There he was, across the field on the back of the spotted white stallion I had seen in my dreams since childhood. His orange plumed helm marked him from afar and his green enameled plate armor distinguished him from the lesser lords beside him.

He led the heavy cavalry on charge after charge. Friendly troops fell with each pass, trampled, eviscerated, crushed, and run through by lance. Dozens upon dozens of friendly foot soldiers lay bleeding and dismembered in the churned mud of the battlefield. He and his cavalry were every bit the demons that I remembered from childhood. My nightmares brought to flesh and given over to me for a chance at retribution.

My mercenary company stood at my shoulders, ready for my command. Risen from commoners to celebrated sellswords, few of my comrades knew what burned inside of me. I had risen higher than my birth would have allowed and now was my chance for vengeance.

With the command of charge, my mercenaries swept through the field towards his cavalry and my destiny.