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The army of the alliance had gathered outside the city walls to await their adversaries from the north. The northern army took formation across from them. For a while, both armies stood there, sizing up their opponent. The boots of the soldiers were planted firmly on the frozen mud and little clouds of mist rose from their mouths into the cold air, and tiny snowflakes fluttered down from the sky. Despite the large amount of people lined up on either side of the battlefield, the air was eerily quiet. The tense silence was almost unbearable.

At the helms of either army stood their leaders, on one side Iohan, Ionathar on the other. Even though the distance between them was to far for them to even really see each other, both of them almost felt the other's eyes staring them down. Hardly anyone had looked forward to this battle, but when the horns of the attackers resounded across the plain, it almost came as a release of the tension.

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