Welcome to the Eclipse of Noal
Ironic Bliss
A large flank of soldiers dawn the horizon beyond the valley. Carrying spears with the design of a feather's pointed, metal axis upon the top end of each pole, they squint through the sun's enigmatic rays. The group calls themselves the Dao Bin Strata. Across them through this destert plain, another group awaits abroad the expanse. The Dhm. Though not as vast and outnumbering, the Dhm nonetheless hold their stance through glaring temples of ice and situate themselves erect with bodies tense. Where the Dao Bin Strata number by billions, carry spears, and laugh amongst each other in a low state of earnest...the Dhm are only twelve, lack weapons, and talk not. To each party, the other seems as a ghostly apparition through the sun's white rays. A mirage. This is off given the Dao Bin Strata is in a deeraskin attire differentiating from the Dhm's one-piece, black suit.
Dao Bin Strata's General, standing within the front of her chorus, takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Raising the spear over her head and into the air, she speaks in a tone that would confuse most as somewhat of a more personal order. "Let's get this over with."
A Doppler Effect rises in tune to the General's words by the flooding pound of the Dao Bin Strata's bare feet through the desert sands onward to take on an unworthy opponent. Battle cries. From out of the uproar and fury, a monstrous sand storm grows from the commotion. When the storm finally transpires, no one is left standing...no one except the Dhm. The twelve take off their masks in unison so as to stare up into the sun and hold their gaze. Smiling.
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