The drinks were cold, the foam rubbing against their upper lips, as they finished cheering over the soon finished war. Cheers, after the first chug, were loud, filling the cavern-turned bar, the candles that lit the dark chamber, flickering from the sheer amount of air being moved by the hearty, blackened skin, charcoal… Primitive weapons lay strew across the floor; crude tables littered with particular herbs, flowers and minerals.. The mixture, slithered in their guts, until roars of rage filled the cavern and none louder than it’s.. The one they worshipped, it’s chord boiling their blood into a fit of madness, as the wild men frantically grabbed their weapons and filed out in a brazen fury of induced madness, screaming their call of vengeance, as the horde piled out of the cave, mouths wide open, screaming, foam dripping from the corners, landing on each other and the ground, littered with footprints from the previous days.
Hearing their crazed call, the frontline yelled back “Incoming!” Few armor clad warriors, the remaining, left to the frontline. Watching the cloud of soldiers fall towards them, they readied their plated horses, rearing them, as the final charge began, wood arrows flying past them, thinning the wild men’s numbers, but only by a few, as the arrows did little to curb their rage, psychotic and entrancing.
Carried by the wind, the commander’s cape, crimson stain’s littering it’s green color, signaled a sense of pride among those who followed it; his plate helmet was different than the ones who followed him, bearing infusions of a magic long forgotten, to most of the people of the land.. But the cult he commanded, was not inherently a normal one, and neither were it’s members, him above all. Pounding the ground below, he instinctually guided his hand, to where, normally, he would have his weapon strapped to his belt, but today, he found nothing; the nerves, have a way of crafting the mind, the muscles.. The man, becomes what he does on the battlefield and he, now, wielded no weapon, even though the few that followed him, on their plated mounts behind, wielded spear, sword, axe, scythe and hammer.
Frenzied, the horde of warriors moved to engage, but were drawn further into their charge by the retreating horses, the leader, his green cape, taunted them with his presence, withdrawing further, but still leading the group, as his green cape now moved independently of the wind, the same wind that stirred the ageless dust of the canyon floor, stirring under the touch of painted charcoal feet and heavy terrain modified horse shoes; continually, the horses retreat, as the canyon passage widens into the surrounding field, where dead bodies lay among the battlefield, discarded.
It’s purpose renewed, the battlefield now housed the plated horses, as their leader readied the assault against the approaching force. Entering the battlefield, their frenzied rush began to decline and as it did, their now coherent and present bodies were blown back by a giant fireball, his steed unaffected by the arcane knowledge as it was projected into the world to cause chaos and destruction. Their charge slightly halted, some stragglers, lost in their chemical madness, charged first, as the knights mounted behind the wizard, charged forward and let their weapons be run across their bodies as the horses provided the force behind them, also trampling whatever remained.
Breaking their mounted ranks, a single berserker charged the mounted wizard, but was met by his long, green cape, which wrapped around the frenzied man’s ankle, guided by an unseen force, catapulting the man back towards the horde he came from, screaming as he flew overhead of the dazed approaching force, smashing into their ranks.
Unphased, the berserkers march now slowed drastically, clearly losing fuel in their mad charge. Still maintaining the most forward rank, the wizard yelled back to his disciples “Wait for the sign!.. We must draw the creature out!” The berserker clan now came to stumble, as they slowly came back to reality.