We look down on a far-off war camp in the north, a raging blizzard blowing through the tacked-down post with merciless vigor.

A soldier bursts into a warm tent, and our story begins:

"Ma’am, the Eastern Force is making an advance!" he shouts to the lady in the tent as he works his gauntlets over his cold, numb hands.

One of the leaders of the Northern Front assault, Lord Knight General Order, rises up from her chair to a lean.

"You mean to say they're coming… *hic* here?" she says, massaging her temples as she takes one last glance at her glass of blackwater forty.

"Yes, ma’am! Please do something!"

The rather short, young-looking lady rubs the wear from her eyes. "What about the other mages?"

"They're either drained or reassigned to the counter-espionage op. Besides, we'd need fifty of them to do what you could alone!"

She takes in a deep breath to push out a disgusted sigh. "It has to be me, then?"

"Yes, ma’am. Don't you remember when you gave your instructions?"

Order looks to the side, immersed in thought for a moment. "Can't say I remember," she says. The officer pauses in front of his official and looks over her reddened face and short figure, carelessly slouched at her feet.

"...You're drunk, General?"

"I wouldn't say 'drunk' so much as 'under the effects of a’…” She sighs. “Yeah, whatever,” she says with a shrug.

"Ma’am, this is serious, they'll be here in minutes. They've already crossed the valley and they're on their way up!"

Order's quiet a moment before giving a nod in solemn acceptance. Someone has to do it, she’s sure—such is the weight of being the front’s commander and most valued archmagi simultaneously. She lifts herself up with shocking ease for someone that’s downed most of a fifth in an hour.

"Alright. I'll take care of this," she says before passing the guard and exiting the tent. Immediately she’s bitten by the star-white winds of the North, chilling her, but ineffective in causing her to shiver. The white-haired witch knight with millennia of age under her belt strides across the camp, sparing quick glances to the masses of terrified soldiers and magicians rushing about and forming ranks as they prepare for a hail of gunfire to come tearing into the camp. She moves past all of them to the rim of the front and looks down the steep, snow-clad hill towards the enemy camp about three kilometers down.

Away about a hundred meters and climbing up with steady determination are about four hundred Easterners, cozy in their long wool uniforms and Kevlar helmets, and ever-so confident with those strange, metallic "fire-arms" ready at their hips. The front rank of men spots Order, clothed in but a simple set of winter wear, and they call for the others to prepare the rifles in that peculiar military code of theirs. The Lord Knight General stares at the battalion of men struggling up the mountain for only a moment more, and then moves in to thwart them.

With the fluttering grace of a butterfly, she raises her hand, speaks a few sacred words, and then moves her finger across her vision of the men.

Suddenly, a squadron of innocent-looking snowballs forms on the edge of the hill and begins rolling down towards the enemy force. The orbs of white fluff gain size and weight as they tumble towards their targets, becoming formidable boulders of compacted drift in seconds. Order watches with an amused look as the small dots of brown down the hill scatter and retreat as the massive snow-boulders smash through their ranks. She then begins moving her hands as if shaping clay, all while speaking in a second arcane language. Just as the exhausted group of riflemen restart their assault, the boulders of snow form arms and legs and begin ramming into and toppling the soldiers as if they were blades of grass. The soldiers open fire on the titans of snow, each bullet hitting their mark, but not one slowing their targets. A single soldier aims high and shoots for her. To the soldier’s horror, the bullet stops mid-flight just a meter from her and drops innocently on the ground; but such would be expected of The White Witch Queen of the West: Lord Knight General Order, slayer of the ancient dragons and High Protector of the Realm, also a functional drunk.

She smacks her lips tiredly as she watches the men below, blasted away from the strength of the golems she had created. She really wishes she’d brought her blackwater with her, but duty comes first to everything else.

Only a minute passes of the Easterners battling the golems, and then the tide turns for good. The soldiers, some with broken limbs and concussions, run, limp, or are carried away back to their camp. Order nods, playing a victorious tune in her head as she severs the magical link between herself and the golems, reducing them to innocent piles of snow once more. Behind her, roughly three dozen soldiers and camp-folk cheer at the might of the second-in-command of the Royal Knights, an archmage hero known by all in the realm and revered by nearly as many.

She rises to her feet and starts back to camp to finish her beloved libation when her path is intercepted by a frazzled looking messenger. She takes some humor seeing that it’s the exact same man from just five minutes ago.

"Ma’am! The Lord Knight Captain wants you over on chat-stone!" the boy says, presenting Order with the large red crystal. Order nods, says "thanks," and then raises the gem to her lips.

"Daniel?" Order says into the rock, causing it to glow in response to her voice.

"Good to hear you," comes a voice from the magic stone, belonging to none other than the great and mighty Lord Knight Captain himself.

"What do you need?" Order asks.

"I have an urgent assignment that needs taking care of."

"…And here I thought I was supposed to keep the Easterners from adva-"

"Yes, and now you will be letting Generosity handle that."

She raises a slim, snow-white brow. "Alright… guess this has gotta be pretty damn important, then," Order says, her slurred speech ringing through the stone. Redemption is quiet a moment before responding.

"... Have you been drinking again?" Redemption asks.

Order pauses as she thinks of her response.

"Maybe."

"Dear, think of your image." His tone is concerned, but firm.

"What image?" she asks with a laugh.

"People get weirded out when they see a seven-thousand year old archmage drinking for kicks."

"And what's the problem with drinking for kicks?" She asks curtly.

The stone flashes with light as Redemption releases a sharp sigh from his end. "You... nevermind. Get back to HQ for your new assignment. It's something only you can do."

"If you say so."

"I do say so. Now get over here."

"Got it. I’m on my way," she says before the glow of the stone dies out, signifying the person on the other line has severed his mana-link to his shard of the gem.

Order returns the stone to the messenger and returns to the commander’s tent to find her dog, Parvo, has licked clean her glass of blackwater. She gathers her armor, a shining white mithril plate-suit enchanted to resist anything from a mere eastern bullet to a tower falling on her. She always gets a chuckle when people always ask her how she can see through the helmet visor if it’s just an uninterrupted plate of steel, as if The Western Kingdoms weren’t the most magically-advanced civilization in the omniverse, or something.

A few minutes later, she’s suited up and ready for whatever catastrophe Knight Redemption can throw at her. Finally, she grasps the dimensional sheath of her legendary sword, known as Monument by most who know it.

Her mind begins simmering on what possible mission Redemption could have for her as she pats Parvo goodbye, exits her tent, and makes her way to the summoning tent across camp.

Could it be Chaos? Maybe he's attacking a capital city... or maybe The Trench has burst open to declare war on the above-ground peoples. Have the old dragons returned, or the titans? she wonders, eager to know what cataclysm she'll face this time. Whatever it is, it must be a major threat to the Western Kingdoms if she was asked for personally.

She gets to the summoning tent, tells the magicians her destination, and waits a few minutes for them to compose the summoning circle leading to the Royal Knights Headquarters. Following is a complex ordeal involving chanting, arcane scripting, and lots and lots of nice-smelling candles. A portal tears right through the fabric of reality and Order steps in to traverse the distance of mountains and rivers in but a matter of seconds.