[b]Henzil Deprash, a day dream, no he hasn't been sleeping this entire time, I just had to finish it. [/b]

On the other side of the dusty dune stood a massively long line of large, imposing Ashishian shields overlapping each other in perfect crimson and ash colored phalanxes with long desert steel sarissas jutting out to oppose all who foolishly attempt to take on the deadly army. Curved Ashishian blades, Yexara’s, hung idly on the soldiers belts in case of a break in the lines, as well as a shorter stabbing blade in case of even closer encounters. 

Henzil eyed the large force with a revitalizing pool of relief. The fever he had been struck with from the collapsing of his fuwma and the death of his doomed brigade had turned into a burning torch of justice and hope that duly lit up his blue eyes under the scolding desert sun. As Gori and Henzil charged closer to the thick Ashtoken lines that were speckled with Marrow forces, a small column shifted, allowing the entrance of the large scaled fuwma. 

The two stopped at the front lines, and a distant howling could be heard on top of the dune. “Henzil, take the fuwma to the back lines, and wait until the battle is over,” Gori ordered emotionlessly.

“Esteemed general,” Henzil began his protest, “allow me to fight.”Gori shook his head sternly,“Your foot is broken, you chance destroying it beyond medical repair and risk death.”
“Ashtoken do not falter, Gori,” Henzil noted calmly with a serious look of honor in his eyes.
With these few words, Gori Lamillur did not need any further convincing as a plan drew itself out in his head,“fair enough, take the Fuwma to the dunes far left flank, find your orders there, hurry,” He commanded quickly.

Gori lept off the tall fuwmas back, taking a large sarissa that was strapped to the beast with him, along with his bloodied sword. The General hissed sharply at the great reptilian and the beast obeyed with a snickering exhale before scampering off in a cloud of sand. 

Henzil turned as the fuwma rode towards the left flank. Peering through the thick sand that was kicked up he could see Gori take up a bossed shield and merge into the tight wall of men, his sarissa pointing up to the scorching sun as the others.

As the gnolls crested the dune, Henzil could hear the order go out and suddenly with a loud shifting sound, the first four lines leveled their pikes to point at the charging gnolls, while further back lines slanted theirs. Another call rang through the desert, matching the sound of the panting horde that now gathered speed sprinting down from the dune. With this order a loud harmonious clang followed as the front lines slammed their shields into the sandy ground and the second line lifted their shields up and over, creating a massive wall of pikes and thick shields.

As Henzil rounded the dunes corner he saw a massive group of formidable fuwma chargers. The large beastly fuwma were painted in the sacred ash and adorned with varying amounts of metal chains and small plates to add to their thick scaly hides. Matching scale armored riders bore long deadly serrated tipped tempered lances to saw the gnoll flesh on impact and tear it asunder as it exited the wound, this fierce weapon was coupled with a sturdy buckler and usual Ashtoken infallible stoicism, broken only by quick faces of fierce ambition and determination to finally end the war once and for all. 

The commander of the Fuwma riders, Furnos Lamillur, rode up to Henzil, recognizing the Fifth Star, “follow me,” The cavalry officer said with authority, his blank stoic face clear and ready for the fight, “we round the dune, get behind the gnolls and charge down the dune and push them into the sheilds.” 

With a nod the two both shared, the large mass of fuwma began their route, circling the dune and climbing up the slanted back side. The fuwma effortlessly flew up the side as was their acrobatic nature, until they stood up top, watching the backs of the monstrous gnoll army and seeing the beastly front line continuously collide into the wall of fatal spears, puncturing the fleshy monsters before they could even reach the sheilds, and for the few who did were met with only deadly Yexara hacks and stabs. 

Furnos nodded assuringly at Henzil and gave the loud command. The fuwma army formed into a one fuwma thick arrowhead and began a dusty, pounding charge down the dune. The gnolls in the back heard the loud stomping against the sand, and felt the rumble of the charge and gave way to a panicked fright. Some gnolls barked out inhuman commands and concerns, causing the confused gnoll army to thin out and attempt to escape through the two exposed flanks. 

As soon as the front lines of the Ashtoken noticed this retreat, a loud horn bellowed and shook the very sands. As if all at once, the sands on the flanks of the gnolls shook violently with the horn, but not because of the vibration of the charging fuwma, or the loud blast of the sound, but because of the flanking armies that laid in wait patiently under the desert sands. 

The sand bursted into the air in thick swathes and mists as crimson and black robed Ashtoken Elites shot violently out of the very desert, sharp yexara blades sang wildly through the wind as they gracefully began to slice away at any retreating gnolls with expert precision and deadliness. At the same time the fuwma charge slammed into the defenseless gnolls and the back lines were devastated by the powerful collision of the fuwma and the deadly and gruesome bites of the serrated spears that tore their very flesh from bone.

