Dale
Darin was, admittingly, a little lost. Not in the philosophical sense, as in lacking direction in life. Nah, he had plenty of that. He was, quite literally, lost. As in, scratching his chin with one hand and a map in the other. The present captain of the honor guard (For the last one had been put to the axe recently, after being found chatting it up with a conspiring prisoner) looked over Darin's shoulder and gave an equally confused shrug. "Oh, by the comatic.. This is *Practically* My domain, how are you people not able to navigate it?!" Darin exclaimed, with more than a little frustration in his voice. A swift hand was raised as he gave the captain of the guard a slap on the back of the head. It lacked the effect Darin had desired, as a resounding metallic 'clang' met him from the captain's helmet, and he was left with a slightly aching left hand and a profusely appologising captain.

"Finding our forces in this region should not be difficult.. They ought to be razing castle Kernkov by now, if the captain is doing his job proper." Darin continued, to no one in particular, sucking for a moment on his bruised pinky. After all, a great gout of flame and pillar of smoke reaching into the skies, that would be a fairly easy thing to spot. Perhaps a little more context was needed for the sitation. The lord of castle Kernkov had boldly stood up against Darin's demands to submit his land, people and posessions to the Duchy of the Grey Hills. Darin had responded in a fairly diplomatic manner, by sending a decent chunk of his standing army, led by one of his most trusted captains, to promptly put the Lord to the axe and seize what he considered rightfully his. This all had been a good couple weeks ago, before the king gave up the ghost. Now priorities had changed, and Darin needed to gather his various captains and commanders for the planned march on Iron Gate. Unfortunately, no one had been to aware of the captain's position, as his latest corespondence had been about a week ago. Fed up with his advisor saying that they simply didn't know where the forces were located, Darin had opted to take things into his own hands. After slamming said advisor's head in a door a couple times, Darin had gathered a section of his personal guard and left. Gods, how hard could it be, to find a rampaging military force in a relatively small region?

Turns out, far harder than you'd expect. Standing in a small clearing atop a forrested hill, Darin grumbled quietly to himself and shielded his eyes from the orange evening sun. Once again his eyes darted down to the map in little spazms, leaving him with no improvements in the knowledge of his whereabouts. Suppose this is what he got for fluking geography class with his tutors, instead chasing after cute maids or beating the living daylights out of some unfortunate sod who happened to be in his way. The honor guard captain, who was a recent promotion and had never set foot in this region, was not finding much success either. Soon the sun would be setting, and that would do very little to improve Darin's chances at finding the proper directions. It all ended up culminating in a slight outburst, with Darin promptly letting out a guttural and thoroughly unpleasant noise, mounting his horse, and pointing in whatever direction his gut was pointing him. It was a direction that might as well be described as east-west, as he really had no idea where it would take him. But anything was better than standing at this wretched hilltop. It felt as if the very land here was mocking him, and Darin would take great joy in seeing any burnt castles in the area.

The honor guard was quick to mount up and follow him. While there were the odd suspicions that Darin had no idea what he was doing, no one spoke up about it. The last fellow who had done so had been left a couple kilometers back, tied to a tree and left until they would come and pick him up on the way back home. Darin made no conscious effort to remember his whereabouts. Instead, he was fully focused on trying to find the captain. "Geh.. I smell.." Darin remarked, stopping for a moment. Luckily he was quick to continue, for anyone who had the audacity to say something snarky about "You certainly do sir" Would probably have lost a finger or two. ".. Smells like.." He tilted his head back, giving the air a couple inquisitive sniffs. ".. *Burning*.. Mhm, smells like smoke. Hm, perfect! Perhaps the captain is actually getting his job done." Darin remarked, trotting along in the direction his nose pointed him. The honor guard captain gave him a quick compliment about his keen sense of smell, which Darin didn't particularily listen to. A murder of crows passed by above. In a clearing below a gang of men trotted along on their horses. Up ahead, a castle was breaking out in flames. Good pickings for scavengers, man and beast alike.

