The Charge

A thunderous outcry came at the command; pikes came down and were set for change. The armor of the men of the riftlands glinted in the noonday sun and the pennants of pikes trembled. Blood ran hot, but was calmed by the soft breeze. An anxious calm silence permeated after the cry, interrupted only by the incoming thunder of hooves. The rift horrors bore down on them, the four legged, hoofed armored scythers charging like cavalry, the serpentine spine spitters and the spiderlike shock troops not far behind. The pass, with its tall stone walls, was their last best hope.