Polaris' Day, July 19, 1268 A.R.

The forest watched in horrified silence as the two warbands clashed together up on the road that was quickly being washed of it's spilled blood under the torrential downpour. Lightning momentarily scraped away the eager darkness exposing an orchestra of swords, spears and shields clanging together in a cacophony of determined hatred that was played against the melody of the fearful screams and cries of the agonized dying soldiers. Riderless horses dashed away whilst carrion birds hurried towards the meal being laid out with each thrust of a spear or slash of a sword.

Maceol was fighting near the heart of the nightmarish skirmish when the enemy began to retreat in full rout, rushing over the bodies of the fallen and forsaking the pleas of the wounded. Maceol stumbled, feeling the deep wound in his left thigh for the first time. Looking out from the mud through dimming eyes, he perceived the trampled banner of the enemy. The black hood of Shadow, inset in bronze flame peered outwards from the banner with invisible eyes. That hood haunted Maceol's nightmares night after night, scouring his mind with hidden eyes and burning his soul in bronze flame; forcing him to recall the cries of the shattered hearts of parents who lost their children, the tales of the broken spirits of rescued prisoners, the fearful denials of the dying, the burning villages, the burning bodies, the burning souls?

The lightning flashed, once more illuminating the watchful banner before all sank into darkness.