He stood on top of the mountain, looking down at the army amassed before him. They stood there, gathered in what seemed to be a battle formation. To him they were a herd of carrion. A smile formed across his lips, revealing the sharp teeth and elongated fangs that defined his race. Behind him a legion of his bloodline, waited barely moving, patient and silently awaiting his command. Their collective thirst just waiting to be unleashed upon that feeble frightened army below….
Raziel took one last look out over the valley below, turned back to his clan and signaled for the attack. He would waste no time, would delay no further the imminant destruction of this pathectic excuse of an uprising. He looked to his far right and saw Melchiah, the lowest-born of his brethren but a general in Kain’s army nontheless and gave a nod to signal the advancement of his clan as well.
What ensued was to be expected. A total rout of the forces gathered against Kain’s undead army and yet another waste of precious human bodies.