“Far in the North dwelt a haggard old general, once renown for his great prowess in battle.  Like so many others, he had forsook his own men for an army of mercenaries, and never again did he regain his former splendor.  Rich was his name, but poor were his coffers of victory.

Word reached this grizzled general that spoke of a rising power to the south.  ‘The Dark Lord returns!’ the messengers cried.  ‘If he is not stopped, surely he shall cover these lands with his shadow!’  The general knew that his men were not ready, and he knew that chances were slim, but he said, ‘I shall take this challenge.  No army of Black could defeat him, but my army clad all in blue shall show the world that his greatness is still but legend!’  And with this, he set off on a long journey.

Through many hardships he toiled, until he came at last to a decrepit tent on the outskirts of a once great city.  The great temple there was collapsed, and only sparks jumped from where once great torches had blazed.  ‘Rupp help me!” he cried.  ‘This is the city of the Athenian Hound!’  And he grew very afraid, and he ran into the tent for shelter.  Therein lie a shell of a man.  Hollow were his cheeks, but golden brown was his skin.  ‘Great General,’ sighed the man, knowingly, ‘I know why you have come hither.  You seek to question me about my past battle with the Dark Lord.  You wish to know how to climb The Mountain and claim victory at its peak.  You seek to make the Great Youth look like a mere child.  But hear me now, O Great General of the North, greater than you have tried, and greater than you have fallen, for even Saints bow to him in the end.’

And with this, the general retreated back into the cold night, and he began his journey home, and he vowed never to tell his men what he had heard.”