The countless ranks of Troopers and Grenadiers that form the bulk of the force have a kind of splendiferous naïve simplicity to them. Their red coats framed with yellow trimmings and the various metal buttons that adorn them glisten in the light of the slowly waning sun as nightfall approaches. The varying hats worn by them denote their specific roles within the army and the various buttons and ribbons attached keep a record of the campaigns from which they have emerged unscathed. Collectively they are an awesome sight to behold, their heads bobbing in unison as they steadily march forward, each soldier perfectly in step with the next, the untrained eye would be forgiven for believing that a hundred legged beast was descending upon him from a distance, such is the unwavering control that is held upon the soldiers of King Jorje, emotionless expressions on their patchwork faces signify that playtime is over and now it is strictly the business of war.

Ahead of the main force, about half a leagues distance away, the Dragoons of the 9th Lamina brigade scout the area in expectation of initial contact. A preliminary scouting force has identified the large Vaettir army north of their current position and the light cavalry are charged with moving forward and slowing possible enemy advancements. They trot merrily northwards, each Dragoon perfectly in step and totally alert. Very soon, they will encounter the enemy and have the glorious honour of drawing first blood for the King.

The eastern flank is protected by Britanan Dog Handlers, as is the western. Each handler has command of a handful of dogs and they have spread out into small packs. The majority of the patchwork hounds are sniffing the ground for the trace of a trail but there are still a few who are more content testing their strength against each other. A wheezy yelp sounds from a hound to the east as its handler chastises it with a whip for its erratic behaviour; the burdened beast lowers its head and returns to the task set before it. Another handler on the west launches twigs ahead of himself and his hounds take it in turns to fetch them, each one obediently returning the item with minimal fuss and earning an affectionate pat from their beloved master for their efforts. These strange humanisms displayed on occasion by the puppets of the Britanan Empire have been the subject of countless discussions amongst Jaksun and his comrades. He had once argued the theory that somehow the spirits of their ancestors had discovered a way to influence the dolls through the manipulation of Maaj and thus were continuing their service for the glory of the empire. The idea flashed briefly once again though his mind as he continued his journey through the ranks strengthening the Maaj control held over the army.

At the rear of the army the Royal Arcanum Guard are the last line of defence, supported by the heavyset broad sword wielding Highlanders and several platoons of Grenadiers. The average Britanan views the Royal Guard with both fear and awe in equal measure. By contrast, the Royal Guards ancient magical qualities allow them to see everyone else with contempt and disgust. The fact that King Jorje himself was instrumental in their creation has left them with a lingering superior belief that they are the elite warriors that are holding the foundations of the kingdom of Unglandan in place. In many ways, they are not far from the truth. When considering the Royal Guards particular disdain for the crazed Highlanders who accompany them, it would seem highly inappropriate that such a pairing would be factored in to the battle plans. However, despite the roughly daubed war paint and the constant bickering and in fighting that personify the unruly rabble, the Highlanders are a bloody useful lot in a scrap! As haughty as the Royal Guard may appear with their elaborate hats and aloof stature, the bonds that tie them will not allow them to dismiss such useful qualities in times of imminent battle. Even if in the case of the Highlanders, useful qualities are limited to the brutal destruction of anything that dares stray in to their path. The Royal Guard present today relish their support knowing they are about to lock horns with the Vaettir.

The power of Vaettir Maaj is well documented throughout Britanan and is superior in strength to the simple mutterings they utter themselves. They hold faith in their numbers though and although inferior, Britanan Maaj can still pack an almighty punch. The Royal Arcanum Guard have spent many years of service honing the gifts bestowed upon them by their King and it would be unwise for any foe to underestimate the destructive capabilities of their spells. They are the finest achievement yet for King Jorjes reformed Academy of Magic and their safety and well being is of vital importance to any Britanan battle plan, on many occasions the Royal Arcanum Guard have been known to sacrifice multiple platoons of grunts to ensure that they themselves have enough time to unleash their spells upon their enemies, often turning the tide of battle in their favour.

From the North a Vaettirean war host is preparing for battle. Ritual sacrifices are conducted throughout the sinister ranks of the ancient Vaettir; warriors push their psyche to higher levels and then plunge back down to reality as they scuttle towards their prey. They are a distorted mockery of their ancestors and their absorption of elemental magic has left them twisted and insane, hell bent on restoring the world and writing the wrongs they have inflicted upon it. Their destructive tendencies are in fact, likely to destroy it in the process.