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Drake cried.

in his dream, swords clashed, men in armor hacked at an undead force twice their size, skeletons with eyes a sickly green, their weapons bathed in the blood of former victims. Commanded by soldiers riding empty suits of horse armor.

Strange flashes of light appeared in the hands of robed figures, took the appearance of fire, and destroyed huge swathes of both sides. In his dream there was blood, dust, and hatred.

But he did not cry because of this. Because of noble men falling at the hand of skeletons, living beyond the grave. He cried because of one warrior, who fought another, like two champions in an arena.

These two men embodied the hatred of the battle, fighting like

Just my two cents