The snowy mountains of Kretia were dangerous, perilous. Despite the many warning given to Marshall, he took his warriors up the mountain. Marshall was the king of Prioler, a large and very prosperous country at the bottom of the large mountains. Marshall had heard of a legend of a warrior country and kingdom up in the icy mountains. That country was rumoured to be called Kretia, due to the mountains own names. Kretia’s nickname was “The Kingdom of Ice.”

Marshall rode his horse along the pathways along the rivers, his army all behind him on their horses. They weren’t used to the snow, but it didn’t bother them or Marshall. Marshall was known for his exceptional army and discipline. The problem with him was that he needed, or required, a wife that could beat him in military genius. He hadn’t found one yet, and it was making his advisors very angry.

The horseshoes clicked across the rocks as they went forward. The legend of Kretia didn’t specify where the mountains hid the kingdom, no king or queen in any country he had interacted with had ever crossed paths with someone from Kretia. It was as if it never existed.

Marshall rode on. He was an amazing hunter, even if it was considered inhumane for kings to kill such trivial things. He was one of the most attractive kings in the world, his height and build contributing a great deal. He was perfect, no matter how stubborn and cold he was.

Him and his warriors rode into a large open space in the mountains, the snow covering it like a blanket, no blade of grass seen in the clear hills. That’s when they heard a neigh from a horse. His head shot up and looked around and spied someone. That person was on a large horse, one much larger in size than their own horses. The person was very intimidating, their cape flowing in the wind, their hood covering their face, their swords clinking in the wind.

Marshall stopped his horse, “Men, stop your horses.” He said quietly, his voice low and cold. He didn’t want to scare away someone who could guide them to Kretia.