The metallic smell of blood... the ringing clash of steel on steel... the screams of pain and anger as the two sides fought viciously. A rock crashing to the ground, sending soldiers flying, it was a massacre ground, the area soaked with the blood of the fallen. The wind screamed, as though it felt the pain, and blasted throughout, and the vultures swooped overhead, waiting for the pickings of this brutal contest.
Etoile, her hand gripping Arslan's tightly as Narsus and Elam stood nearby, watched from a distance. Was this, this horror, this hatred and vengeance really what she'd fought for? No, she told herself. She'd fought for the glory of the Faith of Yaldabaoth. The sun glinting off the armor of the soldiers in the distance, her eyes squinted, a sickening feeling turning in her stomach. Turning to go, her own silver armor shown, a stark contrast to Elam's drab green, Narsus's lack of armor, and Arslan's golden armor. Letting go of Arslan's hand reluctantly, she turned to go, unable to watch this any longer.
The Siege of Ecbatana. The battle had been going on for over a year, as nothing could get past Prince Hilmes' defense. Every sneak attack they could think of had been tried, but the walls of Ecbatana stood strong, and the gates stood closed. They could never cut off Ecbatana completely, and Lusitania supported Hilmes with all their might, courtesy of King Guiscard. And with Sam, once known as the greatest Defender of the Marzbāns, the city of Ecbatana was unbreachable.
Arslan, his hand signaling Elam as his hair swung in the wind, turned to go as well, following Etoile silently. How it pained him to see this happening, to see his cousin to force this bloodshed without rest. Narsus turning to go as well, a serious look rested upon his face, one of thought and planning. Always planning, for Narsus was the master strategist among Arslan's retinue. And Elam, his cloak rushing out behind him, grabbed a nearby horse, catapulting on as he flew towards the skirmish, headed towards the Twin-Blade General, Kishward.