The great tales and epics never talked about it. They spoke only of the way the sunlight gleamed off the spearheads or of the songs sang from the mouths of thousands of men. The tales never spoke about the deafening sound of twenty thousand boots clashing against stone in nothing even close to resembling rhythmic. Each series of clanks was accompanied by the weak quake that rippled throughout the ground for there was nothing poetic about an army of ten thousand on the march. And the stench. The stench of men sweating under the hot sun baking in their armor was almost unbearable.
If Toran tried to listen, he would be able to make out the constant grumble and stream of voices that filled the air, but he would not be able to make out what was being said due to the raw amount of voices speaking. It was something the peasantry and maggots of the nation never understood. Soldiers were not machines. Many of them were simple men who joined the army to feed their families; they had no desire to kill not even in beloved Bandrial's name. They just wanted to go home and see their families once again, and while that might make them more 'human', it also made them weak, and Toran had no time for weakness.
Of course, there were the other soldiers. Ex-mercenaries who looted corpses before they had a chance to grow cold, convicts who were offered a choice between losing their hand, or even their lives, or to sign up with the military, and finally there was the degenerates. Those who joined the war to fulfill their own particular taste, but the majority were simple men. Fathers and sons. Brothers and uncles. Perhaps that was the great trick of it all. In order to kill them, the one wielding the blade had to imagine them as nothing more then servants of darkness or evil because it was easier for their feeble minds. They were not burdened with glorious purpose as he was. Yes, it was a fact Toran had confirmed long ago, soldiers were weak and expendable. They always spoke of dying for their families, for their nation, and for their queen, yet so few of them ever spoke of killing for those which Toran always found humorous. The point of their pathetic existence was to allow the other fools to die for their nation not to throw their own lives away when they could be put to better use elsewhere.
"Something on your mind?" A gravely voice cut in, and Toran turned his helm to his riding companion, High General Voland. Bendrial spoke too highly of him for Toran's taste, but the older man was a veteran commander of numerous wars. He was wearing bright ornate silver plate armor with his helm tucked under his arm. The helm was one that always amused Toran for it had a great rainbow-colored feather attached to the left side of the great helm which, for the life of him, he was never able to imagine it's purpose. The elder man was perched on top of an equally ornate armored warhorse with long blue tabards hanging from it's flanks to further remind everyone of just who was with them. The grizzled warrior had short gray hair that came a quarter inch above his pale head before straightening out into a flat plateau. His eyes were a dull gray that were home to various wrinkles that gave him the appearance of a rag that had been left out to dry in the sun for too long. He had a neatly trimmed goatee surrounding his mouth which Toran noted he liked to stroke when in deep thought.
"Nothing of importance." Toran answered his voice sounding distinctly metallic due to his own abyssal black helm. The High General was not at trusting man, and Toran understood that. The world was filled with heretics and traitors, but Toran also knew the man distrusted him. The Goddess only sent him when it was important... be it to ensure those she wants dead are dead or to intimidate those who were harboring thoughts of betrayal. The sight of the black knight of Bandrial, her Champion, also known as her lap dog or hound, was always an ill omen.
Toran ignored the generals snicker in favor of examining the rest of the army from his position at the head of the host. From his memory, there was six thousand foot soldiers, one thousand heavy infantry, one thousand heavy cavalry which included various 'knights' who were usually just lazy sons of noblemen given fine armor and weapons who hid behind their hired bodyguards, and two thousand archers. It was a small army given the vast hordes that She commanded, but it was more then enough to sack a city.
The army looked like a great snake coiling along the road. The heavy infantry took up the rear with the archers between them and the foot soldiers. The cavalry were divided up on the flanks in a long marching line of five hundred each. A standard marching column, although Toran reminded himself that there was slightly less then ten thousand as General Voland had insisted on sending a small party ahead to demand that the city hand over all of its children despite Bandrial's order to sack it. The general reasoned that all Her Glory wanted was the children, and there was no real reason to sack the city and destroy 'faithful' citizens of the kingdom, but Toran called it weakness, but he was unable to do anything about it. While Toran was outside the chain of command and followed only the orders of Her, the army obeyed the command of the general, and not even he could slay ten thousand men.
But the group should have reported back hours ago. Toran had already guessed that they had been executed, and the city used the time to fortify themselves. According to the Secret Police, the Duke of the city had a child born last night, and so it was doubtful they would have surrendered. Nobility were amusing like that believing that they were above Bandrial's Divine Law or that it only affected those lower then them, and he took great pleasure in reminding them how pathetic and feeble they truly were.
Toran was torn from his thoughts as something broke the horizon. A nice, and welcomed, change from the never ending sea of grass and prairie. As they neared Toran was able to make out the walls, but even from here he was able to see that the gates were closed. Yes, it seemed this was going to be a siege, but they did not have time to waste starving them out. Toran glanced over to the general who was frowning, it seemed he had come to the same conclusion.
