It is early morning. The fog hangs over the field. The silence broken only by birdsong and the occasional crow's cry. In the fields below the castle, Queen Kenna, the true queen and rightful heir to the throne, stands with her army preparing for the final assault. She knows they don't have enough people, and there was no word from her childhood friend who had gone to try and garner support from a neighbouring kingdom/army. She know it's a battle they cannot win without costly losses, yet stands ready to try anyway. Then, just as all hope of help is lost and the battle is to begin, from the hills behind, through the fog, the sound of bagpipes, followed by drums. As it looms nearer, over the brow of the hill appears the one who had gone for help, front and centre, blasting on the pipes, with more pipes and drummers behind him, and behind that what appears to be an entire legion of soldiers, armed and armoured and ready to fight. At the 11th hour, help has arrived. The help moves