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.”