A grim sky, dark and with grey clouds billowing in the distance.
Rain poured down onto a large, empty plain covered in dull, lifeless grass and surrounded by hills. Suddenly, the rumbling sound of footsteps echoed, and thousands, tens of thousands, marched towards the short. A large port, filled with hundreds of ships created of bone and weathered wood.
Anduil, with his dull purple eyes, sat atop a carriage pulled by undead horses.
His face was pale, yet the anger from defeat was fresh in his mind. He watched as a figure stood on top of a hill overlooking his army. He felt the power this one radiated even as he looked upon him. Asura's silver eyes pierced him as the wind blew his pale, silver-white hair to the side, revealing long, pointed ears that revealed his elven blood.
"It seems that the main forces have failed to destroy that accursed glade!" An undead spoke in a slurred and stuttering voice.
