Alisdair Gammorrigan stood in the doorway of his home and looked at his three grown sons leaning on their muskets in the field nearby. He sighed and tried to think of an honorable way of sending at least one of them away from the fate that was now fast approaching; not that any of them would hear of it if he tried. The Glamorrigans had ruled this little valley in Boozonia for the last three hundred years and those three stubborn lads would be damned if they would be the one that shied away from defending it. But now the enemy wasn't a rival clan out to steal a few sheep or cows, or the occasional raider from Gluttonia or Ferndalia. Now it was the full might of the Ferndalian army. This army had made short work of the fort that had been built to deny access across the southern border and was now busily grinding its way north through the rugged countryside.
Straightening his kilt and tightening his belt he stepped out into the yard and called to his boys, "Lads get ye over here", the young men dutifully jogged over to where their father stood. "There is little chance of us stopping the invaders here, the best we can hope to do is to slow the foreigners down a bit so that the Lowlanders can get things sorted out. I expect that each of you shall do your duty but I also ask that none of you engage in any foolish heroics. There is small point in getting yourself killed in a fight that is lost before its begun". He looked them each sternly in the eye, "I've no desire to have your dear mother learning of the loss of all her men-folk in a single afternoon" the boys nodded soberly at the thought, they had seen fighting but nothing of the sort that was soon to encountered this day. "Now get along to your posts and let those bastards taste our steel!"
