Ryan

The Realm of Men

"... Hundreds. Thousands. I... I don't remember. Just the pain." Heinrich weakly spoke to the group that had gathered around him and the tent, listening to what he says whilst Freda kneeled before him, holding his head up in her gauntlets just so he could drink and speak - a healer tending to his wound immediately as he was found; this man had vital information and was given Kingly treatment.

"I know you must be in pain but we need this information now. You will be given our best healers and supplies but first you -must- tell us everything you know, we cannot be taken by unawares." General Godfrey spoke to the man, kneeling down before him to be on his level, hoping to get every ounce of information that he could diplomatically, knowing the dangers of this place - especially with every single corpse of the garrison strewn everywhere. A small gathering had surrounded them and this survivor whilst the rest of the Knight's worked on creating a mass grave by tossing bodies on top of one another - there was little time to offer something akin to a formal burial. They had to be burned.

Freda looked over the man she held aloft, feeding him water whenever he required it though it was fruitless, he could barely even swallow it let alone structure any proper words. One look at the General was enough to have him back off, motioning for the crowd around him to disperse as his pained eyes turned on the royal. "Leave him. We have to prepare the defences and inform the Master of the impending assault." Said Godfrey. "Seems they wanted to witnesses... or prisoners."

"There is little time to prepare anything, my Lord." Freda spoke with a soft voice, gently lowering the now unconscious man's head back down, content to leave him with the healers. "We must turn back. We cannot reach the Ki-.."

"Do not give me that, Freda. We cannot turn back. -You- can. But we cannot. Your father made that obvious with his narrow-minded thoughts." Godfrey rose his hand to stem any argument. These two were obviously close as the armoured woman just lowered her head with a subtle shake; the mail rattling in protest to such movement.

"Come on." Godfrey commanded, closing his eyes as it left him. The duo dropped into silence and observation began. Tents had started to spring up all around and banners started to go up - even if it was for a day the proud Knight's dare not fly their holy banner; it swelled Freda with pride at the sight of the flowing Phoenix in the dark wind, recognizing them as the elite of the east. Hopefully deterring any... living enemies. She prayed silently for that. The marsh itself was starting to light up as the thick clouds allowed for the morning sun to start and rise, creating the heavenly starlight through the darkness. Such phenomenon was rare but greatly appreciated by the weary Knight's and soldiers. People were still funnelling into the fort itself, the Master had called upon all his allies to this place - he was adamant.

Later...

"We cannot march forward nor can we march back. The best we can do is -attempt- to send someone. Anyone, across the lines, to call for aid." The Master leaned down across the table, pointing out the Black Marsh on the map.

"The First and Second armies are arriving slowly. No more than that are ready or even willing to arrive." Said Godfrey, apathetically.

"Five hundred men in each - all faithful under one banner. That is all we could bring to this... effort. Will it truly be enough?" This caused the gathered officers to look around at each face, gauging all reactions to it. None spoke up and silence reigned as it oft did. Like a voice in the darkness the Master spoke out to fracture it.
"It will be enough. With proper guidance and faith, anything is possible. Whatever darkness gathers in this North, it -will- be routed. It will be crushed and any supports of this will be exterminated." This returned the Faithfull's vigour.

"Freda, you will go. I will not accept any defiance this time - you are the best suited diplomat amongst us. You may take one other with you on your journey, otherwise, you will take the best horses we have to offer and ride past the storm in-front of us. Avoid it. Do not go near it. Go days around it, if you must." The Master's tone grew more solemn... "You -must- take this missive to King Leofric for all our sake. We must move in tandem with his forces if we are to quell this darkness. Let us hope he is a man of reason. Like your father used to be..." The old man inclined his head and frowned, offering out a rolled up note holding the insignia of her Order, the burning phoenix. Freda was wishing to speak up but the words never left her, all she did was wander out that tent whilst the others continued to speak - probably knowing this was some form of punishment that had befallen her, or a great trust.

Now she had to find some unfortunate soul to accompany her. She couldn't think of anyone on the spot to share such a burden with, thought the answer came to her before she was even able to think of it...

The Realm of Men

"We should turn back, Master." Urged Freda, the Black Marsh sat ill with her for some time now, the stretch from Mid-way to hear had been long, months almost; though to her it had been almost an eternity.

"Steel yourself, woman. We are nearing what we seek. Do the dead frighten you so?" The armoured man called the "Master" peered at the trotting female beside him, sporting a red cloak that draped his entire plated form, the man in gilded and wealthy male. Though, Freda was less than pleased with what she heard and sneered behind her ridiculous looking winged sallet - yet she pointed at the man with her own plated finger to recount her own rebuke.
"Do not presume to doubt or provoke me, Sir. You forget who you speak too." A scoff came out her helmet in a plume of cold air. Silence soon fell as the two bumped heads through their silence, their joining was one out of necessity which Freda continuously reminded herself of. She lifted up her visor and let her destrier guide her through the thin, muddy road on the way to the first, new, northern "fort" - more just mound of earth and wooden palisades. The entourage behind her was just the same as her - armoured and foul of mood, the road was not a welcoming one, nor the prospect of the hordes of hated dead that rolled through these marshlands.

