[center][h2][color=9e0b0f]Sigvald Whitedragon[/color][/h2][/center]



Light, it pierced through the small holes of Sigvald's tent. The lit up the tent showing what seemed to be the leftovers of a party. As the entire tent was somewhat chaotic.  The tent also showed wine stains of the previous evening.  Equipment lay scattered across the tent thrown around in drunken blindness. In the middle of  it,  lay Sigvald Whitedragon. Lord of castle Whitewing, son of Alexander Whitedragon and lover of whores and drink. He was snoring like a walrus and the sound of the busy camp among his small frail tent did not wake him. However, the small beams of light did. As they landed on his eyes slowly waking him from his slumber. His eyes opened and  immediately closed them as the light hurt his little red shot eyes. He groaned as he slowly  pulled himself up from his sleeping bag.  He was a little disappointed as he didn't feel a body sleeping against his own. The whores he had spent the night with had already left. A shame since it would be a while before he could spent a night with women again. Considering the hell he was about to traverse through. At least he still had the taste of alcohol though even that wouldn't last forever. But if he was able to get him home back. To retake the lost glory of his line. It would all be worth it in the end. It was the main reason it had brought him to the sacred border in the first place.  

With that thought, he stood up and started cleaning up his tent. He took a drink of the wine that remained. Drinking it all in a few gulps. A few minutes later he had restored order to his tent. In his eyes at least as the wine stains had yet to be cleaned. He paid it no mind as he started to put on his heavy armor which was always the hardest part to do especially since he didn't have a squire to help him it made things difficult. So, after much cursing kicking and holding his breath his armor was finally on. He then opened his tent flap to be immediately met with the stench of the camp. Which penetrated his nostrils and almost made him vomit. However, it still smelled better than the muff stench that was the inside of his tent. Before he could set a single step he felt the force of a fully grown hawk landing on his shoulder. He scratched his companion on the head which it seemed to enjoy before flying off into the sky searching for its's next meal. He took a moment to enjoy the chaos that was the camp. A mixed bag of zealots, nobles, mercenaries, and thieves. After enjoying this, he decided to find a merchant selling food. Or at least something that resembled food.  He walked through the mud and filth that was used as a road and quickly found himself haggling with a merchant about the cost of a stale loaf of bread. He had food himself of course but considering he still had some coins left and his personal supplies wouldn't last him forever. He decided that it was a good idea to spend that last money since it would offer little use in the hell they were about to enter. After haggling for a few minutes he was able to buy himself a mug of average beer, an apple that was starting to show signs of rot, and a stale loaf of bread. It wasn't a king's meal but it was decent enough. After finishing his meal he started to walk back to his tent seeing a boot fly as he did. As he approached his tent he saw his hawk enjoying his own meal as it seemed to be eating a rat. But before he could curse at the fact his hawk had returned with his catch a voice rumbled through the camp.

"THE DUCHESS WILL SPEAK! YOU WILL LISTEN! IT IS TIME! IT IS TIME!"

"Time to hopefully not die horribly." He thought as he kicked away the rat corpse.  He only saw this crusade as the means to an end. He would fight with all his might of course. He needed to if he was expected to survive this suicidal undertaking. But if he was able to reclaim his home. He might just leave the crusade to its fate. Unless there was a good reason to stay in the crusade that is. However, since the chance of dying horribly was high and would probably be painful as well. He had yet to see any. He shrugged as he put these thoughts in the back of his mind and made his way over to where the voice had come from. Axe in hand and hawk on shoulder. Would all this be worth it in the end? Would he even fulfill his oath? Would he even survive? Only time would tell.