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The Red Duke’s steed charged down the plains as he lifted his sword up high. As the creature’s lance was still impaled into the stomach of the fallen Satharifax, he was forced to use a much lesser weapon for the charge to bring down Lucian. It was in effect, to the advantage of Lucian, for like many times before the Knight had the advantage in reach.
Across from him the battle between the Green Knight and the Black Grail Knights could be seen. Each of them trying their damndest to bring to death a legendary hero of epocs past. Outnumbered, the Green Knight still kept fighting against the epic heroes of death who were together an equal to the Spirit of Bretonnia.
Here Lucian stood, his Scythe raised into the air, with the fate of Bretonnia in his one working hand. Whether or not the strike would land was a deciding factor to whether Bretonnia would gain a grievous scar or if death was upon them all.
Fifty, thirty, twenty. These were the yards crossed by the Duke as he brought his steed into full gallop against Lucian. His sword poised for a strike at the Knight’s heart, it would prove to pierce both the Knight’s armor and heart. It was in a sense a gamble but the Vampire knew that in the end he had the advantage against a wounded knight, Grail Knight or not.
As the final yards came, Lucian could see the blood red eyes of the vampire. As his weapon came about with the aim towards the neck of the Vampire who caused so many problems for Bretonnia as the bringer of vampirism, the Ravens in the sky parted.
As if carried by rays of light were a group of Knights on white steeds. Each of these pegasus were of pristine condition that they were but bringers of light. Within almost all of their hands were Lances that were the length of their steeds decorated with blue and gold. One of them even carried within his hand a banner of Bordeleaux to which all of them hailed.
At the front of them was however one who renounced the Lance. Within his hands was not the pristine Lance of a Realm Knight but a sword. As the sword glowed a sinister blue in the light of Shysh, the Knight wielding it did not waiver as he brought the Lance of the Sky down upon he who abhorred light.
El Syf was witness and had twisted his body to witness it. Surprise written upon his face as the Ravens of Morr had hidden from him and Nagash the final deathstroke. As Lucian stood there acting as the Shield of Bretonnia its Lance was brought down upon the fool who challenged it.
Like an Orc Warboss, the Scythe of Lucian wrapped around the Red Duke’s neck and began cutting it as the Sword of Gillot pierced his undead heart. The weight of the Pegasus and Knight drove the scythe though the undead’s neck just as the scythe kept the vampire still enough that the magical sword went through his armor.
El Syf, killer of his brother Duke Louis the Just of Aquitaine, died under a sky of Ravens.
