Crack! The two armies rushed like the tides into the valley. From the rim, archers shot anyone who wore a color not their own. A roar rose from the mass as the melee was met. Warriors belted out their battle cries. The battle was quick-paced, and both sides fought hard for dominance. Even with archers on either side, it took several minutes for the first dead to fall.
Steel clashed freely against more steel, and shouts of pain and rage replaced the battle cries. The cacophony threatened to drive the mounted watcher to join. Her gloved fingers clenched the reins, and she stared down. Her mail was pristine– each link agonizingly scoured hours ago. The tabard over top was pristine, with neither device nor border. She took a deep breath through chapped lips, then drove her horse to a run as she spotted a shift in the flow of battle. She rode not toward the melee, but instead to a baggage train.
My Name Applies 