On the afternoon of September 7th, roughly thirty kilometers south of Frosgard, on an unnamed wilderness.
It was late autumn. The grass and trees of the Northern Wilderness had long since withered yellow. The sky hung in an iron-gray gloom, while the cold wind swept up grit and dead grass, sending them spiraling across the open ground.
Two vast armies that would decide the fate of the north, like twin torrents of steel about to collide, encountered one another by chance upon this land forgotten by history.
Relying on superior mobility and organization, the Carnford Army arrived first and seized the advantageous terrain on the southern flank of the battlefield. The first to complete their deployment was the main cavalry force.
Two well-equipped, rigorously trained heavy cavalry battalions stood like wedges of steel, firmly holding the central passage. On each of their flanks was attached a battalion of Dragon Cavalry. This distinctive mixed formation created a mobile iron fist capable of both attack and defense.
The heavy cavalry could launch dense charges with the force of thunder, smashing large enemy cavalry formations; the Dragon Cavalry, meanwhile, could use their advantage of firing from horseback to pick off with Flintlock Rifles those troublesome Sauron Rangers skilled at mounted archery and harassment, casting a secure net of reconnaissance and vigilance around the army.
The cavalry formation stood solemnly still. Warhorses whinnied softly, and only the banners snapped in the wind as an invisible pressure spread through the air.
About three li behind the cavalry line, Carnford's main infantry force flowed steadily up from the official road to the south, like orderly rivers of blue.
Officers galloped back and forth through the designated areas, using conspicuous colored flags and lime markings to mark each battalion's camping ground and line of departure for the