Not enough men and maybe not enough time.

As the cold mountain air hums around you walking through the camp of Skorgir Pass, two officers flanking you, as you head to the General’s tent for an update. Skorgir sits in a low valley set heading from the north down to the southeast and stands as a first defense against any invasion from the south. It is a large stone fortification that stays frozen and wind swept for most of the year. Two large keeps rise to either side of the pass itself with the fortification and garrison building sitting behind a wall that stretches the entire length. A large wrought iron portcullis sits on both the north and south sides that allow traffic through, or in the event of conflict prevents it.

The General’s quarters are on the Western tower and sit facing south; the conflicts between Mathia and Rakar have been going on since the founding of the Northern holds. The keeps here on the border were designed with that in mind. Recently the small skirmishes that always dot the border between the two kingdoms have taken a more serious turn, more men sent to the north and longer engagements than the hit and run tactics used in the previous years.

Making your way up to the meeting with your highest ranking officer on the border your mind is still clouded by the events of the trip, the image of your ex lover dripping your best friend's semen out of her sodden hole still managing to surface no matter how you try to push it down. When you finally push open the door to the spartan quarters of the general, you bring the northern winds with you and eyes like the tundra on your visibly upset features.

“Jarl, glad to see you made the trip yourself. The halls will sing with the cries of the dead to your ax when these damn sand snakes are sent slithering back to their rocks.” Bjorn “White-Hair” Ollofsun is an aged commander that has served your family for three generations but now has taken on the mantle of commander of the Buisgardo. When your father was near the end of his reign Bjorn took to the white, he said he was too old and worn down for the army ranks and hard marches required of the common soldier, so your father in respect to his reputation and loyal service gifted him a holding just south of Skorgir Pass to rule over as his own. The stubborn goat gave it to a bastard son and joined the old guard on the border.

“Bjorn, good to see you still kicking around you sorry badger. What news of these damned serpents poking and hissing at my jarldom?” It truly was good to see the old man still as imposing as the day he was recruited. The white hair and beard did nothing to detract from his large arms and calm and commanding stature.

“They have a couple hundred men and camels coming up towards the pass. My men have already killed a dozen scouts looking for a way around us here. If they do come at us they will hear the screams of their brothers and fathers as they die in the snow, unloved and forgotten.” The old bear of a man reports as he walks to the window to gaze out into a snow flurry. “We don’t have the men to keep them out if they attack head on and into a siege. Hopefully you being here means that the other jarls are coming to call, the extra bodies will make all the difference.”