A span of moments only had vanished buried twixt the disquiet of shadows dancing and energies thwarting natures oblivious cares. A span of moments that in the heat of battle may well of been years, but to his advantage he remained on the feral nightmare that was his steed and while he had been absent, the accumulated body parts around indicated, that it had devoted tooth and claw to the desecration of anyone foolish enough to get near. Senses snapping to alert almost audibly, eyes scanning the field noticing that in his absence things had moved briskly, fingers dancing sending tendril of shadow into the ground to detect and advise of what had transpired.
A snort as nostrils flared, pondering for a moment what had so overloaded his senses, then sniffing more deeply, the richness of shades ambience in what Atra'Lamia had conjured, perhaps had taken him into the nulled zone that existed twixt shade and light... Something to break down after the drums had stopped. For now snap decisions had to be made. Gestures to aides getting forces moving to support those of Atra, screams, blood filling the air in sanguineous haze knowledge returning from tendrils indication Belgorion for now had left the battlefield and the Sword of Ayenee was in Atra'Lamia's hands. Others had come, beings of legend in war, Malice, Ulyssiask and one whom he paused in recognition, was that the Overlord himself on the field... A rare day indeed this one... But his focus was on the battle for these could take care of themselves.
Hands rising in ancient gesture, not bothering with drawing a sword from shadows edge, considering the ecstasy of penumbra flowing like virgins tears across the ambience instead hands stretching apart a heavy war bow and a quarrel of slender shade formed arrows. Grabbing an arrow and in single motion, drawing bow arrow twisting in heavy fingers to lay in alignment with targets. Releasing the arrow and in single motion gathering another redrawing, firing again, and again. Targeting not the person as such, but the dark obsidian twists of shade would pierce their shadows, rupturing them, tearing them from their physique and mortality.
Mortals didn't realise the shadow had weight and influence on their person, well they didn't until their shadows died , suddenly they found their throats closing in terror, their hearts spiralling in rhythmic cacophonous insanity until they burst. It would have a differing effect on those whom wielded potence, but to mortals it was a brutal death. On those of power if unnoticed it may cause harm eventually, but usually simply pinned their shade in place. Of course if they cast no shadow, then it was rather a pointless exercise in futility.
Then he heard the battle call, the portentous words raised above the din of doomed souls eradication "Men of Ayenee, reap the slaughterous harvest sown...may your blades drink deep" in the tones that had commanded spirits, souls, death and doom throughout time, and with a flip of his wrist, the bow would vanish replaced by a sword of ancient shadows blending and raising the weapon in salute to Atra'Lamia he would leap from his steed and dive forth into the melee, voice raised in tumultuous roar "FOR AYENEE" . Later when the arena was cleared he would concern himself with what had drawn this contention, for now, he danced with blade swinging, his steed off to the side, rending enemies limb to limb as he sliced and diced his way through those foolish enough to perform the Dance Macabre with a Shadowlord whom was angered.
((OOC Note -It's late and I am not 100% satisfied, but it got him back in the scene))