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King Mark was standing for a moment, standing on top of his leather soled shoes, which the leather straps were laced up his calves, and yet his shin armor covered most of his leg below the knee. Only wearing the bottom half of his tunic, where in which hung just above his knees, King Mark was dressed in his metal armor, very much so ready for battle. As a servant boy led a big dark grey stallion through the line of men, each man stepping from this stallions way. Everyone knew that it was King Mark’s stallion. He was much taller than most horses in Spain, much broader and he was indeed a trained war horse. Upon this grey stallion by the name of Bedarow, was a metal chest plate about the horses chest, and also a metal ‘cap’ so to speak that was covering the stallions entire forehead as it ran down the front of his white snipped nose. His long black mane danced within the morning wind. Upon his back was the red hand tooled silken blanket, in which it had a few strips of leather sewn in the front where the King could grab holt with one hand. For the stallion’s bridle and reins were a dark brown leather, having a died piece of yarn woven in, red in color. As the boy pulled the stallion to a stop, Mark looked over towards him and nodded. Easily moving over to the left side, Mark jumped-up onto the stallions back, grabbing hold of the leather hold in front, just on top of the horses withers as his right hand grabbed the reins. Holding the stallion in a tight rein, Mark then turned him to face the ballion of soldiers. Griping the reins now with his left hand, Mark lifted his sword in the air and pointed it towards the soldiers. His voice booming over the men’s ears.
We are brothers of the sword. I’d rather fight along side you, than an army of many thousands. Do you know what’s waiting beyond that wall? Immortality. TAKE IT! IT’S YOURS! Mark thrusts his sword into the air higher this time. Letting his men know, that he is ready for the war.
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