Riding forth, Darin had a keen smile on his lips. Still, he felt the odd foreboding sensation that something wasn't quite the way it ought to be. Slowly it eroded his smile, replacing it with a suspicious expression of darting eyes and pursed lips. His rough fingertips found themselves gently tracing across the handle of his ax, which was strapped to the side of his mount. He caressed it not too differently from how a man might caress his lover, or close the eyes of a dead comrade. Every little crease and crack in the wooden handle felt all the more clear to him, and it granted him a sense of comfort. The entourage of 22, a duke and his guards, strode forth in silence. It was only broken by the sound of hoofs, and the odd whine from the horses. By now, things were gradually opening up to Darin.. Judging by what little he had garnered from the map earlier, they were far too south for that burning to be castle Kernkov. Yet the smell was only becoming all the more smokey and thick, even evoking a brief cough from one of the guards. A tangible tension filled the air, and wordlessly the horses formation grew tighter.
Jeremy
Whalren Achov - Northwindian Forest- The forest became less and less dense with trees as Whalren dragged his wagon of logs through it. The smell of smoke and the sceams of grown men filled the forest air. In the distance over the treeline a vast plume of gray filled the horizon like clouds. A confused look appeared on the bear person's face, but his pace didnt slow towards the intense chaos.

"KILL ME! KILL ME!" A man set completely ablaze ran past Whalren pleading "KILL ME". Without hesitation Whalren swung his hook into the man's neck tearing his throat out. A rush of blood shot from his neck onto Whalrens clothes and poured down the man's burned torso. The bear man yanked his hook out of him and the man's lifeless body crumpled to the ground and gurgled helplessly. More blood spewed out from his throat. Whalren picked the reigns of his wagon and would have continued his trek if not the wave of armed approaching horsemen screaming at him. He had just killed one of their men.
Dale
As much as the local burning person stunk of fat, grease, smoke and flesh, Darin could conclude that there was more fire about. Further, most men didn't just go running through the woods on fire without a damn good reason for doing so. There had to be a source of burning people, and considering that the average person burnt for a couple of minutes at most (Darin had overseen the occasional burning during his earlier days..), it was somewhere nearby. He failed to recognise the man as one of his own, mostly thanks to the schorched clothing and distinct lack of skin. Instead of focusing on trivialities like that, he turned to the beast of a man who just casually ripped his throat out. Pointing a sharp finger, Darin promptly exclaimed "You there, yes, you, on the wagon! Only other person around!" As he trotted up nearby. "Where is the fire?! And don't act as if you are not very much aware of where burning people are running from, it is not something easily missed!" Already Darin's temper was starting to get the better of him, with his pointing becoming less domineering, and more accusing. Almost instinctively, Darin's guard spread out. Two of them on either of his sides, with others working their way around and encircling the wagon. They were, understandably, rather worried about the hook-handed man who just killed someone. A perfectly reasonable thing to be worried about, honestly.
Jeremy
Whalren looked behind himself and to each side in case the screaming horserider was adressing someone else. As the rider approached they became at nearly eye level with eachother. "Ill be honest mate, he's really the first burning guy I've seen all day. He just strolled on up next to me and asked me to kill 'im" He held his hand and hook up and shrugged his shoulders. " Strange request I thought, but to each their own I suppose" The Horseman screamed to know where the men had come from and Whalrenm, without breaking eye contact, pointed in the direction the man came. "There" He said.
Dale
Darin sat there, watching the cart director explain himself in a far too casual manner. It made him sputter for a moment, gabbling a bit as he tried to coherently express the mixture of annoyance and anger that was only growing more and more intense by the minute. "Wh- I, no, shut up! Yeah, th- Zip it! I don't care about how many burning people you've seen all day, nor by extension, in your life!" He exclaimed, with a bit of a groan following. Still, the pointing was enough to make the annoyed noble turn his attention that way. ".. Right, well, that will have to be good enough!" Further directions would have been all good, but hey, Darin took what he could get and made the best out of it. That was how he had transformed a peaceful farming community into a military powerhouse over the span of a handful years. Quickly taking off, his guard was left in the dust for a moment before they all rallied, horses whining as they strode away after the Duke. By now he was gritting his teeth, and as the edge of the forest quickly grew closer and closer, his grip around the axe, which left its harness on the horse, grew tighter and tighter. There was clearly fighting going on, and considering the fact that he was in the process of having this entire region brought under his lovely leather boot, it was his concern.
Jeremy
"Actually yeah, I was just ov'ah that area where that on fire guy came runnin' from" Whalren coughed as he grabbed the reigns of his wagon and began to get a move on. "I'd be glad to show ya's over there if you'd like" The screams of men intensified and the glow of a burning campsite backlit the treeline.
Bobby
Two days ago.

