[@BlueHelix][@Reallydumb]
[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/aExv3Zs.png[/img][/center]
[h1][center]In The Woods, Southern Moor[/center][/h1]

Too long had he been idle, too long had he waited before returning to his battle. His eternal war with that man would never end, and every moment of peace was simply a break for him.

His emissary had not been successful, simply being plundered himself into the fuel of the enemy. Yet he was a man who was not like the many heroes of this war. He was one who was surrounded by defeat, who knew many failures and retreats. Such a small loss would not bother him, for he was the ruler who like a bird of fire rose again and again. Like a weed he propagated and withstood. He was a wall who defined himself in opposition to other great legends.

Yet his awaited foe did not come. The man called the Great did not come. He did not come he did not come he did not come. No matter where he waited, no matter how he awaited his arrival to the place that held a great bounty (fallen leyline) no matter how he waited by the ocean he did not come he did not come he did not come. Why was he not here, why did he not come with his unquenchable desire and greed?

The power of the empire was like the fuel for a legend that burned bright enough to cast its flame into the future as a great beacon to light the path. An anchor that helped to define human history.

He struggled against the man that could not be denied in his quest for the end of the world. Even the Persian Empire falling before him and claimed and repainted as his.

A failure, a terrible failure built upon the countless losses.

He had done his role diligently, but now he walked out as the conquerer. If that man would not come then he would lash out and search for him. So the army marched. A manifested army of the dead, or rather the undying marched. Their sights set for that moor, that marsh of the Rider who was the lord who defended his land.

He did not know of that servant, nor of his history. But in a sense there were similarities in their nature. 


Riding upon a great elephant, accompanied by his vast legion. With a need to wage war verging on the need of madness, he descended into the moor, trampling a gouged path into the land with the arms of the Persian Emperor.

Iskander!

Oh Iskander!

Where are you?