A warrior rides a white stallion. Mist shrouds the land behind him and the wind solely offers glimpses of the corpses strewn round him mangled and disfigured in all kinds of the way. To his left and proper extra riders emerge from the mist of battle, extra fearsome warriors, with their armour dented and smeared with the blood of their enemies and comrades alike. A soldier in battered armour carries the usual, Briar’s rose petals surrounded by thorns in black and white on a blood pink area. They arrive out in ones and twos, sluggish of their motion, extra requirements appeared and shortly the horizon was flooded with troopers and requirements flowing within the wind. Every hoof lands with the finality of tomb doorways closing, no sound follows the motion and every bounce within the saddle takes an eternity. Beside the lead rider sits a warrior in plate armour the metallic displaying the rainbow hues of oiled metal. Beside him an older, darkish haired, knight rides with black curls plastered to his brow, a direwolf’s head on his spherical protect, labored in black metal and silver, broadsword at his hip and crossbow secured to his saddle. A second rider in chain mail on a brown charger rides to their left comfortable in his saddle as any sailor on a rolling deck. His armour the work of Gothic engravings of Gold Fields, his cloak pink within the reminiscence of his homes previous, on his protect the golden lion and the pink area of the Home Legislation. The person on the centre, the arrow level of this military stare straight forward of him, eyes locked on Iron Corridor.