The trail down the Albya River Peninsula was cold. On the hills around them, snow built up covering the rolling hills with a white blanket. The frost season hadn't passed yet, and a blizzard passed through here the night prior, covering the forest and grasslands with snow.

General Wendover shivered as he huddled down in his coat, a rogue wind gust kicked up a flurry of snow into his face and penetrated his wool coat. Thick as his grey fur might be, it was still freezing cold. He had no idea how the lower creatures survived through it, but it made him appreciate the coat of his all the more.

Luckily for Wendover and his army, the snowfall wasn't incredibly thick. The cleared path from Fargo down to the Albya Bay was still somewhat traversable, maintained by a few merchants who made the journey down here to the tribes and small villages that dotted the region.

He eyed the river next to them, which was flowing slowly and appeared too small for its riverbank, the brown muddy riverbed was apparent on the edges as the low water level revealed Albya's secrets. Wendover knew that the Albya river dried up during the Frost Season. During the Rain Season, however, the River would flood. Bursting her banks and wreaking havoc on the areas around it as it gained momentum from the melting snow and glaciers to the north of the continental heartlands.

On either side of the river, were cliffsides. Black basalt rock exposed to the elemets created an almost peaceful river valley, flanked on either side by the Albya Palisades - the given name for the cliff faces. The cliffs would soften back into rolling hills, but their presence signaled to Wendover that they were now approaching the Albya River Estuary and Bay. These territories in the southern region of the continental Heartlands were independent of the rule of the Iscariot Empire. To a degree. The Iscariots maintained a military presence everywhere in the Heartlands, nowhere was truly "independent".

Wendover had to beware of rogue Striders when coming around here. The coast was their breeding ground, and the long legs of a Strider could easily shatter an army and break their morale. Though they were gentle giants and never tried to kill anyone… they were incredibly curious beings. But their tall structure made them dangerous through their movements. Accidentally trampling on villages… and people.

Wendover looked behind him at his line of soldiers who marched on. Dressed in their battle uniforms. A few dragons marched along too, standing tall and proud amongst the Iscariot lines. He closed his eyes, imagining himself. Himself in the past. When he was leading an army deep into the Falkish Colonial territory.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!" He heard the muffled boom of Falkish cannons in the distance and felt the cannonballs hit the ground. His men left and right, being torn apart by the guns over the hillside. Clouds of smoke and ash forming in front of the Iscariot line from the rifle fire, The Iscariots clashing against the Falkish in brutal fighting with swords and spears. Horses charging around the battlefield, decapitating the heads of enemy soldiers in their path. A blood bath in front of him, the largest he had ever seen to date. Dragons flew overhead spitting fire and toxic gas on the soldiers below. Sometimes even killing their own soldiers. The disarray and confusion among the Iscariot lines made it easy to mix up who was friend or foe on the battlefield. Fireworks exploded in the air to drive the dragons away, rockets exploding into balls of flame in front of dragons, raining clouds of ash and smoke on the men below.

"Boom!" The thunderous explosion of the Falkish guns again. Mowing down another two hundred Iscariots. Wendover could smell the death. He could smell the turmoil in the atmosphere. The Red, yellow, blue, and green of the Commonwealth Flag stood above the hills behind Falkish lines. Waving in the air. The Crimson red and gold of the Imperials stood behind Iscariot lines. The Iscariot Empire and Falkish Commonwealth fighting, two great rivals on this continent.

"AAAAAAHHH!" The sounds of screaming and agony. His men surrounding him dropping like flies as he ordered their advance. As he sent them off to their death. The Iscariot Army was being cut down by them all, mowed down in fact. He had never seen such bloodshed before, or after. It terrified him. And to think that nobody else around him seemed to know that he - despite winning the battle - lost in reality. The bodies of thousands covered the green hills of the countryside. Bodies he killed. Men he lost. Sons and fathers that he had taken from mothers and daughters grieving at home. It pained him to think back to that day. It hurt him, physically and emotionally.