There has always been an inherent beauty in victory. The human psyche can experience thousands of emotions in a minute, but none of them are as pungent and satisfying as the feeling of crushing your enemies beneath your boot. John De Burgh would dream of leading a politically united Northwind and watching his people frolic in economic prosperity. In his sleep, his most vulnerable state, he would toss and turn side to side as images of a heavenly nation filled his every thought. There has always been beauty in victory, and this image, to John, was a taste; a taste he did not want to feel disappear. For this reason, John was slightly vexed when he was awoken by a Knight aligned with the black dagger century, a military unit composed of the country's most tenacious counterintelligence operatives and spies. His brown eyes would be misleadingly soft as he awoke. Gaining consciousness, he would turn his attention towards the Knight, who would be steadfast on his way to John's bedside, hastily igniting the oil lamp and exposing him to the warmth of burning oil. Around him, the magnificent lavender tapestries of the Keep's regency bedroom would be illuminated.

The Knight would stand erect before his leader, and would wait tenaciously to be addressed. Reaching for his morning glasses, John would place them on the bridge of his nose, sitting up before the knight before rising to get himself dressed. 

"How may I be of service to you, Knight? By your armor insignia, you are denoted a Black Dagger. I trust you have information useful to me?" John would say cooly, as he placed over him his black cloak embroidered with Northwind's coat of arms.

"Yes, sire. I am stationed in the fourteenth cohort, sixth legion steadfast in the Grey Hills region of Northwind. I do have a report I believe to be of extreme importance to the council. Darin, Duke of Grey Hills has openly spoken against the new leadership and has orated against you whilst also murdering one of my comrades, who he claims to have attempted to murder him, in cold blood. He is currently mobilizing, attempting to gain control of the country. I and my squadron of daggers have determined the precise location of his northernmost camp, where he seems to currently be stationed." The dagger would say, coming at ease before John.

John would be seated on the lavender cushion by the foot of his bed, quickly comprehending the gravity of the situation. However, he of all people knows that victory must be achieved by any means. The proliferation of armed forces will be necessary for the quest for controlling and growing Northwind as a nation. It was the breaking hours of dawn, yet John knew he must take control of the situation in order to appease not only the people but the council. Regardless of how the council saw him, John understood without qualms that he must preserve the integrity of their rule. He would get fully dressed, placing around his neck the amulet of Northwind, a symbolic necklace embroidered with 10 separately colored sapphires, signifying the number of dynasties that ruled before the council. Whoever bore the amulet was also the ruler of Northwind.

He would turn his attention towards the knight, who handed John the written report from his intelligence gained in the south. Nodding to him, John dismissed the knight and pocketed his report. Hastily marching out the lavender bedroom, he marched down the regent hallways, his footsteps casting a resonant fortissimo throughout the entirety of the keep. The marble walls that separated him from Northwind's bitter climate would near be toppled by the sheer force placed upon them by John's movement as he stormed the Council meeting room, which was unsurprisingly vacant, except for the keeper, whose duties were to report to the council if an emergency meeting was declared, and declared it was. In a matter of minutes, Northwinds richest and most powerful flooded into the council chambers, where the dripping white candles would illuminate the sheer cunning and ruthlessness of their cruel and worn visages.

Each taking their respective seats, John would march over to the crystal white drapes, and pull them away harshly, bequeathing the councilmen with the natural power of the Sun, whose might was seen rarely by the inhabitants of Northwind, as it seldom showed over the vast and mighty mountain range that preceded it. Like the snow that covered the grounds of the vast country, the councilmen would soon be exposed to something beyond their control if they let this dire situation escape their grasp. The only thing blocking the council from dripping out of their control in this situation, literally and metaphorically, was John De Burgh, who stood triumphant in the wake of war, not afraid to spill blood to ensure the safety and prosperity of his people. Turning his head over to his comrades, he spoke.

