But while such words were being exchanged within the Broken Gate Fortress, a mere few days travel south, on the opposing end of the mountain pass, outside the now stone and steel carved city of the Emperor's Reach, where Hamilcar and his invading army first made landfall into Murathicus lands, a similar set of words were being exchanged by men of far lesser station in life, in the neat and orderly military camp that they'd constructed and inhabited for nearly an entire month now.

"Blaithe, I've brought the fire wood." Said an energetic voice, belonging to a young man of brown skin and hazel eyes, wearing a white linen shirt and dark green pants, along with a pair of brown boots, and a dishevelled head of curly, light brown hair, that many would describe as a bird's nest comically built across his scalp.

And he was currently heading towards his squadron's tent, ladened with the weight of dozens heavy cut logs, tied and arranged neatly to his slightly bent back.

"Good." The man he addressed as Blaithe, answered back, momentarily taking his eyes off of his current toil, which was the careful service of an ornate and wonderous bow, momentarily parting his long black hair that was curtaining his scarred and cold face, showing the faint, lingering traits of faded nobility within his refined features, that were further marred by the scar running across his left cheek and down to his collar bone, where the rest of it then hid away behind his linen garb.

Putting his load next to the cooking pot nearby where he'd been instructed to with a grunt of effort, he then turned around to gaze upon the settlement's tall battlements that hid away it's splendour and festivities for the awaited coming of Alexander from his wanting eyes, and said with a bitter tone "Honestly, why do we have to suffer here in this dull encampment, while those proud bastards from the Fifth Army can rest easy, enjoying themselves in the city's walled embrace? It's not fair!"

"You know why." Said Blaithe coolly, not taking his eyes away from his weapon. "They are the Grand Marshal's personal army, as well as the army with the most veterans and experts; and of course but most importantly, they are the ones who won the inter-army competition that was held a few weeks ago for the prize of occupying the city's barracks."

"Obviously I know that!... I was just winging nothing more." Yelled back the younger man, his face slightly flushing red with embarrassment and self-reproach, remembering both how easy it was for the Fifth Army to trounce their meagre struggle in the competition, and how he'd begrudgingly grown to admire them for it.

"But honestly, it's still too prejudiced that only they can enjoy themselves." He eventually muttered under his breath, as he took his envious eyes off the celebrating city, just as another wave of rolling cheers crested it's high walls.

And though he heard his final lamentations, Blaithe did not reply to them, continuing his meticulous service of his bow in silence, treating it with the care of a lover, as his almost vacantly cold eyes seemed to drift in focus between it, and something only he could see.

Sighing, the younger man feeling awkward by the silence, proceeded to ask "By the way, have you heard the news?"

"What news?" Blaithe languidly questioned, his attention still fixated on the maintenance of his bow.

"They say the grand northern patriarch will finally be arriving tomorrow." He said, failing to mask his excitement on the matter from his ecstatic voice.

"He's called the Emperor Amadan." Blaithe almost exasperatedly corrected. "You've been enlisted in the nineth army for two years now, and yet you still insist on being the erroneous fool."

"Sorry, sorry." He sheepishly responded to the scarred man now growling at him, as he curiously asked "What do you think he's like?"

"Who?" Blaithe uninterestedly asked.

"The emperor of course!" Amadan cried out in indignation. "Were you even listening to me?!"

"I've never met the man, so how would I know." He responded in the same deadpan way as before.

"Of course I know you haven't met him, but aren't you friends with the general? So, I'm just wondering if you've heard any words from him about the man at all." Amadan explained, his eyes gleaming in unabashed curiosity.

Blaithe's eyes narrowed dangerously in return behind the cover of his curtaining hair, before he then released a lengthy sigh in response, and said "First of all, I'm not friends with the general, I'm simply someone from his clan, who just so happened to fight by his side once. And secondly, even if we assume that my relation with the general is as you say it is, what does it matter what I think he's like anyway?"

"Of course it matters!" Amadan exclaimed. "You know that we're going to fight south soon, so I don't think it unreasonable to wonder what our highest commanding officer will be like; and judging by your words you've heard something, haven't you?"

Amadan finished his words with a cunning narrowing of his eyes, as he sharply declared to the still seated man, who now looked at him from his periphery with a complicated gaze.

Yet eventually, the younger man seemed to win in this faux staring contest of rivalling wills, as he solemnly said, as his eyes further darkened with the weight of unpleasant memory "All I can utter with certainty is, if the servants are any reflection of the master, then he's the devil himself."

