As he marches out of the fortress, with his silver armor severely damaged and his King's severed head in his hand, he raises it up as he says, "Behold, your Lord is dead!"
As he throws it in the battlefield, riddled with corpses, the Dark Elves cheer as the Kings men grieve as they pick his head up.
"Vile traitor!", they yell as they charge at him. He draws his blade as he sips from his healing flask as he stands there waiting for them. He cleaves through the crowd, with their blood splattering all over his body, completely drenching his cape.
As the last man struggles to stand, the man stomps on his skull, splattering his brains on the ground. His dark brown hair now drenched in blood as the elves bow to him as their new king.
"I am not fit for the position of a ruler, for I lack leadership. Instead, allow the mistress to take hold, for she is the one who has lead all of you".
"Agreed", says the Mistress as she walks to him. "We thank you for finally setting us free from the order of Lord Genor, Roman. Allow the dwarves to repair thine armor and blade as we tend to thine wounds"
"And my brother?", "We shall tend to the wounds of your comrades as well, now let them take you to the infirmary"