Light and dark chess / fantasy
The black army descended the last slope and with them came the storm. Where their feet touched grass withered, the earth bled, dying. Red forked lightning bolted down from the tempestuous heavens held in place, frozen in time, an unholy mockery of nature.
The foot soldiers came first, misshapen men, heedless of their own safety, their broken armour spiked and terrible, their daggers sharp. Infantry men of Light met them head on with courage, but they were no match, eviscerated bludgeoned bodies were trampled into the quagmire. It took the might of knights to falter their charge, gallant warriors atop towering armoured steeds, their swords swept down in arcs of phosphorescent silver mist cleaving the darkness, smiting their enemies. But the tide of evil could not be stopped. One by one the noble knightswere pulled from their steeds in bloodlust, savaged, the great-hearted horses rearing and kicking until enough blades found their eyes.
'Kill the king…Kill the king…’ They chanted over and again, ravaging nerves and peeling courage from their enemies like ragged flaps of skin. Blood-crazed red-eyed they came forward, the infantry of darkness, behind two looming shapes, twisted and giant, red demons, winged, furious and foul. But the forces of light had weapons of their own. New life poured into the soil igniting the power hidden in all nature, the power to live, the right to defend purity. Great Treemen grew from the mud, their thorny arms oaken and powerful, crushing black soldiers in their massive loamy fists. Heraldic zealots scythed into the darkness, blessed polearms reaping a terrible price on the demonic hordes and demon steeds. For a moment it looked as though the tide was turning, that they may vanquish the dark...
The black queen rose from her dais crackling with unreality, her eyes like black fire, her porcelain face at once both beautiful and deathlessly evil. The malevolence of her baneful sorcery was not to be countered. Where her gaze fell death fell, white-clad warriors, their minds imploding, blood oozing from their ears and mouths choked on bile, crackling dark flames sparked making thrashing pyres of Treemen.
The queen of the Light was the last to die defending her cowardly king, a king who ran, seeking desperately to hide in the stretches of woodland like a wounded badger. But she was defeated, her proud regal body used in ways unthinkable to the sane. And the King of Light? in the end they took his head from his shoulders, kicking it like a ball, another trophy for the dark lord’s palanquin.