The Winter kingdom

Version 2.0

The armies collided with the deafening crash of shields and bronze. The frontlines slammed together like the meeting of two massive waves, men shouting as they locked shields and braced against the force of the enemy. The battlefield had erupted with the sound of war as the two armies smashed into one another, stones whipped past head, thick splinters stabbed into eyes, and spears bloodied gaps.

Brandon's shield wall held firm under the initial impact, his King's Guard pressing forward with practiced strength. Theon, roared commands, his shield deflecting blows as the men pushed relentlessly.

The battle rocked back and forth, Brandon's forces pushed forward, driving the enemy back a few precious steps. Before Connell's mercenaries surged with intensity, forcing the allied lines to give ground. The air was filled with the clash of bronze, the cries of wounded men, and the relentless barked orders of captains trying to maintain some semblance of control.

For what felt like hours, the two armies remained locked in this deadly rhythm, the lines shifting and shoving but neither side breaking. Some side had to break the deadlock.

Wargs emerged from their right flanks, their presence marked by the snarls of wolves, growls of bears, gurgles snarls of ghouls, and the snarls of grate shadow cats. Connell's wargs came in first, wilder and undisciplined, but numerous. He had spent months gathering them, convincing these men and women to his cause.

The allied side wargs answered the call. Brandon's men took the front, being the largest in number, and having the greatest skills after having plenty of training under Halvar's command. Their wolves moved as one with their handlers, sleek and deadly, their fangs flashing as they tore into Connell's flanking force. Eagles swooped down, talons raking across the faces of enemy wargs and their beasts alike.

The clash of the wargs was no less brutal than the main battle. Connell's wargs fought with the desperation of those who had little to lose, but their lack of training soon became their downfall. The allied forces wargs, disciplined and trained, used their superior coordination to devastating effect. Wolves flanked from the sides, bears down the centre, eagles and wargs to fill in the gaps and cause chaos in the enemy lines.

Halvar himself, with his great eagle by his side, led the charge against Connell's strongest wargs. One by one, Connell's wargs fell back, their resolve broken by the better men.

With their wargs defeated, Connell's flanks crumbled, leaving the main force vulnerable. Halvar seized the moment, raising his sword high "Push into the flank!"

Before pushing Connell's voice roared above the chaos, cutting through the clamour of battle. From the rear his reserve forces forward. These were the men he had held back, a mix of veteran mercenaries and some of the Red King's most loyal soldiers. They surged into the fray with fresh energy, their presence reigniting the faltering morale of Connell's army and securing the flank from collapse.

Brandon cursed under his breath as the reserve forces blocked the wargs from going further before they then slammed into them. The sudden influx of enemy fighters threatened to buckle the line and the wargs.

"Hold the line!" Brandon shouted; his voice hoarse from hours of yelling orders. Edwyn, sword flashing, as he fought alongside his men, rallying them to stand firm. "Keep the wargs in reserve but reinforce the left if they are looking overrun," Brandon ordered. "If they break through, the battle is lost."

Halvar gave a curt nod, his eagle calling out before taking back into the air. "We'll hold it, my King."

As the battle raged on, the toll of the day began to show. The once-pristine snow was churned into a muddy, blood-soaked mess. The dead and dying littered the field, their cries mingling with the clash of bronze and the barked orders of captains desperately trying to keep the formation. The only break for those dying was those fortunate to be saved by Elara medical teams.

Connell's reserve forces fought with ferocity, driving back the allied forces whenever they pushed their advantage. Brandon could see Connell himself in the distance, his armour now streaked with blood, his voice booming as he urged his men forward. The Red King stood near him, his crimson cloak billowing in the cold wind, a grim smile playing on his lips.

The battle continued, a grinding, unrelenting struggle as both sides refused to yield. The sun, pale and cold in the winter sky, began its rapid descent, casting long shadows across the battlefield. The winter light faded quickly, the day's harsh clarity giving way to the dim, uncertain glow of dusk.

Brandon wiped sweat and blood from his brow, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He looked to the horizon, where the sun was now little more than a faint orange line. Fighting in the dark was madness, especially in these conditions. He knew Connell would think the same—neither side wanted to risk the chaos that nightfall would bring.

The commanders barked new orders, rallying their men to dig in and brace for what they all knew would be the final push of the day. Across the field, the Red King and Connell reach the same conclusion. The enemy lines surged forward one last time, their war cries echoing as they sought to break the allied forces before darkness descended entirely.

The shield walls slammed together once more, and the grinding of bronze screeched out as they fought with the last reserves of their strength. The snow was thick with blood, the ground now slick with treachery. Brandon rallied his men, his sword flashing as he struck down an enemy who had broken through the line. Around him, his King's Guard fought with ferocity, their shields holding firm despite the relentless assault.

The battle dragged on into the late twilight, the dim light making it more difficult to see the enemy, every shadow now a potential threat. Finally, as the last rays of the sun lingered, an echo of commands sounded from the enemy lines. Their forces began to pull back, quickly followed in kind by the allies. The battlefield grew desperate, the sounds of battle replaced by the groans of the wounded and the distant cries of crows circling above.

/

The command tent was dimly lit, a campfire in the centre offering flickering warmth against the bitter cold.

Harmond form crowded the table, his gaunt face illuminated by the orange glow of the brazier. "Might hate the fucker but he is smart, learned from his past loss and now has reserve troops as well."

"They waited too long," Edwyn replied, his arms crossed. "Connell thought his wargs would win the battle. When they failed, he scrambled. He's not as infallible as he likes to believe."

Brandon tilted his head. "Even so, we held their larger numbs back and also took out their wargs. They retreated first, they weren't feeling so confident. Looks like Royce has lost his touch."

The conversation continued, as the outside, with its faint sounds of the camp, men murmuring, and clatter of weapons being repaired served as a quiet backdrop. Then came the shouting.

At first, it was distant, muffled by the thick canvas of the tent. The commanders paused, their eyes flicking to the entrance. The shouting grew louder, more frantic, joined by the unmistakable sound of running footsteps.

"What in the name of the gods is that?" Edwyn muttered, already moving toward the tent's flap.

Frost shot Brandon a dirty look before locking eyes with Harmond before following, his hand instinctively going to the sword at his side. When they stepped outside, the icy wind hit them like a slap, carrying with it the acrid scent of smoke.

The shouting was coming from multiple directions now, and as Brandon turned his head, he saw it—thin tendrils of smoke rising from different parts of the camp.

A soldier ran up to them, his face pale and eyes wide. "My Kings! Fires have broken out across the camp several tents are ablaze! And men of fighting!"

Brandon's eyes sharped. "With whom?"

The soldier stammered, "We—we're not sure, my King. It's chaos!"

The commanders quickly armed themselves, their exhaustion pushed aside. Smoke curled into the darkening sky, the flame's embers lighting up the dark night sky the flecks like stars as they extinguished themselves, burning up in the night.