"One hundred and fifty of the Order. If we survive this place..." Freda muttered to herself, though the "Master" of this said Order had moved ahead of her, his general and Captains flanking him to leave this royal to her own thoughts as she started to drift from them, her horse slowing as it sensed its masters curiosity. The bolts of cloth flowing in the air were held low, namely by the tenth man in the single column that stretched back nearly a mile, only able to get this many men in once place. Supplies were even further back with the rear guard. The formation itself was impressive, though she expected no less from the Order. The thought mulled in her mind, looking at the red-cloak she was given so recently, all the hardship that had went into such a task, one that nearly cost her a limb and her life; the phantom wound still sticking in her shoulder, though the pain was non-existent.
Her thoughts were soon brought to an abrupt halt as a horn blew, one to call for an immediate halt as the trained destriers headed before even their masters had done so. Most road up to a more advantageous position; a double column of armoured Knight's and horses. The Master dismounted as did his Captains and cohorts, moving to inspect this smashed gate, one speaking loud enough to be heard by Freda. "Monsters did this, Master. Beasts scorned from the Flames itself. Un-cleansed in its motherly flames." A grunt followed from the mounted woman as she dismounted herself, going to join the troop - she was no proxy to be halted by some horn. No one stopped royalty.

Not a man objected to the woman's presence as one or two of the Captain's were females themselves, older women; hard ones. Bloodied in wars long since forgotten by generations today - the central wars were always bloody, it was up to debate if they were glorious or a waste of time. "Look. The garrison. Looks like there's no survivors, Master. Nor is it safe. A herd of filth would of rampaged through here; the poor souls of these men." Spoke one of the unnamed Captains. Freda didn't really care for their names.
"We garrison here tonight. Burn the men of the North; I shall hold a service for their souls tonight. May the Flame accept them or turn the unbelievers aside." The Master spoke hoarsely. "I am not the judger of fate." All bowed their head at the man's venerate judgement, not even Freda would dare question such; her faith was shaken, but still solid.

"Freda. Call the march and do so quietly, no more noise beyond that of marching. Make it swift, sister. We are to avoid the same fate as these souls." General Godfrey spoke in a soft tone, he was always her favourite. She had no issue following his commands unconditionally. A few clonks and the silvery-plated Knight had come to the head of the column where the silent Order Knight's stood, staring her down with anticipation - they surely knew what lay ahead, nor did they hold back to this so-called Princess. "Freda. Sister. Speak to us; what lays ahead? Are we to linger or pass? Flame be good if we do. No fire can cleanse this land, no sun to keep warm."

"Good-man Alfred. Stay true. We will hold any beasts that come our way, stand tall. We are to garrison here tonight. Call the march, as quietly as possible. We will not draw anyone in. Nor accept any admission. This fort is ours for the night. Pass the order on."
Freda commanded naturally, her voice never lacked for aptitude in that of sovereignty - she was, after all, royalty. This duly royal mounted up her beautiful black stallion and rode the obedient creature into the fort, meaning to inspect the place before the retinue had decided to march inside, on the search for survivors; she was not wanton to set alive people to flames - though her thoughts remained sombre as her search continued.

Freda could feel the fear in this place, almost the wailing of the dead still present; this place was eerie, the dead felt almost alive - still staring at her. She first made her ascent up onto the battlements to scorn the battlefield and all the death, sighing at what she saw - her hand went to grip the hilt of her longsword at her hip in anticipation. Yet, as suddenly as she arrived a jerk and choking sound rumbled from up ahead, which the warrior dashed towards, finding a man with a grievous neck wound - she remained sceptical or surprised that he even drew breath but her immediate reaction was to assist, the man managing one word:

"Water..."

My Hider

Freda (concept art? Minus the big sheets on her.)
https://gyazo.com/c2b63d3d1dbe50fc90fef76a5c22e06c

The Realm of Men

Name: Freda Risley
Age: Early-Thirties
Gender: Female

Bio: Born of wealth and power, Freda is the first of two daughters to Lord Protector Alfred the Third of Midway, King of the Middle Kingdoms in the East, a vast territory consisting of orchards, farms and castles. The Middle-Kingdoms has always been a land of war. Several invaders come from sea or land almost yearly. Thus, the land and the people itself, including Freda, were raised as warriors - even the farmers themselves boast skill in combat. It is rare any nobility, male or female, would not be trained in Knighthood; the nobility itself were bound to one another by deep marriages, the families of the East were the most intertwined in the whole realm. Boasting the best Knight's in the realm itself. Or so they say. Freda herself is quiet and collective, very straightforward and reclusive - not enjoying others companies

Title: Sir/Dame, Second to the Throne of Midway.