The Battle of Red Hill was the name of the event, Red Hill was the name of a previously unknown hill in the middle of a small forgotten village in the countryside. The name came days after the battle, observers saw the bodies lined up against the slopes. Their blood painting the green meadows and gardens red. Red Hill, the site of a mass grave, the deadliest battle ever fought in history, and Wendover orchestrated the whole thing…

They say that the Iscariots annihilated the Falkish during the war, but those who said that were those who brought into the lies the royalty told them. King Rupert was a madman… absolutely, sending them all off to die in the Falkish Wars. And to think the world loved that psychopath, and his son was no better.

In fact, the whole family was a bunch of murderous barbarians! Wendover would daresay that they were even worse than the Humans they claimed to be hunting down! They talked about the Falkish like they were the ones living in squalor and filth. Like the Humans, Reptillians and Insects were the cruel and absolutely savage ones. Wendover was sick of the Royalty.

Well… Except for Nora. She gave Wendover hope. Even as the rest of his Aristocratic "Friends" told him how much they loved Fredrick and his father, and how they disliked Nora. The pure stupidity of the Nobility, he wished there was a word big enough to describe them all. The Nobility kept on saying how much the safety of the Kingdom depended on subjugating those surrounding them.

They based their philosophies on a strict division between races, those that were blessed by the father, and those who were not. They were built to work for the empire, as they said so that the glory of Fargo could reach every shore and her greatness could be put on display.

How ridiculous…

Here, outside of Iscariot territory and into the land of the client states, the magical creatures sought refuge. Most of the creatures were hiding in the forest though, the frost season moved in and smothered everything here with snow and ice. He did catch a glimpse of the extremely rare firebird, but it was cold enough that their fires had been quenched and as such, they didn't burn down the forest. The bird retreated into the woods before he could really get a good look though. He saw a pack of ravenous Jackelopes up close. In fact, they attempted to kill the horse he had rode on, but luckily his men alerted him to the pack, Jackalopes were ravenous little monsters, like walking piranhas. He needed to be careful of them, a troop of those rabbit creatures could fight off even a wolf pack.

And then there were the warrior-elves that inhabited this part of the forest. Their ferocity made them a force to be reckoned with, a few of their warriors can take down a fairly well-sized Iscariot army. But Wendover came prepared, with his large army size and dragons, they should win any engagement against the people of the Southern Heartlands with ease.

It had been two days since he departed from Fargo. Ahead of him, just a few miles now, would be the peninsula and estuary where the Human camp had been located. Wendover was a little fearful, he was assured that the humans weren't from the Falklands. But he wasn't completely sold. He did not want a repeat of that fateful day, on Red Hill. Nothing scared him more than that. He could still hear the screams of his men as the bullets tore right through them.

"My lord! Are you alright?" Wendover looked to his side, it was Sir Ann. His right-hand man. His second in command. A Red Cardinal. Ann was his closest friend and a competent military leader. They had both served together in the Falkish Wars, and if anybody knew about the truth it would've been him.

"I'm fine, just thinking," Wendover said, brushing back the grey fur atop his head.

"About the war?"

Wendover sighed, Ann was a perceptive one, "Something like that."

"I see," Ann said, "Sometimes I think back to it too, Wendover."

"I just wish… I just wish that the country could see what happened."

"Well. Sometimes we have to hide the truth to preserve the glory of our great nation," Ann said. Wendover looked back at him. Those words coming out of someone like Ann. It wasn't right.

"You believe all that garbage they tell you?" Wendover asked, his face studying Ann's like a book.

"Wendover, our nation is a great and large one. And great things are built upon faith," Ann began reciting the lines of a zealot, "Faith is the foundation. And any cracks in faith will compromise the whole structure."

Wendover couldn't believe the words he was hearing. Ann was smarter than that, or so Wendover thought, "We must fill the cracks to keep the structure intact."

"So you agree with Igraine?" Wendover asked, turning an eyebrow up at him.

"Wendover you are a wise wolf, and you know that Igraine and I are different. Igraine blindly follows whatever the country does. She has no compass. No goals set for herself. Myself, I'm just being realistic. If you expect a great nation to survive, you have to dismiss arguments to the contrary."

"Are you serious?"

"Serious as the plague, my lord," Ann said resoundingly. Wendover turned back around to face the path ahead, now deep in thought.

