The poison of sorcery

Chapter 1 - slaughter

Rauffe Clare, a commanding officer for the northern armies, rushes into the large tent currently being used as a war-room. The tent was a crimson red and shaped like a pentagon, the top arching into a central point; the inside was mostly empty apart from a single table and chair- the long table had a map of all of Domhan, small flags were placed on it, marking enemy and friendly strongholds.
Rauffe pants rapidly and tries to catch his breath "what is it?" An old man (in his 70's) with short grey hair asks, looking up from the map.
"A large motherland army is marching on our camp sir- we have very little time until they arrive" Rauffe informs the old man- the acting general of the northern armies.
The mother land is a realm in the heart of Domhan, it's used as a huge trading port and full of dozens of huge cities; it also has the most impressive army in all of Domhan.
The general's (whose name is Nord Castille) face becomes worried "how many troops?" He asks sternly
"Our scouts say about five thousand"
"Our army here is only two hundred men larger then theirs- we're barely going to survive this"
"Let's hope that the Lord of death is on our side today"
"I have no doubt about that" Nord says

A loud horn is heard throughout the entire military encampment, all at once, the soldiers are alert and ready for battle; the horn blows again as soldiers grab their swords, shields, spears and whatever other weapons they intend to use.
The horn blows once more when soldiers rush out of the camp and onto the green rolling hills of the nearby land.

A ear shattering crash is made when the two armies collide- swords clashing together, axes decapitating men and spears impaling people like kebabs. "FOR THE NORTH!" Some scream
"DIE NORTHERN SCUM!"
Crimson liquid splatters all over the battlefield; now cavalry units have arrived and are charging around madly, impaling anyone and everyone- including their own men. Frontline infantry are taking the brunt of the force though, bodies dropping left right and centre- you can't even see the soldiers anymore, only their shiny metal helmets and weapons.
A large man (roughly seven feet tall) comes bounding out of the northern camp, a large two handed axe in his hands. A black skull was painted across his face to symbolise the grim reaper (the northern people worshipped death as their God) and he barely had any armour- only leather straps sown together across his chest and a kilt like skirt made of animal hides covering his legs; this man was a monster in battle- easily decimating his opponents with huge swings, not only this but he was surprisingly fast for his stature, dodging sword swings and spear pokes. After about eighty men had fallen to him, he is tackled away and rolls down a large hill- this part of the battlefield was unoccupied right now as all the soldiers are dead.
After the big man gets to his feet, he sees his attacker; surprisingly he was a small and nimble man carrying a spear and leather armour. "Stronger then I look eh?" He asks
The big man grunts in response and instantly jumps into battle with a huge downwards wing, the small man easily dodges this and gets in a small poke with his spear; the two men had very different fighting styles but were evenly matched in skill- this became more and more prominent throughout the fight, both of them testing each other, seeing their weaknesses and strengths.
Eventually the big man is confident enough to launch a full attack but is parried by the smaller man... They both look up at each other and smile.

-one hour later-

"We've been decimated" Rauffe mutters in front of Nord.
"That we have, but their is still hope" Nord tells him
"How?"
"The south have not sworn allegiance to anyone yet, if we get to them before the motherland" Nord pauses "we may still have a chance of winning"
"But how can we contact them?" Rauffe asks "All our carrier pigeons are dead as well as our couriers"
"That's where you come in- I have no right to ask this of you but... we need you to travel to the south and ask for their help" Nord says;
Rauffe looks shocked then points out "It's hundreds of miles between here and the south lands- even if I do make it, I will probably boil to death in the hot sun"
"I am aware- but you are my most trusted soldier, you could save thousands and win this rebellion if you succeed Rauffe" Nord tells him
"I will do it then. If you do not recieve a message within three months then assume I'm dead; are there any horses?" Rauffe asks
"Two- take both if you want" Nord informs him, leading Rauffe out the tent and towards the stables. Bodies were littered everywhere, some in gruesome positions with spears impaled in them- some with no heads at all and some with gut spewing out and drowning in their own blood- it was certainly a gruesome scene. Once at the stables, Rauffe climbs atop a black horse saying "I won't need the other one, I trust this one is packed with food and water?"
"It is, good luck my friend- may the reaper guide you on your path to glory" Nord says.
The horse gallops off out the camp, and into the orange sunset...