From the Book of Foes:

“Early on the morning of the battle, the Dark Lord came to his great hall, and there with his queen he processed many Debbie cookies, and he dominated their creamy goodness.  And he bade his queen farewell, and he told her to arrange travel from the palace to the high, safe hill above the battlefield, for he desired her to see the work that he had to do, and he was confident that his chore would make her pleased and happy.  And with this, he boarded his black chariot and made his way to the Grand Barracks where his army finished its preparation.  And when he arrived, his squires brought him his rich robes of crimson and white, but he told them, ‘Put away these fine linens, and bring to me my finest armor.’  And his order bellowed throughout the barracks, and his strong words brought great hope to all the men that heard it.

At the same time, The Great Ears stirred nervously in his camp, made some three score away from the battlefield.  Impressive had been his record as a general, but successes of late were few, and though he would not admit it to any living soul his fear of the Dark Lord was palpable.  Even so, after he donned his robes of navy and orange he strode his people with an aire of bravado, and he raised his fingers to them to symbolize victories past, and even the victory to come.  But even as he did this, a knot formed in his very soul when he saw how few had travelled from the Cursed Lands to bid him success, and he wondered if this was a sign of doom to come.

The two armies marched towards the battlefield, and the day was as darkas the Great Saban’s affections towards his foe.  The heavens opened, and the mist poured down upon the Promised Lands and soaked the crimson garments of the Grand Army until their hue was as blood.  And it wet also the white of the enemy, and their garments clung to their armor such that the wise men said you could see the water pulse off their chests with every beat of their terror filled hearts.

And as the Grand Army Marched, three figures led the columns to the field where their destiny awaited.  As always, one of these was The Great, who stood as tall as two men and who looked to have the strength of ten warriors even when his armor was not yet donned.  Beside him was The Mountain;  three steeds he rode, and each steed wore braces of iron upon their legs to support his awesome girth.  Even with this, the steeds labored greatly, and each felt the pain of Atlas as they held what felt like the whole world on their broad shoulders.  Lastly there was the Dark Lord himself, and he rode in the utter front a steed whose coat was as black as the moonless midnight and who’s fiery eyes burned with fury absorbed from his most terrible rider.  For every battle fought hitherto, the Great Saban had commanded his men from the safety of the back lines with his advisors at his side.  Yet today he led from the front, as he desired his men see him lead the charge to ruin those who would seek to derail The Process.

And when the two armies had made their columns,  the Dark Lord addressed his troops.  ‘What we have done matters, but it doesn’t,’ he spake.  ‘Your accomplishments are great, but they aren’t.  They are significant, but they are insignificant.  They have brought you glory, but they bring you no glory now.  Battle is anew!  A new foe awaits!  Not one blow you have dealt in the past can strike down a foe relative to the battle which now lays before you.  Be not pleased and happy for what you have done; be pleased and happy that you can do it again.  Look not upon the things you have done with satisfaction; be not satistfied until you do them again.  This is your land, aight.  And for many generations of men has this foe defiled that land.  Too often have they come to this place expecting victory.  It is upon you to cause them now to expect annihilation.  War is at hand.  Falter today, and your past victories fade like a Debbie cookie on my breakfast table.  Weaken now, and memories of your past strength fails you.  Waver now, and expect no past victory to sustain you.  You dine at the table of destiny…now make them drink from the chalice of pain and the goblet of fear!’

And with this he unsheathed his fiery sword and thrust it at the waiting enemy.  And the men saw that as the rain poured down even at that moment, the Dark Lord’s armor was dry as the western deserts.  With him they could taste not the bitter flavor of defeat, and with a great yell they charged forward.  And those who had gathered on the high hills saw the charge, and their voices rang out as the booming thunder so that the only other sound the enemy could hear was the shrill tongue of their own impending doom.”

From the Book of the Process:

“For many years before the coming of the Great Saban, the Promised Lands were led by The Great General. His tactics were beyond reproach, and his people loved him greatly, and though many foes marched to meet him he bested them time and time again on the field of battle. And the faithful erected great structures in his honor, and they placed his name upon them, and with every victory their admiration of him grew. And during this time the reach of the Promised Lands spread across the entirety of the kingdom, and the Eastern Wastelands were utterly dominated.  But as the seasons passed into memory, and the sun rose and set over many generations, the Great General grew tired.  And one day, he told his followers, ‘The time has come for me to make a journey…the greatest of journeys.  But know that I shall love you always, and look over you always, and know that one day I will bring to you another great general who shares my virtues, and when he arrives, you shall rejoice at his coming.’

And after the departure of the Great General, many lieutenants of his army clashed for control of the forces, and factions formed, and the Promised Lands were plunged into a joyless void.  The cursed people of the Eastern Wastelands sensed this, and they moved upon parts of the Kingdom long held by the Promised Lands, and little by little those lands were taken, and the influence of the Promised Lands lessened, and the legends of their splendor faded into memory.  Even after the Great Saban came, so great were the holdings of the Eastern Wastelands that many of the cursed people were heard to say, ‘Too late did the Dark Lord come; forever shall be our reign over this kingdom.’

But in the first year of the rising of the Grand Army, the Dark Lord sensed the stench of the Cursed Army approaching his lands.  He knew that they had heard of his victories, and he knew that they came to extinguish his bid to retake all the land.  ‘They know our power grows,’ he told his advisors.  ‘They move to stop the flood, as when The Mountain lies sideways in the Black River.’

And as the Cursed Army approached, the people of the Promised Lands grew hesitant.  Although their victories of late had been great, the memories of the dominance of the Cursed Army seeped into their minds, and some lost heart when the black clouds that preceeded the Great Ears’s coming rolled across the skies.  And on the eve of the battle, the Dark Lord looked out upon the battlefield, and the rain poured down across his hat’s great brim, and he spake, ‘Here shall lie the fate of my empire.  Tomorrow, here shall I make my stand.’”

From the Book of the Process:

“When the army from the near west marched to the Promised Lands, the sun left the sky and with it left all the friendly heat from its face. And the Great Saban looked at the starless sky, and told his advisors, ‘With the sun goes their hope.’

The foes of Saban took their lines, the their leader told them, ‘Long ago, I stood on this field and I slew many enemies. You have trusted me before, and trust me now…I know the weakness of these people. One they wronged me, and I shall forever have my revenge.’ A spy heard this, and he reported what he heard to Saban, who said, ‘Faith, aight. They have faith. But I am the cold dirt where the faith of my foes bleeds from their every orifice and leaves them.’

The battle was much anticipated, but it was over before it began. Time and time again the western army attacked, and but their force was as weak as the weakest straw in the Dark Lord’s mighty hat. The Grand Army dismantled their foes, and when all was over even the least of every soldier had the stains of victory on his helm. And after the battle, the opposing leader was captured, and the Dark Lord came to him, and he urinated on him, and then he spat on him, and then he urinated on him once again, and said, ‘Leave us, traitor. We have greater mountains to cross. I shall deal with you in my own way when many moons have passed. A year from today, look to the east. From there shall your doom ride.’ And the traitor thanked the Dark Lord, and he helplessly straightened his hat and left in despair.”