Battle lines have been drawn in the sand, sides chosen and generals followed. Tactics formulated, traps laid and distractions planned. The hour of attack draws ever nearer as the enemy cowers in her putrid bastion of filth. Scouts have been sent out to check the lay of the land to report back on additional fortifications and any overlooked remnants of faded glory, past battles fought but lost.

Flags flutter above the command tent as the highborn consult their latest stratagem and question the likelihood of cowardly sneak attack while the camp lies abed. The clamour of steel alerts the watch to the approach of many a spineless foe, for to strike while the men dream of home is a cravens trick. One easily countered; as in the still of the night the cry to arms is heard reverberating across the still, eerie moors and out of their slumber the knights awake, dressed for battle with weapons bared as the officers are no mere recruits.

The vile miscreants storm the palisade issuing forth dire threats based upon unfounded martial prowess. The stoic defenders maintain a steadfast courage that causes the witless savages no pause, all the brains sinking into their throbbing muscles. Shields razed along the parapets to withstand the sudden storm of arrows are definitely tossed aside once their purpose has been served, now the whoresons assail the walls!

In a flood they clamber and crawl the heights, greedy for blood. Wordless grunts spew from their accursed mouth causing nothing but amusement, for the defenders are seasoned veterans, storied heroes one and all. Blades tear through skin and sinew alike causing terror in the fiends ranks, gore and viscera paint both combatants a crimson hue as the defenders whittle down their foes numbers. One by one they topple till only a few remain, predictably they turn tail and flee. However the garrisons officer is not so forgiving as the gates open wide and detachment of mounted warriors sally forth to crush the retreating vermin.

The enemies gambit has failed, leaving her defenceless accept for a few remaining slovenly troops and court jesters. The council plot their next course of action, they could use reason, a peace treaty or accord but all know the enthroned witch will snort disrespectfully at such a magnanimous offer and besides she has all the honour of snake. To leave such a foe still breathing is folly that all present can agree upon, thus the die is cast.

As the harpy’s hovel is sighted a clamour rises from the ranks, the structure is unguarded. Not a soul to be seen, all  is quiet as the vanguard enter the den of iniquity…

To be continued.


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