"I apologize to each of you for disturbing your sound slumber, for the needs of this country have presented themselves," John spoke quietly, yet reassuringly as he stood above the seated council, pacing the chambers back and forth, his hands sheathed in his pockets. "In our south, a rebellion rises. A rebellion bent on destroying our people, their homes, and their posterity. A rebellion that we, as the saviors of this nation, shall vanquish by any means. Esteemed councilmen, it is time we showed the people of Northwind the power of a united voice, united peoples..." A short pause would ensue before John once again began to speak. "In order to ensure stability and order, we must destroy the rebellion and bring peace and prosperity to this country as soon as possible. For as the leaders of this country, we owe it to our people that we ensure their peace and ever longing prosperity."

The room went silent, and a time for what felt like hours would transpire as the councilmen exchanged glances with one another amidst the crackling embers of the dripping white candles that would occur between them. Silence would be broken as the council clammered among themselves. Soon, they broke apart and nodded assuringly to each other. The Baron of Vranovo arose from his seat and spoke.

"The council recognizes and approves John De Burgh's resolution to take military action against the ensuing rebellion in order to ensure the safety and prosperity of the country and its people. I, Baron of Vranovo, pledge my military services in light of these events and I wish to dispatch forces quickly to meet Duke Darin steadfast in the battlefield." The Baron would pocket his parchment, and seat himself once again at the table. This declaration would mark the beginning of a conflict that would determine the future of Northwind.

 A faint smirk would appear on John's face, for he just experienced his first victory in what would hopefully transpire to be the successful unification of Northwind. Placing his hands firmly on the council table, John would quietly speak.

"Baron, I much appreciate your tenacity and valor in dealing with this potential conflict. In light of your courage, I place you in command of my fourth, fifth, and seventh cohorts in the South, in addition to your own soldiers. Find these rebels at their northernmost camp, and burn everything you see, take prisoners, and most importantly, be merciless. I want that camp rendered inhospitalitable before they can make any substantial use from it..." John would turn his attention to the rest of the council and would allow them to return to their chambers with the exception of the Baron, who would begin his journey to the South at dawn.

Old guard. What does that mean? What does it mean to pledge your allegiance to a nation constantly plagued and bloodied by what it has never achieved; unification. Many tell their posterity that doing something repeatedly makes you experienced and professional. The Baron of Vranovo has a talent for war and bloodshed, as he has seen it every day since the day he swore his oath to defend this country. It was the dead of night, and the only truth he knew was victory, and he was approaching it more and more by the moment as the rebel camp came closer and closer into view, his army behind him as they plummeted through the dense forests, beginning to break the enemy lines penetrating the fortifications of the camp. The Baron, as he approached the camp's entrance, ordered the army to halt, as he did a full turn around his horse and addressed his men.

 "Men... We have traveled hundreds of miles for a purpose. That purpose is to uphold the future of our posterity who will live thousands of years ahead of us and remember this day as the day that secured their future. Today is the day Northwind will remember as the day their future began. We have prepared and trained years for the day we raise swords for our country, and today is the day we do it. We attack at night to surprise our enemy and turn them into a confused mess of soldiers who cannot defend themselves. Right now, most of the enemy forces are likely asleep but be prepared for anything. The fifth cohort will surround the camp and capture those who attempt to escape. The fourth and seventh will be directly involved in the flaming of the camp and will be fighting on the front. The fifth cohort and my army will be ready to provide reinforcements from the North if need be. Now, knights, it is time we secured the future of our kin and the future of our people. Now, Move! Move to position and carry upon yourselves the will of your country!"

With that, the battle plans went into effect, with the fifth cohort and the Baron's forces surrounding the city to capture prisoners while the fourth and seventh razed the camp. The smoke could be seen for miles, but the screams of surprised and unprepared soldiers would be heard across the entire continent.