The Great War of Iskaris was winding down everywhere except the east.
Dwarven soldiers knelt in long rows with their hands behind their heads while blue-skinned Elites walked the lines collecting steel.
The last of the councilwomen's guards were being pried out of their shield circles by the same elves their mistresses had marched here.
The Covenant's horde had it worst.
With Vozen's binding gem shattered and the Drowned King's skull split from crown to chin, every construct the two dead lords had raised lost the will steering it, and hundreds of thousands of corpses went feral in the same breath, stripped of orders and turned loose as wild monsters that lunged at anything living, kneeling dwarf and surrendered samurai alike.
The response was less a battle than pest control.
