The doom carrot seethed. He paced back and forth along the length of the war table laid in front of him. It was after midnight, and his head had not yet even touched the pillow. Frustration, exhaustion, and defeat were etched along the creases of his frown.
"sir?" The door opened, and a soldier peeked his head in. "HCE reinforcemnts have arrived, led by Bryggan the Emperor, Tristan of Ezroth, And James of Acre."
"About fucking time," the doom carrot replied. Looking at the table, he moved 3 pieces across the board. "Any other reports, soldier?" He asked.
The soldier winced. He knew now was a bad time to cross his commander, but he had to tell the truth. "Yes-yes sir. The rogue bootleggers have gained a massive amount of reinforcements within the last few hours. We also have word that he has hired foreign mercenaries to help bolster his army. We are unable to get supplies through their lines. The soldier hesitated. "We are surrounded, and outnumbered four to one" he finally said bluntly.
The doom carrot nodded. He had expected the worst. He added more pieces to the map, moving them into position around Dashbigha. The situation looked futile from afar. Four lone pieces surrounded by a dozen.
"We won't defeat them," he said, "but we will give the fuckers whatever we got." He glanced up from the map to the soldier. "You may leave now," he stated.
The door gently closed, and the doom carrot was once again left in the room alone. He collapsed backwards onto a chair, staring at the map through solemn eyes. The rogues would attack in a matter of hours, and his army had little more to fight with then pitchforks and shields. He had hoped that the rogues would have seen the precedent they were setting for future distrust and hatred between their peoples, but it was to no avail. The bootlegger's reckless fury rampaged across the countryside nonetheless, burning, pillaging, looting everyone in their path.
He sighed. "And so it begins," he whispered.
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The curved blade arched through the morning air; the morning air filled with the sounds of a hundred clashing swords. Screams echoed from every corner of the village as the battle raged. Finally, a short blade clashed against the cold steel of the flying sword. Both blades screamed their metallic protests as metal grinded against metal.
The doom carrot held his blade against his opponent. Their eyes locked for a second, and the doom carrot saw the sheer ferocity and hatred in the older man's eyes. This was a battle for survival. Snapping out of his defence, the doom carrot slammed his attacker in the face with his shield, and the man stumbled backwards, almost falling. The mercenary had little time to recover before the doom carrot's blade came at his head. The man blocked the attack, but was met with a serious of furious, deadly hacks and slashes from the doom carrot. Finally, seeing a weakening of his opponent's left stance, and, thrusting into the gap, the doom carrot sliced open his opponent's torso. The man collapsed to his knees, holding a hand against his dismembered entrails, but was put out of his misery by a deft swing to the neck, cleanly executing him.
The doom carrot kicked the dead man's corpse away and glanced around. It was utter chaos. His men were being massacred by the dozens, and there was nothing he could do.
"FUCK!" he screamed. "FUCK IT! FALL THE FUCK BACK!" It was obvious that his men did not stand a chance.
Almost immediately, the emperial ranks began to break. Men spun around, fleeing the enemy. The doom carrot watched helplessly. Those who bravely refused the order, instead protecting their homes and families were cut down without mercy. Suddenly, a hand clasped on his shoulder. Spinning around, the doom carrot was met with Tristan's bloodied face.
"We need to get out of here!" He yelled, his voice coarse from shouting curses and orders.
"No, we need to help these people escape!" The doom carrot seethed back, pushing him away.
"They are already dead!" Tristan screamed, "We are about to get overrun from the Forest! My men can't hold their lines anymore!" He begged, trying to reason with the stubborn commander.
The doom carrot looked East, towards the sight of another battle. The forest's edge was filled with the corpses of emperial soldiers. Suddenly, hordes of cavalry and footmen came screaming out the forest, slaughtering anything that moved in their bloody charge towards the village. The lines had broken. The battle was lost.
"My lords!" a familiar voice shouted behind them. Tristan and the doom carrot spun around. It was Bryggan And James of Acre. Two riderless horses trailed behind them, their coats shining with the greasy blood of their previous masters. "Climb on, we have to leave!" Bryggan screamed, desperate.
Without so much as a second thought, they climbed into the saddles, and turned the horses south. "Doom, you will come with me, I'll get you to safety" James said, still keeping his cool in the heat of battle. "Bryggan, you and Tristan must get back and gather reinforcements, understand?" Bryggan and Tristan nodded simaltaneously, before immediately turning their horses and galloping away.
The doom carrot glanced back at Dashbigha. He heard the final screams of his last men before cheers of victory. He had seen enough. He would kill them all. He turned his horse south, and, following james, fled.
