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At long last all the planning, the blood, the sleepless nights waiting for an assassin's blade have all come to an end. You survey the battlefield below you as your mount snorts restlessly. The legions behind you rattle spear and sword to shield and roar your name like a priest chanting a bloody prayer to a dark god. As thunder cracks the blackened sky you give the order; surging down the incline at breakneck speed. laughing you go into the clash, none reaching the foe before you as if the thunderer himself has possessed you. All becomes noise and violence. The screams of men both dying and victorious. The scent of steel, blood, and shit from the dead and dying. They have no chance as your second legion encircles the foe's rear and blackens the sun with arrows. The reign of terror and iron has come to an end. You place the crown still warm from the severed head of your tormentor upon your sweat and dirt caked brow. Let the reign of blood begin.