It was less than thirty minutes after the explosion that the army was on the move. High Commander Ulresh moved with the horse, thousands of them, moving at a quick trot and easily outpacing the infantry. Scouts on light horses came and went, providing intel and updates. The original scout who had reported on the ritual was missing, perhaps a victim of some backlash from the ritual itself.

He could see the camp, swarming like a kicked termite mound in the darkness. The calvary fanned out readying their lances. A cavalry charge was a thing of beauty, horses and riders, manes and capes streaming, banners held aloft, lances glittering in the starlight. It stirred the High Commander’s heart as he watched.

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As one, the horses stumbled, the riders clutched for the reins, struggling for control as the horses screamed. Suddenly there was chaos in the neat lines of cavalry. The enemy camp was aswarm and only now did Ulresh hear the screams from within. He felt something terrible brush against him, an electric feeling that skittered over his skin, penetrating deeply. What, in the names of all the Gods since the very beginning had happened here?

Something sunk deeply into Ulresh’s very being and there was a horrible feeling of force as something pulled at him. He screamed, the horse beneath him, trained for war and nearly unflappable, screamed and reared. Pain flared behind Ulresh’s eyes and darkness swept down upon him.