The emerald grass swayed, dancing as a cold wind howled through the day, plucking at the long green stalks as if they were the strings of a harp and the gale was the player's fingers.
Alpheo looked up at the sky. It was a cementing of cracked grey clouds, seemingly angry at the world below, choking out the sun and denying the men who were about to die a final glimpse of its light before darkness would take hold for many among them.
No rays broke through, no beauty, and certainly no blessing. If the sky offered anything this day, it would be rain to wash the blood into the mud for those foolish enough to shed blood against common man.
Across the great expand, the two armies extended like rival leviathans fighting for a sea of grass soon to be turned red. They stood one another down, the Black Falcon of Yarzat on one side going hoove to wing with the Bull of Kakunia, and on the other, the Golden Sun of Oizen, the only sun that would show its face this day.