"Lieutenant." The General said and sure enough a fresh faced youth, no doubt owing his position to his families connections, "Tell the men to prepare a siege camp and get to work on a ram and ladders. We must prepare."
Toran took one last look at the wall and smiled with pleasure that his assumption was correct. There were pikes with heads upon them, heads that were eerily familiar to the small party sent ahead to parlay with the traitors hours earlier.
Four hours later
Nothing quite said chaos like thousands of men running around and building, and very few things matched the amount of noise. At least the noise was varied from clanking metal, to pounding hammers, the sound of saws tearing through wood, and finally to the sound of men uttering and cursing every foul word known to mankind, and even a few new ones. Still, the chaos worked as in the four hours after they set up the siege camp they had numerous siege ladders and a battling ram. They were working on constructing a trebuchet should the assault over the walls failed, but they wouldn't because Toran was going to personally ensure the fight was short and very, very bloody.
Toran turned his head to his left and right looking up and down the long lines of soldiers for he was at the front of the army ready to burn and pillage the entire city in the glorious name of Bandrial. Two thousand, if Toran remembered correctly, that was what made up the 'first' wave, but Toran would ensure it was the only wave needed. The men around him were starting to move from foot to foot as they whispered to one another because even Toran understood that this was the worst part. The silence before the storm. Toran took a deep breath and sent a prayer up to Bandrial even though he was sure she was far too busy with other, more important, tasks to bother listening to his pathetic mewling.
A loud horn shattered the silence, and Toran drew his blade, "Khadon." He said as the blade ignited scaring the nearby soldiers, "Advance! For Bandrial! For the Queen!" He shouted, his voice coming out distinctively metallic due to his helm and as one the infantry advanced. Shields raised and swords at the ready as they protected those who bore the ladders with their lives for without those ladders; they would all die a gruesome death at the base of the walls.
"Goddess, gaze upon me in my moment of glory." Toran said, his voice deep and booming as he began his chant as he advanced. It was a dangerous part of battle. If someone tripped they would be trampled on. If someone fell wounded, they would be trampled on. "Gaze upon your servant as he prepares for you a feast of flesh and bone."
Large specks shot over the wall getting larger as they neared until finally they crashed into the lines of soldiers with a loud crash, crunch, and a nice sprinkling of screams. Sometimes they would smash and roll sending men flying in random directions, but the men marched on trampling the soldiers who were lying wounded on the field because to stop was to die.
"My faith is my shield for none may stand before the Goddess and her wroth." Toran said chanting despite the sudden unpleasant feel of an arrow whizzing by his head and striking the man behind him who stumbled forward before finally collapsing as the arrow pierced his throat. The one arrow seemed to be the start of the storm as the wall was suddenly blocked by a wall of moving death. "My faith is unwavering! My zeal unmatched! My fury is eternal!" Toran roared as the arrows slammed around him and into the front lines of the army. Men staggered and fell only to be crushed under their comrade's boots, some died instantly including one unlucky old man that had an arrow pierce his left eye; the tip bursting through the back of his skull knocking off his helm. Three arrows struck Toran's breastplate and bounced off as another struck his arm plate and spawned a loud screech as it sent a scratch over the once impeccable onyx coating.
Still they advanced under the barrage of missiles until they reached the base of the walls where the soldiers bunched up and raised their shields to give themselves minimum protection against the never ending rain. Toran could see some of the soldiers shaking in terror, others were on the ground holding their legs, and others were cursing at their own luck. Battle had a way of changing a man. Fathers and sons. Brothers and uncles. Men who would never normally never harm another became something else entirely when the blood lust and battle fervor took hold of their souls. They did things they would normally never do, it was the main cause of most raping and massacres that followed battles. They lost themselves in the carnage. Some grew to love it while it destroyed others. This battle would be no different.
"Raise the ladders!" Toran roared over the chaos of battle, and the ladders holders ran to the base of the wall, planting the ladders into the ground and pushing them up. Many of the ladders were instantly pushed back down only to be slowly lifted once more. Others had men scrambling on them with their shields held over their head and the weight of their bodies kept the defenders from being able to push them down. The men who reached the tops of the ladders found themselves impaled by spears and blades as soon as they popped their head above the battlements and were sent tumbling down to crash into the men beneath. With a snarl, Toran pushed people out of his way, "Goddess empower my armor. Goddess have mercy upon those who are foolish enough to oppose thee."
Gripping the ladder, Toran began his ascent trusting in his armor and in Her to keep him safe. At least, long enough to crush the heretics who dared to defy Her to protect their own pathetic children. Half-way up the ladder, he came upon a frightened soldier clutching onto the rungs of the ladder too afraid to continue to climb, yet too afraid to climb down.
"She has no time for cowardice." Toran said, gripping the man's tabard and muttering the power word of his gauntlets, Vul. With one fluid motion, Toran tore the man from the ladder and threw him off and plummeting down to the earth as he crushed some of his own comrades in his fall. "May you burn in the pits away from Her warmth for all eternity." Toran said watching the aftermath of his fall with grim satisfaction. "And may darkness bind you."
