The armies march. The drums beat. The hooves crack against the ground. Another army on the other side of the field of Armageddon is hearing the same. They stop a distance from each other, awaiting the commands of their generals.
Two shouts from either side call out, and the armies charge. Their clash in the middle sending many to their deaths. But the battle is far from over. Rains of Arrows and spears send a cacophony of death down to both sides. The generals continue cheering their men, while taking a stance at the rear. The calvary of one overtakes the other, and the battle is now decided. The losing team fight to their last breaths, as they are struck down by who used to be their bretheren. At last the losing general is brought to his knees with a sword at his throat. With his last breath he utters the words, "To die of my kin's sword is a greater shame than what our forefathers did to our land. Kill me knowing that our honors have been sullied beyond repair." His brother nodded, and a small splatter of blood and a breeze were all that remained of the One Who Lost.