(I can imagine this an event that actually took place, or possible an invented piece, or maybe an allegory. Whatever, I thought I’d type this up for your amusement.)
…Centuries ago, in the early years of the Empire, a dread creature broke its bonds in the tangled groves of Varushka, and strode forth to wreak havoc upon the land. Some called it the Rotting King, and others the Master of Decay, but it was most commonly known as the Maggot Lord. And all that was dead and rotting answered it’s call, and swept across the vales and the forests, until the brave Boyars of Varushka, led by their Egregore, brought the Rotting Host to battle in a briar-choked valley in Karov.
Battle was joined at dusk, and the spears of Varushka ran with ichor and bile and dread fluids. And the crude blades and claws of the Rotting Host ran red with the blood of brave men and women. But the Varushkans held, hour after hour, though their lines thinned and their wounded grew in number. And the moon set and the night grew dark, and the Varushkans held their lines, singing their long grim songs and clutching their blades in tired hands.
And then a golden glow was seen on the horizon, and the Varushkans lifted their flags in salute, and cheered with hoarse voices.
And the Maggot Lord stepped forth and sneered at those who still stood in defiance of them, and in a harsh and fluid-filled voice, he spat at them, “Why do you cheer, men who will die? Do you think that the day will bring you respite? My hosts will fight beneath the sun as well as in the shadows…”
And the Egregore of Varushka bounded forth from the lines of her people, and waved a well-used axe at the Maggot Lord, and replied, “You know not who you fight, and you will fall this day. Dawn has come.”
“No, as I just said, I don’t care about the sunrise. You’re all going to rot.”
And the Varushkans laughed and cheered once more, and their Egregore laughed longest, and waved her axe at the light cresting the hills. “You fool. You poor deluded ancient ghost. That is the southern horizon! And Dawn has come!”
And on the hills above the rotting host, the golden glow revealed itself as the Egregore of Dawn, arrayed in armour that shone like the sun, and around him the Lords and Knights of Dawn swept down towards the Maggot Lord (1).
And as their shining ranks descended through the dead things, the Varushkan Egregore turned to her tired countrymen, and spoke again. “Sisters! Brothers! I regret the bargain I have made this day. But our opponent is mighty, and fearsome, and slaying him would be a great deed. And so we must make a sacrifice. Else the Dawnish will throw a mighty tantrum.” (2)
And she waved her axe once more at the Dawnish Egregore, and called in a piercing voice, “The big one’s all yours!”
And the Maggot Lord fell beneath a pile of Knights Errant, and the Varushkans, having had a busy night, rested on their spears and watched the Dawnish finish up. And that day was a day of victory for both nations, and the heroes of that battle got very, very drunk. (3)
(1) Some versions of this tale have the Dawnish battle cry as “Dibs on the big ugly one!”
(2) The line “And there came a mighty snickering from the Varushkan lines” was apparently removed
(3) The interesting things they did while drunk, and the quest for something to clean maggot zombies off chainmail, are another story.