The as good as dead gnolls were forced up against each other as the flanking armies began to push their deadly whirlwind of sharp blades inward and the powerful fuwma caused them to form up against the Ashtoken wall of sheilds, too squished and in utter disarray to form a complete response.

 Henzil himself was charging so fast he could only see blurs of fur and streams of crimson sandy blood. His charge had yet to be slowed down despite the pile of gnolls his fuwma had trampled and gnolls he had impaled. As a Gnoll quickly came up on his side he thrusted out his serrated spear, feeling the resistance on the shaft as the crude spear head sunk deep into the stomach of a gnoll, and ripping a gaping gruesome hole into it as the violent spear was jerked back out by Henzil and the momentum of the charge, leaving the dying gnoll to a gory pile of his own bowels. 

Through the broken and severed bodies of the gnolls Henzil could see the distinct red and grey of the quickly coming up Ashishian front lines, and forced his fuwma to slow with a loud hiss in its nearly invisible ear holes. As the great beast began to slow down, Henzil could now clearly make out Gori in the front lines in between his own encounters with the now scattered gnoll army.

Gori slammed his heavy shield into an approaching crazed gnoll, the backward facing gnolls spine snapped on the crimson splattered shield boss and Gori finished it off with a strong slam of his shield downward on the back of its furred neck. The lines of the gnolls have become tattered remains and their army almost non existent, at this moment Gori gave the call. All the sarissas fell to the sandy desert ground and with an ear shattering shriek, the Yexara’s were unsheathed and pointed ahead. In synchronization the lines of the frontal army formed tight triangle wedges and began a slow march forward. The flanking armies and fearsome fuwma forced the remaining gnolls into the pits of the toothed wedges where rows of curved Ashishian steel met their bare flesh with violent thrusts followed by skilled blood riddled slashes and carved the very souls from the crippled bodies of the gore caked gnolls as one giant killing machine.

The terrible sounds of skin ripping and the dying screaming polluted the battle thickened air, and shook down any denial of victory for the Ashtoken, while destroying all hope for the criminal gnolls. The professional swordsmanship flashed against rays of sun in between strikes, while sturdy walls of shields pommeled the very life out of gnolls who still dared stand against the mighty army. The unlucky who fell to the desert sands still alive suffered the fate of being trampled to death by frightened gnolls or the disciplined Ashishians advance. 

After some time of finishing off the crippled and dying enemy army, the four flanks eventually met in the center of the carnage, where the gnoll blood covered Gori swung his yexara with a strong twist of his wrist and jerk of his muscled arm, cleanly lobbing off the final gnolls head, the sight not even forcing a single twitch to The Generals face as it was speckled with more crimson droplets.

	Henzil jumped off his fuwma, cursing silently as he remembered his broken foot and tumbled in pain upon landing, conjuring a cloud of hot sand on the impact. A friendly hand shot out before his pained face and he grabbed it firmly, lifting himself to his feet, and using his sword once again as a walking cane. He met Gori’s fierce gaze as soon as he looked up.

	Gori’s face remained set in rigid stone, “Henzil,” he said sharply,“what message did you intend to bring to Dashash?”

	Henzil’s face paled under the pressure of the question but he spoke clearly to the esteemed General, attempting to hide his uncertainty, “The Gnolls are coming,” he stated simply, putting on an abrasive tone. 
	
	For the first time many witnessed a bright white crescent form on Gori’s face as he smiled at the humor of the message, shaking his head in comical disbelief. Gori thrusted his yexara into the desert air and announced loudly, his voice bouncing off the sands, “The desert and her children reign victorious!"

	A deafening chanting clang of weapons bashing against shields victoriously began to shake the air, and Henzil himself began to shake with it. He shook, and he kept on shaking, when suddenly he opened his eyes alarmingly to his eldest daughter. She had her hand on his shoulder and was shaking him delicately back and forth.

His eyes calmed and he sighed, his dreaming now over, "What is it my dear?" He asked as he began to straighten out his posture. 

"Good Furnos Lamillur calls for a meeting of the Council, father," his beautiful daughter announced, "you are to arrive in Orakash as soon as possible, word has arrived from The First Star."

Henzil leapt to his feet, almost knocking his leaning daughter off hers. 
"Get my things in order, I must leave at once!" The man announced, his robes a mess from his slumber and quite a comical sight. 

His daughter smirked covertly, "Yes father," she pointed at his disorderly robes, "might I also suggest a change?"

Henzil grumbled, hiding a smile of his own.