A pregnant silence encroached upon their personal space after, suffocating their voice boxes and barring their tongues from further speech.

A silence that was eventually exorcised by the chilling voice of rebuke that sounded out from the shade of a nearby tent at that moment "He's your master now too Blaithe, or have you forgotten that the eager ears of those with loose lips are always on the prowl for such foolish words to be uttered."

"Lord Barrafin!" The two jumped in salute as one at the sound of that voice.

Barrafin merely nodded in response, the presence of the now thirty two year old general pressing on their shoulders with the pressure of a man who needn't scream for his voice to be obeyed, as he casually approached them with his wolf pelt cloak flapping in the gentle breeze over his eye catching black armour, that was decorated in the grand imagery of the empire's sigil above a proud pair of howling wolves.

"It's been a while Blaithe." He said as he came before the scarred, cold man.

"...Indeed it has been, lord. I'm glad to see you in good health." The man for the first time allowed himself a smile, as he ever so slightly bowed before him.

"So am I, old friend." Barrafin replied as he clapped his rough hand on his shoulder.

"I, too am happy to see you in good health, general." Amadan then imposed himself on their conversation, saying with an innocent smile, as he fully bowed before the Dolgan Clan Patriarch and general of the Ninth Army.

Chuckling in response, Barrafin replied "It is good to see you too Amadan."

"We haven't seen you in a while sir, where have you been? I'm still hoping to recover my losses from last time after all!" Hearing his words, the younger man instantly dropped all formality and asked with a cheeky little smile on his lips.

"Amadan." Blaithe half glared at him with the edge of his left eye, not fully turning to him in fear of showing Barrafin his back.

Smiling, Barrafin stopped the marred man, and answered the slightly tactless youth he couldn't help but like "The arrival of our emperor has been keeping everyone busy, I'm afraid."

"So he is indeed coming tomorrow?!" Amadan quickly exclaimed.

"Indeed, he is." Barrafin nodded, not bothering to hide this assumedly precious piece of information, since by tomorrow all the lands south of the Hadrians would come to know of it.

"So does that mean we are finally heading south to fight?!" He pressed on with his questions, his voice unintentionally rising slightly with his every word.

"Are you that excited to experience your first war?" Barrafin asked in return, his eyes and tone not showcasing any of his true thoughts as he gazed at the young man.

Not noticing the subtle shift within the two before him, under the haze of youthful excitement, he answered "I confess that I am lord. The last time we were ordered south, we were all abruptly pulled back, and have been camping here ever since."

"Do you have a reason for such wanton zealotry Amadan?" Asked Barrafin, his eyes momentarily swaying in the light of pity, before it once again returned to it's previous, unknowable state.

"My father was a warrior my lord, and so was my grandfather, and his father before him! And I've been waiting for a chance to make them proud since I was but a boy." Amadan almost embarrassedly answered, his cheeks slightly colouring themselves with a bashful charm, as he revealed to them his childhood dream as he listened to stories of his forefathers from his mother and grandmother.

"I'd think they'd be more proud seeing you by a woman's side, surrounded by a couple of selfish pups, peacefully sowing seeds in ploughed fields, instead of fertilizing said fields with your and your enemies bodies." Blaithe displeasedly muttered under his breath, as he slowly turned to retake his seat and bow.

And though both men heard him, they said nothing in reply, with Amadan's smile remaining as unflinching as his conviction and Barrafin silently agreeing with the scarred man, but not further commenting on the matter, when suddenly another man, dressed in the regimental uniform of the Eighth Army's messenger Corps arrived and quickly announced "General, his lordship lord Amhain requests your presence."

"I will be there shortly." He replied smilingly, the previous air of gravity having vanished as abruptly as it arrived, before he then turned to the two men before him and resignedly shrugged his shoulders, saying "Duty calls, I'm afraid."

Barrafin quickly then made his way out of the military camp of the Nineth Army and into the festive streets of the Emperor's Reach, before steering his horse towards the city's northern parapets, where he beheld the lone figure of none other than the clever prince of the Enkada Clan, as well as his newest friend he'd found in recent years, after many a moons of comradery and shared nights of drink, whether they be spent talking of merriment or burdensome responsibility.

Walking to his side, he lined himself shoulder to shoulder, anchoring his face upon the same sight as he did, looking up at the Broken Gate Pass, as he then asked after a few seconds of silence "Why have you called me so urgently?"