The sun rose the next day with a faded start of obscured gold, as a heavy downcast of thunderheads dominated the skies, pelting my packing men with sprinkles of intermittent rain falls, that did very little to cool the fire in their veins.
And before long, all three of my imperial armies were off once again onto the warpath, our heading due south, straight as an arrow towards where we had learned the four great clans were mustering their full host in wait for the arrival of their southern counterparts.
It took us less than a day to cross the Faal Hills, one of the many geographical identifiers that clearly designated the borders between my lands from theirs, and thus would be well protected, or at least that is what we expected, since just as we crested said hills and were at their apex, we saw dozens of smoke signals littering the fields before us, all of whom were too big to be a mere warning fire.
