The sky was a deep shade of blue and was empty until one looked westward and saw a storm contemplating on whether or not it should interupt a soon to be battle field. The air was crisp with the feel of autum. Tall trees stood atop the sheer clifts that lined either side of the grassy field that was three hundred feet wide. The trees' leaves were shades of orange and red and the wind stole them as it blew by and dropped them on the grounds below.
             As Lancelot admired his troops standing in their ranks, his heart gushed with adreniline. Both his flanks were also allied soilders. The pass was filled from side to side with the English soilders. Every single soilder's uniform was blue and white and stood patiently in their ranks. First in line were the swordsmen. They were holding a large shield and a massive silver sword.
             After lines of swordsmen there were the knights atop their horses, everone of them white. Both the horses and the mounted were almost totally in iron armor. Each of the horses facial armor was unique. While the mounted were steady, one could tell that the horses were becoming restless from standing in their spots.
             Behind the knights stood the archers. With bows that stood six feet high, arrows that could travel hundreds of feet. Everyone of the soilders were waiting patiently for their orders.
             What a perfect day for a battle. After receiving a message that the King's troops in the North had destroyed the invading Scotts Lancelot knew that this would be the final stand against the enemy. He had choose a perfect spot for this fight, there was no way that the barbaric Scotts could use their sheer numbers to spread themselves out and attack the archers in the back ranks like the Scotts had in the South. Lancelot also, knowing the Scott's weakness was right behind their eyes, stopped the English forces at the highest point in the pass.
             A messager came in and reported that Scottish troops wer...