The Band of the Lion, scarcely more than ten score swords; orphans of the war, or young men and women who have lost everything they'd loved and cared for in the war that had lasted one hundred years. Though small for a band of mercenaries, they had already risen to be a universally feared fighting force. Though little better than children, under the guidance of there commander they proved that steadfast loyalty and fierce determination were the staple of any military victory.
Lead by the Norman, Jaques Christine-Louviette, barely a man himself they have been responsible for a swathe of recent Aquitanian victories sweeping through Brittany. The English had been on the retreat for nearly a decade, progress was slow but the end was finally in sight.
The recent popularity of a peasant champion incited jealousy amongst the refined noble armies. The wound even more serious by the fact that they had ten times the army, though his constant streak of victories seemed military impossibilities by the light that he commanded such a small force.
Now camped in Brittany just south of Caen, the Band of the Lion waited for the war to flare up once more. Furthermore they waited for payment.The fog of war burned the very sky a dark menacing shade of orange. Burnt and rotting flesh, the sickly odor of death and carnage stung the nostrils. And amidst it all a single banner flew proudly. The lion stood defiant, a blood red etching on a blue flag, waving triumphantly in the heavy winds. A keep that was supposed to be held for three days was held for three months, and victoriously breaking the seige that they were defending against. Jaques Christine-Louviette was the sole credit for the victory.
Current standing orders, "Do whatever you please." The young commander had a great deal on his mind and could not be troubled with giving specific orders. This was the only boring part of a life of war, waiting for payment. Always waiting, waiting, waiting; and it never came soon enough.