"[b]We[/b]  should turn back, Master." Urged Freda, the Black Marsh sat ill with her for some time now, the stretch from Mid-way to hear had been long, months almost; though to her it had been almost an eternity.

"Steel yourself, woman. We are nearing what we seek. Do the dead frighten you so?" The armoured man called the "Master" peered at the trotting female beside him, sporting a red cloak that draped his entire plated form, the man in gilded and wealthy male. Though, Freda was less than pleased with what she heard and sneered behind her ridiculous looking winged sallet - yet she pointed at the man with her own plated finger to recount her own rebuke.
"Do not presume to doubt or provoke me, Sir. You forget who you speak too." A scoff came out her helmet in a plume of cold air. Silence soon fell as the two bumped heads through their silence, their joining was one out of necessity which Freda continuously reminded herself of. She lifted up her visor and let her destrier guide her through the thin, muddy road on the way to the first, new, northern "fort" - more just mound of earth and wooden palisades. The entourage behind her was just the same as her - armoured and foul of mood, the road was not a welcoming one, nor the prospect of the hordes of hated dead that rolled through these marshlands. 

"One hundred and fifty of the Order. If we survive this place..." Freda muttered to herself, though the "Master" of this said Order had moved ahead of her, his general and Captains flanking him to leave this royal to her own thoughts as she started to drift from them, her horse slowing as it sensed its masters curiosity. The bolts of cloth flowing in the air were held low, namely by the tenth man in the single column that stretched back nearly a mile, only able to get this many men in once place. Supplies were even further back with the rear guard. The formation itself was impressive, though she expected no less from the Order. The thought mulled in her mind, looking at the red-cloak she was given so recently, all the hardship that had went into such a task, one that nearly cost her a limb and her life; the phantom wound still sticking in her shoulder, though the pain was non-existent.
Her thoughts were soon brought to an abrupt halt as a horn blew, one to call for an immediate halt as the trained destriers headed before even their masters had done so. Most road up to a more advantageous position; a double column of armoured Knight's and horses. The Master dismounted as did his Captains and cohorts, moving to inspect this smashed gate, one speaking loud enough to be heard by Freda. "Monsters did this, Master. Beasts scorned from the Flames itself. Un-cleansed in its motherly flames." A grunt followed from the mounted woman as she dismounted herself, going to join the troop - she was no proxy to be halted by some horn. No one stopped royalty. 

Not a man objected to the woman's presence as one or two of the Captain's were females themselves, older women; hard ones. Bloodied in wars long since forgotten by generations today - the central wars were always bloody, it was up to debate if they were glorious or a waste of time. "Look. The garrison. Looks like there's no survivors, Master. Nor is it safe. A herd of filth would of rampaged through here; the poor souls of these men." Spoke one of the unnamed Captains. Freda didn't really care for their names.
"We garrison here tonight. Burn the men of the North; I shall hold a service for their souls tonight. May the Flame accept them or turn the unbelievers aside." The Master spoke hoarsely. "I am not the judger of fate." All bowed their head at the man's venerate judgement, not even Freda would dare question such; her faith was shaken, but still solid. 

"Freda. Call the march and do so quietly, no more noise beyond that of marching. Make it swift, sister. We are to avoid the same fate as these souls." General Godfrey spoke in a soft tone, he was always her favourite. She had no issue following his commands unconditionally. A few clonks and the silvery-plated Knight had come to the head of the column where the silent Order Knight's stood, staring her down with anticipation - they surely knew what lay ahead, nor did they hold back to this so-called Princess. "Freda. Sister. Speak to us; what lays ahead? Are we to linger or pass? Flame be good if we do. No fire can cleanse this land, no sun to keep warm."

"Good-man Alfred. Stay true. We will hold any beasts that come our way, stand tall. We are to garrison here tonight. Call the march, as quietly as possible. We will not draw anyone in. Nor accept any admission. This fort is ours for the night. Pass the order on." 
Freda commanded naturally, her voice never lacked for aptitude in that of sovereignty - she was, after all, royalty. This duly royal mounted up her beautiful black stallion and rode the obedient creature into the fort, meaning to inspect the place before the retinue had decided to march inside, on the search for survivors; she was not wanton to set alive people to flames - though her thoughts remained sombre as her search continued. 

Freda could feel the fear in this place, almost the wailing of the dead still present; this place was eerie, the dead felt almost alive - still staring at her. She first made her ascent up onto the battlements to scorn the battlefield and all the death, sighing at what she saw - her hand went to grip the hilt of her longsword at her hip in anticipation. Yet, as suddenly as she arrived a jerk and choking sound rumbled from up ahead, which the warrior dashed towards, finding a man with a grievous neck wound - she remained sceptical or surprised that he even drew breath but her immediate reaction was to assist, the man managing one word: 

"Water..."


[hider=My Hider]
Freda (concept art? Minus the big sheets on her.)
[url]https://gyazo.com/c2b63d3d1dbe50fc90fef76a5c22e06c[/url]
[/hider]