Rulers of Earthius: Dawn of the North

Generals are very high-ranking soldiers in Niln's army, they are usually wealthy and will often be seen donning full plate armor like that of a knight and will often observe charges on horseback, and sound the horn for battle. general leads every force, sometimes multiple are present on the battlefield.

Midsummer 3rd, 145 PIE

Red Grass Camp, Northern Equestria

The round tent was lit by numerous lanterns hanging from the posts. It was a simple tent with chests on the walls but it bore no cots or weapon holders, or armor stands. Instead, only a round wooden table sat at the center. I was hardly a table at all, appearing more like a wide spruce wood tree trunk rather than an expertly crafted table with smaller stumps surrounding it. There were three flaps on the sides which were shut, and chests around the edge of the tent's soft walls.

Three men walked in from either side. From the western side came Grahfor the Half-Dwarf of Westshore, a bulky man who stood shorter than most Northerners with long red hair going down his back and a red beard down past his chest. His features were hard and aged, the center of his face marked with the bulbous nose of a dwarf, though his brow met more of a human appearance rather than the protruding brow of a Dwarf.

He wore an arming shirt and black woolen pants covered by brown leather boots, his armor had been left in his tent though he still carried his double-bladed ax, crafted from Dwarven Steel, gray with golden specks throughout. From the east entered General Floki Elkhorn, donning the typical armor of a Holdsmen Army, instead opting for a great helm like the Kartignians. His face was young and bare with short blonde hair and a smooth, bare face but like most Northerners, he stood tall and broad, he wore a basket hilt sword at his hip.

From the north entered the Kartignian general; Arathor Kartignian. He donned the mail and tunic of a Kartiginian knight, and a long sword at his hip, he had long brown hair and rough features with a scruffy bit of a beard on his face. He did not wear his helmet as he entered, in his arms was a large roll of parchment. They all approached the table and sat upon the smaller stumps, General Arathor unrolled the parchment on the table, revealing it to be a highly detailed map of Equestria, from the Stone Hills to its white beaches, it marked every fort, city, village, and mine that the kingdom held within its borders.

General Grahfor pointed a large round finger at an open area of land that was marked with an X drawn in charcoal with Red Grass written above it in Nilscript and bespoke: "We are here, fifteen ways northwest of the city of Baltimare" he moved his finger along the map to a drawing of a walled city with a noticeable palace at its south end that stuck up in the shape of a tower. "If what I've been told is right, the city has a large garrison of soldiers there and is ready for defense, our first attack should be here,"

"But sir" interrupted Floki "We don't have enough men, we've no supply lines or siege weapons, we've not a cannon beyond that of a horse cannon, nor even a trebuchet,"

"Quiet boy, do you think I don't know this?" responded Grahfor "When morning comes I'll be sending a pigeon to Fallreach, addressed to High Commander Wulfgar, it'll be asking for two-thousand soldiers and the request of twelve trebuchets and thirty larger cannons," he smiled gleefully after finishing, letting out a quiet chuckle, as quiet as someone who was part Dwarf could muster, which isn't very quiet.

"And I'm assuming you've also solved the issue of supplies?" bespoke Arathor, who had been quiet the entire time "I mean, you know how important the supply lines are right?"

"As a matter of fact I do, unlike you, I wasn't born into nobility and with a sense of upstanding that puts an elf to shame," responded Grahfor standing up and facing Arathor, standing just at his nose, Grahfor snorted loudly and continued "I was born to a Dwarf father and Northern mother and I've been in the army longer than many of the soldiers I lead, I have learned the inner-workings of an army from firsthand experience, not from fancy little books like you knights,"

Arathor, angered, grabbed the beard of the Half-Dwarf and pulled him up by it until their eyes met. As Grahfor winced in pain and kicked his human-like legs, Arathor spoke through gritted teeth: "Listen here 'Half-Dwarf' Just because I didn't grow up in a dank cave in the side of a mountain, doesn't make me any less capable of leading an army," he dropped the general on his rear "I was a soldier like you once, I fought at the siege of Jarvillor nearly twenty years ago, where were you then?"

Grahfor stammered with his words before finally getting out "Forget about that," He got himself up, rubbing his rear "We need to focus on the war, and not this petty silliness,"

"So you've finally come to haven't you," responded Arathor grinning ear to ear "Realizing that its better not to bother someone over their past, but rather over their prowess in battle," He said this in a sarcastically dignified manner

"Bah" proclaimed Grahfor, waving his hand at him and storming from the tent in anger into the dark and cool summer night.

Arathor, still smiling, looked at Floki and said jovially: "I think he understands," before rolling the large map back up and tucking it between his arms, he then turned and left the tent, returning to the Knight's area of the camp.

The pigeon flew over the vast swathes of farmland, filled with wheat and barley, and other crops. The bird flew over roads where traders walked or rode. It flew over the ancient barrows where dead were housed millennia ago, their bones have long turned to dust since then. The vast plains gave way to forests of pine and spruce, and villages, and lone longhouses with earthen rooves. The pigeon found itself at the expansive River Jord, passing above the nearly mile-long bridge.

Over the bridge and some three ways (Six Miles) was the ancient city of Fallreach, it did not approach over the city. Instead, this bird went behind the keep, to a balcony on the south where metal cages sat, filled with pigeons. The pigeon landed on the stone-cut railing where a man awaited. This man was older, with a long white beard and a shaved head, wearing black robes. He grabbed the bird, gently he took the small brass tube tied to its leg, the word Addressed to Wulfgar written on its sides.

The man took the capsule to Wulfgar, who was drinking mead and playing a game of Hnefatafl with a Wolf Soldier, an older one with short white hair and an aged face, his helmet sat to his side. The old man entered the room through a door at the southern side. He didn't say a word, just walked over to Wulfgar with the capsule in hand and handed it over to the man, who wore but a blue woolen tunic and trousers. Wulfgar opened the capsule and unfolded the parchment within.

Without a word, he got up from the seat at the table and walked out of the southern door, leaving the two men.

They marched along the road in a straight line, marching loudly. They donned nasal helms that went down the back and sides, flaring out at the bottom. They covered wore gleaming breastplates over green tunics, wore long woolen pants with steel shinguards that went past their knees, and sabatons over leather boots. Green capes with the crossed wolf marked on them in white were draped behind them, at their hips were rapiers with simple guards and hilts.

In their hands, protected by steel gauntlets, they carried long rifles, silver barrels glinting in the sunlight, their dark stocks carved decoratively, with large wheellock mechanisms on their sides. They were the Marksmen, the feared elites of the Nilnish Army, a force that few wished to trifle with as their tactics were orderly and brutal. Any army should feel fear at their site as they show no mercy and stand quietly in the face of death as the battle rages on.