The Wayward Knight, supplies drained and resolve tempered, draws her Crusade to a close. A sword shines in the otherworldly night, re-opening the Black King's wound suffered at the White King's hand. The Wayward Knight's piece rolls off the table.
Godspeed, dear Knight. It seems your friends have begun organizing under your name. I suppose it's true--people shall always band together under times of adversity, even if it's from shared grief.