Turning his attention back to the ladder, Toran scrambled up it and waiting for him was a fresh faced youth clutching a bloodied spear. The boy gave out a shout to spur himself on as he jabbed his spear at the black armored giant wielding a flaming sword, but the boy's shout cost him time. A foolish and naive mistake, Toran let go of the ladder and smacked the spear away with his left hand and slammed the burning blade through the boy's eye. The boy did not have time to scream as the blade exploded from the back of his skull spraying blood at the nearby traitors, the smell of burning flesh filling the air. The blade struck nerves deep within the brain causing boys body to convulse and shake. It was amusing. It was as if he was dancing even as his bowls released. Another thing people never spoke about in the grand tales. Perhaps because the idea of men shitting themselves as they 'nobly' died was not something people wished to hear about. While Toran would have wanted to watch the dance of death a little longer, he had much more death and destruction to cause. With a roar, Toran ripped the blade free slicing through the top of the boys head and splattering the nearby soldiers with blood and gray chunks from the lads mutilated brain.
"Repent mortals! For She is upon us!" Toran roared as he jumped off the ladder and onto the walls among the throng of soldiers. Toran swung the blade in a deadly arc of flames as the traitors screamed. Chainmail was no match for the empowered fury of Toran and his runes. Chain links gave way to soft flesh, one man, Toran noted was clutching onto his intestines trying to keep them from spilling out onto the stone. As he cleaved his way through, Toran could not help but think of a butcher hacking at hanging pieces of flesh and meat for there was little difference. The 'traitor' soldiers were mostly old men and young boys given cheap weapons and there was only the occasional mediocre city guardsmen to give them muscle.
A soft chuckle could be heard cutting through the screams before Toran was finally laughing like the madman he was. Enjoying the feel of the flesh giving way, of the blood splattering his armor, of the screams that caressed his ears, and then he saw it. The terror in their eyes as their friends and family fell before him. Toran's armor was nearly painted red, "Can you not feel it?" Toran asked holding his blade to the side as the frightened men made a circle around him, "She.." He said starting to laugh once again, "She is watching me." He whispered as if caught in unspeakable pleasure, "I feel it." He said shaking as his body was wrecked by raptures. In the pause, Bandrial's warriors were pooling over the ladder into the space that Toran had made, and the fight was quickly turning against the demoralized defenders.
A sudden crack and trembling in the walls shook Toran from his obsession-induced trance as he glanced over the rampart to see the ram battering at the gate sending quakes and splinters flying everywhere. "Release the oil!" Came a shout from the gatehouse, and Toran watched with a mixture of anger and enjoyment as burning oil was poured from the battlements splashing onto the ram and onto the men pushing it. The men stumbled and screamed as their flesh melted and warped around their muscle tissue. A torch followed and lit it and the men pushing it ablaze further increasing the screams that were already chocking the air.
"Goddess," Toran said setting his sight on the gatehouse, "I beg you for strength, I beg you for power, but most of all, I beg you to watch me." He said stepping forth towards the gatehouse. The first soldier that stepped in his way met a grizzly end as Toran swung the burning blade in an arch, but the veteran warrior leaned back... but not far enough. The blade's tip sliced through the mans throat; blood and veins exploded forth from the wound as he clutched his throat in a futile effort to stay alive. Toran slammed the blade through the mans stomach and leaned close to whisper into his ear, "Your soul shall feed Her tonight." Before ripping his blade out and flinging his body off the wall and down into the city streets.
Bandrial's warriors followed behind him as he cut a bloody path ignoring the squishing of his boots as he stomped down on severed limbs, blood, and brain matter. The last guard in his path swung his large axe at him determined to stop him from gaining entrance to the gate house, but Toran easily side-stepped the clumsy blow and slammed his left fist into the mans face shattering his nose and painting his tabard in blood. The man dropped the axe and grabbed his face stepping against the wall, but Toran wasn't done as he slammed his open hand into his forehead smashing his head into the wall behind him and breaking the back of his head open with a sickening crunch, and for an odd reason, Toran felt the gnaw of hunger bite away at his stomach for eggs as the man slid down the wall leave a trail of blood behind.
Stepping into the gatehouse, Toran was surprised by the lack of guards. Had they abandoned it? Or had they all been slain? Either way, it was his gift from Her. Toran wasted no time as he swung the blade at the thick rope that was attached to the gate lever severing it with his great strength. He heard the groaning of gears as the drawbridge slammed down crushing both the burning ram and the soldiers that did not move fast enough leaving, rather, attractive stains on the ground. The nearby soldiers did not wait as they pushed open the now unbarred gate and rushed into the city cutting down whatever guards remained.
Toran climbed the stone steps to the roof of the gatehouse to examine the city that would soon be wrecked in flames. Toran extended his arms to the side, his flaming blade waving in the air as he let out a roar, "Rejoice! Salvation has come!"