[Potatoman]

The evil green light of the funeral pyre burned late into the night, consuming the bodies of the fallen with a lively crackling and occaisonal racuous hiss that belied the somber atmosphere of its keepers.
Around the fire sat eight warrior ghosts of Shinuyama, great heroes side-by-side with fearsome villians, silently tending the bane pyre in honor of their fallen comrades. Body after body went into the fire; dai bakemono, bakemono sho, ghoul, human, wight, vine ogre, elephant, amazon, even the husks of the possessed warriors of Ermor were given to the flames. And as the pyre cheerfully accepted each offering, the ghostly attendants began to chant the stories of the dead in their low, chill voices. Scribes were ready; the stories of the dead are sacred in Shinuyama, and those of exceptional power or emotion are etched into the side of the mountain itself with letters of gold, to be remimbered and storied forever.
Story after story was chanted by the ghosts, and the scribes began to run out of skins for writing upon, so enormous was the number of dead and the number of chants. But the sorcerors conjured new writing skins made of fire and the scribes writ upon them with dashes of water and puffs of steam, and so no chant was lost.
Slowly, over the course of many stories, an accounting of the battle took shape.
Shinuyama had marched down upon the border of Ermor from their mountain domain, hundreds strong and augmented by a strange legion of strange magical, mechanical, and monstrous creatures. They were confronted at Ermor's northern stronghold by a well-organized throng of Ermor's sacred shadows, amazons, and no less than 20 of Ermor's feared dark wizards. The battle that followed was intense, bloody, and dominated by fearsome magics. In the end, however, Shinuyama's power was crushed against the shield of Ermor and they were left to regroup atop a nearby mountain. Few of the Shinuyaman troops were truly effective against Ermor's Shadows, especially protected by their conjured storm and magical darkness, and it did not take much to break their morale and cut them down as they ran.
Indeed, the only fighters who seemed capable of stopping the Shadows were the warrior ghosts themselves, such few that were summoned to fight.

Eventually, the chanting grew soft and died. For a moment, only the scrabbling of pens against rough paper was heard as the scribes recorded the last song, and then the congregation began to depart. There would be a lot of marching in the morning.