The lines were drawn. A vast force of undead encroached upon the Eastern Plaguelands. Hearthglen was under siege already, but had not yet fallen. The valiant defenders still held fast before the tide. Still, the vast majority moved on into the Eastern Plaguelands, headed for the Crusader stronghold of Tyr’s Hand. This attack, however, had been foreseen, and a resistance had been mounted. A strong army of veteran Crusaders had been mustered; Ranks of Infantry, archers, cavalry, and even some artillery had been brought to the front. The morning sun was rising, and the footmen had gathered their gear, and ate their breakfast. In stoic ranks the companies and battalions marched in perfect order and unison. Their shields and weapons glinted like ice as the first rays of the sun shone upon them.