They ride into the valley on horses from a distant land, the warriors hold on the crest of a hill. Black clouds hang grim in this dark density of aggression, the rain falls from the death like sky above them. The war horns are sounded they charge forth.
Their enemy waits stood still like stone tyrants, with swords & shields. The first strikes are made, in the blackness of harsh aggression. Swords clash the roar of battle, as the warriors grip on its enemy tightens. Blood flows like a sea of misery, in the valley as the battle goes on dissecting their foe, which has plagued the warriors for aeons.
The aftermath of warfare leaves blood strewn carcasses they are triumphant, the mountains are silent witnesses to this battle. They look on in silence knowing the warriors have risen above their torment, and can rein their lands evermore.
