• White Blanket • [SYNCING]

[1] • Burning winter •

The air was filled with storm clouds as the sun had not yet risen. Snowy icicles formed on the narrow branches of frozen trees and dripped every now and then. Soft crunching of snow and the rather loud noises of a marching army were to be heard over the fields of dark nothingness.

Some of the soldiers wore thick layers of wool to protect themselves from sharp spears and whatnots. Other, less unfortunate souls had to either curdle up with each other or the horses. Likely not the latter, for cavalry is expensive and nobles could not waste such majestic beasts for even the most desperate lower class.

Two men wearing a typical iron armour for those who serve in war were holding two banners with the Kingdom's flag on top. It was mostly red with a small yellow square in the centre. Surrounding the square were fancy looking embroidered symbols, including an owl, star and vines. They were all in the Kingdom's signature gold-yellow colour, of course.

An army of 1,000 men and 200 or-so peasants trekked the vast tundra. There were 150 cavalry units riding triumphantly on their horses in the front whilst the peasants slummed slowly at the back with a loss of energy. The clothing they wore was nothing more than but bare cloth wrapped loosely around their thin waists and slim body.

And there, right in the smack center at the front was Ivelan. He reached for his iron sword which had been dangling in his holster for quite some time. Swiftly holding it up and waited to command.
"Stop!", he shouted abruptly. At once, the slow moving army came to a stop. They had obeyed his order.

After about five minutes, they saw the enemy approaching them. Through the foggy horizon you could barely make out that they were humans. You could very clearly hear the marching from the horizon grow louder and louder.
Ivelan gulped.

This wasn't the first encounter he'd had with the nefarious army leader. Cordon was know for always having well-rested, well trained troops. The Blue Kingdom is where he resided for most of his days, at least that's what the common folk assumed.

His soldiers looked much more proper and put together than his army. Their armour appeared to be made out of silver, which is much easier to move in. Two men with muscular body shapes marched at the front of their army, also holding two of their flags on banners. One was the nation's war flag, a navy blue background with two purple feathers in the middle. There was a long oval shaped silver line of paint surrounding the feathers. Next to it, the other strong built man held their normal flag. A simple checkered light blue and white banner.

Troops kept marching their way until they were about 50 metres away from Ivelan's army. That's where Cordon's order to stop commended.

The commander was draped in dark cloth robes the length of 2 metres tall, which was only slightly taller than he was. On his face was a ceramic black cat mask with thin strings of linen serving as its whiskers.
Cordon slowly raised his hand and shaped it into a fist, causing a dozen of men to position on both sides next to him ready for battle.

Ivelan was getting nervous, and quite frankly, a bit scared. A chill went down his spine. He'd never seen the army's leader do this before, no matter how dire the situation.

Cordon apparently noticed this behaviour and spoke confidently and unbothered by the other leader's fears.

"Ivelan."

At this point, Ivelan had fallen into a frenzy of paranoia and slowly got angry. He knew his anger was only there to mask up his fears, but at this point he'd do anything to defeat that commander.
He didn't feel the need to live, as long as he took Cordon with him.