Continue mustering

After an eternity of monotonous riding through the shadow lands, a dark shape forms on the horizon. The enemy has not been idle, and he has sent a host to stop your march once and for all. The thane stakes out a strategic position on a low hill and awaits the approach of the enemy. As the evil soldiers come into view, your heart sinks. Ogres, wargs, and horned giants wielding spiked trunks of wood comprise the dark army. Bellows of malice escape their ranks, and your horses whinny frightfully. The dark forces drag flaming siege engines behind them, the greatest of them being Glorndrang, the hell hammer and breaker of citadels.

 

The forces of evil outnumber the horse army seven to one. The thane, undaunted but looking faint, rallies a mighty speech. The speech was so good that it sent shivers down your spine, something about a last charge, riding upon a red day for ruin and the world of men or something. Horns are blown, and the enemies seem to shrink back. They look about themselves with uncertainty as the horses form a tight phalanx and prepare to charge.