Of Gods and Beasts -Blinded by the Light

As the sun slowly began to set, they emerged from the caves to the low thundering sound of the Deepfury’s Horn. His eyes instantly became narrow slits, as they still cant bear the last rays of sunlight. Deliberately Nocturn forced himself to look at the bright shining ball just vanishing above the northern mountain ridge, embracing the pain of the sun that once made them and now kills them when they are exposed in its rays long enough.

Firmly he urged his warstrider forward, looking down upon the battle unfolding beneath him, the sounds of clattering swords, bellowing orders and cries of pain dimly hearable over the great distance.
Soon the cries of pain will see an significant increase, he thought as his fellow Dessei assembled around him, their warstriders holding their heads high into the hot breeze, sniffing anxiously, already catching the faint scent of blood. Without a command needed his riders formed a long stretched attack line, him in the middle, Dol Amroth right beside him. He was holding the huge soulcleaver that cost him his very arm firmly in the mechano-magical replacement. The demonic Eye just below the massive wing shaped blades of the ancient weapon still closed, dormant, but once it awakens Nocturn knew it would wreak terrible havoc against all foes.
Slowly he turned his head, seeing the last of his riders form rank, they looked formidable in their black armors, covered with thorns, shields and lances, on their similar armored warstriders, not two of them looking alike.
One hundred and twenty-eight, they were the best, the Death Wing of the Drago Kasov, the most feared shock troops of the known world, they will do their jobs well. Not a word is spoken, the only sounds were the great sichleclaws of the warstriders burrowing in the dry, dusty ground. The beasts where as anxious as their riders to replace the soil with flesh and blood and bone.

He knew that most human commanders, or even the elven commanders of the old times used to give inspiring speeches before combat, speeches of valor and morale to lift the fighting spirits. Promises, that their deeds in battle, even if they themselves would not survive it, will carry on in songs and poems forever to take away the fear of death.
Briefly he considered if he should do the same, but no, they are no humans, they are no longer elves, they are the Dessei. They need neither poems, nor speeches to lift their fighting spirits, they only need an order, a simple command and they will carry it out … without hesitation…without question… to their deaths.
And so, closing the visor of his great, dragonwinged helmet Nocturn gives the command, with dull, metal ringing voice. “Wipe them out. All of them.”

Once more, the Deepfury’s horn is sounded, and the Deathwing of the Drago Kasov began their decent to the battlefield.