That morning in Calrie was not unusual at first. City was waking up, pitchers were advertising for their goods, sound of work was heard from workshops, fishermens were departing. ETN ships was also preparing to depart, despite of winter, probably to hunt pirates again. But then unusual sound emerged from main building of ETN temple. Sound of pounding of hundreds feet clad in iron and hundreds of well made hoofs. Soon knights and soldiers under ETN flag were marching through streets of Calrie in good order and fully armed and equipped. It was visible from their faces that this is no parade, no exercise. They were marching to war.
Troops arrived at the port and started to embark on waiting ships. Two persons were overlooking the process from small podium. One was tall, elf-looking man in full plate armor never seen in the city before. And the other must have been Maire Cwyllmie, high priestess of ETN. But what happened to her? That woman always seen only in her priest robe and with hospitable smile on her face was now wearing armor, albeit light, sword by her side. Expression in her face was concentrated and gloomy and she was uttering orders in crisp voice like old soldier.
What happened? What war they are departing to? It must be something very very serious when Maire Cwyllmie is like that.
