At the moment, the once-fearsome horde of cannibal tax collectors was reduced to a shattered, desperate remnant, struggling to comprehend the industrial slaughter that had just rained down upon them.
Since the opening volley of the field cannons, the battle had transformed into a one-sided massacre, leaving the pristine snow stained a deep, horrifying crimson.
Eventually, the terrifying reality of their situation sank into the minds of the survivors; men who had believed themselves invincible under the Gore-King's banner now dropped their heavy iron axes and fled into the icy woods, scrambling over the frozen rocks.
However, not all of the invaders were so quick to surrender to panic. A core group of battle-hardened berserkers stood amidst the carnage of their fallen brethren.
Leading them was a towering brute adorned in blood-stained wolf pelts. Despite this overwhelming defeat, the brute threw his head back and laughed.
