Armoured knights trampled the village green to mud. To those caught in their path, they appeared to be bizarre monsters, their humanity hidden beneath hard, chitinous shells; razor-sharp swords gilded red in the most precious of substances - life's blood.
All around, the air was thick with despair as the wounded reached out to one another with open hearts. The dead pretended to ignore their fate. Some lay with their ears pressed to the ground, as if listening to the slow heartbeat of the earth. Others directed their eyes upwards, watching cinders trace a lazy arc through temperate skies.
A shrill cry cut through the clamour of battle as an Arch-Mage, dressed in bright ceremonial robes, gave a renewed call to arms. The animalistic scream took to the air: a symbiotic blood-cry fashioned from a living soul, savagely pried loose from its corporeal holdings.
The invaders moved in a grim dance as they engaged the unarmed villagers in combat. Each wore a filthy white surcoat emblazoned with the twin signets of faith.