and it was time for the people of Morsgrad to once more prove their military might.
Some weeks later, the men of Morsgrad had found themselves marched upon the Imperial War Camp that would host the meeting-point for the campaign to come. The horns were sounded, the men trained and the generals prepared. The Imperials had named this in the sense of justice, but these men knew differently - to them, it was sport.