Ann isn't wrong… I don't think. A great nation relies upon the confidence of its people, if the people think we are weak then they won't fight for us. That's just common sense, Wendover thought to himself. But to claim that the Iscariots won a complete and floor wiping victory over the Falklands was just ridiculous. In fact, The Imperial Army had lost far more lives than the Commonwealth Forces and their allies. The Falkish Commonwealth had superior technology against their Iscariot enemies, and since they were fighting defensively the advantage that the Falkish had was exacerbated that much further.

The Falkish were a strange people indeed, their ideas of "Parliament" and "Consent of the People" were unheard of in Iscariot society. Everybody lived on the King's land, and everybody was the King's subject. But in the Commonwealth, they had a notion that a King was only powerful if the people gave him power, and hence they came up with a whole body of governing structures and institutions to establish what they called "Democracy".

Wendover tried to imagine what that would look like in Iscariot society but realized such a notion would've been futile. The nobles would've pushed back any attempts for the peasants to establish a republic. Even the Reformists in Court like Perceval, Andrew, and Cathy were realistic in their goals. To change the Iscariot Government, there would have to be a significant change in Iscariot culture. Something Wendover wasn't tolerant of.

Maybe I should just forget about it, after all, I am just a general. Governing is none of my business, Wendover sighed as he continued with his march.

Speaking of his business, Wendover felt around his neck for an Ekron Crystal, he usually had one hanging on a necklace. He'd need it for this mission, the Ekron's source of magic would be crucial if these really were a foreign people. But his grey paws landed on nothing besides his uniform. He frantically checked his pockets finding nothing there either. He must've left it back in Fargo…

"Ann, did you happen to bring an Ekron Crystal with you?" Wendover asked, hoping he had. Ann nodded his head, his wing/hands going to his neck. Suspended on a necklace was a vibrant red stone. A scarlet color. It was cut in marquise style, its numerous surfaces reflecting light-capturing any attention and awe.

"Failing to prepare is preparing to fail, Wendover," Ann smirked, "You should've brought yours."

"I would've Ann, but I forgot. You have it anyway. When I ask you to, if we need to, you use it. Alright?"

"What do you think we'll need it for?" Ann asked.

"Probably to communicate. If they speak a language we don't know we'll need the magic to understand."

"Right," Ann hid the stone deeper under his coat where it would be safe. Ekron was the source of all magic in the world. Or at least all artificial magic. Wendover didn't understand too fully how or why magic was conjured up from these stones, but it was useful at times, "Is that worry I hear on your voice?"

"No!"

"Ah, the great general Wendover. Worried about a bunch of humans." Ann teased.

"I'm not worried dammit! I just want to complete this assignment that the Queen gave us, and go back home."

"I thought the King assigned us this mission?"

"He did… but the Queen… well, you don't need to know all of that," Ann's face twisted into confusion, "Anyway. What's the worst that can happen to us? We've gotten a squadron of dragons with us, it's not like these people can pick a fight with them."

Wendover gestured to the back of the column, behind the knights in armor, and the footsoldiers and longbowmen, there were indeed dragons. Large, reptilians, covered in cold black scales. Scary beasts they were, but less so with all the straps and saddles that a typical horse would have. But these were the fire breathing kind, supplied by the Royal Crown Institute of Dragon Husbandry. To their masters, they were tame as a horse. But once they were given a target, any target, it would only be minutes before the enemy was torn apart.

Well… usually. The other empires of the world that hadn't gotten the chance to field dragons, developed some pretty unique and interesting ways to get around the fire-breathing wrath of the lizards. Wendover's standoff at the Battle of Red Hill had featured dragon riders that rode in and breathed fire and toxic gas onto the enemy. To counter them, the Falkish had developed an anti-magic system that somehow disabled the fire and gas breathing ability of dragons, making them vulnerable to kill. Wendover thought about it as he went on. Would the humans here want to fight? Would they know how to stop the dragons using the same technology the Falkish had? Were they primitive?

"Just over this hill. Our scouts report we will see their encampment just over there," Ann pointed out to Wendover. He sighed as he braced for what would come next…